Book . fS7/^ 
 GopyiigittN" /?// 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 
 
W. J. NETTELTON 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 W/J/NETTELTON 
 
 V^fc. «» ^^ • 
 
 PUBUSHED BY 
 
 MRS. W. J. NETTELTON 
 
 LOUISVILLE. KY. 
 

 COPYRIGHT 191 
 
 MRS. W. J, NETTELTON 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE PUBLISHER 
 
 By THE MAYES PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY. 
 
 CLA28G012 
 
i ■ 
 
 *i CONTENTS. 
 
 ^ Alone __- 28 
 
 ^ Alone 14 
 
 A Bachelor's Advice _ 110 
 
 A Birthday Wish 103 
 
 A Maiden's Song 30 
 
 A Mother's Soliloquy 6 
 
 A Soliloquy 55 
 
 A Young Man's Musings 101 
 
 Beauty 124 
 
 By Thy Love ._._ 125 
 
 Christmas, 1883 118 
 
 Christmas 17 
 
 Christmas Carol 135 
 
 Christmas Ode 15 
 
 Clara, to Her Lover in Exile 57 
 
 Dominis Vobiscum 26 
 
 Easter Time 102 
 
 Faithful are the Words of a Friend 52 
 
 P^lights of Fantasy 23 
 
 Friendship 13 
 
 Friendship's Immutability __ 95 
 
 Gray Hair 21 
 
 Good Templars at Belfast 123 
 
 How Lovely Is This Earth 67 
 
 In Memoriam to Mrs. H. .__ 25 
 
 In Memoriam, Jane Beck _.._ 35 
 
 In Memoriam, Henry W. Longfellow 91 
 
 If You Love Me, Say So 92 
 
 John Petrie, Born 1791 136 
 
 Leave Me Alone 31 
 
 Let the Women Arise 48 
 
 Lines 32 
 
 Lines, Suggested by Sketches Drawn in an Album 34 
 
 Lines to the Southern Lodges 53 
 
 Life's Shadows 138 
 
 Life's Ways 80 
 
 Little Lizzie 81 
 
 Little Words 36 
 
 Lines, Written in a Lady's Album 89 
 
 Lizzie ___ 105 
 
 Longfellow 7 
 
 Ix)ve 4 
 
Man's Mission _ _ 129 
 
 Man Was Made to Mourn 109 
 
 Memory, No. 1 20 
 
 Memory, No. 2 - _ 141 
 
 My Fatherland 27 
 
 My Own Cottage Home 74 
 
 Obituary on the Death of the Daughter of a Friend .- 87 
 
 Ode, to Belfast Morning News 133 
 
 Ode to the "Ulster General Advertiser" 112 
 
 Ocean Flowers 64 
 
 Old Letters 62 
 
 Our Irish Lodges 42 
 
 Prologue .50 
 
 Prologue 70 
 
 Quae Amissa Salva 10 
 
 Seaside Musings _ 61 
 
 Shakespeare 79 
 
 Sixty Pounds Per Year 106 
 
 Songs of the Loved, Now Dead 112 
 
 Sonnet 121 
 
 Spring 11 
 
 Springtime Dreamings 93 
 
 Submission 3 
 
 Stanza 127 
 
 Stanza to a Child . 18 
 
 Stanza to a Friend, No. 1 37 
 
 Stanza to a Friend, No. 2 131 
 
 Stanza on the Death of a Child 41 
 
 "Thy Will Be Done" 83 
 
 The Penitent's Soliloquy 6.5 
 
 The Sabbath 73 
 
 The Unchangeable 75 
 
 The Memory of the Past 76 
 
 True Friendship 29 
 
 To the Donor of the Editors' Chair 60 
 
 The Soldier's Dream of Home 39 
 
 To "Sister Lily" 78 
 
 To F. H., New Year, 1874 84 
 
 To J. H., at Berlin, 26th May, 1873 69 
 
 To the Wallflower 66 
 
 To the Belfast Mill Owners 5 
 
 To Brother Joseph Mitchell, G. V. T. 9 
 
 To a Lady, on the Death of Her Father 12 
 
 To Good Templars 38 
 
 To the Flag of the Free 115 
 
 To a Daisy 116 
 
 To a Lady Returning with Her Daughter to America. . 122 
 
 To a Lady on the Death of Her Daughter 126 
 
 To a Lady After a Painful Illness 135 
 
To Kitty Connor, from Her Weaver Boy 132 
 
 To Stella __.. _.. 139 
 
 The Arrow and the Quiver 97 
 
 The Daisy ._.. 98 
 
 The Shepherd's Care 106 
 
 The Emigrant's Farewell 107 
 
 The Soldier's Dream 114 
 
 When the Sombre Shadows Pall 59 
 
 Wish Not To Have Died Young 99 
 
 Work On 113 
 
POEMS 
 
 SUBMISSION. 
 
 This frail humanity of mine, 
 This feeble, vacillating will, 
 This soul-unrest that makes me ill, 
 
 Those tranquil shades for which I pine ! 
 
 When shall my frailty pass away, 
 
 And this weak will be clothed with power' 
 Or shall there ever dawn an hour. 
 
 To herald me a brighter day? 
 
 Father of mercy, hear, I pray, 
 
 The pleadings of Thy weakest son. 
 Help me to say ' ' Thy will be done, ' ' 
 
 E'en be that will whatever it may. 
 
 Teach me submissively to bend 
 
 Beneath the cross that's mine to bear; 
 Knowing that He who placed it there, 
 
 Will strength, and hope, and comfort send. 
 
 I cannot understand Thy ways; 
 
 Thou knowest best what 's for my weal, 
 Yet something, Lord, to me reveal 
 
 Of what my end — my length of days. 
 
 Grant that to wisdom I my heart 
 May so with fervid zeal apply, 
 That after this weak flesh shall die, 
 
 With Thee my soiil may have a part. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Thou who dost hear and answer prayer, 
 My Saviour, one more boon I crave. 
 From those I love let not the grave 
 
 Divide me — make us all to share 
 
 Alike the bounties of Thy grace, 
 
 The streams of Thine unceasing love ; 
 May we unitedly above 
 
 Dwell in the brightness of Thy face. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 When morning dews shall cease to bathe 
 The rosy lips of Spring's dear flowers; 
 
 When evening zephyrs fail to breathe 
 Sweet odours from elysian bowers; 
 
 Or when the moon declines to shed 
 Her silver beams across the sea; 
 
 Or when through Flora's fragrant bed 
 In vain for honey seeks the bee; 
 
 When azure skies no longer pour 
 
 O'er wood and lea life-giving light. 
 
 Or Summer sun shall never more 
 Disturb the dark, chaotic night; 
 
 Ah ! then, and not till then, shall love, 
 Heedless of duty, turn aside. 
 
 All powerless the soul to move, 
 
 Or change the ebb of passion's tide. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Love, purely born, may never change, 
 Till soul and body separate; 
 
 It then by transformation strange, 
 Assumes a higher, holier state. 
 
 Thus love, to mortal spirits given, 
 Can never, never know decay, 
 
 'Tis strengthened, purified in Heaven, 
 And lives throughout eternity. 
 
 TO THE BELFAST MILL OWNERS. 
 
 Is there within the human breast 
 
 One spark of nature yet remaining? 
 Or heart to bleed for the opprest - 
 
 Who throng our streets, through want complaining ? 
 
 Ye who in Fortune's carriage roll, 
 
 By every luxury surrounded, 
 If ye do own a living soul, 
 
 Behold your work, and pause confounded. 
 
 See those emaciated forms 
 
 Once plump and fair, and gay and healthy, 
 Gaze on them now, ye pamper 'd worms. 
 
 For by their wreck are you made wealthy. 
 
 'Twas they who made you what ye are ; 
 
 'Twas they who helped to build your city. 
 Through which they pass on Mis'ry's car, 
 With none to comfort, help, or pity. 
 
6 POEMS, 
 
 Oh ! let remorse within you burn, 
 And stay the evil ye are doing; 
 
 Nor thus the laws of Nature spurn 
 By dark oppression's course pursuing. 
 
 Ope wide thy gates to one and all 
 
 Who in your mills to work are willing; 
 Nor from their wages, yet too small. 
 Attempt to take away a shilling. 
 
 Do to the poor as you would have 
 The God of Mercy do to you ; 
 
 Nor bury in the darksome grave 
 Your bright hopes of Eternity. 
 
 Belfast, August 6, 1874. 
 
 A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 OVER HER DECEASED CHILD. 
 
 My darling child, my fair-haired love. 
 Around my heart thou wast entwined; 
 
 Gone from me now to realms above — 
 God gave thee, took thee. He is kind. 
 
 I would not have thee back again, 
 
 E'en though my heart should burst in twain. 
 
 Happy art thou, my lovely child, 
 
 And hope burns in thy mother's breast; 
 
 Right well I know thy Saviour mild 
 Took thee to His eternal rest. 
 
 I mourn not as the hopeless mourn, 
 Nor weep e 'en as the faithless weep ; 
 
 I know that Heav 'n 's eternal morn 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Will raise thee from the grave's cold sleep. 
 And when this earthly house is riven, 
 I'll meet thee on the shores of Heaven. 
 Belfast, April 28, 1873. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 BORN, FEBRUARY, 1807; DIED, MARCH, 1882. 
 
 From out the firmament of song 
 Another radiant star is set; 
 Ah ! but his rays shall linger yet, 
 
 To quell the passion bred of wrong ; 
 
 To breathe a pure and holy calm 
 
 Within the bosom rack'd with pain, 
 To lead the hopeless once again 
 
 To where the soul may gather balm. 
 
 The singer 's voice no more is lieard ; 
 Only the echoes now remain, 
 Yet, still, all powerful the strain 
 
 Resounds in hearts whose pulse it stirr'd. 
 
 The mother watching by the cot 
 Wherein her darling baby lies, 
 The big tears welling in her eyes — 
 
 Repeats the poet's glorious thought. 
 
 And kaowing Death cannot destroy 
 The life that is the breath of God, 
 She meekly bends beneath the rod. 
 
 And mourns in trustful love, her boy. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 There is no death ! what seemeth so 
 
 Is merely a transition sleep ; 
 
 The grave this mortal part may keep, 
 The living spirit, it must go 
 
 To Him who gave it. Thus in time ; 
 
 When all the harvest's gather 'd in; 
 
 When, cleansed from every stain of sin, 
 All shall unite in bond's sublime, — 
 
 Then, looking down the streets of gold. 
 Where Christ is the reflected Light, 
 The poet will, with gladden 'd sight. 
 
 His many loving friends behold. 
 
 Oh, what a mighty pean then 
 
 Shall through the Heav'nly City ring! 
 
 Eternal praises to the King ; 
 Who brought from death to life again. 
 
 And all the ransom 'd hosts of Heav'n 
 Shall the hosannas loud prolong. 
 To sweet accompaniments of song 
 
 On harps of gold, by Angels given. 
 
 And God will look well-pleased, for they 
 Are Jesus' Crown of Victory. 
 
POEMS, 9 
 
 TO BROTHER JOSEPH MITCHELL, G.V.T. 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER 
 MAGGIE. 
 
 Behind the clouds that sweep the evening skies, 
 
 The moon's pure light shines — hidden from our eyes: 
 
 Beyond the veil of death we cannot gaze ; 
 
 Yet there, w^e know% are shed the eternal rays 
 
 Of our dear Father's love, and faith's dim sight — 
 
 (Just as we see the dark clouds fringed with light) 
 Beholds immortal day beskirt the night. 
 And we, with fainting hearts and hands firm clasped. 
 Pray God for strength to hold the hope we've grasped. 
 
 We, in our littleness, can never know 
 The full import of this our life below: 
 Bereavements come and rend our hearts full sore ; 
 But, while we grieve, the Hand of Love doth pour 
 Into our bleeding souls a perfect balm; 
 It does not stay our tears, but gives a calm 
 And trustful resignation to the will 
 Of Him Avho spake, and bade the sea be still. 
 
 Dear brother, ope your wounded heart to Him 
 Whose eyes at Lazarus' tomb w^ith tears were dim; 
 The Saviour, who for friend with friends could weep. 
 Stood by you at the grave where angels keep 
 Their faithful vigils over Maggie's sleep. 
 
 Do you not know^ — our dearest treasures here. 
 Like anchors, weight us down to this dull sphere? 
 God's hand, in tender mercy, cuts the rope 
 
10 POEMS. 
 
 Of earthly loves, and fills our lives with hope — 
 Such hope as bears us up beyond the skies, 
 Where those we love, in Heaven's immensities, 
 Await our coming. Let your heart be strong; 
 
 A little while, and in the Heavenly throng, — 
 (But oh! how changed, how exquisitely sweet) 
 Your darling friend, your daughter you shall meet. 
 Her voice, so sweet on earth — now sweeter grown ; 
 Sings ever the new song around God's Throne. 
 You'll meet her there, with hers your voice will blend, 
 In songs of triumph that shall never end, 
 And this world's sorrow, all its bitter strife, 
 Will be forgotten in that higher life. 
 
 QU^ AMISSA SALVA. 
 
 Never more on earth, sweet Kitty, 
 Will thy childish voice be heard; 
 
 In the bright celestial city 
 
 Thou art singing with the Lord. 
 
 Though we miss thy infant prattle, 
 Miss thy simple, sylph-like glee, 
 
 From this sinful world's rude battle 
 We rejoice that thou art free. 
 
 For we know that in the region 
 Of the sanctified and blest, 
 
 Free from sorrow and contagion, 
 Thou art safe on Jesus' breast. 
 
POEMS. 11 
 
 Safe beyond the heavenly portals, 
 Robed in garments saintly pure, 
 
 Cares — the heritage of mortals — 
 Kitty, thou shalt ne'er endure. 
 
 And though now we miss the sunshine 
 
 Of thy artless infant smile; 
 Though thy little fairy footsteps 
 
 Shall no more our hearts beguile, 
 
 Still thy angel form in Heaven 
 
 Will to us a magnet be. 
 And our hearts, now sorely riven. 
 
 Oft will soar in love to thee. 
 And when our mission here is o 'er. 
 We'll join thee on the other shore. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 The Winter has been and gone, 
 And the Spring is come again, 
 
 And the air is full of the sweet birds' song. 
 And glad are the hearts of men. 
 
 The earth is no longer chill 
 
 With the blighting frosts and snows, 
 And soft is the voice of the murmuring rill 
 
 That ever and onward flows — 
 
 That ever and onward flows. 
 
 Through meadow and wood and lea, 
 Till its sounds are lost in the mighty roar 
 
 Of the dark unfathom'd sea. 
 
12 POEMS. 
 
 Oh! happy, congenial Spring! 
 
 season of beauty rare, 
 What blessings drop from thy vernal wing, 
 
 Refreshing the earth and air. 
 
 Thou comest and thou dost wake 
 Dame Nature from out her sleep ; 
 
 And at thy bidding, through field and brake. 
 The daisy begins to peep. 
 
 The old and the young rejoice; 
 
 The valleys and woodlands ring ; 
 While Nature chants with a heaven-born voice, 
 
 A welcoming ode to Spring. 
 
 hail! thou beautiful Spring, 
 With thy mantle fair and sheen, 
 
 May our hearts while ever thy praise we sing 
 Ascend to the world unseen — 
 
 Ascend to the world unseen. 
 
 On pinions of grateful love. 
 To Him who leadeth through pastures green 
 
 To Eternal Spring above. 
 Belfast, April 3, 1875. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER. 
 
 Deep in my soul, dear maid, can I 
 
 Through sad experience with thee share 
 The grief that now bedims thine eye, 
 
POEMS. 13 
 
 And marks thy fair young brow with care. 
 Yet, oh ! forbid it that despair 
 
 Should plant its canker in thy breast, 
 Or from thy gentle bosom tear 
 
 The sacred hopes of youthful rest. 
 Oh! by thy solemn loss impress 'd, 
 
 Much do I sympathize with thee ; 
 For ere by light of reason blest, 
 
 A like bereavement fell on me. 
 
 'Tis meet that we should passive be 
 
 At times that seem so fraught with ill ; 
 Nor e'er attempt those griefs to flee. 
 
 So ordered by Jehovah's will. 
 But rather let us, trusting still. 
 
 Rely upon Almighty love; 
 It will with strength our bosoms fill. 
 
 And lead our wand 'ring thoughts above. 
 Then do not let thy sorrow move 
 
 With too deep power through thy soul, . 
 But let each trial tend to prove 
 
 That earth is not our final goal. 
 Belfast, January 9, 1873. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship ! bondage pure and holy, 
 Light of life's cold chequered way, 
 
 All alike, high-born and lowly. 
 Gladly own thy softening sway ! 
 
 Sweetest, purest, rarest treasure! 
 Ah! how sad the heart would be, 
 
 'Reft of the soul-soothing pleasure, 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 And the bliss that fills thy measure, 
 Holy, heav'n-born ecstasy. 
 
 Friendship never speaks unkindly, 
 
 Never takes a part untrue, 
 Never does a wrong design 'dly — 
 
 Giveth Virtue still her due. 
 Not misfortunes life distressing, 
 
 Ever can pure friendship bend; 
 In the heart this sacred blessing — 
 Life, hope, joy, and peace impressing — 
 
 Lingers faithful, till the end. 
 
 Never let a link be broken 
 
 In true friendship's holy chain, 
 Nor e'er let the word be spoken 
 
 That would start the tear of pain. 
 Oh ! how oft a life is blighted. 
 
 And the soul 's dear chain is riven 
 By a thoughtless, rash, excited 
 Word: thus hearts once firmly plighted, 
 
 On life's sea apart are driven. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 Here have I wandered many a time 
 When the evening spread its shroud. 
 
 And wondered how bright must be the clime 
 Behind yonder sable cloud. 
 
 Often I'd soar on the bright moon-beams, 
 In fancy, to worlds unknown; 
 
 But thou who didst share those sweet day-dreams, 
 Art gone, and I 'm left alone. 
 
POEMS. 15 
 
 Alone, on the moss-grown bank I stand, 
 
 Where first in our youthful pride, 
 We joyfully floated hand in hand 
 
 Down pleasure's entrancing tide, 
 I see the flowers we use to tend, 
 
 Round our rough-hewn seat of stone; 
 And they still fresh to the zephyrs bend, 
 
 But I sit drooping alone. 
 
 Alone, on the path we use to tread. 
 
 When our hearts were light and gay, 
 1 gaze on the charms now^ lying dead 
 
 'Midst the ruins of decay; 
 My spirit on Fancy's searching wings 
 
 Hath far through the wide world flown, 
 And trembling, I wait the news it brings, 
 
 While my heart still w^eeps alone. 
 
 I wander alone at eve's decline, 
 
 When my breast is sorely riven. 
 And mark those celestial orbs that shine 
 
 Through the wide expanse of Heaven; 
 And I think when midst the flow'rs I lie. 
 And the winds my dirge shall moan, 
 Those gems will w^atch from their home on high, 
 
 O'er me, as I sleep alone. 
 
 CHRISTMAS ODE. 
 
 Come, fellow-pilgrims, let us cast 
 Aside our cares, our doubts, our fears ; 
 
16 POEMS. 
 
 To-day the clouds of Death are past — 
 The Sun of Righteousness appears. 
 Within a manger unarray'd 
 The Prince of Peace, Christ Jesus, lay, 
 And holy men rejoiced and pray'd. 
 As we rejoice and pray to-day. 
 Not as an earthly prince came he, 
 With royal banners all unfurl 'd — 
 No gilded pomp or pageantry 
 Announced His entry to the world 
 (One star alone the wise men led 
 To Jesus' lowly manger bed), 
 Who came, our Great High Priest, to save 
 His people from a deathless grave. 
 
 Despised, rejected, scorn 'd of men. 
 Tasting the world's most galling strife, 
 He suffered, died, did rise again, 
 The Resurrection and the Life. 
 Oh, then, let every heart and soul 
 Proclaim the advent of our King, 
 Owning with rev'rence His control. 
 Whose birth did our salvation bring. 
 Subdued in spirit, filled with love, 
 Cast all thy earthborn thoughts aside. 
 Thy prayerful incense waft above. 
 On this auspicious Christmas-tide. 
 To Him, the Life, the Truth, the Way, 
 The Christian's Hope and Surety, 
 Through whose eternal, loving sway. 
 Death's swallowed up in victory. 
 Then consecrate thy life, thine all, 
 
POEMS. 17 
 
 To Him who saved thee from the fall; 
 
 Who hath to all His people given 
 
 A sure inheritance in Heaven. 
 Awake the song of jubilee — 
 To-day the slaves of sin are free I 
 
 The bonds of Hell are rent in twain, 
 
 And man, through Christ, is born again. 
 Belfast, December 21, 1876. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Tw^elve months have passed and gone, 
 And Christmas comes again. 
 
 To some, with revelry and song, 
 To others, fraught with pain. 
 
 Around the festive board, 
 
 Oh ! many a vacant chair 
 Speaks sadly of the one adored. 
 
 Who smiled but last year there. 
 
 Perhaps an only son. 
 
 Perhaps a daughter fair, 
 Or wife, or husband, who have won 
 
 The heart's best love and care. 
 
 Yes, Christmas comes once more. 
 And on his wing he bears — 
 
 Alike to rich and poor — 
 
 Sorrows, and joys, and cares. 
 
 Still let the earth rejoice, 
 
 Christmas should not be sad; 
 
 In it we hear the Saviour's voice 
 Bidding the heart be glad. 
 
18 POEMS, 
 
 Then let our souls ascend 
 
 In adoration pure ; 
 Grateful that God His Son did send 
 
 To make our peace secure. 
 
 STANZA TO A CHILD. 
 
 Sweet artless child of innnocence and truth, 
 Blest be thy life, and full of joy thy youth ; 
 Round thee ne'er may earth's ruthless shadows fall, 
 Nor friendships false, nor griefs thy soul appal. 
 
 May bounteous Heav'n, with ever-outstretched arm, 
 Shield thee from every danger that would harm, 
 And fill thy soul with aspirations pure. 
 And hopes and pleasures that must aye endure. 
 
 In this cold world of weariness and woe, 
 Oh! ne'er may thou its blighting sorrows know. 
 Nor feel the pangs of disappointments sore — 
 Of hearts grown cold, so warm with love before. 
 
 Oh ! may protecting angels never cease 
 To guide thy footsteps in the ways of peace — 
 To strew thy pathway with the flowers of love, 
 And lead thy soul to purer realms above. 
 
 Yet, should a shadow e'er thy heart oppress, 
 Or any trouble thy young life distress. 
 Oh! then, when sorrows heaviest descend, 
 This know — thou hast at least one faithful friend, 
 
 Who, next to Heav'n, will never thee forsake, 
 Until the clouds of earthly sorrows break, 
 
POEMS. 19 
 
 And every woe 'gainst which thy soul hath striven 
 Melts 'neath the pure and fervent beams of Heaven, 
 Belfast, January 29, 1872. 
 
 TO SETH, 
 March 18, 1874, 
 
 Accompanying a Floral Peace-offering. 
 Sweet, beauteous child of Nature, do thou go and 
 
 intercede 
 On my behalf with yonder maid ; for sure, when thou 
 
 dost plead, 
 
 Pure, sympathetic spirits each as thine and hers must 
 
 blend, 
 Heav'n smiling on the sacred charms which each to 
 
 each extends. 
 I pray thee, go, and in my soul I'll bid dear hope to 
 
 live, 
 E'en trusting, as she greets thy smiles, she will the 
 
 past forgive. 
 Why should an unkind thought usurp a heart so pure 
 
 and good ? 
 Ah ! why should one so gentle wear a cold, resentful 
 
 mood? 
 Relentless souls were never made in such a lovely 
 
 mould ; 
 Divinely form'd, no dross can e'er contaminate the 
 
 gold. 
 Leave me, loveliest messenger of Flora's fragrant 
 
 fold,— 
 Oh ! make atonement with the maid whose friendship 
 
 dear I hold. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 Why should she, for so slight a fault, be thus austere 
 
 and cold? 
 Or break the chain affection forged in happy days of 
 
 old? 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 These sweet wild flowers of May, that I 
 At early morn have culled for three, 
 
 Must soon their freshness lose, and die. 
 As all their sweets and odours flee. 
 
 Theirs are but transitory charms, 
 Which scarce are ours until decay, 
 
 With breath that needs must breed alarms, 
 Steals all their loveliness away. 
 
 But there's a flower within the soul. 
 
 That bloometh fresh and fair, the while 
 
 Its fragrance breathes a sweet control 
 O'er hearts too pure to stoop to guile. 
 
 It is a blossom rare, indeed, 
 
 Which no rude storm of earth can kill ; 
 It doth upon the heart's dew feed. 
 
 And shall through time bloom beauteous still. 
 
 Its influence, serenely calm. 
 
 Pervades the heart's most sacred bower; 
 And oh ! how potent is the balm 
 
 It gives in sorrow's darkened hour. 
 
POEMS. 21 
 
 The light of bygone days is shed 
 
 Around its ever youthful birth, 
 And when all other joys are fled, 
 
 Ah ! then vre know and feel its worth 
 
 It is a dear, sweet, fragrant flower, 
 
 Still loveliest amidst decay ; 
 For as in sunshine, so in shower, 
 
 Unchanging, bloometh Memory! 
 
 GRAY HAIR. 
 
 Some of the dust from the road of life 
 
 Has fallen upon my hair. 
 And silver threads from my raven locks 
 
 Are gleaming out here and there: 
 And, oh, these meshes of silver gray 
 
 Tell of the moments flown — 
 Of the day that's drawing to a close. 
 
 And the night that's coming on. 
 
 But the coming night seems cold and dark 
 
 And my heart is filled with fears, 
 As Thought flies backward on weary wings, 
 
 O'er the waste of vanished years; 
 And in the castle of Memory 
 
 Few jewels are treasured there; 
 But dross and rubbish that tell of earth 
 
 Are visible everywhere. 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 Even on the faithful register 
 
 That hangs in Memory 's hall, 
 I find only worthless deeds are traced — 
 
 They are dark and blotted all; 
 Hence, as approaches the eve of life. 
 
 My spirit shrinks back with fear. 
 For threatening clouds o'erspread the sk}^ 
 
 And the night seems very near. 
 
 By faith I turn — in the rosy East 
 
 A beautiful star I see 
 Stand o'er the manger in Bethlehem, 
 
 And it seems to shine for me; 
 And from the city of golden spires, 
 
 Whose gates just now are ajar, 
 I catch a radiant beam of light 
 
 From the bright and morning star. 
 
 And when upon Jordan's restless wave 
 
 I shall launch my way-worn bark, 
 The "dust from the road of life," shall fall 
 
 From my tresses long and dark; 
 And the lines of care upon my brow, 
 
 And the pain within my breast, 
 Shall pass away as my bark draws near 
 
 This beautiful land of rest. 
 
POEMS. 23 
 
 FLIGHTS OF FANTASY. 
 
 Back through the corridors of Time 
 
 The steps of Fancy lightly tread, 
 Conjuring up some quaint old rhyme 
 
 Associated with the dead. 
 Imagination leads us on, 
 
 With feelings strange, through dim-lit halls. 
 Where once the blaze of Fashion shone. 
 
 And Art's great triumphs deck'd the walls. 
 
 Here artful love hath captive made 
 
 The haughty beauty, who forgot 
 (While Cupid with her heart-strings played) 
 
 The lessons Coquetry had taught; 
 And while she hearken 'd to the tale. 
 
 So musical to woman's ear. 
 All pride subdued, the w^ily veil 
 
 From Nature's charms did disappear — 
 
 And only Nature's self was seen 
 
 In every pulse that thrilled her breast. 
 As she, with pure heart and serene. 
 
 Love's sweet enchanting power confessed. 
 And here, where cobwebs overspread, 
 
 And startled spiders run a race, 
 A ray of sweet remembrance shed 
 
 Doth on the walls a picture trace; — 
 
 The portrait of a dear old friend. 
 
 Whose voice, now silent, once so sweet. 
 
 E'en yet methinks I hear it blend 
 As then — rich, full-toned, exquisite. 
 
24 POEMS, 
 
 Our lives were one Elysian dream, 
 "Whose balmy influence was shed — 
 
 A holy, calm, joy-giving stream, 
 
 Where love by kindred love was led. 
 
 Aye, as through Mem'ry's glass we gaze. 
 
 Taking a restrospective view. 
 Each happy scene of bygone days 
 Is kindled into life anew. 
 And thus the while, in peaceful thought. 
 
 We seem as living in the past, 
 Ere heart and soul with ardour fraught 
 
 Had chilled before the w^orld's rude blast. 
 
 Those images that graven are 
 
 Upon the tablets of the heart, 
 Are by the faithful valued far 
 
 'Fore all the joys earth can impart. 
 Oh! blessed heart-dreams, thus to wake 
 
 Such visions of the years gone by ! 
 I would not have the present break 
 
 Those heav'n-born flights of fantasy. 
 
 For they around the earth-sick soul 
 
 A hallow 'd charm do exercise, 
 Thus oft by Fancy's sweet control 
 
 We soar from earth beyond the skies. 
 Where, 'mid the angel host, w^e see 
 
 Those whom we dearly loved on earth; 
 Oh! would that w^e, like them, were free — 
 
 Like them to feel the heavenly birth. 
 
POEMS, 25 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 To Mrs. H. 
 Into the ground the husbandman doth cast the seed, 
 In the full hope that on a future day 
 A rich, ripe harvest shall his faith repay ; 
 With plenteous golden fruits for all his coming need, 
 No doubts prevent his labour, for he knows 
 God gives the increase still where true faith sows. 
 
 Into the silent tomb we lay with tearful trust, 
 The dearest treasures of our earthly love. 
 Assured that in the harvest field above — 
 
 We, in due time, shall find them garner 'd with the 
 just; 
 There never more can death demand a tomb. 
 For all will be eternal, changeless bluum. 
 
 Faith, then, forbids that we should prostrate sit and 
 weep. 
 As though we had no hope beyond the grave. 
 No cloud can darken long the spirit brave. 
 
 Nor give a hopeless hue to this transition sleep. 
 In calm submissiveness look up and see, 
 E 'en now thy Fannie smiles from Heaven on thee. 
 
 How strange doth seem to us God's all Omniscient 
 ways. 
 As we behold, with fainting heart. His hand 
 Reach forth and gather to the spirit land, 
 The one we nursed and watched for many anxious 
 days. 
 But so it is, Lord, bid our hearts be still, 
 Till Thou to us reveal Thy way and will. 
 
26 POEMS. 
 
 DOMINIS VOBISCUM. 
 
 To J. H. 
 
 Once more Time's finger marks thy natal day, 
 
 Once more thy friend, with greetings warm and true, 
 
 Prayeth that blessings, as the morning dew. 
 
 May ever sweeten and refresh thy way. 
 
 Nature, in course of years, must own decay; 
 
 But such decay precedes a brighter bloom, 
 
 For, from the ashes laid within the tomb, 
 
 The body, uncorrupted, shall assume — 
 
 In Heaven — the joys of immortality. 
 
 Thus as thine anniversaries return, 
 
 And as thy journey shortens stage by stage, 
 
 May thy soul's future all thy thoughts engage, 
 
 And God's own love within thine own heart burn. 
 
 So shalt thou every vain attraction spurn. 
 
 Nor seek in earthly pleasures to find rest — 
 
 That peace which ever blesseth and is blest. 
 
 Within thy bosom as within an urn 
 
 God planteth, as His wisdom knoweth best. 
 
 Then let submission temper all thy life, 
 And patient faith its hallow 'd influence shed 
 Around thy footsteps, where-so-ever led. 
 To give thee strength and courage in the strife; 
 For e'en the Christian's trials here are rife. 
 And human nature's at the best but weak. 
 We fight the fight, and pray our God to break 
 The stony heart, and cut, as with a knife. 
 From out our being thoughts we dare not speak. 
 
POEMS. 27 
 
 Thou hast a work to occupy thy years, 
 
 A work which thou thyself alone must do : 
 
 See to it, that the Master have His due 
 
 Proportion of thy time. He sees and hears 
 
 Thy faithful labours — all thy doubts and fears, 
 
 And thy heart's frequent, anxious, earnest prayers. 
 
 He also notes thy sorrows and thy cares. 
 
 And lovingly He bottles up thy tears. 
 
 In token of the sympathy He bears, 
 
 Thus be thy years, or short or long, be sure 
 
 Thou hast in Christ a refuge still secure. 
 
 MY FATHERLAND. 
 Land of adoption, though fair thou be. 
 There's one to my heart more dear than thee 
 And though far from it, still, day by day, 
 It blends with the sunshine of memory : 
 And often as on thy beach I stand, 
 My spirit soars to its Fatherland. 
 
 Stranger, thy proffer 'd friendship I take, 
 And kiss thy hand for its hearty shake; 
 It fills my soul with the past once more, 
 And binds me closer to friends of yore : 
 For, stranger, thy smile, however bland. 
 Bears nought of the warmth of Fatherland. 
 
 I roam 'mid thy scenes with beauty fraught; 
 They fill my soul with a holy thought. 
 Which strengthens my dearest hope on earth, 
 And bears me back to my place of birth : 
 It swells the sail of the barque still mann'd 
 By the memory sweet of Fatherland. 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 Land of my childhood, where'er I be, 
 Alone, or in the gay jubilee. 
 Still doth thy spirit within my breast 
 Diffuse a power serenely blest, 
 Which softly whispers the dear command- 
 Remember thy home in Fatherland. 
 Belfast, September 11, 1873. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 The birds are singing their merry song. 
 
 And the world looks bright and fair; 
 And the blithesome maids as they trip along 
 
 Entwine in their flowing hair 
 The sweet wildflowers of early spring. 
 
 All sparkling with drops of dew. 
 And their lightsome laugh hath the happy ring 
 
 Of hearts that are pure and true. 
 The sun shines forth from a cloudless sky. 
 
 And a peaceful calm doth reign. 
 While the tuneful lark pours from on high 
 His welcome to spring again. 
 The earth is full of new life and light. 
 
 And sorrow seems all unkno^vn; 
 Yet dark and chill as a winter's night 
 
 Is my heart so sad and lone. 
 
 For the birds sing not their songs to me. 
 And the world is strange and cold. 
 
 And the youthful forms that now I see 
 Are not like the forms of old. 
 
POEMS. 29 
 
 The flowers alone seem like old friends 
 
 That still doth a sweetness shed, 
 As their fragrance through my bosom sends 
 
 A thrill of the joys long dead. 
 But I miss the soft, sweet, tender smile, 
 
 And the gentle spirit flown; 
 And my heart grows sad and faint the while, 
 
 As, friendless, I weep alone. 
 Belfast, May 28, 1873. 
 
 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 True friendship only can be found 
 Where hearts and sympathies unite ; 
 
 Where minds with kindred thoughts abound, 
 And in reciprocal delight 
 
 Joys in the Heaven-born control 
 
 That thus in love links soul to soul. 
 
 Oh ! what an ecstasy doth fill 
 
 The hearts wherein pure friendships blend* 
 Each pulse with dear emotions thrill. 
 
 And thus together, friend with friend, 
 As if in holy, blissful dream, 
 Glide calmly, sweetly down life's stream. 
 
 My soul delights at eventide 
 
 To wander through yon shady grove, 
 
 Oblivious to all else beside 
 
 The voice of confidential love 
 
 Of one who ever at my side 
 
 In me, as I in him, confide. 
 
30 POEMS. 
 
 To each the other's griefs are known, 
 By each the other's joys are shared; 
 
 And angels have around us thrown 
 
 Their sacred spell, and tlius declared 
 
 That Heaven our union doth approve, 
 
 And seals it with eternal love. 
 
 And oft as we together stray 
 
 Where the great branching trees o'erspread; 
 Where fragrant flowers perfume our way, 
 
 And sweet the wild birds sing o'erhead. 
 Our souls as one to Heav'n ascend, 
 To God, our Father and our Friend. 
 Belfast, September 3, 1872. 
 
 A MAIDEN'S SONG. 
 
 Two lovely fragrant rosebuds, 
 A fern and a sweet heart 's-ease 
 
 One to my thoughts still dearest 
 Did gather and give me these. 
 
 The buds, of course, must wither. 
 The languishing heart 's-ease fade; 
 
 But mem'ry, changing never. 
 
 Shall the sere leaves still pervade. 
 
 Thus for his sake I'll keep them. 
 And talk to them day by day, 
 
 Knowing that he who gave them 
 
 Doth still for my soul's peace pray; 
 
 And when I'm lowly bending 
 
 In prayer, at the throne of grace. 
 
 With ecstasies transcending 
 
POEMS, 31 
 
 I'll see a brave, manly face; 
 And know a bond of union 
 
 Is sanctioned and welded there — 
 Where One all love and pity 
 
 Heareth and answer eth prayer. 
 And when I 'm sad or weary, 
 
 And he far away from here, 
 In buds and fern heart 's-ease 
 
 My lover will still seem near. 
 
 Then with closed eyes I'll listen, 
 
 And fancy I hear the voice 
 That oftentimes in sadness 
 
 Made my troubled heart rejoice. 
 So I'll e'en keep these fair flowers 
 
 Until the day I die. 
 And he who gave them to me. 
 
 Though absent, will still be nigh. 
 
 LEAVE ME ALONE ! 
 
 Folks envy me my happiness, 
 And vow I must get married; 
 
 They cannot understand the why 
 I've so long single tarried. 
 
 But I am not ambitious of 
 Those dear absorbing blisses, 
 
 Which people say can only come 
 With sweet connubial kisses. 
 
 I doubt not it is very nice 
 To be by pet names called; 
 
32 POEMS. 
 
 Yea, some may with peculiar joy 
 Grow prematurely bald; 
 
 And grateful feel to those fair hands 
 Whose graceful skill left bare 
 
 That polished cro\vn, so long obscured 
 By dark luxuriant hair ! 
 
 Howe'er, to such transcendant bliss 
 
 I never would aspire; 
 The simple joys of odd man out 
 
 Are all that I desire. 
 
 So if, my dear attentive friends, 
 Would look some other way, 
 
 A living sacrifice they might 
 On Hymen's altar lay; 
 
 And thus they'd feel rewarded for 
 
 The time lost on this bachelor. 
 
 ]\Iethuselah Mildew. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Here, take my phiz. 
 
 But do not quiz 
 The lines thereon severely ; 
 
 Not time, but cares. 
 
 Brought these grey hairs, 
 That make me olden early. 
 
 The time misspent 
 I much repent, 
 And vainly try to borrow 
 
POEMS, 33 
 
 From Nature's breast 
 Some hope of rest 
 To soothe my bitter sorrow. 
 
 In vain I try 
 
 From thoughts to fly, 
 Remembrance will not leave me, 
 
 But ever brings 
 
 Its mental stings 
 To torture and to grieve me. 
 
 I would redeem 
 
 The past, but seem 
 As if I were unable ; 
 
 I on life's sea 
 
 Appear to be 
 Like ship just slipt her cable. 
 
 Oh ! do not blame, 
 
 But let me claim 
 The sympathy and kindness, 
 
 And think each day, 
 
 Whene'er you pray, 
 Of him who mourns his blindness. 
 
 From heart so pure, 
 A prayer must sure 
 Acceptance find in Heaven ; 
 And God above 
 Will look in love. 
 And I shall be forgiven. 
 Belfast, June 16, 1874. 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY SKETCHES DRAWN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Those leaves whereon thy hand hath traced 
 The full, rich fruit, the pure, sweet flowers, 
 Shall be through all life's dreary waste 
 Dear souvenirs of fadeless hours; 
 And though our lots far distant be, 
 (For who may draw aside the vail 
 That hides futurity, and see 
 What change we'll welcome — what bewail?) 
 
 And though the heart no tribute needs 
 To keep the place of friendship green, 
 Yet faithful memory oft-time pleads 
 Something that may be felt and seen ; 
 A photograph, a braid of hair. 
 Some trifle from a darling friend; 
 Ah ! with what deep, impassioned care 
 O'er such with votive tears we bend. 
 
 Tears, not of sorrow nor of joy, 
 But just a blending of the two; 
 This life hath need of some alloy 
 To make us feel the good and true. 
 How oft the woeful parting hour 
 Doth come ere we can realize 
 With what pure, sympathetic power 
 Hearts may be linked in friendship's ties. 
 
 But when that blackest hour of all. 
 The sable hour of death, has cleft 
 
POEMS. 35 
 
 The chain of true affection's thrall. 
 
 Ah ! then, life hath but little left, 
 And we, a-wearied heart and soul. 
 By faith would dare to pierce the gloom. 
 And penetrate the sacred goal 
 That lies beyond, above the tomb. 
 And hold communion sweet with those 
 Our dear ones passed from death to life. 
 joy ! if such an hour might close 
 Our eyes on all this toil and strife. 
 
 But God forbid we e'er should grow 
 Ought but submissive to His will, 
 Whatever He appoints we know 
 Is best, e'en seems it good or ill. 
 'Tis but a little while till we 
 Shall be with those we've laid to rest, 
 And what we now but dimly see, 
 We'll then behold with vision blest. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 JANE BECK, 
 
 Died 26th March, 1879, Aged lli^ Years. 
 
 Oh ! sad was our hearts when the Angel of Death 
 
 Came into our garden one day. 
 And took from our treasures a blossom, whose breath 
 
 Was the fragrance and light of our way. 
 
 God planted the flower Himself, for He knew 
 Our heart-strings would round it entwine; 
 
36 POEMS. 
 
 He meant not to leave it on earth till it grew 
 To see our affections decline. 
 
 He only intended the flower to stay 
 
 Till it gathered our soul's deepest love; 
 
 Then, wrapt in its bosom, to bear us away 
 From earth to the Eden above. 
 
 Oh ! Father of Mercies, we do not repine, 
 
 Nor wish for our Jennie's return; 
 "We know she is with Thee, and that she is Thine, 
 
 And Faith doth forbid us to mourn. 
 
 And, though oft our longing hearts tremble with pain. 
 Yet Thou makest our sorrow sublime, 
 
 For we know Thou wilt bring us together again — 
 That our parting is but for a time. 
 
 Then make us, with patient submission, to wait. 
 Assured that Thou shortly wilt come, 
 
 To lead us, Thyself, through the Eternal Gate, 
 To our loves in the Heavenly Home. 
 
 LITTLE WORDS. 
 
 Little words addressed with feeling, 
 Quickly reach the stricken heart ; 
 
 Full of power, full of healing. 
 Drops of comfort they impart. 
 
 Many are the bosoms sw^elling 
 
 'Neath a world 's oppressive woe ; 
 
POEMS. 37 
 
 And deceit still keeps expelling 
 From us all that's sweet below. 
 
 Life is dark — its paths uneven; 
 
 Snares beset us everywhere; 
 Friends apparent are deceiving, 
 
 With a well-feigned tender care. 
 
 And the world's loud voice is ever 
 Breathing forth the bad alone; 
 
 But its finger pointeth never 
 To the good that we have done. 
 
 Yet the heart, howe'er forsaken — 
 
 Though its pleasures all be dead — 
 Will to rays of joy awaken. 
 If a word is kindly said. 
 Belfast, August 14, 1866. 
 
 STANZA TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Should e'er the chilling storms of life 
 
 Across thy path extend. 
 Rejoice e'en in the world's cold strife, 
 
 And know thou hast one friend. 
 However rude thy griefs may be, 
 
 Hope on, they'll pass away; 
 Oh ! do not fear, sincerity 
 
 Yields not its soothing sway. 
 
 Ah! do not let a vain despair 
 Thy heart or spirit bend, 
 But triumph o'er each earthly care; 
 
38 POEMS. 
 
 Nor doubt thou hast a friend — 
 Yea, one who would protect thy peace, 
 
 In honour guard thy fame, 
 And make the tongue of slander cease 
 
 Ere it defiled thy name. 
 Thus faithful ever to the end 
 
 Shalt thou in joy confess thy friend. 
 Belfast, May, 1873. 
 
 TO GOOD TEMPLARS. 
 
 Belfast, February, 1871. 
 
 Templars, what's your duty here? 
 'Tis to comfort and to cheer — 
 'Tis to save from sin and shame — 
 'Tis the drunkard to reclaim — 
 'Tis to point to God above, 
 As the fount of peace and love. 
 Templars, earnest be and true 
 In this work you've got to do. 
 
 Join together heart and hand, 
 Be a faithful, working band, 
 Go about in Jesus' name, 
 Fallen sinners to reclaim; 
 Though the work should be uphill. 
 Onward! be your watchword still- 
 Zealous ever in the cause. 
 To suppress the liquor laws. 
 Templars, do your duty well. 
 Work for Heaven, save from Hell, 
 
POEMS. 39 
 
 And when Satan's bonds are riv'n, 
 Your reward — a crown in Heaven. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OP HOME. 
 
 Night came and closed the portals of the day, 
 While on earth's de^vy pillows slumbering lay 
 A wearied soldier, who, with blood-stained arms, 
 Sought brief repose from battle's stern alarms. 
 
 Brave heart is his that never feared a foe ; 
 Yet merciful and kind, if, helpless lying. 
 He found a foeman wounded, sick, or dying, 
 Without a friend to stay his life-blood's flow. 
 
 A fearful day of fight had just expired. 
 With sacrifice of life as yet untold; 
 Men, whom at morn the war trump 's call inspired. 
 At night lay mangled where they fell — and cold 
 
 Unconscious widows sleepless lie in bed. 
 
 With love's sweet pledge clasped fondly to their 
 
 breast ; 
 And trembling wonder if amid the dead 
 The idol of their life has gone to rest. 
 
 Their pillows, wet with many a silent tear. 
 Bespeak the bitter anguish of the soul. 
 Alas ! what mockery to enter here 
 With hopeless hopes the blighted to console. 
 
 And he, whose eyes kind Sleep hath gently closed, 
 Unmindful of the carnage and the din. 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Dreams of the home where he in youth reposed 
 And in his dreaming blithely enters in. 
 
 Seated around the blazing fire he sees 
 The partner of his joys — his children three ; 
 With cheerful face he takes his chair of ease, 
 And gently lifts his youngest on his knee. 
 
 His wife, good soul, as is her wont, prepares 
 The evening meal, then seats her by his side ; 
 While he, forgetful of his toils and cares, 
 Drinks in the love-glance of his faithful bride. 
 
 She makes his home a paradise on earth. 
 Her smiles, like heav 'nly shadows, cheer his life ; 
 Within their home no impulse e'er gave birth 
 To angry looks or bitter words of strife. 
 
 An honest, upright, noble man is he. 
 Whose heart with purest sympathies doth swell ; 
 A ready hand is his if he should see 
 A case of need, though no one e'er can tell 
 Save him who, in the hour of dark despair, 
 When, almost faint, with hunger and distress. 
 Receives substantial tokens of his care, 
 And doth in tears his benefactor bless. 
 
 And here he sits amid domestic joys — 
 
 A loving husband and a happy sire ; 
 
 His eldest children — both fine manly boys — 
 
 List to his story, while a latent fire 
 
 Burns in the breast and kindles in the eye 
 
 As he relates how bravely soldiers die. 
 
POEMS. 41 
 
 And thus his mind through dreamland wanders back 
 To all the old familiar scenes of love. 
 Well he remembers every beaten track 
 Where he was wont at eventide to rove. 
 
 The rustic seat before his cottage door, 
 The old gnarl'd tree, whose branches overspread. 
 The pastor, who with heart devout and pure, 
 Long years the seeds of peaceful hope had shed. 
 
 How sweet the dream that thus his heart can thrill. 
 He seems 'mid scenes of early joys to dwell. 
 But hark ! the bugle 's voice both clear and shrill 
 Blends wath the air, and rudely breaks the spell. 
 Up quick he starts — half w^aking, rubs his eyes ; 
 His dreamings change to war's realities. 
 Belfast, 1874. 
 
 STANZA ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 Ye parents of the dear, departed Kate, 
 
 Why do ye weep for her whom Death hath slain ? 
 
 Aw^ay with tears, and let your joy be great, 
 For this your loss is eternal gain. 
 
 A tiny blosom in the spring of life, 
 
 A flow'r of innnocence and beauty rare. 
 
 The chilling blasts of sin and worldly strife 
 
 Their fetid breath and blighting influence ne'er 
 
 With vital touch had seared its peaceful bloom. 
 
 Laying it low in sorrow's deep, dark tomb. 
 
 Let peace your bosoms swell, for is not thine 
 
 The hope that cheers the true believer's heart — 
 
42 POEMS. 
 
 The sacred promise breathed by lips Divine — 
 In Heaven, with Me, the righteous have a part. 
 
 And now in very truth has been fulfilled 
 
 This gracious promise to your darling child ; 
 
 She knew no grief, for earth's rude storms were 
 stilled 
 Till she departed, pure and undefiled, 
 
 To Him whose heart with love to children fraught, 
 
 Said — "Suffer them to come; forbid them not." 
 
 Oh ! cease to weep, and learn by faith to say, 
 Thou, Lord, did 'st give, and Thou hast taken away ; 
 Blest by Thy name, Thou source from Avhence doth 
 
 Flow 
 The strength and hope that buoy us here below; 
 Soothing our griefs, assuaging all our fears. 
 Calming our souls and drying up our tears. 
 Leading our thoughts from ruin and decay 
 To heav'nly joys, throughout eternity. 
 Belfast, June 2, 1874. 
 
 OUR IRISH LODGES. 
 By Bro. W. J. Nettelton, P.W.C.T., No. 10. 
 
 In our "Crusade" 'gainst intemp 'ranee. 
 
 We want no flagging zeal; 
 
 Each "Patriot" must within his breast 
 
 No cowardice conceal; 
 
 And in the "Vanguard" every soul 
 
 Must God's good spirit feel — 
 
 Our warfare is for "Freedom", 
 
POEMS. 43 
 
 Love, and "Hibernia's" weal. 
 
 Ye daughters of the "Shamrock" Isle, 
 
 ' ' Aurora ' ' smiles on you — 
 
 Behold the promised mercy in 
 
 Yon ' ' Rainbow 's ' ' varied hue ; 
 
 And to the God of "Wisdom" 
 
 Let your hearts in prayer ascend, 
 
 That He, from Heaven's "Crystal Fount," 
 
 Eefreshing joy may send, 
 
 To fill the world with "Harmony", 
 
 "Consistency" and Truth, 
 
 And make each home a " Watchtower, " 
 
 To guard the tender youth. 
 
 And on our noble "Enterprise", 
 
 The "Morning Star" will "Dawn;" 
 
 And "Havelock" the "People's" hope. 
 
 To "Victory" shall lead on; 
 
 And great will be our "Triumph," 
 
 Our "Hope" for "Better Days," 
 
 And on "Mount Zion's" "Fortress," we'll 
 
 Our "Red Cross" ensign raise; 
 
 And round our "Crimson Banner" 
 
 The ' ' Hope of Derry ' ', we, 
 
 With "True and Faithful" hearts, shall form 
 
 A "Band of Unity." 
 
 Ho, "Forward," to the "Rescue," all, 
 
 "Advance", ye true and brave. 
 
 With "Hopeful" hearts your "Lifeboat" steer 
 
 To yonder wreck and save. 
 
 Fear not old "Neptune's" angry roar, 
 
 "Minerva," she will guide 
 
 Thy bark of "Royal Oak" safe o'er 
 
44 POEMS, 
 
 The dark, accursed tide. 
 
 Though "Triton" blow his fiercest blast, 
 
 Still be ye firm and bold, 
 
 For soon the "Exodus" of sin 
 
 Through drink, we shall behold. 
 
 Let each a "Conquering Hero" be. 
 
 Beneath the ' ' Rising Sun ' ' ; 
 
 Nor faint in "Perseverance," till 
 
 The "Olive Branch" be won. 
 
 The memory of "Saint Patrick," 
 
 Like "Sunlight" shall be shed. 
 
 And "Ireland's Glory,"— "Erin's First," 
 
 Fond hope, no more be dead. 
 
 Then from the ' ' Fountain ' ' of the heart, 
 
 Brave men, no longer slaves. 
 
 May sing within their "Home of Peace," 
 
 "Britannia" rules the waves. 
 
 And "Home, sweet Home," with wondrous power, 
 
 Will like a "Magnet" be. 
 
 To draw each link of friendship close. 
 
 In true "Fidelity". 
 
 Oh! let the "Emerald" put forth 
 
 The "Hand of Friendship" too. 
 
 And like the "Good Samaritan," 
 
 Love's labor still pursue. 
 
 Encouraging that "Unity," 
 
 Which gives us strength to do. 
 
 Upon our "Royal Standard," may 
 
 This motto aye be seen, 
 
 "Excelsior," Excelsior, 
 
 In bright and golden sheen. 
 
 Let "No Surrender" be the cry. 
 
 As "Onward," hard you press, 
 
POEMS. 45 
 
 Yea, ''On to Victory", God will 
 
 Your ''Good Endeavor" bless. 
 
 " Invincible "must be tlie heart 
 
 Of every "Volunteer", 
 
 Till all mankind a "Refuge" find, 
 
 And "Brighter Days" to cheer. 
 
 The "Coldstream Guards" we'll join, and fight 
 
 For our "Victoria's" King, 
 
 Our "Bulwark" God— each "Village Hope" 
 
 Will a "Bright Future" bring; 
 
 And each true Christian heart will beat 
 
 Within a "Champion" breast, 
 
 And in the "Ark of Safety," man 
 
 Will "Anchor" safe at rest. 
 
 For on our "Ark of Refuge," 
 
 The "Star of Peace" will shine, 
 
 The "Dayspring" of the "Conquerer," 
 
 Our "Pioneer" Divine. 
 
 The Lord's our "Rock of Safety," 
 
 Our "Star of Freedom," who 
 
 Will ' ' Shield ' ' us from our great ' ' Extreme, ' ' 
 
 And be our "Guardian" through; 
 
 And brave "Sir Wilfred Lawson" 
 
 Shall as a "Lighthouse" stand, , 
 
 A "Beacon" raised by God to shed 
 
 "Protection" o'er the land; 
 
 To bring "Prosperity" and joy, 
 
 "Domestic Comfort" too, 
 
 And make men live like those good men — 
 
 "John Wesley," "Thomas Drew," 
 
 And "Alexander Riddell," 
 
 And "Captain Boyd," the brave, 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 Who did the tempest dare, and died 
 
 His fellowman to save. 
 
 Our gallant Chief, "John Pyper," 
 
 Still lives to lead us on, 
 
 Through him, the ' ' Hope of Erin, ' ' 
 
 We shall victors be anon. 
 
 The ''Star of Ulster "—" Star of Hope," 
 
 With pure, transcendent ray, 
 
 Will be a never failing light 
 
 Upon our rugged v\^ay. 
 
 "Nil Desperandum, " this shall be 
 
 Our watchword through the night, 
 
 "No Compromise," — a "Happy Home", 
 
 We'll win, for this we fight, 
 
 Our hearts in ' ' Concord ' ' will unite, 
 
 None may "Dictator" be. 
 
 We must with strong "Decision" strike, 
 
 And set the captives free; 
 
 Yea, show them how they may "Reform," 
 
 Ere numbered are their days. 
 
 And to the "City of Refuge," 
 
 Direct their wand 'ring gaze; 
 
 And speak to them of Christ, who is 
 
 Our "Vindicator" still. 
 
 Our "Star of Zion", who our "Ark 
 
 Of Hope" with joy shall fill. 
 
 0! "Star of Bethel", "Guilding Star," 
 
 "Protector" of the good, 
 
 "Provider" for the souls that are 
 
 In want of heav'nly food. 
 
 In this our "Prohibition" war. 
 
 Sustain us by Thy hand, 
 
POEMS, 47 
 
 Till Thy '' Message of Peace" shall come 
 
 To gladden all our land. 
 
 Thou bright ''Star of Bethlehem," 
 
 Herald of sacred peace, 
 
 Shine down upon our stricken earth, 
 
 And bid our bondage cease. 
 
 Greater than gold or "Diamond" wealth, 
 
 The bliss we hope to gain, 
 
 When love, joy, happiness, and health 
 
 O'er drink's fell pov/'r shall reign. 
 
 Oh I haste the time v» lien all tlie vrorld 
 
 ]\Iay shout with one accord, 
 
 "Eureka!'' I have found the peace 
 
 That Cometh from the Lord — 
 
 When we shall "Brighter Prospects" reap, 
 
 With sickle, not with sword. 
 
 Then, Vviien tl:e storm and struggle's o'er. 
 
 Through which our bark is driven. 
 
 We'll find a rest on "Eden's" shore. 
 
 The "Welcome" rest of Heav'n. 
 
 ]\[y brother, sister, be thou steadfast still. 
 
 Nor flinch when duty bids thee firmly stand; 
 
 Work with a holy, pure, unselfi.sh v,ill. 
 
 To drive this blighting curse far from our land. 
 
 Thou art thy brother's keeper, bear in mind — 
 
 To thee, to all, this sacred trust is given, 
 
 To raise the fallen, and to lead the blind 
 
 Upon the straight and narrow path to Heaven. 
 
 Stretch forth thy hand, the drunkard to reclaim, 
 
 Nor shut thy heart 'gainst pity's plaintive cry, 
 
 But breathe into his ear that Saviour's name. 
 
 Who, sinless, came for sinful man to die. 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! think of Him, and let thy bosom swell 
 With pure philanthropy and heav'n-born love, 
 Nor blush to save a trembling soul from hell. 
 Or lead a wanderer's thoughts to skies above. 
 
 LET THE WOMEN ARISE. 
 
 'Gainst the tide of intemp 'ranee that sweeps o'er oui^ 
 
 land, 
 'Gainst the traffic that ruins the souls we most prize, 
 'Gainst the drink-fiend that palsies our young — hand 
 
 in hand 
 Let our true-hearted women in phalanx arise. 
 
 By the mother's deep anguish, the sister's distress, 
 By the wife's bitter tears and the daughter's heart 
 
 sighs. 
 By the Lord who hath promised His people to bless 
 Let the brave Christian women of temp 'ranee arise. 
 
 By the fond loving ties that doth bind us to earth, 
 And that blend with our hopes of a world 'bove the 
 
 skies ; 
 For the joy of our homes, for life, virtue and worth, 
 Let our women in God's name undaunted arise. 
 
 By that dreadful hereafter, the drunkard's sure doom, 
 Where the fire's ne'er quench 'd and their worm never 
 
 dies; 
 By the intellects locked in insanity's tomb 
 0, women, as angels of mercy, arise! 
 
 By this dread social curse that with pestilent breath 
 Robs the heart of its feeling, and dims the bright eyes \ 
 
POEMS, 49 
 
 Now to sweep from your tables this spirit of death, 
 All ye pitying, long-suff 'ring woman arise. 
 
 Let the incense of prayer from the heart's depths be 
 
 giv'n 
 To Jehovah who heareth the soul's faintest cry, 
 In His name strive on just as others have striven, 
 And still labour in faith knowing God's help is nigh. 
 
 ! sister, awake to the work that 's before you, 
 'Tis not a mere sentiment, as too well you know. 
 It is right against wrong, 'tis joy against sorrow. 
 It is raising the dear ones Avhom drink has brought 
 low. 
 
 To you God has given a pov\'er peculiar, 
 An influence, which, rightly used must avail, 
 Then gird on the armour of faith and be stirring. 
 Nor cease till the blessings of temp 'ranee prevail. 
 
 And mothers and sisters and sweethearts and fathers ; 
 With hope in their hearts and with tears in their eyes, 
 Will feel the warm love-light illumine their bosoms. 
 Through the women who faithful to duty arise. 
 
 The work is uphill, but the victory's certain. 
 For is not our army led on by the King? 
 And when in His own time He parteth the curtain. 
 Revealed, He His foes to confusion will bring. 
 
 Ye women who fight the good fight and with patience, 
 Still labour the poor despised drunkard to save. 
 Oh, rejoice, for yours is the Lord's approbation 
 And life's fadeless crown bevond Jordan's dark wave. 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 But your v»'ork is not finished yet, hark to the cries 
 Of your drink enslaved brothers, 0, women arise. 
 May, 1886. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 We gather around the Christmas fire, 
 
 We sing our songs and we tell our stories, 
 Kind thoughts and tender our souls inspire. 
 
 And deeds of love are our greatest glories. 
 The world's great festival (ever new. 
 
 Though for eighteen hundred years repeated). 
 We celebrate with reverence due 
 
 To Him who Death and the Grave defeated ; 
 And our hearts are humble, and full of praise, 
 Sustained and kept by the Ancient of Days. 
 
 As we look back thro' the years gone by, 
 
 And think of the blessings v/e've been reeeiv 
 ing— 
 Think, too, how the Tempter has led us nigh 
 
 To the gulf of death by joys deceiving. 
 How thankful should we not be to Him 
 
 Whose merciful care is never-ending. 
 Who through the noon-day and twilight dim 
 
 The gifts of His love is ever sending -, 
 He, knov/ing us feeble and prone to sin, 
 Guards our going out and our coming in. 
 
 Forgive me, brethren, if I intrude 
 
 Upon your circle around the hre, 
 I know the Giver of all that 's good 
 
 This day is each of your heart 's desire ; 
 Ah,who, as the days roll by, can tell, 
 
POEMS. 51 
 
 When another year brings Christmas meetings, 
 If we shall the fireside circle svrell, 
 
 And as now exchange our friendly greetings; 
 Dear brothers, it matters not if we 
 Meet on the shores of Eternity. 
 
 Life's journey is three-score years and ten, 
 
 But few indeed ever reach the distance. 
 And those who grow to women and men 
 
 Have hard to fight for a brief existence. 
 But then the heart of the Christian beats 
 
 With hope that's strong and with faith that's 
 thorough ; 
 For he remembers the bloody sweats 
 
 Of Him who drank to the dregs of sorrow. 
 And he looks to the Saviour 's loving care 
 For the strength that's needed earth's cross to 
 bear. 
 
 friends, as we sit here cosy and Vv^arm, 
 
 Spinning our old-time yarns and singing. 
 How many are out in the world's rude storm. 
 
 Whose hearts the bitterest wants are wringing. 
 Let us do whatever v/ithin us lies 
 
 To comfort the friendless, poor and needy. 
 Nor shut we our ears to the children's cries — 
 
 'Tis not by their own works they are needy. 
 Theirs is the heritage wretched of sin. 
 For fathers and mothers spent all in gin. 
 
 Oh, to think this beautiful world should be 
 
 Thus blotched and blurred by the curse of 
 drinking. 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 And that to a hopeless eternity 
 
 So many thousands are yearly sinking. 
 
 'Tis sufficient to make the heart depressed, 
 
 As we vainly plead with friend and neighbour. 
 
 But we pray our efforts may yet be blest — 
 That God will prosper our earnest labour; 
 
 We know our Father, and we believe, 
 
 If we ask in faith, we shall receive. 
 
 It may be the answer will be delayed, 
 
 Till we have entered thro' death's dark portal. 
 But the friends for whom we have pled and prayed 
 
 We '11 meet when we reach the fields immortal ; 
 And the wreaths of love which are entwined, 
 
 Through many a gloomy night and morning, 
 We'll see (as we never on earth divined) 
 
 The courts of eternal rest adorning. 
 Then with patient zeal let's labour and wait, 
 For the harvest's sure, tho' it may be late. 
 
 FAITHFUL ARE THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 
 
 ' ' Faithful are the wounds of a friend ' ' ! 
 
 Tongue ne'er breathed a maxim more true; 
 And he who keeps silent, from fear to offend. 
 
 Is false to his God and to you. 
 
 Trust not to the flattering tongue. 
 
 However seductive its praise. 
 Your best friend is he who, with arms round yon flung. 
 
 Will lead you from error's dark ways. 
 
POEMS. 53 
 
 Who liideth your faults is your foe, 
 
 Deceit in his bosom doth reigu; 
 But a friend will assist you your errors to know, 
 
 And help you to wipe out their stain. 
 
 With love and with sympathy pure, 
 
 He'll lead you where vice never trod; 
 
 And point you to joys that forever endure. 
 Up, up in the Cit}^ of God. 
 
 Let Faith in your bosom burn strong, 
 
 And Hope cheer your soul with its light; 
 
 Let Charity crush out oppression and wrong, 
 And 'stablish Love, Freedom, and Right. 
 
 While the drunkard is bathed in shame, 
 
 And the sinner is unreclaimed, 
 Though the world may your zeal and your candour 
 blame. 
 
 Of the truth be never ashamed ; 
 Thus use the talents which God has given, 
 And guide the weak in the path to Heaven. 
 
 LINES TO THE SOUTHERN LODGES. 
 
 ^^HoPE OF Erin.'' 
 Belfast, 
 
 PEAL out! peal on! sweet temp 'ranee bells. 
 Peal out, ye ^^BelVs of Shandon;'* 
 
 And let your music wreathe its spells 
 Of love, from CORK to BANDON. 
 
54 POEMS, 
 
 Awake the song of jubilee, 
 
 Erin's sons and daughters! 
 
 Unfurl the standard of the free 
 
 O'er '^ River Lee's" calm waters. 
 
 May temp 'ranee truth the South o'erflow, 
 From fair KINSALE TO BLARNEY ; 
 
 Make peaceful homes God's blessing show, 
 From DUBLIN to KILLARNEY ! 
 
 The ^'Water-Course/' which onward flows, 
 
 Is God's own wise creation; 
 It brings to men nor griefs nor v;oes, 
 
 Nor worketh desolation. 
 
 Then, sister, brother, keep thy vow. 
 
 Despite all foes assailing; 
 The great reform we aim at now 
 
 Will soon be all-prevailing! 
 
 Our dear old land will yet arise 
 
 Supreme above this evil, 
 And 'stead of sorrow's rending cries, 
 
 Will taste of joys primeval. 
 
 And o'er tlie earth will float the song 
 Of temperance, pure and holy ; 
 
 And angels Vvill the theme prolong 
 Of grateful hearts and lowly ! 
 
 let us work with purpose true. 
 And place our trust in Heaven ! 
 
 God surely will this fiend subdue, 
 
 'Gainst which true men have striven. 
 
POEMS. 55 
 
 Go, and in God's name do not cease 
 
 Nor weary in thy labour; 
 By prayerful pleadings go, release 
 
 From drink's curs'd bonds thy neip^hbour. 
 
 'o" 
 
 Go to the hamlets of the poor, 
 Go to the sick and healthy. 
 
 Go, leave a blessing at each door 
 Of humble and of wealth}^ 
 
 And when thy task on earth is done, 
 'Midst scenes and sins distressing, 
 
 Thou 'It rest secure — thy victory w^on!- 
 Crowned with immortal blessing ! 
 
 July 24, 1877. 
 
 A SOLILOQUY. 
 
 I am sad betimes, and I know not why, 
 I want for nothing, my health is good; 
 
 And God, who dwelleth beyond the sky, 
 Provides me raiment, supplies me food, 
 
 And all along life's chequered way. 
 
 His strength sustains me day by day. 
 
 I have hands to work w^hen there's work to do; 
 
 I have books to read, and a mind to think, 
 I have friends who love with a friendship true ; 
 
 My brain is cool, for I never drink. 
 No thirst should heart or soul e'er know, 
 While God's pure streams of mercy flow. 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 I have fellowship with the stars at eve, 
 And Nature's book is a book of lore, 
 
 Wherein I find a sublime reprieve 
 From earthly toil as I con it o'er, 
 
 And I've communion sweeter far 
 
 With Him who made and guides each star. 
 
 And the face of earth is a smiling thing. 
 
 That gladdens the heart and charms the eye. 
 
 From its bosom unbounded pleasures spring, 
 Yet I am sad, and I know not why. 
 
 Others, worthier far than I, 
 
 Lie crushed beneath adversity! 
 
 Is it the unsatisfied heart of man 
 
 That fills my soul with a craving sore? 
 
 An ungrateful spirit that never can 
 
 Be content with wealth from Nature's store. 
 
 The world, the flesh, whatever it be. 
 
 Lord, from its power, now set me free. 
 
 Saviour, who dwellest in Heaven above. 
 On Thee may my feeble heart rely, 
 Send down Thy bright beams of eternal love. 
 And cause my sadness to fade and die. 
 Raise my thoughts 'bove the things of time, 
 Fill my life with a peace sublime. 
 
 Oh ! pardon me. Father, my discontent. 
 And may I gratefully Thee adore; 
 
 The blessings Thou hast so profusely sent. 
 Grant me to enjoy, nor wish for more. 
 
 Save the unchangeable rest of Heaven, 
 
 When earthly affections and bonds are riven. 
 
POEMS. 57 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 (to her lover in exile.) 
 
 When fades the sun behind the West, 
 And birds have sheltered in their nest ; 
 When wildwood flow'rs their petals close, 
 And Nature sleeps in calm repose, 
 I wander out beside the sea, 
 To think of thee. 
 
 To think of thee; for thus must I 
 Forever lonely dream and sigh. 
 Deep passion throbs within my heart 
 (In which no pulse of hope hath part) ; 
 For still must roll 'twixt thee and me 
 The mighty sea. 
 
 Others may yearn, and, hoping, live. 
 Feeling assured that time will give 
 The prize for which their souls do wait, 
 In trustful patience, at Love's gate; 
 But I in sadness love alone. 
 For thou art gone. 
 
 Time was when both our hearts beat high 
 With bliss we never thought could die. 
 When first young Love his mantle threw 
 In ardent folds around us two ; 
 Thus long we happily did glide 
 Adown life's tide. 
 
 But hidden 'neath its waters lay 
 The rocks that wreck my life to-day, 
 For evil Fate hath from me torn 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 My heart's dear idol, and I rnoiirn 
 
 As one who sorrows for the dead — 
 
 Earth's hopes all fled. 
 
 Yet while I live this restless sea 
 Must on its bosom bear to thee 
 The love, the anguish of my soul. 
 And bring me from its distant goal. 
 From thee, a zephyr kiss, a sigh, 
 Until I die. 
 
 Until I die, ah me, my breast! 
 When shall thy throbbing be at rest? 
 The strife, metliinks, must soon be o 'er ; 
 Then I shall on a brighter shore 
 Experience the love, the bliss, 
 Denied on this. 
 
 Look thou upon the Ocean, and 
 As the waves touch thy native land, 
 I'll gaze, and fancy I can trace 
 Reflected there my Oswald's face, 
 And, grateful, I will kiss the sea 
 That mirrors thee. 
 
 My exiled darling, could 'st thou know 
 What tears of bitterness and woe 
 Thy Clara sheds. Yet I v\^ould not 
 Add to thy grief one more dark thought 
 Each hath enough, and more of care 
 Than human nature well can bear; 
 So let it be, anon the grave 
 Will bring the rest our souls do crave. 
 And I no more shall vreeping be 
 By this sad sea. 
 
POEMS. 59 
 
 WHEN THE SOMBRE SHADOWS FALL. 
 
 When the sombre sliadows fall, 
 When the pale moon on thy wall 
 Charms the silence of the night 
 With her tranquil, silv'ry light; 
 When the Spirit of the breeze. 
 Sighing through the rustling trees, 
 Dips his pinions in perfume, 
 Then disporting through thy room, 
 Shakes the odour from his wings, 
 While ^olus softly sings 
 To thee liis unwT-itten lay. 
 Weird, enchanting lullaby. 
 
 Dost thou, then, fair lady mine. 
 On thy silken couch recline? 
 Undisturbed by vain alarms, 
 Soothed by these nocturnal charms. 
 Say, dost thou thine eyelids close 
 In that sleepless, calm repose, 
 Dreaming dreams the heart doth mould 
 Of the blissful days of old? 
 
 Doth thy fancy lead thee near 
 To those hallow 'd scenes so dear. 
 Where together we have spent 
 Hours to us significant ? 
 Mirror 'd in thy soul, dost thou 
 Cherish still the sacred vow. 
 Pledged beneath the fruitful Lime 
 In our 3^outh 's brigiit summer time ? 
 
60 POEMS. 
 
 If thy waking dreams are thus 
 By love-links connecting us, 
 Know that I, too, share with thee 
 That pure light of memory; 
 And my day-dreams point me on 
 To a glorious future daw^n , 
 When my heart shall realize 
 That love-life for which it sighs. 
 Belfast, February 12, 1876. 
 
 (For tpie Riverside Weekly.) 
 
 TO THE DONOR OF THE EDITOR'S CHAIR. 
 
 Oh, blessed be thou of the thoughtful mind. 
 With a soul so true and a heart so kind. 
 That knowing the Editor's toil and care, 
 Hath provided him with an easy chair. 
 
 'Tis not in the heavenly world alone 
 
 That angelic spirits are felt and known, 
 
 There are forms on earth which the Lord hath given 
 
 As the sweet reflex of the ones in heaven; 
 
 And their sympathy cheers us, day by day. 
 
 And their smiles illumine our rugged way ; 
 
 While their words of counsel give strength to bear 
 
 The battle we otherwise scarce would dare. 
 
 0, w^oman, how little thou knowest thy power 
 To lighten the darkness of sorrow's hour! 
 Or the sacred balm of thy pure control, 
 'er the doubts and fears that arrest the soul ; 
 Else, if thou didst, thou wouldst surely give 
 
POEMS, 61 
 
 Thy presence, in which it is bliss to live, 
 And the weak who totter beneath their load, 
 Would enter afresh upon Virtue's road. 
 
 God bless thee, dear lady, whilst here below 
 
 The streams of thy sympathy sweetly flow; 
 
 And as drunkards flee from their sin and shame, 
 
 They will breathe this prayer in the Father's name; 
 
 May Providence long the editor spare, 
 
 To proclaim the truth from thy easy chair. 
 
 Belfast, Ireland, October 30, 1875. 
 
 SEASIDE MUSINGS. 
 
 By the restless, sighing sea. 
 
 On its melancholy shore; 
 Where the seamew circles free — 
 
 Where the crested waves sweep o 'er ; 
 There I wander, sad and lone. 
 
 And my heart, (like the wild sea) 
 Breathes an ever throbbing moan 
 
 For the rest that cannot be. 
 
 Shadows of a buried past 
 
 Rise like spectres on the wave. 
 And each cold and hollow blast. 
 
 Seems a voice from Hope 's dark grave ; 
 Yet bright spots are here and theve 
 
 Seen amid the ebb and flow. 
 And the heart's great sea of care. 
 
 Intervals of calm doth know, — 
 
 Just as in a thorny mound. 
 
 By the shore, all bleak and bare. 
 
62 POEMS, 
 
 I a lovely Heart 's-ease found, 
 Blooming exquisitely fair. 
 
 Not the saline atmosphere, — 
 
 Nor the frequent blighting storm, — 
 
 Weirdly howling far and near, 
 Could disturb its patient form. 
 
 So amid the thorns of life. 
 
 Sad, yet beautiful, may we 
 Mingle in the common strife; 
 
 Clothed with love and charity, 
 Wheresoe'er our feet may stray, 
 
 Or whate'er our lot below, 
 Still upon life's chequered way, 
 
 Joys and griefs alternate flow. 
 
 Whether, therefore, life to me 
 
 Bring happiness or care, 
 God will aid me equally, 
 
 Joy or bitter cross to bear. 
 Thus still trusting in His grace, 
 
 I wdll cast earth's cares aside, 
 And with patience run my race. 
 
 Safe to win through Him who died. 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Old letters, burn them not, for they 
 Are written portraits of our friends; 
 
 Some near, some dead, some far away, 
 
 And some — but here our knowledge ends 
 
 For time, and unforeseen events, 
 
FOEMS, 63 
 
 Have sever 'd sweet communion's chain, 
 And nevermore in earthly tents 
 
 Shall we those dear ones meet again. 
 
 We close our eyes, and oft recall 
 
 The smiles that once illumed our WTty: 
 For mem'ry, faithful unto all 
 
 Its old affections, doth portray 
 Those dear loved forms of early youth 
 
 (Ere sorrow's cloud had swept across 
 Our path), whose earnest love and truth 
 
 We mourn, and vainly count our loss. 
 
 Our hearts their letters now enshrine 
 
 As sacred monum^ents of love; 
 We read them, and a light divine 
 
 Attracts our yearning souls above : 
 For sure we know our dearest ties 
 
 Are those for whom our tears are shed, 
 Whose spirits rest beyond the skies. 
 
 Freed from a world all cold and dead. 
 
 Soon will the love chains — all that bind 
 
 Our hearts to this vain earth— be riven; 
 Then will affection's links (refined 
 
 In God's pure fire) unite in Heaven, 
 Wliere never more nor care nor woe 
 
 Shall cause the heart to ache or sigh ; 
 There purest joys eternal flow. 
 
 And friends love on, nor change, nor die. 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 OCEAN FLOWERS. 
 
 These are not weeds! they are ocean flowers, 
 From Neptune's garden, and shell-girt bowers. 
 And bright in their beautiful tints are they, 
 As they come prismatic with saline spray; — 
 Sure there never was cultured plant more fair 
 Than these wild sea tendrils of Nature's care. 
 
 Yes, they are the blossome the sea-nymphs wear 
 Entwined in the braids of their sheeny hair. 
 And the storm King often forgets his wrath 
 When Neptune's daughters sweep o'er his path, 
 And around him their dripping garlands fling, 
 While their sweet songs they to the blue waves sin^ 
 
 Ah ! these are not weeds, they are sacred flowers. 
 Which the Naiads fling us from coral bowers. 
 Dear souvenirs of the fathomless deep. 
 Where many a loved one doth calmly sleep ; 
 Unconscious of all the tears that are shed — 
 Till Ocean is made to give up the dead 
 Who peacefully rest in its crystal caves. 
 
 Unmoved by the storm of the restless waves; 
 0, treasure them up — these gems of the sea ; 
 And let them be flowers, not weeds, to thee. 
 November, 1882. 
 
POEMS. 65 
 
 THE PENITENT'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 Thou, my heart, all crushed and bleeding sore, 
 
 Nor for thine own infirmities alone; 
 God knew, doth know, they weakness, and wdll pour 
 On thee His saving grace, then wherefore moan, 
 Thou dost repent, and Jesus doth atone. 
 
 In inexperienced youth-hood idly led — 
 Through inactivity of heart and mind, 
 
 The subtle paths of thoughtlessness to tread, 
 I paused not to consider, but as blind 
 Follow 'd a course my soul had ne'er divined. 
 
 The snares of sin, so cunningly devised 
 
 To trap unw^ary youth, around were spread, 
 
 Where'er I went I only realized 
 
 The poison 'd charms before which Virtue fled 
 In tears of anguish for her glory dead. 
 
 Yet still the spark of Nature's purer light 
 Had not extinguished altogether been. 
 
 One touch divine dispell 'd the gloom of night. 
 And holy Virtue once again was seen 
 Through penitential tears, oh, how serene ! 
 
 Awaken 'd thus by that unchanging Love 
 Which NEVER yet its sympathy refused, 
 
 1 trembling saw the Majesty above. 
 
 Whose loving kindness I had so abused, 
 
 And weeping, prayed until mj^ bonds were loosed. 
 
 Yet, now, while striving to redeem the time. 
 Urged on by sad remembrance of the past. 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 While yet my struggling soul would higher climb, 
 Some, not all sinless, at my life would cast 
 The stone of slander, and my spirit blast. 
 
 Is there no pity in the human heart ? 
 Hath Christ no imitators here below? 
 
 Who would by kindly words and deeds impart 
 Some consolation, and in Lethe's flow 
 Conceal the frailties none should wish to know. 
 
 At peace with mankind, and at rest with God, 
 So would I live, and so I fain would die. 
 
 Submissive still to kiss the chast'ning rod, 
 Which Christ in merc}^ only doth apply 
 To fit His children for the Home on high. 
 
 May God forgive the heartless ones who steal 
 Remorselessly the joy for which 1 pine, 
 
 And in their souls. Great Father, make them feel 
 That in Thy sight their sins are dark as mine, 
 And that, like me, they too, need grace divine. 
 
 TO THE WALLFLOWER. 
 
 Meekest of unassuming flowers. 
 
 That boastest no rich, gaudy hue. 
 
 Nor jewell'd hand to tend thy bowers. 
 Nor lips to kiss away the dew 
 
 That in the morning brightly lies. 
 
 Like tears of love, Vvdthin thine eyes. 
 
 How oft a bird on thoughtless w^ing 
 Has let thy tiny seedlobe fall, 
 
POEMS. 67 
 
 Which, through the winter until spring, 
 
 Has slept upon a barren wall, 
 While Nature's sure preserving care 
 Guarded its bed, all bleak and bare. 
 
 But when autumnal chills were past, 
 And winter's snows had disappeared. 
 
 When spring's bright sun diffusive cast 
 His resurrection beams, the sered 
 
 And death-like seedlobe — scarce entomb 'd, 
 
 Into a fragrant Wallflovv^er bloom 'd. 
 
 And ev'ry zephyr passing by 
 
 Did circle gently round its stem, 
 And with each soft and plaintive sigh, 
 
 Kiss'd odours pure from Flora's gem, 
 Then onward speeding, breathed around, 
 Where'er it went, the bliss it found. 
 
 So, like the simple Wallflower, he 
 
 Who meekly walks in duty s Vv^ay, 
 Is pleased, whate'er his lot may be. 
 
 To scatter good where'er he may; 
 And e'en though humble, still his po\ver 
 Is fragrant as the sweet AVallflower. 
 
 HOW LOVELY IS THIS EARTH! 
 
 How lovely is this earth of ours. 
 With all its lakes, and woods, and flowers! 
 The far-off sky, with azure hue. 
 Bespeaks a world more briglit and true. 
 
68 POEMS, 
 
 Young Spring, in vernal, sweet array, 
 Hath swept o'er scenes of past decay. 
 Proclaiming lovely Nature's birth 
 In fragrant floral gems of earth; 
 These ope their grateful hearts anew, 
 And drink of Heaven's life-giving dew, 
 
 The airy songsters sv/eetly raise 
 Their heartfelt roundelay of praise; 
 And all the earth that's pure and fair 
 Doth an Almighty Power declare. 
 But man, with soul dissatisfied, 
 Yearns for a something else beside • 
 A faithful heart with his to share 
 Those tributes of our Father's care; 
 A love responsive to his own — 
 Without this man must feel alone. 
 Belfast, March 11, 1872. 
 
POEMS. 69 
 
 TO J. H. 
 At Berlin, 26th May, 1873. 
 
 'Twas a terrible ein 
 
 You to go to Berlin, 
 'Mongst heathens who cannot speak plainly; 
 
 But gabble and spout, 
 
 God knows what about, 
 And eat, drink, and smoke most insanely. 
 
 As for Dr. Ebell, 
 
 I to him would fain tell 
 The thoughts of my mind, and that freely ; 
 
 But this step I forego, 
 
 As the Dr. I know, 
 No more than I did Fanner Greely. 
 
 In his pocket your cash. 
 
 Let him go cut a dash, 
 Good Dr. Ebell the pedantic. 
 
 I only can wish 
 
 That some German dish 
 ]\Iay cure him of notions romantic — 
 
 And send him again 
 
 'Mongst civilized men — 
 To Christians beyond the Atlantic. 
 
 I'll cease my complaints. 
 
 If the Isle of the Saints 
 You visit again — with your mother — 
 
 This pleasure alone 
 
 Can ever atone 
 For the sins of the Dr. — none other. 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 Christmas Number of The Irish Templar. 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 That old thief of our youth, how silent and swift 
 
 The wheels of his chariot roll ! 
 Life 's barque scarce is launcJied on the ocean of Time 
 
 Ere it reach the farthermost goal. 
 
 'Tis well that the Pilot who steers it along 
 Is One who — tried, trusted, and true — 
 
 In sunshine or storm fills our hearts with a song 
 Of faith that will bear us right through. 
 
 In health and in strength, both of body and mind, 
 Have we throughout life been sustained ; 
 
 Our wants all supplied by His bountiful hand, 
 Who giveth us bliss unrestrained. 
 
 And when, in our moments of thoughtlessness, we 
 Some dangerous course would pursue, 
 
 The eyes of our consciences openeth He, 
 And makes us the evil eschew. 
 
 Experience strengthens our hope and our trust, 
 And our hearts know no danger nor fear ; 
 
 While we own with gratitude still more robust, 
 The Lord's mercies renewed year by year. 
 
 On last Christmastide, my dear Squire, you did call 
 A circle of friends round your hearth ; 
 
 Your generous hand you extended to all, 
 And your smile to gladness gave birth. 
 
POEMS, 71 
 
 Again, after twelve months of weary routine, 
 
 Your kind invitation 's renewed ; 
 Thank God for His providence on this life's scene, 
 
 Last year's guests may all be reviewed. 
 
 At Denby's old Hall Vv'ith its memories rare, 
 Of England's best, bravest, and true, 
 
 We gathered last Yule-tide your good things to share. 
 And to pay grateful homage to you. 
 
 This year to the beautiful seat of j^our friend, 
 
 In Erin's dear Isle, we are come; 
 And our hearts with pleasures intensified beat, 
 
 For sure there is no place like home. 
 
 Great God, grant that when for us time is no more, 
 When the angel his trumpet shall sound. 
 
 Our spirits, redeemed, on Heaven's briglit shore, 
 May in thine own circle be found. 
 
 This desire, this hope, bears our hearts bravely up, 
 'Bove life's disappointments and care; 
 
 In Bethlehem's manger our longing eyes see 
 Our Ransom from deathless despair. 
 
 Thus our Christmas greetings are full of a jo}^ 
 
 Unspeakable, pure, undefiled; 
 And our pleasures are purged of their dross and alloy, 
 
 While we think of the Holy Child ; 
 
 And as from the manger we follow Him on. 
 
 Till He reaches Calvary's hill; 
 Oh ! how bitter, we feel, must have been the cup 
 
 Which the sin of a Avorld did fill. 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 And our hearts are bowed with repentant grief, 
 
 In presence of God most high, 
 And we pray for a purer life — to Him 
 
 Whom we daily crucify. 
 
 And we ask Him to guide our footsteps where 
 
 His wisdom would have us go; 
 Though the way be rough, if He leadeth there, 
 
 'Tis enough for us to know. 
 
 Our steps to His guidance we must submit, 
 
 If our peace we w^ould secure; 
 Ah ! surely the love that came down from Heaven, 
 
 "We can trust it to endure. 
 
 Let our stories, our songs, and our converse be such. 
 
 As will not the conscience offend; 
 Nay, let us with holy ambition aspire 
 
 God's kingdom on earth to extend. 
 
 Wide is the world's field, and the labour is great, 
 
 But the workers are idle and few; 
 Let us pray for the Spirit to guide us aright, 
 
 In the work that is ours to do. 
 
 God knows our infirmities, and He has said, 
 "As our day so our strength shall be;" 
 
 Sure His promises reach far enough for us. 
 E'en through Time and Eternity. 
 
 And now let me thank you, my worthy host. 
 
 For the dignity you confer 
 In placing for me — your most humble guest — 
 
 At the head of your friends a chair. 
 
POEMS, 73 
 
 I shall not now longer delay the course 
 
 Of the pleasures you have in store, 
 But trust that our greetings this festive time 
 
 May be followed by many more. 
 
 So in pure water let's drink to the health 
 Of the friend whom we all hold dear, 
 
 Our host, God bless him, this Christmas-tide, 
 And send him a happy New Year. 
 
 And a bright, a happy, and hopeful year, 
 
 May't be to us each and all. 
 And with earnest hearts let us work, and wait 
 
 In patience the Master's call. 
 
 And if in His name and strength we've striven 
 
 His will and His work to do. 
 Be assured there awaiteth us in Heaven, 
 
 A peace which the world ne'er knew. 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Come, weary mortal, cast aside 
 
 The burden of thy care; 
 This day subdue thy haughty pride, 
 
 And give thy heart to prayer. 
 
 This day, most blessed of the seven, 
 Shun earth's corrupted ways; 
 
 And by thy humbled soul be given 
 A sacrifice of praise. 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 To him, the Prince of Peace, who died 
 
 Thy ruined soul to save; 
 To Him, who death and hell defied, 
 
 And triumph 'd o'er the grave. 
 
 This holy day do tliou repair, 
 
 With gratitude and love. 
 Unto God's house; He'll meet thee there. 
 
 And lead thy thoughts above. 
 
 Through His appointed servant, He, 
 In love, will speak to thee; 
 
 Will soothe thine oft infirmity, 
 And bid thy troubles flee. 
 Belfast. 
 
 MY OWN COTTAGE HOME. 
 
 Oh ! give me my home in the forest shade. 
 Free let me roam through its floral glade; 
 Give me, oh, give me, my cot 'mongst the trees. 
 Where I may feel the soft kiss of th^ breeze. 
 Oft when a little thing, bosom serene, 
 Lightly I've tripped o'er its surface of green, 
 Sung my sweet song in its pure halcyon bowers, 
 Twined in my hair its wild, infantile flowers. 
 There hath the Redbreast, Avith vrarbling so sweet. 
 Perched himself close by ray mossgrown seat ; 
 His song to me now is the purest of lays, 
 Transporting me back to sunnier days. 
 
 Give me, oh; give me, my calm rustic cot, 
 Where first dear mother my infant lips taught. 
 
POEMS. 75 
 
 Breathing her love hopes in watchings and care, 
 
 Bathing my tongue in the language of prayer, 
 
 Oh ! take me back to the scenes of my youth, 
 
 Ere I forget all their innocent truth; 
 
 Take back the gifts of the world's fashioned store, 
 
 But give me mine own dear cottage once more; 
 
 Give me again the pure haunts of the past. 
 
 Ere life's waning sun for aye be o'ercast, 
 
 Nor ask me again tlirough this world to roam 
 
 But oh ! let me rest in the bosom of home ; 
 
 And 'midst those bright scenes so familiar and pure, 
 
 Life w^ill again be more sweet to endure, 
 
 And at the last in a bright floral bed 
 
 Lay me to sleep with my own kindred dead. 
 
 Belfast, September, 1874. 
 
 THE UNCHANGEABLE ! 
 
 One Friend there is above all other, 
 Who sticketh closer than a brother ! 
 
 Proverbs xviii. 24. 
 
 Hast thou a faithful friend? 
 
 Of all the treasures born of earth 
 A true, tried friend, excels in worth, 
 
 But e'en this bond must end; 
 
 And we our hallow 'd tears will shed 
 For loved ones gone before, not dead! 
 
 With strong and trusting heart. 
 
 We plant our feet upon the grass, 
 Nor deem it covers a morass, 
 
76 POEMS, 
 
 Till, trembling, back we start; 
 
 Oh, oft we mourn the dismal swamp 
 We fancied bore true friendship's stamp. 
 
 Thou hast no need to fear; 
 
 Though all the ills of earth assail, 
 
 God's promises can never fail, 
 His arm is ever near, 
 
 And He will shield and strengthen thee, 
 
 In sickness or adversity. 
 
 He is best friend of all. 
 
 Eternal, changeless, boundless love ! 
 
 Ah ! how it draws our hearts above, 
 Released from every thrall. 
 
 The SHEPHERD'S voice so tender— true, 
 
 Speaks comfort still to me — to you. 
 
 Oh, then, with patient soul. 
 
 Let us await — whate'er betide — ; 
 
 The Bridegroom's coming for the Bride, 
 
 The dead-seas backward roll, 
 
 The great ingathering to the fold. 
 The crov/ns of life, the harps of gold. 
 
 THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. 
 
 There is a spirit that doth shed 
 
 An influence serene ; 
 It wakes with holy power the dead 
 
 Enchantments that have been. 
 It flings a halo round the soul, 
 
POEMS. 77 
 
 Unchilled by Time's dull blast, 
 It is a pure, a sweet control — 
 The mem'ry of the past. 
 
 There is a liglit of fadeless truth 
 
 Which shone in bygone days, 
 And wove around the soul of youth 
 
 Its calm congenial rays; 
 E'en now, when life begins to wane, 
 
 Its beams around us cast 
 A bliss that bears no darkened stain. 
 
 The mem'ry of the past. 
 
 There is a lamp, and oh ! how bright 
 
 Its mystic glories beam. 
 And with the past our hearts unite 
 
 In one soul-soothing dream; 
 And when the darken 'd clouds of life 
 
 Our pilgrimage o'ercast, 
 'Twill cheer us through the mortal strife, 
 
 The mem'ry of the past. 
 
 There is a voice, e'en from the grave 
 
 Its hallowed sounds can move. 
 In accents pure as when it gave 
 
 The first fond proof of love. 
 And as a talisman its tone 
 
 Shall guide us to the last; 
 Nor may it fade till life be gone, 
 
 The mem'ry of the past. 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 TO "SISTER LILY." 
 
 Howsoever rough or rugged 
 
 Be the path we tread, 
 Faith still points us to a haven 
 
 Of repose ahead. 
 
 And our work, howe'er unpleasant, 
 
 If Divinely plann'd, 
 Will seem light, if we accept it 
 
 From our Father's hand. 
 
 So when Duty claims obedience, 
 
 Mercy hears the call, 
 Angel-like her gentle footsteps 
 
 Round the sick couch fall. 
 
 Young and old around are lying, 
 
 Jesus is her charm 
 As she speaks with sick or dying. 
 
 Calming their alarm. 
 
 Old and young, diseased or wounded. 
 By their pains endear 'd. 
 
 Surely are, in her sweet presence, 
 Infinitely cheer 'd. 
 
 She, the gentle, sympathetic. 
 Tender nurse and friend, 
 
 Ever, by her touch pathetic, 
 Renders smooth the end. 
 
 Often, too, this prayer is uttered, 
 By those weak ones there; 
 
POEMS. 79 
 
 ''Lord, when making up Thy jewels, 
 
 In Thy mansions fair, 
 Let there shine amongst the brightest 
 
 Yet, this gem so rare." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Tercentenary, April 23, 1864. 
 
 Is there on memory's page a name imprest 
 
 So deep as that of him whose peaceful rest 
 
 Has long been undisturbed on Avon's shore — 
 
 The king of poets and of Nature's lore? 
 
 On this auspicious day he seems to live, 
 
 And to each soul inspired pow'rs doth give 
 
 To swell the praise of that immortal name. 
 
 Wreathed in the laurels of ne'er-dying fame; 
 
 His pen, the sceptre of his mighty mind, 
 
 Wielded at will with power undefined, 
 
 Ne'er fail'd to picture on the world's wide stage 
 
 The haughty sovereign and the humble sage, 
 
 With such true pathos that 'twould seem, indeed. 
 
 He could the heart's unbosom 'd passions read, 
 
 And paint in shades of language richly blest 
 
 The varied feelings of the human breast. 
 
 0, Shakespeare; thou vrhose bright immortal star 
 
 Hath long poured forth its glory from afar, 
 
 E 'en now it shines with brightness more than when 
 
 Thyself had traced it with thy glowing pen; 
 
 The monument which thine own genius raised 
 
 Stands in the world still more admired and praised. 
 
80 POEMS. 
 
 LIFE'S WAYS. 
 
 Mortal, as through life's dull maze, 
 Thou thy lone course dost pursue, 
 
 Mark how tangled are its ways, 
 All its difficulties view. 
 
 Trials here, temptations there. 
 
 Snares and dangers everywhere. 
 
 See the hand of Poverty 
 
 Draw the curtain of distress, 
 Making dark with misery 
 
 All that bears her sad impress. 
 Starving children bathed in tears, 
 Mothers aged, but not with years. 
 
 Watch the well-trained, youthful mind. 
 
 As it goes to join the strife. 
 How temptations undivined, 
 
 Hail it on its course through life. 
 Pleasures weave their subtle chain 
 Round his dreaming heart and brain. 
 
 Mournfully behold the man 
 
 Of ungodly parents born, 
 On his brow with pity scan 
 
 Vice where Virtue should adorn. 
 Scorn him not, he never knew 
 'Twixt right and wrong, 'twixt false and true. 
 
 Ever in the world's wide sea. 
 
 Run deep currents not a few, 
 Flowing to Eternity, 
 
POEMS. 81 
 
 Full of joys and sorrows too. 
 Let us keep our helms hard down, 
 Lest amidst the shoals we drown. 
 
 All are soldiers marching on, 
 
 Through the foe's ensnaring plain 
 
 Some grow weary, faint, anon, 
 Others glorious victory gain. 
 
 If the Sword of Truth is ours, 
 
 What care we for Satan's powers. 
 
 None of us can stand alone. 
 
 Other help and strength we need ; 
 God hath promised us His own. 
 
 If for it we humbly plead. 
 Let our conscious souls still pray 
 For fresh courage day by day. 
 
 None of us should e'er proclaim 
 To the world another's fall, 
 
 But if possible reclaim, 
 
 And the weak one re-install, 
 
 Still rememb'ring how that we, 
 
 Too, are frail mortality. 
 
 LITTLE LIZZIE. 
 
 Little Lizzie, darling child. 
 With thy blue eyes soft and mild, 
 And thy golden ringlets too. 
 And thy cheeks' transparent hue; 
 Oh ! what love do we not see. 
 Blest and to be blest in thee ! 
 
82 POEMS. 
 
 Flower of a golden Spring, 
 Blooming fair and promising; 
 ]\Iay the sun of health still shine 
 On that sylph-like form of thine; 
 And the dews of peace impart 
 Joy and vigour to thy heart. 
 
 Little maid of simple truth, 
 Artless in unconscious youth ; 
 Not alone thy tender years. 
 All our anxious love endears; 
 But the hope that every Spring 
 Thou celestial fruits may'st bring. 
 
 We behold thee, little one, 
 Beaming brightly as the sun; 
 Laughing in thy childish glee — 
 Type of Heav'n-born purity; 
 And we pray that God may spare 
 Thy young heart from knowing care. 
 
 May thy gentle spirit soar, 
 Not this earth of sorrow o'er, 
 But to that bright sphere above. 
 Where the angels dwell in love; 
 And when earthly ties are riven, 
 May thy soul find rest in Heaven! 
 Belfast, June 5, 1869. 
 
POEMS. 83 
 
 ''THY WILL BE DONE." 
 
 Thy Will Be Done : Great Father, teach 
 
 My trembling heart to breathe this prayer, 
 Till I by faith Thy presence reach, 
 
 And find a loving answer there. 
 Where'er I am, whate'er I be. 
 
 May I my race in patience run, 
 And with my thoughts still fixed on Thee, 
 
 Contented, say, "Thy Will Be Done." 
 
 Though o'er my pathway shadows fall, 
 
 And one by one friends pass away, 
 Art Thou not dearer far than all — 
 
 Thou FRIEND of changeless sympathy? 
 And shall my heart ungrateful prove, 
 
 Or sorrow so my senses stun. 
 That I, forgetful of Thy love. 
 
 Shall cease to say, "Thy Will Be Done." 
 
 My wayward spirit oft rebels 
 
 Against the Hand whence mercies flow. 
 For, charm 'd by earth's unhallow'd spells, 
 
 Frail nature shrinks to let them go. 
 Yet heart and soul would struggle on. 
 
 Till over self the triumph's Vv'on, 
 And then, rejoice when all is gone. 
 
 And gladly sing, "Thy Will Be Done." 
 
 Thou knowest all my doubts and fears, 
 
 Thou seest all my care and grief. 
 And ofttimes Thou hast dried my tears, 
 
 Oft sent me comfort and relief. 
 
84 POEMS. 
 
 Then make me, Lord, submissive still — 
 Beneath the shade, or in the sun. 
 
 To feel Thy love my bosom fill. 
 
 Still trusting, pray, ''Thy Will Be Done.' 
 
 TO F. H. 
 New Year, 1874. 
 
 May joy from every source divine, 
 Clematis-like around thee twine. 
 And with sublimest pleasures cheer 
 Thy life through many a changing year. 
 And when old Father Time shall shed 
 His snowy flakes upon thy head, 
 Be thine the peace by Virtue won, 
 So prays thy true friend — 
 
 GO, WORK IN MY VINE\"ARD. 
 
 Go thou into My vineyard, saith the Lord, there's 
 
 much to do; 
 The labour is so plenty, vvhile the labourers are few; 
 Pause not to ask, "what special task shall first thy 
 
 hands employ?" 
 Begin just where thou standest, there is work for man 
 
 and boy. 
 There are young and tender saplings — first seek to 
 
 shelter these. 
 Then prune the dead wood from the trunks of old 
 
 matured trees. 
 
POEMS. 85 
 
 It is thine to raise the fallen, and in God's holy name 
 To save the young and virtuous from error, sin and 
 
 shame ; 
 To break the "devil's chain," and free the drunkard 
 
 from the spell 
 That shuts the doors of Heav'n and opens wide the 
 
 gates of hell ! 
 bend thee to thy duty, 'tis a noble work and brave 
 That nerves the heart to mighty deeds a sinking soul 
 
 to save! 
 Art thou better than thy blaster who ne'er question 'd 
 
 if 'twas meet 
 That with publicans and sinners He should conde- 
 scend to eat? 
 0, do not hesitate to stoop, though loathsome be the 
 
 task ; 
 Remember Him who came to save, and let thy spirit 
 
 ask 
 For His indwelling influence, and strength to do His 
 
 will, 
 Whether along the valley or high up upon the hill. 
 
 Do not wait to count thy talents, whether they be ten 
 or two, 
 
 Do not waste thine hours thinking if there's any 
 place for you ; 
 
 Look around thee, in the workshop, on the street, 
 where'er thou be, 
 
 ]\lany precious souls are drifting down the current to 
 death's sea — 
 
 Haste thee, quick, no time to parley while a soul im- 
 mortal pleads 
 
86 POEMS. 
 
 To thy smpathy for rescue, as it towards the rapids 
 speeds. 
 
 Thou art thy brother's keeper, unto thee tliis trust is 
 
 given, 
 For its perfect consummation thou must answer make 
 
 in Heav'n — 
 First thou shalt love with all thy strength tlie Lord 
 
 thy God, and then 
 Thy heart's deep yearnings must go out to all thy 
 
 fellow-men. 
 Be very patient with the weak, nor chide them when 
 
 they fall; 
 As God in mercy pities us, so let us pity all. 
 
 There are wretched homes all darkness, go take to 
 
 them the light; 
 There are cruel wrongs and jealousies thy counsel 
 
 could put right; 
 There are hearts that weep in solitude for husband 
 
 or for son, 
 O, take to such thy sympathy, go seek the erring one ; 
 Lift up the cross before the eyes of those who hopeless 
 
 stray, 
 And tell them o'er and o'er again the tale of Calvary. 
 
 The oft-repeated kindly word may bring a blessing 
 
 down, 
 And reason, though a time dethroned, may wear a 
 
 saintly crown; 
 And happiness and holy trust once more shall sweetly 
 
 reign. 
 
POEMS. 87 
 
 God gives the seed that thou dost sow, He too will 
 
 give the grain. 
 Then labour on with prayerful trust, nor faint thou 
 
 by the way, 
 God will reward thee with thy sheaves on His great 
 
 harvest day ! 
 
 OBITaARY. 
 
 (Written on the Death of the Young Daughter 
 OF A Friend.) 
 
 The Reaper came, and thrust his sickle in, 
 An angel follow 'd, gath'ring up the grain; 
 The Seraph host, in one harmonious strain. 
 
 Welcome our sister from a w^orld of sin. 
 
 Not now^, as darkly through a glass, she seeth. 
 But face to face, with vision glorified. 
 Doth she behold the living Christ, w^ho died, 
 
 And to His arms her soul enraptured fleeth. 
 
 Her place is vacant, yet, such faith is ours, 
 We only know a consecrated grief — 
 This separation hopeful is and brief! 
 
 True hearts, true lives, defy grim death's dark pow'rs ! 
 
 Then may each link, from earth 's love-chain now riven. 
 Be one more link to that which binds to heaven. 
 
 ^ SO FORM THY LIFE. 
 
 Cold is the heart that never throb 'd with love, 
 Dead is the soul that pity cannot move ; ' 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 And angels from their holy seat above 
 
 Weep for the man of whom they oan't approve. 
 
 Few are our days, and fleeting fast away, 
 
 The sands of Time keep dropping swiftly on, 
 
 And to the old, the frail, the young, and gay. 
 Too surely comes the summons when, anon. 
 Earth, pleasure, time, repentance — all are gone. 
 
 Oh ! man, while yet thy days are in their prime. 
 And opportunities o'erflow the earth, 
 
 Let heart and soul, with impulses sublime. 
 
 To holy thought and actions pure give birth. 
 
 Be thine the path wherein the saints have trod. 
 And thine the lamp that shone upon their way. 
 
 Cheering thy soul's sweet pilgrimage to God, 
 Around whose throne, in heavenly array. 
 These saints of old enjoy eternal day. 
 
 So form thy life — yea, so mete out thy time 
 
 The great Supreme Command to consummate, 
 
 With heart and soul to love the King Divine, 
 And as thyself thy neighbor. God is great. 
 
 And greatly to be fear'd; this bear in mind, 
 
 Lest thou, perhaps, incur the Lord's displeasure. 
 
 To all thy kindred here on earth be kind. 
 
 As thou wouldst have of mercy thy full measure, 
 So mercy show to man, God's rarest treasure. 
 
 Permit the tear of sympathy to flow. 
 
 Nor stay the hand that stretcheth forth to aid 
 A brother, who, perchance, hath fallen low. 
 
 Yet mourns the sin that doth his soul degrade. 
 Oh! whisper comfort softly in his ear. 
 
POEMS. 89 
 
 To him the hand of fellowship extend ; 
 With gentle words his drooping spirits cheer, 
 And speak to him of man's eternal Friend, 
 Whose tender, loving mercy knows no end. 
 
 Oh! when life's battle draweth to a close, 
 
 And ceased the warfare wherein thou hast striv'n. 
 When death with mighty arm subdues thy woes. 
 
 And in the grave all earthly bonds are riv'n, 
 Then shall thy soul in purity ascend, 
 
 'Mid rays of sacred light, on pinions free. 
 To world's celestial, where shall never end 
 
 The soul's sweet song of heaven-born revelry. 
 
 Then, Death, where is thy sting? — where. Grave 
 thy victory? 
 Belfast, January 3, 1872. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 (Written in a Lady^s Album.) 
 
 Dear friend, your invitation I accept, 
 Though I the task reluctantly engage; 
 
 For better far the Muse forever slept 
 
 Than soil with thought impure the virgin page. 
 
 I write, yet tremble lest my feeble mind 
 
 Should fail to scatter e'en one seed of good. 
 
 Or stir within the breast a feeling kind. 
 
 Or move a heart by nature harsh and rude. 
 
 We creatures of the world, poor, feeble, vain. 
 Too oft forget that we immortal are; 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 And seek, alas ! in earth 's pursuits to gain 
 
 That joy that doth the soul's dear prospects mar. 
 
 We launch our barque on pleasure's fickle tide, 
 Oblivious of the dangers right ahead, 
 
 Till, all too late, the ruin we defied 
 
 Sweeps o'er the soul, and tells us hope is dead. 
 
 Too often do our selfish cravings chill 
 Those feelings that ennoble and adorn. 
 
 Where sympathy would save, how oft we kill 
 Some pleading spirit with a barb of scorn ? 
 
 A word of kindness whisper 'd in the ear 
 
 Would soothe the tumult in the troubled breast ; 
 
 A look, a smile, a little act would cheer 
 
 The aching heart, and give the bosom rest. 
 
 Then may we by Divine example learn — 
 
 While plodding on this pilgrimage of ours — 
 
 To feel for those whose hearts with sorrows burn, 
 And scatter 'mongst the thorns sweet fragrant 
 flow 'rs. 
 
 May we look up with penetrating gaze 
 
 Till we the City of the Blest discover ; 
 Then, freed from earth's unhallow'd, bitter ways, 
 
 Rest wdth the saints in Paradise forever. 
 Belfast, October, 1874. 
 
POEMS, 91 
 
 IN j\IEMORIA]\I. 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow, 
 Born Fchruarij 27, 1807; Died March 24, 1882. 
 
 The great, the noble, and the good, 
 
 The heav'nly minded and the true. 
 The man who could a world so rude 
 
 With purest sentiments imbue — 
 Hath passed away; but ere he went 
 
 Gave to the world Truth's glorious song. 
 Whose sounds to Heaven are daily sent, 
 And echo'd by the seraph throng — 
 Then, wafted back to earth again, 
 
 More hallowing in power and tone. 
 They melt the callous hearts of men, 
 
 Who learn the Saviour's love to own. 
 
 Dear poet, friend, translated now 
 
 From earth, vrhere thy great work is done, 
 I mourn thy loss, yet, trustful bow, 
 
 And share the triumph thou hast won ; 
 In so far as my heart would lead 
 
 ]\Iy steps through paths wherein thou 'st trod, 
 Like thee, to daily feel my need; 
 
 Like thee, to draw my strength from God ; 
 And like thee, too, to leave behind 
 
 Deep footprints on life's chequered road, 
 Which, seeing, some poor doubting mind 
 
 i\Iay gain fresh strength to bear its load. 
 
 Mine is not grief that blinds the sight. 
 Or steeps the heart in hopeless pain. 
 
92 POEMS. 
 
 'Tis but the shadows of the night, 
 
 The morning's sun will shine again- 
 Shine on the bright eternal shore, 
 Yes, changeless, shine for evermore. 
 April 3, 1882. 
 
 IF YOU LOVE ME, SAY SO. 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 Better far for me (and you). 
 Whatsoe'er we think or do. 
 To be honest, bold, and true. 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 Not in radiant looks and smiles, 
 Not in vain coquettish wiles. 
 Speak, it is your voice beguiles — 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 Put your hand in mine and say 
 That you love me day by day ; 
 Not let doubt my heart betray — 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 And I'll guard you every hour. 
 As I would a tender flower ; 
 Ne'er on you shall sorrow lov/er; 
 
 If you love me, say so. 
 
 If you do not love me. 
 Do not act deception's part — 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 Do not trifle with my heart — 
 Speak the truth, bid me depart, 
 If you do not love me. 
 
 If you do not love me. 
 Through the busy field of life, 
 Battling in the com.mon strife, 
 I shall surely find a wife. 
 
 Though you may not love me. 
 Belfast, October, 1874. 
 
 SPRINGTIME DREAMINGS. 
 
 I love the lovely fresh young Spring 
 As it dons its garments green ; 
 
 I love it for the memories 
 Reflected in its sheen; 
 
 I welcome it, though shadows come 
 Its golden rays between. 
 
 I love it for its fragrant flow'rs. 
 
 And for its birds of song ; 
 The refloresence of its bow'rs 
 
 Awaken visions strong 
 Of those with whom, in sunny hours, 
 
 I've roam'd the whole day long. 
 
 On retrospective wdng it bears 
 Me back to childhood 's day ; 
 
 That happy season ere earth's cares 
 Had met life's joyous w^ay. 
 
 When Liz, Belle, Mollie, Matt, and Dick, 
 And I were one at play. 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 How oft we've scampered to and fro, 
 Through wood and daisied field, 
 
 And every spot we trod upon 
 Some hidden joy revealed ; 
 
 Ah ! never yet could city life 
 Such holy pleasures yield. 
 
 Old Time hath wrought no change on thee, 
 Sweet Spring ! still young and fair, 
 
 But gone to rest are many who 
 With me thy charms did share, 
 
 And years, and sorrows, both have shook 
 Their dust upon my hair. 
 
 Thy birds sing sweet as e'er they sang. 
 Thy flowers bloom the same. 
 
 But in the Church-yard I can read 
 With lone, sad heart, the name 
 
 Of her who loved me most of all, 
 
 Who blest, but ne'er would blame. 
 
 Spring ! I welcome thee again, 
 
 Yet with a heart subdued; 
 And as I musing contemplate 
 The brooklet, mead, and wood, 
 
 1 feel my isolated heart 
 
 With holy thoughts imbued. 
 
 I think of that ETERNAL SPRING— 
 The RESURRECTION MORN— 
 
 When God shall to his Eden bring 
 The flowers of life new-born ; 
 
 There never from their parent stem 
 Shall bud or leaf be torn. 
 
POEMS. 95 
 
 I think of those who, gone before, 
 Have donn'd their robes of white ; 
 
 I think — and wish I too were o'er 
 Death 's dark and solemn night ; 
 
 I know that on the other shore 
 Life is all young and bright. 
 
 And we shall meet in fadeless Spring, 
 (Those whom I love and I) ; 
 
 No parting e'er again may wring 
 From aching hearts a sigh. 
 
 For God will then have wiped away 
 All tears from every eye, 
 
 And rest, unbroken rest, shall be 
 
 Mine, Lord, with those I love, in Thee. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S IMMUTABILITY: OR, FUTURE 
 RECOGNITION. 
 
 ' ' But then shall I know even as also I am known. ' ' 
 
 — 1st Cor. xiii, 12. 
 
 ''I see no reason, again, why those who have been 
 dearest friends on earth, should not, when admitted to 
 that happy state, continue to be so, with full knowl- 
 edge and recollection of their former friendships." — 
 Whately. 
 
 To thee my warmest, purest thoughts are given; 
 In mine affections thou art blent with Heaven; 
 I look away beyond this world of care 
 To changeless bliss, and know thou wilt be there; 
 And thus, whilst here, Hope marches on before, 
 
96 POEMS. 
 
 To where our souls shall undivided soar, 
 
 And sweet anticipation strews the way 
 
 With love's undying flowers, day by day, 
 
 And dearer far the joys of Heaven will be 
 
 When they are felt, and shared, dear friend, with thee. 
 
 If, looking thro' the vail of Time, the mind 
 
 No conjuration like to this could find; 
 
 If with this life knowledge and love should die, 
 
 Heav'n would be reft of Hope's most sacred tie. 
 
 But, thanks to Him by whose all-wise decree 
 
 Our love on earth throughout eternity 
 
 Shall glow the same, but, purged and purified 
 
 In God's own crucible, thus, sanctified. 
 
 The bonds of holy friendship v/ill be ours 
 
 Through every walk in Heaven's celestial bowers. 
 
 When all the glories of our future state 
 With concentrated thoughts we contemplate; 
 To feel that those who to our hearts are dear 
 On earth, we'll know in our exalted sphere, 
 Makes us with faith immutable to see 
 The Great Omniscient 's boundless sympathy. 
 
 'Tis thus our hearts, sustained by innate power. 
 Surmount the cares of life's most chequered hour; 
 We trust, and trusting, see the promised goal. 
 Where heart meets heart, and soul communes vrith 
 
 soul. 
 The doubts and fears that warp our passions here, 
 Before God's light shall melt and disappear. 
 And we shall own a higher, nobler sway. 
 When earth and all its ills have pass'd away. 
 
POEMS. 97 
 
 Then we with hearts ablaze with holy fire, 
 To Jesus' praise shall strike the sacred Lyre, 
 And God will smile upon the bonds of love 
 First tried on earth, then perfected above. 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE QUIVER. 
 
 (Suggested by the Sudden Death, Through Acci- 
 dent, OF A Child.) 
 A bright little arrow of life has shot 
 
 Far away through the gate of heaven; 
 Its death, unstain'd by a guilty thought. 
 Back to the heavenly Archer is brought 
 
 By the Angel to whom it was given. 
 
 0, let not your heart be heavy nor sad, 
 
 For the arrow that's gone from your quiver; 
 
 Nay, follow its flight with hope, and be glad 
 
 That you for the Angel of Mercy had 
 So precious a gift for the Giver. 
 
 Burnished and bright, in His palace of light, 
 
 The King your dear arrow is keeping; 
 Yet a little while and your soul's pure flight 
 Shall be in the day that succeeds the night, 
 
 And endeth forever your weeping. 
 then, as you enter the kingdom above, 
 Your arrow you'll find in God's quiver of love. 
 
 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 With faltering steps a maiden trod 
 
 The solitary vale. 
 With tearful eyes upturned to God, 
 
 She breathed her pensive wail. 
 
98 POEMS. 
 
 Oh! Heav'n, she said, forsake me not 
 
 In this mine hour of woe; 
 But teach me, as Thou oft hast taught, 
 
 Thy righteous ways to know. 
 
 Bereft of all that gives to life 
 
 E'en one unsullied charm, 
 I sink beneath the dismal strife. 
 
 In suff'ring and alarm. 
 
 No hand now stretcheth forth to aid 
 
 The orphan on her way. 
 Alone, unfriended, and dismay 'd, 
 
 I wander day by day. 
 
 Yet, once the world its smiles did pour 
 
 Upon my youthful brow. 
 But all life's hopes and joys are o'er. 
 
 And grief doth trace it nov/. 
 
 But Thou, Oh! God, the orphan's friend, 
 
 As Thou hast freely given. 
 Give me Thy comfort to the end. 
 Then bear me up to Heaven. 
 Belfast, September 15, 1868. 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 Once more hath fair Nature assumed her attire. 
 Once more the flowers peep forth in their bloom; 
 
 And walking the fields, could we else than admire 
 The daisy arise from its bleak wintry tomb? 
 
POEMS, 99 
 
 That dear, simple flower of Nature's own choosing, 
 The semblance of innocence humble, though pure. 
 
 Still blends wdth the breeze, its sweet spirit diffusing, 
 A power elysian o'er hillock and moor. 
 
 Unadorned tho' its stem, so fragile and slender, 
 Unvaried the shade of its innocent hue. 
 
 Still doth it receive in its petals so tender. 
 
 The life-drop of Nature's bright heavenly dew. 
 
 That delicate blossom behold, oh ! how meekly. 
 
 When rude feet have crushed its frail form on the 
 sod, 
 
 It smiles from its bed, full of tear-drops, so sweetly. 
 And opens its bosom anew to its God. 
 
 In humble obscurity still do we find it, 
 
 The emblem of Virtue trod do^\'n on the w^ay ; 
 Yet full, full of healing's the Hand that doth tend it. 
 
 And keep it aye fresh in its beauteous array. 
 'Tis thus that the heart, full of Virtue's sweet power. 
 
 Shall bloom 'mid the scoffs of a cold, scornful 
 world, 
 And in the sw^eet light of a soul-thrilling hour. 
 
 Awake with its banner triumphant unfurled. 
 Belfast, April 11, 1865. 
 
 WISH NOT TO HAVE DIED YOUNG. 
 
 The Hand that formed thee in the womb 
 
 Ne'er formed a thing in vain. 
 His labour is not for the tomb. 
 
 And would 'st thou there have lain? 
 
100 POEMS. 
 
 He who hath breathed into thy soul 
 
 The sacred breath of life, 
 Would 'st thou repine at His control, 
 
 Or sink beneath the strife? 
 Would 'st thou reject the promised love 
 
 To which the prophets clung? 
 Or would 'st thou shun the fight of faith, 
 
 And thus have died when young? 
 
 Hast thou ne'er felt the sacred bliss 
 
 Of pure and holy joy ? 
 Or would 'st thou in a world like this 
 
 No peace save earth's enjoy? 
 Has thy young heart ungrateful grown 
 
 To heaven's celestial sway? 
 Or would 'st thou have forgotten flown 
 
 From mercy far away? 
 think again, nor wish that thou 
 
 Had'st found a grave when young. 
 But humbly 'fore thy Father bow. 
 
 With heart and soul unstrung. 
 
 ! gaze not with a tearful eye 
 
 On ruined hopes and joys. 
 Nor let it cost thy heart a sigh — 
 
 The things an hour destroys; 
 One thought alone can soothe the breast. 
 
 One sole hope cheer the soul, 
 'Tis that of an eternal rest, 
 
 And an immortal goal; 
 Then rather let thy heart 's theme still 
 
 Be that for ages sung. 
 And joy in thy Creator's will. 
 
 Nor wish thou had'st died young. 
 
POEMS, 101 
 
 A YOUNG MAN'S MUSINGS. 
 
 'Tis the serene, cool hour of night, 
 
 The ghidsome sun hath gone to rest ; 
 And moon and stars their tranquil light 
 
 Breathe softly o'er earth's placid breast. 
 All things enjoy a sweet repose, 
 The very flowers their petals close ; 
 Nature on all her rest bestows, 
 
 While thou, my heart. 
 In disappointments, cares, and woes. 
 
 Alone have part. 
 
 The dreamings of untutored youth. 
 
 That built its castles on the sand; 
 And falsehood clothed in seeming truth, 
 
 Are changed by Time's mysterious wand. 
 And backward gazing I descry. 
 With aching heart and tearful eye. 
 My hopes and visions fade and die, 
 
 As doth the sun. 
 When o'er the blue expansive sky 
 
 His course is run. 
 
 Grief has anticipated time. 
 
 And done the work of years to come ; 
 Instead of peace and joy sublime — 
 
 Too vain regrets make up life's sum. 
 And ere I've passed from youth's green way, 
 J\Iy hair, alas! is turning gray, 
 And I, by premature decay, 
 
 Dare nothing crave. 
 Saving the rest of endless day. 
 
 Beyond the grave. 
 
102 POEMS. 
 
 Vain world of idle pomp and pride, 
 
 Of vague expectancy and fears, 
 What patient, faithful hearts thou'st tried, 
 
 Then left to drown in sorrow 's tears ! 
 To worse than Death's cold icy hand 
 Are changed thy smiles, so false and bland, 
 While hopeless, helpless, lone, I stand — 
 
 Life's prospects o'er, 
 By thee allured, then left to strand 
 
 On Time's dead shore. 
 
 Thy work is done, and never more 
 
 Can I thy servile creature be; 
 Eternal mercy will restore 
 
 The light that thou hast ta'en from me; 
 And when beneath the grass-grown sod 
 I feel no more the chast'ning rod. 
 Oh! thou, my Father and my God, 
 
 Sign my release, 
 Prom earth's dark ways wherein I've trod, 
 
 Bring me to peace. 
 
 EASTER TIME. 
 For thee I'd call from Flora's bowers, 
 A garland of the rarest flowers, 
 And they would ever breathe to thee 
 Their message sweet and poesy. 
 
 Then first of all I'd intertwine 
 The Ivy, Hawthorn and Woodbine, 
 The Mignonette should next in place 
 With Fern and Jasmine interlace. 
 
POEMS. 103 
 
 The Daisy then and Denmark Rose 
 Would with the Lily white compose 
 A triplet in my wreath, for they 
 Do symbolize thy purity. 
 
 The Arbor Vitae and the Balm 
 Would, with the Bayleaf, give a calm 
 And reassuring hope, if e'er 
 Thy soul should some deep sorrow bear. 
 
 The Heart 's-ease and the Violet blue, 
 The meek Wallflower, but not the Yew ! 
 May, in thy chaplet put a leaf 
 May e'er suggest a thought of grief; 
 
 For, Emmie, on thy birthday morn 
 I'd w^eave thy crown without a thorn, 
 Each flower would be the purest gem 
 That ever graced a diadem. 
 
 And blithest maiden thou wouldst be 
 On this thine anniversary. 
 And all thy life long, if that I 
 Could conquer blessings from on high. 
 
 But Heav'n is thine, in Faith and Love 
 Still lead thy heart and thoughts above. 
 And when for thee this world shall cease. 
 Thy crown will be eternal peace. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 
 My heart's devoutest wish this happy morn. 
 Is, Emmie, for thy peace, 
 
104 POEMS. 
 
 That love with friendship's garlands may adorn 
 
 Thy life and home, nor cease 
 
 To carpet all the corridors of time, 
 
 For thee, with choicest flowers and gifts sublime. 
 
 God grant thee on this anniversary 
 
 His fadeless light — His love. 
 May all the sweetest chords of harmony 
 
 Thy hearty pulsations move. 
 And those whom God to thee as, friends, hast given, 
 Be thy companions on the march to Heaven. 
 
 And if, by sacrifice and earnest prayer, 
 
 Thy life could guarded be. 
 Then I, thy friend, from every earthly care 
 
 "Would surely shelter thee. 
 And Heav'n its richest incense still would shed 
 In sweet, refreshing fragrance round thy head. 
 
 But not for mortal being here below, 
 
 Is life without a cloud; 
 It is the sun with brighter, warmer glow. 
 
 Bursts through its murky shroud ; 
 So, Phenix-like, the faithful heart will rise 
 From out the ashes of its miseries. 
 
 And should it ever be that for a time 
 Thy cross thou needst must bear, 
 
 Oh! then in faith embrace the Son Divine, 
 He doth each sorrow share; 
 
 A little while, and He will give thee rest. 
 
 Thus to thy soul thy mourning will be blest. 
 
POEMS. 105 
 
 LIZZIE. - 
 
 God grant thee, on this day, 
 
 A cloudless sky, a hopeful heart, 
 A faith no earthly power can slay, 
 
 That joy which is of Heav'n a part. 
 
 True friends to smoothe thy pathway here, 
 Kind hands to brush the vail aside 
 
 Should sorrow claim from thee a tear ; 
 Or trouble plunge thee in its tide. 
 
 Fond hearts, wherein no selfish thought 
 May with love's impulses compete; 
 
 Leal hearts, by purest motives taught 
 To sympathize in language sweet. 
 
 With such associations thou 
 
 Wilt find life's road less rough and steep ; 
 And should e'er grief becloud thy brow, 
 
 'Twill be less poignant and less deep. 
 
 If any higher wish there be. 
 
 Dear, then wouldst fain 'twere thine. 
 
 On this thine anniversary. 
 
 Adopt that vvdsh, and know it's mine. 
 
 For there is nothing Heaven could grant 
 Of good, but I would claim for thee 
 
 Full measure for thy daily want. 
 And rest throuhgout eternity. 
 
 Easter Day, 1891. 
 
106 POEMS. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S CARE. 
 (Written Sunday, September 22, 1895.) 
 
 Stay near me, my Saviour, ever near. 
 
 That in the darkness I Thy light may see, 
 That in my weakness I may cling to Thee, 
 
 That I, in my soul solitude, may hear 
 
 My Shepherd's voice speak tenderly to me, 
 
 Saying — I am the Light, the Truth, the Way, 
 
 Lean hard, I '11 be thy strength from day to day. 
 
 And dv/elling 'neath the shadows of Thy wing, 
 Sustained and stimulated by Thy love, 
 I shall be strong, nor sin my soul should move. 
 
 So long as to Thee, blessed Lord, I cling. 
 Thus Thy rich promises I'll surely prove. 
 
 And firm in heart and faith, I '11 fear none ill. 
 
 For Thou, my Shepherd, Thou wilt lead me still. 
 
 SIXTY POUNDS PER YEAR. 
 
 Alas ! who knows the endless strife 
 Of battling with an office life; 
 Or who can tell the bitter tone 
 In which the slave is driven on 
 To sit upon a stool and write, 
 From early morn till late at night, 
 With notiiing save the sorry cheer 
 Contained in sixtj^ jiounds a j^ear. 
 
 Ah ! he whom fortune makes to brook 
 The cold command and haughty look 
 Alone can feel how deep the ill 
 
P0E3IS, 107 
 
 In being master of the quill; 
 Yet circumstances make him bear, 
 With silent grief, his load of care. 
 If he repine, his course is clear — 
 But costs him sixty pounds a year. 
 
 Still toiling on with burning brain, 
 His spirit crushed, yet can't complain; 
 Loaded with sorrows unexpressed, 
 His aching fingers ne'er may rest. 
 For him no heart doth pity breathe. 
 No hands for him entwine a w^reathe. 
 While trembles in his eye the tear 
 Of hopeless labour, oh, liow^ drear — 
 Poor slave, at sixty pounds a year. 
 Belfast, February, 1873. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Kathleen, darling, I must leave thee ; 
 
 Cruel fate hath will'd it so. 
 Sure it breaks my heart to grieve thee, 
 
 But my love doth bid me go. 
 For I dare not claim a union 
 
 Which no joy nor hope could bless, 
 When the heart's sublime communion 
 
 Would entombed be in distress. 
 
 Far away from scenes of childhood. 
 
 Far aw^ay from all I love. 
 In the strange and distant wildwood, 
 
 Fortune may more faithful prove, 
 Hopes that I at home have cherished. 
 
108 POEMS. 
 
 Hopes of honest wealth to win, 
 Have like summer blossoms perished 
 With the sympathy of kin. 
 
 Oh! if Erin's sons and daughters 
 
 To each other were but true ! 
 They o'er broad Atlantic waters 
 
 Fortune's smiles need not to woo, 
 Sure there is sufficient labour 
 
 For her faithful sons of toil, 
 If all were like friend and neighbour — 
 
 Loving, living on the soil. 
 
 Strangers come in mighty forces, 
 
 Here they find a fruitful field. 
 And for them our great resources 
 
 Do a plenteous harvest yield ; 
 But in England's mighty nation 
 
 If for labour we should try. 
 We will hear the foul citation — 
 
 That no Irish need apply! 
 
 Cheer thee, Kathleen, God will aid me ; 
 
 Let us hope, then, for the best ; 
 And when Fortune will have made me, 
 
 In the far-off golden West, 
 Heir to riches, peace and pleasure. 
 
 Then I '11 to my native shore. 
 And with thee, my soul's dear treasure, 
 
 Dwell, dear Kathleen, evermore. 
 Belfast, May, 1874. 
 
POEMS. 109 
 
 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 
 
 Life from the cradle to the grave, 
 Is but a checkered scene, 
 
 i 
 
 And strong must be the heart, and brave, x 
 
 To bear its brunt, I ween. 
 Oft-times the heart is well-nigh dead 
 
 Through tyranny and scorn; 
 Thus true it is what Burns hath said. 
 
 That ^'man was made to mourn." 
 
 The man of lowly parentage 
 
 Plods on Oblivion's way, 
 His cares his only heritage, 
 
 And little else his pay. 
 See how he toils from morn till night 
 
 A poor man and forlorn; 
 His food both scanty is and light. 
 
 His raiment thin and worn ; 
 And griefs that throng with -with 'ring blight, 
 
 And wants in patience borne, 
 Show how that he, unhappy wight. 
 
 Was made, forsooth, to mourn. 
 
 The lord who owns a vast estate. 
 
 Though countless is his wealth, 
 Hath disappointments just as great, 
 
 And fails as soon in health. 
 Thus sinful man, whoe'er he be, 
 
 E'en high or lowly born, 
 Must feel, alas ! how surely he 
 
 Was made in tears to mourn. 
 
110 POEMS. 
 
 Then let us learn, submissive still, 
 
 'Bove earth-born cares to rise, 
 Knowing the God of Mercy will 
 
 Give rest that never dies. 
 To all who put their trust in Him 
 
 Whose brow by thorns was torn, 
 The Righteous for the man of sin. 
 
 That we should cease to mourn. 
 Belfast, January 12, 1874. 
 
 A BACHELOR'S ADVICE. 
 
 These are peculiar times, no doubt, 
 And men best mind what they're about, 
 Ere they by pen and ink declare 
 Love 's passion to some maiden fair. 
 Consider ere you write the stroke 
 That may, perchance, a case provoke 
 (A breach of promise case I mean). 
 With damages not small I ween — 
 Two thousand pounds, perhaps fifteen ! 
 The lady swears — it's all serene. 
 You've got to pay — down with the cash! 
 Let injured beauty cut a dash ; 
 'Twill soothe her disappointed love. 
 The cash, you know, may chance to move 
 Some heart more tender than your own — 
 The feathers plucked from false bird flown 
 Will tempt some other bird to soar 
 Where you have nestled oft before. 
 Ah, yes ! 'tis true, your cash may hatch 
 A very questionable match ; 
 But what of that, sure virgin pride 
 
POEMS, 111 
 
 Must stem the flow of scandal's tide, 
 
 And beauty's self must not decay 
 
 In an unloved, neglected way; 
 
 And such rare charms as cash and beauty. 
 
 Allied with virgin love and duty, 
 
 Seldom the hungry heart enchants 
 
 Of penury in coat and pants. 
 
 The pensive lady you despise 
 
 Will wake another's sympathies, 
 
 M^ho, not excessively romantic, 
 
 She (or your cash) will set quite frantic. 
 
 Contempt for you he will express, 
 
 The while he gloats o'er the redress 
 
 Which wise and well-framed ( ? ) law bestows, 
 
 And in his zeal he doth propose 
 
 To wed the lady (and the gold) 
 
 For which her modesty she sold; 
 
 While you, who fondled and caressed her, 
 
 Mourn not your loss, but glad you missed her. 
 
 The lesson's good, though dear, you own. 
 
 Then let sweet innocence alone; 
 
 And in the future be more wise 
 
 Than tempt the woman you despise. 
 
 Your cash, by other means disposing, 
 
 Will bring more joy and less exposing. 
 
 It won't society improve 
 
 To pay for disappointed love. 
 
 Your heart consult, with care deciae. 
 
 Ere you propose to make a briae; 
 
 Nor lend your name to be a handle 
 
 For idle tongues to deal out scandal. 
 
 Methuselah Mildews 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 SONGS OF THE LOVED, NOW DEAD. 
 
 The simple lays I used to hear 
 
 Sung by the loved, now dead, 
 For whom the tributary tear 
 
 Of mem'ry oft is shed — 
 Oh ! do not let them fade away. 
 
 But strike the chords once more. 
 They'll soothe, though they can ne'er make gay. 
 
 The heart they cheer 'd of yore; 
 
 Oh ! gently touch the chords again. 
 And softly breathe the dear old strain ! 
 
 It wakes remembrance sweet, of love 
 
 That thrill'd in days gone by; 
 And though its tones now sadly move. 
 
 Still, do not let them die ; — 
 For in their soft and plaintive swell 
 
 Exists a power untold. 
 To weave around my heart the spell 
 
 So sweet in days of old. 
 
 Then strike, Oh ! strike the chords again. 
 And I will sing the dear old strain ! 
 Belfast, October 8, 1872. 
 
 ODE TO THE '^^LSTER GENERAL ADVER- 
 TISER." 
 
 Hail ! little paper, sweetly blest. 
 
 Thy sides with peace imbued; 
 Still may thy columns be impress 'd — 
 
 Not with sectarian feud; 
 But may the sun of joyous mirth, 
 
POEMS. 113 
 
 Aye light thy pages o'er, 
 And give to healthful laughs their birth, 
 As thou hast done before. 
 
 Shine on, thou little, useful lamp. 
 
 Till thou a halo form 
 Around those hearts which bear the stamp 
 
 Of sorrow's raging storm. 
 And when thou meet'st a lonely one, 
 
 Oh! let thy cheering lore. 
 Relight his lamp as thou hast done, 
 
 For darkened hearts before. 
 Belfast, December 7, 1863. 
 
 WORK ON. 
 
 My brother, sister, be thou steadfast still. 
 
 Nor flinch when duty bids thee firmly stand; 
 
 Work with a holy, pure, unselfish will, 
 
 To drive this blighting curse far from our land. 
 
 Thou art thy brother's keeper — bear in mind. 
 To thee, to all, this sacred trust is given. 
 
 To raise the fallen, and to lead the blind 
 
 Upon the straight and narrow path to Heaven. 
 
 Stretch forth thine arm the drunkard to reclaim. 
 Nor shut thy heart 'gainst pity's plaintive cry. 
 
 But breathe into his ear that Saviour's name, 
 Wlio, sinless, came for sinful man to die. 
 
 Oh ! Think of Him, and let thy bosom swell 
 
 With pure philanthropy and Heav'n-born love. 
 
114 POEMS, 
 
 Nor blush to save a trembling soul from Hell, 
 Or lead a wanderer's thoughts to skies above. 
 
 Oh, be ye faithful workers while 'tis day, 
 
 For cometh night when work cannot be done ! 
 
 With grateful hearts and ardent faith still pray 
 That our great Temperance battle soon be won. 
 
 With steady perseverance labour on 
 
 This glorious consummation to complete. 
 
 Nor faint nor weary in the work begun. 
 Till victory triumphs over Hell's defeat. 
 
 Work on, work on, they labour not in vain 
 Who labour for the glory of the Lord ; 
 
 Work on, nor halt to calculate thy gain ; 
 
 Mortal hath ne'er conceived what great reward 
 
 The Master of the vineyard hath prepared 
 
 For those who have with joy his message heard. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 
 
 The fagot blazed, the soldier lay 
 In slumber's calm repose. 
 
 And in a dream's elysian sway 
 Appeared the battle's close. 
 
 While one dear picture far away 
 Before his eyes arose. 
 
 And as he slept 
 
 The soldier wept, 
 To see his children at his feet. 
 And hear his wife, in accents sweet, 
 
POEMS, 115 
 
 While round his neck her arms she threw, 
 And closer to her bosom drew, 
 
 With silent joy to greet 
 Him whom she mourned as lying dead 
 Where Britain's bravest hearts had bled. 
 
 A smile illumed the brave man's face 
 
 While thus the dreamy spell 
 Within his faithful mind could trace 
 
 The scenes he loved so well — 
 The cottage home, his own birth-place, 
 
 Where he so longed to dwell. 
 
 The bugle calls. 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 And he who felt the soothing gleam 
 Of home's sweet sunshine in a dream. 
 Awoke to find the battle-field 
 Its sword of bitterness still wield — 
 
 To see the gory stream 
 Its tide of homicide still pour 
 In darker torrents than before. 
 Belfast, March 6, 1865. 
 
 TO THE FLAG OF THE FREE. 
 
 A woman's heart and a woman's head, 
 
 Out of the blue, the white and the red, 
 
 Conceived the Banner of Stripes and Stars, 
 
 Symbol of glory, in peace, in wars — 
 
 A grand old puritan woman, she, 
 
 Who gave us this flag of liberty. 
 
 For her dear sake, and the cause she loved. 
 
116 POEMS. 
 
 May patriot hearts be ever moved 
 
 (As under Old Glory's folds they stand 
 
 And know it floats over freedom's land,) 
 
 To deeds of honor, to truth and right, 
 
 With trust in God, and strong in His might. 
 
 Our doors are open to all who come ; 
 
 And here the stranger may find a home. 
 
 If to our flag and our country he 
 
 Swear uncompromis'ng loyalty, 
 
 Upholding our institutions still, 
 
 With an honest, patriotic will. 
 
 For in our Union never a State 
 
 Shall permit a foreign potentate 
 
 The National conscience e'er to rule. 
 
 Or furl the flag, floating o'er the school. 
 
 That flag is our Nation's boast and pride; 
 
 For it and freedom our fathers died, 
 
 And their sons must ever keep watch and ward, 
 
 Our National honor and flag to guard. 
 
 'Neath its triple colors, red, white and blue, 
 
 May our young America's hearts beat true, 
 
 And when life's battle for them shall end 
 
 Their sons will the stars and stripes defend. 
 
 And thus, unsullied, o'er land and sea 
 
 Shall proudly float the flag of the free. 
 
 TO A DAISY. 
 
 Nature's sweet and vernal child. 
 Offspring of the rocky wild. 
 Humble born of low estate, — 
 Still thou'rt not degenerate. 
 Though the plowshare makes thy tomb, 
 
POEMS. 117 
 
 In the spot where thou dost bloom, 
 Yet a litle and thy form 
 Patiently shall brave the storm. 
 Type of purity and love, 
 Trusting in the Power above, 
 I thy simple robes review. 
 Bathed in tears of sparkling dew. 
 Full of life and health, to thee 
 Each a sweet transparency! 
 
 Raging winds which fiercely blow, 
 Blighting frost, and chilling snow 
 Seem to breathe thy final doom 
 In the heyday of thy bloom. 
 Still thy little, slender form 
 Bursteth forth amid the storm. 
 If but one bright sunny ray 
 Sheds its warmth across thy way. 
 
 Trampled tenant of the field. 
 Thou to me hast oft revealed. 
 By thy weak and passive way, 
 Bending gently all the day, 
 How that, on the w^orld's wide sea. 
 We must act submissively, 
 And while on its billows driv'n. 
 Keep our faces turned to Heav 'n ! 
 Belfast, April 30, 1864. 
 
118 POEMS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS, 1883. 
 
 (Written for Irish Templar.) 
 
 Come with me to Bethlehem, 
 
 There we'll chant our Christmas hymn, 
 
 Sing of Christ's nativity. 
 
 By the manger where He lay. 
 
 Praise the Father, praise the Son, 
 
 For the victory He won, 
 
 For the mercy He hath shown, 
 
 For the love that 's all our own, 
 
 For the hope beyond the grave, 
 
 For the life His dying gave. 
 
 For His triumph over hell. 
 
 He who doeth all things well. 
 
 On this peaceful Christmas morn 
 
 Was the world's Messiah born. 
 
 Sing we, then, in heartfelt strains, 
 
 Christ, our Brother, Saviour, reigns. 
 
 While His condescension we 
 
 Study with humility, 
 
 Thinking how from Heav'n He came, 
 
 Bore our cross, despised, the shame, 
 
 Shrinking not from scoffs and scorns, 
 
 Meekly wearing crown of thorns. 
 
 E'en denied by those He loved. 
 
 Though they had His goodness proved, 
 
 From the manger to the tomb, 
 
 Through Gethsemane's dark gloom. 
 
 Hear His cry of agony 
 
 *'That the cup might pass away," 
 
 Then again : ' ' Thy will be done, ' ' 
 
POEMS. 119 
 
 '^ Father, glorify Thy Son," 
 ''It is finished," as He cries, 
 God accepts the sacrifice, 
 Consummating thus the plan 
 For redeeming fallen man. 
 On this Christmas festival. 
 Let us gather round and tell 
 Of our bless 'd Saviour's birth 
 And His holy life on earth. 
 At His footstool while we meet, 
 May our grateful tongues repeat 
 All we know of tliat deep love 
 That could multitudes so move. 
 See Him as He stood and wept 
 By the grave where Laz'rus slept, 
 "While the Ipving sisters cried: 
 "Lord, our brother had not died 
 If Thou hadst not been away 
 From us on that mournful day. ' ' 
 
 Then He life gave to the dead. 
 
 To the hungry He gave bread, 
 
 Healed the sick, the naked dress 'd. 
 
 Gave the heavy laden rest, 
 
 Cheer 'd the sad, restored the lame, 
 
 Loosed the tongues that still proclaim 
 
 His omnipotence, and sing 
 
 Praise to our High Priest and King. 
 
 Sight He gave unto the blind. 
 
 To the erring He was kind. 
 
 Knowing well the guilt she bore. 
 
 Bade her — ''go and sin no more," 
 
120 POEMS. 
 
 While her vile accusers fled, 
 Self -condemn 'd by what he said. 
 On this holy Christmas tide, 
 Casting earthly thoughts aside, 
 Let us catch the sweet refrain 
 Of the Shepherds on the plain, 
 Shout it o'er and o'er again, 
 ' ' Peace on earth, good will to men, ' ' 
 Hallelujah ! angels raise 
 Anthems to Jehovah 's praise. 
 
 As we celebrate this day. 
 Lord, our Lord, to Thee we pray 
 For new birth in ev'ry part 
 For right spirit and clean heart, 
 That anew to Thee we may 
 Dedicate our energy. 
 In our weakness let Thy strength 
 Be so perfected at length. 
 That when Satan tempts us, we 
 Can sure shelter find in Thee. 
 "Walking in Thy footsteps still. 
 Though the journey be up-hill, 
 "We Thy promise hear and see — 
 ''As our day our strength shall be," 
 Soon the contest will be o'er, 
 This we know, and faint no more. 
 
 Praying, trusting, toiling on, 
 Waiting for that glorious dawn, 
 When our eyes without surcease 
 Shall behold the Prince of Peace 
 Seated on His Heav'nly throne. 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 By His ransom 'd people known, 
 As they thronging round Him stand, 
 Harp of gold in every hand, 
 While the courts of Heaven ring, 
 As they hallelujahs sing. 
 
 May we in this mortal state 
 
 All those graces cultivate — 
 
 *' Meekness, faith, and gentleness," 
 
 (Jesus' life was nothing less,) 
 
 ''Love, joy, peace, long-suffering, 
 
 ''Goodness, TEMP 'RANGE," everything 
 
 That will Ghrist's own pow'r extend. 
 
 And to man's well-being tend. 
 
 Trinity of trinities. 
 
 How they sanctify our ways, 
 
 Giving thoughts and hopes sublime. 
 
 Lifting us 'bove things of time. 
 
 Strength 'ning heart and soul within. 
 
 When weak nature 's prone to sin. 
 
 On this Christmas, praise the Lord 
 
 For the comfort of His word. 
 
 For the promised life immortal, 
 
 When we reach the Heav'nly portal. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Joy scarce hath breathed its sweet entrancing breath 
 Ere comes a change that steals the bliss away ; 
 
 Nay, e'en the idol of our heart in death 
 
 Needs, like all else, to own the world's decay. 
 In mem'ry only shall we feel the power 
 
 Enchantment wove in youth's delightful hour. 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 How oft the flower that claims our watchful care, 
 
 And sheds its grateful fragrance through our room, 
 Reveals but briefly all its beauty rare; 
 
 Then, oh ! too soon its bed becomes its tomb. 
 Yet, thanks to Him to whom we owe our birth, 
 
 A brighter hope to weary man is given ; 
 When faded all the fleeting joys of earth. 
 
 For him are stored eternal joys in heaven. 
 Belfast, April 21, 1873. 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 (Returning With Her Daughter to America.) 
 
 Calm be the sea o'er which doth glide 
 
 The barque that bears thee home ; 
 As peaceful still life's ebbing tide. 
 Wherever thou mayst roam. 
 
 We say good-by, but not farewell; 
 
 For though the ocean sever. 
 True friendship's bonds are forged so well 
 
 They bind us close forever. 
 
 And imaged still in mem'ry's page 
 
 The forms of those we cherish, 
 Shall cheer our hearts from age to age, 
 
 With liopes that cannot perish. 
 
 The holy light of friendship's smile, 
 
 The words of kindness spoken, 
 Form links so pure and free from guile. 
 
 They never can be broken. 
 
POEMS. 123 
 
 Good-bye, dear friend, afffection's chain 
 
 Not e'en in death is riven; 
 Though seas divide, we'll meet again — 
 
 No more to part — in Heaven. 
 Belfast, 1873. 
 
 TO GOOD TEMPLARS. 
 By Brother W. J. Nettelton^ Belfast, 
 
 Good Templars, don your armor all. 
 The King requires you now; 
 Rise at the temperance trumpet's call, 
 To keep your solemn vow. 
 The enemy is in the field, 
 A fiendish mighty power; 
 Up, Templars, with your sword and ^'Shield", 
 And smite him down this hour. 
 Already many he hath ta'en 
 As prisoners, and Oh ! 
 
 How some now writhe in thraldom's chain, 
 And some in death lie low. 
 Awake, and gird your loins about, 
 And for the strife prepare — 
 God make each heart both brave and stout 
 In faith, and hope, and prayer. 
 
 The ''Star of Ulster' ''Erin's First", 
 With holy fadeless ray. 
 Will be as glorious "Beacon" lights, 
 Upon our chequered way. 
 And on our "Banner", spotless white. 
 This motto will be seen, 
 "Excelsior", by day and night. 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 In gold and purple sheen. 
 
 Thus we shall "Forward" still "Advance", 
 
 "Invincible" and brave, 
 
 To "Rescue" from the tyrant's lance. 
 
 And from the drunkard's grave. 
 
 And when the fight of faith is won, 
 
 And "Victory" hath blest, 
 
 To God give all the prise and on 
 
 The "Rock" of Safety rest. 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 A beautiful face is a pleasant thing 
 
 On which to feast our gaze, 
 A merry voice with a musical ring 
 
 May demand our ardent praise; 
 Or a graceful figure may charm the eye. 
 
 And awaken a passion strong; 
 But beneath the surface alone doth lie 
 The beauty that never can fade nor die — 
 
 It doth to the heart belong. 
 
 And e'en though the figure ungainly be. 
 
 And the face what men call plain. 
 Or the voice not that which in harmony 
 
 Breaks forth in a sweet refrain; 
 Yet we with a kindred spirt behold 
 
 The charms of true Virtue there; 
 And our hearts burst forth from their prison cold, 
 To the light of beauty that ne 'er grows old. 
 
 Nor withers by time nor care. 
 
POEMS. 125 
 
 'Tis a beauty disease can never touch, 
 
 Nor the hand of Death entomb ; 
 'Tis a beauty immortal, and shall as such 
 
 Forever and ever bloom. 
 'Tis the loveliness of a life divine — 
 
 The incense sweet of Heaven. 
 Those attributes pure of a v*^orld sublime. 
 
 Which the Great Supreme hath given. 
 It enrobes the soul in a robe of white, 
 
 And fiUeth the heart with love; 
 And the golden sheen of its holy light 
 Dispelleth the darkness of sorrow's night. 
 
 And leadeth our thoughts above. 
 Belfast, 11th April, 1874. 
 
 BY THY LOVE. 
 
 By the love thy father bore thee, 
 By thy mother's watchful care, 
 
 Oh! young man, let me implore thee 
 Of the drink-fiend to beware. 
 
 By the bonds of death now riven, 
 By the Saviour's sacrifice, 
 
 By the sun of glory risen, 
 
 Hell's alluring cup despise. 
 
 By thy dread of death eternal. 
 By thy horror of despair. 
 
 Shun each haunt and scene infernal, 
 Nor be caught in folly's snare. 
 
126 POEMS, 
 
 By thy love for those who love thee, 
 By the joys of endless day, 
 
 Strong in Jesus look above thee 
 Mindful of eternity. 
 
 Blessed theyself, be thou a blessing 
 To the fallen ones who stray, 
 
 On their darken 'd minds impressing 
 How that sin brings on decay. 
 
 Speak to them in words of kindness, 
 Gently lead their thoughts above, 
 
 Pray that God may heal their blindness, 
 And restore to them His love. 
 
 Shun the wine-cup and the revel, 
 Don the armour God has given. 
 
 It will shield thee from the devil, 
 And give victory to Heaven. 
 
 Belfast, February 1876. 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 (On The Death of Her Daughter.) 
 
 We mourn for the dead as if no hope was ours ; 
 
 And, mourning, we censure the God we adore; 
 Though He come but to cull from our love-bed of 
 flow'rs 
 
 The blossom he gave, and again will restore. 
 
 Oh ! rather rejoice that the Lord hath thy daughter 
 Transplanted from earth to his Eden above; 
 
 Up, up to the seraphic host He hath brought her. 
 And girded her round with His mercy and love. 
 
POEMS. 127 
 
 He gave but to take, and His promise in taking, 
 
 To you and to all who believe in His word, 
 Is this — that the earthly affections he's breaking 
 He'll purge, and unite them again in the Lord. 
 
 Then let ev'ry flow'r of affection thus vanished 
 Be a link in the chain that would bind us to 
 Heav 'n ; 
 And when from our hearts earth-born idols are 
 banished. 
 We'll realize all the sweet promises given. 
 Belfast, January, 1874. 
 
 STANZA. 
 
 I do not know a greater pleasure than 
 At eventide to walk the meadows green, 
 
 Or cool, sequester 'd glade, where Nature's hand 
 Doth paint Omnipotence on every scene. 
 
 Divinely sweet, the heav'nly Artist's touch 
 In grand pre-eminence displays the power 
 
 Of that creative Being, who hath such 
 
 Resplendent beauties shed on every flower. 
 
 And all around rich incense doth arise 
 
 From fragrant beds, where Flora 's children sleep ; 
 The while from younder calm and star-lit skies 
 
 Heav'n doth its pure, life-giving tear drops weep. 
 
 And we (the creatures of God's master mind) 
 
 For whom these charms sublimely sweet were 
 made. 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 With hearts by sacred influence refined, 
 Behold in every leaf His love portray 'd. 
 
 The ear, attuned to harmonizing sounds, 
 Drinks in the music from Aeolus ' lyre ; 
 
 Never a false, discordant note confounds 
 The melody that thus our souls inspires. 
 
 Changed are our hearts, and changed our every 
 
 thought, 
 While gazing on the daisy-spangled sod; 
 In each fair scene our spellbound souls are taught 
 To look from "Nature up to Nature's God." 
 
 Oh I ye whose sceptic minds refuse to see 
 Almighty wisdom in these things of earth, 
 
 Go, learn the love that fills eternity. 
 
 And bow to Him who gave to all things birth. 
 
 Let the immortal soul within you hear 
 
 And see the things that tend to make you wise ; 
 
 No more to infidelity give ear, 
 
 Nor heed the voice that lures and then destroys. 
 
 Go, pray that from thy mental eyes may fall 
 The carnal veil that dims thy purer sight; 
 
 Break, break the chains that do thy soul enthrall. 
 And walk ye forth as children of the light. 
 
 Belfast, 4th April, 1874. 
 
POEMS. 129 
 
 MAN'S MISSION. 
 Man's mission is to elevate 
 
 And raise his fellowman; 
 His duty to alleviate 
 
 The wants of all he can. 
 
 The true philanthropist is he, 
 Whose sympathetic care 
 
 Doth pierce the slums of misery, 
 Of darkness and despair. 
 
 To permeate the stagnant mind 
 With God's most sacred truth, 
 
 And weave an influence refined 
 Around the untaught youth. 
 
 Inspired with heavenly zeal he seeks 
 The outcast and distressed, 
 
 To whom in accents mild he speaks, 
 Of pure celestial rest. 
 
 The truest image of his God, 
 And of the brave most brave, 
 
 Is he who goeth out abroad 
 Humanity to save. 
 
 His heart of pity yearneth sore, 
 His soul is sad within, 
 And he beholds the helpless poor, 
 And drunkards bathed in sin. 
 
 . The wealthy prostitute their wealth 
 E^or worldly praise and fame ; 
 
130 POEMS, 
 
 The poor man goeth forth by stealth 
 To comfort and reclaim. 
 
 He buildeth not some high church tower, 
 
 Nor monumental stone, 
 But in the silent evening hour, 
 
 He wanders out alone. 
 
 Anxious to do his Master's will, 
 The sick receive his care. 
 And in the chamber dark and still. 
 He invokes God by prayer. 
 
 The prostrate listen to his voice. 
 While he expounds the Word, 
 
 That bids the wand 'ring soul rejoice, 
 And lean upon the Lord. 
 
 He knows the brevity of life, 
 
 The certainty of death; 
 And f eeleth, oh ! how sadly rife 
 The tempter's fetid breath. 
 
 He, conscious of the many snares. 
 
 That do beset man's way. 
 Goes fortified by faith and prayers. 
 
 To work while it is day. 
 
 Knowing that soon the night must come, 
 When hope with day hath fled, 
 
 And in the dark and silent tomb. 
 We mingle with the dead. 
 
POEMS, 131 
 
 Yea, thou thy brother's keeper art, 
 
 And God hath will'd that thou 
 Should 'st act no idle sleeper's part 
 
 With a brand upon thy brow. 
 
 ! brothers, sisters, exercise 
 
 The talents God hath given ; 
 In Christ's name bid thy fellow rise 
 And change his course for Heaven; 
 
 And thine the promises shall be. 
 
 When ends this mortal strife. 
 To wear throughout eternity, 
 
 The fadeless crown of life. 
 
 STANZA TO A FRIEND. 
 
 When sitting in thy room alone — 
 
 Thy solitude disturbed by none — 
 
 Dost thou permit thy thoughts to roam 
 
 Back to thy childhood and thy home? 
 
 Or have fresh scenes and forms removed 
 
 All that was loving and beloved? 
 
 Nor left upon thy heart one spot 
 
 With youth's dear glowing mem'ries fraught; 
 
 Or doth there frequently arise, 
 
 Unfetter 'd, 'fore thy mental eyes. 
 
 That season, when nor time nor care 
 
 Had marr'd those scenes so wondrous fair, 
 
 Ere yet the tears of grief were shed 
 
 O'er purest hopes and pleasures fled? 
 
 Say doth thy mem'ry still portray 
 
 Some ling 'ring charms of youthhood's day? 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 The old loved home, the meadows green, 
 The daisied fields — each lovely scene 
 Where we in happy days have trod. 
 And plucked the flow 'rets from the sod? 
 No fairer type of one so fair 
 E'er form'd a wreath for maiden's hair. 
 Than did those blossoms wild for thee. 
 Thou paragon of purity. 
 
 If, then, thy mem'ry loves to dwell 
 
 On days gone by, the charm-like spell 
 
 Of which in bondage sweet doth hold 
 
 My heart still captive in its hold — 
 
 Oh, then permit thy thoughts to stray 
 
 Betimes to youth's unclouded way; 
 
 And on the page of mem'ry trace 
 
 The smile that lit up frienship's face. 
 
 And o'er the broad and mighty sea 
 
 Breathe one sweet prayerful thought for me. 
 
 Belfast, 27 June, 1874. 
 
 TO KITTY CONNOR FROM HER WEAVER BOY. 
 
 Oh! Kitty darlin', I've been waitin'. 
 An' watchin' for your shadow, while 
 
 This poor fond heart with ardour beatin' 
 Long 'd for your sweet an ' sunny smile ; 
 
 But well I knew you would not tarry 
 For long within your lonesome room 
 While out beneath the sky so starry. 
 Your Willie waited in the broom. 
 
 There's many a rough an' clownish fellow — 
 Sure "Lowry White" is nothing more! — 
 
POEMS. 133 
 
 IMight dare to cross the broom hill yellow, 
 And hover at or near your door: 
 But oh ! I bless you, Kitty Connor, 
 
 That through the silence and the gloom 
 You come to meet — my blessings on her! — 
 Your Willie in the yellow broom. 
 
 I know I'm poor, but who is stronger? 
 
 Or who can labour more than I? 
 My days will sweeter be and longer. 
 
 While darling Kitty's standing nigh. 
 And oh ! my love, when we are married, 
 
 And yellow blossoms sweetly bloom. 
 Again we'll go where oft we've tarried. 
 
 And roam amidst the yellow broom. 
 
 Oh ! blessings on her voice so tender. 
 
 And blessings on her smile so sweet; 
 Mrj heaven from every harm defend her. 
 
 And every danger till we meet. 
 Sweet Kitty, when we are united. 
 
 And when at eve I quit my loom. 
 We two y\dll gather, still delighted, 
 
 Our garlands of the yellow broom. 
 26 September, 1866. 
 
 ODE. 
 To The Belfast Morning New^s. 
 
 Away, my disobedient muse, 
 And never more my mind abuse 
 With phantoms of poetic care, 
 Or shades of languishing despair. 
 
184 POEMS. 
 
 Away, I 'm proof against the blues 
 
 While I've my pipe and MORNING NEWS. 
 
 Away, all thoughts of pride and self. 
 
 And thirst for worldly fame and pelf; 
 
 Avaunt, ye tempters from the fold 
 
 Of Cupid, leave me to unfold 
 
 Those truer charms as I peruse. 
 
 Through wreaths of smoke, my MORNING NEWS. 
 
 Let sentimental dreamers dream 
 
 Of floating joys on Love's strange stream; 
 
 Its fatal depths I'll never sound — 
 
 Too many barks have run aground — 
 
 Too many faithful hearts lie drowned 
 
 Beneath, allured by nectar dews, 
 
 The which when beauty's smiles infuse. 
 
 Farewell, those friends I would not lose — 
 
 My fragrant pipe and MORNING NEWS. 
 
 My MORNING NEWS, my MORNING NEWS. 
 
 Thy clear type columns doth diffuse 
 
 A knowledge suiting every age — 
 
 The peer, the peasant, and the sage 
 
 Alike may con thy pages o'er. 
 
 From out thy pure exhaustless lore. 
 
 Oh! is there one who dare ignore 
 
 Thy powers to instruct, amuse? 
 
 My faithful pipe and MORNING NEWS. 
 
 Belfast, 8 July, 1874. 
 
POEMS. 135 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 After A Painful Illness. 
 
 Bless God, dear lady, for that He 
 
 Vouchsafed to hear our anxious prayer, 
 Nor from our pleadings turned away, 
 
 But deigned thy precious life to spare. 
 A condescension so divine 
 
 Demands our grateful, ceaseless praise; 
 Then let our hearts as one combine 
 
 The song of saving love to raise. 
 Prostrate nigh unto death wast thou. 
 
 And earthly skill no hope could give. 
 Thy soul's Physician came, ah! how 
 
 His loving kindness bid thee live! 
 Around thy feeble frame he flung 
 
 His arm of yearning tenderness. 
 Life's chords by sore disease unstrung, 
 
 His healing power with strength did bless. 
 Then trust to Him thy loving soul. 
 
 And in thy life his goodness show. 
 Ah ! may His love thy heart control, 
 
 And guide thy footsteps here below; 
 And when thy earthly course is run, 
 
 Dear lady, thou shalt hear the word, 
 ''Thou good and faithful one, w^ell done, 
 
 Enter the presence of thy Lord. ' ' 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 The Sun may shed his golden rays. 
 The Moon her silver light; 
 
 The Bard may chant his tender lays 
 From morning until night; 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 And high the light- wing 'd lark may soar 
 
 As though he'd reach the sky, 
 While he, exultant, seems to pour 
 
 From heaven his roundelay. 
 But though the sun and moon may shine 
 
 Refulgent o'er earth's scene. 
 And bard and lark their songs combine 
 
 To make this world serene — 
 Still o'er my heart one great black cloud. 
 
 So cold, so dark, so drear, 
 Falls like some dread, ill-omened shroud 
 
 O'er scenes and joys so dear. 
 My light of life hath passed away, 
 
 ^y joy and treasure gone, 
 My hopes lie shattered in decay. 
 
 And I am left alone. 
 Alone, yet not alone, for there 
 
 Remains one lone, sad ray. 
 Bursting from out my soul's despair — 
 
 'Tis faithful Memory. 
 Belfast, 9 December, 1871. 
 
 John Petrie, Born May 30, 1791, Co. Down, 
 Written for Mrs. Mojey, May 28, '74. 
 
 Brother, on this thy natal day, 
 
 We would our greetings send. 
 May He who guards the pilgrim's way 
 
 To thee His care extend; 
 And as for fourscore years and three 
 
 He hath thy strength sustained, 
 
POEMS. 137 
 
 May He His grace accord to thee 
 Till victory is gained. 
 
 A loving brother thou hast been, 
 
 A husband true and kind; 
 A father who, with instincts keen. 
 
 Imbued thy children's mind 
 With knowledge such as doth through life 
 
 The heart's impulse control; 
 And through the world's unhallowed strife, 
 
 Ennobleth the soul. 
 
 On this the morning of thy birth. 
 
 Brother, may joy be thine ; 
 Such as consoles us here on earth, 
 
 And springs from love divine. 
 And when earth's troubles are all unknown. 
 May we meet around the Great White Throne. 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 LIFE'S SHADOWS. 
 
 There's a longing in my heart, 
 
 A longing I can't explain, 
 And oft to my eyes the tears will start, 
 
 Of hopelessness and pain; 
 And my life consumes away, 
 
 In a bitter, keen despair. 
 The while my soul is a constant prey 
 
 To a crushing load of care. 
 
 I long for the days gone by. 
 
 For the cloudless sky of youth. 
 For the smile of one from out whose eye 
 
 Beamed the spotless soul of truth ; 
 I sigh for the rustic shade, 
 
 "Where never did grief intrude. 
 And wish me back in the scented glade. 
 With youth's companion, the lovely maid, 
 
 Who sweetened its solitude. 
 
 Ah, me ! I yearn once more 
 
 For a mother's anxious care. 
 To hear her voice, as in days of yore. 
 
 When she bathed my lips in prayer; 
 And to feel her soft caress, 
 
 As she'd take me on her knee. 
 And lovingly on my lips impress 
 The kiss of maternal tenderness. 
 
 So warm e'en in memory. 
 
 How dreadfully weary and sad. 
 
 And how lonely do I feel; 
 Bereft of all that is pure and glad, 
 
POEMS, 139 
 
 Life's shadows around me steal. 
 Ne'er again for me shall sing 
 
 The birds in the old oak tree ; 
 The sheeny splendour of lovely Spring 
 Can never more in its grandeur bring 
 
 A hope or a joy to me. 
 
 Oh! vainly, alas! I sigh, 
 
 And hopelessly do I weep, 
 For never until the day 1 die 
 
 Shall my soul in quiet sleep. 
 Then, Father of Heaven, ere 
 
 My race of Life be run, 
 Teach me, by grace and faith sincere. 
 
 To say. Thy will be done! 
 Belfast, May, 1873. 
 
 TO STELLA. 
 
 There is in sympathy a charm, 
 
 That takes away the sting of grief; 
 When hopes decay, and doubts alarm. 
 It gives a sad, subdued relief. 
 
 Thy words, ! Stella, sweetly fall. 
 As dew upon the sun-parched flowers ; 
 
 Such tender sympathies recall 
 
 Dear memories of my boyhood's hours,- 
 
 Ere yet the cold, rude blast of time 
 Had swept across the path of youth. 
 
 When unchilled fancy loved to climb 
 The golden sunbeams after truth. 
 
140 POEMS, 
 
 Ah ! then all nature seemed so fair, 
 
 Clad in the Springtide's gay attire; 
 My heart, a stranger still to care, 
 Felt but the glow of living fire — 
 
 Which Nature kindled in my breast, 
 And fed from out her richest store ; 
 
 Oh ! had I thus till now been blest, 
 I'd rest content, nor sigh for more. 
 
 Still do I love to feast my gaze 
 
 On beauteous Nature's smilng face; 
 
 To me her charms she aye displays. 
 
 Though none with me those beauties trace. 
 
 The dear, sweet sharer of each scene 
 Hath like a dreamy vision gone ; 
 
 And hopes once cherished, and serene. 
 Are dead — 'tis thus I feel alone. 
 
 Oh! Stella, Stella, did'st thou e'er 
 
 On some sweet flower bestow thy love. 
 
 Guarding its bloom with anxious care. 
 As if through it thy life did move? 
 
 Say hast thou watched it day by day. 
 Till in full fragrant beauty blown; 
 
 Nor, felt, on seeing its decay. 
 
 Thy heart grow sad, and faint, and lone ? 
 
POEMS. 141 
 
 But thou art right — there is a balm 
 
 By which the rudest storms we brave ; 
 
 A hope that gives a holy calm, 
 
 And leads our thoughts beyound the grave. 
 
 And as a lamp this hope will shine 
 
 While we on life 's rough seas are driven ; 
 
 A foretaste of the love divine 
 
 That shines eternally in heaven. 
 
 Belfast, July 2, 1873. 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
 APR 1 ^91