^^ -^^IC^^o \/ /^^2K>^^ ^^ <^ ^^^^^^^ ^- -' ' ^ 0^ .^•^°-. ''m^o^''^'^-*' « • 'o9 \. '^^ms . **'% °W 'o. » 1- 'T- VJ > • » ITEl ^]\[D Q'^jm P0EM&- '■■^v'/mhr:^'^^^ WW ^^ikS^A, B, m MANCHESTER: PRINTED BY JOHN B. CLARKE 1881. '\SH\ Copyrighted 1881, by Claka B. Heath. ^o the griendA WHO HAVE SO GENEROUSLY AIDED ME IN BRINGING THIS VOLUME BEFORE THE PUBLIC, IT IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHORESS. I sought a talisman, as years went by With all their freight of sorrow and of bliss, To cheer me when life's springs were few or dry, To help me when the loved and lost I miss, — A charm that bringing smiles, or but a sigh. Might soothe and strengthen like a mother's kiss. I found it, not amid the busy throng, But on the border of the land of song. CONTENTS. PAGE Water Lilies 9 Deer-Neck Bridge 12 At Sea 16 A Day Dream 20 It Is Strange 22 Two Days 24 Light Ahead . , . 25 A June Sonnet 28 Sleeping and Waking 29 My Need 32 Progress 34 Sleepless 36 In Memoriam 39 A Query 42 His and Ours 45 Lake Massabesic 47 Thanksgiving 50 Stanzas 52 So Few 53 Our Own 57 The Old, Old Story 58 vi CONTENTS. Early Home and Friends 61 Laus Deo 66 Dream of Fame 67 Our Jubilee 70 A Child's Grave 76 Life's Lessons 79 Success 82 A Fable Retold 85 The Great Reward 91 Four and Four 94 My Promise 99 Growing Old 101 A Dream 104 A Message 106 The Waste of Years 109 The Children 112 A Birthday 114 A Revelation 117 The World's Story 119 A Reminiscence 122 The Grand Army 125 An Unwritten Song 129 At Two-Score 131 A Country Wedding 135 Time's Mission 143 Lilacs and Lupines 144 Crown Jewels 147 At Eventide 150 Stanzas 154 CONTENTS, vii The Word of the Lord 157 Retrospection . 160 A Vision . . 163 Our Ways . 167 The Ocean's Secret 170 A Sunset in Spring 173 John G. Whittier 176 God Is Love 179 Trial Days 181 A Cloud View from Mount Washington . . 184 The Soul's Palace 185 Our Guest 189 Before the Storm 192 To the Planet Jupiter 196 A Regret 200 A Wish 204 Too Late 207 Common Things 210 Unhonored 213 Bereaved 215 Help Me 218 To Lake Massabesic 220 WATER LILIES. regal roses so bright and fair ! Filling with fragrance the balmy air, Glowing in beauty on every liand, Sweeter than dreams of a fairy land ; 'Tis well to come when the year is new, In its freshest green, and its brightest blue. In early spring 'twas the violet We searched for in woods and meadows wet, Arbutus, too. with its pink and white, Was ever a source of new delight ; While the purple pansies the gardens brought, Were sweeter than all, we sometimes thought. 10 WATER LILIES, But the heart of the summer brings a glow No other time in the year can know. We seek the lake, and the little boat, And over the waters dreaming float, To gather the lilies, starry-eyed, That rest on the shining, lapsing tide. What is as fair of all flowers that bloom ? What is as rare, with its rare perfume ? What is as pure, with its home of waves ? What is as fresh that the sunbeam laves ? Perfect in grace, and in loveliness I What is as dainty and sweet as this ? How spotless the pearly leaves that fold O'er the hidden and perfumed heart of gold ! Like fairy castles they seem to float. From the shocks and sins of life remote ; WATER LILIES. n Anchored, though wind and wave go by, With an upward look at the azure sky. The brightest morn that my childliood knew, Was one on the waves so dark and blue. How rich I was, and how gay and glad, Though the gold of the lilies was all I had ! We've gathered little by life's highway As pure as the treasures of that fair day. Sweet water lilies, of white and gold, That spring from a bed so dark and cold ; With never a taint of their lowly birth, And never a touch of their mother earth ; The heart of the summer would still have shone Though never another iBower had blown. DEER-NECK BRIDGE. I. — IN A DREAM. The wooded shore rose up from waters dark ; The hill was steep and strange with storm-washed rocks ; One giant pine stood crownless, cold and stark, Save for the small white birds that came in flocks, Noiseless as phantoms from some spectral park, To clothe the naked limbs ; no stir, no shock, No whirr of restless wings, — each knew its place And nestled there with an unconscious grace. The bridge was high and inaccessible. As if by some almighty hand updrawn DEER-NECK BRIDGE. 13 Prom out the wash of waves that rose and fell Beneath in measured cadence. In the dawn ^ boat lay near it, rocked with gentle swell, — No oars, nor sails ; all save the pennant gone ! We thought the boat had been our home for aye, — A prison home, — and wished it far away. Above the barren rocks, so safe and high. We sat upon a bed of downy moss Starred o'er with dewy flowers ; the wind went by. And waves of perfume came and went across. If all the bustling world had drifted nigh. With all its hoarded gain, it had been loss To that sweet consciousness of peace and bliss. The question came, Will heaven be like this ? II. — IN A PICTURE. A summer scene ! The shine and shadows lay Portrayed so faithfully by artist hand ; 14 DEER-NECK BRIDGE. A flood of light seems quivering o'er the bay ; A neighboring forest rises tall and grand, Suggestive of cool paths that wind away To shady nooks ; a thread-like beach of sand ; And, in the foreground which the bright waves deck, The rustic bridge across the narrow "Neck." We seem to hear the ripple of the tide, We half expect to see it rise and fall ; How warm the sunbeams flashing free and wide ! We fancy that we hear the wild bird's call Across the dusky wood, from side to side. The old familiar sounds — the stillness — all Its quiet beauty steal upon the heart ; Here matchless Nature lends her grace to art. III. — IN WINTER. Once more — the spotless snow lies soft and white On rock and tree ; it crowns the sloping hill ; DEER-NECK BRIDGE, 15 The lake's bright face is hidden from our sight By frosty armor, as if some great will, Some Titan power, had swept along in might. Bidding the throbbing waves lie mute and still, Save one dark quivering spot, the bridge below. Where, evermore, the waters ebb and flow. Gone are the lilies, with their hearts of gold. Whose wondrous fragrance filled the summer air; Gone all the leafy greenness, fold on fold, That wrapped the stately trees with tender care. A breeze comes down as if from glaciers cold ; The wind-swept bridge is desolate and bare ; Fancy invests the scene with glories gone ; We stand a moment, shivering, then pass on. AT SEA. Like some fair face that holds us captive in A swaying crowd, where many a one is fair ; A face to something we have dreamed akin, That charms the wandering thought and keeps it there ; So that fair day upon the sea has been ; — We were too happy for a thought of care. One day like that, so full of peace and bliss, Is worth a score of idle ones like this. Do you remember, when the sun went down, The golden ripples on the placid sea? While in the far, dim distance lay the town. That never looked to us so peacefully AT SEA. 17 While we did tread its mazy streets, — its crown Of sunny splendor dazzling fair to me. We watched it till it seemed to sink in sleep, And leave us there upon the unknown deep. Do you remember how the light grew pale Along the distant shore, that seemed to melt All imperceptibly ? the snowy sail, That like some fair white bird the breezes felt. Out far beyond us ? how our words did fail. As they have often when in prayer we knelt? Strange fancies thronged us in a wondrous way — We never were more happy, or less gay. The track our vessel made was broad and clear ; We watched the headlands as they came in view, The lights, tliat did from time to time appear. Like o'er-grown stars — it was so strange and new ; 18 AT SEA. Such unfamiliar sounds fell on the ear — The rush of waters as we glided through. Mid such a broad expanse of sky and sea, We felt like atoms in immensity. And yet these atoms were a wondrous part Of God's more wondrous whole, — we felt it then, Down to the deep recesses of the heart; Our truest thoughts came back to us again, Our holiest purposes ; we longed to start Afresh in life. The sneers and frowns of men Seemed less to us than the white foam that fell And rose again with every passing swell. What does it matter, when the storm is by, A little more or less of wind and rain? Or, when the sun is warm, and noon is high, That morning fogs hung heavy o'er the plain ? AT SEA. 19 What will it matter, when the end is nigh, A little more or less of care and pain ? If we should leave some little things undone, What will it matter, if a heaven is won? A DAY DREAM. I see a young and slender maid Amid- the garden's sweetness, Where trailing vines their blossoms braid With buds in green completeness ; A song that makes the wild birds start Her dimpled mouth uncloses ; ' Tis June within the maiden's heart, And June among her roses. All through the day that girlish form Has seemed to stand before me ; I feel the summer sunbeams warm, The breath of flowers is o'er me. Above, a cloud of fleecy white. Wind bound, in grace reposes, A DAY DREAM. 21 But fairer, clearer to my sight, The maiden and her roses. fancy, with thy fairy wand. How could we live without thee! Thou bringest gifts with lavish hand, And strewest them about me. When skies are dark, and winds are chill, And pleasure sleeps or dozes. Thy flowery realm is open still With all its buds and roses. That maiden fair no more I know, — What matches time for fleetness ? Her bloom and song died long ago Of their own magic sweetness. A wintry blast sweeps rudely by, The garden gate it closes, I wake to find a stormy sky. And snow instead of roses. IT IS STRANGE. Strange how very slight a token Tells us of a promise broken, When distrust is nigh. Strange how all life's currents deepen, And its joys and pleasures cheapen. As the years go by. Strange how thick a veil will cover All the faults of friend or lover, When they hold the heart. Strange how slight a breath will lift it. And how light a breeze will rift it, When they fall apart. IT IS STRANGE. 23 Strange how schools of scandal gather In the roughest of all weather — Truths are far between. Strange how many flowers of beauty Blossom in the paths of duty, That are never seen. Strange how youthful passions linger, While old Time with warning finger Turns our locks to snow. Strange how often hopes will brighten, And how tempers flash and lighten, Conquered long ago. Strange how small a thread can tangle All the web of life, and strangle Good and wise intent. Strange how love can lighten losses. And how few of all our crosses Are from Heaven sent. TWO DAYS. A morn in June, a warm south wind, O'erhanging skies of heavenly hue ; Two children walking side by side, To whom the world was fair and wide ; A sunny, sparkling brook behind. Before, a field of lupines blue. September's sun, and sky flecked o'er With spotless clouds that lie in flocks ; A placid lake whose sapphire floor Margined with giist'ning sand and rocks, Seemed all inlaid with cloud and sky ; A cold, white form, a pall and bier, A group of mourners standing by ; A pale, sad woman weeping near. LIGHT AHEAD. The night was dark, and the cold winds moaned And tossed the waves on the shelly beach, And the stars died out in the misty cloud That gathered as far as the eye could reach. The spirits of earth and air abroad Told gloomy tales of the treacherous sea, And sang low dirges, that rose and fell With the winds and waves in harmony. While a ship, with its cloud of canvas spread, That had swept old ocean's broadest track, And sunned itself in tropical climes Under Orient skies, came wandering back. 26 LIGHT AHEAD. Full freighted with hopes that had grown apace As the day died out in the arms of night ; For to-morrow's sun could not fail to bring The land they had loved so well in sight. Yet the pilot peered through the gloom and mist, And fancied he heard the breakers roar. And the angry waves at the vessel's side Suggested a reef or rock-bound shore. But the lookout cried, " There is light ahead ! " And a cheer rose up from the hardy crew, While the pilot murmured a prayer of thanks As the well-known beacon came in view. We are out on the ocean of life, and mists Of doubt rise up from its restless waves ; And most of the hopes which our childhood knew Have lain for years in forgotten graves. LIGHT AHEAD, 27 And Memory, singing their dirges low, May well grow pale ere the task is done, And long for a sip of a Lethean wave ; But the touch is death, and she struggles on. Thrice blessed are they who, when breakers roar. And the mists are thick, and the starlight dead, Look hopefully over the waves of time — Those restless waves — to the light ahead. A JUNE SONNET. A poet were no poet if the June went by, Year after year, and brought no tender thrill Through all his being till his pulse ran high. When thistle down before the wind lies still. His gross and selfish thoughts perchance will fill The rare June days, with summer roses nigh. A poet may be songless 1 his nmte lips May answer not when Nature speaks in tune, But rythmic numbers thro' each day-dream slips; His fancies throng him 'neath the pure pale moon; He soars on wings the care fiend never clips. Tireless at eve as in the golden noon ; Prosaic reason 'neath his vision dips; — His purple mantle wraps him close in June. SLEEPING AND WAKING. Sleeping, my car is the fleecy cloud, Its gold, and crimson, and azure bands Clasp me about like a stainless shroud Woven and folded by angel hands. Waking, footsore in the valley I tread. Hollow the echoes my footsteps raise ; Ghosts of the hopes that were long since dead Lure me along in forbidden ways. Sleeping, I stand on a dizzy height. Sure of my footing, in purpose strong. Brave as the eagle that bathes in light, Proud as the lark of her morning song. Waking, the mountains loom up through the mist, Sunless, and barren, and hard to climb ; 30 SLEEPING AND WAKING. Bleak is the air as the north wind's kiss, Pitiless, too, as the hand of time. Sleeping, the dear ones I 've loved and lost Come round about me, their baby hands Nestled in mine, and their kisses soft Falling like dew in a thirsty land. Waking, my arms are empty, and down Deep in my heart is a fathomless pain ; I cover it up, but it does not drown ; I stifle its cries and go on again. Sleeping, I sail over summer seas. Softly the waves keep time to a tune ; Never were islands more fair than these, Never such skies, though the time was June. Waking, the islands are small and bare, Strong is the current that sweeps me on ; Storms are abroad in the wintry air, And the sails have been lowered, one by one. SLEEPING AND WAKING. 31 Sleeping in death ! while the mourners stand Weeping at sight of the empty chair ; Perishing flowers in the folded hands, Pale, and as cold as the snowflakes are. Waking in life to an endless day. Never darkened by sorrow or pain ! Never to faint in the golden way, And never to sleep, dear Christ, again. MY NEED. More Faith, dear Father, send a large supply, It wastes in pain and leaves the fountain dry ; ' Tis what my weary heart has yearned for most, I would possess it at whatever cost. And Patience — when the day dies out in night This blessed angel bids me wait the light That comes in thine own time. It soothes my pain To know who wait for Thee wait not in vain. More Love — the shining: key-stone to the soul! Love binds the rest in one harmonious whole; The archway crumbles if this stone decays, And useless fragments choke the weary ways. MY NEED. 33 More Love T need, and thou alone canst give Large, generous measure, — help me to receive ! Give what Thou canst, we know it would abound If but a store-house in our hearts were found. My need is great, — how great Thou knowest best. I fain would walk in ways which Thou hast blest. Clasp Thou my hand when winds and billows roar, And hold me safely till I reach the shore. PROGRESS. They who walk upon the upland Must expect to feel the breeze ; All the warring winds of nature, Suns that melt, and snows that freeze. But how great the compensation In the fairer, broader view; In the clearer air surrounding, In the wide expanse of blue. There is little worth the doing That is very easy done ; Wealth that comes without the wooing Is of little worth when won. PROGRESS. 35 And the mind expands but slowly In a hazy neighborhood, Where the intellect is deadened For the want of proper food. Striking steel with wand of feathers Never brings the glowing sparks ; And the spirit's growth and progress Ever bears conflicting marks. Gain is won by swift pursuing ; Many aim that never fire ; It is rising, living, doing, That will bring the heart's desire. SLEEPLESS. Now let the hours pass onward as they choose ; Swift as a thought, or laggard in their flight ; A crowd of fancies, like a school let loose. Will throng about us all this silent night. Some will our hospitality abuse, Leaving reluctantly at morning light; While some will cheer us like a friendly face, And others aid us in life's weary race. We sleep and wake, and feel our strength return ; Sleep is the oil of life's machinery ! Our morning hopes do ever brightest burn, At noon our burdens thickly round us lie ; And evening is no time in which to learn The drift or end of ways long since passed by. SLEEPLESS. 37 Sleep gathers up the strength dispersed by day, And serves as staff and prop in every way. And yet these wakeful nights are worth sometimes Far more to us than those of dreamless sleep ; The joy-bells of the past ring out their chimes, We catch faint glimpses of an unknown deep ; We fold the world's best music in our rhymes. Our day-dreams find their level ; and we creep Out of the fairy realms of conscious youth. And clasp the mantle of eternal truth. It is a recompense to lie and catch Such holy thoughts as waken better life ; To know that angels softly lift the latch, And open our heart-cells, and loose the strife — The evil passions that we kept to match The ills encountered (for the way is rife 88 SLEEPLESS. With ills and evils) — we, alas ! are prone To fling back dust for dust, and stone for stone. And often in these sleepless, solemn nights, Our better selves assert their strength and sway ; Our undimmed eyes see visions of fair heights We had deemed inaccessible by day. With paths defined in clear and rosy light, From base to crown thro' all their winding way. Life's lamp burns brighter — north winds have a charm ; We feel the streno^th of warriors in our arm ! IN MEMORIAM HELEN S. FLETCHER.* A Northern bud, a Southern rose, She had the nameless grace of flowers ; Reared 'mid New England's frost and snow, Matured where Southern breezes blow, She was both theirs and ours. A slender, almost girlish form, A child-like, sweet simplicity ; Self-sacrificing, true and warm, Unmoved by every passing storm, — A courage rare to see. * Principal of Morison Academy, Baltimore, Md. 40 I^ MEMORIAM. A mind expansive, quick to hold The pure and good wherever found ; Refined and purified like gold, No corner of her heart was cold, Her word no empty sound. The minds she trained to usefulness Will bless her memory year by year ; The ties of some grow less and less ; Hers seemed to multiply and bless, So many held her dear. She won you with a look, a word, Her own inimitable grace ; You heard, and wondered as you heard, As thought or feeling calmed or stirred Her sweet expressive face. Hers was no common life, or vain. She set her standard high, and won ; IN ME MORI AM. 41 Then, ere the light began to wane, Fell on life's dusty battle plain, Her work most nobly done. Oh, sad May-day to her whose home She shared that last most weary year! She'll miss through all her Mays to come A sister's presence from each room, And greet them with a tear. Summer! bring your grass and dew, And clover starred with snowy flowers, Bring violets, the white and blue,— Do all the sweet things you can do, To deck this grave of ours. A QUERY, Is it a Providence that makes or mars Our lives in such a blind and curious way ? Are we controlled by those fair, lustrous stars That shone upon our birth-night ? When we stray In restless mood beyond the outer bars Which Custom places, is it Destiny ? Something there must be leads us on and on, E'en when we find our inclination gone, — A will-o'-wisp that flits about the gloaming, And lures us here and there, full oft in pain ; And when we weary grow of so much roaming, Beguiles us to the starting point again ; A QUERY. 43 Then, when we fancy our reward is coming, Shuts out our prospect with a dismal rain Of intermittent fears, that come and go With every changing mood, and vex us so. Is it a Providence that mars or makes The lives we live ? When we feel free as air. Some generous impulse in the heart awakes — We seek the pure — our lips are sweet with prayer ; Anon a word floats by, and lo ! it takes Unto itself whate'er is good or fair ; It leaves us swayed by doubts we did not choose, Our wings are clipped, our liberty we lose. Again, a little word in sportive jest Brings a whole volume from an unsealed lip; The smallest gift may be the one most blest, And when we ask but for a finger tip 44 ^ QUERY. To cool the flame, a strong, whole hand is pressed Into our service. When we think to slip With heavy feet, Faith bids us boldly rise, And Fortune stands revealed before our eyes. God knows. The knowledge gathered grain by grain Through years of patient toil, — such meager store! To His all-seeing eye was always plain — A group of pebbles on a boundless shore. The whys and wherefores evermore have lain Hidden by wisdom, and we know no more Than all the countless throng the earth has seen Since her fair hills and vales were robed in green. .iN^=dfc^^A^=»^ HIS AND OURS. She came, and all the world was full Of sudden promise, as in spring, When close upon some morning dull, The birds come north on weary wing; And all at once, the sun looks out Through misty curtains, parted wide ; The dreary fog is put to rout ; The swelling buds on every side Grow round and sweet; and all the air Is full of life and light so fair. She came, and hopes that once we had, And one by one dropped with a sigh, — 46 HIS AND OURS. As mourning mothers, pale and sad, Put little unworn garments by, — Came back in robes of gold and rose, With all their old bewitching grace. And half life's cares, and all its woes, Were lost when looking on her face. We whispered, humbly, " God's to bless, But ours to train for usefulness." LAKE MASSABESIC. If the Great Spirit's loving smile In one fair lake* is shown, What shall we say of this, meanwhile. Like some sweet flower half blown. No bluer waves with sunny glance Reflect the light of day ; No brighter 'neath the moonbeams dance. Or in the shadows play. In every mood it has a charm. Like some sweet, wayward child ; Fairest, perhaps, when bright and warm. But fair when dark and wild. * Lake Winnipesaukee. 48 LAKE MASSABESIC. Clouds thicken, and we feel a loss, The shrouded sun goes down ; The swelling waters foam and toss And give back frown for frown. But morning with its light once more The darkness doth efface ; Again the charms of sky and shore Are mirrored in its face. Expansive to our childish view, It gave us hours of bliss ; We wondered how the ocean blue Could be more broad than this ! And when we learned that pearls so bright Lay in the ocean's bed, We kissed the lilies, waxen white, — " These are more fair," we said. LAKE MASSBESIC. 49 In that far-off Creation's day, When earth and sea were planned, I think this gem, with crystal ray, Fell from our Father's hand. THANKSGIVING. We thank thee, Father, for the light That came when all the way was rough, And sorrow's clouds were dark enough To hide thee all the day from sight. Thy goodness stood revealed. Thy care, Thy tender care for all the weak, The weary ones too faint to speak, Who seek thy presence everywhere. We thank thee for the hand that held Our own with such a tender clasp, When life seemed slipping from our grasp, And stormy fears would not be quelled. THANKSGIVING, 51 We praise thee for the love that shone With brighter glow in our great need, For friends who proved themselves in deed And truth to be our very own. Good gifts and perfect, — and we know Thou art the giver of all such ; We could not praise thee overmuch If heart and tongue should overflow. Let us not drift beyond the bound Thy loving hand doth kindly place. Storm-driven we have sought thy face, And in thy love a harbor found. And should our lives be short or long, They must be full of love to thee, And prayer and praise ne'er cease to be The burden of our daily song. STANZAS. Life is not all a pleasant dream To those who walk discreetly ; Its changes, like a wondrous theme, Tax mind and strength completely. However meaningless, at times. May seem God's providences; Again, like hidden thoughts in rhymes, They touch our finer senses. We can but watch the threads that go To make what we call chances ; So fine we sometimes scarcely know If they were more than fancies. so FEW. We count them over slowly, The friends that used to bless ; The strong ones, and the lowly, Each year we find them less. Death takes a goodly number. And bears them from our sight ; Some leave us while we slumber, And some in morning's light. Friends who have walked beside us For many a weary day. Some morning meet and chill us, Like cool north winds in May. 54 so FEW. Estranged ? Ah yes ! we waken Full oft with fevered start, To find ourselves forsaken By some strong, earnest heart. We heard no evil whisper, We sat no door ajar ; And yet a dear one left us — So near, and now so far ! 'Twere vain to try to win them By words they used to know, Some rhymes by repetition Lose all their olden glow. Perhaps a word was spoken In strange or idle mood ; Perhaps a promise broken We thought so fair and good. so FEW. 55 Or, when our cares were heavy, And kind words needed sore, They brought us what but made us More weary than before. How many come when Pleasure, Our welcome guest, is here ! How fond they are! how charming! Our own for ever dear. For ever ! lo the shadows Scarce touch our '^ promised land " Ere they have flown and left us Once more alone to stand. Some leave us with a burden We had not thought to bear ; A weight of care and sorrow Our kindness sought to share. 66 so FEW. Some leave us rifled, empty, But little did they bring, Yet, leaving, they have robbed us Of many a precious thing. Our friends, we count them slowly. The dear ones love has crowned. The few who understand us. And in our hearts are found. Estranged, afar or weary, Alas ! what shall we do ? They never were o'er plenty. And now they are so few ! OUR OWN. Our cottage may be small, the landscape tame ; Our flowers may lack a new, high-sounding name ; Our chosen paths be rocky or wind-blown; And yet we love our own ! The little child that sits beside our feet May rob us of our strength and rest so sweet, And cause our way with cares to be thick strewn ; And yet we love our own! There may be fairer lands and brighter skies, There may be friends more faithful or more wise Than any we have ever seen or known; But each will love his own ! THE OLD, OLD STORY. How was it ? Well, at first he came and went As others did, he talked with eacli in turn ; His mind