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%*JK/SUAJLAJ /(ju^yliMO Zl^v-oi^L^ 
 
JKSapsUbe jWusitngg 
 
 A LITTLE VOLUME OF VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES NEWTON WOOD 
 
 1911 
 
 JOURNAL PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 Kirksviilc, Missouri 
 

 Copyrighted 1911 by 
 Chakles Newton - Wood 
 
 (gCI.A2!>2433 
 
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Ta that gaod nnujraus of friends of His and mim itrto 
 
 hum gladlg helped a needg brother 
 
 this *ralnnte is affeetianateb 
 
 gedirated 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 ^IT'HIS little book is issued on the completion of fifteen 
 ^£l / years' consecutive service as a Methodist Preacher 
 in the Kirksville District. 
 
 The Author wishes it to speak for him in the homes of 
 his dear friends. If they find here thoughts that shall 
 strengthen faith, remove care or wreathe a face in smiles, 
 he is well repaid for any effort which its production cost. 
 He sincerely trusts that good and only good shall come from 
 its possession and perusal. 
 
 La Plata, Mo., May 25, 1911. 
 
 The Author. 
 
apgibe Jflugtng& 
 
 HIDE AND SEEK. 
 
 "Bushel o' wheat, bushel o' rye" — 
 
 Have I dreamed those days or passed them by? 
 It seems to me as I think them o'er, 
 
 I can still hear the feet on the old barn floor 
 And a clear voiced urchin blithely cry: 
 
 "Bushel o' wheat, bushel o' rye, 
 All 'taint hid holler T!" 
 
 Slanting sun on a summer day, 
 
 Mow piled high with the scented hay, 
 
 Red rose flashing on childhood's cheek — 
 Now for a game of "hide and seek;" 
 
 Count a hundred as off we hie — 
 
 "Bushel o' wheat, bushel o' rye, 
 
 All 'taint hid holler T!" 
 
 Tucked in the manger, up in the mow, 
 
 Hid in the rail-pile — you can't tell how, 
 
 Under the pig-shed, behind the door — 
 
 Seeking a place never thought of before; 
 
 Hearts beating happily as swift feet fly — 
 "Bushel o' wheat, bushel o' rye, 
 
 All 'taint hid holler T!" 
 
 'I' and 'I' — how very slow! 
 
 Black-eyed Jennie and careful, Joe 
 Want to be well hid — wise indeed! 
 
 Ten more counted with anxious speed, 
 Then comes the test of foot and eye 
 
 As "All 'taint hid holler T; 
 All eyes open!" rises high. 
 
 7 
 
Bright eves watch for each well known face — 
 "One, two, three, for Annie and Grace!" — 
 
 "One, two, three, for Willie and Joe — 
 Behind the gran'ry — I saw you — oh 
 
 You're there I know; you can't fool me!" 
 Swift and sly with "One, two, three!" 
 
 Jennie and Joe have 'got home free.' 
 
 Say, do you know I'd give this farm 
 
 To feel again sweet childhood's charm? 
 
 Just to toss this high-flown wisdom away 
 For 'hide and seek' on a summer day? 
 
 Of those in the golden days gone by, 
 
 Who played with me in the haymow high, 
 Wonder how many could answer T? 
 
 »i« »i« »i« 
 
 HIDDEN GRAVES. 
 
 There are graves in our hearts, 
 
 Yes, graves, 
 Where the sad ghost of Hopelessness raves; 
 
 Where our hopes newly born, 
 
 Ne'er to welcome the morn, 
 Now rest for all years 
 'Neath the rain of our tears 
 
 And our lives are left cheerless, forlorn. 
 
 There are graves in our hearts, 
 
 Yes, graves, 
 Where are sleeping our loved and our lost; 
 
 And the sigh of regret 
 
 Clings to memory yet; 
 Tho' the long years have rolled 
 Since their bells have been tolled, 
 
 Still our cheeks with grief's dewdrops are wet. 
 
 8 
 
There are graves in our hearts, 
 
 Yes, graves, 
 And we think of the gems they contain: 
 
 There's the heart pure as snow 
 
 Of the dear long ago, 
 And the loves of the past 
 That our lives will outlast 
 
 Which we buried with lingering pain. 
 
 There are graves in our hearts, 
 
 Dear graves, 
 Where we go in the calm, silent hours 
 
 And the memories throng 
 
 Sweet as evening song; 
 To our hearts comes the balm 
 Of the heavenly calm 
 
 And we steal away chastened and strong. 
 
 "All that sleep in the grave shall arise." 
 "Tis the voice of the King of the skies. 
 
 Though committed in trust 
 
 Unto ashes and dust 
 
 Or adrift in the breast 
 
 Of the dim sea's unrest, 
 Thou shalt clasp them again to thy sad stricken 
 
 heart, 
 Thou shalt meet them and greet them and never 
 more part. 
 
SOME TIME. 
 
 What though wearily 
 
 The days fall into the past; 
 Sadly, drearily, 
 
 Joys too fragile to last 
 Are buried with lingering pain; 
 Our hearts will sing again, 
 
 Like the tolling of some forgotten chime — 
 
 Some time; some time; 
 For peace abiding and joy sublime 
 Are safe in the keeping of dear Some Time. 
 
 Flowers withering, 
 
 Betoken the summer's death, 
 Dark clouds gathering 
 
 Speak of the Storm King's breath — 
 Cheer thee, my heart, thy way; 
 Give to the world today 
 
 Thy faith and thy life shall grow sublime 
 
 Some time; some time; 
 Like the tender words of a childhood's rhyme 
 Are the joys that cling to the sweet Some Time. 
 
 Hearts are breaking 
 
 E'er with their joyless fate; 
 Courage taking 
 
 Only to sigh and wait: 
 But the sun on the hills shall laugh and play, 
 And lowering shadows shall flee away 
 
 As the sun's ray parteth the morning rime — 
 
 Some time; some time; 
 We hear the bells from the tower chime 
 That stands on the shores of dear Some Time. 
 
 10 
 
A DECORATION DAY ODE. 
 A Plea for Peace. 
 
 Sheathe ye the sword! 
 
 Long has it reeked 
 With the world's bravest blood and rarest. 
 What mean ye that ye scatter death 
 
 Where hopes are high and visions fairest? 
 Are there no early dead, no sorrow surge, 
 
 That these should die to swell earth's funeral dirge? 
 
 Kill ye no more! 
 
 Let Amalek 
 Stain his foul hands with vilest slaughter; 
 Let Philistine and Amorite 
 
 Count blood a baser thing than water. 
 God's sons should show their heavenly lineage 
 
 And write their Father's will on history's page. 
 
 Let us have peace! 
 
 The angel choir 
 For long their orison have chanted. 
 'Tis time we heard their wondrous word 
 
 And balm, not rue and wormwood, planted. 
 So hate and vengeance be for aye forgot 
 
 And angel Peace heal War's last fever-spot. 
 
 Let love abound! 
 
 A sin-cursed race 
 Reaches torn hands to pitying Heaven. 
 Shall we not haste with oil and wine 
 
 And heal the wounds by Satan given? 
 Then star to star shall chant a joyous strain, 
 
 While heavenly harpers join the glad refrain. 
 
 11 
 
TO MEMPHIS. 
 
 So Memphis, thou hast risen 
 
 Upon thy sunlit hill 
 And vowed that crime and evil 
 
 Shall work no more their will. 
 Thy task is great, fair city, 
 
 Thy spoilers wise and strong. 
 God give thee strength and courage 
 
 To conquer every wrong. 
 
 Say to thy sister cities: 
 
 As God is on his throne, 
 That righteousness still blesses 
 
 And sin still slays his own; 
 That he who sows the whirlwind 
 
 Shall reap the tempest, wild; 
 That vice's rank and ripened growth 
 
 Drops seed within the child. 
 
 Say to thy sisters, Memphis, 
 
 Not all for gain and trade 
 Are Christian nations founded 
 
 And Christian cities made; 
 That lives are more than lucre 
 
 And homes do pelf outweigh; 
 That guilty gold can never 
 
 For ruined virtue pay. 
 
 So, Memphis, queenly city, 
 
 Let fall thy shining blade 
 On him who dares pollute thee 
 
 To ply his hellish trade. 
 This is no time for shrinking; 
 
 Cease not till thou art free. 
 The prayers of loyal thousands 
 
 Ascend this day for thee. 
 12 
 
OUR SOLDIER DEAD. 
 
 Hark! a cry for the brave — 
 
 'Tis their country's call 
 As the war-clouds darkly lower; 
 
 While the thunderous tread of a host in arms 
 Betokens death's dreadful shower. — 
 
 Ye may abide with the flock and the field 
 
 Or dwell in the safety their peril doth yield; 
 Theirs is the tent and the tower. 
 
 Ah, a smile for the brave 
 
 As they march away — 
 But who shall greet their returning? 
 
 As their thin ranks break when the strife is done 
 Whose eyes with tears will be burning? 
 
 These knew the face of their foemen wild; 
 
 The slain by the whirlwind of death uppiled; 
 Who know the life-long yearning? 
 
 Ho, a cheer for the brave! 
 
 How the foe they spurn 
 As the war-cloud gathers o'er them; 
 
 While the skies resound 
 
 With the jubilant sound 
 As the foe flies before them. — 
 
 Eat in the shade of the tree and the vine, 
 
 Where the sweet fruits of liberty e'er may be thine, 
 They know what bitterness bore them. 
 
 Twine a wreath for the brave, 
 
 For the fair green mound 
 Where their sacred dust is lying; 
 
 While we pledge anew 
 
 To be ever true 
 To the land they blessed while dying. 
 
 Blended with justice be valor and might; 
 
 Ever her glory be virtue and right; 
 Ever the old flag be flying! 
 
WAR'S ECHO. 
 A Decoration Day Ode. 
 
 Softly tread! this billowing turf 
 
 Urns the dust of heroes, sleeping, 
 
 Why, for love of human good, 
 
 Gained the heights their sons are keeping. 
 
 O'er their beds with tender care, 
 
 Let us scatter blossoms fair. 
 
 Once again rehearse the tale: 
 
 How, when others idly waited, 
 These courageous hearts and true 
 
 Sped the right, the wrong abated; 
 Gladly gave their lives; I trow 
 Greater love can no man show. 
 
 Clinging arms could not detain, 
 
 Mother's tear, nor kiss of lover, 
 
 Wife and home, nor hope of peace, 
 Duty's vision could not cover. 
 
 These they left for march and fray, 
 
 Her clear mandate to obey. 
 
 Crimson roses, speak what stains 
 
 Marked their breasts so freely proffered. 
 Pure white flowers, how fair a gift 
 
 They on Freedom's altar offered. 
 Drop we tears; bestow sweet flowers; 
 Fallen brothers, ye are ours! 
 
 From each bloody battlefield, 
 
 Swamp, and stream, and noisome prison, 
 Where a soldier tasted death, 
 
 Seems a star-born voice arisen. 
 Calm and strong, and crystal clear, 
 May it reach a Nation's ear. 
 
 14 
 
"Sons of sires who met defeat, 
 
 Sons, whose sires returned victorious, 
 Brothers all, let war's red hand 
 
 Rend no more our banner glorious! 
 Guard it well from spot or stain; 
 Be our blood not shed in vain!" 
 
 ♦I* »I* »!♦ 
 
 SONG OF THE FISHER MAID. 
 
 O, fair breeze that fans my cheek 
 
 This bonnie morn in June, 
 Thou chasest all my care awa} r 
 
 And setst my heart atune. 
 Thou kissest every pretty flower 
 
 In woodland, lawn and lea; 
 O, fill the sails of that slow ship 
 
 That brings my love to me! 
 
 Somewhere upon the ocean's breast 
 
 His gallant ship doth ride: 
 How can I wait the -happy day 
 
 That brings him to my side! 
 Fly, balmy breath of bonnie June, 
 
 Fly o'er the shimmering sea 
 And steal a kiss from my lad's brown cheek 
 
 And hasten back to me! 
 
 Thy gentle breath, the rustling tops 
 
 Of gray, old trees doth sway, 
 But the ship that holds the big round world 
 
 Slowly lingers on its way. 
 O, breath of dawning, swiftly speed 
 
 Across the laughing sea 
 And fill the great ship's snowy wings 
 
 And bring my love to me! 
 
 15 
 
A THINKIN'. 
 
 Now, Bill was not like other folks 
 
 You're meetin' all the while; 
 He was a born philosopher 
 
 An' had the oddest style 
 Of facin' all the difficulties 
 
 Risin' in his way — 
 He'd never let a single cloud 
 
 On his horizon stay; 
 But when perplexities would come 
 
 An' all his hopes were sinkin', 
 He'd alius smile a little while 
 
 Then settle down to thinkin'. 
 
 Away back in his baby crib 
 
 It was the self-same way — 
 He crowed and laughed with all his might 
 
 The blessed live-long day. 
 You couldn't noways make him cry 
 
 He was that bright an' happy, 
 The chief delight an' treasure 
 
 Of his mother an' his pappy. 
 He'd try to eat his little fist 
 
 His big blue eyes a blinkin', 
 An' when he found he couldn't 
 
 You'd a laughed to see him thinkin'. 
 
 When boyhood's awkwardness came on 
 
 With boyhood's bashful ways, 
 Bill shunned the plow an' spade an' hoe 
 
 To spend the summer days 
 A studyin' the bugs an' things, 
 
 A catchin' snakes an' rabbits, 
 A peepin' an' a pryin' 
 
 At their houses and their habits. 
 
 16 
 
All the beauty an' the loveliness 
 Of Nature he was drinkin'; 
 
 It seemed as if his very soul 
 
 Was all wrapped up in thinkin'. 
 
 So life passed on an' boyhood dear 
 
 At manhood's doorway faltered. 
 Bill kept the love of other days — 
 
 Its object slightly altered. 
 From lovin' unresponsive frogs 
 
 With nets an' snares around him, 
 Himself fair taken in a net 
 
 One May-day mornin' found him. 
 An' while the trapper, Cupid sly, 
 
 Each small escape was chinkin', 
 Bill owned himself a captor caught 
 
 An' set himself to thinkin'. 
 
 'Twas Mary, witchin' little sprite, 
 
 His guileless heart had captured; 
 Whose frown made darkness of his day, 
 
 Whose smile his soul enraptured; 
 An' seein' all his tremblin' fears 
 
 Her heart with pity fluttered 
 An' Bill choked down upon the words 
 
 He felt but never uttered, 
 Till one day throwin' all aside, 
 
 Their hands together linkin', 
 " We'll never, never part," said Bill, 
 
 "If you with me are thinkin'." 
 
 An' heaven smiled upon their home 
 An' plenty met with pleasure; 
 
 An' bitter tears with honied love 
 Filled up life's fleeting measure. 
 
 17 
 
Till snowy locks adorned his brow 
 
 An' children's children blessed him 
 No troublous thought or cankering care 
 
 Had worried or distressed him. 
 Then Mary wandered from his side, 
 
 From life's rough roadway shrinkin'; 
 He turned his tearful eyes to her — 
 
 Then dropped 'em down — a thinkin'. 
 
 The autumn sunshine stole into 
 
 A room with dyin' splendor 
 An' touched an old man sittin' there 
 
 With kisses warm and tender. 
 He raised his wrinkled face an' saw 
 
 A pearly-gated city. 
 A Book his aged hand caressed, 
 
 Sang low of love and pity. 
 "Friend of my youth," he whispered low, 
 
 "Let not thy servant tarry, 
 I'm old and weary of the way — 
 
 I want to meet my Mary." 
 
 An' as the sun behind the hills 
 
 His glowin' fires were sinkin', 
 He shone upon an aged face 
 With perfect peace in every trace — 
 Just like he was a thinkin'. 
 
 18 
 
THE LIFE BOAT. 
 
 "Stay! Captain, stay! the night is wild 
 And yonder stand thy wife and child! 
 Though fears have no dominion over thee, 
 Think thou of them nor tempt the raging sea.' 
 "Though billows wild may tower o'er my head, 
 iHrust the God of storms," the Captain said. 
 
 "Stay! husband, stay!" the trembling mother cries. 
 The foam-capped billows meet the frowning skies; 
 On the dark sea the winds their fury pour 
 And hurl its flying billows on the shore. 
 "O, wife, I must away," the Captain cries, 
 "For yonder in the storm my duty lies." 
 
 "Stay! father, stay!" the wailing child entreats 
 
 While fury on the sea with fury meets; 
 
 Loud thunders through the sky with thunders sweep 
 
 And horror grapples horror in the deep. 
 
 "My boy," with solemn voice the father said, 
 
 "Where duty lies is neither fear nor dread." 
 
 "Speed! comrades, speed! Why safety seek? 
 Are not the strong the keepers of the weak? 
 So speed away" — one prayer for wife and home 
 Then plunge amid the billows' blinding foam. 
 
 Row! boatmen, row far o'er the harbor bar! 
 Hark! hear the boom of signal guns afar! — 
 Some riven heart its prayer to Heaven sends, 
 On thy strong arms some destiny depends. 
 
 Ah, brothers, ah, upon the wreck, 
 
 'Mid the wild tempest on the reeling deck, 
 
 How like sweet Life by Providence Divine 
 
 Snatched from the jaws of death to feel the saving line. 
 
 Grim, bearded faces seem as angels' there 
 
 And each uncertain breath, thanksgiving prayer. 
 
Home, brothers, home, to love and rest. 
 Fear not the storm; thine is a mission blest. 
 Home from thy battle with the angry wave 
 Where shall we look for men more true and brave? 
 Gleaning thy harvest from the hungry sea, 
 Duty well done thy rich reward shall be. 
 
 •> «*• *!♦ 
 
 HAZELNUTS. 
 
 When the frost flowers showed their colors 
 
 On each sturdy forest tree 
 An' the birds began to twitter of the snow, 
 Then us boys 'ud hunt the hollers — 
 
 Bill an' Scott an' Em an' me, 
 An' a hazelnuttin' frolic was the go. 
 'Twas no use to talk of chorin', 
 
 Or the fodder to be shocked, 
 Life's glad way was shunnin' all those sordid ruts. 
 By day's fairest dreams attended 
 
 An' at night by angels rocked, 
 We went laughin' o'er the hills for hazelnuts. 
 
 Little brown-faced, shiny fellers, 
 
 Grinnin' in a sour shuck 
 Or a-waitin' for a touch to tumble down, 
 While the bushes bowed perlitely 
 
 Jest to emphasize our luck — 
 You may take the puny pleasures of the town. 
 There's a flood of inspiration 
 
 In the coolin' Autumn air 
 An' the sun a path thro' golden glory cuts. 
 Surely Heaven's benediction fell 
 
 Upon our spirits there, 
 As we homeward took our store of hazelnuts 
 
 20 
 
All those simple childish pleasures 
 
 Have a charm to move the heart, 
 An' to leave a glow an' gladness o'er my way; 
 An' the dearest recollections 
 
 From the misty dimness start 
 As I muse upon a vanished Autumn day. 
 While the lofty lord of leisure 
 
 Lolls upon his silken bed 
 Or upon his marble pavement idly struts, 
 Memory holds a fairer vision 
 
 Than his soul has ever fed — 
 'Tis some happy boys a-huntin' hazelnuts. 
 
 Sit tin' snugly by the fire, now, 
 
 I see us gather, all, 
 While the wintry wind is howlin' at the door; 
 Each familiar face is present, 
 
 Each loved name I fondly call, 
 An' a basket sits invitin' on the floor 
 With the orchard's golden fruitage 
 
 An' the nuts from Autumn's hills 
 An' — your pardon, but these tears the vision shuts. 
 Ah, I dwelt in goodly fellowship 
 
 An' laughed at earthly ills 
 When a barefoot boy I gathered hazelnuts! 
 
 21 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 We die not, yea, we live for aye. 
 
 This hoping, longing breast, 
 When circling stars have loosed their bars 
 
 Shall find a place to rest. 
 
 Tho' bound with flesh's alluring chain, 
 
 'Tis ever taught to rise; 
 Tho' here 'tis bowed by storm and cloud 
 
 Its home is in the skies. 
 
 This house of clay must go the way 
 
 To earthly things assigned; 
 But leash, nor band, nor human hand 
 
 Can stay the flight of mind. 
 
 0, why should man refuse the hope, 
 
 And think his being vain, 
 When God hath taught his inmost thought 
 
 To read the message plain? 
 
 The hosts of night pass from our sight 
 
 To light some fairer shore; 
 Shall sons of God rejoin the clod 
 
 And greet the light no more? 
 
 The lily, pale, springs in the vale 
 At smiling Spring's command; 
 
 Shall Heaven's guest in darkness rest 
 And shame its Maker's hand? 
 
 0, mansion frail, thy bloom shall pale 
 And flee thee with thy breath; 
 
 But naught can tame this inward flame 
 Nor can it taste of death. 
 
 22 
 
O, deathless soul, while onward roll 
 The chariot wheels of Time, 
 
 Thy heavenward flight shall seek the light 
 And reach its goal sublime. 
 
 *I« *!■» ♦!•» 
 
 TO A MARCH ROBIN. 
 
 Herald sweet, of blithesome spring, 
 Hail we thy appearing! 
 
 With thy music each delight 
 Seems the more endearing. 
 
 How thy matin, rising now, 
 
 With such melting measure, 
 
 Falls upon thy heart and mine, 
 Giving double pleasure. 
 
 Dost thou reck of coming storm? 
 
 Of the snow clouds veiling 
 From thy eyes the smiling sun? 
 
 Wintry winds' assailing? 
 
 Carest thou for winter's breath? 
 
 Winter's freezing kisses 
 Falling on thy tiny form 
 
 Sure thy joy dismisses! 
 
 Blending with the flying flakes 
 
 And the north wind's roaring, 
 
 Rises, clear, thy song of cheer 
 Thy brave heart's outpouring. 
 
 Robin, dear, a lesson, true, 
 Thou to me hast given: 
 
 Heeding not the storms of Earth, 
 Let me sing of Heaven. 
 
 23 
 
IN MEMORY OF NELSE J. SCURLOCK. 
 
 February 14, 1859 — November 14, 1902. 
 
 Harp, that oft soothed the sad singer's soul, 
 
 Mute now in hope's afterglow, 
 Never again shall thy sweet chords thrill, 
 Cunningly voicing the singer's will, 
 
 Ceased are thy melodies, silent thy strings — 
 The singer's head lies low. 
 
 Hills, brown and bare under Boreal blight, 
 
 Ye knew him well, ye well know 
 How light a step hath a care- weary heart; 
 How sadly dwelleth a soul apart; 
 
 Oft on your mantle his hot tears fell, 
 Fold ye him tenderly — so. 
 
 Trees, growing gray by his own fair lane, 
 
 Ye, in the dear long ago, 
 Heard the glad laugh of a rare, bonny lad. 
 Did his bright glance make your ancient hearts glad? 
 
 Blithely he sang, but ah, never again 
 Shall the sweet melody flow. 
 
 Lone mother-heart, by a lonely hearth, 
 
 With her sad loss bowed low, 
 Dreams of a baby face — patter of feet — 
 Shy sturdy youth after knowledge most fleet; 
 
 Dreams — but the dreamer's fair visions have fled — 
 He lies out there 'neath the snow. 
 
 Sadly we mourn for the early dead — 
 
 Midnight for mid-noon's bright glow — 
 
 Flowers o'er thy couch may the gentle Spring strew; 
 
 Grace mayst thou find who oft bitterness knew; 
 
 Wrapped in thy grave may thy faults ever rest — 
 
 Rest where thy head lies low. 
 
 24 
 
TO THE STARS THROUGH DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 Soul, that ever journeys onward 
 
 O'er the path of life, 
 Knowest thou the way thou goest 
 
 Is a way of strife? 
 Or hath wisdom's timely warning, 
 Even in thy early morning, 
 
 Unto thee been given? 
 
 Hath fair Fortune met thy fair starting 
 
 With a frowning face? 
 Lofty Fame thy humble station 
 
 Given naught to grace? 
 Hath e'en Comeliness denied thee? 
 Dim Obscureness sought to hide thee? 
 
 Gird thee for the race! 
 
 Hast thou seen the millions bowing 
 
 At the feet of sin? 
 True devotion's holy temple 
 
 Worshipless within? 
 Grieve not, soul, let naught delay thee; 
 Doubts and fears may oft dismay thee, 
 But the end will sure repay thee — 
 
 Stay not, but begin. 
 
 Hast thou found that fairest roses 
 
 Hide the sharpest thorn? 
 Oft the laurels envied circlet 
 
 Witless broAVS adorns? 
 Shrink not, soul, thy faith restore thee; 
 Guiding stars are watching o'er thee; 
 What though dark the way before thee, 
 
 Cometh brighter morns. 
 
 25 
 
Straight before thee lies thy pathway; 
 
 Falter not. 
 Be, to God, thy true allegiance 
 
 Ne'er forgot. 
 Faint not thou when foes beset thee, 
 And thy dearest friends forget thee, 
 
 Angel Hope lies dead. 
 Turn thy eyes from earthly weeping, 
 Where the stars their watch are keeping, 
 
 Gladly on and onward striving 
 
 Godward, heavenward led. 
 
 ♦I« «*j» «£♦ 
 
 THE OLD CHERRY TREE. 
 
 In the old-fashioned garden 
 
 Of an old-fashioned farm, 
 In the dear days of long ago 
 
 So full of life and charm, 
 In the very brightest corner — 
 
 A Paradise to me, 
 Stood the shrine of my boyhood — 
 
 An old cherry tree. 
 
 I can still see the flowers 
 
 And smell their sweet perfume. 
 I knew every beauty 
 
 In that labyrinth of bloom, 
 And the days of the future 
 
 Were quite as bright to me, 
 As I saw them through the blossoms 
 
 Of that old cherry tree. 
 
 26 
 
There the sweet scented clover 
 
 His couch inviting spread, 
 And the soft, tangled grasses 
 
 Made a pillow for my head; 
 Then I'd set, from her moorings, 
 
 The ship of fancy free 
 And gladly go a-sailing 
 
 'Neath the old cherry tree. 
 
 When June with her crimson 
 
 Followed April with her snow, 
 To my songster-haunted resting-place 
 
 Blithely would I go. 
 0, the lamp of old Aladdin 
 
 Could no treasure give to me 
 Dearer than the glowing rubies 
 
 On that old cherry tree. 
 
 Then life, to my boyish eyes, 
 
 Was frolic, sun and shine; 
 And the sky never shimmered 
 
 O'er a gladder heart than mine; 
 And the hearts of the wide world 
 
 Were true as they could be 
 When I whistled in the branches 
 
 Of the old cherry tree. 
 
 Ah, the bright dreams of boyhood! 
 
 Their innocent delight 
 Is lost down the roadway — 
 
 Vanished from our sight. 
 But I've wished often, sadly, 
 I could teach myself to see 
 The world as I saw it 
 
 From the old cherry tree. 
 
FAIRY BELLS. 
 
 When the day has hushed her voices 
 And night's deep calm's descended 
 While the sun's last light is dying 
 
 On the dim hills of the west, 
 When the leisure-loving cattle 
 From the pasture field have wended 
 Is the time I lie and listen 
 
 To the music I love best. 
 
 How it tinkles in the garden 
 Where the flowers are a-sleeping! 
 How from far across the meadow, now, 
 
 It faintly, sweetly swells! 
 Now among the dear, old maples 
 Its fantastic tones are creeping — 
 'Tis the ringing and the swinging 
 
 Of the faries' evening bells. 
 
 Ah, how often in those dear days 
 Ere my heart had known a sorrow 
 Would I sit and watch the shadows steal 
 
 O'er greening wood and hill. 
 Then life was full of promise; 
 Fair shone each glad tomorrow; 
 All my heart with Nature's melody 
 
 Was joyously athrill. 
 
 Then from out each gloomy hollow 
 Came the chiming and the ringing 
 Of the fairy bellmen swinging 
 
 As they wove their magic spells. 
 O, such bright and wondrous visions 
 To my child-heart they were bringing 
 As I listened to the music 
 
 Of those merry fairy bells. — 
 
 28 
 
Fancy avers, for strains so sweet 
 The watching stars their praise repeat, 
 While the soft night winds quit the lea 
 To join the merry minstrelsy. 
 
 List! "Low, so low." 
 
 The night winds blow;" 
 
 "Ring soft and sweet." 
 
 The stars repeat; 
 
 "With joy we ring," the fairies sing, 
 
 "Sad hearts are blest; the weary rest." 
 
 Far away are home and childhood, 
 Dimly seen in fond reflections, 
 Yet memory her treasures bring, 
 
 Again her story tells; 
 And trooping back with gladness 
 Come joyous recollections, 
 When I hear the tender chiming 
 
 Of those dear old fairy bells. — 
 
 Now, list! each tiny bellman rings, 
 Each elfin chorus chants and sings; 
 From weed and briar and flower bell 
 Weird, sweet-sung vespers float and swell. 
 Borne back where life's rough way began 
 The child sits musing with the man. 
 Care wends: sweet hopes vouchsafe me cheer; 
 I mark that olden eve-song, dear. — 
 
 "Ring, ring, the fond delights we sing 
 
 Of love-lit youth so fleet of wing, 
 
 Of baby hands and flower face, 
 
 Of fair forms laid in lonely place, 
 
 Of tear-drop's fall and gleaming star; 
 
 Or bide we near or wander far 
 
 Sweet peace at last for hearts oppressed; 
 
 Surcease of woe: O, rest ye, rest!" 
 
A Human Wish. 
 
 To Rev. and Mrs. C. S. Rennison, as a word of Chris- 
 tian comfort in their great sorrow over the loss of their 
 first-born. 
 
 O, Angel with the golden key, 
 
 Have you seen a little boy, 
 His shining hair like burnished gold, 
 
 His eyes adance with joy? 
 'Twas but a little while ago 
 
 He slipped away to play; 
 Tell him we mourn and miss him so, 
 
 And send him back today. 
 
 Is it to care and sorrow? 
 
 To longing all in vain? 
 To blighted hopes and broken dreams? 
 
 To weariness and pain? 
 To bear the burning, livid scar 
 
 Of fever's fiery dart, 
 That you would call your darling back, 
 
 0, loving mother heart? 
 
 But, Angel with the tender eyes, 
 
 We saw in him the sign 
 Of manhood's high fruition 
 
 And labor all divine 
 We dreamed he would accomplish; 
 
 God's trumpet to his lips, 
 By faith we heard him preach the word 
 
 Whose star knows no eclipse. 
 
 Ah, mother, anxious mother, 
 
 God's ways are ever true; 
 Not here alone, but also there 
 
 Is sphere for service, too. 
 
 30 
 
To fly on mercy's missions 
 
 And minister to men; 
 To know the joy of life in Heaven 
 
 Unguessed by mortal ken; 
 
 To climb eternal heights of thought, 
 
 Lilies of truth to glean, 
 And hand in hand with Love Divine 
 
 To walk in pastures green, 
 By singing streams whose crystal depths 
 
 Murmur of endless rest; 
 And dwell, mid Heaven's music, 
 
 In the mansions of the blest. 
 
 Not here, where moth and rust corrupt, 
 
 But where Life's flowers bloom; 
 Not here where mists and shadows crowd, 
 
 But there, beyond the tomb, 
 Shall we attain the destiny 
 
 By God ordained for men, 
 And kindred souls through endless years 
 
 Shall never part again. 
 
 31 
 
THE LOOM OF LIFE. 
 
 All weavers are we in the loom of life 
 
 And fast as time's shuttle flies, 
 A wonderful fabric widens and grows ■ 
 
 Before our wondering eyes. 
 The past and the future, the threads of the warp, 
 
 Are blent with the woof of the days 
 But the pattern we weave, we not now perceive, 
 
 Whether merits it pity or praise. 
 
 Spread fair on this pattern in tracery plain 
 
 Are the thoughts and deeds of each day; 
 Every word, whether freighted with gall or with balm, 
 
 Doth the store of the heart betray. 
 let, then, the beautiful threads of love 
 
 With the colors of cheerfulness twine; 
 Let honor and truth mark the weaving of youth, 
 
 Then shall age's all virtues combine. 
 
 As roll the swift years in their flight unseen, 
 
 Onbearing us ever and aye, 
 We mingle the threads with thoughtless hands 
 
 Unthinking of what they display. 
 And oft o'er the web when our eyes are dimmed 
 
 And oft when by happiness fed, 
 The bright and the gay with the solemn and gray 
 
 In varying tintings are spread. 
 
 At last when the lingering god of day 
 
 Is sowing the west with gold, 
 Shall the tired hearts and the tired hands 
 
 The end of the work behold. 
 And the Master will look on the work of the day 
 
 With a pitying glance and mild 
 If he sees on each error the pitiful stain 
 
 Of the tears of a trusting child. 
 
 32 
 
Thus touched by the gladdening ray of his grace 
 And the wonderful power of his love, 
 
 Shall the work of our lives be accounted as fit 
 For the beautiful mansions above. 
 
 «*» <*» «£♦ 
 
 JACK BINNS. 
 A Marconi operator who saved his ship at the risk of his own life. 
 
 And who are you, we wonder? 
 
 Some Southern mother's child? 
 Or born where Western waters wake 
 
 Their music sweet and wild? 
 Where green harps of the Northern pines 
 
 The wind-god's fingers thrill? 
 Or where the scant grass meekly decks 
 
 Some bleak New England hill? 
 
 Whether of Scandinavian blood 
 
 Or Latin lineage; 
 If Briton or Hibernian marks 
 
 Your birth-book's primal page; 
 Whether by farm of factory 
 
 Your first faint steps began; 
 'Mid poverty or plenty, sure 
 
 That spot produced a man. 
 
 Snug in your floating citadel 
 
 That dismal, sunless day, 
 Your wizard fingers knew the art 
 
 By which the wireless ray 
 Of keen electric energy 
 
 Searched all the salt sea wind; 
 Flung far the thoughts your quick brain bade 
 
 And read the shore-world's mind. 
 
 33 
 
You heard the crash of rending ribs, 
 
 You felt the furious stroke 
 When the unhappjr Florida 
 
 Her prow of steel and oak 
 Drove deep into your painted side 
 
 With horrid certainty, 
 And left you like a stricken swan 
 
 Slow floating on the sea. 
 
 O'erhead you heard the great doors clang, 
 
 Below, the waters' glee, 
 And you smiled in the face of death, 
 
 Your fingers on the key. 
 The leaden hours crept by, but you 
 
 Thought little of your life; 
 You heard calm Duty's whisper 
 
 Above the sounds of strife. 
 
 The ocean greyhounds heard you cry 
 
 And quickly sought your place; 
 The Frenchman caught your message 
 
 And joined swiftly in the race; 
 The great Cunarder swung about, 
 
 To waft you hearty cheers, 
 And Saxon songs were blent that day 
 
 With sad Italia' s tears. 
 
 The blood that stained ThermopylaB 
 
 And Marathon was brave; 
 O'er Bunker Hill and Gettysburg 
 
 Shall valor's laurels wave; 
 He who faced death for others 
 
 And plucked them from his hand, 
 Is peer of ancient heroes 
 
 And every inch a man! 
 
 34 
 
TO A DAISY IN THE SNOW. 
 
 Thou lookest, little flower, 
 
 Little daughter of the earth, 
 A pretty guardian angel 
 
 To the clod that gave thee birth. 
 Above its cold, dark bosom 
 
 Thy tinted leaves unfold 
 Contented not to hide from sight 
 
 Thy tiny heart of gold. 
 
 Thou seemest, little flower, 
 
 Little daughter of the sod, 
 With thy flower voice to whisper 
 
 Of the tenderness of God; 
 Warmly cradled, safely guarded 
 
 As the earth was swept by storm, 
 Kissed into a life of fragrance 
 
 Clothed with his own chosen form. 
 
 Thou sendest, little flower, 
 
 Little earth-star twinkling bright, 
 To my human heart a star-beam 
 
 Glad with a pure delight. 
 Prophet art thou and teacher, 
 
 Bearer of things divine; 
 Asking of earth, unnoted, 
 
 To fragrantly grow and shine. 
 
 Thou ceasest, little flower, 
 
 Little dainty God-thought sweet, 
 Thou closest thy pearly eyelids 
 
 Thy mission brief complete. 
 What to the earth that bore thee, 
 
 What to the heart o'erwrought 
 Thou wast, O, simple floweret, 
 
 Lies with the Great First Thought. 
 
 35 
 
Thou teachest, little flower, 
 
 Little woodland-dweller fair, 
 A silent wondrous lesson 
 
 Of flower- wisdom, rare: 
 "Give, with a steady purpose 
 
 Thy heart's best store today; 
 Look ever, flower-like, upward, 
 
 Trusting in God alway." 
 
 ♦!♦ ♦!• ♦> 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 You may sing about the sages, 
 
 And the heroes of the ages, 
 Who have written on the pages 
 
 Of history their names; 
 But a simple occupation 
 
 Claims my ardent admiration, 
 And at well deserved laudation 
 
 My poetic fancy aims. 
 
 There's no station in a nation 
 
 More invites consideration, 
 From the pauper in his hovel 
 
 To the prince upon his throne; 
 E'en a Queen with all the honor 
 
 Of a thousand isles upon her 
 Than this humble ruler, happy, 
 
 In a Kingdom all his own. 
 
 In his halls are congregated 
 All the future celebrated; 
 
 Multi-millionaires are fated 
 To obey his lordly rule; 
 
 36 
 
Poets pay him their devotion; 
 
 Warriors wait for his promotion; 
 For he touches land and ocean 
 
 And his kingdom is the school. 
 
 Whether willing or unwilling 
 
 Hopes are springing, souls are thrilling 
 At the words of this exponent 
 
 Of the psychologic art; 
 Like some ancient carver, sitting, 
 
 Sees he well how time is flitting 
 As he traces sentence fitting 
 
 On the tablets of the heart. 
 
 Marshal all the inspiration 
 
 That owes him its derivation, 
 Let us give a glad ovation 
 
 To extol his weight and worth; 
 Twine a wreath of fairest roses 
 
 (Which some sprigs of birch discloses,) 
 Crown this faithful modern Moses 
 
 Leading on the doubting earth. 
 
 37 
 
BY GOOD RIGHTS. 
 
 Say, Billy Bray, jes' step this way. 
 
 D'ye mind Avhat your gran'pap used to say 
 When he had the backin' of honest stuff 
 That was true like him an' solid enough 
 
 To convince all comers his claims wus good? 
 
 He had one word as a true man should: 
 "By good rights." 
 
 For right, you know, can wrong no man. 
 You can't beat right an' there's few than can, 
 By good rights. 
 
 Pshaw, Beau Br aw, I kin smell the straw 
 If yer clothes do fit you without a flaw. 
 You can comb that roof for an hour an' a half 
 An' grin at the girls an' titter an' laugh, 
 
 But your aimless life would look mighty sick, 
 Alongside grandsire's measurin' stick: 
 By good rights. 
 A well filled head an' an honest heart 
 An' two willin' hands are a right good start, 
 By good rights. 
 
 Hi' Sim Sly, with yer shifty eye, 
 
 When yer pap's gran'father would sell or buy 
 Did he spend six days an' ten nights more 
 A hatchin' schemes to gouge the poor 
 
 An' cheat the widder an' skin the weak? 
 
 He was seven stories above a sneak — 
 By good rights. 
 
 In his honest heart it did him good 
 To let the whole world know where he stood — 
 By good rights. 
 
 38 
 
So high an' Ioav, I would have you know, 
 We have strayed from the ways of long ago. 
 When quiet speech an' deeds of gold 
 An' sweet good-will blessed young an' old; 
 
 When a good old rule held sway with men 
 An' right was right, the test was, then, 
 By good rights. 
 
 O, take yer style an' yer highflown ways 
 An' give me the rule in gran'pap's days — 
 JBy good rights . 
 
 «♦ ♦;« ♦> 
 
 THE CARDINAL. 
 
 Like a gleam of red fire 
 
 Over coppice and brier 
 Flashes my Lord Cardinal; 
 
 The year's at its noon 
 And the woodland's atune, 
 
 While the smiling blue bends over all. 
 "Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! 
 
 Tiny hearts beat in our home nest so neat, 
 Sweet! They are sweet! They are sweet!" 
 
 The wild bees keep humming 
 
 That winter is coming; 
 Still sings the brave Cardinal. 
 
 While friends are departing 
 And southward are starting, 
 
 Hear him cheerily after them call: 
 "True! True! True! 
 
 God in his blue will keep watch over you. 
 True! He is true! He is true!" 
 
 39 
 
Mid snowing and blowing 
 
 And autumn's rough going 
 Carols our good Cardinal. 
 
 A singer so bold, 
 Oh, he fears not the cold; 
 
 He's a word of good cheer for us all. 
 "Bright! Bright! Bright!" 
 
 He sings his glad praise of the fair summer 
 days : 
 "Bright! They were bright! They were bright!" 
 
 The winter storm lowers, 
 
 The wild woodland cowers, 
 Still Cardinal sings on his way; 
 
 His warm shelter he knows, 
 Though the icy wind blows 
 
 And he sings of the flowers of May. 
 "'White! White! White! 
 
 Spring time's in sight and the plum tree's 
 alight; 
 White! They are white! They are white!" 
 
 The green grass is starting, 
 
 The brown buds are parting, 
 0, list to the Cardinal's voice! 
 
 In the merry spring chorus 
 His notes ripple o'er us 
 
 And bid every listener rejoice. 
 "Hear! Hear! Hear! 
 
 Clouds disappear when we trust, never fear, 
 Hear! A new year! A new year!" 
 
 40 
 
COMFORT ME. 
 
 When my soul in proud rebellion 
 Rises 'gainst the ills of life 
 
 And with tired wing and fretful 
 
 Beats her bars in fruitless strife; 
 
 When my hopes like shadows flee, 
 Jesus, Savior, comfort me. 
 
 Oft my heart, athirst for comfort, 
 Feels the bitter sting of hate; 
 
 Oft I long for cooling fountains 
 Sorrow's Mara to abate. 
 
 Let thy love my solace be: 
 
 Blessed Master, comfort me. 
 
 When fierce clouds across my pathway 
 Pile their shadows broad and deep, 
 
 And the dimness deepens doubting 
 Whether I the path can keep, 
 
 Let mine eyes the beacon see; 
 Star of Promise, comfort me. 
 
 Help me o'er life's rugged roadway 
 Travel on nor e'er repine; 
 
 If beset by sorest trial 
 
 Let thy will be done, not mine — 
 
 Only hear this human plea: 
 
 Guide and help and comfort me. 
 
 As I near the journey's ending 
 And the mists before me rise; 
 
 In that solemn, awful moment 
 
 When I close these mortal eyes, 
 
 Conqueror of Calvary, 
 
 World's Redeemer, comfort me. 
 
 41 
 
THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 
 
 When one held dear shall sink to silent rest, 
 
 With pale hands folded on his pulseless breast, 
 
 O, start not trembling from his coffined clay, 
 
 Put not the sight of his dead face away, 
 
 But closer draw and o'er his casket bend 
 
 And whisper — if thou canst — "Here lies a friend." 
 
 The face whose lines are written on thy heart 
 
 Is one with nature, now, and knows no art; 
 
 Not friendship's golden touch, nor love's fond wile 
 
 Can shake the sway of death's unchanging smile. 
 
 Would those poor eyes that looked in thine erstwhile, 
 
 Pity for pity gave and smile for smile, 
 
 Wish, should sweet life to blighting death give place, 
 
 A dearer sight than thy familiar face? 
 
 That heart, sad dweller in a breast so calm, 
 Sought e'er to yield thee friendship's soothing balm; 
 Should this grim hand its chilly grasp untwine, 
 Would it not beat glad unison with thine? 
 Those feet that ran, that yours might go with ease 
 And always sought your slightest wish to please, — 
 Should these dread fetters quickly broken be 
 Would they not swiftly seek a path with thee? 
 
 0, friend when in the calm of death I sleep, 
 
 Nor word nor look shall break my silence deep, 
 
 As oft in life we watched the teeming earth 
 
 And saw the days decline, the morn's fair birth 
 
 And loved each other and this God-wrought sphere, 
 
 Remember I am friend or there or here; 
 
 Honor the tent where once thy friend did dwell; 
 
 Thy friend hath fled to fairer scenes — 'tis well. 
 
 42 
 
THE LOST DIAMOND. 
 
 In the hoary land of Isis 
 
 Where the sunshine falleth free, 
 And the mountains of the Southland 
 
 Toss their waters to the sea; 
 Where the summer ever calleth 
 
 Over mountain, lake and hill, 
 Dwelt an ancient diamond-seeker 
 
 And he served a master's will. 
 
 When the rosy-fingered morning 
 
 Touched with gold the eastern gate, 
 And until the purple twilight 
 
 Saw his flowers nod and wait, 
 Sought this ancient son of Egypt; 
 
 One bright hope forbade a frown — 
 'Twas to find a fitting jewel 
 
 For his royal master's crown. 
 
 Eager-eyed, with tireless fingers 
 
 Hour by hour and day by day, 
 Saw he from among the rubbish, 
 
 Daylight die and fade away; 
 Saw he there one day before him, 
 
 Lying stained and rough and dark, 
 What, to him, seemed but a pebble, 
 
 Innocent of flame or spark. 
 
 And the weary-hearted seeker, 
 
 As he plucked its crust apart, 
 Little thought that grimy pebble 
 
 Held a diamond in its heart. 
 Only for one fateful moment 
 
 Did he hold his heart's desire — 
 Then he tossed away the pebble 
 
 With its glowing heart of fire. 
 
 43 
 
Bent with years and torn with trial 
 
 Still he sought with ceaseless care 
 And his pitiful endeavor 
 
 Had the tenderness of prayer; 
 But his hope was vainly founded 
 
 As a house upon the sand; 
 For the rough, discolored jewel 
 
 Had forever left his hand. 
 
 Seems a voice to chant and whisper 
 
 From the ancient land of Khem: 
 "Say ye to that higher seeker 
 
 For his Master's diadem — 
 'Look ye well as he who, seeing, 
 
 Deeply reads and understands; 
 Show not at thy Master's bidding 
 
 The reproach of empty hands.' " 
 
 •*» »> *Z* 
 
 THE ANGEL'S COMING. 
 
 To Dr. and Mrs. W. H. Zieoer. 
 
 In Memory of their Darling who has passed 
 from Earth to Heaven. 
 
 Fair was the world with morning 
 
 And sweet with the breath of Spring; 
 The groves rang loud with the thrushes' pipe 
 
 And May-bird's caroling; 
 When over the crystal river 
 
 And down from the pearl-gate clear, 
 An angel came to whisper 
 
 A word in an infant's ear. — 
 The child-brow shadowed a holy rest 
 
 As it lay so still on its mother's breast. 
 
 44 
 
Bright was the world with noon-tide; 
 
 Ahum with the toil of men, 
 Thrilling with hope and promise 
 
 When the angel came again; 
 And his calm, sweet eyes were tearful 
 
 At a sad heart's bitter cry, 
 Who saw but the present parting 
 
 And knew not the by and bye — 
 But the still cold brow and the sleeping eye 
 
 Responded not to her agony. 
 
 Chill was the world with evening; 
 
 Gray with a winter's rain, 
 When the Angel with eyes of pity 
 
 Descended to Earth again; 
 For a woman worn and feeble, 
 
 Burdened and sore distressed, 
 Was to hear from his lips the welcome 
 
 "Enter thou into rest." — 
 Her face so wan shone strangely fair 
 
 As long-missed voices thrilled the air. 
 
 Come when the morn is waking, 
 
 Or come at the evetide drear, 
 Never we fear thy footsteps, 
 
 Ever a Friend is near; 
 High over dirge and death-wail 
 
 Hear we His words today: 
 "Whoso believeth and trusteth in me 
 
 Abideth in life alway." 
 Rent is the tomb while immortal light 
 
 Dawns in the valley of earthly night. 
 
 45 
 
MOTHER. 
 
 Comes memory on airy wing 
 
 O'er misty spaces vast, 
 And brings the golden pictures 
 
 From the pages of the past. 
 Faint, far-off voices, calling me, 
 
 Awaken old desire; 
 Sweet faces look upon me, 
 
 Lit with love's undying fire. 
 
 Among them one loved face I see, 
 
 Dearer than all the rest; 
 Of childhood's friends the truest, 
 
 Of boyhood's guides the best. 
 I seem to hear her tireless feet 
 
 Pass swiftly to and fro, 
 While softly float upon the air 
 
 The songs of long ago. 
 
 Mother! The murmur of thy name 
 
 Bids tender memories start 
 And love's own dew lies trembling 
 
 On the petals of the heart. 
 My soul is anchored by this thought 
 
 In spite of storm and stress: 
 The heart that loved me first and best 
 
 Will never love me less. 
 
 Again I kneel before thee, 
 
 As the daylight westward slips, 
 And childhood's fond petition comes 
 
 To manhood's bearded lips; 
 Thy hands are still upon my head, 
 
 Thy voice my spirit charms, 
 Nor time nor change can keep me 
 
 From the refuge of thy arms. 
 
 45 
 
Mother, this fitting monument 
 
 To thee we dedicate: 
 A noble aim, a purpose true, 
 
 A manhood strong and great. 
 We offer these, love's token 
 
 To the one who gave us birth; 
 While fondly loyal lips repeat 
 
 The dearest name on earth. 
 
 ♦I* •!• ♦!• 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Well have we sung with lips of love 
 
 Of childhood's earliest friend and guide, 
 
 But Justice bids us ne'er forget 
 The sterner figure by her side. 
 
 No idler looked from his true eyes; 
 
 No trifler framed his gentle speech; 
 But faithfulness and sacrifice 
 
 By him a daily sermon preach. 
 
 A playmate kind in hours of mirth; 
 
 A teacher wise in Nature's school; 
 His strong hands' tasks, his warm heart's love 
 
 Exemplified life's Golden Rule. 
 
 Like some great oak whose leafy arms 
 Protect the tender plants below, 
 
 He bent above our early lives 
 
 And helped each latent virtue grow. 
 
 Across the years I see him yet — 
 
 His toil-worn hands, his kindly face, 
 
 His winsome smile — O, Memory, 
 
 Keep, for my sire, an honored place. 
 
 47 
 
HISTORY AND ORIGIN OF THE BAPTIST CHURCH. 
 
 This poem is used by special permission of its author 
 and owner, Rev. A. R. Fetterhoff. 
 
 How strange so many people will ask and ask again, 
 From whence has come the Baptist Church, their search- 
 ing seems in vain. 
 To tell them that from Jesus the Baptist Church has come; 
 To tell them thus He teaches; it seems a foreign tongue. 
 
 Why don't you search the Scriptures, from Matthew on 
 
 through John, 
 And learn it was a Baptist that did baptize the Son? 
 Down in the rolling Jordan he found a liquid grave; 
 And rising from the water the spirit witness gave. 
 
 It was a Baptist preacher that preached the gospel first; 
 And he baptized the people to constitute the Church. 
 Why don't you read the Bible? For Jesus says as much; 
 He took the Baptist people and made a Baptist Church. 
 
 And there the Baptists started, when John baptized the 
 
 Lamb, 
 Endorsing John's commission and all that he had done. 
 Then taking John's disciples, believers and baptized, 
 And made a Baptist church and so they were organized. 
 
 Why do you search the pages of history, there to find 
 The beginning of the Baptist Church? although within her 
 
 lines. 
 But go to Matthew's gospel, to Mark and Luke and John, 
 And there is the beginning, from Jesus Christ the Son. 
 
 Don't contradict the Bible and contradict God's word; 
 For the first Baptist preacher was commissioned by the Lord, 
 To teach them faith in Jesus and to baptize the same, 
 And thus we have the Baptist Church ; 'tis here in Jesus' name. 
 
 48 
 
If all of men's traditions were laid upon the shelf; 
 And each and every Christian examine for himself, 
 And take the words of Jesus, and love them then as such ; 
 There would be no division; just a Bible Baptist church. 
 
 ♦> ♦!♦ «a» 
 
 ANOTHER WORD ABOUT CHURCH 
 HISTORY. 
 
 I've searched the Holy Scriptures through from Matthew 
 
 on to John, 
 And then through Acts and Romans I've studied gladly on; 
 I've searched Paul's wondrous letters and The Revelator's 
 
 mind, 
 But "Baptists" or the "Baptist Church" I truly fail to find. 
 
 I found a Jewish Nazarite* of Aaron's priestly line 
 
 Who preached a stern repentance and prepared a "Way" 
 
 divine, 
 Who witness bore of truest "Light" to which we all may 
 
 look, 
 But that he formed the Baptist Church is not within the 
 
 Book. 
 
 I saw the Christ, our Great High Priest, by love divine ap- 
 pointed, 
 
 Approach the age when ancient priests were by the law an- 
 ointed : 
 
 With pure water John thus fulfilled the Law's initiation, 
 
 But that He was a "Baptist Christ" is pure imagination. 
 
 I found no word of "liquid grave," the Baptists' fond desire, 
 But much of "Life" and promised gift of Holy Ghost and 
 
 Fire. 
 I heard good Stephen witnessing when under false arrest, 
 That far back in old Moses' day the world a Church pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 49 
 
Heard John, a Hebrew Prophet, warn a church of life be- 
 reft— 
 
 To which his fathers all belonged and which he never left! — 
 
 When viewed by Church-blind eyes which still pretend the 
 task of teacher, 
 
 They're quoted "Baptist people" quick and he a "Baptist 
 Preacher"! 
 
 I found "The Church," "The Flock," "The Bride," "The 
 House," "The Congregation," 
 
 But "Baptists" or "The Baptist Church" are "human 
 revelation." 
 
 "The Church of God," "The Church of Christ," His "Body," 
 "The Lamb's Wife"; 
 
 No single name The Church has borne. Away with fool- 
 ish strife! 
 
 If history's page we closely scan with mind serene and clear, 
 In less than three long centuries past the Baptists first ap- 
 pear; 
 To Menno Simon, pious soul, they owe their sudden rise, 
 And quickly spread o'er Europe, wide, with godly enter- 
 prise. 
 
 'Twas Roger Williams fathered first your Church this side, 
 my brother. 
 
 He and a neighbor — do not laugh — made Baptists of each 
 other ! 
 
 'Tis thus they've come from John on down without a rip 
 or wrinkle, 
 
 And some of their own writers say they really used to sprin- 
 kle! 
 
 Come, brother, get The Book again; take off your Bap- 
 tist glasses. 
 How fair the River of God's Grace before our vision 
 
 passes ! 
 
 50 
 
That Grace to all the world is free — let's not unchurch 
 
 each other; 
 Each is His child, if Christ be ours; your hand in mine, my 
 
 brother ! 
 
 ♦Compare Num. 6:1-5 with Matt. 11:18. 
 tSee Newman's History of the Baptist Church, intro- 
 ductory chapters. 
 
 ♦:♦ ♦;♦ ♦!♦ 
 
 MY LASSIE. 
 
 O, my lassie's eyes are bonnie blue, 
 
 Her curling tresses gold; 
 In every sweet and winsome way 
 
 Is love's dear story told. 
 Yet these are not her greatest charm, 
 
 For that you cannot see— 
 'Tis written in my lassie's heart 
 
 She ever loveth me. 
 
 Her touch is like the snowflake, 
 
 Her voice is low and clear 
 And in my soul's deep casket 
 
 I keep her face so dear. 
 When tired of the tossing 
 
 On life's uneven sea 
 I whisper low, with tender glow, 
 
 "My lassie loveth me." 
 
 O were I in a palace 
 
 'Twere naught without my dear; 
 A cottage were a mansion 
 
 If she were always near; 
 O, snowy-fingered angels, 
 
 Her watchers ever be 
 And keep from every sorrow 
 
 The heart that loveth me. 
 
 51 
 
THE GRANGER Y'S. 
 
 Here's to the Y.'s, they take the prize; 
 
 Smiling faces and sparkling eyes, 
 
 Sweet, good-nature and wholesome cheer — 
 
 None but the true are welcome here! 
 
 They're out to help the cause of right 
 
 And swell the temperance band, 
 
 And each good work in the whole wide world. 
 
 Finds here a helping hand. 
 
 Cheer for the Y.'s; no one denies 
 
 The foe they fight is strong — 
 
 King Alcohol will surely fall 
 
 Though his sway has lasted long; 
 
 For our youth shall know 
 
 How his power lays low, 
 
 All our hopes for the future fair 
 
 And we'll turn away in youth's glad day 
 
 From the blight of the wine-cup's snare. 
 
 God bless the Y,'s! 
 
 Every true heart cries; 
 
 May their host each day increase, 
 
 Till none be left of their power bereft 
 
 And the work of the spoiler cease! 
 
 May a new day come 
 
 When in every home 
 
 Cold water the drink shall be — 
 
 So here's to the Y.'s, 
 
 May the future's skies 
 
 Show their glorious destiny. 
 
 This little sketch was written as a test in original com- 
 position at a social given by the Y. W. C. T. U. 
 
 52 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Angel's Coming, The 44 
 
 Another Word About Church History 49 
 
 A Thinkin' 16 
 
 By Good Rights 38 
 
 Cardinal, The 39 
 
 Comfort Me 41 
 
 Fairy Bells 28 
 
 Father 47 
 
 Granger Y's, The 52 
 
 Hazelnuts 20 
 
 Hidden Graves 8 
 
 Hide and Seek 7 
 
 History and Origin of The Baptist Church— Rev. A. R. 
 
 Fetterhoff 48 
 
 Human Wish, A 30 
 
 Immortality 22 
 
 In Memory of Nelse J. Scurlock 24 
 
 Jack Binns • 33 
 
 Life Boat, The 19 
 
 Loom of Life, The 32 
 
 Lost Diamond, The 43 
 
 Mother 46 
 
 My Lassie 51 
 
 Old Cherry Tree, The 26 
 
 Our Soldier Dead 13 
 
 Plea for Peace, A H 
 
 Some Time 1° 
 
 Song of The Fisher Maid 15 
 
 Thoughts on Death 42 
 
 Teacher, The 36 
 
 To a Daisy In The Snow 35 
 
 To a March Robin 23 
 
 To Memphis = 12 
 
 To the Stars Through Difficulties 25 
 
 War's Echo • 14 
 
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