LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf__lj_l_ [ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
LULU SPHARS DEARING. 
 
LOST CHOKDS 
 
 BY / 
 
 Lulu Spears Bearing 
 
 Come read to me some poem. 
 Some simple and hem'tfeU lay, 
 That sliall soothe this restless feel huj, 
 And hanish all tJwughts of day. 
 Not from the grand old masters, 
 Not from the hards sfiiblime 
 Whose distant footsteps echo 
 Doivn the corridors of time. 
 Read from some humhler poet, 
 Whose songs gushed from the heart 
 Like rain from the clouds in summer. 
 Or tears from the eyelids start. 
 
 -LONGFELLOW 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Chillicothe, Mo. 
 
 1900 
 
 1 
 
OUOOO 
 
 ^^'Iv^ 
 
 Library of Conqresa 
 
 "IW(; CtJPiES RECEfVED 
 
 
 NOV 26 1900 
 
 . CopyrigM aitry 
 
 No .<^.^.?, 9. .2-. 5. 
 
 
 SECOND copy 
 
 
 Oe<iverad to 
 
 
 ORDER DIVISION 
 
 
 DEC 15 1900 
 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 By LULU SPEARS BEARING. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 E. W. Stephens, 
 
 COLUMBIA, MO. 
 
>x 
 
 iDcdication. 
 
 To mv Tatbcr— 
 
 JOHN MILTON SPEARS, 
 
 mbose sacrifice and devotion to bis family^ bis love of truth and duty bas ever 
 
 been an incentive to me to do sometbing to prove myself wortby 
 
 of tbe debt of love I owe bim; tbis little 
 
 volume is most affectionately 
 
 dedicated. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The River 7 
 
 If 19 
 
 The Old Broken Gatepost 24 
 
 To a Rosebud 26 
 
 Mother's Letter 28 
 
 Childhood Days 30 
 
 March 31 
 
 Someday 33 
 
 Heart Pangs 36 
 
 The Signboard 38 
 
 June Memories 40 
 
 Mamma's Story 42 
 
 Gossiping 44 
 
 Farewell, Old Year 46 
 
 True Friendship 49 
 
 Smiles — A Valentine 50 
 
 Kentucky Policy 51 
 
 In Memoriam 52 
 
 To a Friend 54 
 
 Take Me Back 56 
 
 A Prayer 57 
 
 A Mystery 58 
 
 Good-bye 60 
 
 That Editor 61 
 
 Life is Sweet 63 
 
 May-Day 65 
 
 A Parting 68 
 
 A Tribute 71 
 
 Song — The Wanderer 72 
 
 Monuments 74 
 
 Cast Thy Bread Upon the Waters 76 
 
 New Year's Greeting 78 
 
 The Yellow Violet 80 
 
 Jack at Meeting 82 
 
 The Silent City 84 
 
 Society Turmoil 86 
 
PAGE 
 
 'Scuse Me Lady, Please 88 
 
 Longings 90 
 
 God Bless the Poor 91 
 
 Little Things 93 
 
 Dixie 95 
 
 Footprints of Time 96 
 
 Retired 99 
 
 A Plea to Women 103 
 
 The Betrayer 106 
 
 Five Minute's Talk Ill 
 
 Twilight Musings 117 
 
 Extracts 129 
 
 A Picture From Life 129 
 
 Popping the Question 136 
 
 The Cedars 140 
 
 The Two Playmates 144 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It has for a number of years, been my inten- 
 tion to gather together these Lost Chords, and bind 
 into a whole, but I could not. 
 
 Then during the years of 1897 and 1898 our 
 household goods were stored at Greentop, Mo., and 
 one box, containing many things of great personal 
 value to me, was stolen. In this box were all my 
 MSS., containing essays, orations, and poems. 'No 
 one save those who have suffered a similar loss, can 
 know what this was to me. Search was made, and 
 while the box was never recovered, yet from the 
 knowledge gleaned, I felt assured of where and how 
 it met its fate. 
 
 Then it seemed my ambition would never be 
 realized. My papers were gone beyond recall. In 
 my dreams, with tears and anguish I sought them, 
 but always — save once — they were where I could 
 not find them. Just once I thought remorse had 
 seized the thief and they had been restored by mail. 
 
I hope for them no more. 
 
 The first two poems were rewritten from mem- 
 ory. The second writing proved much harder than 
 the first, yet I believe they are true copies of the 
 original Twolight Musings I have been unable to 
 reproduce, except the introductory and close, mth 
 perhaps a few sketches here and there. I remem- 
 bered the outline, but that seemed to be about all. 
 Some of the ^'last edition" is better than the first, 
 while other parts, to me, mil never be as satisfac- 
 tory as the original. 
 
 My aim has ever been to better humanity, and 
 if this little book but makes one soul better and 
 brightens the lives of its readers, my efforts will not 
 have been in vain. A higher standard of virtue, 
 morals, and life is the crying need of the world 
 to-day. May this help to fill that vacuum, and 
 strike a responsive chord in the hearts of the people. 
 
 The sadder strains are but the fountain jet of 
 an anguished heart, while those in lighter vein are 
 the creations of happier hours. While one soothes 
 the wound, may the other chase away every cloud, 
 and let the bounteous sunshine of God's happiness 
 reign supreme in the heart, is the sincere wish of — 
 
 THE AUTHOE. 
 5 
 
LOST CHORDS, 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 I. 
 
 It seems a long way to the river, 
 
 The river that flows so deep; 
 Flowing on to the sea forever, 
 
 With a mnsic low and sweet. 
 II. 
 On its shadv banks the ^dolets grow, 
 
 And shed sweet perfume on the air; 
 The willow trees sway to and fro, 
 
 And birds find shelter in branches there. 
 III. 
 Joyous children play on its banks. 
 
 Throwing the pebbles into its tide; 
 Their voices so happy and sweet, 
 
 Reverberate through the lone hillside. 
 
 Delivered in Avalon College Chapel, November 12, 1899, 
 
IV. 
 
 And oft in the quiet evening, 
 
 There wander along its pebbly shore. 
 Lovers who think such dreaming 
 
 Will be their 's now and forever more. 
 V. 
 How vain and foolish the fancies 
 
 That are roused by its quiet run; 
 For these fancies all must vanish, 
 
 Like the dew before the sun. 
 YI. 
 This life is not in dreaming, 
 
 These dreams all fade away; 
 But patient, earnest toiling. 
 
 Brings joy without decay. 
 YII. 
 Pleasures are fleeting; 'tho so dear 
 
 To the heart while they last; 
 Joys that to us seem the brightest, 
 
 Are those forever past. 
 YIII. 
 I know of a natural recess, 
 
 On this shady, mossy shore, 
 "Where the ferns grow in profusion. 
 
 And violets carpet the floor. 
 
IX. 
 
 'Tis a favorite nook; and the lovers 
 
 Of nature, oft gather there, 
 To commune one with another, 
 
 And banish all thoughts of care. 
 X. 
 They delve into the heart of nature, 
 
 And reveal her hidden lore. 
 The many glorious beauties, 
 
 Unknown to faulty man before. 
 XI. 
 The key to the door of science. 
 
 They secure within their grasp, 
 And write on geology's pages. 
 
 Facts unknown to the past. 
 
 xn. 
 
 The golden orb of the morning, 
 
 The meridian long since crossed; 
 And now in the gorgeous splendor. 
 
 Of the western sky seems lost. 
 XIII. 
 But ere it sinks from our vision. 
 
 It reflects on tree tops old. 
 Its many and brillant colors 
 
 That sparkle like burnished gold. 
 
XIY. 
 
 It in turn reflects on the water, 
 
 Its dazzling, lovely light. 
 Till when gazing long upon it. 
 
 It seems to obscure our sight. 
 XV. 
 For as if the god of Nature, 
 
 With his shining angel bands, 
 Had sprinkled upon the water. 
 
 From out their loving hands, 
 XYI. 
 Glittering, countless diamonds. 
 
 The waters do sparkle so, 
 And the many brilliant colors, 
 
 Like the shadows come and go. 
 XYII. 
 On the banks of this lovely stream. 
 
 Stands a palace, in ruins now. 
 And those who once held carniA^al, 
 
 Lie in silent sleeping now. 
 XVIIL 
 For the wealthy must be laid away, 
 
 And return to mother dust — 
 
 Death comes to every one alike, 
 
 And is welcomed by the just. 
 10 
 
XIX. 
 
 This palace o'ergrown wdth ivy, 
 
 With its old moss-covered walls, 
 Brings with it a feeling of sadness, 
 
 When the legend we recall. 
 XX. 
 'Twere best to bury this legend 
 
 With the palace mold'ring to dust. 
 Its secret hidden with it. 
 
 Be forgotten as all legends must. 
 XXI. 
 For why mourn o'er past sorrows. 
 
 Together let them fade away. 
 Just as we this still calm eve, 
 
 E'ote the slowly departing day. 
 XXII. 
 Life is too precious for mourning. 
 
 Too brief to be shortened by care ; 
 Our duty lies in helping others. 
 
 Thus lessening the load we bear. 
 XXIII. 
 But when I look up the river, 
 
 A far different dwelling I see, 
 
 'Tis a lone fisherman's hut. 
 
 From earthly riches and splendor free ! 
 11 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Yea, deprived of many comforts, 
 
 That lielp to make life rich and sweet, 
 
 That will beautify the home, 
 
 And make it more nearly complete, 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He lived in want and hunger. 
 
 His neighbor — in luxury! 
 Sad instance of charity. 
 
 As also of Christianity. 
 XXYI. 
 God's children — so divided. 
 
 The yawning gulf so wide between ; 
 I wonder will it be so great. 
 
 In that far off land by us unseen ? 
 XXVII. 
 And far, far down the river, 
 
 A bridge is builded this stream across, 
 A bridge with large stone pillars 
 
 That time has covered with clinging moss. 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 In its rafters, bending over, 
 
 As pressed by the mighty hand of time, 
 
 The swallows seek a dwelling, 
 
 In this lonely deserted clime. 
 12 
 
XXIX. 
 
 This bridge to me so enchanted, 
 
 So dear from the memories it holds 
 And the thoughts by it implanted, 
 
 Seem better and richer than gold; 
 XXX. 
 When I think how many thousand. 
 
 For true remission of sin, 
 By the acknowledgment of Christ, 
 
 And their desire to walk with Him, 
 XXXI. 
 Have by these pure crystal waters. 
 
 Had their sins all washed away. 
 And with Christ, their guide and leader, 
 
 Tread the straight and narrow way. 
 XXXII. 
 And through fancy's halls I wander, 
 
 To the Jordan's blessed shore. 
 Where the Lord our Christ and Savior, 
 
 Asked of John, who went before; 
 
 xxxin. 
 
 To be baptized by him with water. 
 That all righteousness he fulfill ; 
 
 John 'tho humble and inferior. 
 Yet obeyed his Master's will. 
 
 13 
 
XXXIY. 
 
 As they came from out the water 
 
 The heavens were opened unto them, 
 And the spirit of God descended 
 
 Like a dove, and sat on him; 
 XXXY. • 
 And in w^ords of sweetest music, 
 
 Like some low-toned vesper hymn, 
 Came the voice of God the Father: 
 
 "My beloved son; Hear ye Him/' 
 XXXYI. 
 As I stand on this ancient bridge, 
 
 And gaze into the silent depths below, 
 I ponder on this brief life. 
 
 Of the suffering — the human woe. 
 XXXYIL 
 I compare the voyage made, 
 
 As we sail down the stream of life. 
 To a row on these tranquil waters. 
 
 So free from turmoil and strife. 
 XXXYIIL 
 As we make the former voyage. 
 
 The tide now high, now low. 
 
 Until weary and exhausted. 
 
 Our boat we scarce can row. 
 14 
 
XXXIX. 
 
 For the waves of superstition, 
 
 Hypocrisy, sorrow, care. 
 So oft surge high about us, 
 
 With their grim and ghastly stare, 
 XL. 
 That oftentimes we fain would yield, 
 
 Into their relentless clasp. 
 But pride and ambition aid us. 
 
 Even to the very last. 
 XLI. 
 The dark waves of discouragement. 
 
 Of jealousy, hate and fear, 
 Threaten to envelop our boat, 
 
 They come so frightfully near; 
 XLII. 
 But, in time from these we're rescued, 
 
 And our bark glides smoothly on. 
 When in the quicksands of ignorance. 
 
 We're dashed, and think we are gone. 
 XLIIL 
 The calamity so sudden. 
 
 Has fallen with such might. 
 
 So suddenly is extinguished 
 
 Bright hope, our beacon light, 
 15 
 
XLIY. 
 
 That all courage and heart fail us, 
 
 Despair our only dower, 
 And many sad, dark, cheerless thoughts. 
 
 Are ours in the perilous hour. 
 XLY. 
 But knowledge sees our misfortune, 
 
 Sends brave captain and crew; 
 Again we are safely rescued 
 
 And at last pull safely through. 
 XLYI. 
 Thus, thus, my friends is the voyage, 
 
 That's made on life's varied stream; 
 Before made it seems to be easy. 
 
 But things are not as they seem; 
 
 XLvn. 
 
 For the surface that looks so tranquil. 
 Hides much that's dark with its sheet; 
 
 The truth of that saying's been tested. 
 The saying: Still waters run deep. 
 XLYIII. 
 
 But as we sail down this river. 
 So quiet, peaceful and calm. 
 
 Fanned by the evening zephyrs. 
 
 That bear such a healing balm, 
 IG 
 
XLIX. 
 
 The cares of the day are forgotten, 
 
 The present so joyous and bright, 
 So fleeting, tis suddenly ended — 
 
 God draws the curtain of night. 
 L. 
 This river flows between flowry banks, 
 
 And mountains with high rocky peaks. 
 Where the soaring eagle builds its nest. 
 
 So high that no one can reach; 
 LI. 
 It flows amid lands of beauty rare. 
 
 And of bleak and barren waste. 
 Where fortune and bliss ne'er had a home. 
 
 And happiness ne'er a taste. 
 
 Ln. 
 
 It bears along on its bosom, 
 
 A multitude of sorrows. 
 From the many who visit its banks. 
 
 Longing for the to-morrows. 
 LIIL 
 But alas! these longed-for to-morrows. 
 
 To the many never come ; 
 
 They are always here, tliough unheeded. 
 
 The tide flows heedlessly on. 
 2 17 
 
LIY. 
 
 Nor can this grand marvelous beauty, 
 
 For one moment stay its course; 
 The barriers before it seem naught, 
 To its strong relentless force. 
 LY. 
 We confide our griefs to its bosom, 
 
 In sorrowful bitter tone. 
 It wafts them away to the ocean, 
 They repose on the light sea foam. 
 LYI. 
 So the tide of life bears us ever on. 
 
 Whether we will or no; 
 We can not impede its onward course 
 ISTor abate its rapid flow. 
 LYH. 
 We grasp at flowers along the way. 
 
 But our hands are empty still; 
 We get so little we desire, 
 
 The tid« will not obey our will. 
 LYITI. 
 We seek and look and grasp in vain, 
 
 All down the stream of life; 
 The waves beat back but cold rebuke. 
 
 Ours seems a bitter strife. 
 18 
 
LIX. 
 
 The waves of eternity's ocean, 
 
 Break on our astonished ears, 
 Its waves roll fierce and high about us, 
 
 Death ends all our doubts and fears. 
 LX. 
 We set sail on this boundless ocean, 
 
 To the city of peace and light, 
 Where all our griefs and cares are over, 
 
 And never comes the dark night. 
 
 IF. 
 
 If we were only better. 
 
 And closer to our God; 
 Could we but break the fetter 
 
 As it were an iron rod. 
 That binds our hearts to earth. 
 
 And so fast to worldly things. 
 
 We'd be pure as at birth, 
 
 Fitted for heaven, and heavenly things. 
 19 
 
Were our hearts full of God's love, 
 
 With less of worldly strife ; 
 God would view us from above, 
 
 And bless us throughout life. 
 Enemies would not exist, 
 
 But all would true friends be. 
 And God would reign supreme 
 
 From now until eternity. 
 
 When strife and troubles do arise. 
 
 And duty struggles with our will. 
 If we could only be like Christ, 
 
 And calm our souls with: ^^Peace be still!" 
 We would not suffer as we do, 
 
 From tempests that overwhelm the soul. 
 But in safety would glide our bark. 
 
 And in landing — reach the goal. 
 
 Were life not such a thorny path. 
 
 With less of strife and trouble. 
 If there were fewer downs than ups. 
 
 Our burdens would not seem so double; 
 If we look 'neath the surface 
 
 To see what of love lies hidden. 
 
 Cares would not o'erwhelm the soul, 
 
 'Nor even sorrows come unbidden. 
 20 
 
If we want to honor God, 
 
 Or the praise of men obtain, 
 We must be true in heart, 
 
 And from evil things abstain. 
 E^oble acts have their reward 
 
 If not on earth, they do in heaven; 
 For such were they meant to be 
 
 When the soul to man was siven. 
 
 t5^ 
 
 If we knew our length of life 
 
 I wonder how it would be passed; 
 If in joy and idle pleasure, 
 
 Or one of duty to the last : 
 Would it be an honor to ourselves, 
 
 An honor to our fellowmen. 
 Or would it be a disgrace to both, 
 
 And the ruler of human ken? 
 
 If we knew one-half that's written 
 In that recording book above, 
 
 Would not all our acts be different. 
 Backed by pure and honest love ? 
 
 Would we practice such deception 
 As we all do — every day? 
 
 'Noy I say, we would not do it; 
 
 We would slink in shame away. 
 21 
 
If religion be a fraud, 
 
 And if there is no Christ, 
 For what aim have we to live. 
 
 And bear such burdens, whilst 
 We journey on this earth, 
 
 That's filled with shame and sin. 
 When we read in holy writ: 
 
 "Fve op'ed the door; come, enter in." 
 
 If this body's but the temple. 
 
 The home in which the spirit dwells, 
 How shallow is the argument. 
 
 Put forth by the Infidels, 
 That when this body perishes. 
 
 Is consigned to mother dust, 
 Spirit, body — all is ended — 
 
 Earth to earth, and dust to dust. 
 
 If all men are to be saved, 
 
 And we are punished here, 
 Why are we taught to honor God, 
 
 And his holy name revere. 
 Why not delve in depths of vice 
 
 And enjoy life while we live. 
 
 When God in his infinite love. 
 
 Pardon to all, will truly give. 
 22 
 
This are we taught through Christ: 
 
 Eepent, be baptized, and live; 
 But if ye obey me not, 
 
 Eternal life ye shall not have. 
 On these conditions we are saved 
 
 If we live a godly life, 
 We'll attain that resting place, 
 
 Where ends all cruel strife. 
 
 If this world's but a wilderness. 
 
 Of trials, cares, sin and woe, 
 Why cling with that deathly grasp 
 
 When we are called to go 
 To those mansions built above. 
 
 Of which we've oft been told. 
 The walls are all of jasper. 
 
 And the streets are paved with gold ! 
 
 If we would hope to obtain a home 
 In that house not made with hands, 
 
 We must work with a ready will, 
 And obey the Lord's commands. 
 
 Lay not up treasures here on earth. 
 
 Where they are sought mth miser's zeal. 
 
 But lay up treasures rich in heaven, 
 
 Where thieves do not break through and steal. 
 23 
 
"When the evening of life draws nigh, 
 
 And our race is nearly run, 
 If the good outweigh the bad. 
 
 And we be greeted with : ^^ Well done. 
 Thou good and faithful servant. 
 
 Share the blessings of thy Lord," 
 Then can we say in truth and love, 
 
 I obeyed and kept his word. 
 
 "When the golden sun is setting," 
 
 Has kissed the earth at close of day. 
 Is decking the arched canopy 
 
 In some clime far, far away — 
 If we could always feel as holy. 
 
 And from malice just as free. 
 As when gazing on this picture. 
 
 What a blessed life 'twould be. 
 
 THE OLD BROKEN GATEPOST.* 
 
 How dear to my heart are the scenes of my school- 
 
 When fond recollections present them to view. 
 The college, the campus, the fair-ground and by- 
 ways. 
 
 *Written for Journal of Agriculture, 1890. 
 24 
 
And every loved spot which the students all knew; 
 The road to the graveyard, the woodland that^s 
 nigh it, 
 Where botany lovers their secrets would tell; 
 There Mayday excursions would close with a riot. 
 But, ah! the old gatepost could charm 'way the 
 spell. 
 The old broken gatepost, the rusty hinged gatepost, 
 Could it talk what secrets the gatepost would tell. 
 
 That old beloved entrance, I hail as a treasure, 
 
 For often at night when returned from a steal, 
 I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. 
 
 The purest and sweetest, that nature can yield. 
 How ardent I seized it with heart all aglowing, 
 
 And quick my companion the secret could tell; 
 Then soon wdth the emblem of love overflowing. 
 
 And laden with sweetness 'twas given — ah, well I 
 The old broken gatepost, the rusty hinged gatepost, 
 
 The iron bound gatepost that stood sieges well. 
 
 How sweet o'er the pickets at night to receive it, 
 Opposites attract — hence meeting of lips ! 
 
 l^ot a full blushing goblet could tempt one to 
 leave it, 
 Tho' filled with the nectar which Jupiter sips ! 
 
 And now far removed from the loved situation, 
 
 25 
 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
 As fancy reverts to the old occupation, 
 
 And sighs for the gatepost, and kisses as well. 
 The old broken gatepost, the rusty hinged gatepost, 
 
 The moss-covered gatepost, that lays where it fell. 
 
 TO A ROSE-DUD. 
 
 Oh ! sweet and beautiful rosebud. 
 
 Emblem of early spring, 
 To think that so much beauty. 
 
 Is enclosed in so small a thing; 
 So much of grand perfection. 
 
 And of wisdom quaint and rare, 
 So sweet, too, is thy fragrance. 
 
 And thou art wondrous fair. 
 
 I wonder who was thy maker; 
 
 Surely some one very wise. 
 For thine is real perfection 
 
 And man can not thus devise; 
 And so to some power higher. 
 
 Than the frail, weak powers of man, 
 To one — the Supernatural — 
 
 I'll ascribe thy wondrous plan. 
 
 *This poem will be found in Poets of America. 
 26 
 
This being is called by us, God; 
 
 He's the Maker of us all; 
 He lists to our feeblest cry 
 
 And hears e'en the sparrows fall; 
 And here is thy sister fair, 
 
 But lo ! concealed in her heart, 
 Is a worm — the sad destroyer 
 
 Who is ever doing his part. 
 
 Oh, ye sadly shattered beauty, 
 
 Thy heart is vacant within, 
 Thou'rt the emblem of fallen man. 
 
 The worm — the demon of sin. 
 He stole as a thief in the night, 
 
 Into thy pure heart's cell; 
 And now as I behold you. 
 
 You are naught but an empty shell. 
 
 So many of God's dear children, 
 Let the worm steal into their heart, 
 
 'Till we see so much corruption — 
 It chills us, and quickly we start. 
 
 I'll pluck this worm from the bud 
 And help it be a perfect flower, 
 
 'Twill gladden — tho' late in the day— 
 
 And brighten the gloomiest hour. 
 27 
 
MOTHER'S LETTER. 
 
 Only one letter to-niglit? 
 
 That's all; I heard him say. 
 Disappointment on my brow, 
 
 Wearily I turned away. 
 
 One letter? Yes, it's from home, 
 Eagerly I broke the seal 
 
 To see what was going on, 
 I knew it would reveal. 
 
 A letter — yes, from mother; 
 
 Ah, those who have one know. 
 What a rich store of comfort^ 
 
 These letters on us bestow. 
 
 How they lighten the burden 
 Of life, as we bear it on, 
 
 What a halo of glory. 
 
 They shed on the absent one. 
 
 Each word a golden treasure. 
 
 That sinks deep into the heart. 
 
 That's cherished in our memory 
 
 And forms of life a part. 
 28 
 
I read clear through the letter, 
 
 'Till I came to the last, 
 And with her closing blessing, 
 
 My tears fell thick and fast. 
 
 An undertone of sadness, 
 
 I read it in every line. 
 Breathed from the heart of mother. 
 
 It entered into mine. 
 
 Yainly I longed to see her, 
 And hear her voice so sweet; 
 
 Eeceive her kiss of welcome. 
 For thus she would me greet. 
 
 Ah ! she's the sweetest mother 
 That ever lived I know 1 
 
 The most self-sacrificing. 
 
 And you, too, would think so. 
 
 If you knew her as I do. 
 
 But ah ! you never can. 
 As I think her life over 
 
 I blush at what I am. 
 
 She's all that's pure and noble, 
 
 All that's good and true, 
 
 I never can repay the love. 
 
 That I know is her due. 
 29 
 
God bless my darling motlier, 
 
 With peace thou alone canst give, 
 
 And joy and purest sunlight, 
 So long as she may live. 
 
 CHILDHOOD DAYS. 
 
 Oh, give me back my childhood, 
 
 The happy days of yore. 
 When I knev7 naught of sorrow. 
 
 JSTor had aught to brood o'er; 
 Ignorant of old earth's troubles. 
 
 Blissful in childish glee. 
 With an innocent trusting heart — 
 
 Oh, give it back to me ! 
 
 Knowledge of some wrong is bitter. 
 Ignorance of some is bliss. 
 
 By sorrow we're made better, 
 Humanity tires of this. 
 
 The heart is not a millstone, 
 To grind till worn away; 
 
 Shutting from life its pleasures. 
 
 Turns not the night to day. 
 30 
 
Oh, for thy golden tresses, 
 
 That fringe a peaceful brow, 
 For one golden happy hour. 
 
 You have so many now ! 
 The child heeds not my pleading, 
 
 But frolicking runs away. 
 To enjoy life's richest blessings. 
 
 In its pure and artless way. 
 
 So I will cease repining. 
 
 And gather the threads of gold. 
 To weave mth those of crimson. 
 
 That look so worn and old. 
 Perhaps a ray of sunlight, 
 
 'Twill yield some blighted life. 
 To know that others suffer. 
 
 And conquer in the strife. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 Hail ! thou unpropitious March ! 
 
 Thou herald of beloved spring. 
 From sweet tempers ye take the starch, 
 
 And make us think of evil things. 
 
 31 
 
Aeolus has stayed in his cave; 
 
 His vengeful wrath we have not known, 
 But thou who carest not to save, 
 
 Hath from his door rolled 'way the stone. 
 
 He rushes forth with lordly air, 
 
 His pent-up fury knows no bounds; 
 
 He leaves us almost in despair ; 
 
 Departing, throws us back a frown. 
 
 Yet, after all, thou'rt not so bad. 
 As often thou art deemed by men; 
 
 The birds sing and seem to be glad. 
 
 The brooks go rippling through the glen. 
 
 To-day the skies are blue and clear; 
 
 To-morrow dark and angry clouds. 
 Make the heavens look cold and drear. 
 
 And robe the earth in a snowy shroud. 
 
 The breath of spring pervades the air, 
 
 Through all of these ne'er ending scenes. 
 
 And life withal looks bright and fair; 
 
 The dark foretells of better things. 
 32 
 
SOMEDAY. 
 
 Someday — 
 The labor question will be solved; 
 The wrongs and evils now involved — 
 These things mil all to light be brought, 
 And souls for money can't be bought. 
 Farmers' rights will be respected, 
 Poor men mil not be rejected; 
 Honest labor with due reward, 
 Is what's commanded by the Lord. 
 Monopolies won't keep the throne, 
 'Till men are starved to skin and bone. 
 For freedom's rights and justice's claim, 
 They'll fight with all their might and main. 
 
 Someday — 
 The men who fan the party fire,- 
 "Will buried be with their grandsire, 
 Across Mason and Dixon's line ; 
 Long fostered hatred we'll resign, 
 And joining hands with God our judge, 
 No more we'll harbor the old grudge. 
 Sectional strife must surely cease, 
 
 3 33 
 
If from our chains we hope release. 
 Like Rip of old the farmer is; 
 He's had his nap but now has ^^ris"; 
 Rubs his eyes and begins to see, 
 ^Toor fool," he says. "Can this be me ? 
 Have I been toiling all these years, 
 With nothing gained but painful fears? 
 I raise my grain — wheat, oats and corn. 
 The "Wall street men with looks forlorn, 
 Tell me the price that they will give, 
 And I must sell, that I may live. 
 I can not say my souFs my own; 
 I always borrow — never loan. 
 
 "Monopolies are very kind; 
 
 They fix prices to ease my mind — 
 
 Of work and worry; all such things; 
 
 And take the money that it brings. 
 
 They give me work, they take the sleep. 
 
 And think that living's very cheap. 
 
 Blest benefactors ! Noble clan ! 
 
 Praised and flattered of all the land ! 
 
 An hundred fold they give to me, 
 
 And tend my business gratus — see ? 
 
 I'm very ignorant, I'm told; 
 
 They very wise like Sol of old. 
 
 34 
 
For office I am dire iinfit, 
 
 So they'll take tliem and that ends it, 
 
 I know not the cost of production, 
 
 They'll place my goods at reduction, 
 
 Take ten per cent as their profit, 
 
 Give me what's left — when they dock it." 
 
 The farmer supports the nation, 
 A man after God's creation; 
 Supplies the storehouse of the world. 
 Then why is this injustice hurled 
 With maddening force and deadly aim, 
 To take his life — scoff at his claims. 
 Make him a slave who feeds the race, 
 And say they inflict no disgrace? 
 
 Joining our strength throughout the land. 
 
 We'll in one solid phalanx stand. 
 
 We'll tend our land, keep what it brings 
 
 And not be serfs to the money kings. 
 
 We'll slay monopoly and trust. 
 
 And trample them into the dust. 
 
 With one grand effort God our guide. 
 
 We'll break the bonds, throw the gates mde. 
 
 Let the law of right hold the sway. 
 
 And glory cro^vn the dying day. 
 
 35 
 
Our starry flag we'll proudly raise, 
 With one triumphant shout of praise ! 
 
 HEART PANGS. 
 
 Let the scenes pass on before me, 
 
 Let the world roll on as't may; 
 Let the darknesss hover o'er me, 
 
 And exclude the light of day. 
 Let the heart throbs cease to battle 
 
 With each other with such force. 
 And glide smoothly as the brooklet. 
 
 When it issues from its source. 
 
 Let the sea with its angry billows. 
 Toss against the distant shore, 
 
 'Twill be nothing when compared with 
 The heartaches to the very core. 
 
 For like the fierce and mighty lion. 
 As he plunges 'gainst the bars, 
 
 'Till his roar so loud and vicious, 
 
 Seems to reach the very stars : 
 36 
 
So the heart when filled with anguish 
 
 Beats against its outer walls, 
 Till its life is thus exhausted, 
 
 And like the conquered hero — falls ! 
 
 'No one knows the groans of anguish, 
 
 No one hears the smothered sighs; 
 And the world seems no less vacant. 
 
 When these pass from 'neath our eyes. 
 Life to them became a burden, 
 
 The hearts of men a desert waste, 
 The world drinks of joy's bright fountain, 
 
 And knows not sorrow's galling taste. 
 
 Oh ! the bitter, untold suffering 
 
 Borne in secret and alone; 
 All the weary years of meekness. 
 
 For our sorrows will atone. 
 Tho' so cruel, yet in wisdom. 
 
 They're upon us sent of God, 
 To prepare us for the dwelling 
 
 In his grand and blest abode. 
 
 Yea, thrice blessed is the being, 
 
 Who the hand of God can trace. 
 
 In all the good and ill that checkers 
 
 Life's fair volume ! And can face 
 37 
 
Misfortune calm — submissive, 
 To the will of Him who said: 
 
 That the weary shall be rested, 
 And the hungry shall be fed. 
 
 THE SIGNBOARD. 
 
 Dedicated to Chillicothe, Missouri. 
 
 On a visit once to the city, 
 
 To see an honored friend. 
 To a second story window, 
 
 I chanced my way to wend. 
 Fanned by the balmy southern breeze 
 Fell to pondering at my ease. 
 
 I was roused from meditating; 
 
 I^oise on the street below 
 Broke the spell of my reverie. 
 
 The passers to and fro, 
 All seemed to be on business bent, 
 Nor 'till 'twas over, be content. 
 
 I noticed most all seemed going 
 
 (Oh dreadful sight to see). 
 
 In a cellar across the street, 
 
 38 
 
And the secret was told to me. 
 On the signboard, over the stair — 
 Read it, young men, and then beware ! 
 
 The board was painted spotless white: 
 SALOOX ! in letters black. 
 
 So plain that no one could mistake, 
 And choose the evil track; 
 
 For at the end the truth I found — 
 
 'Twas a hand, and pointing down ! 
 
 Never was truer signboard made 
 
 Its evil to portray; 
 Such dens are oftener under ground. 
 
 Than in the light of day; 
 Away from all that's good and pure. 
 Their victims there they seek to lure. 
 
 Say — loon ! You're invited to go — 
 The hand points out the way — 
 
 Down ! to the lowest depths of vice ; 
 Do^\Ti ! where there is no day ; 
 
 Down! where shame and misery dwell; 
 
 Do^vn ! Yes, even down to Hell ! 
 
 The human mil is swallowed up 
 
 By that vile demon — Eum ! 
 Helpless now to retrace his steps, 
 
 39 
 
Or from Ms sin to come. 
 His heated brain can know no rest: 
 ^'More rum P' he cries. ^'I like it best.'' 
 
 Go to the alley on Poverty street, 
 
 The children not half clad; 
 Despair shrouds the frenzied mother's face, 
 
 Her little ones cry for bread; 
 The story of a blighted life, 
 You read in this poor drunkard's wife. 
 
 I've explained the signboard to you; 
 
 Do you wish now to go, 
 To partake of the social glass, 
 
 And drink this cup of woe ? 
 Barter your life, your hopes, your all. 
 And in its deadly clutches fall ? 
 
 JUNE MEMORIES. 
 
 To class '90. 
 It's only a box of relics, 
 
 Eare treasures too, to me; 
 The odor of gladsome memories. 
 
 Is wafted up to me 
 With these old withered flowers. 
 
 Tokens of love and good will, 
 
 40 
 
Received on graduation, 
 
 From friends who love me still. 
 
 'Twas the day of crowning glory, 
 
 After a four years strife; 
 The adjustment of the armor 
 
 For the great warfare of life. 
 WeVe fought in the fiercest battles ! — 
 
 (They were only visions then, 
 Thoughts in flowery language, 
 
 To please the hearts of men.) 
 
 AVeVe been in this terrible conflict, 
 
 And suffered worse than death. 
 For we live to tell the story 
 
 Of failures ! and joys bereft 
 Where we looked for brightest laurels, 
 
 And for victories more grand. 
 Than e'er on the field of battle. 
 
 Were won by mortal hand. 
 
 Yes — here lies the golden pencil, 
 
 That was to record it all; 
 But here on my heart it's written 
 
 And covered with a pall; 
 
 And here, too, is the kerchief, 
 
 That should wipe away the tears, 
 41 
 
And this little golden circlet, 
 
 Means a love ne'er dimmed by years. 
 
 This story of blighted love, 
 
 Written by Thomas Moore, 
 Told the story of its donor, 
 
 A classmate, what is more : 
 While this cross of lovely roses. 
 
 Meant the cross that I must bear; 
 Six of us that bright June morning, 
 
 The degree B. S. to wear. 
 
 Four were men so brave and valiant. 
 
 Two were women, not afraid 
 Of the conflict they must enter, 
 
 j^or by it one bit dismayed; 
 Ten long years of earnest effort. 
 
 And our ranks unbroken yet, 
 Still with nobler, sterner purpose. 
 
 To serve God and self forget. 
 
 MAMMA'S STORY. 
 
 "Tell me a story, mamma," 
 Said a fair haired little tot. 
 
 With eyes so bright and glistening- 
 'Noy she had not forgot. 
 
 42 
 
"Tell about meddlesome Mattie; 
 
 'No; tell me about the pig 
 A man found in the woods; 
 
 And't waseut one bit big. 
 
 "A wee little bit a 'sing 
 
 And dident have but one eye, 
 
 And nebber had any niuvver — 
 I 'sj)ect that made it cry. 
 
 "'Twas purty near starved to death, 
 
 And so he took it home; 
 Gived it to his little dirl — 
 
 I 'spect she's glad it come. 
 
 "And so in a great big box 
 She put it, and give it milk, 
 
 And when she went to see it, 
 The milk was 'bout all spilt. 
 
 "But 'fore long it got so big. 
 They had to put it in a pen. 
 
 Her papa went way — way — off, 
 Her uncle lived there, and then 
 
 "When it was a great big hog. 
 
 He got a lot of water hot. 
 
 And what — you — think — he — done, 
 
 He killed it ! put it in a pot, 
 43 
 
"And scalded it and scraped it, 
 And made 'ard and meat of it ! 
 An' — sir — don't you think; 
 She never got n-a-r-r-j bit 
 
 "Of money, to buy tanny. 
 
 Or anysing. 'Twas worth whole lot, 
 But there now, IVe told it. 
 
 Well, mamma, I f ordot !" 
 
 GOSSIPING.* 
 
 It matters not what the world may say. 
 
 If the heart is right with God; 
 To believe all gossips will not pay. 
 
 As we journey on this sod. 
 The world is full of ready hands. 
 
 Who have an ax to grind; 
 To accomplish their own selfish ends, 
 
 Is the whole of their design. 
 
 There's many a rose in the path of life, 
 
 Eeady to pluck by some fair hand. 
 But so many gather the thorns, 
 
 And leave the rose to stand. 
 
 ♦This was my first literary effort and was prompted by the whole - 
 sale stock of gossip current in ;the village at this time— in the spring 
 of '88, 1 believe.— Author. 
 
 44 
 
But human nature is weak and frail, 
 
 Liable to make mistakes; 
 Those who make of themselves "tell tales," 
 
 Find that there's little to make. 
 
 When you hear one speak ill of another, 
 
 Aye — certain there's something 'neath it all; 
 It's hard to quell the hatred of a brother. 
 
 And sometimes it can not be quelled at all. 
 It's the hardest trial there is in life, 
 
 To forgive the falsehoods told on us by others, 
 Yet if we forgive not envy and strife, 
 
 ISTeither can we be forgiven by our Father. 
 
 In traveling the thorny path of life. 
 
 There's many a lesson to be learned. 
 And those ever ready to kindle strife, 
 
 Are the ones, if any, to be spurned. 
 There are none of Grod's children perfect, 
 
 And those who hope to be. 
 Must leave off slandering others, 
 
 'Till from imperfections they are free. 
 
 There are those who pretend to be one's friends. 
 
 Who prove to be everything else; 
 
 Who are ever striving themselves to defend. 
 
 Thinking of no one but — self. 
 45 
 
They tell things untrue to appear just themselves, 
 And help tend the affairs of their neighbors, 
 
 And seem not to know they injure themselves. 
 Much more than their objects of labor. 
 
 Strive to abstain from this awful curse, 
 
 Be true to principle, and God; 
 And you will never be any worse. 
 
 And at last receive your reward. 
 There's nothing lost by doing right, 
 
 But always something gained; 
 The truth will finally come to light, 
 
 'No matter how many darts are aimed. 
 
 FAREWELL, OLD YEAR. 
 
 Hark ! Hear the tolling, tolling, toUing, 
 
 Of the mighty bell of time; 
 How it rouses us from our stupor. 
 
 With its ever doleful chime. 
 
 It seems to us that we've been sleeping, 
 'Till the year draws near its close; 
 
 Suddenly we assert our manhood, 
 Wrest ourselves from vain repose. 
 
 We see the souls that we've perverted. 
 
 Those who sought to do the right, 
 46 
 
Our present joy is turned to anguish, 
 And our day is turned to night. 
 
 Memory that is ever busy, 
 
 Always to her trust so true, 
 Though we should be e'er so unwilling, 
 
 Brings to our astonished view. 
 
 All our misdeeds, our crimes and errors, 
 In their blackness and their might, 
 
 And in our sincere meditation. 
 We must view, and view aright. 
 
 Though by self-love we be blinded, 
 Now the scales fall from our eyes; 
 
 Our many faults we must acknowledge, 
 To a sense of duty rise. 
 
 Oh ! since we listened to the ringing. 
 
 Just one year ago to-night. 
 Many who heeded then its warning. 
 
 Have passed through the gates of light. 
 
 Dead? Ah no! Souls never perish. 
 
 They have everlasting life. 
 
 We shuffle off this mortal body 
 
 But the soul hath future life. 
 47 
 
Do we realize the full meaning, 
 In those tones so deep and low, 
 
 Does it tell of work well ended, 
 Does it fill our cup of woe ? 
 
 Sealed, forever, is the year's record, 
 Nothing now can altered be. 
 
 Then let's resolve with true endeavor. 
 Our future record to keep free. 
 
 From all like errors weVe committed. 
 In the year so near its close. 
 
 By nobler thoughts and manhood, 
 Free ourselves of "last year's" woes. 
 
 Let the past teach us the dear lesson. 
 
 So fQuch needed every day. 
 That to love God and help our fellows. 
 
 Cheers the dark and gloomy day. 
 
 Listen ! l^ow the bell's ceased ringing. 
 Its last faint tones have died away; 
 
 Then gladly welcome in the Xew Year, 
 Tho' sad ye marked the old's decay. 
 
 48 
 
TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship ! thou fragrant flower, 
 That blooms as fair in hut as mansion grand, 
 All prize thj A^alue and thy soothing power, 
 
 Eternal ! thou wilt stand. 
 
 We meet, we love, we part. 
 Thus do true friends o'er all this world so wide. 
 Keen arrows pierce through many a loving heart, 
 
 The scars will e'er abide. 
 
 We view the loved one's face. 
 Remembrance stamps their image on our heart, 
 We take one lingering look, one fond embrace. 
 
 And then alas — must part! 
 
 Just as we learn to love. 
 Our heart's desire is taken from our grasp. 
 Instinctively we turn our thoughts above, 
 
 And ask: Can friendship last? 
 
 In every phase of life, 
 
 'No matter where our unknoAvn lot is cast. 
 
 Meeting and parting, the ever-surging strife. 
 
 Performs her sad, sad task. 
 4 49 
 
It ever has been thus. 
 We meet new friends, yet hold the old ones dear, 
 Their memory is cherished still by us, 
 
 Of them we love to hear. 
 
 True friendship never dies^ 
 Its sacred fires on many an altar glow; 
 Hidden in the heart, away from prying eyes, 
 
 It burns, yet ne'er grows low. 
 
 SMILES— A VALENTINE. 
 
 Thy smile is always sweet. 
 
 But sometimes very sad. 
 
 How oft it does me greet, 
 
 And make my heart so glad. 
 
 And so in truth and love, 
 
 This valentine I send, 
 
 And warn you, guard your smiles. 
 
 Lest you my heart do rend. 
 
 50 
 
*KENTUCKY POLICY. 
 
 If you long for fame or glory, 
 
 And possess a stubborn will, 
 There's a land of song and story, 
 
 Romance, fine horses and the still. 
 They have feuds and fights and rulers, 
 
 "Who dispute each other's power. 
 They need large, capacious coolers, 
 
 'Till the courts decide the hour. 
 
 'Tis the motto in Missouri, 
 
 (So I've heard wise people say); 
 "You must show me," they adjure you, 
 "I can't take your yea or nay;" 
 But over there — in Kentucky, 
 
 Where good Bourbon and Mossbacks grow. 
 If you'd be accounted lucky, 
 
 "Just fight it out," 'tis all the go. 
 
 ♦Written February, 1900, commemorating the Taylor-Groebel fight 
 for governorship of Kentucky, also the terrible feud and fight the 
 same winter. 
 
 51 
 
*IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 To the Memory of My Sainted Cousin, Cleo Edrington. 
 
 There's another flower in the garden of God, 
 Its delicate beauty no pen can describe ; 
 
 There was never one purer graced the cold sod, 
 Or so lavish with sweetness that all might imbibe. 
 
 There's a vacant chair in the circle at home, 
 
 And hearts almost crushed by the pain and the 
 grief; 
 
 And buried lie many fond hopes in the tomb, 
 But Christ to the mourner pours out his relief. 
 
 So kind, obedient and loving withal. 
 
 Like a pure, polished diamond so genuine and 
 true. 
 With grace and submission she answered the call; 
 
 In the realm of the blest she's enjoying her due. 
 
 Yes, Cleo, I know there are stars in your crown. 
 Whose number and brilliancy none can surpass ; 
 
 ♦This poem will be found in the history of Hill county, Texas, 
 published in 1893. 
 
 52 
 
Thej would dazzle our vision, and cause ns to frown, 
 Could we in thy glory but view thee, alas ! 
 
 'Tis not for poor mortals in the struggle for life, 
 To view the rich splendor that awaits us beyond; 
 
 'Twould rob us of all that we need in the strife, 
 That makes life so dear — that we treasure so 
 fond. 
 
 In God's garden eternal, this flower will bloom 
 In fullness and beauty — for there is no decay; 
 
 She's smoothed the passport, to the cold dreary 
 tomb. 
 And awaits at the portals the glorious day ! 
 
 When the earth and the sea shall give up their dead. 
 What a grand reunion of God's children there'll 
 be! 
 
 The meeting will not be o'ershadowed mth dread. 
 For parting in Heaven, such never could be. 
 
 Then cheer up, ye loved ones, who linger behind. 
 
 There's a grand work allotted you yet here below. 
 
 You have a bright star, a clear hope in mind, 
 
 That shines on your pathway wherever you go. 
 53 
 
Its liglit is ne'er dimmed by the sorrows of earth, 
 Through the deepest of gloom it will e'en pene- 
 trate, 
 
 Ah ! who would not say that it has untold worth, 
 Then go where it leads you, before it's too late. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Oh, let me live o'er the olden time. 
 
 With the friends that are no more. 
 And hear once more the silvery chime. 
 
 Of their voices that I adore; 
 That they may cheer my lonely heart. 
 
 Quiet my longing, ease my despair. 
 And fill the vacancy in my heart. 
 
 Where true friends dwell alas — too rare ! 
 
 There was one seemed as a sister. 
 
 Ever ready to aid and cheer; 
 Since she's gone I sadly miss her. 
 
 And see her seldom through the year. 
 Could I but see that absent one. 
 
 Hear the sweet, melodious strain 
 
 Of that voice so sad — then fun — 
 
 I'd be so happy once again. 
 54 
 
She to virtue was ever true, 
 
 To friends — was just the same; 
 So lovable, so innocent, too — 
 
 Love ruled supreme in her domain; 
 To know her was but to love her, 
 
 So pure were all her thoughts; 
 Faults in her I'd scarce discover. 
 
 Though oft and long our private talks. 
 
 How oft our friends do traitors prove. 
 
 And wreck our faith in human nature; 
 We shrink from those we once did love. 
 
 And place our thoughts in our Creator. 
 That secret chamber of our heart, 
 
 Where Trust her scepter long has swayed, 
 Now bars the door, and says. Depart ! 
 
 ni trust no more — to be betrayed. 
 
 But thou ! old friend of college days. 
 Long life to thee and health and peace ! 
 
 Oft hast thou cheered my gloomy days. 
 And bade old care and sorrow cease; 
 
 Thy heart is true as tempered steel. 
 
 Thy conscience clear as morning's dew; 
 
 Tho' change may come, I'll ever feel. 
 
 That heaven was made for such as you ! 
 55 
 
TAKE ME BACK. 
 
 Oil ! take me back to the sunny Soutli, 
 Where the zephyrs are always at play, 
 
 Where health and happiness came to me — 
 Came, as I thought, to stay. 
 
 The future so bright with success beamed. 
 
 When pain and suffering ceased; 
 The transformation seemed complete, 
 
 The soul had been released ! 
 
 The clouds had rolled in splendor away. 
 While clear and bright the daylight shone; 
 
 Happiness again her scepter swayed. 
 But now — it all has flown ! 
 
 For weakness found my feeble frame, 
 While trouble like a deluge comes. 
 
 With pain that darts like the lightning's flash, 
 List to the heart-strings thrum. 
 
 Yet life, like a dead weight, must be borne, 
 
 E'o matter how bitter or heavy the load; 
 
 "Whom He loveth He chasteneth" we read — 
 
 'Tis only for his children's good. 
 56 
 
A PRAYER. 
 
 Oh, teach us to be patient, Father, 
 
 Submissive to thy will; 
 Grant thy holy benediction, 
 
 To rest upon us still. 
 
 Help us to be more like thee. 
 
 In charity and love. 
 Forgiving a wayward brother. 
 
 Who has a traitor proved. 
 
 Help us to pass through trials, 
 
 Eefined and purified; 
 And always to be cheerful, 
 
 ]^o matter what betide. 
 
 And, Father, in thy wisdom. 
 Show us the true, the right. 
 
 Untainted by dishonor 
 
 And free from sin's foul blight. 
 
 We are but human, Father, 
 Unworthy, weak and frail; 
 
 We need thy constant presence; 
 In our own strength we fail. 
 
We thank thee for thy blessings, 
 So bountiful they've been; 
 
 We plead thy sweet forgiveness, 
 For we are prone to sin. 
 
 Forgive us our unfruitful lives, , 
 And help us to be better; 
 
 Constantly nearing thee; 
 
 Loosening the galling fetters. 
 
 Grant that we lift the fallen, 
 And give them a word of cheer. 
 
 Thus making the old world better. 
 By our having resided here. 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 How strange this life of ours, 
 The cares that make it seem a cumbrous load; 
 The suffering beyond our mortal powers; 
 
 How pain our souls do goad. 
 
 ♦Written in 1892. 
 
 68 
 
How strange the fire of love, 
 When kindled on the hearthstone of the heart; 
 Its incense rises to the ports above, 
 
 'Till soul and body part. 
 
 Should disappointment come^ 
 The heart's fond idol be forever lost; 
 The fire ne'er dies, but still burns on and on — 
 How dreadful is the cost ! 
 
 "We think we've conquered all; 
 The past long dead, yea, buried and forgot; 
 When some passing trifle will the past recall — 
 
 Oh God ! How hard a lot. 
 
 How fierce the battle fought! 
 The will to curb affection, tries in vain. 
 And when, it seems, the victory is wrought, 
 
 The last faint hope is slain ! 
 
 Yet in this world of ours, 
 
 The broken-hearted many, grope their way 
 
 Aimless and hopeless, like blighted flowers, 
 
 Waiting resurrection day. 
 59 
 
GOOD-BYE. 
 
 Good-bye, good-bye! 'Tis said at last; 
 
 After all these weary years 
 Tbat we have lived and loved each other, 
 
 Through sunshine, storm and tears. 
 The yawning gulf gaps wide between, 
 
 l^or will it e'er be crossed; 
 The past hath many vain regrets. 
 
 Yet love's labor is not lost. 
 
 Good-bye, good-bye ! That mournful wail : 
 
 Will its echoes never cease 
 'Till from life's surging, threatening waves, 
 
 Death brings a sweet release? 
 Yet after all, a living death, 
 
 So dreadful 'tis to me — 
 We must not sigh, or shed a tear. 
 
 But beam with joyous glee. 
 
 Good-bye ! The world will never know 
 
 This anguished, bleeding heart 
 
 Is dying for the words of love. 
 
 From its own counterpart. 
 60 
 
No ! I will not lament the past, 
 Will e'en suppress the sigh ; 
 
 Though hard and bitter is the task, 
 God wills it so — Good-bye ! 
 
 THAT EDITOR. 
 I. 
 
 Just listen to my story, 
 
 I always tell the truth; 
 And I'll reveal a secret, 
 To help the coming youth: 
 That editor has a woodpile, 
 Heaped high at our back stile. 
 
 II. 
 The women who go shopping, 
 
 Poorthings ! they're tired, I know. 
 With such a raft of samples, 
 And ne'er the goods to show: 
 If men but gave them ample "chink," 
 'Twould save so much of printer's ink. 
 
 III. 
 
 The much abused spring poet. 
 
 Is murdered every year; 
 61 
 
We read his obituary, 
 
 With ne'er a sigh or tear: 
 'Tis a chestnut and we know it, 
 So let's all just at him throw it. 
 
 lY. 
 
 Thanksgiving ne'er fails to bring 
 The turkey's strut and gobble 
 To a quietus, we laugh 
 Whilst him we throttle: 
 That editor's cavernous maw 
 G-obbles the whole within his jaw. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Whenever a girl gets married, 
 
 She's "accomplished," yea and "handsome," 
 Though ugly as a mud fence, 
 With ne'er an art for ransom: 
 'Twould rouse that ed's most baneful ire, 
 To even hint that he's a liar ! 
 
 Y. 
 
 That poor dude with cigarette, 
 
 Cane and eyeglass, doncherknow. 
 
 He's so tired — no wonder — 
 
 Stood up for a constant show: 
 62 
 
He has furnished inspiration 
 For all the eds since his creation. 
 
 LIFE IS SWEET. 
 
 Life is sweet ! so the doctor said, 
 
 And oh ! how it thrilled my soul ; 
 Sometimes we think if we were dead, 
 
 'Twould be better, on the whole. 
 For life, mth all it is and means. 
 
 At times would be gladly given — 
 We hunger for the joys serene 
 
 That linger round the ports of heaven. 
 
 Life is sweet ! Aye, say not so, 
 
 For the sweet has turned to gall; 
 There's nothing left but deepest woe. 
 
 Thou believest not ? Then lift the pall 
 And view the fondly cherished hopes. 
 
 Blighted; just in their blooming time. 
 And oh ! how wearily time mopes. 
 
 Since love was murdered at her shrine. 
 
 And ruddy health, that blessed boon. 
 
 That's never prized 'till lost ! 
 63 
 
Gropes ever in tlie deepening gloom. 
 
 Thou'lt never know the frightful cost, 
 Unless ye, too, hath a victim been, 
 
 And drank of the bitter dregs. 
 Like paupers that so oft weVe seen; 
 
 But release from pain, we beg. 
 
 And there were aims as clear and bright 
 
 As the spider's web when morning's dew 
 Grlittered in the bright sunlight; 
 
 So perfect were they, and so true. 
 But now behold them, there they lie, 
 
 A ruined, mangled heap ! 
 Doomed with all else to fade and die. 
 
 Whilst we bemoan our fate and weep. 
 
 Then say'st thou that life is sweet? 
 
 Sweet ! what a mocking sound, 
 'Tis a cruel infliction we must meet. 
 
 Placed on us, e'er we wear the crown. 
 Then wear it proudly, bravely, well, 
 
 Submissive, for the Giver 
 Will yet remove it, and will tell, 
 
 'Twas nobly worn, receive a better. 
 
 64 
 
* MAY-DAY. 
 
 The winter is over; tlie magic voice 
 Of spring once more bids all rejoice; 
 The sun with warm congenial rays, 
 Foretells of brighter, happier days. 
 
 April, with her gloomy, drizzling showers. 
 Has glided by, like the summer hours ; 
 'Till once more, with our joyful lay. 
 We welcome back the beautiful May. 
 
 Just like children, from school let out. 
 We herald it with song and shout. 
 Of all the months within the year. 
 May seems to us by far most dear. 
 
 The trees arrayed in all shades of green. 
 The gentle murmur of the little stream. 
 
 *Wliile in college the committee on arrangements for a May-Day 
 party requested me to write a May-Day poem appropriate for the rais- 
 ing of a May pole. Not being able to find an appropriate poem in the 
 "standard authors," hence these verses were the first that were writ- 
 ten "to order." After the event mentioned the faculty took advantage 
 of my supposed rhyming ability and I was called upon to sujiply a 
 "long felt want." This May-Day p?.rty furnished the only occasion in 
 which I was called upon to "meet the faculty" during my four years' 
 course. 
 
 5 65 
 
The clear, sweet notes of the whip-poor-will, 
 As thej float on the evening air so still, 
 
 Seem to lure iis with their charms, 
 And unburden our hearts of all that harms. 
 All things are new, buds, leaves and flowers. 
 And whisper to us of happy hours. 
 
 When we can roam o'er hill and dale. 
 And gather them in woodland's vale ; 
 The pansy shyly lifts its head. 
 As maidens do when asked to wed. 
 
 The johnny- jump-up, so bold and gay. 
 Looks as if connected with it some way; 
 While the turtle doves on yon hill's brow. 
 Court like two lovers, just learning how. 
 
 All things are active, up and doing. 
 May seems the time for successful wooing; 
 And if any doubt the truth of this, 
 Just taste and see, 'twill end in bliss. 
 
 So in honor of the month of May, 
 
 We celebrate the first, the gala day; 
 
 Gents, with maids of nut brown hair. 
 
 Sparkling eyes and cheeks so fair; 
 
 66 
 
Wander forth as in days of old, 
 To gather flowers for the May pole ; 
 While others of more artistic grace 
 Stay, the holly and flowers to place. 
 
 As round the pole the flowers they tmne, 
 Cupid wanders from his clime, 
 And with his magic well aimed darts, 
 Pierces through two youthful hearts. 
 
 Just note those glances, shy and sweet, 
 That escape when their eyes do meet. 
 The pole now in rainbow tints arrayed. 
 The raising by all hands must be made. 
 
 E'er long loud cheerings rend the air. 
 The May pole's raised ! Her garlands fair 
 With floating ribbons sway the breeze. 
 Are wafted back by the leafy trees. 
 
 The old time May Day dance begins; 
 Each youth a blushing partner wins. 
 So now, do you wonder and still say: 
 Why is it that the youth love May ? 
 
 67 
 
*A PARTING. 
 
 'Tis almost a year since we parted, 
 And said to each other good-bye, 
 
 And vowed we'd be true to each other; 
 True — until we shonld die. 
 
 Yon said in yonr heart was a doubting, 
 That if e'er we shonld meet again. 
 
 It would not be as of old, 
 
 But fraught with bitterest pain. 
 
 Pain Avhich nothing could lessen, 
 But Time as the years unroll; 
 
 For it soothes the bitterest anguish. 
 And calms the tempestuous soul. 
 
 How I doubted the truth of your words. 
 And thought it never could be ; 
 
 But e'en now the great Eevelator, 
 Has proved it thus ever to be. 
 
 The world lay buried in stillness; 
 
 Was hushed in the quiet of night; 
 For God had drawn the dark curtain 
 
 That shuts out the bright sunlight. 
 
 ♦Written in '88. 
 
 68 
 
All nature was robed in beauty; 
 
 Hushed was the song of birds ; 
 The mnd's low moan subsided, 
 
 As also the lowing of herds. 
 
 The moon rose brightly that evening, 
 
 Long after the setting sun; 
 And seemed to tell two saddened hearts, 
 
 That the trying hour had come. 
 
 We watched that setting together. 
 And wondering — you and I — 
 
 How many times in the future, 
 We'd gaze on that western sky. 
 
 As we did on this sad evening — 
 The sadness transformed to bliss, 
 
 When as twain we one should travel, 
 To the other world, from this. 
 
 But no more we'll watch that orb 
 
 Sink back of the western hill. 
 
 For the one who watched with me 
 
 Is long since cold and still. 
 69 
 
Yes, Mother Dust's received him, 
 
 His spirit's flown to God; 
 And methinks I see the angels. 
 
 Guarding that mound of sod; 
 
 And as I stand beside it, 
 
 My heart o'er flows with love. 
 
 And I long to join the departed, 
 In the heavenly home above. 
 
 And oft in the quiet evening. 
 
 When the hard day's work is done. 
 
 Do I watch with sweet submission, 
 The setting of the sun. 
 
 For I know there'll be a meeting. 
 When life and its cares are o'er. 
 
 That Avill not be saddened with parting, 
 For we'll meet to part no more. 
 
 A loving mother has been laid to rest. 
 One who had performed well life's duty; 
 
 There's a vacant chair, and hearts bereft; 
 The sun has set on a life of beauty. 
 
 Why mourn ye for the dear departed ? 
 God knoweth best ! Doubt not his love. 
 
 70 
 
Rely on Christ for consolation, 
 
 And he wlio lives and reigns above. 
 
 For he alone can comfort give, 
 
 To the heart bowed down with sorrow; 
 
 The clouds may yet be turned to gold, 
 To soothe and bless thee on the morrow. 
 
 Then cheer up, and toil nobly on. 
 
 In the grand work that God has given. 
 
 You have a star to lure you on, 
 
 To that blest haven we call heaven. 
 
 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 Somewhere in the sunny Southland, 
 
 Lives a poet grand ! 
 And the lyre gives sweetest music. 
 
 From his magic hand. 
 
 Fame has not yet proclaimed him. 
 
 To the world; ah, no! 
 Still are those sad strains the sweeter, 
 
 To those who do know 
 
 And those who have never listened 
 
 To his sad sweet song, 
 
 71 
 
Will not know tlie bliss, the rapture, 
 They have missed so long, 
 
 Till in the nnlooked-for future, 
 
 It may be by chance, 
 Like rare treasures so long hidden. 
 They may reach their glance ; 
 
 And shine mth such wondrous beauty. 
 
 Startling them the while, 
 Till the world will see their brightness, 
 
 And send back her smile. 
 
 But ye ask me for his name ? 
 
 'No ! I will not do it — 
 'Tis the Border Bard, some say. 
 
 Others call him— PEEWETT ! 
 
 SONG—THE WANDERER. 
 
 I am tired, so tired and weary. 
 
 Wandering o'er this world's expanse: 
 
 Sighing for the loved and lost ones. 
 As the months and years advance; 
 
 Sighing for the hopes long buried. 
 Past and gone beyond recall ; 
 
 72 
 
All I loved it seems lias vanished, 
 And I'm weary of life's thrall. 
 
 Chorus — Tired and weary, yet no one cares ; 
 
 1^0 one a look of pity gives. 
 Oh, for a smile to light my pathway, 
 
 Just one kiss from a love that lives. 
 
 How I crave life's joys when others 
 
 All around me seem so free; 
 I^ot a thorn to pierce their pathway, 
 
 Wliile so many are strevm for me: 
 Once like they, I too, was happy, 
 
 But it seems so long ago; 
 Life is fraught mth many changes — 
 
 Thorns you know with roses grow. 
 
 Chorus. — 
 
 Yes, I'll make my home with strangers, 
 
 Where the past will cease to haunt, 
 And where others will not jeer me, 
 
 With their cruel bitter taunt. 
 Then I'll live and have a purpose. 
 
 Cease my rovings o'er the wild. 
 
 And perhaps God yet will bless me ; 
 
 His poor weary, wandering child. 
 73 
 
MONUMENTS. 
 
 Each day we are building monuments, 
 
 That must surely fall or stand. 
 Are they on the solid rock 
 
 Or the loose and shifting sand? 
 
 In this monumental character, 
 
 Let's build with tact and skill; 
 And mth deft and dextrous fingers shape 
 
 To a master's taste and will. 
 
 The evil deeds, the harsh words spoken. 
 
 Are the blocks of vice and crime; 
 They will moulder into dust. 
 
 And perish in their OAvn due time. 
 
 Our misspent days and our wasted hours, 
 
 Are the bricks left out the wall 
 Where good ones should have been. 
 
 "We find, Alas ! There's none at all. 
 
 The duties only half performed; 
 
 The work that we have spurned 
 
 Because we deemed it useless. 
 
 Are the brick — 'tis true — that were unburned. 
 74 
 
Could we view this mottled monument, 
 As seen from the throne on high; 
 
 Like a listless careworn traveler, 
 Unheedingly, we'd pass it by. 
 
 Let the clay for your brick be judgment; 
 
 Common sense the fire should be; 
 Tempered by the light of reason; 
 
 From the winds of vice and malice free. 
 
 Mix your mortar with art and firmness; 
 
 Pour free from the fount of love; 
 Be sure that youVe consistency — 
 
 Justice and right your mould will prove. 
 
 Let the base be built of solid truth, 
 That the ruthless hand of time^ 
 
 Ne'er imprint her blasting touch, 
 In any age or distant clime. 
 
 Let the walls of adamantine faith, 
 Be decked by the stars of hope. 
 
 That the pilgrim on his way. 
 
 May not in the darkness have to grope. 
 
 Let this be circumscribed by love, 
 
 Let righteousness the vertex be, 
 75 
 
Let wisdom reign in all supreme, 
 
 And a grand structure then you'll see ! 
 
 *CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters/' 
 
 So "the preacher" said of old; 
 After many days thou'lt find it, 
 
 Increased, yea, an hundred fold. 
 For our good deeds gain momentum, 
 
 In the steady march of years. 
 And our goodness keeps on growing. 
 
 Strengthened by the doubts and fears. 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters," 
 
 Scatter mth a broadcast hand. 
 Till the crumbs of life are wafted, 
 
 Into every heathen land. 
 Sow the good seed for the Master, 
 
 With a loving heart and true; 
 Earnestly work out the mission. 
 
 He has given you to do. 
 
 *Wi'itten for and published in the Church Register, 1894. 
 76 
 
"Cast thy bread upon the waters/' 
 
 See ! the waves are near at hand, 
 Beckoning ns to give them something, — 
 
 Something that will better man; 
 That will save him from the whirlpool, 
 
 And the curse of sin and death. 
 How can we resist snch pleading 
 
 While we've health, and life, and breath ? 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters," 
 
 Oh ! there's so much we can give. 
 And the Christian life is richer. 
 
 As we others help to live. 
 Give the many deeds of kindness, 
 
 And the radiant light of hope 
 That bnovs up the weaker pilgrims. 
 
 Who perhaps, in doubts may grope. 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters," 
 Oh, this means so much to me ! 
 
 How I w4sh that I could tell you 
 So that you could feel and see. 
 
 All the beauty, and the glory. 
 Of the ideal Christian life; 
 
 Free from malice and from envy. 
 
 Free from all that creates strife. 
 
 77 
 
^^Cast thy bread upon the waters/' 
 
 With a loving, lavish hand; 
 How this precept stirs the heart-strings, 
 
 For 'tis a divine command. 
 Listen ! For thy conscience dictates ; 
 
 Heed! Thy spirit strives within; 
 Do thy duty for the Master, 
 
 Then the portals enter in. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 All hail to the happy i^ew Year, 
 Proclaim it with joyful sound; 
 
 The hills have caught up the echo, 
 And sent it back with a bound. 
 
 The music so sweet and enchanting. 
 Falls on the listening ear; 
 
 We stop, but Father Time ushers 
 The dawn of another New Year. 
 
 Sealed and stamped is the volume. 
 Of last year's thoughts and deeds. 
 Tears and sighs can not alter, 
 
 What the recording angel reads. 
 
 78 
 
Tho' blurred and blackened its pages, 
 We can not change them now; 
 
 Sighing but makes us wearv, 
 And furrows adds to our brow. 
 
 There is presented a volume, 
 
 With pages all spotless and white ; 
 
 The recording angel whispers, 
 Take ye the pen and write. 
 
 Write of the glorious goodness 
 Of Christ to the children of men; 
 
 Shadow it forth in your actions. 
 Live to some purpose, and then — 
 
 The deeds that here are recorded, 
 Will ne'er cost a blush or sigh ; 
 
 Others will hope and take courage, 
 Do right, that in peace ye may die. 
 
 Live not for self, but for others. 
 For God and the good of mankind; 
 
 Bind up the broken hearted; 
 Be always gentle and kind. 
 
 Then welcome the glad New Year 
 Joyfully ! List to the bells 
 
 79 
 
Chiming in tones so silvery; 
 How the sweet cadence swells. 
 
 Our hearts respond to the music; 
 
 Gladly we continue life's train, 
 With another 'New Year before us, 
 
 And an Old one behind Avith its pain. 
 
 THE YELLOW VIOLET. 
 
 ^'Only a yellow violet/' 
 
 You thoughtlessly cast it by, 
 
 As if it told no story — 
 'Tis sacred to my eye. 
 
 It whispers of hope blighted ! 
 
 And tho' 'tis withered now, 
 I cherish every petal : 
 
 They register a vow. 
 
 Erom Dixie's sunny hillside, 
 
 It shed its sweet perfume, 
 
 'Till a Southern poet plucked it. 
 
 And sent me, as a boon — 
 80 
 
Of a manly heart's devotion, 
 Buoyant with life and hope; 
 
 1^0 other flower is sweeter 
 
 Though some may with it cope. 
 
 'Twas kissed by the gentle zephyrs, 
 That float from the salt sea brine; 
 
 In its heart it bore a message, 
 That found a response in mine. 
 
 The sympathetic chord awoke^ 
 To the simple plaintive tale. 
 
 Breathed from its heart of gold, 
 Like a sad and mournful wail. 
 
 It's told its own sad story; 
 
 Mournfully played its part; 
 Reaped its fruit with sorrow; 
 
 The anguish of a broken heart. 
 
 Scorn not the withered blossom. 
 But tenderly lay it away 
 
 With its token, to wait the hour 
 Of the resurrection day. 
 
 81 
 
JACK AT MEETING. 
 
 Jack was only a poor boy, 
 Poor as it's termed to-day, 
 
 But a heart as true and honest, 
 As ever dwelt in clay, 
 
 Beat in his manly bosom; 
 Shone from his face alway. 
 
 He longed to hear the gospel, 
 
 As in the olden time; 
 He'd listened to its teachings, 
 
 Filled with thoughts divine; 
 So sauntered to the church house. 
 
 With peaceful happy mind. 
 
 Twas long since he had entered, 
 A so-called house of God, 
 
 For, you see, fickle fortune 
 Had, with her chastening ro^h 
 
 Made of him a victim 
 
 And smote the worldling's God. 
 
 His clothes were neat and comely, 
 
 Eelics of better days; 
 He took a seat quite near the front, 
 
To join the hjnim in praise; 
 None offered hiin a book, 
 As in the olden days. 
 
 The preacher scoffed at fashion, 
 
 At making gold a God; 
 Of running after titles; 
 
 Joining the motley mob, 
 Tainted by ''filthy lucre;" 
 
 Forgetting the ways of God. 
 
 Yet ere the service opened. 
 These '-'titled," "rich," and all, 
 
 Eeceived his hearty grip — 
 "Glad that they had called; 
 
 Hoped to see them often. 
 
 There's a blessing for us all." 
 
 Poor Jack went out unnoticed. 
 Although he knew him well 
 
 T^Tot one had deigned a greeting. 
 When next he heard the bell. 
 
 Of this dear church — the Christian; 
 He heaved a sigh — Ah, well 1 
 
 Tong years have passed, and Jack, 
 
 Back to the old church goes ; 
 83 
 
Thinking of liis last visit, 
 His worry about his clothes, 
 
 And of the tide of fortune, 
 How it ebbs — and flows. 
 
 His fame had gone before him, 
 Eumors about his wealth; 
 
 The pastor meets him half way. 
 Enquires about his health; 
 
 Jack with an old time twinkle 
 Says — ^^Eichard is himself/' 
 
 Many now gather round him, 
 To pick up the broken thread, 
 
 Of a discarded friendship. 
 Alas ! Be it truly said. 
 
 All is not gold that glitters, 
 All fools are not yet dead. 
 
 THE SILENT CITY. 
 
 There's a quiet lovely city, 
 Saintly in its peaceful rest. 
 
 In the sweet and sunny Southland, 
 'Tis a city of the blest. 
 
 84 
 
There is heard no jar no discord, 
 There is no traffic, and no rush ; 
 
 Eor the business cares are over — 
 Earth to earth and dust to dust. 
 
 There the walks are all of gravel. 
 
 And the dwellings all are white; 
 Emblematic of the spirits, 
 
 Who have passed the gates of light. 
 There the sea breeze fans the temples. 
 
 And a sad sweet stillness reigns; 
 They've passed the gates triumphant. 
 
 Loosed from earth and all its pains. 
 
 This lone city on the hillside. 
 
 Ever bright and fresh to me, 
 "With its memories so sacred, 
 
 For a dweller there you see, 
 "Was endeared by ties of kindred 
 
 Closely woven 'bout the heart — 
 So ambitious young and hopeful — 
 
 Yet death snapped the chords apart, 
 
 There the mocking bird his carol 
 
 Sings throughout the livelong day. 
 
 And the flowers bloom as sweetly. 
 
 O'er the lifeless lumps of clay, 
 85 
 
As tho' sorrow ne'er had stricken, 
 Joy from out so many hearts; 
 
 And so many hopes here buried, 
 
 Killed by Death^s keen piercing darts. 
 
 Yet from out this gloom and sadness, 
 
 Is a star of glory risen, 
 With joy we see an empty grave, 
 
 And behold an open heaven; 
 And we hear the angels chanting, 
 
 List ! to the heavenly choir sing, 
 "Oh, grave, where is thy victory. 
 
 Oh, death, where is thy sting!" 
 
 SOCIETY TURMOIL. 
 
 And so all Washington is shocked, 
 
 'Cause the "dearest little woman,'" 
 Got tired of the formality. 
 
 And boldly sought the foreman. 
 The President is worried, 
 
 With Hay for company; 
 Ambassador and supreme court,* 
 
 File claims of mutinv. 
 
 *Justice. 
 
 86 
 
How absurd and ridiculous ! 
 
 Just like children's quarrels 
 About which one's the biggest, 
 
 And each one trouble borrows. 
 Society's in a ferment ! 
 
 'Tis nothing new you see; 
 This squabbling over nothing, 
 
 And all will soon agree. 
 
 Like the olden time apostles, 
 
 Who to their Leader said. 
 Which one shall be the greatest ( 
 
 The Master hung his head 
 Ashamed, and grieved at heart, 
 
 After such tireless teaching. 
 This spirit still undaunted; 
 
 Still so far out-reaching — 
 The least shall be the greatest, 
 
 The humble meek and mild. 
 Who strive not for the mastery, 
 
 But is as a little child. 
 
 So down through the centuries. 
 The question still is handed; 
 From Washington society, 
 
 Till even here it's landed, 
 
 87 
 
In lodges, clubs, yea, churclies, 
 It constant meets your eye. 
 
 The all-absorbing question: 
 Who's the biggest, you or I ? 
 
 'SCUSE ME LADY PLEASE. 
 
 'Twas at a muddy crossing, 
 
 I waited 'till there passed by 
 One of the saddest pictures. 
 
 That ever met my eye. 
 I saw two men approaching, 
 
 A white man and a blacky 
 One was bereft of reason. 
 
 The other had no lack. 
 
 Slowly he staggered forward. 
 
 Proclaiming that he was tough; 
 "Oh yes; I knows dat boss. 
 
 But I can hold ye, sho' nuff." 
 Wondering what's the matter, 
 
 I stepped aside, ill at ease; 
 He raised his hand and mumbled, 
 
 " 'Sense me, lady, please !" 
 
 88 
 
Still a faint sense of honor 
 
 In his addled brain was left; 
 The shameful degradation, 
 
 When manhood is bereft ! 
 I turned and gazed with horror; 
 
 The fumes had made me sick; 
 The eyes that glared so mldly, 
 
 Had smote me to the quick. 
 
 Somebody's son and brother; 
 
 Somebody's joy and pride 
 Has WTung fond hearts with anguish- 
 
 His soul wdth crimson dyed. 
 Gone is that manly bearing; 
 
 Where are the clear bright eyes, 
 Sparkling ^dth hope and promise? 
 
 Tell me, ye worldly wise ? 
 
 Oh, American people ! 
 
 Why ye your sons do bind, 
 In the blackest slavery. 
 
 Known to the human mind; 
 The strangest, saddest question 
 
 Confronting us to-day: 
 
 Filling our jails and prisons. 
 
 Turning the bro^Ti locks gray. 
 89 
 
And ever this sad, sad picture, 
 
 Haunting me day by day ; 
 Clamoring for a brighter, 
 
 Demanding a better way. 
 I wonder if, up yonder, 
 
 As we wait for our degrees. 
 Will our brother stagger up 
 
 With " 'Souse me, lady, please.' 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 Oh, that we had not ambition, 
 
 If 'tis not to be satisfied ; 
 
 This constant straining to attain 
 
 To our ideal. Whilst all the time 
 
 The cruel tongues of men, lashing 
 
 From every side, to wreck our peace. 
 
 The tired spirit is goaded on 
 
 To new achievements. The impetus 
 
 Is never lacking. Energy 
 
 With which to execute our plans 
 
 Is furnished, we know not how or 
 
 From whence: We but know we're human, 
 
 Endowed, it seems, mth a power 
 
 90 
 
To endure that is infinite ! 
 The spirit that dwelleth in ns, 
 Soars far beyond this tenement 
 Of clay, to a realm more suited 
 To its pristine state, whilst we, too, 
 Are lifted, from out ourselves 
 To soar aloft with our twin spirit. 
 Purified, refined! There to bask 
 In the ecstacies of a state 
 That knows no imperfections. 
 
 GOD BLESS THE POOR. 
 
 God bless the poor, the worthy poor, 
 Who strive so hard to gain, 
 
 A foothold in this great old earth 
 A wee, small part of its domain 
 
 On which to found a home, 
 Instead of being wanderers. 
 
 Rough tossed, and seaward blown. 
 
 This great warfare for daily bread 
 
 From morn till night is waged 
 
 Year in and year out. Fast coming on 
 
 Are large recruits to aid 
 91 
 
In this unequal contest. 
 
 That's sapping our nation's peace 
 And clamoring for a settlement, 
 
 That will the poor release. 
 
 On Xmas and Thanksgiving time 
 
 Wealth from her throne bestows 
 Just a few paltry thousands, 
 
 With her old cast off clothes, 
 And thinks that she is giving, 
 
 For charity's sweet sake ! 
 When remunerative labor 
 
 They would far rather take. 
 
 You insult the poor man's honor, 
 
 (And he's human just as you), 
 By offering what you would not have 
 
 As though anything w^ould do. 
 He'll all but starve before he'll beg, 
 
 He's willing and glad to work; 
 Give him a chance, I'll vouch for him 
 
 He'll ne'er his duty shirk. 
 
 Oh, to be poor, and justly proud ! 
 
 While ambition spurs you on. 
 
 To view the shops with plenty spread. 
 
 To hunger — and be gone. 
 92 
 
Whilst others bask in luxury's lap 
 And feast and want for naught. 
 
 To see it and look sadly on — 
 
 What wonders man hath wrought. 
 
 As long as money buys men's votes, 
 
 And whisky flows so free, 
 With Trust clutching our very throats, 
 
 There's little hope for you and me. 
 There'll be vice and crime and suff'ring 
 
 And poverty most abject: 
 That good could flow from founts like these 
 
 Is useless to expect. 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 Only a ray of sunshine, 
 Only one gleam of light; 
 
 Yet, 'tis a thing divine, 
 
 Brightening the darkest night. 
 
 Only a slight flirtation 
 
 To pass away the time; 
 
 Only a heartless nation. 
 
 Brings a black list of crime. 
 93 
 
Only one word of greeting 
 
 To the stranger given; 
 Welcome him at meeting; 
 
 Starts him straight for heaven. 
 
 Only a kind word spoken, 
 To some heart-broken soul; 
 
 Somehow it seems a token, 
 
 And brighter gleams the goal. 
 
 'Twas only a widow's mite, 
 
 Yet it was her all ; 
 'Twas much in the Savior's sight, 
 
 Though to the Jews so small. 
 
 A little interest given, 
 Will stay a willful death. 
 
 And let him fit for heaven 
 While there is life and breath. 
 
 Only a harsh word spoken. 
 And yet it never dies; 
 
 Perhaps some heart it's broken, 
 That in the grave now lies. 
 
 Only an influence given, 
 
 Either for good or bad; 
 94 
 
DIXIE. 
 
Only a hell or heaven, 
 Either one may be had. 
 
 DIXIE.* 
 
 WeVe a battleship named Dixie, 
 
 In which our nation prides; 
 And her band is ever playing, 
 
 As o'er the sea she glides. 
 Her decks are lined with soldiers^ 
 
 From the land whose name she wears. 
 While the stars and stripes are keeping 
 
 Time to the national airs. 
 
 The pride of Southern chivalry, 
 
 That never knows a fear; 
 Stands waiting for her orders, 
 
 The Spanish coasts to clear. 
 They're all that could be expected 
 
 Of any kith or kin, 
 Theyv'e brain, and brawn, and muscle 
 
 These liberty-loving men. 
 
 Yet, IVe a little Dixie, 
 
 Who lays the whole crew in the shade 
 
 ♦Written early Spring of 1898. 
 
 95 
 
So full of pranks and badness, 
 You'd wonder what ever made 
 
 A youngster of just four summers, 
 So expert in tricks and plans, 
 
 That would rival any general. 
 Of the whole grand army clan. 
 
 She's bright and bad and loving, 
 
 With energy vim and grit. 
 And the fiery Southern temper, 
 
 Just waiting to be lit. 
 You may sing of the warship Dixie 
 
 And the land that now's a fake. 
 Pm sure, of the three Dixies, 
 
 That mine would take the cake. 
 
 FOOTPRINTS OF TIME^ 
 
 In studying Time's history 
 Opened for us all to read. 
 
 Let us profit by its precepts, 
 Of its value be agreed. 
 
 ♦Above poem will be found in Poets of .A m erica. 
 96 
 
Much of knowledge, truth and wisdom, 
 
 We mil find engraven there; 
 Much we thought had been forgotten, — 
 
 And to heaven a silent prayer 
 
 Eises in deep supplication. 
 
 To Him who sits on Mercy's throne. 
 To blot out the crimes, the errors; 
 
 And we in good deeds will atone 
 
 For all the vices we've committed 
 
 In the vivid bitter past. 
 And will ever love and serve him. 
 
 Yea, as long as life shall last. 
 
 Oh, Time ! Dost thou never weary. 
 In the ceaseless march of years? 
 
 Dost thy sky grow never cloudy. 
 
 Is thy light ne'er dimmed by tears ? 
 
 When we're happy, bright and joyous. 
 
 Thou flitst by — we'er unware; 
 But when our joy has turned to sorrow. 
 
 Thy wings seem clogged with pain and care. 
 
 And slowly, slowly on thou draggest. 
 
 Thy fleetness, and thy brightness gone; 
 7 97 
 
Tho' oft we weary of life's burden, 
 We grasp new hope, and bear it on. 
 
 'Tho tbe music all be mournful, 
 As played upon tlie harp of life, 
 
 There is a melody and sweetness, 
 
 That lulls our pain, and soothes our strife. 
 
 Love's guardian angel hovers o'er us, 
 
 Bids us labor and to wait. 
 And at last we'll wear the glory. 
 
 Just beyond the pearly gates. 
 
 Then learn to read aright the footprints, 
 
 Printed on the sands of time; 
 Know the laws of human duty. 
 
 For these all lead to the sublime. 
 
 Thoughts thus wakened prompt to action 
 Acts of right and untold worth. 
 
 Lights and shadows haply blended. 
 Brighten the sombre hues of earth; 
 
 Clouds are transformed into sunbeams. 
 
 Rippling o'er life's troubled sea. 
 
 And the seaman almost hopeless. 
 
 Views the light across the way; 
 98 
 
Takes new courage and steers forward. 
 
 To the dim yet distant shore, 
 And though peril marks his pathway, 
 
 The crown he wins — the journey's o'er. 
 
 RETIRED. 
 
 "Yes, Silas and me had got so old. 
 
 We thought we'd move to town; 
 Take it easy the rest of our days 
 
 With narry a keer or frown 
 'Cause we've got a plenty to live on, 
 
 The rest of our nateral days. 
 And then we could go to meetin'. 
 
 And live as the scripture sez. 
 
 "We could still have our pigs and chickens. 
 
 And Slias could keep a cow; 
 Of course we'd raise our own garden. 
 
 And live right well, I'll vow. 
 So we are right here as I tell you. 
 
 To get all there is out of life ; 
 
 But sence we've been lookin' things over. 
 
 They don't peer to suit us — quite. 
 99 
 
"We've lived here right onto a year now, 
 
 And nobody's ever come nigh, 
 Except one or two, stopped a minit 
 
 Curiosity to satisfy. 
 And whenever we go to meetin', 
 
 As we generally, most alkis do, 
 Folks don't give us a hearty handshake, 
 
 Er say — Why, brother, how do you do. 
 
 "They just stare without even speakin'. 
 
 Some grinnin', I 'spose that they think, 
 Because we don't dress city fashion. 
 
 That we have'nt got any ^chink.' 
 That we're only two poor old codgers. 
 
 Whose souls — Well ! ^they don't mount to much, 
 Cause they could'nt help pay the preacher.' 
 
 They're not interested in any such. 
 
 "They just shun us like we was vipers, 
 
 Or hideous monsters with horns, 
 Supposin' my dress aint right bran new. 
 
 There's one thing. I aint got no corns ! 
 An' Si 'lowed that these sciety women, 
 
 That goes tmstin' and cripplin' along 
 'Sgot feet that looks heep worse'n my bonnet, 
 
 If their shoes are pinted and long . 
 
 100 
 
^^A pinchin' their feet and tlieir bodies, 
 
 An' starvin' tlieir souls — it's a shame ! 
 Then talk about things bein' rusty, 
 
 I wonder where's most of the blame; 
 Which shows the most sense and good judgment, 
 
 To keep your mind active and bright. 
 Or be like the poor silly pea-cock, 
 
 In your plumage alone to delight. 
 
 ^'I didn't know what ^twas to be selfish, 
 
 Or looked down on, till I come to town; 
 I thought that real worth and \drtue, 
 
 Couldn't have a suspicion of frown. 
 Land sakes ! I've had an eyeopener, 
 
 Deceitfulness won't 'spress it nuther, 
 You don't know who is your friend here; 
 
 You enemy may be a brother. 
 
 ^'I's raised to believe folks was honest; 
 
 Thought more of their souls than their clothes; 
 Bought only what they could pay for 
 
 But we are behind times I suppose. 
 It don't matter now how you get it. 
 
 To have it ! that's the prime thing. 
 
 And you'll be flattered and courted; 
 
 Sought after like a bird on the wing. 
 101 
 
"There's some folks here without a home even; 
 
 You'd think they's an Astor or Gould, 
 If you'd see them dressed up paradin', 
 
 Thinkin' somebody'!! be fooled; 
 AVhen everyone laiows they're like turtles, 
 
 Just packin' their all on their back. 
 I^e'er thinking that dark day is comin', 
 
 When they will necessities lack. 
 
 "I tell you the world to destruction's 
 
 Just runnin' as fast as't can go. 
 It's jist bound to follow sich actions. 
 
 And bring its adherents to woe. 
 I know you think I'm old and cranky. 
 
 But I know the wrong from the right ; 
 Have you read of the five foolish virgins, 
 
 Who run out of oil, for their light ? 
 
 "Then, how they had to go and buy more. 
 And the bridegroom came while they's gone; 
 
 Then the door was locked? 'Twas too late. 
 For they'd no wedding garments on. 
 
 There'll be lots of poor foolish virgins. 
 Who'll knock at the door all in vain, 
 
 Unfitted to see the guestchamber, 
 
 After fashion and folly's wild reign. 
 102 
 
"Law bless me ! I'm glad that the Lord said, 
 
 That the poor, and the sick and distressed, 
 Are the ones that he came to ransom, 
 
 And take to his own lovin' breast. 
 That we must be meek, kind and lowly. 
 
 Just restin' in his lovin' care. 
 And when we go to meetin' up yonder, 
 
 They'll not expect us to put on airs. 
 
 *A PLEA TO WOMEN. 
 
 Pass her by ! Let not your garments ruffle 
 'Gainst her sullied skirts; lest the evil eye 
 Of men behold thy contamination ! 
 He hath her debased, whilst you exalted: 
 Both his comrades, tho' in different ways. 
 One the companion of his evil hours, 
 To satisfy the passion of his lusts ; 
 The poor victim of his own debauchery 1 
 Polluted, hideous to all mankind. 
 Like a leper then he drives her hence 
 Beyond the city limits ! Xear at hand, 
 Where he may still mth her consort, away 
 
 *Tlie above was written July, 1900, after reading an article in the 
 June number of the Manila Freeman on "Cure of the Social Evil.'' 
 
 103 
 
From you the inspiration of his better moods. 
 
 'Tis thus we "purify the home/' sacred 
 
 Since its conception, and its holy birth, 
 
 Lest knowledge of her low, vile existence 
 
 Pollute its sacred shrine. To you he comes 
 
 With loathing for her, whom he has just left, 
 
 And in scathing terms derides her wicked, 
 
 Nefarious business. Prates of his virtue. 
 
 And you? You clasp the hideous monster 
 
 To your breast ! Yet this poor despicable 
 
 Human being, once maybe — chaste as thou, 
 
 ^Ts a necessary factor" — Listen ! — 
 
 "To protect our social life." Sad, sad fate ! 
 
 Sodom has sprung to life again, or else 
 
 This is the blackest, most damnable lie 
 
 That ever thrust its hideous being 
 
 Upon a civilized world; Christianized! 
 
 'Tis blasphemy on its very face 
 
 Of the darkest deepest hue ! So well set 
 
 That generations long can not erase 
 
 Its awful imprint. The woman exiled ! 
 
 By virtue of what right doth man remain, 
 
 To desecrate the home, poisoning the fount 
 
 Prom which life issues ; breeding lust and vice 
 
 In generations yet unborn. Mocking 
 
 All the attempts to chain the monster down. 
 
 104 
 
The "scarlet" man more common is than woman. 
 
 Let him go forth, an exile ! Share the fate 
 
 Of her whose duty it was to protect. 
 
 Let him but learn to master self and then 
 
 Society needs no protection ! 
 
 Poor woman — on her feeble shoulders rests 
 
 The blame since time began. "She tempted me;" 
 
 Chivalrous men repeat the charge, adown 
 
 The ages, and meek, modest woman 
 
 Resents it not. 'Tis time ye were awake. 
 
 Why longer tarry? Right wherever found 
 
 Is right and wrong is wrong. Fallen man 
 
 ISTo better is than fallen woman, so 
 
 His house of "easy virtue" place by hers 
 
 Then will our children be the offsprings of 
 
 Our better selves. The embodimeut of 
 
 Love and virtue, imited in one soul 
 
 Instead of being creatures of mere chance. 
 
 Offsprings of selfish passion — yea of lust. 
 
 You must purify the fountain at its source 
 
 If e'er you hope to see its waters clear. 
 
 105 
 
THE BETRAYER, 
 
 In the garden of Gethesemane, 
 
 After the midnight vigils 
 Came the avaricous enemy, 
 
 Leading that mob with missiles. 
 Boldly stepping forward "Hail Master/' 
 
 He imprints the traitorous kiss, 
 While those that follow after 
 
 With loud jeerings mock and hiss. 
 
 "Why this throng at such a time and hour; 
 
 Daily in the temple was I? 
 Twelve legions of angels IVe the power, 
 
 'Now to call, to make thee fly. 
 But no! The Scripture must be fulfilled.'^ 
 
 The agony has been passed. 
 ISTot mine, but as my Father willed, 
 
 This act, and then the last. 
 
 In Gethsemane's lonely garden, 
 
 Each of us sometime must go, 
 To wrestle with hearts so hardened 
 
 Because of our sins and woe, 
 
 106 
 
We must drink of the cup of sorrow, 
 
 As well as the wine of bliss; 
 We must feel the sting of the viper, 
 
 And hear its horrible hiss. 
 
 We may never know of such anguish, 
 
 As the man of sorrows bore ; 
 We may never in torture languish 
 
 As He, when the thorn crown wore, 
 We may never sweat great drops of blood. 
 
 Like Him in the garden praying; 
 We may never face such an angry mob, 
 
 Or list to revilers' sayings. 
 
 But somehow, somewhere, sometime. 
 
 We too, will be oppressed: 
 Unknowingly we but wait the time. 
 
 When anguish will fill our breast. 
 We drink the elixir of gladness. 
 
 With rejoicing loud and long. 
 When comes the cup of gall and sadness, 
 
 'Tis the finale of our song. 
 
 Can we say like the Master after 
 
 The storm flood has swept the soul. 
 
 With sorrows most awful disaster, 
 
 I am every whit made whole ? 
 107 
 
'^Oli, Father, Thy will be done, not mine/'- 
 
 Then the fire has purified, 
 Cleansed — to forever after shine, 
 
 'No matter what betide. 
 
 We go from the garden of sorrow, 
 
 Saddened and tempered maybe; 
 We list to the charges to-morrow, 
 
 That do in nowise agree. 
 We see the accused and accusers. 
 
 With the soldierly guard about; 
 In the midst are seated the rulers. 
 
 While Peter lingered without. 
 
 There at the palace of the high priest. 
 
 Where this mock trial was held, 
 (Just after the passover feast. 
 
 That was eaten by the twelve). 
 Was a listener eager and intent. 
 
 And with demon-haunted eyes; 
 Clutching tightly every precious cent; 
 
 Waiting the verdict of the wise. 
 
 Look ! Methinks I see him even now. 
 
 Though ages long have passed; 
 
 Traitor burnt deep on his cunning brow. 
 
 Breathing in quick sharp gasps; 
 108 
 
Feeling his hideous deep-djed guilt, 
 
 His enormity of crime. 
 That innocent blood will soon be spilt — 
 
 See ! he flees, lest he lose time. 
 
 To the chief priests and elders runs 
 
 Eepentant, flings on the floor 
 With loathing, the little paltry funds. 
 
 The price of such precious gore. 
 Take it ! Oh, take it back he's pleading; 
 
 The price of such innocent blood. 
 My soul with horror now is bleeding — 
 
 'Tis remorse of conscience flood. 
 
 Take, oh take it back and ease my soul; 
 
 'Tis writhing in this foul sin. 
 The awful hideousness of this whole 
 
 Affair, reeks dire within; 
 Thou knowest that his life is blameless, 
 
 I did a cowardly act; 
 This now my foul soul's only redress. 
 
 Take it ! ^^See thou to that." 
 
 Too late ! The piteous anguished wail 
 
 Floats on the calm still breeze ; 
 
 With head bowed low, from conscience quail. 
 
 Seeks that distant clump of trees: 
 109 
 
What wonder that he looks not above — 
 "Better had he ne'er been born;" 
 
 "Vengeance is mine V 'Tis a precept proved; 
 He hanged himself — forlorn ! 
 
 Then gather they from off the floor 
 
 The money, and this agree: 
 To buy the potter's field, for stranger poor ; 
 
 Too polluted for the treasury, 
 "Was this blood money. Righteous priests these; 
 
 Very careful were to form; 
 'Twas sacred ! People might call them thieves 
 
 Or point the finger of scorn. 
 
 Poor Judas ! Greed and the lust of wealth. 
 
 Slaughtered his better judgment ! 
 Wily and crafty by night with stealth 
 
 He to the betrayal went. 
 Pisked — lost — all he ever dared to hope. 
 
 For thirty little pieces 
 Of silver. Then in perdition gropes, 
 
 Where remorse for guilt ne'er ceases. 
 
 Were I to make the awful rounds 
 
 Of that infernal region, 
 
 Where tortured souls for sin abounds, 
 
 In numbers that are legion; 
 110 
 
JMethinks that e'en amid such gloom, 
 AVhose horrors vile, salute us; 
 
 The ruler prime, in the main room 
 Would bear the name of — Judas. 
 
 *FIVE MINUTES' TALK. 
 
 This man here at the table, 
 
 Who writes our duty out, 
 Thinking me unable, 
 
 So he reasoned out. 
 To talk to you ten minutes, 
 
 As does our law provide: 
 Thinking I lacked in wisdom. 
 
 And just as much in pride. 
 Said to himself one evening, 
 
 As he was taking a walk, 
 "I know what I'll do, 
 
 I'll give her five minutes' talk." 
 
 He didn't assign a subject, 
 Because I knew so little; 
 Said I could choose my own 
 
 *WTiile in coUege it haxi become quite a fad of the secretary of our 
 Uterary society— The Cliomathean— to put the members on for a five 
 minutes' talk. I was finally set this small task, and gave the above. 
 'Tis unnecessary to state that no moi'e five minute talks were desired. 
 
 Ill 
 
As does a fellow his fiddle. 
 So as I am so simple 
 
 And can't talk about the nations, 
 I'll take a simple subject — 
 
 John Withers, with the variations. 
 
 He's about five feet four inches, 
 
 Has beautiful bright brown eyes; 
 His heart is filled with love, 
 
 Which vents itself in sighs. 
 Sighs for the past, not the present. 
 
 To think Hattie should have met 
 One more beloved than himself. 
 
 When on her his heart is set. 
 
 To think his love should be trampled, 
 
 Do^m in under her feet. 
 When to him his happiest moments. 
 
 Is sipping love's nectared sweet. 
 One night, when he held down the gate. 
 
 For fear it would get away; 
 Behold, next morn 'twas found, 
 
 A quarter of mile away. 
 
 Out at Mr. Washburn's, 
 
 Where Johnnie does reside; 
 
 He forgot and took it with him. 
 
 When he left at eventide. 
 112 
 
His heart was in such a flutter, 
 
 When he said good-night 
 It reminded us of melted butter — 
 
 Poor boy ! To be in such a plight. 
 
 He didn't know what he was doing, 
 
 So we can look over the freak; 
 Love's ways are strange and mysterious, 
 
 And maketh the strong man weak. 
 He says he always liked roses. 
 
 Specially when they've blue eyes, 
 With ways so very mnning, 
 
 In short — a woman in disguise. 
 
 And oft in his midnight slumbers, 
 
 When in dreamland he is clasped. 
 E'er before him, he sees the rose. 
 
 But always beyond his grasp. 
 He then concludes that Betty's 
 
 More charming e'en than Eose, 
 And decides he'll tell her of it, 
 
 By way of a propose. 
 
 He spreads his kerchief on the floor. 
 
 And gets upon his knees ; 
 
 Just then Betty asks him. 
 
 If he's about to sneeze, 
 7 U3 
 
Or if he's going to have prayers — 
 She thought that out of his line — 
 
 John calling up all his courage, 
 
 Stammers — ^'Betty will you be mine?" 
 
 "Why, no, of course I wont. 
 
 You're a goose for thinking so;" 
 And concludes by telling him 
 
 She thinks he had better go. 
 Slowly; he rises from his knees, 
 
 And staggers toward the door 
 And says as he passes through it, 
 
 "I'll see her — never more." 
 
 He wanders out in the darkness. 
 
 Almost ready to weep; 
 Suddenly he runs against Will, 
 
 Who asks him if he's asleep. 
 And Will not knowing the burden, 
 
 That lies on the heart of his friend 
 Tells of his own. happiness — 
 
 That he has accomplished his aim. 
 
 John wanders home in sadness 
 
 Through the field, and crying still, 
 
 Follows his oft tread path. 
 
 That leads o'er the brow of the hill 
 114 
 
To a hole in the hedge, 
 
 Where many a night before 
 
 He'd gained access through it 
 And safely reached his door. 
 
 But lo ! The path is obstructed, 
 
 By a clothes line woven across^ 
 And how he's going to get through 
 
 Is a question, and John's at a loss ; 
 Yet after much work and scrambling. 
 
 He succeeded in getting through ; 
 Says he knows Ide and Eose did it. 
 
 And he'll tell them of it, too. 
 
 One morn while going do^m. town. 
 
 He was accosted by his friend Will 
 Who said he'd something to tell him. 
 
 If he would only be still. 
 Will laid his hand on John's shoulder. 
 
 And took therefrom — a hair-pin 
 And asked John how it got there — 
 
 Certainly 't didn't belong to him. 
 
 And John, while a blank expression 
 
 O'erspread his innocent face. 
 
 Said he didn't know it was there, 
 
 'Twas rather out of place ; 
 115 
 
But suddenly as if the sunshine, 
 Had brightened his stupid brain 
 
 Told Will he'd put it there, 
 To him 'twas all quite plain. 
 
 Poor boy ! he's always in trouble 
 
 Since he launched into the sea of love; 
 We advise him to sail into harbor, 
 
 As did E'oah's faithful dove. 
 For then these waves of trouble. 
 
 Will forever cease to roll. 
 And the questions that now agitate 
 
 This weary, lovesick soul 
 
 Will be forever settled; 
 
 His mind will know sweet rest. 
 In peace then he can slumber 
 
 Where phantoms ne'er distress. 
 But now as my time is exhausted 
 
 And my subject too, from his looks. 
 I'll not tax your patience longer, 
 
 But let him proceed with his books. 
 
 lis 
 
TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Evening draws nigli! The twilight shadows 
 Are hovering o'er me. Soft evening zephjTs 
 Come in at the open windows, and cool 
 The throbbing of my aching temples. 
 As I ponder, the shadows deepen, 
 Till now the dark curtain of night 
 "Shrouds us mth her somber drapery,'' 
 Inviting nature to repose. - 
 
 How sublime, yea; how inexpressibly grand, 
 
 Is the stillness of the evening hour ! 
 
 Broken only by the chirping 
 
 Of the cricket, or it may be 
 
 A stray lamb, bleating for the flock; 
 
 Lone wanderer from the fold. 
 
 The many lights in the distance. 
 Tell of others who are feasting 
 On God's goodness and his blessings. 
 Summing up the triumphs of to-day 
 Their defeats are not forgotten; 
 The rebellious spirit's been subdued 
 JSTo doubt. It has also gained 
 
 117 
 
The mastery ! Success and reverses 
 Go liand in hand, along life's pathway, 
 Until ere long, knowing the end 
 Is drawing nigh, we wonder 
 Which will be victorious. 
 
 Ungrateful creatures that we are ! 
 IsTe'er contented, never happy. 
 Moping on in gloom and sadness. 
 While the fleeting moments pass us, 
 Hurrying to eternity. 
 
 I wander out into the stillness 
 
 Of this calm and moonlit evening. 
 
 And gaze into the arched canopy. 
 
 With its many twinkling stellas; 
 
 While the pale blue of the background, 
 
 Truly fitting for the jewels 
 
 That shine mth such brilliant luster, 
 
 On us careworn travelers here. 
 
 Gazing in mute admiration, 
 
 At the myriad constellations. 
 
 Canst conceive the matchless wisdom. 
 
 That controls ethereal orbs? 
 
 Oh, ye lovely diamond stellas. 
 
 Luminaries of the night-time, 
 
 118 
 
Always peeping, hide and seeking; 
 Tell me why your always twinkling, 
 J^ever wearying, never sleeping. 
 Why dost thy light always flicker? 
 Are ye timid, are ye bashful. 
 Or is it fanning by the spirits, 
 JSTymphs we're told that do inhabit. 
 Thy own bright aerial clime? 
 While thy mysteries lie hidden. 
 Much conjecture we indulge in. 
 The laws of the solar system, 
 By thy freaks are often tested. 
 And the world of science baffled 
 By thy secrets unrevealed. 
 
 Fair Luna sheds her kindliest rays 
 O'er all this quiet loveliness. 
 After the garish light of day, 
 Tempering, soothing, and subduing 
 All that would mar the serenity. 
 Of this harmonious blending. 
 
 1^0 jarring elements of discord. 
 
 Enter into the workings of 
 
 I^ature's vast machinery ! We 
 
 Ourselves, cause all the friction. The 
 
 119 
 
Strange unearthly noises, that haunt 
 The caverns of this grand old earth 
 Are nanght, compared with the tumults 
 Daily wrought within the hearts of men ! 
 Nor is the panic they engender 
 Half so disastrous ! We've but to glance 
 Along the columns of this day's record 
 To see what there is w^ritten, and lo ! 
 "With startled ^dsion and bated breath, 
 We, hurrying on, drink in this 
 Awful story of human crime and 
 Suffering. With here and there a ray 
 Of light, to brighten the somber hues. 
 
 To-day, the great harvester. Death, 
 Has garnered in the ripened sheaves; 
 Those full of glory, and of years. 
 Those tender plants, that charm us with 
 Their purity, their innocence and 
 Their sweetness, have alike been cut do^vn 
 By this keen sickle. We wonder 
 Why it is, but God knows best, so 
 Murmer not ! 
 
 That fierce raging war 
 
 That threatens our liberty, and 
 
 Is sapping our nation's strength, still 
 
 120 
 
Surges on ! until, it seems — 
 Labor must be crushed, and ruined 
 By the tyrant heel of Capital ! 
 
 To-day has seen the timid maiden 
 Led to the Hymenial altar. 
 There to take the most solemn vows 
 ''Till death do us part !" Oh, those vows ! 
 How strangely sweet thy mystic binding. 
 Thy fond endearments no more a dream. 
 A world of hidden meaning they impart; 
 So lightly entered into, and now. 
 So easily shuffled off. Alas ! 
 So soon are spoken those first harsh words. 
 Forming a gulf broadening and deepening. 
 Till those magic chords are rent in twain; 
 And then, there is held up for public 
 Gaze and ridicule, the most sacred 
 Relationship kno^vn to mortal man. 
 What wonder that 'tis so stark stripped 
 Of its primeval sanctity ! 
 Disgracing the American people ! 
 With the ax laid low at the very 
 Foundations of her government — the home. 
 
 The prodigal has wandered back again. 
 His wild oats sown, and his fortune spent. 
 
 121 
 
He's eaten the husks that poverty gives ; 
 
 He's drank the cup of remorse to the dregs ! 
 
 His friends have all vanished. Mere parasites 
 
 Of the world were they; sucking his blood 
 
 As long as a drop remained. Abandoned 
 
 Then, with the earth for his couch, no pillow 
 
 Save bitter thoughts and a vivid memory 
 
 On which his head to lay. Ah, woe is me ! 
 
 I'll go back to my Father's mansion, 
 
 Where plenty is, and enough to spare. 
 
 And but as his hired servant be, 
 
 If there he'll make me room and shelter. 
 
 So back he's come; and with much rejoicings 
 
 Welcomed. The feast is spread, and all around 
 
 Make merry. The wanderer's come home ! 
 
 The anxious watchers turn away and weep. 
 
 At last the severe struggle is ended 
 
 The sweet life is yielded up ! Heartbroken 
 
 The children plead in vain for mother. 
 
 The peaceful serenity resting now 
 
 On that dear face, like a guardian angel 
 
 Sheds a benediction o'er all the room. 
 
 And heaven seems nearer than e'er before. 
 
 Life's panorama is flashed before us. 
 
 With bitter longing now some scenes recall: 
 
 122 
 
The selfishness that made us to forget 
 That mother, with a mother's love so pure, 
 IsTeeded our helpfulness, our strength and cheer. 
 ISTow as ne'er before we realize that 
 She was the sun, and we the lesser orbs, 
 Held in place by her magnetic power; 
 Receiving our light, our very being. 
 From this central force. Clustered about her, 
 We but reflect the virtues that she gave. 
 After she's taken from us we forget 
 Her influence is still with us, and ne'er dies. 
 Gloomy and sad, in sorrow mope around, 
 iJ^e'er thinking that bright star o'erhead, is but 
 Her planet, transformed to suit the new realm 
 In which it dwells, directing us into 
 The orbit's path. 
 
 Wars and rumors of war. 
 
 Rouse the patriotism of the young man. 
 
 Anxious to write his name on the top round, 
 
 Of fame's ladder, in his nation's history. 
 
 Hearing the bugle call ^^to arms" he's up 
 
 And gone with hardly a moment's warning. 
 
 The hearts of womankind are seized alike 
 
 With pride and terror; helpless to avert. 
 
 We hear the cannon's roar and see the flash, 
 
 123 
 
With hearts struck dumb with frenzy, then await 
 'News of the awful doom — a tale of woe. 
 
 One who this morning was worth his thousands, 
 
 Now on the doorstep of his palatial 
 
 Mansion stands — to say a last good-bye. 
 
 See the tears as they slowly trickle dowm 
 
 His wasted cheek, while the deep lines of care, 
 
 Have printed the indelible story 
 
 On his placid brow, silvered the hair that 
 
 But this morning shown like the raven's wing. 
 
 With form o'er bent and feeble step, he moves 
 
 Away from all that was to him most dear. 
 
 Too late, he sees and realizes that 
 
 ^'Kiches take wings and fly." Prematurely 
 
 Aged, to begin life anew — penniless ! 
 
 A broken-hearted mother laments o'er 
 
 The wreck of her once proud and manly boy. 
 
 That first drink, that enticed him on and on, 
 
 'Till he had run the gauntlet of sin's vile 
 
 Category, and brought him to his ruin; 
 
 While o'er the way, a sister, hopeless mourns 
 
 A daughter gone astray. A bitter world 
 
 !Nre'er pardons her one misstep ; no matter 
 
 How many good deeds may follow after; 
 
 The stigma of pollution on her's set ! 
 
 124 
 
Whilst he Avho did commit the hideous act 
 Goes on mipunished. Fondled in the lap 
 Of society's four hundred. Alack 1 
 Here a man weighted mth life's burdens, 
 Unable his way to clear — despairing 
 Takes his o^YIl life ! While on the other hand 
 This woman in the same desperate straights 
 Leaps from the bridge into the flood below. 
 
 Musing thus, the shadows deepening, length'uing 
 
 Into the dusky night. The night bird's call 
 
 Is heard, summoning his mate to slumber. 
 
 List ! In the far off wood the whip-poor-will 
 
 Alone, now holds the undisputed sway. 
 
 Regaling us with his sad, doleful notes. 
 
 The flower has folded its tiny petals. 
 
 And with head drooped low to Mother IsTature's 
 
 Dewy bosom, restores her sweet perfume. 
 
 Fond lovers strolling in the leafy shade 
 
 Of yonder spreading elms, and maple lane. 
 
 Renew the oft-plighted troth, to still be true. 
 
 Men of science hold their weary vigils, 
 
 'Till the roseate tints of morning's glow 
 
 Heralds the approaching dawn. Delving deep 
 
 Into the silent mysterious workings 
 
 Of those nightly orbs, high suspended in 
 
 125 
 
The Ethereal space; the telescope 
 
 Each time revealing some wondrous beauty, 
 
 E'e'er dreamed of, and unknown. The lusty cry 
 
 Of a new-born babe heralds another life ! 
 
 While the unwilling mother now with joy 
 
 Clasps it to her breast. Life's antagonist 
 
 Hovers o'er her; but finally in flight 
 
 Is routed by well-skilled and watchful care. 
 
 The chldren all are tucked away to rest 
 
 After their hard day's work, and prayers are said. 
 
 Peace, sweet peace, and quiet now all about 
 
 Sheds her glad radiance. The weary hands 
 
 Are folded. Reclining in easy chairs. 
 
 The parents dream again that life is young; 
 
 And they the gay, joyous participants 
 
 In the giddy throng, hearing the old, old 
 
 Story that is ever new, made sweeter 
 
 "With the lapse of years. Dream on, oh, ye aged ! 
 
 What tho' silver hairs now adorn thy brow; 
 
 Ye're ever young, whilst love's bright fountain 
 
 throws 
 
 Her glittering sprays on this old world around. 
 
 Youth and old age are blended into one 
 
 To make life's journey, 'till the race is run. 
 
 Wake not their dreaming; nor e'en break the spell 
 
 Of serenity's sweet, evanescent glow 
 
 126 
 
That now enslirouds them. 'Tis the hallowed 
 
 ground 
 Where infidels and strangers trespass not, 
 Whose beauties are not given them to know ! 
 
 This calculating of the balance sheet 
 
 At the close of the dying day, forms a sort 
 
 Of sanctuary, sacred alike to all. 
 
 Reverently we cross its threshold 
 
 Closing the door of the world behind us, 
 
 Shutting out all sacriligious turmoils — 
 
 And there hold communion with our Maker ! 
 
 'Tis the Holy of Holies to every 
 
 Heart that bows at its sacred altar, 
 
 And sheds a radiant glory not unlike 
 
 That which sho^vn from Moses' face, when he talked 
 
 With the Lord ! There the soul is purified 
 
 And strengthened, its new duties to perform. 
 
 Those who know not of this precious fountain 
 
 Yet so free and full, why languish longer 
 
 With relief so near at hand ? Yea, enter 
 
 And share the blessings of this holy place. 
 
 If ye would know the perfect harmony, 
 
 The ecstatic bliss of nature's subtle 
 
 Teachings, then wander to the Southland, 
 
 127 
 
That land of perpetual flowers 
 
 Where the bleak winds of winter ne'er whistle 
 
 Around the humble cottager's scant hearth. 
 
 There howling winds ne'er sigh and moan and groan 
 
 As if they knew despair, such as rages 
 
 In the human breast ! There the joyous birds, 
 
 In multitudes and gorgeously arrayed, 
 
 Sing praises to the Maker of such lavish 
 
 Voluptuousness of verdure, and glomng 
 
 Wealth of sunshine. There the Seabreeze fans the 
 
 Temples, and a wrapt sweet stillness reigns. 
 
 Who would not revel in its glories, 
 
 Or drink the tonic of its elixir? 
 
 Then give me the sunny Southland 
 
 Which God has so abundantly blest 
 
 With the rarest and sweetest flowers 
 
 That ever gave incense to heaven. 
 
 There the troubled spirit is lulled to rest 
 
 By Mother E'ature, and we are wrapped 
 
 In blissful slumber to await 
 
 The dawning of another day. 
 
 128 
 
EXTRACTS. 
 
 'Tis practice and not theory, 
 
 The world demands to-day, 
 YouVe worn yourselves out talking, 
 
 Just live it — so they say. 
 Societies and theories 
 
 Have done themselves to death. 
 Just give us Christian living 
 
 And not such waste of breath. 
 •3f * * ♦ 
 
 If I's a man I'd be one 
 
 And not a sort of tool. 
 Some one is sure to work you 
 
 And make you out a fool. 
 At last then you must own it; 
 
 Just think how small you'll feel 
 For being such a sucker — 
 
 Dangling at some one's heel. 
 
 A PICTURE FROM LIFE. 
 
 I saw her at the wash tub, 
 
 Bending o'er a rumpled heap 
 
 Of clothes, all soiled and dirty, 
 9 129 
 
Wisliing that the watered heat. 
 Ah ! that face so proud and queenly, 
 
 Told of brighter days gone by; 
 That pale face, sorrow-haunted, 
 
 Clouded like the noonday sky. 
 
 Unused to such hard labor. 
 
 She had tread life's smoother ways, 
 ISTurtured in a home of plenty. 
 
 Kept in education's ways. 
 Frail in form and weak in body. 
 
 Yet a healthy, active brain, 
 Proved a blessing in her success, 
 
 And a bulwark in her pain. 
 
 When disaster came upon her, 
 
 She had courage to withstand 
 Any comments of the worldling 
 
 Who ne'er lends a helping hand. 
 And in her humbler station 
 
 She was ne'er ashamed to work. 
 For 'tis no disgrace, she argued, 
 
 Save when you your duty shirk. 
 
 Peering into her surroundings. 
 
 She seemed like a sweet flower lost — 
 
 In the briers and treacherous brambles, 
 
 130 
 
"Where none deem it worth the cost;, 
 To search for wealth or beauty, 
 
 'JSTeath such dark and homely mould, 
 Dreaming not, unsightly coverings, 
 
 Oft reveal the heart of gold. 
 
 While the gilded gay exterior, 
 
 That so often lures us on, 
 Slirouds but the decaying carcass. 
 
 While the treasure's long since gone. 
 People soon forget our graces. 
 
 When misfortune opes our door; 
 We've but very common faces 
 
 When wealth yields not up her store. 
 
 So this poor forgotten woman. 
 
 With her praises long unsung, 
 Learning life's most precious lesson 
 
 (That so many hearts have wrung)— 
 If you'd be accounted lovely, 
 
 Good and grand, 'tho' young or old. 
 You must hold within a firm grasp. 
 
 The world's idol — sordid gold. 
 
 When she spread a bounteous feast. 
 
 Many gathered round her board, 
 
 Paying court to each demeanor, 
 
 131 
 
Eager listening to every word. 
 But when Poverty's grim visage 
 
 Thrust his hideousness in view, 
 Like a host of phantom spirits 
 
 Her admirer's ( ?) turned and flew ! 
 
 Those gleaming, lustrous dark eyes, 
 
 Reveal a wealth of meaning; 
 Whispering of some secret pain, 
 
 That the heart is screening 
 From a keen and curious world. 
 
 Ever bent on finding out. 
 Some poor soul's guarded secret. 
 
 To drag forth, and flaunt about. 
 
 Suggesting that crown of thorns. 
 
 Constant worn about the heart. 
 Its sharp prongs are buried deeper. 
 
 Causing many a bitter smart, 
 Every time we seek the portal, 
 
 To this hidden cell of grief. 
 See ! She seeks the balm of Gilead 
 
 As her only sure relief. 
 
 Yonder — in her bedroom kneeling. 
 
 Pouring out her soul in prayer. 
 
 Asking for the strength and courage, 
 
 132 
 
And the will to do, and dare. 
 ^^Oh for strength for this day's duties, 
 
 Help me, Father, hide my woe ; 
 To forgive the ones who made it ; 
 
 Envious lest some joy I know." 
 
 "Helpless, now the weight's upon me. 
 
 Help me bravely bear the load; 
 See the jmrpose of its being 
 
 Sent, my weary soul to goad. 
 Thou knowest why this sore affliction 
 
 Smites thus, with her chastening rod. 
 Whilst I blindly must grope onward. 
 
 Trusting in thy promised word." 
 
 "And thy promises ne'er fail us, 
 
 If we only do our part; 
 Let me ever find sweet solace, 
 
 N^estling in thy loving heart. 
 Almost now with clearer vision, 
 
 I begin to see my way; 
 Dawning of the glad to-morrow, 
 
 ^When the mists have cleared away.' " 
 
 Brushing way the flood of tears — 
 
 Heavenly dew ! 'Tis our heart's ease- 
 Pushing back the loosened tresses, 
 
 133 
 
Slowly rises from lier knees. 
 What a halo shines about 
 
 That tender, trusting face, 
 When with willing consecration 
 
 We take our appointed place. 
 
 Taking up the arduous duties. 
 
 Where heartbroken they were left; 
 Strength and grace alike are furnished, 
 
 Though the eyes with tears be wet. 
 Hopeful of the task before her. 
 
 Goes to rubing with a will. 
 List ! what singing floating upward. 
 
 Clear as evening's whip-poor-will. 
 
 ^^Savior, lead me, lest T stray, 
 
 Gently lead me all the way; 
 I am safe when by thy side, 
 
 I would in thy love abide." 
 Then the voice begins to quiver. 
 
 And takes on a sadder strain; 
 Yet determined to be victor, 
 
 She begins that sweet refrain. 
 
 "Lead me ! Lead me ! 
 
 Savior, lead me, lest I stray; 
 
 Gently down the stream of time, 
 
 134 
 
Lead me, Savior, all the way." 
 All the pent-up pleading pathos, 
 
 Embodied in the poet's lines, 
 Thrills the heart of this lone singer 
 
 'Till the song's a thing divine. 
 
 Well, we know the Savior leads her. 
 
 Through the toil and heat of day; 
 Lighter seems the heavy burden. 
 
 When He is our shield and stay. 
 There in that humble kitchen. 
 
 Was a grander victory made. 
 Than e'er adorned historic annals. 
 
 Or records in the marts of trade. 
 
 "Thou the refuge of ]ny soul, 
 
 When life's stormy billows roll;" 
 Proved a hiding most secure. 
 
 To this soul by grief inured. 
 Whilst you in your gay pavilion 
 
 Pander to the sons of wealth. 
 She has won the crown of olives^ 
 
 'T/-S the victory over self. 
 
 135 
 
POPPING THE QUESTION. 
 
 Once upon a time 
 
 (For thus tlie story goes), 
 A bard wrote to his sweetheart, 
 
 Relating all liis woes. 
 Said he was poor, God bless him ! 
 
 This was his favorite theme; 
 She thought it visionary; 
 
 Merely a poet's dream. 
 
 Folks who just write and travel. 
 
 And wear good Sunday clothes. 
 Must get the money somewhere, 
 
 As anybody knows. 
 He told her fairy tales. 
 
 One whole long winter through; 
 'Bout a mountain cabin, 
 
 With just room enough for two. 
 
 Where a great tall shanghai. 
 
 Just crowed around the door. 
 
 With the gourd vine clinging. 
 
 Its humble portal o'er. 
 136 
 
Tacked up on the gable , 
 So's to be Southern like, 
 
 Was that old gray coon skin, 
 With that dear old pipe. 
 
 Of course there'll be sunflowers. 
 
 Morning glories, too, 
 Coxcomb and bachelor buttons, 
 
 Marigolds — a few; 
 In sight of said cabin 
 
 Will be crystal springs. 
 Where to slake their thirst. 
 
 Mountain goat and deer it brin^ 
 
 Then the trusty rifle. 
 
 Underneath the bed, 
 A grej^hound for companion. 
 
 Looking so poorly fed. 
 If you only listen. 
 
 For that tinkling bell, 
 You would find old Brindle 
 
 Seeking her corral. 
 
 Such a pretty picture. 
 
 Don't you like it, dear ? 
 
 Only one thing lacking. 
 
 Wish that you were here. 
 137 
 
Yes, 'twas quite romantic, 
 
 Seen in black and white, 
 With a poet's coloring; 
 
 Truly a delight. 
 
 Coyly then she wrote him, 
 
 "Such a lovely spot." 
 "I'll share the deed with you, dear. 
 
 Just as soon as not." 
 "At any time, my darling," 
 
 Was his prompt reply; 
 "Misery loves company. 
 
 So, to the mountains hie." 
 
 Then came orange blossoms, 
 
 From that sweet Southern clime; 
 "ISTow, don't step off the carpet 
 
 (Unless you'll be mine), 
 'Cause the flowers suggest it, 
 
 They're so sweet, you know. 
 To realize their beauty, 
 
 You must see them grow." 
 
 Told her she was sassy, 
 
 'Cause he's under her thumb; 
 Called himself a rosebud. 
 
 When the blossom e'en had flown. 
 
 138 
 
But when spring came teeming 
 With birds and blossoms rife, 
 
 To himself he muttered, 
 "I must find a wife." 
 
 "I'm going to pop the question. 
 
 You'll be a good dodger, 
 Or else you are mine; 
 
 Won't vou take a lodger? 
 Think I can get together 
 
 Something to live on, 
 With a hovel to live in, 
 
 Ere the summer's gone." 
 
 "ISTow, don't be hard-hearted. 
 
 But say — what d'you think? 
 Though poverty stricken, 
 
 On the matrimonial brink, 
 I safely make this venture, 
 
 If — consumption kills me 
 I'd leave my mfe a — widow. 
 
 With all that Fate wills thee." 
 
 "I'm so tired of roaming. 
 
 This lonely world o'er. 
 
 Strangers for companions. 
 
 When the heart craves more, 
 139 
 
So now you must tell me, 
 Can I count on you? 
 
 'No, that's not plain enough, 
 Will you have me, Sue?'' 
 
 THE CEDARS. 
 
 There's a dear old country homestead. 
 Where I spent my childhood hours, 
 
 Roaming happy in the Avoodlands, 
 Gathering her sweet wild flowers; 
 
 With the wide, wide world before me, 
 
 Wondering what it had in store for me. 
 
 The old home is ever sacred. 
 E'en though humble it may be, 
 
 'Tis entwined with sweetest mem'ries, 
 Hut or mansion, as't may be ; 
 
 'Tis our all, and we adore it. 
 
 Let no sacrilege come o'er it ! 
 
 There life's hallowed things are treasured. 
 In the storehouse of the heart. 
 
 Where no dust e'er dims their luster. 
 Memory keeps intruders out. 
 
 Old age never dims the vision 
 
 IsTaught can blot it with derision. 
 
 140 
 
For the sordid, selfish motives, 
 
 That designate the business world, 
 
 Xever cross its sacred threshold, 
 
 But with scorn are backward hurled: 
 
 The true, real man we see at home, 
 
 The mask thrown off, the mles all gone. 
 
 Would you like to see The Cedars ? 
 
 Then I'll give you the '^old view," 
 Where my infancy was cradled, 
 
 'Tho' now replaced by "the new." 
 Just an oldtime country farmhouse. 
 Like you see all o'er the South. 
 
 Two large front rooms, a hall between; 
 
 A half story for "up stairs," 
 Where us children oft would frolic. 
 
 Playing that we were "old bears," 
 'Till poor mother, crazed with noise. 
 Wished the girls had all been boys. 
 
 Then the kitchen formed the ell part. 
 With the "flour room" on the end, 
 
 Where we kept the pots and skillets. 
 And the "good things" without end. 
 
 Father called it Noah's ark; 
 
 Such a "catchall" and so dark. 
 
 141 
 
On the north end was the fireplace, 
 With its chimney towering high, 
 
 And in mnter ever belching, 
 Smoky volumes to the sky; 
 
 'Twas the scene of many a revel. 
 
 Where each must maintain his level. 
 
 'Round the fireplace on the bad days, 
 When we'd nothing else to do. 
 
 We'd roast eggs in the hot ashes. 
 And bake apples 'till they'd stew; ' 
 
 The old elm sticks would stew and sing, 
 
 And never burn, just sing and sing. 
 
 In the evening when "chores" were done. 
 The huge backlog in was brought; 
 
 While the heap of glomng embers, 
 Wierd, fantastic, pictures wrought. 
 
 Gazing into the firelight's glow. 
 
 Watching coals to ashes go. 
 
 Then when supper time was over. 
 And the dishes all were done. 
 
 We'd all gather round the fireplace. 
 And have just lots of fun. 
 
 Eating apples to name the seeds. 
 
 Or listening while some one reads. 
 
 142 
 
Tlien we'd crack nuts or pop some corn, 
 
 And tell riddles 'till tired out, 
 Play ''first off" tlien wait to see 
 
 Who'd grin first ! and then a shout. 
 While the poor culprit pinched and slapped, 
 Vainly protested to "quit that." 
 
 The fireplace long since abandoned. 
 And the stove now takes its stead. 
 
 For your back was always freezing. 
 And your face burned 'till 'twas red. 
 
 The old stumps were all burned up, 
 
 Then we gladly gave it up. 
 
 This old homestead faces westward, 
 Where the sunset dies in gold, 
 
 Gorgeous tints through verdant treetops, 
 Dazzling whilst the eye beholds: 
 
 This glorious, enrapturing scene. 
 
 Surpasses any poet's dream ! 
 
 On the south side is the driveway, 
 Bordered by white maples tall; 
 
 On the north a hedge of cedars, 
 Breaks old Avinter's chilling thrall. 
 
 Thence the place derived its name. 
 
 Grand old ti*ees ! Always the same. 
 
 143 
 
'Cross the driveway lies the garden, 
 With its old gray picket fence; 
 
 Where once a trailing wild grapevine, 
 Made a green wall of defense : 
 
 But stern progress smote my romance — 
 
 For fear it might rot the fence. 
 
 In the back yard, three giant oaks 
 
 Form a triangle, and there 
 High suspended, the old pole swing, 
 
 That caused many a frantic scare. 
 When the swing board struck the tree limb. 
 Swinging level. Joy to the brim ! 
 
 In the winter, when the snow king. 
 Shakes his fleecy whiteness down. 
 
 Covering field and wooded pasture. 
 And the treetops bare and brown, 
 
 Then the cedars bending low; 
 
 With summer's green and winter's snow. 
 
 Ah ! 1^0 artist's brush can paint it ! 
 
 And no poet's pen describe, 
 This sublimity of feeling, 
 
 Like unto the virgin bride. 
 
 Is the spotless clinging snow. 
 
 Making lovely scenes of woe. 
 
 144 
 
Oft when pinioned with life's worries, 
 How the heart yearns to go back 
 
 To the old home of our childhood; 
 We retrace our backward track, 
 
 And again dream round the hearthstone, 
 
 Of earth's sweetest place — our home. 
 
 THE TWO PLAYMATES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Two little girls in the street were playing. 
 Plighting life friendship; one of them saying: 
 ''Xo matter ^\4iat may happen to yon, 
 I'll be your friend, Helen, firm and true." 
 '^And I'll be yours, Mary, though rich or poor, 
 A welcome I'd find, I know^, at your door; 
 For Mary, you know, means everything sweet; 
 Like our Saviour's mother, you're just complete." 
 
 II. 
 
 The years roll on. They are maidens now, 
 
 Effulgent hopes like a meteor now 
 
 Thrills the hearts of both: with vows renewed. 
 
 In all the exuberance of maidenhood, 
 
 With the great commonwealth they together. 
 
 Fight life's battles; in fair and foul weather. 
 10 145 
 
And many a laurel is proiicllv won; 
 A trophy of labor and love well done. 
 
 III. 
 Tliey are women now, and the vows were broke, 
 When wealth on Mary set her lordly yoke, 
 With sorrowful mien and locks of snow, 
 She's of the four hundred, a martyr to show; 
 While Helen strives on in the same old way, 
 Enjoying the sweets of a well-spent day. 
 A victor over hardships, happy and blithe. 
 While but a few white hairs mark her stage in life. 
 They meet in the great thoroughfare down town, 
 With never a greeting, save shrug or frown. 
 
 lY. 
 
 The conflict is over. Life's race is run. 
 
 Each has a cofiin and grave — now 'tis done. 
 
 A plat six by three in old Mother Earth, 
 
 To await the summons of their real worth. 
 
 One's mound's banked with flowers of hot house 
 
 skill,- 
 Their v/axen beauty and fragrance instill 
 A feeling of sadness and sympathy's tear. 
 For the flowerless grave of the friend once dear. 
 
 THE END. 
 146 
 
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