0^mj[ff 
 
(ORIGINAL.) 
 
 §mm * lisp 
 
 T 4f 
 
 AND 
 
 ^3 
 
 <=^ FRAGMENTS,^ 
 
 BY 
 
 PvlYRIAM BEDELL KRENCFI 
 
 TO GEORGE ARTHUR FRENCH, 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK, 
 WITH A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 
 A fe-cv of till' pieces in this collection have been already published 
 
 under the signature, Jennie M.^RVIN ; republished 
 
 here for the gratification of some of 
 
 the Author's friends. 
 
 
p5 17/'=? 
 .F7 
 
 Copyrighted nv M. 15. French, 1890. 
 
 M. J. ROTH, PRINT, 
 H98 Third Avenue, n.y. 
 
LIP 
 
 M- 
 
 TRUGGLTNG and pushing-, wrangling and strife ; 
 Methinks this indeed is a strange, busy Hfe. 
 If anyone doubts it, to him let me say : 
 Walk out in New York at noon some fine day. 
 On Broadway, or the Battery — go through Fulton street. 
 Or anywhere else down-town, — and you'll meet 
 Such wrangling and pushing, such struggle and strife ; 
 You'll then say with me — 'tis a strange, busy life. 
 
 Go, stand on the ^Bridge, and look down at the crowd, 
 And list to the din so fearfully loud ; — 
 
 While old Sol throws his rays in fierce, burning heat, 
 O'er the hurrying masses, now thronging the street. 
 Just look at the horses, the 'busses, the drays : 
 All in collision, they block up the ways. — 
 Then, I'm sure you'll aggree, 'tis a strange, busy life, 
 Full of wrangling and pushing, of struggle and strife. 
 
 Why rush on so madly — why hurry so fast .'' 
 
 Their days are all numbered and soon will be past. 
 
 But, tho' thousands die yearly, I still must confess — 
 The crowds look to-day not a single one less. 
 Oh, where are they now, the thousands long gone ? 
 And where will they go, the thousands unborn .^— 
 Who will yet come, to live through this strange, busy life. 
 Full of wrangling and pushing, of struggle and strife ? 
 
 *When this was written tliere was a bridge at Broadway and Fulton street, since removed. 
 
T© E£^^f^r^. 
 
 — -w On the death of her only child, w- — 
 
 OTHER, lift thy drooping head, 
 
 Think not of thy child as dead. 
 She is living, tho' away, 
 
 In the realms of brightest day. 
 Grieve no more, but dry thy tears ; 
 
 Think in all the coming years, 
 Free from suffering, free from pain, 
 
 Your great loss, her greater gain. 
 Too fair a flower on earth to dwell, 
 
 God took her, for he loved her well. 
 
y 
 
 HE 
 
 ASTo^pAY 
 
 WO children in a city home, 
 
 One warm and sultry summer day, 
 Oppressecl with heat, these little ones 
 
 Tried vainly with their toys to play. 
 At length the eldest of the two — 
 
 A bright eyed boy of seven years- 
 Came to his mother's side and said. 
 
 His face all wet with childish tears : 
 "O, take us to the country. Ma ! 
 
 I want to see the birds and flowers, 
 And chickens too, and play out-doors ; 
 
 'Tis so hot in these rooms of ours. 
 Willie wants to go there too. — 
 
 He is not well, dear Ma, you know.- 
 Please, ask Papa when he comes home, 
 
 If he says fes, then will you go ?'' 
 
 The mother kissed the upturned f,\ce 
 And fondly smiled upon her boy. 
 
 But when she answered "yes, we'll go," 
 The little ones were wild with joy. 
 
 They went, and 'mid the birds and flowers, 
 
 And bright green fields, did gaily roam 
 Till Autumn days were creeping on. 
 
 Then Papa came to take them home. 
 "O, let me go down to the pond, 
 
 Just for a little while to play," 
 Said Jimmy. "Ma, please let me go ; 
 
 Because you know, 7z'.y t/ie last day.'' 
 
(Prophetic words) it was the LAST DAY ; 
 
 The last of earthly days for him. — 
 Now, as I write, my heart is sad, 
 
 My eyes with unshed tears grow dim. 
 
 Dancinjj;^, laughing, off he ran 
 
 So full of life, of mirth and joy. — 
 Ah, when we saw that form again 
 
 Grim death had claimed our darling boy. 
 All pale and limp, they brought him back ; 
 
 Poor Mama shrieked in wildest woe : 
 "Oh, wake him up ! he can't be dead. — 
 
 My Jimmy ! Oh, I loved him so." 
 The doctors tried their utmost skill ; 
 
 But all in vain. Life's spark had lied. 
 Our boy — but now so full of health, — 
 
 Lay there before us, drowned and dead. 
 
 But I must draw the curtain now 
 
 Upon our awful grief; 
 For He who sent this bitter woe. 
 
 Alone can send relief. 
 
 My dear little nephew, 
 
 * JAMES X. AI.LEN. * 
 
 ivas droivned at Rloomingdale, N. J. 
 
^THER 
 
 'S^O 
 
 OME AND 
 
 3 
 
 OBER. 
 
 •: NE evening, passing through the street, 
 1^ I saw two ragged urchins meet. 
 
 Said one who seemed the eldest boy. 
 While every feature beamed with joy : 
 "John, Father 's home and sober ! " 
 
 The other answered : "Is that so ? 
 Then we'll have supper — that I know." 
 
 So off for home those two did start ; 
 
 But oh ! those words went to my heart : 
 "John, Father 's home and sober." 
 
 Back, swift as lightning, flew my mind 
 To that sad home just left behind, 
 
 Where dwelt my children and my wife 
 
 In poverty — a wretched life : 
 Father 's not home — nor sober ! 
 
 I thought of my poor Annie now. 
 Her grief- bowed form, her care-worn-brow ; 
 Then further back to days of bliss, 
 My Annie's smiles, my children's kiss — 
 Bright days, when I was sober ! 
 
My heart orrew very lone and sad, 
 Remorse and shame near drove me mad ; 
 I knew that I caused all their woe — 
 I, once so proud, now, sunk so low — 
 A drunkard — seldom sober ! 
 
 Fierce was the struggle — hard the fight. 
 Which raged within my soul that night. 
 I called for help — God, my prayer, 
 Chased from my breast the wild despair, 
 And helped me to keep sober. 
 
 From rum, I vowed I would abstain, 
 And touch the poison ne'er again. 
 
 I've kept that promise firm, — and they. 
 My happy children, now can say ; 
 "Our father 's home — and sober." 
 
 v^ 
 
The ^ngry D/tan. 
 
 OU\G Mr. Cuff got in a huff upon a rainy day ; 
 And full of strife, went to his wife, and unkind words did say. 
 She for a while tried pleasant smile and gentle means to use ; 
 Then tired out, began to pout at undeserved abuse. 
 She first said, " Dear, I pray you hear, just let me speak to you ; ' 
 She then said, " Cuff, you've said enough, now stop, I pray you do !' 
 He would not hear, but, like a bear, did bellow, stamp and fume ; 
 Then Mrs. Cuff, quite right enough, arose and left the room. 
 So she went out, and let him shout and rave and scold alone ; 
 When she returned no anger burned, he calm and sweet had grown. 
 Now all you wives who lead such lives, do like her, if you can : 
 Pray, don't scold back, just clear the track for such an angry man ! 
 
 The t Grh¥es + ht « Hempstehd. 
 
 n 
 
 < )W calmly do my loved ones sleep 
 In their beds, so dark and deep ! 
 
 While standing lonel}- here, I weep 
 
 O'er their graves at Hempstead. 
 
 Parents, brothers, sister dear, 
 
 All are resting sweetly here ; 
 
 Nor heed the lone one, mourning near 
 
 Their cherished graves at Hempstead. 
 
 Step gently, stranger, o'er the ground. 
 
 And blow ye breezes softly round ; 
 
 A loved one rests within each mound — 
 
 Each sacred grave at Hempstead. 
 
 Sleep on, dear ones, till time has fled. 
 When Gabriel's trump shall wake the dead. 
 Then shall arise each lowly head 
 From out the graves at Hempstead. 
 
lue 
 
 omaas 
 
 orphan in childhood — the youngest of five, 
 Sickly, and helpless, why did she survive ? 
 They all wished her dead, the troublesome elf- 
 in the years that came after, she oft' wished it herself. 
 But she lived and she grew — as such little ones do — 
 In a very short time, she was made useful too — 
 Could run errands, mind babies, her nephews and nieces ; 
 Could do many more things, as her small strength increases. 
 Soon learned to wash dishes, do dusting and sweeping. 
 Even then, when alone, she did plenty of weeping. 
 For books she'd a passion, for study, and learning ; 
 To gain education her heart was e'er burning. 
 But this could not be ; for almost without knowing. 
 She developed a genius for planing, and sewing ; 
 Boys' clothing could make as well as a tailor. 
 Her bonnets and dresses were never a failure. 
 A good nurse in sickness ; in health a kind friend ; 
 She was kept ever busy —right on to the end. 
 No child called her mother, no man called her wife. 
 Yet of many a mother, she brightened the life ; 
 Tho', her own had small brightness. 
 
 From cradle to grave 
 She'd the heart of a poet ; the life of a slave. 
 
/^ 
 
 
 
 (Q UESTIO NINGS. 
 
 FEW short }-ear.s and we'll be gone, 
 
 All earthly ties must sever. 
 The places on earth, which know us now, 
 
 Will know us no nnore forever ; 
 And others will come to fill each void — 
 
 Yes, other forms and faces 
 Will gather and act on life's vast stage, 
 
 And fill our vacant places. 
 While we lie mouldering into dust 
 
 The proudest head laid low, 
 Uncared for, forgotten by those who live ; 
 
 And the\% in their time, must go. 
 Alas, why is it so .'' 
 I strive to conquer each sinful doubt, 
 
 But still my heart cries, " Why ? " 
 " Oh, why need we thus have lived and loved, 
 
 Since all must surely die .' " 
 
 A nd God 7'oiichsafcs reply, — 
 " Ye do not die ; they are not dead. 
 
 But just across death's river ; 
 That dark stream cannot separate 
 
 God's loving ones forever. 
 What I do, ye cannot know now, 
 
 Your questionings all are vain, 
 Trust me, be faithful to the end. 
 
 Then I will make all things plain." 
 
SoD's Book 
 
 nf EAVENLY Jesus, pure and mild, 
 w L Blessed Mary's Holy Child, 
 Kindly listen while I pray, 
 
 Oh, take my every sin away ! 
 
 I do not ask for earthly fame, 
 But oh. I pray to have my name 
 Recorded in thy Book above, 
 
 There written by a Saviour's love. 
 
 Then give me not my portion here, 
 Hut grant that I with joy may hear 
 Thy words of welcome at the last. 
 
 When all of time and earth are past. 
 
-^^; ^U I\c:kaway Beach. 1^ 
 
 LASH on flash, the lightning gleaming. 
 Through the inky blackness streaming ; 
 Peal on peal, the thunder breaks, 
 Till Earth to her foundation shakes ; 
 Thus Heaven's artillery loudly roaring. 
 While o'er the Earth in torrents pouring 
 The rain in deluge falls. 
 
 The wild winds shriek, like spirits lost, 
 Thro' bending forests, tempest tost. 
 The furious waves roll mountains high : 
 Dash on the shore with angry cry ; 
 While man and beast shrink back with fear, 
 Tills war of elements to hear. 
 This fearful strife appals. 
 
 But, thanks to God, His mightier power 
 Can rule e'en in this dreadful hour. 
 He holds the winds within his hand ; 
 He rules the Heavens, the Sea. the Land ; 
 When He commands them : " Peace, be still 
 They must obey the Master's will. 
 All bow to Natures God. 
 
f G 3/[y ©Id 'Writing ©eslc. 
 
 ^i^^r" EAR old desk, how many hopes 
 mh^-* And joys and griefs of mine 
 
 °J !i\^(0"^'-' Have been confided to thy care, 
 
 Hid 'neath this lid of thine ! 
 
 In youth, when hope and trust were strong, 
 This heart was light and free ; 
 
 I told you all my joys, and found 
 A faithful friend in thee. 
 
 When youth and youthful joys had fled. 
 When grief and sorrow came ; 
 
 To thee I made my sad complaints, 
 And found you still the same. 
 
 When other hands shall lift thy lid. 
 
 My secrets from thee take, 
 O, may they gently deal with them 
 
 And thee too. for my sake ! 
 
RBl^BLp^f 
 
 21st Chapter 
 
 Heaven and Earth, both new I saw ; 
 The old worlds past to come no more. 
 And O, the wond'rous truth to tell : 
 God with his People there did dwell. 
 
 In that bright world, not one shall die ! 
 He wipes the tears from every eye. 
 There, not one can suffer pain ; 
 No sorrow reach them e'er again. 
 
 All former things are passed from view 
 Behold ! He maketh all things new. 
 The Alpha and Omega see ! 
 " I am the First and Last," says He. 
 
 " To him who is athirst, will I 
 •Give drink from fountains never dry. 
 'To him who overcomes, I'll give 
 'With Me in that bright world to live. 
 'And I his friend and God will be, 
 'And he shall be a son to Me."— 
 
In that new city, pure and bright, 
 Which needs no sun, for God its light 
 Will fill it with a radiance rare, 
 All glorious bright. — No night is there. 
 
 And all day long the pearly gate 
 Is left ajar, that none need wait ; 
 But all who will may enter in, 
 If they but cast away their sin, 
 And write their names b\' deeds of love 
 In the Lamb's Book, kept Above. 
 
Shrig^mag Greefliif 
 
 December 2^t/i, iSyS. 
 
 '^M^^ 
 
 MERRY Christmas, Freddie, 
 
 Full of life, and hope, and joy ! 
 This is thy mother's greeting 
 
 To you, her darling boy. 
 And could thy mother have her wish. 
 
 No cloud would e'er arise 
 To dark the sunshine of thy life, 
 
 Or dim its brightest skies. 
 But life is not all sunshine, — 
 
 'Tis best that it is so. 
 Else we would ne'er desire a home 
 
 Where purer radiance glow. — 
 Be sure the great wise ruler 
 
 Will do for us the best. 
 If we but do our duty here 
 
 And trust to Him the rest. 
 Then gladly take life's sunshine. 
 
 Its shadows bravely bear ; 
 We will soon be home, dear Freddie, 
 
 And all is brightness there. 
 Do you remember, Freddie, 
 
 The sweet Christmas days gone by .' 
 When we sang our hymns together : 
 Our dear Georgie, you, and I ! — 
 
When mother told the story 
 
 Of the Holy Christ Child's birth : 
 IIovv He came down from glory 
 
 To dwell with us on earth. 
 And how He lived so lowly here 
 
 And died, our souls to save, 
 And how He suffered for us, 
 
 And triumphed o'er the grave. — 
 Returned then to His glorious home, 
 
 There to prepare a place 
 For all who love and serve Him here, 
 
 And trust His heavenly grace. 
 O, don't forget those teachings, 
 
 My boy, where'er you roam ; 
 Remember always, Freddie, 
 
 This world is not our home. 
 Then gladly take life's sunshine, 
 
 Its shadows bravely bear ; 
 We will soon be home, dear Freddie, 
 
 And all is brightness there. 
 
<7" 
 
 ^lo'tlier'g Prayer 
 
 H, hear me now ! Thou God, to whom 
 
 None ever plead in vain ; 
 Bind up this aching heart of mine, 
 
 So full of grief and pain. 
 Oh God ! my child, my boy, for whom 
 
 I've toiled and prayed so long, 
 Has left the path of virtue's ways 
 
 And joined the downward throng. 
 
 But tho' he 's strayed from truth and right. 
 
 In pity. Lord, forgive ! 
 Bring back the wanderer to Thy fold 
 
 And bid the sinner live. 
 Let not the tempter lead him down 
 
 To ruin, dark and deep. — 
 Oh, from the fate of wicked men 
 
 My child, my darling keep. - 
 Give him repentance, true, sincere. 
 
 Before too late it be. 
 Bring back my boy — for Jesus sake — 
 
 To truth, to right, and Thee. 
 
 .^>£0-^x - 
 
yTy QIalse s Qirlend. 
 
 II, HAD it been a foe or a stranger 
 
 In scorn and derision, I'd smile ; 
 But you ! my dear friend and companion, 
 Whom I've loved all so truly the while. 
 
 We have taken sweet council together ; 
 
 In friendship and love we have talked ; 
 Sweet communion oft held with each other 
 
 As to the house of our God we have walked. 
 
 And yet in my heart I don't hate thee, 
 
 Don't wish for thy downfall or woe. 
 May death not come too hastily upon thee ; 
 
 God give thee repentance to know. 
 Ere too late, to avail for thy pardon, 
 
 True repentance for sin may He send. 
 I forgive ; I pray God to forgive thee, 
 
 My enemy, — once my dear friend. 
 
 Part of 55th Psalm. 
 
^ina's - Torgiveuess. 
 
 A Southern Incident. 
 
 I^ARSON, dat nigger been 'busin me 
 Been nokin me erbout, 
 
 -ws 
 
 ' ^ c) y' 
 
 Qi^^3 And callin names, and cussm ; 
 
 At las' he chucked me out. 
 Dis time I can't. I won't forgib, 
 
 I hate 'im worse dan pisen. 
 I mean to git de law on 'im 
 
 And send 'im way to priseu.' 
 
 "Why, Dina ! you're a Christian, 
 
 You must be good and true,— 
 Must love your enemies— pray for them, 
 
 No matter what they do. 
 If good for evil you return. 
 
 In the Bible I have read. 
 That coals ot fire you thus may heap 
 
 Upon the sinner's head." 
 
 "Well, tank you Parson, if dat's so 
 
 Den I'll go home contented. 
 Some night I'll make 'im squirm and yell 
 
 And wish dat he had 'pented. 
 Yes, 1 11 forgib and pray for 'im ; 
 And when the coals git red, 
 I'll take a subble full and pour 'em 
 
 Right atop his hed. 
 Yes, 'deed I will ! HI make dat nigger 
 Wish shure dat he was dead." 
 
+ MPB * I^PMSD, + 
 
 BY EUGENE LEON, 
 
 IN NEW YORK WEEKLY. 
 
 V friends, you'll think it strange, I fear, 
 I do upon my life, 
 That I before you should appear, 
 
 And say, " I want a wife ! " 
 She must be neither tall nor short, 
 
 From five to five feet four ; 
 Will do to be a little less. 
 Or e'en a trifle more. 
 I do not wish for beauty great. 
 
 Or form of fairest mould. 
 But, I desire above all else, 
 • She ma\' not be a scold. 
 Now, it she be a lady learned, 
 
 And of a well frought mind. 
 She need not have accomplishments. 
 But must be good and kind. 
 I'm five feet ten, my form is good, my eyes are bright and blue 
 My hair is dark, and in my face dwells every healthy hue. 
 Now, if a lady (having rocks) 
 
 Myself desires to see, 
 A note put in the lampost box 
 Will come allrigt to me. 
 
r.ngMer •*■ io ■«■ ' 'Wik *■ Wangled 
 
 BV MYRIAM FRENCH 
 
 IN N.Y. WEEKLY, "jENNIE MARVIN." 
 
 ^UGENE, yoLi say, "you want a wife" — I think that I will do ; 
 j^' Since rocks are all she needs to have, I've got thcin, not a few. 
 ^ I am not tall, nor very short, just five feet in my hose ; 
 
 My hair is red, my eyes are green, and turn-up is my nose. 
 I'm glad that beauty you despise, with forms of fairest mould, 
 I'm humpbacked, ugly, lame, and lean ; but then I never scold. 
 
 Accomplishments } ou do not want, that pleases me, my honey, — 
 For I've not got a single one, but then I've lots of money. 
 I am a lady learned, you see, and of a well frought mind, 
 And if no one opposes me, I'm very good and kind. 
 Now, tho' I lack accomplishments, and own I'm rather plain — 
 I love the beautiful, and you are not the least bit vain. 
 
 But, O, you must be lovely, pet — if all you say be true — 
 About your form, your hues, your hair, your eyes so bright and blue 
 I'm sure we'll please each other well, so answer right away — 
 ^Ve'll finish up this business quick, say. shall I uauic the d<iy ? 
 
vt^ 
 
 GpoMin(? 91(1, -^ 
 
 c('/r[|\5S o er the past my memory strays, 
 
 'w/(<(\Ci) , ... , 
 
 (T^l-j^ Kecalhng- bygone years ; 
 
 The fond hopes fled, the loved ones dead, 
 
 Mine eyes melt into tears. 
 
 It frets me not that my brown hair 
 
 With silver gray is sprinkled, 
 Nor yet because my once smooth brow 
 
 Is faded now and wrinkled. 
 'Tis not the thought of growing old. 
 
 Nor loss of youth or beauty ; 
 But disappoints, life's mistakes. 
 
 And oft. neglected duty. 
 Had I accomplished all, or half, 
 
 I hoped when young to do, 
 Methinks I would not feel so sad 
 
 To take this backward view. 
 
y 
 
 .„.o 
 
 
 CK a (gid o 
 
 rr) 
 
 eau. 
 
 ^^iKm'- rich old miser, fat and sixty, 
 
 !^ L-ame a courtinef me one day. 
 
 'II 
 
 I thought he was a friend of Papa's, 
 
 And tried to please him everyway. 
 
 Tlien, fancy, if you can, my feelings, 
 
 When this gout)' did begin 
 To tell me, O ! how much he loved me. 
 
 And how much he had of tin ! 
 
 I told him I would never wed him, 
 
 Said he was too old and fat, 
 And much more would have said ; but Papa 
 
 Thundered, "Stop, no more of that." 
 
 Then he told this little, big man, 
 
 Very short and very wide, 
 I should marry him, for certain ; 
 
 In one month should be his bride. 
 
 Whew ! thought I, you two old fogies 
 Think to have things all your way. 
 
 But you'll find, or I'm mistaken. 
 Someone else will have a say. 
 
I straii^iitway, wrote a note to Charley, 
 Telling^ him the whole affair. 
 
 He answered, " Meet me in the laiVD, love, 
 And we'll beat this precious pair." 
 
 We met, as twilight gathered round us, 
 My heart and conscience in a strife ; 
 
 I went with Charley to ovn- Parson's, 
 
 Who quickly made us man and wife. 
 
 Next day the fat man looked quite foolish. 
 And my father raved and swore ; 
 
 Rut he at last forgave us kindly, 
 
 And now my troubles all are o'er. 
 
N 1 O ^lABELv. *^ 
 
 
 BloMepg ? Paney * BaL 
 
 
 ; I . r'')|iJAY ! here are invitations — for you, and one, and all, 
 /%.'!■■ --^ Such charming invitations. To the flowers' fancy ball, 
 ^^#<: To be held at Garden City — the elite will all be there ; 
 Lords Mirtle, Fern and Ivy, and Lady Maidenhair, 
 Prince Feathers and Sir Goldenrod, 
 Lord Coxcomb, and his bride, the lovely Lady Lily, 
 
 And many more beside, 
 Miss Rose, the belle and beauty, Miss Daisy bright and fair 
 And darling little Buttercup, with Primrose, will be there. 
 Miss Marigold the stately, with Pansy by her side, 
 And sweetest little Snowdrop, our lovely village pride. 
 There will be your own sweet William, 
 
 My Johnny Jumpup too. 
 And that dear ragged Sailor, who will bring along his crew. 
 And jolly Batchelor Button, to all our hearts so dear ; 
 And many, many others I cannot mention here. 
 
 Dear May, be ready early, I'll call for v'cu at noon ; 
 And we will have a merry time ! 
 
 Your ever loving, 
 
 JUNK. 
 
agfe Greeting. 
 
 ^o lilaltie, our "Jpaby. 
 
 )7|t.Y life is almost ended, 
 
 While yours is just begun, 
 But time will swiftly pass for all, 
 For all will soon be done. 
 Improve the years, my darling — 
 
 As one by one they're past, — 
 And may each Easter bring to you 
 
 Joys brighter than the last. 
 Lay treasure up in Heaven, 
 
 Take Christ for friend and guide ; 
 Then He will give you at the last 
 An endless Eastertide. 
 
 -,,^=^7. 
 
 3/C'^y Heaven's light, 
 ^^11 pure and bright, 
 73e round thy pathway ever ; 
 ^very joy be thine while here, 
 _]^ord bless and keep my Mabel dear, 
 Forever ! 
 
WEE * BRIERD 
 
 Uhey were chums in their boyhood, and friends in their youth, 
 Their hearts knit together in honor and truth ; 
 And many times over to each other they swore, 
 They'd be true to their friendship till time was no more. 
 In each undertaking one failed, while the other 
 Was ever successful — one way or another. 
 
 One went to the War, vvas wounded, unhealthy ; 
 The other staid home, was prosperous, grew wealthy. 
 
 At length said the poor man : " I'll go to my friend ; 
 Dear Jack wont refuse, no ; how gladly he'll lend — 
 A very few dollars are all I shall need. 
 And in this, my last work, I'm sure to succeed." 
 
 " It's a shaky investment, I tell you, my friend. 
 On an unpublished book I have nothing to lend ; 
 But. I remember old times — and this I will do — 
 If it prove a success, I'll buy a volume or two ; 
 
 But Im careful of money— just learning to live." 
 Said the other, " Well, I'll try to learn, /lotu to forgive r 
 Thus they parted in anger, each one went his way, 
 To meet never again, from that unhappy day. 
 Both sleep in the grave-yard, their labors all past ; 
 The rich and the poor equal ground find at last. 
 
©n, Sendinp an, D^^cisler d-ard. 
 
 v\t:AR Annie, please accept this card 
 In grateful love I send ; 
 ($_^^ In memory of your kindness past, 
 To one who was your friend. 
 God bless you for each kindly deed, 
 Each gentle word of cheer ; 
 And give you friends in every need — 
 Kind friends, who love you dear. 
 God give you joy this Eastertide, 
 
 And many, many another. 
 In your kind prayers remember me. 
 His lone, heart-broken viother ! 
 
 -^i 'TIS HARD. 1^ 
 
 IS hard to give up every wish. 
 Be balked in each endeavor ; 
 
 To meet but covert sneers, and feel 
 One's life-work lost forever. 
 
 Hut harder far, it is to part — 
 
 With loved friends, true and tried ; 
 
 To bow one's head in bitter grief,' 
 And say : A /as, tJiey died. 
 
^e$U3 ^[abc$ Ifje 1|}iilom'5 ^dit. 
 
 
 ^IPl'l' '"^ ^^^ drew nif^h to Nain's Gate, 
 
 mm. A -1 '• 1 1- 
 
 5^pMa^a A widow s darliii"' son 
 
 
 
 Was carried forth to burial ; 
 He was her only one. 
 Tho' mail}' people 'round her crowd 
 
 Christ knows her lonely lot ; 
 Divine compassion fills His heart, 
 He gently sa\-s, " IVi-f/? not / " 
 
 He lays His hand upon the bier : 
 
 The bearers all stand still ; 
 Then with resistless firm command 
 
 He speaks His mii^hty will. 
 " Young man, I say to thee. Arise/" — 
 
 l)ack came the pulse of youth, 
 In throbing' life through heart and brain 
 
 To prove H/s power and truth. 
 
 The young man rose upon his bier — 
 And spake to those around. 
 
 Christ gave him to his mother dear ; 
 Her lost, again was found. 
 
How must her heart have leaped with joy, 
 
 Her gratitude how great 
 To Him, who gave her back her boy, 
 
 From such a dismal fate ! 
 
 He raised the dead, He healed the sick. 
 
 He caused the blind to see ; 
 At His command, the devils fled, 
 
 And left their captives free. 
 Great fear then fell on all around ; 
 
 To God they Glory gave. 
 Who thus his people visited — 
 
 From sin and death to save. 
 
 St . Luke : — 7/// Chapter ; 12th to i-jtii Verses. 
 
 ^.o^>. 
 
o Qeorge. 
 
 On his 2ist Birtlidav. 
 
 "i"^^ 
 
 ?H, can it be, that this is he, 
 
 My little plague and joy ! 
 Light of my home, joy of my heart. 
 My little Georgie boy. 
 
 Dear child, it seems so short a time 
 Since you were this to me ; 
 
 The time has passed so very fast, 
 It seems it cannot be. 
 
 And you are now to manhood grown — 
 
 Just twenty-one to- day ; 
 Now, tho' I love you more, I feel 
 
 My boy has passed away. 
 
 With anxious care and constant love 
 I've watched o'er you, my son. 
 
 Thro' all those years, and now I know 
 My task is almost done. 
 
 I truly thank my God to-day, 
 
 That I have lived to see 
 The first-born darling of my youth 
 
 Gain his majority. 
 
The path thy youthful feet have trod 
 
 Up to the present day 
 Has not been hard, for mother's love 
 
 The roughness smoothed away. 
 
 Life's battles all before you lie — 
 Go forth, my boy, to fight ; 
 
 Trust in thy mother's (ifod and thine — 
 And battle for the right. 
 
 E'en though in the fiercest of the fight 
 Thy manly form m.ay bend. 
 
 Trust God, and he will give thee aid 
 And victory in the end. 
 
^ ronely ^/Tether's Q 
 
 orrow. 
 
 p^n^r 
 
 
 V lonely heart in helpless grief, cries out in agony, 
 ^umr4 ^ Oh, Freddie ! Oh, my son, my so/i, would I had died for thee ! 
 .^^ You say such grief is sinful ; well, sinful it may be ; 
 
 1^ 
 
 But Jesus pities sinners, 1 know He pities me. 
 
 He did not chide the mother, whom He met at Nain's gate ; 
 Mourning, grieving for her son, his early hapless fate. 
 To that lone heart He gently said, in accents soft and mild : 
 " Weep //^/," — to /ii'in, " Young man, arise" then gave her back her child. 
 
 Then chide not thou my grief and tears, my mourning for my Fred. 
 Christ knows my sad and lonely heart. He wept o'er Laz'rus' death, 
 I know not why the Master wept, having the power to save 
 His loved ones from the grasp of death, and raise them from the grave. 
 
 But this I know, that He will raise my darling boy again. 
 Not to this life of grief and care, of sorrow, sin and pain ; 
 But to that glorious life above, that happy Home of Joy — 
 Where S.iints and Angels dwell in love, He'll give me back my boy. 
 
 My Freddie died October lyi/t, iS8S. 
 
Sone on 3{is ^ast (^ourncij. 
 
 jj j Vy, f I . I long for }'ou, Freddie, and nniss you, 
 A t /.•' Feel your loss just as sadly to-day — 
 
 As Fve longed for you, darling, and missed you 
 Every day since you first went away. 
 
 When you used to go off on a journey, 
 
 How my lo\ing heart watched for each mail. 
 What joy when you wrote you were coming, 
 " Fll be home to-night, Ma', without fail." 
 
 Now, alone in my sorrow Fm weeping. 
 My heart seems bereft of all joy. 
 
 I so long for your presence, my darling, 
 Oh, I miss you so sadly, my boy ! 
 
 But our partings and meetings are over, 
 
 I may look for a letter in vain, 
 For you've gone on }our very last journey, 
 
 To return to m.e never again. 
 
QhaU^Wr^J^o^vV PacK (Qihzr Ql^ere? 
 
 3) 
 
 KAR Jiminie, the stars are shining bright 
 In the azure sky to-night : 
 All around is bright and fair ; 
 
 But where are you, my bo)-, oh where ? 
 Thy loved form sleeps beneath the sod, 
 Thy spirit has gone home to God. 
 Can thy blue eyes, full of love, 
 Look down upon us from above ? 
 Dost wait to greet us on that shore. 
 As one by one we are passing o'er ? 
 Has thy dear mother found her son. 
 Her dearly loved, her only one ? 
 And that last dear one gone from earth. 
 Has she too gained a Heavenly birth ? 
 Our darling Vina, bright and fair. 
 Oh, Jimmie, has she joined you there ? 
 
 -^ WHY U + KEEP UT>- 
 
 You ask me why I keep that box ? So ugly as it is ; 
 I care for it and keep it, because it once was His. 
 And all His small belongings, tho' worthless they may be 
 To those who did not love Him so. are very dear to me. 
 
To 3\/Lv 3A ether in 3{'eaYeri. 
 
 ♦ ^ 
 
 "*W^^t. EAR mother, 'tis twenty years to-day, 
 
 ^^ |>, Since you were called from earth away 
 
 ^ In bitter anguish I did pray 
 ^ To God to take me too. 
 
 'Twas wrong, but oh ! I loved you so. 
 And my young heart was full of woe, 
 I could not bear to have you go — 
 And leave me all alone. 
 
 And now, though all these years have fled, 
 Since you were numbered with the dead, 
 I long to lay my weary head 
 Upon thy faithful breast. 
 
 For oh ! my gentle mother mild — 
 So many sorrows, fierce and wild — 
 In all those years have bowed thy child, 
 In sadness, grief and tears. 
 
 On earth I find no love like thine, 
 To cheer me on, dear mother mine, 
 Methinks the nearest to Divine 
 Is holy Mother Love. 
 
My dear Neplieiv, 
 
 WILLIAM A. NELSON. 
 
 Died October ijt/i, iSSg. 
 
 rflLLIE, how our hearts c\\\n<^ round }^ou, 
 
 How we loved our darhug boy ; 
 And oh, WilHe, how we miss you 
 
 In this world of little joy ! 
 Thy lone father mourns thee sorely 
 
 And can find no comfort here ; 
 Thou wast his all, his last earth treasure — 
 
 His own beloved Willie dear. 
 Wife and children long gone from him ; 
 
 You alone were with him left 
 A few short years, now gone to meet them ; 
 
 Truly he is sore bereft. 
 His last words were, "Come, William Nelson, 
 
 To those mansions bright on high, 
 Prepared by God, for those who love Him — 
 
 Glorious home, where none can die ! " 
 
 Then cheer thee, lonely hearted father, 
 Look above — where they are gone ; 
 
 Time is short, thou soon may'st meet them 
 In that home, where none can mourn. 
 
 ^I:m, 
 
god- 
 
 olisKed fiev.'el. 
 
 HKN God makes up his jewels, 
 Some there are will shine 
 With fairest, brii^htest lustre, 
 In that pure light Divine, 
 Who, here despised and hidden ; 
 Pure diamonds in the rough, 
 Unknown, they fill their mission ; 
 Gud knoivs them, thafs enough. 
 Then do not be discouraged 
 However low thy lot, — 
 When God makes up his jewels 
 Thou slialt not be forgot. 
 
^ ffln 
 
 CANNOT tell just how it is — 
 tjl^ How changed all things seem, 
 
 i My life has been — since Willie died — a dream, 
 7^: A long, sad dream. 
 
 t I go about my work each day, I try to do each duty ; 
 For strength and grace I often pray. 
 But life has lost all beauty. 
 Ambition, hope, all, all are dead ; 
 They fled when he was taken. 
 
 My darling ! Oh, my precious boy ! 
 I feel so lone, forsaken ! 
 But God is good, yes, ever good, and Christ is all my stay, 
 His spirit bright will give me light 
 To cheer my lonely way ; 
 And soon those pearly gates ajar 
 Will open wide for me ; 
 And I shall gladly enter in, and all the dear ones see. 
 Forever blest, in peace and rest — 
 With God eternally. 
 
 Written for his aunt and adopted niothei 
 
 MRS. CATHERINE A. BRAMBLE. 
 
t JE§U§' * PRp^SR, + 
 
 John, 17tln Chapter. 
 
 o^J.L^ATHER, He said, I pray for those whom Thou hast given me 
 (jT^- From out the world, I leave them now 
 Q_^3 And come again to Thee. 
 
 btd Thy word of truth I've given to them, and kept them in Thy name. 
 ' I ask Thee not to take them hence, 
 
 But keep them still the same. 
 And not alone for these I pray, my own companions dear, 
 But for all those, who through their word 
 
 Believe my teaching here. 
 Father, I will that where I am, these also there may be, 
 Behold my Glory — share the love 
 Thou ever oravest to me. 
 
 l^EMEMBER, 
 
 HEN I lie in m)' coffin bed, 
 
 Wreath not fresh flowers 'round my head, 
 To mock the sunken features — dead. 
 
 And when you lay me in the tomb. 
 
 Let not your hearts be filled with gloom : 
 For all who seek in Heaven there's room. 
 
 There let me rest, but do not weep : 
 He giveth His beloved sleep — 
 The soul that trusts Him, He will keep. 
 REM KM BE U ! 
 
REV. CALEe C. CLAF>R. 
 
 ^Q'^^Wk is fTone ! Oh, \v( 
 
 mm :..... ,.:„. ..:„., 
 
 'e shall miss him, 
 Our kind friend and Pastor dear. 
 >§^ See the congregation mourning, 
 
 Children weeping 'round his bier. 
 Faithful worker in God's pasture — 
 
 Feeding sheep and lambkins too, 
 Caring for God's poor and needy, 
 Ever faithful, ever true ! 
 
 Though great our loss thy gain is greater. 
 
 Thou didst labor long and well. 
 The Glories bright, which now await thee. 
 
 Mortal tongue can never tell. 
 No eye, no ear, hath seen or heard, 
 
 No mortal mind can understand 
 The glories of the great Eternal, 
 
 The joys of our Emanuel's land. 
 
 Asleep in Jesus thou art resting 
 
 With the Saints in Paradise — 
 Till the Master comes to call thee, 
 Then with joy shalt thou arise ; 
 
 Arise to know the full fruition, 
 Of the faith by Jesus taught ; 
 
 Arise in triumph through salvation, 
 By the blood of Jesus bought. 
 
* pLe 
 
 ^p/rTU)LONE with God, wlien none are near 
 ,^^l%^ To mark the ecroan, the fallincr tear, 
 ^^^^ We hend the knee - the head we bow 
 And pray for Grace — as I do now ; 
 With riven heart, thus bendifig low 
 I pour out all my grief and woe, 
 
 To Him who hears the raven's cry — 
 I knovv^ He will not pass me by. 
 
 ^^-- 
 
 And Fie can heal the wounded heart. 
 Find balm for every cruel smart. 
 He says : " Come, weary ones, to me ; 
 Ye heavy laden I will free. 
 Come, I will give you rest." 
 
^. 
 
 }]z \o(luthGr^ ^pology, 
 
 gYiij'|\*^U sa\' I was a Poet born, 
 ^jjp^:;^^^ M}' friends, this may be so ; 
 I may have had some talent once, 
 Hut this I surely know — 
 
 That if Dame Nature at ni)' biith - 
 A Poet meant of me, 
 Then circumstances after 
 
 Changed her plans entirely. 
 For mine has been a checkered life. 
 
 With less of joy than pain ; 
 But this is here the lot of most, 
 
 So I will not complain. 
 And now, dear friends, accept this book 
 As 'tis done at your desire. - - 
 
 Don't criticise. 
 Excuse all faults ; 
 
 While I bow, and retire. 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 lllliliiiiil 
 
 018 597 274 4