LANDSCAPES and WATERSCAPES By LOTTIE SCHOOLCRAFT FELTER t: \<\bt. ^1 ..'Yof GONGHESB Two Oopies Received DEC 22 1SC3 Copyright Entry JUSS ^ XXc, -No. COPY #. Copyright, 1908 By LOTTIE SCHOOLCRAFT FELTER PRESS OF CANON CITY, COLO., RECORD DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTER NELDA WHO HAS HELPED TO MAKE "Life worth living And Love worth giving. " Index. Don't Wait 7 A Dream Picture 8 Dot. Babe of Mine 10 The Abandoned Camp 11 Worth While 16 Our Level 17 Rushing Along 18 Our Uncle Ike 21 In the Royal Gorge 24 The Perfect Prayer 26 Phosphoresence 29 Mind Yo' Mammy 30 The Cry of the Poor 31 The Season i, . . . 33 A Pathway 34 I Wish I'd Gone to Bed 36 Cure the Blues 39 If I Had Known 41 Her Dilemma 43 Content 45 His Request 47 Imogene 49 At the Mourner's Bench 51 Which One Shall It Be 52 Power 54 A Boy's Fun 55 The Sigh of the Civilized Navajo 61 Let the Children Play 90 Deacon Harvey and His Dream 93 Struggles 99 Keep Up Courage Jim 101 Fossil 104 Submission 105 Waiting 106 Better Day Ahead 108 Sympathy 110 Misunderstood 112 Our Country 113 Mercies 115 Art 116 Stimulation 117 A Problem 119 Don't Wait. Don't wait until your head be garlanded With hoariness — your steps infirm have grown, And then alas! awaken to the truth That life's great opportunities have flown. Don't wait until the coffin's lid has closed Upon the childish, dear, angelic brow, Ere you caress, press closely to your heart And utter loving words; perform it now. Don't wait until the multitudes admire, And unassumingly with pride proclaim The brilliant genius of some fellow man Acknowledge him and help create his fame. Don't wait until the autumn leaves have left The tree forlorn to wither on the gound, And then appreciate the hours of rest Which peacefully within its shade you found. Don't wait until your brother sinks in shame Past all redemption, wallowing in sin; Keep him from falling, words of friendship speak, Approach him while there's manhood yet within. Don't wait until your best activities Are spent, and disappointments come apace, Then but to fling the remanant of your days Disgracefully into your Maker's face. A Dream Picture. It was early haying time, when the clover smelled so sweet; And the blossoms made it seem that heaven was down about our feet; And the green around about us made our hearts within us glad; As we drove the lazy cows to pasture, Oh, what fun we had! Then the birdies yearly held, 'Old Settlers' meetings in the trees, And the leaves and branches echoed forth their merry jubilees, Till the woods were all alive; and they seemed merrier that we, An audience, so harmlessly enjoyed their company. Then the bitter windfalls, dropping prematurely from the bough, Tasted sweeter to our palate, than the choicest Pippin now. And the branch of oak or hickory, on which we sat astride, Was a richly cushioned carriage, in which we as kings did ride, In fancy, through the tree tops, o'er all nature holding sway, Just as some would rule the hearts they come in contact with today. Those kaleidoscopic peepshows, glass, with flowers in between, Were fairer to our vision than the finest painted scene. Our sleep beneath the rafters, in the happy days of old, Was sweet, while glints of morning sunshine amber, red and gold, Stole through the time stained shingles, in gleames about our beds, While plans of youthful greatness flitted through our youthful heads. Juvenile imagination, spread her charm upon the whole; Made the bitter fruit taste sweeter, stirred emotions in the soul. Realization drowns the fancy, else we might live on always Hoping, dreaming, blowing bubbles, as we did in childhood days. 10 Dot Babe of Mine. And when dot babe he smiles so sweet, And dimples so from head to feet. And laughs clear down into his thumbs Den vat you tink? Mine frau she comes And says "Hans, only come and see How much dot babe resembles me. The darling, darling little elf! He's the very image of myself!" But ven dot babe he seems possessed, And howls and howls his level best, And colors like a Wienerwurst; And frightens us — we're sure he'll burst — And screams and paws the air like mad; And throws himself (Oh he's so bad!) Then frau she says, "Look quick, Hans, do, How much dot babe resembles you!" 11 The Abandoned Camp. You wish to view the last remains of a mortality? To ^yonder lone deserted camp then please accom- pany me. Prospectors swore, by heaven, they'd struck an ever- lasting vein — A living fount that would endure as long as stars remain. But now the lights have disappeared and all is desolate And dark, where once the children sang and danced, with merry prate, Around the blazing hearthstone fire whose lights and shadows played Upon the wall so fairy like, wild shouts and laughter made The evening air at sunset ring with youthful life, which then Annoyed us so we sought to hush. O for those shouts again, To wake to life this sepulchre! O, for the dizzy din, The urchins' cry, the bark of dogs, to breathe new life within! 12 Could we have seen, as Calvin claims, his maker only can, The end from the beginning, (but that's forbidden man) We might thereby have spared ourselves much trouble and expense, By hiding not within the ground our talents, pounds and pence. Those empty, cheerless windows, like hollow sad- dened eyes, Which gleam at us reproachfully, but seem to em- phasize The adage old but true, "There's much in life is spent for naught." Experience is often at a double premium bought. Once let a golden fever rage — there's no immunity — The whole creation's out to catch this opportunity. And, judging from the prospect holes spread here and there around, As though a gopher colony had homesteaded the ground, 'Twould seem that no one loses aim, like he who's hunting ore, The oftener he loses only crazes him the more. 13 But then, to take another view, though it's a game of chance, Some one must do the guessing, in order to advance; For richest veins lie buried deep, and he who finds must seek For wealth of Anaconda, Creed, Miaz or Cripple Creek. Those 'empty stores, which glittered once, stand mockingly and grin; Pulsation gone, their lives ebbed out, and windows battered in. Pray Where's the elf that can desist from slinging missies through A ghoulish, unused window pane? It's natural as for you, When a grassy, velvet, lawn spreads out before you as you pass, With flowers so sweet and fragrant, and a sign, "Keep off the Grass," To itch and ache desparingly, to just get down and roll And sprawl and toss and tumble there regardless of the toll. The coiiaoernation and dismay (of course 'twas laid to luck) Which seized that crew, when it w^" learned the bottom had been struck! 14 A few had felt forebodings queer of a financial crash, And had gathered up their personals and turned them into cash; For the horseshoe would come tumbling from its- place above the door; The sky appeared blood red at night with many omens more; But the many had invested every dollar they were worth ; Their hopes, their aims and incomes now lie buried in the earth. And the beaten path extending from the shafting to the town, O'er which the men with dinner pails at night came hurrying down, Looks lonely and forosaken and the grass begins to creep, Concealing half the footpath ('tis enough to make one weep.) Twice scared seemed the tie which bound this hardy mining crew; They shard each others pleasures, crude and sorrows not a few. In sickness or misfortune dire each brother lent a hand; But now they're scattered far and wide all o'er this western land. 15 The gloom of death falls over me; the scene is hopeless quiet; I'll wander back to living lands and drive it from my sight. And bequeath the worthless title to, perhaps the rightful heirs; The wolves and mountain lions may reclaim it now «. as theirs. 16 Worth While. To have a friend whose heart is true, Who thoroughly believes in you, Though seldom outward word be spoken, (Silence is oft' a friendly token) Makes life worth living And love worth giving. To know a spirit touches mine, To feel soft baby arms entwine About my neck, with head close pressed In trustfulness against my breast, Makes life worth living And love worth giving. But to have felt love's thrilling dart, When wooed and won by other heart, — Though intervening years there be — Surely the blissful memory Makes life worth living And love worth giving. 17 Our Level. We stand on the threshold of fame With the latch almost raised in our fingers, (Ah that fatal almost! we exclaim) But fear irresistibly lingers And points out a happier way. One moment we hesitate whether To refuse or accept, then away We and failure saunter together. Great fortunes lie just within touch, And urge with their cry "Now or Never!" But doubt draws us back in its clutch, And fortune has vanished forever. And were they so near when withdrawn These objects of sumptuous plunder? Would not the same doubt later on, Have caused us to waver we wonder? Though 'tis hard to acknowledge 'tis so, Perhaps we are filling, the places Not many gradations below The one our efficiency graces; Or firmly our wills would protest Till we severed these bonds that chagrin us; 'Tis by doing we surely attest There is greatness of spirit within us. 18 Rushing Along. Out from our babyhood's playthings and toys — Light little sorrows and light little joys — Sorrows that cause us one moment to weep, Next, but forgotten in babyland sleep; , Joys that soon pass in the life just begun, Cooings and kisses and froliesom fun. Thus we pass out from our babyhood days, Into our girlhood's more serious ways. Troubles that seem later on only slight, Gloomy appear as the shadows of night. Slights from some schoolfellow thoughtless and vain, It seems that we'd never forgive him again; Aches that impatience says never will end Broken affections that never will mend; Yes. but they do very shortly; and soon All is as clear as the sunshine at noon. Troubles and slights in a day have all vanished Aches are forgotten and jealousies banished. Joy rushes in, and what equals the joy Of youth bubbling over in girl or in boy? Catching the bird's sweetest music of heaven, Rambling in meadows from morning till even. Later along and a new kind of pleasure Fills us and thrills us, Oh joy beyond measure! Waiting in hopefulness now for a lover, Heaven lies wrapped in a four leafed clover; 19 Moonlight and stars whisper tales in the ear Only for me and one other to hear. Coals in the grate tell a wonderful tale Of castles and fortunes that never shall fail. Thus we emerge from our sweet vision days Into our womanhood's practical ways. Day dreams are realized, visions fulfilled, Not airy castles but homes now to build. Friendships so firm that nothing can sever; Hatreds so bitter they rankle forever, Leaving their impress, life's beauty to mar In wounds that forever must leave a deep scar. Patience eternal now helps us endure Illness of spirit no doctor can cure. Fancies have flown from the red coals of fire, Now it is only the cheer we admire. Moonlight and stars are effects of a cause Found in astronomy's natural laws; Not in possession of lover or king, Fairy, hobgoblin or that sort of thing. Love in reality reigneth supreme Only so different from that of our dream. Duties not numbered on earth are begun — Stop to look back and old age rushes on. Out from our womanhood's practical ways Into old age with its fast fleeting days. Living again over what we have been, Happiness woven in stretches between; Memory friends oft' revisit again, The new only seek our acquaintance in vain. Hanpy the one who can sweetly recall 20 Memories of peace and good will towards all. Doing the odds and the ends here and there Lightening for others their burdens of care; Willing if need be to lay this life down, Looking ahead to a heaven and crown. Thus we pass out; our existence is o'er, Save by a few, we're remembered no more. Our places are filled by the mad, anxious throng Hurrying, scurrying, rushing along . 21 Our Uncle Ike. Our uncle Ike's the funniest fellow, His beard's a sort of yellow-dog yellow; The hairs are thin and strewed about, He says "The soil underneath's worn out; I'll fertilize it some of these days And then what a roarin' crop I'll raise! Laws-a-days! What a crop 111 raise!" He sets out on our porch and jokes, And holds us on his lap and smokes. His head is bald as a turtle's back And his eyes seem peering through a crack. The one eye's blue and tother'n's gray "The Lord didn't make 'm that there way" He'd say. "Some day I'll tell you why that un's gray." "One night while settin' here" he said "The mosquitoes settled on my head — A swarm of them began to skate And sasha round on this bald pate. 'How fortunate!' they cried 'Just think! We've found a glorious skating rink. I Jink! What a skating rink!'" 22 'Twas fun to see these insects race, Didn't they go a merry pace? My lids and eyeballs fairly clattered And my four old stubby teeth they chattered. It might be worse, I said — Gee Whizz! Let youngsters have what fun there is. Gee Whizz! Give 'em all there is! At last one dainty little thing Caught her toe in a raveling And fell — it almost broke a rafter When all the Jills came tumbling after. The outcome was a broken wing All on account of that raveling. Poor thing! With the broken wing! You don't believe a word I've said? Just feel 'this dent on my bald head. Nov/ girls I warn you, every one, Don't let yer mending go undone. A girl once fell through a hole in her stocking And never's been heard of since. How shocking! Oh that stocking! 'n that girl! How shocking! Always reck'n yer blessings first And then be thankful for the worst," He'd say: at dinner once he found A lettuce worm meandering round And said "Thank God! Ameriky 's the place where extrys come in free! Ameriky! The land of the free!" 23 "D'ye see that star up in the sky With all her young uns standing by A bawlin' for a slice of cheese, Cut off'n the yellow moon? Once these Were rings whirled off'n the sides of their mother — Say, you're jest rings twirled off'n another 'n that other 's yer own good mother.. "Uncle Ike, where's your little rings?" Tot cried; "Up here in my brain," he said and sighed, While a tear stole softly down his cheek. They say, that regular, every week, He walks to the cemetery alone And sits by a grave with a marble stone, All gray and mildewed — he scarce can see To read the name thereon — "Marie" Only "Marie" Of sweetheart memory. 24 In the Royal Gorge. (A Symphony) The stream comes rushing down the gorge; The eddies trickle, bubble, boil, Then tumble headlong o'er the rocks With anxious speed, in mad turmoil. The din appears like myriads Of notes chaotic, loud they roll; Stand still O moon in Ajelon! It blends to one harmonious whole. Above the roar, a soothing sound I hear — so musical, so deep, As 'twere some mother's hushaby, Lulling her infant babe to sleep. Ah! this the sound, which long ago The voice of One was likened to! Pathetic, awful, grand, sublime! So animated, yet so true! My thoughts glide on in unison, But love and harmony are here; Impelled by some commanding power, The baser feelings disappear. Majestic trees stand on the brink; With branches nodding low, they seem As though about to take a drink; The air comes floating down the stream. 25 Then leaves and branches catch the breeze, Clasped in each other's arms, they fain Would sing and love their lives away In concord with the river's strain. United thus the chorus swells; They chant their anthem loud and long — A unity of waves and trills And cadences, a happy throng. A little farther down the stream, A bridge, the rushing waters span — Surely exempt from nature's laws —Vulgar, made by the hand of man. And as it in suspension swings, With impulse but to creak and groan, A vigor, irresistible, Lays hold and modulates it's tone. O'er-powered, obedient it sways, Meek and submissive as a child, It's discords quelled, with nature it Vibrates in modulations mild. , With increased strength they sweep along, And, like the whirlwind in its course, They grasp by suction all things near, Augmenting ever thus their force. 'Tis one harmonious union this A thousand voices that agree Ten thousand harpstrings play at once, Making a heavenly symphony. 26 The Perfect Prayer. "Our Father who in heaven art," In pure and sweet simplicity, Was lisped by infant innocence While kneeling at a mother's knee. And "Hallowed be Thy Holy name," And then she slept well satisfied. No doubt is there within that heart Whose childlike faith has ne'er been tried. The years roll rapidly along; This child has entered maidenhood; And, as she listens to the cry Of one from o'er the sea who would The heaven save, her heart is stirred: She cries "Forgive this careless one Her selfishness within the past; Thy kingdom come through Thy dear Son! And later on with that home The lights gleam forth and brightly burn, As this fair maiden plights her vows To one who offers in return 27 A manly love, a noble heart, Two years roll on of happiness That only wedded love can know — In love all else must acquiesce. Ah then! 'tis evening once again. Hush! low and solemn is the tread. The tapers in that home burn low, And watchers sit beside the bed. In agony the wife stands o'er And wipes the death-damp from his brow. His soul is passing — all is o'er — Say, where, Oh where, is comfort now? Day after day this widowed heart Struggles for grace — poor sorrowing one! Night after night she kneels in prayer Ere she can say "Thy will be done." Of strong support thus soon bereft, Out in the world with weary tread She goes; and earnestly she prays "Give us this day our daily bread.' Seeking for virtue to destroy, Lewd fiendish eyes they ever glare. "Into temptation lead us not" Trusting she breathes her evening prayer. 28 And then she sleeps an angels sleep; No harm can come to one who trusts Her soul and life into His hands; She's saved from sin, its snares, its lusts. Old age comes creeping on apace, The thread of life is nearly spun; She's only waiting for the crown Of life when this her life work's done. Sweetly she lays her armor down, Her eyelids close and all is o'er. "Thine is the kingdom, Thine the power, In heaven and earth forever more." NOTE— Written after hearing a sermon by Evangelist Northcutt. 29 Phosphorescence. Some lives are little more or less Than phosphorescence on decay Which, even from its funeral pile, Emits a ghastly light the while That lures its victim to excess, Until he soon succumbs a prey To poison from this foul decay. 30 Mind Yo' Mammy. Titus, stand back Off'n dat track! Dat heavy freight '11 operate On yo' insides fo' appendicitis, If you don't mind yo' mammy, Titus. Jest seen dat smoke; it's most nigh heah; Yo' mouf's so wide dat engineeah '11 take it fo' de roundhouse doah, And smash right in pelmel, fo' shoah. When it gits in, Ah reck'n yo'll grin Wider 'n you hoped; You'll be telescoped, Out o' yo' skin Clean to yo' chin. Same day'll come out Specials about Dat dreadful railroad accident. And when de claim adjuster's sent And all de passengers come to, And ask fo' damages, then yo' Jest won't be theyah To get yo' shaah. Honey, stand back Off'n dat track! 31 The Cry of the Poor. Weary are we Of life's penury; Weary of toiling mid sunshine and heat, Scanty the recompense, scanty our meat; In this land of the free, Of proud liberty, May the children of plenty in luxury roll While the children of toil hunger bodv and soul? Weary we are Of uncertainty, Hoping, yet knowing not whether tomorrow Brings limited plenty or hunger and sorrow. We live and grope on Toil and hope on For surely a provident loving Creator Will divide each his portion, sooner or later. 32 How to endure? Where is the cure That will strike to the root of this national cancer? Where the philosopher wise that can answer? Who then can quiet The bloodshed and riot Of men crazed with hunger defying the rule? These are some of the questions not studied in school. 33 The Season. Now Chloe, I said Don't go and wed That trifling Schmidt who sits there sunning Against the wall, or I'll go gunning. Next day a note Arrived, which made my senses float. Here's what she wrote: "Dear Pa: I'm married; Don't you be worried; I never thought of marrying Schmidt Till you yourself suggested it. Well, it is done; The hunting season's just begun, So get your gun." 34 A Pathway. Come stroll down the pathway with me as of old On a morning in June and its raptures behold. The prairie chick cooes his ker-thud-oo-oo-oo! Like no other sound mortal man ever knew; A mixture so strange both the sad and the gay Floating out on the air, near, then far far away. A pheasant scared up from her nest in the grass Goes whirring away out of sight as I pass. The air is refreshing, the dewdrops they glisten, So quiet it is that Tm sure if you'll listen, You'll find that the dewdrops and grasses are talking Or hear the light steps of the brownies out walking. Oh the smell of the bees and the grass and the flowers! And the light, did I say? chasing off the dark hours? There's a well — nothing more than a hole in the ground With a barrel to keep it from sprawling around — 35 But over the edge of the well I can see The happiest eyes fairly sparkling at me; A hat with a third of the rim, perhaps more, Haggled off; and a face I've seen somewhere before. There's a background of daintiest, delicate blue — Can it be that the well extends clear down through The dark earth to the sunshine again? There he goes! Mister frog with a splashy-ty-splash by my nose With his carcass right into the well — but no matter — They say that a frog only purifies water, Devouring the wigglers, the fishworms, and flies. Oh it's fun to sit watching the air bubbles rise! Yes I might chatter heedlessly on in this way, What's the use? You cannot understand what I say. That was long years ago but I cannot retrain From telling it over and over again. 36 I Wish I'd Gone to Bed. Once our big girls had company, Come in and bring their m'broidery work, And stay, like farm folks do, for tea; And it just up and poured till dark, 'Zif the sky'd broke loose. 'Twas a good excuse; So they stayed l11 night And said I might Set up a while, an hour or two. And of all the foolery they went through. Their goblin stories made a chill Crawl up my back; And the stars look black; And my eyes to swim; And the lights grow dim. They simpered and whispered and then kept still, Till I could hear, The ghosts right near, With patter of hoof, Up on our roof. Then how I wished, and wished, instead Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. 37 And one big girl, Moll Perkins, she Went on to tell, how one dark night, As she went by the cemetery, A scary thing, all dressed in white, Was walkin' about With arms stretched out Among the stones A utterin' groans. And then it made a dive at her, And she lit out for home, yes sir, Pell mell! and reached, there scared to death, And fainted dead Away, she said In some one's arm; And they had to warm Some flat ir'ns to fetch back her breatli. And then my hair Stood up with scare, For I could see That thing grab me. Then how I wished, and wished, instead Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. One said (she hoped to die right there If it want true) that while a sittin' One evenin' in the rockin' chair, Close by the window, busy knittin', A bird came "Tat! Rat— tat! Rat— tat!" Three times again The window pane; 38 And that very minit (I know she lied) Her grandma in New Jersey died; And that was a sort of warning sent. And she just thought, 'At that was what The po'm meant 'Bout the pigeon sent, And the lost Lenore And never more — Though I couldn't tell what on earth she meant. And I felt so queer, For I could hear That bird again At the window pane, A peckin' so bold. And I couldn't have told Myself from you, Or black from blue. Then how I wished, and wished, instead Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. 39 Cure the Blues. Take advice and cure the blues, do, Or they'll shamefully abuse you. Go out boating on the river. Look the action of the liver. Court a little if it pleases, Cure's not worse than the disease is. Seize your knitting or crocheting, Count the stitches over saying, One — two — three — sure apathetic, Sleep in nature's anaesthetic Visit some one ten times sicker Than you are — read of Wakefield's Vicar, Poor old Vicar! O so sad O! Your calamity's only a shadow. Read Napoleon's fatal muster, Dreadful fate of General Custer, 40 Till your blood it curdles, thickens, That may fail? Then go with Dickens' Little Nell out walking, straying, In green fields like lambkins playing. Muse on bliss of heaven above; Next thing to it fall in love; Venus' rapturous idea May be just your panacea. One of these may fail to cure you, Try another one it's sure to. Take advice and cure the blues, do, Or they'll shamefully abuse you. 41 If I Had Known. If I had known She came to school without her morning meal, That it was hunger's pain she would conceal, I would have shown More kindness by Dividing — yes by giving all my meat — That she might have enough for once to eat To satisfy. If I had known That when we played off by ourselves apart, The slight had sent a shiver to her heart, I would have gone To her and said "Do come we need just one to make the game." Then how she would have smiled with cheeks aflame. But now she's dead. 42 If I had known She was an orphan girl; and that her tears And sad faced looks belonged to older years, I would have thrown My arms around Her neck, and, in a kind and loving way, Have said those tender things that mothers say To ease her wound. 43 Her Dilemma. You've heard me mention Uncle Tim Who married my aunt Lovine, He'd mourned three previous partners So she stood fourth in line; But he urged her when she came to die To drop her old maid's whim Of being laid, by an old sweeheart And rest wife like by him. So she gave in and was interred By him as number four, And her dilemma puzzles me As I ponder it o'er and o'er; For when the final trump shall blow, What scrambling there will be, As each presents her warranty deed At heaven's chancery. 44 If the last on earth shall then be first, I reckon that aunt Lovine Will find some bit of comfort then In ranking first in line. But I dislike family skirmishes And wish in my soul that she For the sake of peace were buried in Some other cemetery. 45 Content. Give me content enough But just enough to east the strife, The rasping useless fretfulness And smooth the corners rough. Enough to fairly estimate, That on the average, this life Is kind, and sends us less To severely vex and irritate, And more to benefit Than many will admit. But who would care To crave that idolent content, Which idly drifts him down the stream With arms akimbo floating o'er In ease and asking nothing more, Like drift wood landing where 'tis sent, With not a care — Existence but a hazy dream. Yes better far is restlessness, A sprinkling of that discontent Which scorns to be well satisfied With just what falls within the hands Or drops upon the lap; But makes more strenuous demands And ventures into ways untried. It bravely dares mishap And faces grim discouragements; 'Tis only thus that worlds progress. 46 And he who opens up a path Diverging from the beaten track O'er which the multitude has trod — A better way — 'tis he that hath Improved conditions brought men back To nature and to nature's God. 47 His Request. De docto's held a consultation And Ah'm to have an operation Yo' eyes is gettin' drippin' wet — Lize 'taint time fo' weepin' yet. Ah've been a Christian all my life, Now promise me fo' ce'tain, wife, You'll have me opened up with pray'ah. An' have'm operate with ca'ah; Faith without works is like de brass Of chandeliers wivout de gas. An' if de docto's search me through An' don't find what dey 'spected to, Like postmen do, you have'm take A label— "Opened By Mistake"— An' paste it on whe'eh all can see, Dat's what Ah call Christ yanity. Dis foolin' people haint quite right Aspecially in bwoad daylight. Dese wisdom docto's Ah'd steer shy of; Ah like to know what Ah'm to die of. 48 An* if Ah don't pull through, then honey, You take my life insu'ance money An' blow in every cent of it On feathers' an' fine clothes what fit — Red o' whatever's handsomest — What suits yo' chocolate face de best. You've skimped along all yo' bawn life; An' yo've been a mighty faithful wife. Ah'm wuth a heap mo' dead (in money) Than evah Ah was livin', honey. Lize yo' teahs is spillin' down, On to yo' Sunday meetin' gown. If you don't stop, it won't be fit To wa'ah to ch'uch, yo' spilin' it. 49 Imogene. She's a common looking girl, Hair a fady tan and brown, Bristly straight, without a curl, Freckled face and eyes cast down — Always looking down at earth She was hapless from her birth. Imogene, Some ill-fated star is seen Hovering o'er you, Imogene. When she went to public school, Everything abject and mean, Thieving, lying, breaking rule, All were laid on Imogene. She sought comfort in her books, To evade their scornful looks. Imogene, Though your sould be white and clean, You're suspicioned Imogene. Each might bring — by strict permission- A baby brother or a sister; It was mid-day intermission; One wee toddler they had missed her. Look, out there upon the street Underneath the horses feet! Imogene, None but you dare stand between Death and baby, Imogene. 50 Baby's safe, but where is she? Hoverning 'twixt life and death, Bruised and bleeding frightfully. Children scream and hold their breath; Those who hated her are seen, Crying over Imogene. Imogene, What kind angel stepped between You and death, O, Imogene? She had flowers as she lay, Such as she had never seen; Comforts, smiles, and love that they Showered on helpless Imogene. When she went to school again She had friends in plenty then. Imogene, You are treated like a queen; Happy, happy, Imogene! 51 At the Mourner's Bench. Dear Lord forgive, It was a woeful sin I know — Almost a crime — And yet I scarce could feel it so. "We sorrowing knelt Around the mourner's bench each night, Troubled at heart, Pleading forgiveness, seeking light. A penitent So near to me knelt Constantine That I could feel His heart beat in respone to mine. I could not see My sins; I could not lisp one word Of anxious prayer, Nor beg forgiveness of the Lord. I only heard Love's music far away — caught gleams Of visions sweet Composite of my happiest dreams, Dear Lord forgive. 52 Which One Shall it be ? Marks one, two, and three Which one shall it be? In choosing be sure to choose well, You're playing for keeps sister Nell; This one of the three? This then it shall be. You seem to look down With a woe-begone frown As though disappointed and vexed. Not this one you wished but the next? This one it must be, This one of the three. There's many a one Similarly has done, Has hopelessly settled her fate Then espied the mistake when too late; So sadly mistaken Some lout has been taken, 53 For worse, not for better, And galls like a fetter When a gem standing next could be had For the choosing — too bad! yes too bad! But the draw has been made The price must be paid. 54 Power. And O, whene'er I think, How frail the thread which binds that future life with this, How thin the film between us and death's dark abyss, 'Twould make me start and shrink, But that I know there's One, Who will not let, by chance, a soul pass out of sight, However rich or poor, unlearned, or erudite, Until his work is done. And though the thread seems slight To human eyes, 'tis doubly strong, as iron bands, And nothing need we fear, if held within His hands, And strengthened by His might. 55 A Boy's Fun. (A Waterscape.) Oh there's barl's and barl's and barl's of fun, Down on the banks of Beaver Run! You can claw around in the squashy clay- Like turtles do on a summer day And make haystacks and sweetheart's rings, 'Dobe houses and piles of things. And if you wear your oldest clothes And take some lunch, why goodness knows! You kin saunter home as late as five And not expect to be skinned alive! You kin throw a log right in the stream And set on it an' play or dream Yer a missionary sailin' away Way off to the land where the heathens stay. Or play yer one of a pirate crew Goin' to help the Cubans through. Though of course you're not; you're just in fun; But with the water a spatterun 56 Up in.yer face an' ears an' eyes, An' overhead, the bluest skies, Don't fret about such common truck As woodboxes an' bad boy luck. An' lickuns that you'll never git; Hang on to fun; yer sure of it. Such summer days ain't always found To waller in, the hull year round. You kin ketch the tadpoles in the sand And watch them wriggle from your hand To a flaxseed poltice of frog's eggs, And hear them mumble, "I'll have legs And be a frog some day; then ketch Me if you can." Oh it's nice to watch Yer face a grinnin' in the water. I know now why Pharoah's daughter Went down to the river bank so much Purtendun, she's carin' for Mosy, and such; For when the water's still and clear You kin see yourself as well, purt' near, As in the glass on our bureau; And where's the kid, I'd like to know, Who wouldn't give his fishin' hook Once in a while to steal a look In a lookin' glass, especially, If it makes him look far slicker'n he 57' Ever is or was or expects to be. And when the water ripples, you see Yer shadder's gone, or back it comes All crook'd. It's fun to fling out crumbs To the greedy ducks, and watch 'm enjoy Themselves a scrappin' like a boy Who always wants the biggest slice Of everything there is that's nice. And sometimes too it's not bar] fun, When girls fling yer hats in Beaver Run, To jest spring up and grab 'm quick And purtend you'll douse 'm in the crick. Then how they squeal and squirm, and then, Promise they'll "Never do it agin!" And act so scared we let 'm go, Kind of wishin' within us, though, They'd come back and bother us some. And sure enough! soon back they come! So saucy like, as much as to say "We like to be scared -by you that way. Just scare us again, we dare you to! You're cowards, the whole batch of you!" And when the willow trees hang thick Over the edge of Beaver Crick, All matted in turrible shape With poison ivy and wild grape, All sorts of savage feelin's strike You through and through; and you'd jest like 58 To be an Injun, skulkin' about With, bow and arrow, peekin' out From between the leaves, to catch a glimpse And take the scalps of pale faced imps As they come rowin' down the stream, But you wouldn't hurt one — it's a scheme, And you're just playun — but just the same You hide in there and wait your game, With Christmas gun; and soon a pack Of lordly ducks, with their quacky-ty-clack Come sailin' proudly down the crick; You up an' raise the trigger quick And let er go with a "Whizz! and Bang!" And before one could say Yang-Tse-Kiang, You hear a squabble and wade in, Into water up to yer chin, And seize yer pale face, scalp and all, And hurry home in capital Delight; and prouder — Dear me suz! Than little Hiawatha wuz, When he had killed his first red deer And hauled her in and says "See here! How's this for venison?" And then They praise him over and over again. 59 Will you git praised, or hear m say, "The horrid thing! Take it away! The smelly thing, don't bring it here! Go wash yourself from ear to ear." It's rather discouragin' I say To be hammered at in that-air-way. We boys kin act 'zif we didn't care A straw fer people's praise — but there Is times when our insides just ache And burn for a word of praise, to make Us feel some one takes interest in us. But when they always go agin us Then we backslide, as people say In purtracted meetin' — turn away And care for nuthin' — for nuthin's better Than to always have a scold and fretter A jaggin' at you; now isn't it? The birds they twitter fit to split Though they have ornery spells and fret The same as people do I'll bet; And sometimes think that they'd enjoy Bein' a horse, or p'raps a boy. But let them try once, luggin' coal, And choppin' wood, and doin' a whole GO Lot of other things that nobody Ever thinks is much, and you'd soon see They'd wish that they wuz birds again A rustlin' for their worms. And when It's wash day, 'n all around the place Put on a sour milk funeral face And snarl or turn a feller down A sayin' "I'd go off and drown Myself;" instead you hurry quick Down to the banks of Beaver Crick Where snakes and toads and lizards all Come up and crowd around and crawl All over you; and you forget about It's bein' wash day, when the trout Jest fight for first place on yer hook And thousand legged worms they look That tickled to see you. Oh there's fun- Jest barl's of it, on Beaver Run. 61 The Sigh of the Civilized Navajo. Leave the Navajo content In his native element. Free to wander in the canons In the canons, tall and grand, Chiseled out by nature's hand, With the pines for his companions. Can the coyote change its color? Can the quail turn water gull? or Can the white bear thrive in other Than his native haunts of snow? Neither can the Navajo Imitate his pale faced brother, NOTE— At the time of writing this, all attempts at civilizing the Navajo had been in vain. When educated he invariab- ly returned again to his camp fire and blanket. 62 Change its habitat and thrive To the haunts where white men live. You would have our people be Learned in your arts and wise, Educate or civilize As you term term it meaningly. Navajo accepts the call Learns your arts in college hall, Yields to your religion too, But the music of the wildwood And the camp-fire of his childhood Thrills his fancy through and through. Much this Indian sees and hears That sounds strangely in his ears; How the spirit clothed anew May eternal life attain And he learns, somewhat with pain. That his dusky body too 63 Must be clothed in sombreness, Trim and plain the white man's dress Tis a penalty severe He accepts for sake of duty, It is not a thing of beauty, Not a spectacle to cheer. Secretly he sighs within "Oh for ease of moccasin! Then untrammeled would I glide O'er those places, which the deer Would refuse to go from fear, On the Rocky Mountain side. Let me feel upon my form Our Indian blanket soft and warm. 'Tis a robe a king might wear Made by patient hand of woman Given to her chief her trueman; Woven in with colors rare, 64 Making harmony that few Other nations can outdo. Not a brush at one's command Can produce a work of art Not unless a noble heart And a genius guides the hand. Art as one harmonious whole Is the product of the soul. And this maiden Navajo An uncommon genius shows In the labor she bestows, Patiently as to and fro In and out with watchful eyes She her shuttle slowly plies. Greatest art grants little speed; Simple is this tool and rude, But a tiny bit of wood Or a piece of broken reed. 65 And her loom is crude enough; Two raw branches in the rough: These she twines her warp around — Like the spider, from the one To the other — when 'tis done, Seated low upon the ground, With her loom hung in a tree, She weaves her patterns carefully. Every nation small or great Has its emblem — we like you Chose the red, the white, and blue, Our ensign to decorate. Oft we're forced to imitate Nature in this robe of state. Purple tints the Columbine, Rose's blush shades off the red, Black is mourning for your dead. Need we for the warrior pine? 66 He is happy in his place, In the freedom of the chase, Where the winding mountain trail Stands untrod by tribe or band, Undisturbed by any hand Or the white man's iron rail." To the white man it was given, To arrange the stars of heaven Into groups and name them for us; Each revolving in its sphere. Andromeda sits chained here; There an Orion then a Taurus; Each one whirling on in space. What if one should fall from grace? Surely 'twould bring dire disaster. Nothing happens, 'Tis design, Each one whirls in perfect line, Guided by some unseen master. 67 'Tis our nature to adore The mysterious o'er and o'er Yet the scholar seeks to know More and more and worships less. But at times 'tis weariness To this Indian Navajo, Who delights in adoration, Longs for more imagination, For those days of long ago. Seems it not like sacrilege Thus to ruthlessly besiege Thus invade the starry treasures And their mysteries expose? None so learned but he knows That mysticism yieldeth pleasures. 68 Let me calmly shut my eyes To this science of the skies. In the dreamy twilight hour, As of old then would I lie Gazing upward on the sky; Overwhelmed by a power, Some strange secret happiness, Which no language can express; Then the great blue dome at even Was not aerial apparation But a filmly blue parition Separating earth and heaven. When the rain came spurting down On the earth scorched bare and brown, Whether softly from the sky Or in blinding floods it fell, We exclaimed " 'Tis well! Tis well!" Asked no questions, whence or why? 69 'Twas enough for us to know That it made the grasses grow, And the flowers in loveliness; That in kindness it was meant; Per this purpose it was sent Navajo to please and bless. But that simple faith I cherished And my childlike trust have perished; Since, amazingly, I learn That this pearly heaven sent lotion Is simply mist from off the ocean, And to such it must return. That the lightning which was riven Through the blackness of the heaven And the thunder's deafening peal Are not warnings from above — Man can fear as well as love — Are no longer an appeal 70 To the conscience or the soul. But a force which men control Known as electricity. I would reverence regain But I call to it in vain It responds not to my plea. Faith is proof of things unseen But this science stands between. I have seen the white man pose As a lover, yes propose, With a passion overflowing, To a maiden fair and pale As the daisy in the vale Or the mountain lily growing In the shadow of the bushes Where the San Juan madly rushes 71 Onward bearing rock and tree, Bursting from the mountain side Into chasms deep and wide Starting westward toward the sea. They whose vows of love were plighted At the altar were united, Vowing to be true forever; Let come whatsoever may They would cherish ev'n obey, Until death the tie should sever. But how weak is man's intent; Burning passion soon is spent. Wise indeed is he who can Draw the line which separtes The desires which love creates From mere fancy in a man. One is passion that allures; One the love that long endures. 72 Two short seasons passed and then Wearied with his palefaced bride, Longingly the white man sighed For his freedom once again; And ere long he's separated From the one with whom he mated. And your law of marriage under Which two souls were made as one By another is undone, Which as quickly parts asunder. Strange, the prisoner set free Seeks again captivity! You may cry "Unclean! Unclean!" Raise our voice in loud decree 'Gainst our base polygamy; Counsel oft with sorry mien. 73 Pray you take a peep within At your own heart's secret sin. You're strange horsemen I attest, Tandem fashion suits your pride ; Solemnly bride follows bride: Horrors! we drive ours abreast. Which is worse polygamy, Or your bride tandigamy? Strange this action of the heart! Woman with her cunning can Too, be false as any man. I have seen her act her part Man's affections to decoy. These she handles as a toy, Wounds him next with deep incision, Makes a quick atonement then But to torture him again With a cast off cold derision, 74 Leaving him in sorry plight, When another hoves in sight. Is your civilization worth All the freedom you have lost, All the sacrifice it cost? Yes, you say and send me forth To the heathen Navajo. What means heathen I would know? Should our God be reverenced less Who reveals to us our sin, Gives us life and stirs within, Prayer and praise and consciousness Of our duty to our brother? Is this Mighty Spirit other Than the Being Who has planned Every other thing of earth? Or were Indians given birth Under other system, and, 75 Though, we pray direct above To our God in trust and love Must our prayers unheard remain? Some day in the Spirit land You will surely understand. If perchance we meet again In those happy hunting grounds, Where the buffalo abounds, And in plenty roam the deer, You and I shall hunt together In the haze of autumn weather Where no game laws interfere. Then I doubt not you will know Why the simple Navajo Dearly loves his freedom; and Doubtless in those future days I shall then appreciate Your many mansions, dazzling, grand, 76 .mgels with the gilded wing, The heavenly songs those angels sing, Glittering streets and golden stairs. But at present spare me these Glorifying luxuries, Leave to me our Indian prayers; Let me be an Indian still, Surely it was heaven's wilL You would have him learn to scorn His esteemed environment; Leave the camp fire and the tent Where the Navajo was born; With its carpet soft and clean, Made of flowers and grasses green, Freshened by the air and light Creeping in the door each day, Driving gloom and death away. Nature's maid with all her might, 77 Shines and labors dextrously Till the stench and odors flee. Then when summer days have gone And the frost, which chills the morn Nips the tassels of the corn, And the winter time draws on Then he leaves the mountain side "With his family to reside In the valley's warmer lands Where the bright and sunny rays Shining through the winter days Melts the snowflakes on the sands. There in comfort they remain Till the spring returns again. Care sits lightly, he has pleasure — Small the earthly care of those On whom circumstance bestows This world's goods in scanty measure. 78 He who is with plenty blest, Often lacks in peace and rest, Knows but sleepless nights of pain. With the worry and the fret That abundance brings him, yet Man will leave all else to gain Wealth's alluring glittering goal, Even barter off his soul. And the freedom of the range And the snowcapped peaks which stand, Overlooking all the land, You would have him this exchange For a narrow plot of ground— A few acres circled round By close neighbors — and four walls Carpeted and screened within Till no sunlight ventures in. This the white man probably calls 79 Home — a hard earned luxury. Surely irksome it would be To his dusky Indian brother. Can the coyote change his color? Can the quail turn water gull? or Can the white bear thrive in other Than his native haunts of snow? Blame not then the Navajo; He is a distinct creation Would your conscientious skill Seek to change old nature's will? Spare him this your civilization Which is yours, O spare him this; When his freedom in his bliss. Little good can emanate From a life bound fast by chain Longing to be free again, Though in knowledge it is great. 80 Leave him then unlearned if this Prove his highest happiness. Let him wander in the mountains And pursue the nimble deer Growing scarcer every year; Free to watch the play of fountains; Gather ripened August berries; Gorge his appetite with cherries, Which provide his autumn feast. These grow on the sheltered side Of the mountainous Divide, Where the rivers flowing east And flowing west into the sea, Rise in close proximity. Here the roses bloom in bowers; Shaded well their color grows Brighter than the pink of those On the prairie. Other flowers 81 With their fragrance charm the spot. Here the blue forget-me-not, Which the maiden most admires, In the presence of the red Flaming star flower bows its head And with modesty retires. And the glorious Columbine Its lavender and white combine. He enjoys the gullied canon With its echoes wierd and free; Hidden in its depths, there he Needs no gibbering companion; In the quiet solitude Nature best is understood. High those walls of stone and granite Where the Mancos roars between; And so narrow the ravine That a common bridge would span it: 82 And a skylight, tinged with, blue, Dimly lights the passage through Where the river cuts its way Over beds of yellow sand. In this portion of the land, Given the Ute, he loves to stray. Neighboring Ute and Navajo No more draw the deadly bow. Though he loves the Mancos canon "With its cliff and tower and dome, Where the eagle builds her home And the deer with his companion In the cool of evening shade On the mesa promenade, Yet he tastes not of the water, For he's oftentimes been told Of a certain legend old, How, with ignominious slaughter, 83 Long ago a certain race, Hard were driven from their place. High up o'er the water's edge They had builded for themselves Homes upon those cliffs or shelves Underneath a sandstone ledge, Striped with ochre, white and gray- Clear and bright are these today. This afforded them a cover For the walls of their domain, Some of which there yet remain And are richly frescoed over With gay colorings inside. Many families could reside There together, safe from foes So the thought — for they whose might Conquered, always claimed first right- So it is the story goes. 84 In this city of the past, Whose remains are crumbling fast There were towers square and rounded There were portholes to behold Approaching fees, resembling old,- Feudal castles that were founded Many centuries ago. While they slept, some wily foe Scaled these natural heights of stone Their position to obtain — The inhabitants were slain And their mangled bodies thrown In the river; and the stains Of their life blood still remains. And the odors still arise And today the Indian hears Echoing through the distant years Harrowing groans and piercing cries. 85 True sometimes the Navajo's Hungry, for the winter's snows On the range and reservation Often long and heavy lie; Then his sheep and cattle die From exposure and starvation. Or the summer dought contiues Then it is the very sinews Dry away. And since the bison Is no longer to be found In the Rockies roaming round. Low beneath the dim horizon Of the distant mountain crest Oft the sun has sunk to rest When the Indian is seen Tramping homeward from the chase With a sorry downcast face; For his appetite, though keen, 86 Must unsatisfied remain. This day's hunt has been in vain But tomorrow's may bring more Than his present needs demand; Then he spends with lavish hand Laying little by in store Future comforts to secure. Which is harder to endure, Appetite unsatisfied, Craving gnawing hunger, or Absence of a relish for Things abundantly supplied? Richest viands, tempting things Fit for appetites of kings? What is food and what is station? What is raiment? What is wealth? Y/ithout appetite or health? Though our tribal reservation 87 Part consists of level plains, Sandy, where it seldom rains- Little rain is takes to nourish Western plants upon the sand Where the sage brush dots the land, Where the spiny cactii flourish, And the waxy soap plants bloom- Yet he there has elbow room, Room to live and breathe, thank heaven! This small corner of the earth, Which to you was little worth, By your government was given With a condescending grace Out of pity for our race. Like a present which some donor Gives with kind munificence, Purchased with the stolen pence From the pocket of the owner. 88 Now the rightful owner goes A mendicant in beggar's clothes, A veritable refugee. 'Twas a charity affair; Such bestowals are not rare. Is this then the charity You would have us keep in mind, Suffering long and ever kind? It is true the Indian knows How to use and where to find Healing herbs of every kind, Every shrub that near him grows; Yet with all his natural skill, Death the inevitable will Often at his knowledge mock; Often he with cool demand Will his wigwam enter and Claim the bravest of the flock. 89 Where are all those Indian bands, First possessors of these lands? Gone before your civilization. Chickasaws and Creeks have vanished; Seminoles and Sacs are banished. We are passing as a nation, Leave to us our Indian ways — Free, these few remaining days. 90 Let the Children Play. Let the children play. The little children laugh and shout and romp the livelong day: For some, too soon, the graver cares of other years will come And strike the careless freedom down the childish laughter dumb; When buoyancy of youth to stern reality gives way Then let the children play. Let 'the children play. Let them wander in the woodlands green and listen to the lay Of warbling, twittering, songsters flitting through the leafy trees, Making glad the very air with soul-inspiring melodies; That must sweetly ring within the ears until the judgment day, Then let the children play. 91 Let the children play. Lay not too many grievances and sorrows in their way; For burdens of the spirit weighing, grinding, like a stone, May crush the spark of hopefulness; 'tis not the flesh alone Succumbs to rank oppressiveness — the heart may wear away — Then let the children play. Let the children play, And cultivate a cheeriness for what is sadder pray Than a hopeless soul dispirited, hard struggling to the last Against some bygone gloominess that binds the spirit fast- Despairingly existing, nagging through life's weary way? Then let the children play. Let the children play. Let them ramble in the meadows and imbibe the radiant ray Of summer sunbeams straight from heaven, a beam from God's own lamp, Which lightens soul and body dispersing chills and damp; A timely sure preventative that wards disease away. Then let the children play. 92 Let the children play. Time passes rapidly along and the years are few till they Must step into the harness in the place of you and I; If youth be gladdened properly they'll bravely occupy The place thus assigned them, their call in life obey. Then let the children play. Let the children play. Though our years have been most peaceful yet our hair is turning gray: And a wave from youth affects us as nothing ever can, As some fairies wand had touched us and made us young again, And our gloominess is banished by the children's laugh so gay. Then let the children play. 93 Deacon Harvey and His Dream. Old Deacon Harvey was a man well known the country round As being righteous, in his way, as any to be found. A sanctimonious- duty he was never known to shirk, He could rule a stiffnecked session or perform the dirty work, Such as makin' fires or lighting if the chore boy were away, Or routing shaky members, who refused to walk his way. And though his outward piety with burnished splend- or shone, He too, like most of us, had faults, it wasn't best to own. His being a blue-stockinger made him well satisfied; That such his ancestors had been, to mention was his pride. And they had done his thinking, which, perhaps upon the whole, Accounted for his meagreness and narrowness of soul. 94 But lie never once suspected, that this very self-same thing, Might tally one against him in the day of reckoning. He always held the rudder of the gospel ship of state, And steered as no one else could do (he thought) to heaven straight. And woe betide the minister, who didn't let him do it, 'Twas more than barely possible he'd have a chance to rue it; He might as well cast anchor, drop his mantle then and there, Feign consumption or prostration and seek a balmier air. But the waywardness of neighbors, the Deacon did declare Had plowed some furrows in his face and silvered o'er his hair. Sandy Green had stole his apples, he was deadly cer- tain of it And he'd give him legal punishment but he somehow couldn't prove it. Elam Crow was soaked in whiskey — fairly pickled — and he said "Surely this world were better off if Elam Crow were dead." 95 And so the deacon prayed and prayed in this wise morn and night, "Lord urge them to repent by thy spirit's sword of of might; If they refuse then speed them to their fiery desti- nation Before their evil ways corrupt the rising generation." One night he slept and dreamed a guardian angel he was sent, To hover o'er the thought of men and judge of their intent. His spirit soon was watching o'er the thoughts of Sandy Green Which wandered thus, "That theft of mine was despicably mean; Though the deacon has abundance beyond what he may need, Yet I would not for myself alone have done that sneaking deed, But I could not see my wife and children starving day by day And wholesome food in plenty going to waste across the way. Oh if ever I am prospered with something by in store, I swear that not a hungry soul shall ever pass my door." 96 Then the Deacon's spirit shifted to the thoughts of Elam Crow, Who sober, by the embers of his dying fire croutched low. In agony of spirit he groaned, "Too late! Too late! Can a drunkard's doom in another world compare with his earthly fate? If so I pray one favor may be granted unto me. Give me annihilation there not immortality. Could I have seen the future, the path that I should go, Not all the powers of darkness could have tempted me I know. When the habit seemed a growing and I saw that it was wrong I might have then reformed but I couldn't pass along. But a jovial gay companion of some low infernal slum Stood with open heart and outstretched arms a beck- oning me to come. I've a wasted life to offer and if any mercy's shown 'Twill not be through my merits but the good of heaven alone." Then the deacon roused from slumber with troubled conscience lay; Some new. found questions like to these perplexed him day by day. 97 Of the actual pangs of hunger little do I realize, One must feel its cruel gnawings to fully sympathize; But to see starvation daily waisting one's own kith and kin And relive them, yes by stealing, would scarcely seem a sin. Yet I, while blessed with plenty, have allowed the worthy poor To be driven on to theft perhaps, or hungry pass my door. What if I had been surrounded as Elam Crow with vice. Temptations more than I could bear and evils that entice? And with half the anxious training and example I have seen, He might have been a nobler man by far than I have been. And his plea of mere unworthiness may gain him entrance in, As passport, to that country, rid of whisky, rum and sin: While they who by selfrighteousness and deeds will hope to gain A sure and swift admittance, may howl Lord! Lord! in vain. 98 If I have walked more steady who deserves the credit pray? I have followed in the footsteps of my father's much as they. And as to saint and sinner, Oh, it's hard to judge between; I'll not attempt the arduous task, but sweep my own hearth clean. Yes it's difficult to break the bonds of our environ- ment, And go a different pilgrimage from what our father's went. It is ours to lift the fallen, help the tempted and the tried, And leave their final judgment to One better qualified. 99 Struggles. I loitered in a meadow near A cool and quiet stream, Whose waters were as pure and clear As a mirror's crystal gleam. I flung in pebbles as I passed — On idleness intent — The mirror's gleam was overcast Thereby with sediment. And as the stream and filth contend First honors to obtain Behold the particles descend And all is clear again! And so I thought, how like is this To a pure and noble life, That banishes the avarice The envyings and the strife. 100 When life seems one unbroken joy Then 'bold dissemblers come, To raise aversions and destroy Our equilibrium. And then the struggle sore begins; The contest is severe; But the nobler side of nature wins; And envyings disappear. 101 Keep up Courage Jim. There's one bit of admonishment, as you life's journey make, That I would give, and it is this: Whate'er you undertake, Let soul and bone and fibre pursue it with a vim, Don't halt at every corner, but Keep up courage Jim. If all the race were headlong cast into life's foaming sea, While some will sink, yet all possessed with proper energy Will to the surface rise: and you will surely rise and swim And gain firm footing on the shore if you Keep up courage Jim. 102 If not unlike the average man you'll one day want a wife, To share the joys and miseries that fall to you in life. When you have made selection, don't simper round so grim, And threaten if your case goes wrong, just Keep up courage Jim. Such threatenings show a vacuum where brain stuff ought to be; That you' are some how lacking she soon must plainly see: Cheer up, present your cause in words, fit, business-like, and trim; Don't be ashamed of honest love and Keep up courage Jim. Should you the public pastures be allowed to revel in, Then some will fawn and flatter your con- fidence to win; Be true to your convictions, don't cater to each whim, Honor your country and your flag and Keep up courage Jim. 103 When your step grows less elastic, Ah then! you're growing old; Don't huddle in some corner and fume, and fret and scold; Put on a smart appearance, and though your eyes be dim You'll brave off death the longer, if you Keep up courage Jim. 104 Fossil. Oh foolish man to seek to know at once Our secret hidden life long closed in death, When nature travailed many thousand years With unabated jmergy to give us breath. Sometimes you'll find us in the glacial drift, Again calcareous rocks will harbor me; In shales a truer impress you will find; While briny depths protect us in the sea. By company he keeps so man is known, So ask no more for we are judged likewise; Delights you'll find by searching for yourself, My telling you would only steal your prize. 105 Submission. It takes a rare beneficence To labor on from year to year, In hope of final recompense, Upon some scheme or project dear, And then in patience to submit (Some would protest and rage outright) While others reap the benefit Or confiscate your copyright. A bravery it requires to stand Calmly upon some Nebo's height, While others occupy the land Spread out before your longing sight, While you, who journeyed all the way, May not approach the cherished spot— Ah then! 'tis meekness to obey Implicity and murmur not. 106 Waiting, We plant the tiny apple shoot — A sprig of value rare — Then prune and dig about the root And tend with proper care. 'Tis not the labor we bestow Annoys us — toil is treasure — But waiting for the fruit to grow, Ah! that is doubtful pleasure. Love promises eternal bliss — No joy but has some sorrow — Much present happiness we miss By sighing for tomorrow. Blessings we scarce can see or rate, Waiting the promised day; The hardest thing to tolerate Of all, is the delay. 107 March sunshine heralds in the spring, The heart a welcome speaks; A storm comes on o'erpowering, The blizzard howls and shrieks. Spring early pays the forfeiture; Impatiently we sigh; These days are harder to endure Than all the months gone by. 108 A Better Day Ahead. One day seems illy doomed above the rest; The fates appear to frown; As though by some strange demon half possessed Things tumble upside down. With plans contraried thus we would despair With hopeful yearnings dead, But that the eve's prophetic signs bid fair For better days ahead. The August corn, whose ears hung heavily, Lo! in a single night Is made an object pitiful to see By early frost and blight. Our dreams of luxury have swiftly flown; And we indeed would dread The want in store, but that the past has shown Us better days ahead. 109 The cold December blizzards whizz and blow With fury in our face; Ths sky is but a murky mass of snow; And, in its chill embrace, We well might cringe in horror of the cold But that we know, instead, The sun will shine again and we'll behold A better day ahead. The country is upset with strife and men Are hurrying to and fro; That old foment which reappears again Bespeaks a scene of woe. Such mixed affairs doth turbulence portend; Yet we through hope are led A better state of things to apprehend, Yes better days ahead. 110 Sympathy. How dependent all things be, Flowers and grass upon the rain; Then in turn the showers again Bring their pearldrops from the sea. Vegetation meagerly Flourishes in barren ground, Till she flings her leaves around Then abundance we can see. May our life-work also be Laboring for the common good Of a suffering brotherhood With a magnanimity. With our souls in unison; And our life-pulse keeping pace, Throbbing, pitying for our race Ceasing not till life is done. Ill Do we hear yet unapeased Hunger's piteous wailing plea? We must starve from sympathy Till that hunger's power be eased. 112 Misunderstood. A heart in solitude With loneliness consumes itself: No sharer or recipient To take or give: by constant drips The stoutest heart must soon be spent — Alone misunderstood. 'Often we fondly brood O'er unforgiven wrongs: a word Might have removed them long ago. Sometimes 'tis nobleness to bear In silence all alone — not so When we're misunderstood. 113 Our Country. When others wave the beckoning hand, And "Forward March!" the orders cry, As theirs it were to give command, Ours to obediently comply, Defiantly our hearts rebel, Because we love our country well. When cannons boom and banners fly, When singers sing and bands peal forth, When all for excellency vie In honor of our nation's birth, We feel our patriotism swell; Yes then we love our country well. When others trample in the dust The flag our fathers' died to raise, And then ignore with cold distrust Our country's principles and ways, In vain we strive our wrath to quell; Yes then we love our country well. 114 When be behold in summer time The corn fields shimmering in the sun, And golden grain in healthy prime Waiting the harvest drawing on, Knowing that we in these excel Thankful we love our country well. While others bow to potentate (Born servile such they must remain) We humble or illiterate May to a higher sphere attain. Upon these merits we may dwell Because we love our country well. Land of prosperity, divine Long may thy ensign ride the gale; May thy effulgence ne'er decline Thy freedom's spirit long prevail. Though love be still invincible We love our country none too welL 115 Mercies. When nuthin' looks right to your eyes, Jest think of Solomon the Wise, Of seven hundred mother-in-laws (As Browning calls 'em "Old Cat Claws") A swoopin' down in cold array With band boxes, plannin' to stay Six months: your troubles don't amount To anything: Pshaw! they don't count. 116 Art. Suite often finest statuaries fill The smallest most obscure cathedral niches; In finest tapestries the greatest skill Is manifested in the smallest stitches. 117 Stimulation. Madly pursuing with destruction's speed, A vain yet idolized ambition, I Beheld an arrow shooting through the air Tipped with the anaesthetic of despair. In vain I made endeavor to evade Its ruthless aim, it pierced me then and there. I fell asphyxiated by the sting And had no care to rise for all was dark. Pride came and bathed my wound and bade me rise, But failed to arouse me from my lethargy; Fame poured her ointment in of flattery. And whispered "Up press on and I am yours;" Then duty came and said in chilling tones "Inert is he who heeds not my commands Arouse to action and your wound is healed." But none of these availed I slumbered on. Then came a figure almost crushed with care, And on her breast was scarred in letters bright, — Seared by the iron of affliction — this "The Woes of Suffering Humanity." She knelt and fervently did clasp my hand 118 And dropped one silent tear upon the wound. At once it thrilled my being through and through. Awakening, I arose and quickly grasped The figure in one long and fond embrace, Saying, the power was yours to snatch me from That somnolence which ends in certain death; Henceforth the cause you represent is mine, Then I pursued ambition once again No longer overwhelmed by despair. 119 A ^Problem. Lor' bless your soul no I haint never tried This gettin' married but I'm satisfied That it's the only way'n, one ort to when She can: but Lor' the scarcity of men! Out West they're thick; the census men declare They's two and a half to every woman there. I'll go and see if I can't git that half A man — it's better'n none at all — don't laugh It's serious; and though I haint yet tried This marryin', it's best I'm satisfied. 120 You can't give much in money? then Just laugh and laugh and laugh again, And split your sides — a hearty laugh Will do a heap more good, by half, In this old world, than giving cash Gold in comparison is trash. rrr: -< j s /-* ^r*\ A <\ O > . < 4 Pa. o V «°* > I* V 1 ^ ^ c ° " ° * <£. (V f oK '^O 1 4 P^ ' o „ o ^ * . , n • ^ O - . „ - cr V ^ A V ^ o Jy r. ° " ° * <*>. O ^ Q O » . . . ? ^ c ° " • ♦ ^ =5^ ♦2» C, vP '*£*. A*V f A < ^ O *o . » - A v "- °-> J>" 0°"°* ^ O V 4 °^ JW 78 ^ * Cr A