:M :''',.;.ii: .;,',^^'' ":.^:?':NJ^l^t.^^^ Class Book CopyrightK°_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm PANSIES FOR THOUGHT BY JENNIE ATWOOD CASE f Ube 1knfc{?erbocfter press 19 15 Copyright by ELIZABETH CASE 1915 JAN -I 1916 )CLA420264 To live in the hearts of those we leave behind is not to die.'' Je^t^t^^^i^^^ Citct.rtrzT-cC ^Ci^, August 20, 1849 January 15, 1914 Dedication In the name of Jennie Atwood Case, this little Gift Book is lovingly dedicated to ''The Me- morial Shakespeare Circle," by her daughters Bessie and Marian. IV There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember ; and there is pansies, that's for thoughts." — Hamlet, Preface It seems fitting that this little book of verse should be dedicated to those in whose midst this beloved leader so earnestly and unremit- tingly labored. Daughter of the Rev. Joseph Atwood, her girl- hood was passed in a peculiarly delightful en- vironment. Reared in an atmosphere of books and the close companionship of her noted father and his colleagues, the active young mind was quick to develop under such favorable influences and from it blossomed the keen, vigorous intel- lect which covered a long, useful, active life and gave so abundantly of happiness and helpful- ness to others. With a nature so filled with enthusiasm, an imagination so active, a mind so well stored and so eager to impart to others, and a heart so filled with love and sympathetic un- derstanding, she was a delightful and adaptable companion to all ages. Among the most fortunate have been the members of her *' Circle" who, for so many years, profited by her store of knowledge, her keen analytical mind, and her wonderful inter- pretive ability as a Shakespearean scholar and dramatist. In conclusion it may be in keeping to say vii that the contents of this little book had not been written for publication by the gentle authoress, being a miscellaneous collection of verse, jotted down from time to time in the odd moments of her busy life — often an outlet for the mystic girl-mind^ — so sweetly serious — the brooding tenderness of the mother-heart — the loving pride in her wifehood or the quick sympathy or interest in friend or neighbor and, still more often, the thoughtful communings with self or with her God. *'But thy eternal summer shall not fade — Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade. When in eternal lines to time thou growest/' Shakespeare — Sonnet xviii. vui CONTENTS PAGE Memories I Birthday Reflections 6 An Apostrophe to the Sea 10 The Legend of St. Christopher 12 A Reminiscence .... 21 Moving ..... 23 A True Sweeping Story 25 A Tale of Ancient Rome . 27 An Invocation and a Wail 33 Shakespeare .... . 34 Merrie England 35 Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Love 39 part first .... 40 PART SECOND .... 42 PART THIRD .... 43 PART FOURTH .... . 44 A Christmas Ode 45 A Valentine .... . 47 The City Streets . 48 IX PAGE Helen 50 Life and Love 53 His Valentine 55 A Season's Review .... . . 56 Vessie 59 Valentine . . . . . . . .61 Love's Voyage 62 Cast Thy Burden on the Lord . . .63 She Hath Done What She Could . . .64 PANSIES FOR THOUGHT Memories When the long, fair day is ended and the restless world is still, — When the glimmer of the moonlight softly touches wave and hill, — When the cloistered stars that, nunlike, walk the holy aisles of heaven, Beckon with their fairy twinkle to that realm where crowns are given, Then I sit beside the window, gazing out into the night — While my ever active fancy plumes herself for airy flight. After sailing through the ether, 'mong the stars and o'er the sea, Suddenly, with strange transition, she gives place to memory. Ah, with what a strange exactness, does remem- brance bring to view All the weary, mazy windings that the years have struggled through. And how clearly on the canvas can I note each tiny ray Of sweet hope and peace and blessing that IVe lost upon the^'way ! I While I sigh, yet linger, gazing, suddenly before me flits. Full of life and joy, a maiden, on whose brow the Springtime sits; Not a thought of cbming Summer, with its roses and perfume. Fills her heart with restless longings, for the Springtime seems all bloom. But the fair, sweet Summer cometh — ah, the tears will start and flow, As I mark with what abandon do the blithe years come and go. Strolling through the pleasant woodlands, gathering none but fairest flowers, How the ring of careless laughter and the gay flow of the hours Would be hushed — and quickly ended, could the future's mystic screen Rise, and show the hoped-for sunlight with the shadows cold between; Not a thought of coming Autumn, with its blasted bloom and sighs, Comes to haunt this thoughtless maiden, with the hope-light in her eyes. But, as surely as the Summer follows all the bloom of Spring, Just so surely does the Summer in its wake the Autumn bring; 2 As I still am held in thralldom, by these pictures of the past, Wondering why such joy and beauty cannot through a lifetime last, On the canvas, still before me, comes a figure pale and sad — Oh, have pity! Can this woman be the maiden, once so glad? Over ruined fairy-castles, over shattered hopes and loves Now I see her sadly bending, — and no heavenly white-winged doves Bearing Hope's fair olive branches to her dis- appointed heart. Flit across the soul's horizon and with blessing heal the smart — No! for, while I gaze and listen, from her lips there comes a moan And a grievous, mournful sobbing, as she mur- murs, sad and lone : ** Ah, dear God! how cruel, cruel, thus to lay my treasures low, — Thus to smite my precious idols, when my heart- strings quiver so! " But no comfort and no healing to her stricken heart can come, While that worldly love and blindness desecrate the soul's pure home ! 3 Now my eyes are almost weary of the pictures and the play, — Yet, I cannot choose but linger — cannot, cannot go away *Til this erring one is pardoned — 'til some ray of heavenly light 'Luminates the darkened canvas — dissipates the clouds of night. Then the sad voice slowly falters, while the light of Love divine Gently falls on form and feature, ** Saviour, make me wholly thine ! Answer now my prayer for patience — ^let Thy Spirit be my guide — Free me now from all complainings-:— keep me ever near Thy side ! '' As the pictures, that are hanging all along on Memory's wall, Fade, and glimmer in the distance, now, me- thinks I catch the fall And the flow of mournful music, like the wind- harps' solemn strain Or, the fond, sweet tones of loved ones, that we ne'er shall hear again. While the melancholy music pulses through and through my soul. With a bitterness and anguish that I cannot well control, — 4 By some change of harp or harpist, all the wailing turns to joy — And a calm, ecstatic rapture all my faculties employ. Not a thought of all the sorrow that lies strewn along Life's way. Comes to chase away the gladness, or to shade the Light of Day — For, I seem to see, up yonder, — ^far away above the stars, Holy, glorious a region that no trail of sin e'er mars ; There no changes e'er bewilder — there can come no misty night — Only Christ, and Heaven and Beauty — only Life, and Love and Light ! BirtKday Reflections {On her nineteenth birthday) All day long have I sat by this open western window, and gazed out upon the lovely rural picture which lies before me — the broad field of ripening grain waving gently and trembling like a coy maiden at every whisper of the per- fume-laden wind and, just beyond, studded with evergreens, a gently sloping hill, covered with one of Nature's softest and greenest of carpets; while above and over all, stretches the beautiful deep blue, across the surface of which wander soft, fair clouds with their snowy fleeces bathed in the flickering, golden sunlight. Yet, while gazing out dreamily upon the scene, I have scarcely noticed the beauty. Like a traveler, who, after years of absence, wearily sits down among the misty ruins of what once constituted his childhood's beautiful home, and taking up one fondly remembered relic after another, feels a pall-like sadness stealing over him, — so, as I have been sitting here, have my thoughts been wandering back ''under snow-encumbered branches," over summer roses and faded flowers, to the Springtime and Summer of my life — glancing with a sweet sadness at the many once 6 brilliant, but now trampled, blighted dreams lying at my feet. No note or sound of life or joy comes up from these ruins of the past- naught but a weird, melancholy stillness. Ah, me! Another birthday! How like a vanished dream it seems! ** Life's currents'' have drifted me very surely and swiftly on into womanhood — the fairyland of all youth's reveries — so that I have scarcely noticed the manifold changes or the many *'lost" treasures. While passing through the charmed gateway of youth, the life beyond seemed only as the lovely ''vale of Arno, " with its enchanting scenery of groves and garden grottoes, palaces and towers; its transparent lakes, delicious air, and sunny skies. Life, so far, has not been a success with me — rather, a failure. And to-day, I look back and can only see wrecked resolutions, withered hopes, faded dreams, and blank wastes, where should have been luxurious blossoms of future blessed- ness. I unwittingly wandered into the wrong path, till my vision became mazed and blinded, and I knew not that I was groping my way in darkness. But God has dispatched to me a messenger, clothed in the somber garb of afflic- tion, who, though he be grim and exceedingly disagreeable, bears in his hand a light, which illumines the blackness and discovers to me horrible quicksands and yawning gulfs into which I was momentarily liable to fall. And, as step by step, I stumblingly endeavor to follow the beautiful beacon, occasionally there perches near me a bird called Hope, with softly tinted 7 wings and brilliant plumage, which beguiles the weariness with such snatches of exquisite melody as thrilled my whole being with love and joyous- ness. I know that this bird has flown straight from Heaven's elysian bowers, for no earthly songster could equal in peaceful, holy sweetness its thrilling strains. But, strange to say, this light only enables me to see the immediate path in which I am now traveling, and that through which I have wandered. It lightens not the path ahead; therein lie only dimness and blank uncertainty. I can only trust the light to make the revelations. Oh Life! Life! Mysterious Life ! *' Like the swell of some sweet tune, morn- ing rises into noon — May glides onward into June.*' With Longfellow this may have been the case, but I wonder how many of earth's children find life only **like the swell of some sweet tune.'' How many are from morning until noon, learning life's mysterious lessons — and some only begin to learn them as *' noon's broad, fervid, earnest light is shaded in the solemn night." It seems to me that no soul can fully appreciate the high, holy uses of life until it is *' tried." ''Tried, either by disappointment, bereavement, poverty, affliction or some one of the human sorrows which lurks in every path and by-path of our earthly journey. 'Tis only this that can disenchant the heart of youth's enraptured visions, chase away with shadows, romance's sunlight, and develop most fully the holier and more spiritual part of our natures; and just in proportion as our better natures are 8 brought into action, do we learn how to live, 'Tis true that many persist in misunderstanding the design of affliction, and instead of allowing it to lead them to the pure, clear waters of life's true fountain, wander farther from it, and drink deeper draughts of the world's deceptive, impure springs. But ah! their future hidden lives! We cannot tell how the waves of remorse sweep over them and almost bury them in the dark waters of the sea of despair, nor how they *' Year by year alone Sit brooding in the ruins of a life. Nightmare of youth, the spectre of themselves." God only knows! But ah, what a vastly differ- ent picture is presented by those who having been placed in the ''furnace, " come forth ''puri- fied"; beautifully and spiritually symmetri- cal. And how sweetly do their lives go out at last ! Just as the setting sun, after a clear day casts back over all the path it has traveled, broad sweeps of purple and golden glory, so God's purified human lights, after lives spent in patient endurance and Christ-service, and in brightening the pathway of many a weary, earthly wanderer, leave behind them precious, golden blessings which radiate all their past, and insure golden palms and crowns beyond the western hills. God only grant that my pilgrimage may end thus! An ApostropHe to tKe Sea I love the sea, the great, wide sea. The swelling, foaming, dashing sea ! When Boreas reigns, with gales set free, Oh, then I love the bounding sea! 'Tis fascinating when 'tis wild. And holds me spellbound, like a child, Oh billowy sea! I love the sea, the placid sea! The sea that wooes and calls to me ; And, as I sit upon the sand. While lazy waves lap soft the strand, I long to lie upon yon crest And go to sleep on ocean's breast, Oh fair, blue sea ! I love the sea, the boundless sea, And long to solve its mystery, — I would that once old Neptune bold Would all its secrets weird unfold. That by some mystic, magic art. The waters of the sea might part. Mysterious sea ! What visions then might daze my eyes, What genii of the deep might rise, What wealth, what wonders little guessed,- What horrors then would be confessed ! lO Oh sea, Oh hungry, cruel sea. And yet I love thy witchery, Oh heartless sea! Far out I spy the stately ships, And yon a sea-gull softly dips His wings in foam of swelling wave. Then, beating skyward, seeks to lave His graceful form in sunlight sweet, Where sky and billow seem to meet. Oh dreamy sea ! Oh sea, Oh sea. Oh pensive sea! You kindle fondest memory. Recalling those, who, by my side. Have loved to watch thy swelling tide. Whose feet no longer tread thy sands. But wander far through heavenly lands. Oh sad, sad sea ! Oh sea, imperious, grand old sea! When earth's great Maker fashioned thee. He meant to give to us a sense Of His own dread omnipotence. We'll hope some time to understand The mystery of thy guiding Hand, Fathomless sea ! And, when shall end thy wondrous sway. When God's voice thunders to thee *'Stay!'' When human pulses cease to thrill, And all earth's noise is hushed and still. May Paradise some wonder hold. Like this, that thy wild waves enfold. Majestic sea! II TKe L^e^exid of St. CKristopHer In the days of song and story, Ere the world had grown too wise, Lived a Canaanitish giant, Widely famed for strength and size. This Offero, such his name was, Fully conscious of his power, Vowed to serve the greatest monarch, Him before whom men should cower. Far and wide the giant traveled, 'Til he found the king he sought; Eagerly the monarch hailed him. Pleased to hear the deeds he'd wrought. But, one day, came traveling minstrels. And before the king they sang Weirdest songs, through whose wild numbers, Satan's name full often rang. Then, the giant, keenly curious, Noticed that this monarch great, Every time the Fiend was mentioned. Crossed himself, with pompous state. Straight Offero asked his lordship, What this act of homage meant, — Finding that the king feared Satan, From his court the giant went. 12 Far and wide again he traveled, Seeking him whose very name Could make mightiest princes tremble, And all other service tame. Now, at last, almost aweary. On a desert plain he spied, Armfed men, in crowding masses. Marching on in strength and pride. And, as leader, saw a being Terrible of aspect, grim. Who, when questioned by the giant. Answered, ''I am Satan, whom All the world doth fear, yet worship; Wilt thou bind thyself to me?'' Said Offero, — *'Lo, thy servant! None shall I serve now but thee! " So, they traveled on together. Till they came where four roads met, — There, up by the wayside looming. Had a pure white cross been set. When the Fiend saw this sweet symbol, Suddenly he shook with fear. And with speed he turned his footsteps. Leaving it far in the rear. Said Offero, "Why this trembling?" Satan faltered, ''On that cross Died the Christ, whose name is Jesus, Him I fear, and through Him, loss. " 13 Hearing this, the giant answered, *'Then is there One greater still; Him rU serve, I'll go and find Him; Thus shall I fulfil my will." Now, a third time, runs the legend, Did he travel far and wide, 'Til he met a holy hermit, In whose cell he did abide For a time, while gleaning knowledge Of the Christ he meant to serve ; But, at last, the hard conditions, From his purpose made him swerve. For, the hermit told him plainly, That he must both fast and pray ; This, Offero said, he would not, Since 'twould take his strength away. ** Well, " the man of God then answered, ''There's a river, stony, deep, Often swelled to overflowing, By the storms which o'er it sweep. **In its current, many people Lose their lives from day to day ; Do thou bear the weak and weary Through its waters, on their way, — **And it may be that this service Will find favor in His sight. Whom we call the 'King of Heaven,' In whom dwelleth naught but light." 14 Gladly then exclaimed the giant, **This, the service you have named, Suits me well, and I shall cherish, Hope of pleasing King so famed.'' On his way he went rejoicing ; And his arm, with strength replete, Rooted up a stately palm-tree, Which, as staff, he deemed most meet. By that river, famed in story. Which we call the river Rhine, Did the giant labor, tireless, Watching, hoping for some sign Which might show him that his labors Were accepted by his King, And that he who could not worship. Might with favor service bring. So, the people loved Offero, And they named him, far and wide (Since the Christ inspired his service), Christopher, the river guide. Now, one night, while he lay resting, Out upon the night breeze wild, Came the plaintive, pleading accents Of a weary little child. Calling him to bear him quickly. Through the waters deep and wide, And, to land him, ere the morning, Safely on the other side. 15 Then, he looked, but seeing no one, Once again his bed he sought ; Still the plaintive Voice entreating, Christopher a lantern brought. And his search was soon rewarded By the finding of a child. Whom he lifted to his shoulders, And, with speech and manners mild, Started on the journey over, — But, to Christopher's surprise. Ere the task was half completed. Did the waters higher rise. Wild the winds blew, waves roared madly, And the stream was now a flood, — While the child grew more a burden, — Struggle bravely as he would, 'Til it seemed that he was sinking. With the weight so heavy grown, And great fear possessed his spirit, — Fear which he had never known. But, his courage soon renewing, On he bravely fought his way, *Til the other side he reached. Just as dawn proclaimed the day. Setting down the child most gently, Looked he at him with surprise, — Then, *'Who art thou, child, that bringeth Peril to me in this wise? i6 *'Had I all the whole world carried, Heavier had my load not been! '' Said the child, ''Thou need'st not marvel At the wonder thou hast seen. *'For thou'st carried on thy shoulders Not the sad world's weight alone. But hast borne the One who made it, Him who sits on Heaven's high throne. *'Thou would'st serve me in thy labor, And these kind deeds please me well, — Now in token of my favor. Plant thy staff where this befell. **And 'twill bear both leaves and fruitage. Which will prove to you my love. And will help you to remember That your Master dwells above." Christopher obeyed him promptly, When, behold! his staff of palm Covered was with dates in clusters. While his heart breathed forth a psalm. As the wonder which possessed him Thrilled and surged his being through, Suddenly the vision vanished. And his soul its Master knew. On his face he fell and worshiped. And confessed the power divine ; Pledged anew his life and labor, On this consecrated shrine. 17 All the yearnings which had filled him, To perform some service great, All his hopes, all proud ambitions. Now on this new mystery wait. Oh, the joy of that bright morning! Oh, the spirit's glad release! All the tumult of his nature Hushed in everlasting peace ! Now, the legend says, he journeyed From that place to Samos fair, — Many Christians, harassed, tortured. Suffered death in prisons there. Here he labored for their safety, Cheered, encouraged fainting hearts, And, with faith, did bid defiance To the heathen's deadly darts. For, one day, a villain struck him, — Christopher returned no blow, Saying, ''Were I not a Christian, Thou my strength of arm should'st know! *' Then, the king of that wild country Ordered men to seize the saint, — Who, when brought in pomp before him, Caused the king to quake and faint. When restored, and grown accustomed To the giant's massive size, Straight he asked his name and station, Growing vexed at his replies, i8 For his tales of Christ, the mighty, Angered much the heathen king, So he had him seized and tortured. And to death he vowed to bring This, the mightiest of Christians, Who, when scourged, rejoiced the most, And who, of his trust in Jesus, So unceasingly did boast. Then, at last, the cruel mandate Of this wicked king went forth, — Christopher became a martyr. Passed a soul of priceless worth. In the calendar of sainthood, Stands full high his glowing name; And, for faith and holy purpose, He has won undying fame. Through the years, both art and legend Have immortalized his deeds, While the hunger of the spirit His example often feeds. O'er the seas, in loftiest places. Doth his massive image rise. And, from hearts of pure beholders. Every sorrow quickly flies. Such, at least, the thought of many; While, in rich cathedrals dim. Kneeling by some master's painting. Humble Christians pray to him. 19 In this life, so full of power, All may read a lesson sweet, Who would lay their loving service, Wholly at the Master's feet. And although a martyr's guerdon May not fall to us who read. Love and sacrifice for others To the golden portals lead. While the weight of grievous burdens, Patiently and bravely borne. Shall win Heaven's repose and radiance. And our God's sweet boon, ''Well done!** And the bright, eternal ages None too long will be, God knows, For the solving of life's mysteries. And the healing of life's woes. So, on Time's white, waiting pages, Let our names and records be Beautiful for worthy living. Stainless, and from errors free. But, if weakness, sins, and failures. Dirge-like, ring across the years. And we cannot see our Father, Through our scalding, blinding tears. In the wildness of our sorrow, Christ, our Mediator, Friend, We are sure will not forsake us, But will love us to the end. 20 Clasped in Arms so strong and loving, As we sail Life's stormy sea, We shall catch, above the conflict, Strains of angel minstrelsy. And, upon our brows, earth weary, Shall celestial breezes blow, While our barks drift on serenely, As the evening shadows glow. Into longed-for, heavenly harbors. Where the ''many mansions" be, — And where we shall share, unburdened, God's own immortality. A IVeminiscence One Sunday evening, late in May, My Love and I, at close of day. Sat by the window in our room. And as we watched the deepening gloom Which followed close on day's decline He placed his tender hand in mine, And gazing down into my face. As close I lay in his embrace, He told me how, in years agone. When he, a bachelor forlorn. Did wander far o'er land and sea. Without one passing thought of me ; How, when he gazed upon those scenes With which historic Europe teems, He oft was haunted by this thought : Where is the maiden, still unsought, With loving hands and tender heart. Who will with me in life take part ; And, by my side, rejoice to share The ills of life which all must bear ? Then back o'er seas again he came, To where the lights of home did flame. Fond friends there were to greet him there. Though still he missed that ''Fairest Fair/* Whom in his dreams he oft did see, Without once recognizing me. Then, soon it came by merest chance. That on my face he oft should glance ; The creature of his dreams he knew. Which caused ere long the ''I love you*' That ever still in human lives Is destined to make maidens wives. So now in loving peace we glide Together down Time's mystic tide; Looking in hope toward that fair clime Where ends forever all my rhyme. 22 Moving For, of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: We're moving again ! After Whiitier. The springtime gladness fills the breast, The birds are on the wing. The violet lifts its perfumed head, All nature seems to sing. But, in my heart, the season's chime Doth find no echo sweet ; 'Tis all because it's moving time. That sighing seems most meet. Before my tired vision flits A woman most forlorn ; The *' backache" wrings her spinal cord — Her frame is bent and worn. In all this diabolic scheme For wearing women out, We'll head the list of cruelties With one I'll speak about. *' House-hunting" is its nom-de-plume^ Its real name — *' distress!" And, of the whole leg-breaking list, None's worse, I must confess. We travel 'round from street to street, Of houses, view a score; While every friend we chance to meet Will give us news of more ! 23 And ojff we trot, by hope inspired, To see if ^Hhis will do"; We climb from bottom to the top Disgusted — glad when through. A *'flat" or two we then inspect, To give variety, And when night comes, we but have reached A full satiety. One house has cabinet mantels fine, But closets — only two ; Another wants a coat of paint, Besides repairs a few. We do not like the neighborhood Of one that's nice inside; And that one over on M street, I, somehow, can't abide! There's one, with plumbing all "au fait/' With decorations fine, With closets large, in every room, Just right for me and mine — But oh, the owner of the house Wants more than we can pay. And though it ''suits us to a T," We've got to answer ''nay." It's bad enough to be "torn up," And, for two months or more. Find nothing where it ought to be, And live on bare cold floor, 24 To find that though we'd just enough Of **real nice things" when straight, "When moving, oh, the worn, old stuff That went through our front gate ! To wear one's self to skin and bone With packing up, and then Unpacking everything we own, And ''set to rights" again, Without this first and awful care, Which comes to *' those who rent," Of hunting up a decent home. That won't take every cent. And if I can but reach that land Of golden glory built — By bearing, patient, all these ills. And living free frora guilt, The greatest charm of that fair realm, Where many mansions be. Will be the home quite free from rent. Which is reserved for me ! Poor me! A True S^weepin^ Story Two brides there were, once on a time, Whose families were friends — Each maid had won a fine young man. Which to this story lends An added interest, though sad It makes the sequel show, While to the prudent, who have thought, It doth with wisdom glow. 25 Now, one sweet bride was versed in much That pleases and delights — She could, with her accomplishments, Illuminate the nights, And thrill her Love's esthetic sense With music's rarest charms — She'd warble like an angel, till He'd clasp her in his arms. But oh, the sadness of it all! The house ne'er felt a broom — And where she trilled, and thrilled her spouse, Was such a dusty room ! In fact, their whole apartment grew So full of dirt and dust. Her husband's love grew cold and died, As one might know it must. And so, in spite of witching ways, Her music and her art. Because she did not wield a broom^ She lost her husband's heart ! The other bride, Christine by name, Just doted on a broom — And never was she happier. Than when she swept a room. Her husband's love just fairly blazed For his clean, tidy wife ! And when he joined her, tired, at night, *' Sweet Home" infused new life 26 Into that weary, care-worn man Who vowed that wedded bliss Depends on housewife's use of broom, Joined with her smile and kiss. So, Newly-Weds, now ponder well The lesson herein taught — If well applied, you'll find, on earthy The Paradise much sought. i\ Xale of Ancient IVome In days rife with legend and classical fable, Ere much of Rome's glory and splendor were gone, There dwelt in the wonderful, seven-hilled city A maiden, now famous in story and song. She claimed no descent from a line that was regal, Or boasted that princes her ancestors were ; Her birth was the humblest in that proud old city. Her fate, full of sadness, our pity must stir. Though humble, this young Roman damsel was fairer Than many a maiden of rich, princely birth, And, growing in favor with all thro' the city. Became highly prized for her beauty and worth. 27 It happened th^t over those Roman dominions A ruler called Claudius then held chief sway; A tyrant he was, of a council of tyrants,— They called them Decemvirs in that distant day. Whenever this Claudius strode through the Forum, With sullen demeanor and lowering glance, The people on all sides did shun his dread presence, And trembling with fear would eye him askance. Beside him, and ever a fitting attendant. Quite greedy and fox-like the vile Marcus stands ; His master's behests, be they ever so bloody. This varlet obeys, and with quite willing hands. It chanced soon, oh woeful and hapless recital, That fair young Virginia, with all her sweet charms. Did win, quite unconscious, the love and atten- tion {The cursed attention that only alarms) Of haughty, tyrannical Appius Claudius, Who, fixed on attaining the end he desired, Now orders the base and obedient Marcus To straightway lay hold on the innocent child. 2S His plea or excuse is that she was his slave, And when she was twelve years old, stolen away, H^ $wears that all persons who venture to thwart him For mercy to Claudius the tyrant shall pray. Behold, now, how over those neighboring moun- tains. Where, in that dim distance the great gods did dwell. The sunlight of morning is breaking and flashing, And Creation's chorus night's hush doth dispel. The streets of the city with life now are teeming ; The buyers and sellers all bustling and keen ; The shops shining gayly with bright, old-time fabrics, And all Rome's enchantments enliven the scene. There, see young Virginia, how blithely she's smiling ! And fairer than flowers in blossoming May, With tablets and satchel to school she is bounding. Ah, fair young Virginia ! so happy to-day ! Now look! past the Forum how gayly she's tripping. So wholly unconscious of Fate's lurking harm, When forth strides the varlet, the serpent4ike Marcus, Who, black-browed and dreadful, is seizing her arm. 29 The startled young maiden with fright now is maddened, And struggUng with vigor endeavors to flee; Her screams, wild and piteous, arouse all the people, Who, justly indignant, to aid her agree. But, oh, saddest fortune, relentless and cruel. From that iron grasp she can never escape; She is hurried with force toward that despotic ruler, Who seems like a fiend, though he bears human shape. Ah, woe for the rights of the plebeian Romans! Ah, woe for the sanctity of their home lives, When lords such as this possess power un- bounded. To blight and to ruin their daughters and wives. Virginia's sire, though of birth very humble, A soldier has proved himself, quite brave and true; And he, viewing these acts, soon fathoms the baseness, And straightway determines what course to pursue. Quick grasping from butcher's block there near the Forum, A weapon that for use is kept sharp and keen, Virginius swears that from such dreadful fortune, That knife her sweet youth forever shall screen. 30 So, with a grave plea to the much hated Claudius, For only a few words of final farewell, He draws her aside, and in accents most tender, Doth whisper wild words that but prove her death knell. ** Adieu, oh, my darling, my own, precious daughter ! Adieu now, forever!" the sad father cried, '*I11 never more see thee, when daylight is wan- ing. Come bounding to meet me and walk by my side. **And home, which thy gladness has ever so brightened, And which by thy goodness was made paradise, Will ever, for want of that sweet grace and presence, Grow tomb-like with stillness and wear other guise. ** Sweet daughter ! I would have thee know that I love thee ! And that with a strength that thou never shalt see. Thus only, from anguish and from nameless evil, Can I hope, my darling, to e'er set thee free!" With these words, Virginius, the steel high uplifted, Smote quickly the maiden, so lately his pride; One sob, long and startled, with gushing of life- blood, And fair young Virginia lies dead by his side. 31 Then, over the Romans, in that crowded Forum, A stillness fell, deathlike, and all held their breath 'Til out spake Virginius, in accents of thunder, Arousing the people to vengeance and death. They soon rallied round him, all ready for action, For well were they pleased with this chance to avenge, And ere long, Rome's summits, the banks of the Tiber, Resounded with war's din and cries of revenge. The Claudian tyrant, a consummate coward, With stones flying round, shook with fear, crouched and plead. With clients and lictors to save him from stoning And death, which they all knew he'd just cause to dread. But none could be found who were willing to save him. And wilder and faster the rough missiles sped, 'Til freedom from tyranny throbbed through Rome's pulses. And the soul of her despot to judgment had fled. 32 An Invocation and -A. Wail O Spring, O bonnie Spring, how soon Wilt thou my senses greet ? Fm longing for thy balmy airs And for thy perfumes sweet. I'm tired of grim old Winter's sway. He's ruled us long enough; Two months ago I didn't mind His tricks, but now they're tough! His chilling blasts and foggy rains All fleshly ills increase ; While mind and temper, wearied out. Can only cry, ''Pray, cease!" I want the Springtime's warmth and bloom Our earth to dominate ; I want to wear my new Spring suit, — Don't see how I can wait. So come, fair Spring, and quicken life In bush and bird and tree ! And e'en my heart shall feel the thrill Of Nature's melody! S3 SKaKespeare In days of great Queen Bess, Earth's master minds did bless The world with light ; We see Lord Bacon there, Spenser, Ben Jonson *'rare," With men whose names outwear Oblivion's night. But like the god of day. Shining with steady ray. Great Shakespeare gleams ; His words our pulses thrill. He leads us where he will. Our minds his glories fill With radiant beams. If we for knowledge seek, A fairy-land bespeak Of classic lore ; If history's page we'd scan. All science known to man. Since earth or time began. Read Shakespeare o'er. If vast humanity Our study chance to be, Its weakness, power, No teacher born of men Has e'er so deep a ken, Or wields with facile pen Diviner dower. 34 O grandest bard of time, Thy thought and art sublime We would extol ! Far down the ages dim, The world shall speak of him, The Seer, whose pen did limn The human soul. And, like to God's great Book, Where oft we come to look For light in gloom, Through this, earth's gifted son. May some bright hours be won. Some truths, ere life is done. Our path illume. Then, thanks to God above. Who, in His thoughtful love, Framed such a soul ; To Him our thanks are due. To Him our homage true We yield with pledges new To win Heaven's goal. Merrie England O merrie England that the poets sing ! What visions spring Of mailed knight, and joust and tournament! Fair queens of love and kings of chivalry! Arthur the Good, Alfred the Great, The bold, romantic outlaw, Robin Hood, With all his merry men Who dwelt, in that wild age, in old Sherwood! 35 Unhappy England, ruled by weakling kings! How Shakespeare brings Before our eyes, in rarest guise, her woe, When John usurps, and Richard Second wanes ! When, like a flood, For thirty years, The land was deluged with her noblest blood With Henry Sixth as king And ''Maid of Orleans'" life nipped in the bud! O bloody England of the histories! What mysteries, Wild, weird, and overflowing with cruel hate, Conceived were by brains o'ertopped with crowns. O Richard Third And Henry Eighth, What deeds were done at your imperial word, What black and hellish deeds To indignation all our hearts have stirred. O noble England of the later time ! What rhythmic rhyme Can half disclose to us the sterling worth Of English laws and her supremacy. To that great Queen Elizabeth, We bow the head, with admiration keen, But to Victoria We give our love, and keep her memory green. 36 Victorious England of the grand To-day ! Mighty her sway ! Through the long vista of her passing years, From reign to reign, 'til Edward Seventh ap- pears. Her royal right Unchallenged goes, To win the guerdon of a nation's might. Where'er her banner waves, There dwells fair justice as its beacon-light. O glorious England in the realm of mind ! For there we find Great seers and masters that have ruled the world. Poets whose songs spell immortality — The Brownings rare, Lord Tennyson, Shakespeare, the fairest of the kingly fair, With many great and good Who, rightfully, James' crowned garland wear. This tribute to the land from which we sprang, When once there rang O'er land and sea the cry of Liberty, Is paid by one who better loves her own Anointed land. Whose growing power The wonder of the world does now command. In our America We plainly see Jehovah's guiding hand. 37 And when the Nations of the world shall wait, In solemn state, The final sentence of the Judge supreme, Where all earth's deeds shall find their recom- pense For victories won O'er human wrong, For guiding to the cross of God's dear Son, England-America Shall win the jeweled crown, and God's *'well done!" 38 Spring, Sxjmmer, Axitvimn, and Love Prologue *' Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight ! Make me a girl again, just for tonight!'' Down through the vistas of life's backward track, O let me wander, and I will bring back Memories so precious, so pure and so fair, 'Twill brighten life's west, and banish the care. Time! Old Time! hoary -headed, relentless and grim, Though, with your wild mists, my eyes have grown dim. If thou wilt turn back some leaves from life's book, And on those bright pages allow me to look, My vision will clear with the strength of youth, While I read a sweet story of girlhood and truth. Though tired my feet with the rough, stony road O'er which thou hast led, bearing many a load, If, over the smoothness of youth's sunny way, 1 may but just loiter one long, happy day, Footsore and weary no longer I'll be, With Spring's trilling gladness enfolding me ! 39 PART FIRST How throb the slow pulses At simply the mention Of Jersey's fair town, Historic old Trenton ! What visions of heroes, Of warfare and victory, Thrill souls patriotic, And live in the memory ! Quite late in the sixties. One first of September, Two jolly maids met, — How well I remember ! Intent upon learning The wisdom of sages, Also how best to teach Youths of all ages. In said town of Trenton They entered the *' Normal/' Their acquaintance at first Being simply quite formal, But being companions Through school lights and shadows, Both studying bravely And sharing their sorrows. They grew close together In love and in learning. Vying each with the other, And for fame calmly yearning. 40 What sparring ! What cramming ! What follies ! What capers ! What true, steady striving Gleam forth through Time's vapors. Ah, yet while I scan them, Youth's fair mountain ranges, How clear glows her image Through all of their changes ! But girlhood won't linger. Though woo her we may, With laughter and singing. All through life's May day! And Huldah and Jennie, In due time, with honor Did win graduation, Each bearing upon her Bright mem'ries and tender Of halcyon school days, While tearfully parting, To wend each her own ways. Then came the teaching. The trials, the hard test. While giving to others Their trained minds' very best. They spanked 'em and taught 'em And trained 'em aright, Those poor, naughty urchins Who dwelt in their sight. 41 And though they were parted, These two schoolmates loving, On friendship's pure altar They kept the flame burning. Dear letters ! those rich links That chain souls together. And grant them sweet converse Through fair or foul weather. But one day maid Huldah, While walking demurely The old beaten path She thought she trod surely, 'Gan hearing love songs In the trees overhead, While golden the grass grew Beneath her light tread. Her heart, full of mu§ic, Seemed bursting for joy, And life, late a sad thing, Now seemed a fair toy. Dear girl, she had found it, — Life's rarest sweet blessing! Then, modest, her lips moved. The secret confessing. PART SECOND When Autumn's red splendor Flamed over the Earth, To witness the bridal And honor its worth, 42 With goldenrod dancing And asters in bloom, And God's golden sunlight Dispelling all gloom, — This maid and her lover (A nobleman rare) Joined hands at the altar, And plighted troth there. Ah, who minds life's burdens With such hidden sweetness ! *' Two souls with but one thought" Assures life's completeness. PART THIRD Above this world's glories, Successes and gains, Above Nature's freshness and bloom. Springs Love, the immortal, The essence of life. Lone victor o'er death and the tomb. Oh, whether two souls In the May-morn of life, 'Neath Love's brooding wings nestle warm, Or whether shines brightly The love-light of friends, Triumphant above every storm, Or whether in God's heart Our quick pulses beat, And He holds the treasure secure. Love, white- winged, resplendent, Evangel of light, The hope of the world, shall endure! 43 PART FOURTH The fragrant years, they come and they go, The mists and the shadows between ; Though sorrow visits their treasured home, They keep their hearts' memories green. For Spring cannot last, though ever so fair. The flowers will wither and die. And summer's verdure must yield to blight. And leaden will grow the bright sky. But sunshine would pall were there never a cloud, And no matter how dismal the day, We are always sure that back of the dark Hides the brightness of Hope's silver ray. So here we have come to greet them to-night ; For, married for twenty-five years. They think they've a right to feel jolly and bright. No room for remorse or for tears. And with silver stars shining o'erhead, The silver streaks decking their crowns. The silver moon sparkling as bright as of yore, Unheeding the world's smiles or frowns. Our lovers, their steps not halting or slow. Are trudging full bravely the road Which slopes toward the sunset, the goal, the prize ! The pathway which leads up to God ! 44 A, CHristmas Ode (Written by request, and recited by the children at Simpson M. E. Church, Dec, 1888. Each child wore the letter which began his or her stanza.) Many are the merry days That dawn throughout the year, But none can thrill the children's hearts Like Christmas, with its cheer. Every eye with gladness beams, And every face grows bright. At thought of dear old Santa Claus, Who comes at dead of night. Rattling down our chimneys. With toys upon his back. For every boy and girl in town. Remembered in his pack. Remembering all the pleasure Of Christmas times gone by. And all the happy, golden hours, Of days that are more nigh, You'll join me in saluting This grand old Christmastide, While of its holier meaning. She'll speak, who's by my side. 45 Christ, our Lord, the fairest gift, To any mortal given. So many years ago to-night. Came down to earth, from Heaven. He came, but as a little child, In lowly manger laid ; But rich, wise men did come from far, And there great homage paid. Rich gifts before him there they laid, And at his baby feet They knelt, and worshiped worthily The King they'd come to greet. In Heaven's dome they'd read the sign That God to them had given, And Bethlehem's star did guide from far, To Bethlehem's King of Heaven. So strange it seems, that in such place. And in that infant child, Should center such a royal hope. For all with sin defiled. Thus 'tis to all who love His name, A golden, gracious time; And dearer gift than all beside. And happier, gladder chime May come to us, and make us blest. If we but ask Him in, To dwell with us, and care for us. And free us from all sin. 46 As in that distant, dim, old time, The wise men from afar Sought Christ, with gifts so rich and rare, Led only by a star, So we, this holy Christmas day, This holy Christ will seek, And offer Him our Christmas gifts. These lives, these hearts, made meek. Then, Merry Christmas to you all. Dear friends, now gathered here! And may we all, when life is done, Up there, with Him, appear. -A. Valentine *Mong all the charming folks I know, There's only one that could bestow The love for which I hanker so. The heart which here I send to you Is large and perfect, leal and true. It acheth now with longings great To find a happy household mate. The meaning of the pansy sweet Will crown my life if thou but meet. Halfway, my tender, willing feet. Say "yes" right quick, and we shall feel Like dancing a Virginia Reel. 47 THe City Streets I am sitting by my window, On the corner of the street, Watching throngs of restless people Going by with busy feet. Now there comes the man of business. And a lawyer, I surmise. By the cunning, treacherous twinkle Visible in both his eyes. Right behind him, walking briskly, With a book beneath his arm, Comes an ^sculapian student With no thought of doing harm, As his rich imagination. Reveling in prospects bright. Leads him through enchanted chambers Lined with sick-beds ; — pleasing sight ! But the women ! Oh the women ! With their flounces and their *' humps' High-heeled gaiters, tinkling ear-drops, And a host of nameless *' trumps,'* How they mince and flirt and simper. As they pass some foppish beau; 'Tis a matter now for wonder What they see to chaim them so! 48 Ah, the women, ah, the women! 'Tis a melancholy fact That the ''glorious, heavenly creatures," Full of sweetness, and all that, Have forgotten their high mission Which the Blessed Saviour taught, That of doing deeds of goodness. All with holy kindness fraught. Next I see a tipsy traveler. Countenance devoid of wit, Crazed condition of the lamp-post Causes him to get a **hit. '* Close beside him, fit companion. Stalks, I deem, the man of crime; Vilest, too, of all the persons Pictured in this simple rhyme. If he thinks to escape from justice, He must don a different face. For the restless, wicked glitter Of his eyes but courts disgrace. And his very walk and bearin Intimate with telling force Fearful tales of wreck and ruin. And a hell ward speeding course. Ah, how raany wrecked and lost ones Jostle through our thoroughfares, Bearing in their hearts dark burdens, Sheltering demons unawares. X 49 Then, too, there are Sorrow's children, Those whose lives are sad and lone, Proud ambitions, Hope's fair visions, Life's sweet dreamings, — all are done. So that, now, with patient longing, They are watching on the strand, For the grim, yet welcome boatman From the sweet and far-off land. True it is that all earth's children Are not lost to sin and woe. For some buds from heavenly bowers Drop, and blossom here below. Helen *'I11, very ill, " they told me; yet at first No fear of evil seemed to chill my breast ; Surprised and anxious, I could only speak Of how she looked when but two days before Her presence like the sunshine filled the room, For standing here in all her stately growth, Incarnate health and vigor — all her face Aglow with animation, e'en to me She ne'er had seemed so beautiful before. All this I said, and still would they repeat How ill she was — how very ill — At last A sick'ning dread came o'er me, and I asked, **Is there no hope?" nor needed a reply. For then the truth with all its crushing force Broke full upon me, and *' Not dead ! " I cried, * * Not dead ! Our Helen ! " In one bitter wail, 50 ''I cannot bear it." But it was even so. They told me all, — how even as she wished, The summons to the unknown spirit land Had come to her — no wasting sickness laid Its blighting hand upon that radiant brow. But suddenly the chords of life had snapped. And all unselfish to its latest throb, The strength of that most noble heart gave out. The days went by. As someone in a dream, I heard them speak of "Helen's funeral.'' I heard them say how beautiful she looked. Unaltered save the pallor of the face. So calm and smiling. Still the days went by, And days seemed weeks, and weeks long, weary months, To one imprisoned in a single room With such a heartache. I but rarely wept, I know not what I thought, nor how I felt! For thought and feeling both seemed paralyzed. 'Tis over now. Once more with faltering steps IVe climbed the stairway leading to her room. How eagerly I mounted it before! Nor ever lover more content than I To hear her ' ' always welcome ! ' ' better still To read the welcome in those beauteous eyes So full of tenderness — But now — to sit Without her in the dear familiar room So full of pleasant memories ; to see Her pictures on the wall, her favorite books. Her pretty knickknacks scattered all around, 51 To see her very plants, poor, fragile things, Rejoicing in the sun, and then to think It shines upon her grave — Thou, God of love, Who lent me for a season all the joy Of such companionship, Thou wilt forgive If o'er my loss too bitterly I grieve In feeling I shall never know again So rare a friendship. She had done her work, Brave, helpful spirit! Oh, how many lives Her thoughtful kindness brightened; who shall say What breadth of sympathy was hers. She knew No bigotry of race, no creed, — to her All men were brothers, and to all alike Whatever their need, she sought to minister, In pure unselfishness, — thus ever bore A multitude of burdens not her own, And spent herself for others day by day, Unwearied in well-doing to the end. But if by some who never saw her face Her memory is cherished, what of those Whose happy privilege it was to stand Within the inner circle of her life, To hold familiar converse all the while With that true, generous nature, and enjoy That precious intercourse of kindred thoughts And hopes and feelings, by which human hearts Are knit together. Rare and noble friend! Bright, genial Helen! though my tears will fall, To think that nevermore upon this earth ril hear thy cheery accents, yet, my Love, I cannot speak of thee as dead. I try To feel that thou wert overburdened here, 52 And ofttimes weary, and art now at rest. Great, earnest soul, so full of lofty aims And generous impulses, to whom this life Was no light drama, but a problem fraught With countless mysteries of weal and woe, I fain would think that in some other sphere Of purer happiness thou dwellest now. Thy yearnings satisfied, thy questions solved, In sweet reunion with those blessed ones Who went before thee. There we too shall meet, For e'en that thou hast lived is one more proof Of our sure, glorious immortality. Life and Love Of all the fair themes that the poets love, There never was one more dear Than the well-worn theme of the glad Spring- time, With its warm new life and its cheer. Our Lowell has told us in strains so sweet That they've echoed all over the world, That in Spring we can hear old earth's heart beat, — While her blossoming banner's unfurled. And, through the broad realm where our fancies rove, The most cherished nooks, I ween, Are those where the blossoms and birdlings and flowers Of earth's happy Springtide are seen. 53 But hark ! from the deeps of the poet's heaven, A voice thrills the amber space, — And Longfellow, sainted, revered, beloved, Calls to us with all his sweet grace, And tells us that Nature, though beautiful still In shadows or blossoming smiles. Is not the great theme of our loftiest thought, Though witching and luring her wiles. He says that our own lives are more wonderful Than bird-life, or moonlight, or flowers — And to human heart-life, its hopes, pangs, and loves. Should be given our most thoughtful hours. Now, 'minding us ever of this bard's advice. Of what phase of life shall we sing? What thrill of the heart-strings is dearest to us, And chimes best with this tune of earth's Spring ? The Spring chimes re-echo the songs in their hearts. The birds and the blossoms are mating. And Nature, our lovers, all God-given life. From the May-morn their happiness dating. Oh, in yonder fair land where the storms never blow, Where Springtime and Summer shall reign. Where flowers perennial fleck Heaven's fields, And whose music holds no minor strain, 54 The heart-throbs of life, all its joys, all its griefs, Shall blend in one rapturous song, — To Him who hath made us and given us Love, To Him shall the glory belong ! His Valentine I hear that St. Valentine, tender old saint, Has started again on his round, And that gallant lovers and love-longing maids Through all this wide country abound. I don't know how old the dear creature must be Before he gives up in disgust, But all who are tender and kindly and true Will be loved till they turn into dust. The gray hairs that steal through the dark, flowing locks. For the head form a beautiful crown, And, o'er-topping a brain filled with pure, holy thoughts. Is richer by far than the brown. Which many fair maidens, full selfish and proud, Delight in and tend with such care. Whose brains teem with nothing but silly, vain thoughts. And to whom a kind impulse is rare. You may be rheumatic, asthmatic, and weak. Your step may have lost all its grace. Your eye may not sparkle with that old-time gleam. But still in my heart you've a place. 55 And when the blest country of immortal youth Bursts full on your earth-wearied gaze, The sweetness, the freshness, the fairness of Life Will on you with full glory blaze. And all your good, noble, and generous thoughts, Your kind deeds performed here below, Will weave for you there in that recompense land A valentine, gorgeous, I know. But, now, ere you reach that sweet, ecstatic state. While Cupid flies fast through the air, I^want you to know that I love you, my sweet, And choose you for my ''Fairest Fair*'! j\ Season's Revie-w Oh, here's to Shakespeare and his work! To lords and ladies fair ! To witches gaunt and elfish sprites ! To all his heroes rare ! His ** Dream of a Midsummer's Night,'* With fairies' witching wiles, Its human loves and odd mischance, Its agonies and smiles, We've reveled in, and made our own; Have worshiped at the shrine Of Venus and her winged boy. Whose charms we own divine. 56 And Hamlet, melancholy Prince, With comely, thoughtful brow, We've followed through his ghostly woes, And vainly wondered how The mystery might be explained, And poor Ophelia's fate Be reconciled with Hamlet's love. Which he avowed, too late ! Then came Coriolanus bold, With proud, unbending soul ! His martial glories, lordly mien, His lack of self-control, — His tenderness for family. His friendships and his hate, Volumnia's strong character, Her mother's love, its fate, — Virgilia's sweet gentleness. And well-nigh silent woe, — The commons' vast ingratitude, The Tribunes' cruel blow Of banishment, and his revenge, His sacrifice at last. Have filled us with the mystic charm Of that dim, distant past. But, oh, the weird mythologies, Of that old heathen time, That thrill us with their sweet romance, Illuminate the rhyme, 57 And make the deeds of Jupiter In old Imperial Rome As real to us as many a tale Of country and of home. Besides all this, we've gleaned in fields Of richest minstrelsy ! Of wisdom's rarest pearls of truth, Of Nature's mystery! And so, with hearts and minds aflame With veneration true, For this, the Majesty of bards, — We pledge to him anew ! And through the summer soon to dawn, Where'er our steps may lead, By mountain side, through field or town, Our minds on these shall feed. We'll carry with us all we've learned, In this our *' Jove's own book"; And, well applied by these bright souls, 'Twill help our skyward look Towards our Father, who for us Didst form that wondrous mind ! Whom not to love, thank, and adore Would prove us wholly blind. And now, farewell, my charming friends! God bless you, one and all! And greatest joy 'twill bring to me To greet you in the fall ! 58 Vessie Ah, the prattling tongue is silent that we loved so much to hear, And the bright blue eyes have faded, once so full of sunny cheer, Now the fair, sweet hands are folded on the little loving breast. And the dimpled feet lie quiet as they take their last sad rest. On our lives a shadow's fallen, to our hearts a blight has come, For, through memory's voiceless chambers, flits a form once loved and known. And across the shattered harp-strings of our sad and longing souls Come the faint and distant echoes of a mournful bell that tolls. And the slow and measured beating of that melancholy bell. Over all the cherished dreamings for our darling, tells the knell; For we'd hoped to see him fighting on the battle- fields of earth. Winning never-fading laurels, conquering sin with truth and worth. Yet we know that in that warfare with a world of sin and woe. Many a wound and scar and heartache, many a sorrow must be known 59 Ere the weary siege is ended, and the laurels fair are won That will in the golden city merit God's sweet boon, *' Well done!" But those bitter, ceaseless conflicts cannot reach our darling now, Where Heaven's glory, pure and radiant, rests upon his angel brow; Where his precious, dimpled fingers music wake o'er golden wire. While the childish voice of sweetness mingles with the cherub choir. Ah, could Heaven's glimmering portal open to our earth-born gaze. Could we catch one witching whisper floating down through golden haze. We would know what gladsome wonder, child- ish glee, and rapture bright Flood the soul of little Vessie in that wondrous realm of light. Then we will no longer mourn him, nor the sunlit past recall, Though the busy feet may never trip along the lonely hall ; Though to us the wandering breezes ne'er again may bear the tone Of the merry, ringing laughter, like sweet bells of childhood's own. 60 And, as onward still we journey, and the swift years come and go, On a more celestial current shall our inner beings flow Till the wear and heat and sorrow of our lives are safely passed, When we'll clasp our sainted ''Vessie" in the sweet home-land at last. Valentine lady fair. With dark brown hair. And eyes that correspond in hue, The time is come When to be dumb Concerning all these charms in you Would be most strange. For in this age Of verse and card and valentine, Tis quite *Hhe thing'' At times to sing. And laud such virtues as are thine. Your merit great 1 cannot state. 'Tis far beyond my humble ken; But this I know, I love you so, I could not stay my modest pen. 6i Therefore, my '*dove/' My sweetest love, Accept, I pray, this tribute slight. And do not try My name to spy, For I should blush if brought to light. Just so, dear friend. E'en to the end, Ne'er doubting that thy heart is mine, Now shall I straight. In glad estate. E'en send this humble valentine. Love's Voyage Shall we embark on the sea of life. You and I together? Will you say you'll be my little wife. And trust me altogether? Shall we go aboard the little boat And sail toward a beautiful clime? Or shall we sometimes sit and float. And have a jolly time? They say the sea is sometimes rough. And wintry is the weather. The skies grow dark, and ''Times" get tough, And it's miserable altogether. But it's lots more fun to dare and do, Than to stand and be filled with longing, For hearts are brave when years are few. And Hope shines bright in the morning. 62 And if the stormy winds do blow, And threaten to upset us, 'Twill make us strong to pull and row, And Hope shall not forsake us. And then what fun 'twill be to watch The evening shadows lengthen. And heavenly breezes try to catch, That will our faint hearts strengthen. And when the golden shore looms up, Before our raptured vision. We shall have quafifed life's flowing cup, And thus fulfilled our mission. Cast TKy Burden on tKe Lord *'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He will sustain thee." ** Trust ye in the Lord forever, for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength. ** Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will direct thy paths." A message sweet from Him who died for you ! Some loving words from Him, the leal and true; Some promises from Him whose word is sure, — The changeless One, whose love and care endure. Oh, sweeter than the ''music of the spheres," Or sweetest strain e'er heard by mortal ears. Come floating through the tuned and listening soul. These witching words that make the spirit whole. 63 Oh, precious burdened one, your load lay down At His dear feet, who wears a kingly crown. Your burden's heavy, but your King is strong, And He will bear both you and it along The fairest path your feet have ever trod. Since on it shines the light of ** Trust in God.'* If you no burden had, you could not know The bliss He's only waiting to bestow. And oft 'mid scenes as dark as deepest night, When comes to harassed souls no ray of light. To them who claim His promises of might, God's sovereign power to help will set things right. So, cast thy burden on thy loving Lord, And grasp fulfilment of His promised word, In sweetest comfort, peace, and blessed rest, With full assurance that His ways are best. Written for Dr. J. Freeman Atwood, the brother of the author, at the beginning of his fatal illness. SHe HatK Done WKat SKe Could *'She hath done what she could," said the Master — No flattering words half so meet ! No trait of the human so perfect. And none merits blessing more sweet. 64 Lord, I, too, am a woman, — and weary; Fve ''done what I could," and I pray In Thy dear arms may I, finding shelter. Watch the Dawn of Eternity's Day! 65 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 Preservationlechnologie: A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIG 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 ^^*^^' ■^v. '■■■■"■ ':"-;r.'" 1: ;i*flv'