S. Attwood Butterfield, M. D. 
 
l^MUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 THE POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 Sl^ XTTWOOD I-3UTTERFIELD. M. D. 
 
 "l)artet« is tl)e Spire of £ife." 
 
 IXDIAXAPOI.IS. IND. 
 
 C. S. KL'I lEK FIELD, I'KINTTKK AND STATIOXEK. 
 
 1887. 
 

 
 
 ^"^^.a^'^ 
 
 
TO ARKAMINTA, MY DEAR, DEVOTJiD WIKE, WHO HAS UEEN MY 
 
 FAITHFUL COMPANION FOR FORTY-FOUR YEARS, THIS 
 
 LITTLE 1500K IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 By the author. 
 
My Portrait. 
 
 Ah, who in after coming vears 
 Will gaze vipon this silent face. 
 
 That 's seen full share of smiles and tears- 
 And will thev there an index trace 
 
 Of w^hat the thoughts of him have been 
 Whose countenance is here displayed ? 
 
 And will one sign of thought be seen, 
 Or line bj care or passion made ? 
 
 And will one tear of friendship start 
 Unbidden from the gazer's eve ? 
 
 And will there well up from the heart 
 One fond regret, one tender sigh ? 
 
 I know 'lis but the common lot, 
 However diff 'rent fate we crave, 
 
 "To be by life-long friends forgot, 
 
 When once we 're hidden in the grave. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis best it should be so, 
 Else life would be a drearv waste, 
 
 Where we no joy could ever know, 
 But tempted be its end to haste. 
 
 This picture "s left for w hat it 's worth 
 To those who to his heart w^ere dear ; 
 
 *Tis all that 's left to them on earth 
 
 Of one who loved them best while here. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 *'Of all the fools, who with ill stars are curst, 
 Sure scribbling fools, called poets, are the worst. 
 For they 're a set of fools which fortune makes, 
 And after she had made them fools, forsakes." 
 
 " Still many a sad and weary heart 
 That treads a noiseless way apart, 
 
 Has blest the humble poet's name. 
 For fellowship refined and free. 
 In meek wild-flowers of poesy 
 
 That ask'd no higher fame I " 
 
 In launching- this little waif on the great sea of poesy, strewn 
 -as it is with the debris of the numerous wrecks that have pre- 
 ceded it, T make no pretention to anything more than to com- 
 ply with the request of a few friends, whose love is to me of 
 more value than the gold of Ophir or the diamonds of Golconda; 
 but if what I have written here shall cause one human being 
 to be better or happier I will feel myself well rewarded for 
 mv labor, which has been resorted to only as a favorite amuse- 
 ment for idle hours, I being so constituted as to have no relish 
 for what the world is pleased to call amusement. 
 
 If some of these poems may seem frivolous or humorous, it 
 must be remembered that — 
 
 "A little nonsense now and then. 
 Is relished by the best of men." 
 
 Or if any one who reads this little book shall wonder why I 
 have written so much about death and heaven, my only apol- 
 ogv is the fact that I know I shall soon fall a victim to the 
 one, and hope then to become a citizen of the other. 
 
 The Author. 
 
ilMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 ^ pnEM:s 
 
 BY S. ATTWOOD BUTTERFIELD, M. D. 
 
 The Flight of Time. 
 
 How soon go by the swift-winged years — 
 
 How soon comes our three score and ten: 
 Our lives are mixed with joys and tears, 
 Sad disappointments, dead hopes> fears. 
 And sighing o'er what might have been. 
 
 In youth when life is all before, 
 
 What dazzling pictures fill the mind ; 
 
 But when we reach our full three score, 
 
 (Alas, by many long before,) 
 
 With sad regrets we look behind. 
 
 And oh, what huge mistakes we see. 
 
 What opportunities are lost ; 
 How much with us might better be. 
 Had we but kept from follies free. 
 
 That ruled us to our heavy cost. 
 
lO AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 When young we live in by-and-by, 
 
 Nor stop the present to enjoy 
 Those halcyon days that swiftly fly, 
 For which in after years we sigh, 
 
 When cares untold our peace annoy. 
 
 Each year its scroll ensanguined brings, 
 With deeds of blood its page to fill ; 
 
 Alike with vassals and with kings, 
 
 Man to such evil passion clings, 
 As proves that he 's a savage still. 
 
 The greatest blessings we receive. 
 Too soon are from our mem'ry past ; 
 
 While o'er each trifling loss we grieve. 
 
 And trusting fickle fortune live. 
 And, disappointed, die at last. 
 
 The dying year has much of sorrow seen. 
 
 Grim death of men, all grades, the great, the small,. 
 
 Has claimed, and where they once had been 
 No more they're known, for death claims all. 
 
 Fell war of man's infernal hate of man 
 The sad result, its victims many found, 
 
 While human blood in crimson currents ran. 
 To drank up be by war's polluted ground. 
 
 Of those whom men call great there 's not a few 
 Who 've gone to that beyond to us unknown — 
 
 To that strange land of which they nothing knt-w. 
 To reap whatever they on earth had sown. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. II 
 
 While foreign lands their rulers have to mourn 
 Been called, we too of this fair freedom land 
 
 Our loss have had of one who during life had borne 
 A part conspicuous as leader of a numerous band 
 
 Of party friends with whom his word was law. 
 Who drank as nectar words that from his tongue 
 
 Would fall, and would applause tumultuous draw, 
 As they on his melodious words admiring hung. 
 
 But ere had coine the time when he should go 
 The place to take that he 'd been called to fill, 
 
 Death, inexorable, of all mankind the foe, 
 
 Laid on him icy hands, and lo, the silv'ry tongue 
 is still. 
 
 But one who was of nobler deeds and greater still than he 
 Has from among us gone to Lethe's unknown shore* 
 
 And long will be the time ere we shall see 
 
 Another like to him whose death we now deplore. 
 
 He 's gone where noble souls throughout eternity 
 Shall reap the harvest they on earth have sown ; 
 
 To where from earthly cares and sorrows free, 
 A life of peace to spend where wars are never 
 known. 
 
 No need has he of shaft of sculptured stone 
 
 In his saved country's mem'ry his name to keep; 
 
 By deeds heroic far and wide his fame is known. 
 And hallowed be the spot, for aye, where he must 
 sleep. 
 
12 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 'Tis said death loves a shining mark, so one of gold 
 The summons dire received, one in his manhood's 
 priine, 
 
 Of frame robust, is by one shaft unerring cold; 
 Cut off from all his wealth before his time. 
 
 Sore pestilence abroad has stalked in other lands, 
 And pushed its victimed thousands to the tomb, 
 
 While they in prayer were lifting up their hands 
 Amid the direful suff 'ring, death and gloom. 
 
 Men to their vows have faithless, recreant pi-oved, 
 And maidens, too confiding, madly indiscreet, 
 
 Have found too late that he who vowed he loved 
 With passion pure that could not brook defeat— 
 
 A love like to eternity that has no end. 
 
 Was bvit a serpent charming to decoy 
 The one with false pretense he 'd promised to defend, 
 
 His subtle arts had used but to destroy. 
 
 'Tis thus the years as silent come as stealthily they go, 
 With wisdom's precious lesson always fraught ; 
 
 And if short-sighted man the most of good would know. 
 Then learn he must those lessons grand by wisdom 
 taught. 
 
 December 19, 1SS5. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Come, Gentle Spring. 
 
 Come, gentle spring ! we 've Availed long 
 Through dreary winter's ice and snow; 
 And long to hear the blue-bird's song, 
 And feel thy soft-winged zephyrs' blow. 
 
 Haste thou, coy maiden, to our vale 
 To beautify our dreary bowers; 
 And hush the north wind's dismal wail. 
 And paint the landscape o'er with tlowers. 
 
 Unlock the fetters of the rills. 
 With which old winter checked their flow; 
 And clothe with verdure vales and hills, 
 That long lay carpeted wdth snow. 
 
 And let the bright sun's golden sheen 
 The earth's long dormant life renew; 
 The forests clothe in robes of green, 
 That lend enchantment to the view. 
 
 Then we shall hear the songs again 
 Of merry ploughmen at their toil, 
 In that enchanting rural strain. 
 Befitting tillers of the soil. 
 
 Bid ev'ry laughing stream rejoice, 
 As it goes dancing to the sea, 
 And sings with dulcet murm'ring voice, 
 The praises of our God and thee. 
 
H 
 
 AMUSEMEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 My Mind. 
 
 Mj mind, companion of my life, 
 In which so much of joy I find, 
 
 In all of earth's turmoil and strife, 
 My greatest solace is my mind. 
 
 I bless the God who gave it me, 
 
 With it I never am alone; 
 Howe'er oppressed with care I be, 
 
 It can for all such cares atone. 
 
 I pray that God may grant this boon, 
 (Whatever else may me betide,) 
 
 My mind may keep in right attune, 
 And while I live with me abide. 
 
 With it I range creation o'ei* — 
 The earth survey in every clime; 
 
 Then to the far-off worlds I soar, 
 
 Mid scenes of grandeur more sublime. 
 
 I meditate on what shall be. 
 
 In those prophetic coming years, 
 
 When eaith transformed shall have no sea, 
 Nor man know sickness, pain or tears; 
 
 When man's infernal hate of man 
 
 Shall cease to make his brother mourn — 
 
 When strife and hate put under ban, 
 Shall be of all their venom shorn; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I^ 
 
 And peace shall brood with balmj- wing 
 O'er all earth's children everywhere ; 
 
 Peace and good will the song they sing, 
 While praises fill the ambient air. 
 
 In searching for earth's purest joys, 
 
 On life's too fickle stream I find, 
 While playing with my earthly toys, 
 
 The source of greatest bliss, my mind. 
 
 Niagara. 
 
 Plow on, mighty river, thy limpid waves dashing 
 Adown the deep gorge to the breakers below ; 
 
 Thy waters in sunlight so brilliantly flashing. 
 Unceasing thy roar as resistless thy floAv. 
 
 Bear on thy deep waters through lake to the ocean. 
 
 Far, far from the sound of the cataract's roar ; 
 With surface now placid, now wild in commotion. 
 
 Thy angry waves splashing- their spray on the 
 shore. 
 
 ^o mortal may tell of the numberless ages 
 
 That have past into'Lethe since first there began 
 
 The song of thy waters, thou problem of sages 
 And object of worship for untutored man, 
 
l6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 In thj restless, persistent and tireless rushing, 
 The type of a people beside thee I see; 
 
 Thy back waves those forward continually pushing^ 
 Thy course like that people forever is free. 
 
 Again like that people by going while coming 
 
 The stream is kept full pressing on to the goal; 
 The tide never shrinking but ebbing and flowing, 
 Thy parts ever changing but never the whole. 
 
 As alone on thy rock-bastioned borders I wander, 
 Admiring thy grandeur what wonders I see I 
 
 Then I praise the Great Author of nature and ponder 
 On what the great, final denouement shall be; 
 
 When at last to God's crucible earth shall be given. 
 The old to remelt and to give us the new; 
 
 Whence death and disease are eternally driven. 
 
 Will enchantment like thine still enliven the view.^ 
 
 Sieg, The Hero. Engineer. 
 
 With living freight the train is stovyed, 
 The seething engine panting stands ; 
 
 The bright rails shimmer down the road — 
 Six hundi-ed lives are in his hands. 
 
 And now with lightning-speed they fly. 
 Up grade and down, past wood and farm 
 
 Nor dream they of disaster nigh. 
 
 For naught is seen to do them harm. 
 
amusp:mp:nt of idle hours. 
 
 He knows he carries precious freight. 
 
 That man of nerve and grease and grime. 
 
 Who proves a hero truly great 
 For poets' songs in after time. 
 
 That breathing mass that teems with life. 
 Resign their safetv to his care : 
 
 With mirthful glee the crowd is rife, 
 And wit and jest flash everywhere. 
 
 As on the wings of wind they fly, 
 In haste to reach the destined goal, 
 
 A signal greets his watchful eye— 
 A sight that thrills his inmost soul. 
 
 The cab 's on fire ! What shall he do .' 
 Who, who can save from coming wreck : 
 
 But only echo answers " who ? " 
 
 The chance is lost their speed to check. 
 
 He quick his only course decides, 
 And warning gives of danger nigh ; 
 
 Then, with clenched teeth, he bravely glides- 
 Into the flames now mounting hio-h. 
 
 With crisp-burned hands the train he stops. 
 And all are saved but him alone; 
 
 Enwrapped in flame he senseless drops, 
 A martyr to his duty done. 
 
 Let others sing the rich and great. 
 The wise and noble of the earth. 
 
 Who safely guide the Ship of State— 
 I sing the great of lowly birth. 
 2— P. 
 
l8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Now, all who lov^e a noble deed, 
 Come drop a sympathetic tear 
 
 For him, true friend in time of need- 
 The gallant, martyred engineer. 
 
 \Arords. 
 
 A word, ah ! just one little word ; 
 
 What lasting mis 'ry it may bring ; 
 How oft the inmost soul it 's stirred — 
 
 How keen been felt the poignant sting. 
 
 Nor is it by our words alone 
 
 That we such cruel wounds may make, 
 But even by our look or tone 
 
 May cause some loving heart to ache. 
 
 The dearest friend feels most the pain 
 That one unguarded speech may give, 
 
 And though 'tis mentioned ne'er again, 
 May in that friend's sad memory live. 
 
 Then husbands, wives, all who have friends. 
 Guard well yovir speech to every one; 
 
 Kind words for faults oft make amends, 
 And right whatever wrong is done. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I9 
 
 The Old Man's Address to his Old Wife. 
 
 'Twill not be long, a tew short years, 
 
 Till one will sit beside a bed 
 With saddened face suffused with tears. 
 
 Disheveled hair and bowed down head; 
 
 Holding a cold and clammy hand, 
 To watch a flick'ring pulse grow less, 
 
 While pitying friends around us stand. 
 And witness love's last fond caress. 
 
 Where all will speak with bated bi-eath, 
 Thus adding poignance to the gloom 
 
 That always haunts the house of death. 
 And follows loved ones to the tomb. 
 
 With tear-dimmed eyes and aching heart, 
 Through the long night one watch will keep, 
 
 To see the last gasped breath depart, 
 And end all pain in peaceful sleep. 
 
 'Tis true we 're happy here to-day, 
 From carking care and sorrow free; 
 
 But death will soon take one away, 
 But O, dear wife, which shall it be ? 
 
 I pray that God may order so 
 
 When that unwelcome time shall come, 
 That we may both together go, 
 
 ( As we have lived), to our long home, 
 
20 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Nor leave one. desolate, alone 
 
 To struggle on through days of gloom. 
 With all life's joys forever flown, 
 Impatient waiting for the tomb. 
 Indianapolis, Aug. 7, 1SS2. 
 
 The Devil on the Steps of a Fashionable Church. 
 
 The minister went on his summer vacation, 
 The weather was hot and his arduous toil 
 
 Called loudly for rest with combined recreation, 
 Lest his health such continuovxs labor might spoil. 
 
 So he hied him away and his Church was neglected. 
 There was none for the spiritual body to care; 
 
 But his sal 'ry went on and was duly collected 
 The same as if constantly he had been there. 
 
 First he thought he 'd go sailing far over the ocean 
 And get a good sniff of the pure saltj^ bi^eeze; 
 
 But prayerfully thinking, he soon changed his notion 
 And thought 'twould be nicer among the green trees. 
 
 So off soon he went to the lakes and the forests, 
 Communing with nature in nature's own fane; 
 
 There by joining the songs of the sweet feathered 
 chorists. 
 Give strength to the body and rest to the brain. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 2[ 
 
 The' his calling was sacred, demanding devotion 
 Of body and soul to the work, yet alas, 
 
 For the pleasures of earth still he had such a notion 
 He left fishing for souls to go angling for bass. 
 
 But the time of vacation at last having ended, 
 
 He came back to his charge to resume the control 
 
 Of the place he had left, and his people attended 
 In quest of some food for the famishing soul. 
 
 JVs he drew near his Church wnth glad step and light- 
 hearted, 
 
 Now eager again to his work to return, 
 -At the sight of a form on the doorstep he started — 
 
 "It's the devil," he said, '• if I rightly discern." 
 
 "When he had come near the complacent newcomer. 
 
 "How d'ye do,'" said the devil; "I thought it no 
 crime, 
 ^hile you were away the hot days of summer. 
 
 For me to stay here and put in the odd time." 
 
 For the devil, more faithful, his post ne'er deserted 
 Through all the long weeks the divine was away; 
 
 JBut by law of preemption his rights he asserted, 
 And said to the pastor, '• I 'm here now to stav !" 
 
22 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 My Last Request. 
 
 When I am launched on death's dark wave, 
 I would not have to mark the spot, 
 
 A monument above my grave, 
 I 'd sleep in peace and be forgot. 
 
 Except bv those whose love has clung 
 But firmer in each gath'ring storm, 
 
 Repelling shafts of slander's tongue 
 In proof of friendship true and warm. 
 
 No monument of sculptured stone 
 Shall mark my final place of rest; 
 
 But in the hearts of friends alone, 
 
 Who during life have known me best, 
 
 I 'd leave a more enduring name 
 Than towering granite ever told — 
 
 For noble deeds a brighter fame 
 
 Than eVr was bought with hoarded gold.. 
 
 To those who can my failings hide — 
 
 Whose loving hearts mv faults fory^ive — 
 
 With whom whatever me betide 
 In mem'ry sweet my virtues live; 
 
 To svich true friends I leave behind 
 
 To fight life's battles all alone ; 
 Friends who to me were but too kind 
 
 I leave mv mem'rv when I'm gone. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 23 
 
 In the old orchard where I played. 
 
 An artless child devoid of care, 
 I 'd have my weary body laid 
 
 And with my kindred moulder there, 
 
 Where 'mid the apple blooms of Spring 
 The birds may chant their requiem lays, 
 
 Just as I used to hear them sing 
 So sweetly in my childhood days. 
 
 Then lay me not to \ny last sleep 
 
 Among the tombs of Mammon's slaves. 
 
 Who strive in memory to keep 
 By sculptured marble o'er their graves. 
 
 The Bereaved Husband. 
 
 As sadly and glooniilv homeward T go, 
 What greeting awaits me no other may know; 
 The rooms are all silent, no welcome voice there. 
 A stillness so deathlike what mortal could bear. 
 
 I pause at the threshold and listlessly stand. 
 
 While the door knob I hold in mv faltering hand; 
 
 Still dreading to enter, imwilling to wait. 
 
 I 've measured each step since I came through the gate. 
 
 And tho' with slow footsteps I Ve leisurely come, 
 Yet it seems all too soon I've arrived at our home: 
 For the nights are so lonely, not even a friend 
 To while the lonsf hours that never will end. 
 
24 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 I resort to my books till my eyes heavy grown 
 
 I go to my pillow but sleep has all flown; 
 
 So but slum'bring I dream of the loved one that's gone. 
 
 And long for the coming again of tlie morn. 
 
 A stillness oppressive environs me round, 
 Till I long for one ripple of some earthly sound ; 
 Such sound would be w^ Icome whatever it be — 
 However discordant 'tis music to me. 
 
 And when bright aurora the orient illumes. 
 And the day -god in glory his journey resumes, 
 I rise from my couch with a throb in my brain, 
 And long for the time of night's coming again. 
 
 And thus the sad moments pass slowly away, 
 Now wishing for night, and then wishing for day, 
 Till wearv with waiting the simimons shall come. 
 To join her again in that far-away home. 
 
 Long j^ears I have drank the pure nectar of life, 
 Made sweet by the love of a dear trusting wife ; 
 And now I have tasted the price of a tear, 
 Since knowing mv loved one no more can be here. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOI RS. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Sweet singer of Atlantic hills, 
 
 With lustre bright thy labors shine ; 
 
 He who that lessens human ills 
 
 Best duties of his life fulfills. 
 
 And such a worthy life was thine. 
 
 How grand at last to sink to rest. 
 
 With all life's duties nobly done — 
 To leave a memory so blest 
 With those in life who knew thee best. 
 For life well spent and honors won. 
 
 Th}' voice shall speak through coming years 
 
 As it has spoken in the past. 
 And as each welcome spring appears, 
 Throngs will baptize with friendship's tears 
 
 Thy grave while memory shall last. 
 
 And children will flock to thy tomb. 
 
 To view the final resting place 
 Of him who, tho' in earth's dark womb, 
 They hope to see amid the gloom 
 
 Their loved one's pleasant smiling face. 
 
 Sweet singer, then a last farewell, 
 Thou much of joy to us hast given, 
 
 And now where kindred spirits dwell. 
 
 Where praise to God in anthems swell, 
 Thou 'st found a welcome rest in heaven. 
 
26 AMUSEJMEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 A Winter Night's Reverie. 
 
 O, dreary is my Mary's tomb, 
 
 Deep coated o'er with ghs'ning snow; 
 
 Where free from pain she rests in gloom, 
 Nor heeds the cold bleak winds that blow. 
 
 That calm, sweet face that charmed my sight- 
 The pure and gracefnl, perfect form, 
 
 Sleeps in the damp cold grave to-night. 
 Where no life blood again can warm. 
 
 O, darling of my broken hearti 
 No more on earth thy face to see 
 
 Is of my life the saddest part. 
 
 Since I must mourning go for thee 
 
 Like some pure stream these many years. 
 
 Our wedded life had smoothly run. 
 But in my west there now appears. 
 
 With fading rays life's setting sun. 
 
 An oasis in desert waste, 
 
 Those by -gone years in mem'ry seem : 
 Then we life's sweetest jo^^s might taste. 
 
 But all are gone, gone like a dream. 
 
 But time is short till I will come 
 
 And we '11 united be again. 
 Where we in our Elysium home. 
 
 Will know no parting, grief or pain. 
 
AMI -SEMEKT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 On the Death of J. D. Nolin. 
 
 'Tis done : the last sad scene is o'er — 
 
 The worn wayfarer is at rest ; 
 He 's passed from earth to that bright shore 
 
 Where freed from pain, he 's ever blest ; 
 And there before the Father's throne, 
 His Saviour claims him for His own. 
 
 When once he found his time had come, 
 Without one murmur or regret, 
 
 He passed bejond, into that home 
 Where all the good of earth are met : 
 
 For life's rough path he "d patient trod, 
 
 True to his country and his God. 
 
 No lurking doubt disturbed his faith 
 Through all his many suffering years. 
 
 But till his last, expiring breath, 
 
 The change he viewed, sans doubt or fears, 
 
 His Bible being his true friend 
 
 That cheered him to the final end. 
 
 A pilgrim, long his duty done, , 
 
 He 's found surcease from mortal pain ; 
 
 The battle fought and vici'ry won. 
 Tho" loss to friends, to him 'tis gain ; 
 
 For in good works he led the van. 
 
 And lived and died a righteous man. 
 
28 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOLRS. 
 
 Now to the lone wife left behind 
 To drop sad tears upon his tomb. 
 
 How ever-full will crowd her mind, 
 All her remaining days of gloom. 
 
 With thoughts of happy days of yore, 
 
 In memory shrined, but come no more. 
 
 The Prayer of My Declining Years. 
 
 My God, as age steals o'er my frame, 
 And youthful fire is burning low. 
 
 Help me to more adore Thy name — 
 More rev'rence for Thy name to show. 
 
 Guide Thou my wayward feet, I pray, 
 To walk the straight and narrow road, 
 
 Lest in forbidden paths I stray. 
 
 And count mj^ cross a grievous load. 
 
 Teach me more charity to show 
 
 For other's faults, and with them share 
 
 Whatever ills they needs must know, 
 x\nd be resigned mv" own to bear. 
 
 And help me still more to forgive. 
 As each succeeding day flits by ; 
 
 And while I 'm learning how to live, 
 O, teach me also how to die 1 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 29 
 
 Be it my constant- en re to fill 
 
 The place that Then to me hast given ; 
 
 And help me. Lord, to do thy will. 
 And gain at last a home in heaven. 
 
 Help me to feel how short is life, 
 
 And that I 'm nearing now its close. 
 
 When I shall leave this world of strife. 
 For that beyond no mortal knows. 
 
 O, strengthen faith, my God, in Thee I 
 
 That I Thy purpose may fulfill, 
 So that w^hen launched on death's dark sea. 
 
 I may be found Thy servant still. 
 
 Grant but this prayer ; I ask no more. 
 
 ' Tis of my utmost wish the sum, 
 Till I have gained that blissful shore 
 
 Where pain and sorrow never come. 
 
 Song of The Tippecanoe Club. 
 
 Now, one by one, to the unknown land 
 Our comrades are going on every hand; 
 
 Yes, one by one. 
 To the land that no mortal eye ever hath seen, 
 Tho' shut from our view by so flimsy a screen; 
 Passing away! Passing away; 
 
 Yes. one by one. 
 
30 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOI RS. 
 
 Our number grows less from year to year, 
 
 And soon will the remnant be small that is here, 
 
 For, one by one 
 We 're passing away to that far away home 
 Where troubles and sorrows of earth never come; 
 Passing away! Passing away; 
 
 Yes, one by one. 
 
 The battle of life we have fought many years, 
 
 And off our sad hearts have our eyes filled with tears 
 
 For some loved one, 
 Who has left us and gone to eternity's shore, 
 Whence he will return to be with us no more; 
 Thus pass we away, pass we away; 
 Yes, one by cme. 
 
 Tho' the journey 's been long, and tho' rough was the 
 way. 
 
 And the fixed laws of nature have turned our hairs 
 
 Tho' one by one, 
 The pleasui'es that charmed us in days of our youth 
 Have vanished, it only has taught us this truth: 
 We're passing away, passing away I 
 
 Yes, one by one. 
 
 But in that blest country- we'll all meet again, 
 For, trusting ovir labor has not been in vain. 
 
 We, one by one 
 Will gather again round our Father's bright throne, 
 And there know each other as here we are known, 
 
 When we 've passed away, we 've passed away, 
 
 Yes, one bv one. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOVRS. 3 1 
 
 To My Mother, Who Died June 8, 1834. 
 
 Dear mother in heaven, my tho'ts are to-niglit 
 
 So gloomy and sad as I sit here alone. 
 And think of those days that were full of delight — 
 
 Blest days of contentment now vanished and gone. 
 
 So much like a weird fascination they seem. 
 
 In mem'ry they live, tho' so long past away; 
 But then they dissolve like a half-waking dream 
 
 That vanishes from us at breaking of day. 
 
 Since that long svimmer day when thy spirit took wing, 
 And sped on its way to a happier shore, 
 
 I know that by wishing I never can bring 
 
 Thee back, our loved cottage to bless as of yore. 
 
 Since then I have drank of the bitter and sweet — 
 Of life's mingled cup that all mortals must drink; 
 
 But soon time will come Mhen again we shall meet, 
 For of three score and ten I am nearing the brink. 
 
 Thy life, all too short, was so burdened with care, 
 The days were not counted as swiftly they past; 
 
 The burden's so heavy each day called to bear. 
 With sweet resignation were borne to the last. 
 
 Through the many long years that the green grass has 
 grown 
 
 Above thy loved body now gone to decay. 
 The brown, withered leaves by the autumn winds strown, 
 
 Disturbed not thv slumber by night or by day. 
 
32 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then rest, weary toiler, thy duty well done, 
 From all of thy labor 'tis meet to find rest; 
 
 And soon will come to thee, thy long absent son^ 
 Again, as of yore, to be clasped to thy breast. 
 
 Our Native Girls. 
 
 Let others boast the beauty of 
 
 Their foreign belles with golden hair; 
 
 I sing Columbia's native girls, 
 
 With graceful forms and faces fair. 
 
 Their limpid eyes of evry hue, 
 
 Would put to blush the brightest gem 
 
 That ever royal maiden wore. 
 Or decked a regal diadem. 
 
 With lucid eyes that ever are 
 Reflecting mirrors of the soul, 
 
 Their hearts are warm and ever true 
 As is the needle to the pole. 
 
 Their peachy cheeks and rosy lips, 
 As nectar of the Gods are sweet; 
 
 And unsurpassed by womankind, 
 
 Are their small, shapely hands and feet. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOLKS. 
 
 With independence never known, 
 Or dared in any other lands, 
 
 They greatest deference are shown. 
 And every man's respect commands. 
 
 Then let them praise their foreign belles. 
 
 But everywhere our flag unfurls. 
 At home, abroad, by land or sea, 
 
 God bless our mothers and our girls. 
 
 What's The Use. 
 
 What's the use of all this tumult — 
 All this constant toil and strife — 
 
 All this reaching after something 
 Never gained in this short life .- 
 What's the use : 
 
 What's the use of building castles, 
 Filled with every work of art. 
 
 Thinking we shall then be happv. 
 Satisfying thus the heart ? 
 What's the use.' 
 
 Wealth can't satisfy, nor grandeur; 
 
 With them all there's longing still- 
 Want is felt for something better — 
 Want that earth can never fill: 
 What's the use ? 
 3— p. 
 
34 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Since we all are only mortals, 
 Doomed to toil from day to day 
 
 To sustain our short existence, 
 And soon forgotten when away, 
 
 What's the use ? 
 
 Babes are born and grow to manhood, 
 Through a few uncertain years, 
 
 Then strive on through manhood's mazes, 
 Filled with cares and sori'ow's tears: 
 What 's the use ? 
 
 Life 's so short and so uncertain. 
 We can claim of it no lease; 
 
 But when death rings down the curtain 
 Then our troubles all will cease: 
 What 's the use r 
 
 What's the use that human millions 
 Ev'ry year should come and go, 
 
 Like the ocean's restless billows, 
 Keeping up their ebb and flow ? 
 
 What's the use r Ol What's the use ? 
 
amu.sk.mp:nt of idle hours. 35 
 
 "Young Man, Keep Your Record Clean. 
 
 Fitting words so timely spoken. 
 
 On the very brink of death, 
 As the golden bowl was broken. 
 
 Uttered with his parting breath. 
 
 For a grand life what an endingi 
 
 In the thickest of the fight. 
 Virtue to young men commending — 
 
 Doing battle for the right. 
 
 Ah, could those words be ever ringing 
 
 In the eai's of all the young. 
 Who are to doubtful habits clinging. 
 
 Wept o'er in life to die unsung: 
 
 And would they heed the timely warning, 
 While of the world they little know. 
 
 And shun temptations of life's morning, 
 They 'd much escape of future woe. 
 
 ^ut Gough is dead, his life work ended. 
 
 By bards his virtues will be sung — 
 His words of cheer with Avarning blended. 
 
 Flow no more from his silv'r}' tongue. 
 
 Then rest, great soul, in peace forever. 
 Thou ev'ry phase of life hast seen; 
 
 But be these words forgotten never. 
 
 "Young man, keep your record clean." 
 
36 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 A Thanksgiving Hymn 
 
 O God, for all Thy mercies shown 
 
 We tune our grateful hearts to praise; 
 
 Thy boundless goodness we would own, 
 And sing Thy love in joj^ful lays. 
 
 Tho' pestilence and famine sore 
 
 Have peoples scourged in other lands, 
 
 We 've safely passed the season o'er, 
 Protected by Thy guardian hands. 
 
 The earth has poured her bounties forth, 
 Sunshine and rain have done their part,. 
 
 From sunny south to chilly north. 
 And filled with joy the toiler's heart. 
 
 The sower's had his promised seed, 
 The eater too his promised bread; 
 
 And well supplied been every need. 
 Till all have been with plenty fed. 
 
 Sweet peace has spread her balmy wing 
 O'er all our people far and near; 
 
 And now we come Thy praise to sIlj^ 
 For blessings of fbp passing year. 
 
 Help us. Thy people, O, our God, 
 
 To more deserve Thy bounteous grace, 
 
 Lest we should feel Thy chast'ning rod, 
 And Thou from us shouldst hide Thy face. 
 
AMLSEMEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 37 
 
 Help US to feel how good Thou art, 
 And on Thy goodness to depend. 
 
 Let gratitude fill every heart. 
 
 And be Thou still our uuide and friend. 
 
 The Final Quarrel. 
 
 Enough's been said, so say no more, 
 ■I see it's as I said before, 
 Thy heart has so deceitful proved, 
 Thou art unworthy to be loved: 
 
 So time has come. I must away, 
 ^ Tis sad to go, but worse to stay ; 
 If fate decrees so it must be. 
 That I no more thv face shall see. 
 
 I go my way, do thou the same, 
 While each on other lays the blame; 
 Tho' years will come and years will go, 
 Still we shall meet no more below. 
 
 But as go by the lonely years, 
 How oft will be suffused with tears 
 Those brightly sparkling, limpid eyes, 
 Wherein such weird enchantment lies. 
 
38 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Mv proudest hopes like dreams have fled, 
 And left but deep regret instead — 
 Regret that I had ever known 
 A heart so fickle as thine own. 
 
 But for her faults I will not chide 
 One who was once my proinised bride;. 
 If far or near where'er I dwell, 
 M^' heart is thine — so now farewell. 
 
 Have Mercy. 
 
 Deal gentlv with the erring ones. 
 For you never know how well, 
 
 Howr gallantly they struggled on. 
 Before they, yielding, fell. 
 
 Temptations Avhich vou never knew^ 
 
 Perhaps beset their way; 
 Temptation sore through poverty, 
 
 That pinched them day by dav. 
 
 Remember our en\ironment, 
 In childhood's early days. 
 
 May give our early lives a bent 
 That shapes our future ways.. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOl^RS. 39 
 
 However low their lives have been, — 
 
 However much debased, — 
 However sfrov'ling be their sin, 
 
 They once were pure and chaste. 
 
 Perhaps they victims were of lust, 
 
 That now their fair fame mars; 
 Then be to such poor sisters just, 
 
 Tho' shut behind the bars. 
 
 For be their crimes however great, 
 
 O, treat them not with scorn! 
 For some seem shuttlecocks of fate. 
 
 Condemned before the v 're born. 
 
 The Flood-Suffering Mother's Lament.- 
 
 The waters subsided and left the earth bare, 
 The spoiler its work had effectu'ly done, 
 
 And with joy not unmixed with a sense of despair. 
 The return of the sufferers at last had begun. 
 
 Destruction confronts them wherever thev go — 
 Their once pleasant homes are but piles of debris; 
 
 How sad are their bosoms no other can know. 
 
 As thej' think what tbeir fate in the future mav be. 
 
 Among them a mother appeared in the throng, 
 A picture of sadness and heart rending grief. 
 
 Like a soul that is sick from its waiting so long. 
 And finds not a balm that can bring it relief. 
 
 *An actual scene after the great flood at Lawrencebiirg-, in 18S3. 
 
4© AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 As one sore bewildered she wandered alone, 
 
 As if in close search for some place she'd forgot; 
 
 Not a word did she utter, till in a sad tone 
 
 She poured out this wail when she came to the spot: 
 
 "O, can this be home!" and her eves filled with tears 
 As she gazed on the wreck of her once happy home, 
 
 Where together they'd labored so many long years, 
 With a fond cherished hope of the future to come. 
 
 "All the treasures I held as most dear to my heart, 
 I left here and hurried away for my life; 
 
 Sad day 'twas to me thus compelled to depart, 
 
 With the mad waves unequally inatched in a strife." 
 
 " But the pitiless waters swept ruthlessly by. 
 Nor gave us a moment our treasures to save; 
 
 The choice was but left us to hasten and fly, 
 Or find with our treasures a waterj^ grave." 
 
 "Now the windows are shattered and warped are the doors 
 Their hinges are broken, locks rusted and spoiled, 
 
 And heaped up in ridges the mud-covered floors, 
 And gone are all comforts for which we had toiled." 
 
 "The bureau, disjointed, lies scattered around, 
 Its contents so precious we hoarded with care. 
 
 Some lodged in a window, some out on the ground. 
 And others gone, mortal may never tell where." 
 
 " This clock, precious gift from my sainted dead mother, 
 
 Memorial sweet of a time far away, 
 I cherished with care as I could not another, 
 
 But now all its beauty is gone to decay." 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 4I 
 
 ""The crib where our baby so recently slept. 
 
 Lies piled with debris at the side of the room; 
 The crib of our babe, over whom we had wept, 
 
 Is now a memento that adds to the gloom.'" 
 
 •' When we hoped that the worst of our troubles had 
 come, 
 
 Death threw his cold arms 'round that joy of \ny heart, 
 And o'er the mad waters we went from our home, 
 
 And laid him away from fond parents apart." 
 
 " O, what in this wide world for me now is left, 
 For which life's Avorth living, can any one see.'' 
 
 Of all life's best treasures so rudely bereft. 
 Will e'er compensation be meted to mer " 
 
 "I fervently pray for the strength to endure 
 This crushing affliction without a complaint. 
 
 Well knowing, kind Father. Thy promise is sure, 
 Sixpport to Thy children to give when they faint." 
 
 ^'Then be still, stricken heart, for I must not complain, 
 Perhaps 'tis in mercy the Father hath sent 
 
 This grievous disaster, this anguishing pain. 
 Besides He's but taken again ivhat He lent." 
 
 ^' From all of my sorrows this lesson I've learned: 
 To bow in submission whatever may come; 
 
 And when from a long-enforced absence returned. 
 Be it ever so flood- wrecked 'There's no place like 
 home.' " 
 
42 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 It Pays Best at Last, Girls. 
 
 It always pays best at the last, girls, 
 
 It always pays best at the last, 
 To heed the advice of your mothers. 
 
 Lest you be found going too fast. 
 
 They know the world better than you, girls^ 
 That it often deceives by its looks, 
 
 And that there are sources of knowledge, 
 Besides what is found in your books. 
 
 Go slow in your dealing with beaux, girls. 
 
 For there it is sale to be slow; 
 And if they in morals are lacking, 
 
 Don't hesitate; firmly say no. 
 
 The people are not fed and clothed, girls. 
 
 Except it's by somebody's work; 
 And you are unworthy your portion, 
 
 If your part of that labor you shirk. 
 
 You'll think mother keeps you too close, girls,. 
 
 And don't give you half you desire 
 Of dresses and ribbons and laces. 
 
 Such nice things that all girls adinire. 
 
 You say it's degrading to work, girls, 
 
 To go in the kitchen and cook. 
 Spoil your pretty white hands washing dishes,. 
 
 Exclaiming "how awful 'twould look." 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOIRS. 43 
 
 But if it's degrading to work, girls, 
 
 It surely is more so to eat, 
 While vour father and mother by labor, 
 
 Must earn all your bread and your meat. 
 
 If trifling you spend all your time, girls, 
 
 With novels that teach you no good. 
 Or murd'ring some helpless piano. 
 
 Disgusting the whole neighborhood. 
 
 While your back-aching mother must drudge, girls^ 
 
 To keep your fine clothes in repair, 
 You're coming far short of your duty. 
 
 Not helping her burdens to bear. 
 
 Remember that life has its duties, girls, 
 
 Nor is it all frolic and fun; 
 But something while living is needed. 
 
 To serve when youth's pleasures are done. 
 
 Then rouse up ye butterfly, do-nothing girls. 
 
 Resolve on redeeming the past; 
 Go help in the kitchen your mother. 
 
 You'll find it pavs best at the last. 
 
44 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Occasion Brings Forth the Man. 
 
 You say that our poets are wanting 
 
 In spirit, if summer goes by 
 With weather so cool and enchanting, 
 
 And neither too wet nor too dry, 
 If they don't cHmb Parnassus about it 
 
 And tell what a summer resort 
 Is found in our beautiful city, 
 
 Then they of their calling come short. 
 
 When the mercur3'"s down in the sixties 
 
 At this piping time of the year, 
 The greenies away from home, seeking 
 
 Cool weather, had better be here, 
 The comforts of home life enjoying. 
 
 And saving their money beside. 
 Than leaving the comforts they know of 
 
 For pleasures in places untried. 
 
 I make no pretense as the poet 
 
 You speak of. the beauties to tell 
 Of the exquisite weather we're having, 
 
 But still it perhaps would be well 
 To say to the people who're thinking 
 
 'Tis pleasant in summer to roam. 
 That for solid and unalloyed comfort 
 
 This weather, there's no place like home. 
 
AMISE.MEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 45 
 
 The Evict's Farewell to Erin. 
 
 Och, Erin! my Erin, briglit gim of the s'a! 
 
 Dear Erin, thou idol and pride of me heahrt, 
 Oh, why should I iver have lived to this day, 
 
 To be from thy borders compelled to depahrt. 
 
 Behint me I cast a long sorrowful look 
 
 At the hill>; where my kindred in poverty dwell: 
 
 For the wrongs of my counthry this pahrting I brook, 
 So, Erin, a long and a final farewell. 
 
 I leave thee, dear Erin, for faraway lands, 
 To wander an exile away from my home; 
 
 The oppressor has grasped with his covetous hands 
 My birthright, and drove me forever to roam. 
 
 Och, Erin, me darlint, whereiver I go 
 
 To the inds of the earth, I shall still be the same 
 
 Bould patriot, regarding each Briton a foe, 
 
 And curse every spalspane that mintions the name. 
 
 And I'll grasp me shillaly and square for a fight 
 Wheniver the head of a Briton is seen. 
 
 As long as the shamrock shall blossom in white, 
 Or the grass in the valleys of Erin is green. 
 
 Then fare thee well, Erin, I'll see thee no more. 
 
 But woe to the Briton that crosses me way! 
 When safely I've landed on some foreign shore, 
 
 Where whisky is plenty and no more to pay 
 
46 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 For breaking the head of a proud British lord 
 Than a peasant evicted from off" his estate; 
 
 I'll then have revinge and he'll get his reward, 
 
 When he feels the full force of my rancor and hate. 
 
 My First Day at School, a True Story. 
 
 A pleasant da}^ 'twas in September, 
 That dav till death I shall remember; 
 A day delightful, clear and cool, 
 When first I started out to school. 
 
 Mj cap was old, my feet were bare, 
 My pantaloons, (my only pair,) 
 Were made of common home-made stuff"; 
 But for the times were good enough. 
 
 I viewed the scene with wond'ring eyes, 
 To me it was a grand surprise 
 That caused a trembling in my knees. 
 And kept me always ill at ease. 
 
 No other sight that I have seen. 
 
 In all the years that intervene 
 
 Between that day and present time, 
 
 (Though I have passed my manhood's prime). 
 
AMUSKMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 47 
 
 Has struck my sense with such appall, 
 As did the sight of that rough wall, 
 Composed of logs unhewn and round, 
 Where still remains a little mound, 
 
 Where stood the chimney built of sticks, 
 With soft clay mud placed in betwixt, 
 And plastered o'er the inner side, 
 From fiery sparks the sticks to hide. 
 
 The cracks between the logs were filled 
 With "chink and daub," for all were skilled 
 In making houses in that way. 
 In that long vanished, happy dav. 
 
 A log cut out on either side, 
 A place for windows to provide. 
 Good windows made sans sash or glass. 
 With paper oiled so light could pass; 
 
 No tinted glass gives softer light, 
 Nor dazzles less the human sight, 
 Than did those greasy paper panes. 
 Where first I taxed my youthful brains 
 
 In puzzling o'er that mystic book, 
 In which I always had to look, 
 To learn to spell and then to read; 
 Herculean task it seemed indeed. 
 
 The seats all split from logs of wood, 
 
 Though rough and hard, we thought quite good ; 
 
48 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And underneath four sturdy pegs 
 Were placed in sugar-holes for legs. 
 
 The scene was all a rustic one, 
 But then our recompense was fun; 
 Such fun as boys these latter days, 
 With their fine clothes and city ways, 
 
 Know nothing of; nor can they know, 
 The fun of tramping through the snow 
 Four miles, or wading mud and rain, 
 A knowledge of their books to gain. 
 
 Oh, how we pity now the child. 
 Who needs must walk at most a mile, 
 To spend five hours with hated books. 
 Upon whose page he scowling looks, 
 
 To gain a mass of useless lore. 
 That makes him but a stupid bore, 
 To gabble Latin, Dutch and Greek ; 
 A swaggering fool, plain truth to speak. 
 
 But now those halcyon days of yore 
 Are gone, and come to me no more. 
 But they in mem'ry linger still. 
 As I go down life's rugged hill; 
 
 An oasis they seem to me. 
 
 In age to cheer life's desert sea; 
 
 Like weird enchantment* they will last, 
 
 Through all the vears till life is past. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDEE HOURS. 49 
 
 On the Death of Mrs. Utter. 
 
 At rest, at rest, O blessed sleep, 
 
 Where painful dreams can never come- 
 Whence none may ever wake to weep — 
 Where flowers and wild birds vigils keep 
 Around the sleeper's silent home. 
 
 At rest, at rest, all labor done, 
 
 For good or ill, for weal or woe, 
 Life's fitful course at last is run, 
 And naught remains beneath the sun 
 For her to do, to wish or know. 
 
 Rest at the bottom of the hill — 
 
 Weary and worn, to sleep is best; 
 Stern nature's fiat to fulfill, 
 The restless heart at last is still. 
 Not dead, but only gone to rest. 
 
 At rest beyond all earthly strife; 
 
 Though pestilence and war may come^ 
 They can not wake again to life 
 The dear devoted mother, wife, 
 
 That now lies sleeping in the tomb. 
 
 At rest from all life's care and toil. 
 
 Where she had acted well her part. 
 Nor feared her ready hands to soil, 
 But calmly through the world's turmoil 
 She passed, with warm and loving heart. 
 4.— P. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF I])LE HOURS. 
 
 At rest within her narrow home, 
 The years may pass unheeded by; 
 
 With her (whatever else might come) 
 
 To live was not of life the sum, 
 Nor was it all of death to die. 
 
 Her Saviour's taken to His breast 
 His faithful serv-ant from below. 
 
 To mansions of eternal rest. 
 
 To live forever with the blest. 
 
 Where none shall pain or sorrow know. 
 
 Then blessed be the sleep of death — 
 
 Sweet sleep to mortals tired of earth; 
 If we can trust our hope and faith. 
 Why should we mourn tlie parting breath, 
 When deatli brings greater jov than birth? 
 
 The Future Life. 
 
 The far-beyond could I but know — 
 Could my short sight the haven see 
 
 Where our imprisoned spirits go 
 
 When from this cumbrous clay set free; 
 
 Could I but range throughout the spheres, 
 And there the explanation find, 
 
 By ardent search through weary years, 
 "Twould satisfy my longing mind. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOI RS, 
 
 'Of what awaits me here below 
 I'd have no horoscope to tell; 
 
 Such knowledge gladly I forego 
 
 And trust, mv God. all will be well. 
 
 By some 'tis said that death ends all; 
 
 If so whence comes " this fond desire," 
 That when, released from inortal thrall, 
 
 Well come to what we most aspire.'' 
 
 If death ends all. 'twere better far 
 
 That we, like other brutes, should be; 
 
 And have no thought of death to mar 
 Our hope to live eternally. 
 
 I query what will be the life 
 
 We'll live in that jet unseen clime, 
 
 Where there's no turmoil, envy, strife. 
 No count of days, no end of time. 
 
 But wait, my soul, 'twill not be long 
 Till that grand secret stands revealed; 
 
 When we have ioined the happy throng 
 That people that elysian field. 
 
52 AMUSEMENT OK IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Youth's Delusive Dream. 
 
 In the hey -da V of youth, when young life's early dream 
 Sees an oasis bright, where to others would seem 
 But a drear, arid desert, a lone, barren waste. 
 Through which in life's journey they gladly would haste;. 
 Young life's early dream throws a glamour of jov 
 O'er all the dark shadows that others annoy, 
 
 And sees but the sunshine so dazling and bright. 
 Where others grope darkly, youth revels in light. 
 And sees but the objects enchanting to view, 
 As each day calls afresh its glad course to pursue 
 And gather fresh pleasures if but for a day 
 They remain in its keeping, then vanish away. 
 
 There still 'are left others, all different in kind. 
 That a soul with youth's ardor is certain to find — 
 Some bright ignis-fatuus to lead it along. 
 Or dulcet-voiced siren to sing it a song 
 Of pleasures untasted, amusement untried. 
 Wherein joy unsullied will ever abide. 
 
 So it heedlessly goes as the time passes by. 
 
 The years never counting as swiftly they fly. 
 
 Till coming at last in the journey of life, 
 
 To the point where begins the stern battle and strife,. 
 
 'Tis found all imfit for the struggle to come, 
 
 For it counted that pleasure of life was the sum. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLK HOURS. 53 
 
 Then wearj and vexed at the constant turmoil, 
 As days hurry by with their burdens of toil, 
 Thoughts come of the youth that long since passed away, 
 l^ike the flower of the grass that remains but a dny — 
 Like the grass that at morning was blooming and green, 
 ■Cut down, dead and withered at evening is seen; 
 
 And it sighs for the days that were squandered in vain, 
 And mourns at the thought that they come not again. 
 Then viewing the journey o'er"which it has past. 
 It learns when too late it has traveled too fast; 
 And all of youth's sunshine is hid in a cloud, 
 And pleasures all end in a coffin and shroud. 
 
 Address to the Skull of a Prehistoric Man. 
 
 [Human bones have been found thai give conclusive evidence 
 of a now extinct race of men having existed on this continent 
 prior to the irruption of the mound builders and coeval with the 
 imastodon, mammoth, elephant, and other monsters that once 
 -ivere here.] 
 
 Wake up you fragment of a race 
 
 Long vanished, leaving not a trace 
 
 Of whence you came or when you went. 
 
 Or even how your time was spent, 
 
 Save here and there some mystic lore 
 
 That proves yovx to have been before 
 
 That semi-barbarous race of men 
 
 Who crushed you out, none can tell when. 
 
54 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Tell how you perished from the earth. 
 And where your race first had its births 
 And whether you were i-ed or wliite, 
 Or olive hued, or black as night, 
 And dwelt in tents, or rocky caves 
 Washed by old oceans's briny waves,. 
 Or canyon cliffs the Hondo laves. 
 
 If it be not too hard a task, 
 
 Stand up and answer what I ask. 
 
 Tell how and when you crost the main,^ 
 
 A footing on this soil to gain; 
 
 Or was your birth upon this land — 
 
 A new creation from the hand 
 
 Of Him who formed each race of men.'^ 
 
 If this be so please tell us when. 
 
 Was it the paleolithic age, 
 
 When first your race came on the stage.'^ 
 
 Or was it when heat reigned supreme. 
 
 And earth was wrapped in clouds of steam 
 
 That rose from every reeking stream, 
 
 And nature all in chaos blent — 
 
 A scene of awfvil grandeur lent 
 
 ( To which all present scenes ?re tame), 
 
 Till order out of chaos came? 
 
 Was it when monsters huge of size. 
 Like hulks of ships, with glaring eyes, 
 Ranged up and down o'er hill and plain. 
 Of which some fragments still remain.f^ 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Or was the time, I fain would know. 
 When mountain heaps of ice and snoM 
 Came slowly sliding from the north, 
 And drove all living creatures forth 
 To seek a more congenial clime; 
 Say, if you can, was that the time 
 Your race was launched upon this tide 
 Of living creatures here beside? 
 
 Who was your mightj' ruler. Votan? 
 
 Was he a God, or but a man.'^ 
 
 Grandson of Noah, do you say, 
 
 And came here at such distant day 
 
 From fair Atlantis, mystic isle, 
 
 In ocean sunk so long a while.^ 
 
 Or Vilum Chivum — which the place 
 
 From which he brought your ancient race 
 
 And built his city, Nachan, when 
 
 'Twas peopled by your race of men, 
 
 That long in mental darkness lay. 
 
 Then from the earth all passed away 
 
 And left no record of the date 
 
 Nor what had caused their tragic fate.'^ 
 
 You say he was a man of power, 
 And helped to build old Babel's tower; 
 But when confusion seized each tongue 
 He to the winds such folly flung, 
 And left the land that gave him birth, 
 And sought this far off spot of earth. 
 And built the city, Nachan, here. 
 Debris of which now still appear. 
 
^6 AMUSEMKNT OI' IDLK HOURS. 
 
 If of your race you nought will tell, 
 
 Of when it rose or when it fell, 
 
 Then of yourself the hist'ry give, 
 
 Of how you managed then to live, 
 
 Of how you your addresses paid 
 
 To some sweet, meek-eyed, blushing maid, 
 
 And poured into her willing ear 
 
 The tale all maidens love to hear — 
 
 Of pure, devoted ardent love. 
 
 Tho' it too oft delusive prove. 
 
 And did her mother. Avhen you wed. 
 
 Give her a cow and feather bed, 
 
 And dishes for her cupboard shelves, 
 
 And send you to live b}^ j^ourselves — 
 
 As custom was in early days. 
 
 When people lived in' simple ways.'' 
 
 Or did she take you to her home, 
 
 As is the custom now with some! 
 
 If so, did you much comfort draw 
 
 By living with your mother-in-law.^ 
 
 Or did the green-eyed monster come 
 
 And gain a lodgment in your home. 
 
 And banish all connubial bliss 
 
 And change its sweets to bitterness, 
 
 Till you to gain your former peace. 
 
 Sought through the courts the law's release 
 
 From matrimony's galling bands 
 
 That bound your then unwilling hands.'' 
 
 Or were divorces common then 
 
 As now, with more enlightened men.'* 
 
AMISEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 57 
 
 Since you no answer vouchsafe, then 
 I science ask to tell me when 
 Your people lived and passed away. 
 In that long past, forgotten day. 
 But science fails to tell me when. 
 So, still in doubt, I drop my pen. 
 And myst'ry haunts me while I look 
 In this unwritten, time-sealed book. 
 
 To My Wife. 
 
 Just forty years, my dear, good wife. 
 Together we have lived and loved — 
 
 Have lived a busy, happy life, 
 
 And ev'ry source of joy improved. 
 
 We've climbed life's hill quite to the top 
 That marks the journey's grand divide; 
 
 For one back look we could not stop. 
 But started down the other side. 
 
 We can not say our path was rough, 
 Nor was it always smooth and good; 
 
 But still we thought it good enough. 
 So made our way as best we could. 
 
 If we met trials on our way 
 
 Of disappointments, toil and care, 
 
58 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Hope, pointing to a better day 
 
 We thought them but our rightful share. 
 
 If friends proved false we let them go, 
 To follow out their own sweet will; 
 ' Nor never would resentment show, 
 For others would their places fill. 
 
 Life's journey like some dreary waste 
 The weary trav'ler inust pass through, 
 
 Has many spots through which we'd haste 
 To some bright oasis in view; 
 
 But when we reach the luring spot. 
 And think to rest awhile at ease, 
 
 We try repose, but find it not, 
 
 The boon the restless soul to please; 
 
 But find instead that life is life, 
 When going up or down the hill; 
 
 With anxious care 'tis always rife, 
 And void is left earth can not fill. 
 
 Our work on earth is nearly done. 
 Still thou art dear to me, good wife — 
 
 As dear as when was first begun 
 Our forty years of wedded life. 
 
 Then be content, O, restless soul! 
 
 Nor think to find unsullied joy, 
 'Till thou hast reached that final goal. 
 
 Where only's bliss without alloy. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 59 
 
 But while we live may heaven still 
 
 (Whatever else to us may come 
 While passing down life's rugged hill), 
 
 Shower blessings on our peaceful home. 
 
 Our Two Angels. 
 
 [It has been a popular belief that from the cradle to the grave 
 every person is constantly accompanied by two angels, one at 
 the right hand recording all our good deeds and one at the left 
 all the bad ones.] 
 
 If it be true as has been said. 
 That as life's labj^rinth we tread, 
 
 We're in two watchful angel's keeping; 
 One at our left and one the right, 
 To watch us always, day and night, 
 
 While we're awake or when we're sleeping; 
 
 Each there to keep a record true 
 Of all we ever think or do, 
 
 All good and bad to be recorded; 
 The right to note each righteous deed, 
 The left our sins of work or creed. 
 
 For all of which we'll be rewarded. 
 
 Then when the court in session meets, 
 There to compare our balance sheets, 
 To see how we've on earth been living 
 
6o AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 How much shall we poor mortals see. 
 That we would fain there should not be — 
 How much that needs our God's forgiving. 
 
 If he who stood at our right hand. 
 In answer to the court's command. 
 
 Can of the com-se we've been pursuing. 
 Show his scroll full of good deeds done. 
 Of virtue's battles fought and won. 
 
 A scroll to bear a close reviewing. 
 
 What transport will the pilgrim know, 
 Who on that angel's page can show 
 
 That all his follies are forgiven; 
 Thus proving to the Judge that he 
 Is from his sins forever free. 
 
 And inay admitted be to heaven. 
 
 But O, w^hat sad regrets, what pain 
 To him whose morbid greed for gain 
 
 Was all that drove him here to labor; 
 And to that end himself had sold, 
 And added to his hoard of gold. 
 
 By sore oppression of his neighbor. 
 
 When I before that Judge shall stand 
 May he who walked at my right hand. 
 
 Be able there to make a showing, 
 On his pure, spotless balance sheet, 
 A record with good deeds replete. 
 
 The harvest of what I've been sovviny, 
 
AMI SEMEXT OV IDI.E HOURS. C)l 
 
 To Dr. Waterman, 
 
 After reodinir his Poem e7ititled "I'he Pfian 
 foms of Life'' . 
 
 Dear Doctor, I"ve read vour poem through, 
 
 And truth to say I like it: 
 The sentiment is unco true, 
 
 If I can rightly strike it. 
 
 Of aphorisms bright and neAv, 
 
 Fm sure it has a plenty; 
 Of passages obscure a few. 
 
 Perhaps as much as twenty. 
 
 I 've tried to master every part. 
 
 To fathom all that's in it; 
 But some elude my utmost art, 
 
 So end as I begin it. 
 
 Perhaps it only is my lack 
 
 Of tact in penetration; 
 Or is an apprehension sUck 
 
 A truer explanation? 
 
 Such "phantoms" some appear indeed. 
 Few other " phantoms " match them, 
 
 For tho' I strive with utmost heed, 
 I ever fail to catch them. 
 
62 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But take the poem all way through, 
 
 In truth, I highly prize it; 
 And since you have the poet's cue. 
 
 Don't fail to exercise it. 
 
 When heavy hangs an idle hour. 
 
 And dull ennui is grievous. 
 The muses have the magic power 
 
 From gloaming to relieve us. 
 
 And now I '11 tell you in advance, 
 
 ( For I already know it), 
 That while " I 'm rhymer like by chance," 
 
 You 've proved yourself a poet. 
 
 In Memory of Mother Landers, 
 
 Gone, gone to her rest is the faithful old servant, 
 Who so gallantly fought the hard battle of life; 
 
 With her faith all unfeigned and her piety fervent, 
 The vict'ry she gained when death ended the strife. * 
 
 Yes, gone to her rest is the dear sainted mother, 
 Whose labor of love all her children have known; 
 
 And in mem'ry she lives as there could not another, 
 And they see in her virtues a type for their own. 
 
 Her life as a mother, a wife and a neighbor 
 
 Was a crown of more beauty than diamonds and gold; 
 
 With hands ever willing for others to labor 
 
 3he'd brook no exemption when feeble and old. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 63 
 
 Her once cheerful room is now silent and loneh', 
 The stillness enhancing the desolate gloom 
 
 That hangs 'round the chamber of death, and there onh'. 
 When loved ones have left us and gone to the tomb. 
 
 But remember, bereaved ones, the promise that's given, 
 
 That tho' while in life we have sorrowing pain 
 
 Till our ejes dim with tears, there's no weepino- in 
 Heaven, 
 
 And to you what is loss is to her onlv i,'ain. 
 
 Destruction of Carthage. 
 
 Proud Rome o'er Carthage triumfihs now, 
 
 Her streets with crimson currents flow, 
 Her people to the conqueror bow, 
 Since Hannibal has broke his vow — 
 The archer given up his bow. 
 
 The Roman saw with jealous eye 
 The rival citv's wondrous growth, 
 
 And well he knew that by-and-by 
 
 One must in desolation lie; 
 
 He thought the world too small for both. 
 
 Crush out, vindictive Cato cried 
 
 (In ev'ry harangue from his tongue) 
 The city that has Rome defied. 
 And swayed the surging human tide 
 That on his venomed accents hung. 
 
64 AMUSExMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And on the swarming legions came 
 
 To strike the last decisive blow, 
 And smirch for aye the Roman name 
 By laying waste with sword and flame, 
 'Till Carthage lay in ashes low. 
 
 Her helpless people, in despair. 
 
 While humbly bowed their fate to meet,. 
 With lamentations filled the air 
 And prayed the conqueror lo spai-e 
 Lovfd Carthage, prostrate at his feet. 
 
 But what avails the widow's tears, 
 
 Or helpless orphan's plaintive cries.^ 
 Though they through long and weary years- 
 Must sulfer on? It only sears 
 
 The heart that pity's prayer denies. 
 
 Dire deeds of blood the hero dared, 
 
 Intent to vent his hellish wrath; 
 Nor age, nor sex, nor station spared, 
 But all alike his vengeance shared, 
 'Till desolation marked his path. 
 
 Thus Scipio, with heart of steel. 
 
 Pushed on his cohorts in the fray, 
 'Till drunk with blood his legions reel, 
 Nor pity for the vanquished feel — 
 In slaughter rev'ling night and day — 
 
 'Till weeks had passed since first began 
 A holocaust so dire, so fell. 
 
AMUSEMKNT OF IDLE HOURS. 65 
 
 Through man's infernal hate of man, 
 
 That blood Hke crimson rivers ran — 
 
 A scene to blush the fiends of hell. 
 
 Now in oblivion's silent womb 
 
 Grand Carthage lies in endless sleep; 
 
 No monument points out her tomb. 
 
 No voice is heard amid the gloom 
 
 Where but weird sprites their vigils keep. 
 
 The world can only know her name, 
 
 Her site no mortal man may tell; 
 But poets sing her ancient fame, 
 And hist'ry's page records with shame 
 
 How fated Carthage, fighting, fell. 
 
 Winter. 
 
 Winter's coming now for certain, 
 And the cold north-western blast, 
 Like a roaring whirling blizzard, 
 Chills us to the very gizzard, 
 As it goes careering past. 
 Signs are creaking, doors are knocking,, 
 Windows shaking, shutters rattling, 
 As with Boreas they are battling, 
 Nerves of timid people shocking. 
 All their hopes of comfort mocking, 
 While these piercing northers blow. 
 5— P. 
 
66 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Sun is hidden by a curtain 
 
 Of thick, fleecy clouds of snow, 
 
 And pedestrians scudding fast. 
 
 x\s they shivering homeward go. 
 
 Prove that winter's come at last. 
 
 Tramps around steam-boilers swarming, 
 
 Where they find one that is warm, 
 
 There their grimy bodies warming, 
 
 Sheltered from the howling storm; 
 
 But the house with windows grated. 
 
 They regard with jealous eye — 
 
 House by tramps and loafers hated, 
 
 When as vagrants they are slated — 
 
 House they think of with a sigh. 
 
 With the prospect not elated. 
 
 Now young people suit their fancies. 
 
 With all sorts of routs and dances. 
 
 As to them it best may seem; 
 
 Young dudes make their love advances, 
 
 While their best girls eat ice cream. 
 
 Piercing winds come in profusion. 
 
 Pinching us so very sore, 
 
 Chilling people to the core, 
 
 Proves this winter's no delusion, 
 
 As some prophesied before. 
 
 So the winter comes on bringing 
 
 Joy to some, to others sorrow, 
 
 But all to life tenacious clinging, 
 
 While they consolation borrow. 
 
 Hoping better things to-morrow. 
 
 Pleasant autumn 's gone forever, 
 
AMUSKiMKNT OF IDT.K HOI US. 6y 
 
 Till there comes another vear; 
 But again we who are here, 
 Will see the welcome spring appear, 
 The winter-saddened hearts to cheer 
 With the sunshine vvarrn and clear. 
 Winter's icv chains to sever. 
 
 Fall Signs. 
 
 When the sun is shinin' jeller like, 
 And the warnuts rattle down; 
 And the leaves upon the sugar-trees, 
 Are turnin' red and brown; 
 
 When the tossels on the corn-stalks, 
 Have dry and withered grown. 
 And the medders all are green again, 
 Where so lately they were mown; 
 
 When the apples in the orchard. 
 Are a droppin' from the trees. 
 And the cider mills are grindin' 
 To make them into cheese: 
 
 And the children all are rompin' 
 And a dancin' round the mill. 
 And a drinkin' the sweet cider, 
 As a pig would drink his swill; 
 
68 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And 3^eller-jackets, hornets, 
 And bees are thick as flies 
 In the kitchen of a boardin' house. 
 When the cook is makin' pies: 
 
 When chickens in the stubble-fields, 
 Are a gleanin' up the grain, 
 And the wheat that's lately planted,. 
 Is badly needin' rain: 
 
 When the swallers fly in circles, 
 Way high up in the sky, 
 And the robins head to southward. 
 Then I know that fall is nigh. 
 
 But when the pussy Dutchmen, 
 Order but swi glass of beer, 
 'Tis then I know for certain 
 That already fall is here. 
 
 Then I feel kind o' lonsesome like,. 
 In the somber autum' haze. 
 And I 'm sighin' and a wishin', 
 For my boyhood's happy da.ys. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 69 
 
 The Dying Soldier on the Battle-Field. 
 
 Put me down, said the soldier, nor longer 
 
 Be troubled to carry me on; 
 For I feel already I 'm dying, 
 
 And soon from this strife shall be gone. 
 
 So, comrades, now lay me down gently. 
 And don 't touch my poor shattered arm; 
 
 From my side where the bullet has entered 
 The blood gushes freely and warm. 
 
 In the shade of some bushes they laid him. 
 Alone there to breathe out his life; 
 
 Then back to the bloody field hastened 
 To mingle again in the strife. 
 
 The earth seemed to him to be dark'ning 
 But 'twas not the coming of night; 
 
 But the life-blood had ebbed from its fountain, 
 Till now it was dimming his sight. 
 
 A kind hearted officer saw him 
 
 There weltering alone in his blood, 
 
 J\.nd stooped down and tenderly asked him 
 If aught he could do for his good — 
 
 If he wished for a drink of cold water 
 To soothe his unquenchable thirst.'' 
 
 ■"'No, thank you," he muttered, "I'm dying, 
 And so am prepared for the worst." 
 
5^0 AML'SEMKNT OF IDI.E HOURS. 
 
 "Shall I write to 30ur friends?" he suggested •». 
 
 "I have none to whom you can write;" 
 And said in a tremulous whisper, 
 
 "I'm friendless; hence came here to fight." 
 
 " But there is one thing as a favor 
 I '11 ask, if you' 11 grant my request; 
 
 You'll find in my knapsack beside me 
 My bible, that promises rest — 
 
 Sweet rest to the friendless and weary, 
 And peace for the tempest-tossed soul; 
 
 Who, though his life's lonel}' and drearj^ 
 Still strives to the last for that goal 
 
 Where sin nexer enters to tempt us. 
 
 Where sorrows of earth are frogot, 
 And death is forbidden to enter, 
 
 And parting and weeping are not." 
 
 He read him his favorite passage, 
 The last of the fourteenth of John, 
 
 That told of the peace that the Saviour 
 Had left with His loved ones when gone.. 
 
 " I thank you, dear Captain," he whispered,. 
 
 "The peace of that promise is mine; 
 That dear, blessed Saviour is Avith me. 
 
 My spirit to Him I resign." 
 
 Then closing his eyes as if sleeping, 
 His lips wdth a prayer gently moved; 
 
 And calmly that tired, friendless spirit 
 Went up to the Saviour it loved. 
 
AMI ST' MI NT OF IDLK HOl'RS. 
 
 The Drunkard's Wife. 
 
 I saw her as she pensive sat, 
 
 A child of grief and slave to care; 
 
 Submissive to her cruel fate, 
 
 Alone she pined in sadness there. 
 
 I paused to gaze upon the scene — 
 A silent tear stole from her eye, 
 
 I saw still in her noble mien 
 A trace of better dajs gone by. 
 
 Her cheek once fairer than the rose, 
 Besprinkled o'er with morning dew? 
 
 Now pallid by incessant woes, 
 No longer wore its rosy hue. 
 
 Her cheerful look and graceful form 
 Were wasting fast with toil and grief; 
 
 Too tender to withstand the storm, 
 Without one friend to give relief 
 
 A smiling babe leaned on her breast, 
 A lovely boy slept by her side; 
 
 Her little daughter lay at rest. 
 Nor knew the ills that her betide. 
 
 Her weary lingers all the while, 
 The busy needle briskly plied; 
 
 That by her late and early toil, 
 
 She for her household might provide. 
 
72 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 At ev'ry footstep passing by 
 
 She paused, her murderer's tread to hear; 
 Her tender bosom heaved a sigh — 
 
 Her stricken heart grew faint with fear,. 
 
 As in suspense she waited there. 
 
 I saw a mournful group appear, 
 Who to her did her husband bear, 
 
 Stretched lifeless on a drunkard's bier. 
 
 With streaming eyes she looked around — 
 A look of sad despairing gloom; 
 
 For he to whom her heart was bound, 
 At last must till a drunkard's tomb. 
 
 O, man! reflect upon the power 
 
 That God into your hands has given, 
 
 To make for nature's fairest flower 
 A direful hell or blissful heaven. 
 
 The Bereaved Wife. 
 
 Alone! alone! and must it be 
 That I no more his face may see, 
 Who was my joy, my world, my life. 
 E'er since I'd been a happy wife.^ 
 
 All is so still; no more I hear 
 His voice, sweet music to my ear. 
 Like fitful dreams, my joys have fled, 
 And all my life's bright hopes are dead. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 73 
 
 Sad -fate is mine for coming years, 
 For naught is left to me but tears, 
 Since there's no balm for my sick heart. 
 I'd from thi'^ world of gloom depart, 
 
 And greet my loved and lost once more 
 On that unknown and untried shore 
 Where weary souls may rest in peace, 
 And from their sorrows find release. 
 
 My friends are kind as friends can be. 
 But what avails it all to me.'^ 
 For I'm alone at home — abroad — 
 Alone amid the bustl'i ng crowd; 
 
 The songs of birds I used to love 
 Now to my sense discordant prove. 
 And harshly grate upon my ears, 
 As they call back the by-gone years 
 
 When I, a happy, trusting bride. 
 Walked with the lost one at my side, 
 Nor dreamt for once that all life's bliss 
 Might vanish with one parting kiss. 
 
 Did I, Oh God! give my best love 
 To one of earth, and faithless prove 
 To Thee, who gave the precious boon 
 That now is taken hence so soon.'' 
 
 Was it because I broke my vow 
 To Thee, that I must suffer now, 
 
74 AMUSEMENT OP' IDLE HOURS. 
 
 No more of pristine joys to know, 
 But tread alone my path below? 
 
 If so, then, Father, haste, 1 pray, 
 The summons calling me away 
 To that unknown among the blest, 
 Whei'e stricken hearts find peaceful. rest. 
 
 Hobbies of the Hour. 
 
 Of all the diseases that doctors combat, 
 
 There's no one so hard of removal as that 
 
 One so many now have, though they never complain — 
 
 A disease that's called insects, or fish on the brain. 
 
 One sore case I witnessed, I ne'er shall forget, 
 
 The patient so fond of a butterfly pet. 
 
 Was our entomologist. Doctor L*****e. 
 
 For a time, from his aciions and all that he said, 
 
 'Twas evident something was wrong in his head, 
 
 And the symptoms increased from one day to another, 
 
 Till he could no longer their violence smother. 
 
 In such fits he goes hunting for spiders and bugs, 
 
 Or to catch a poor butterfly manfully tugs; 
 
 So out went our hero with net on a pole, 
 
 To engage in the sport, the delight of his soul. 
 
 As alone on the bank of the river he wandered. 
 
 Of spiders and butterflies deeply he pondered ; 
 
 When all of a sudden a poor butterfly, 
 
 On its tri-colored velvet wings came flitting liy; 
 
AMISEMEKT OF IDLE HOURS. 7^ 
 
 Qiiick up went his net and the hot chase began, 
 Nor ended till phimp o'er the steep brink he ran 
 Souse into the river, all foaming and deep, 
 Qiiite down to the depths where the mud-suckers keep; 
 And as I just caught the last glimpse of his heels, 
 I thought 'twas his new way of bobbing for eels; 
 But he swam out with ardor, cooled down to a shiver, 
 And vowed 'twas the last time he'd hunt by the river; 
 And that night in his dreams he was tortured with pain, 
 From the crashing of battle where thousands were slain; 
 But waking, he found 'twas all bugs on the brain; 
 So he woke in the morn, burned his pole and his net. 
 And peace was proclaimed 'tween the bugs and L**"**e. 
 
 Welcome to the Robins. 
 
 Welcome sweet harbingers of spring — 
 Of gentle breezes soit and warm; 
 
 I list enraptured while jou sing 
 
 The dirge of winter's howling storm. 
 
 Sweet singers of our summer days, 
 Thrice welcome to our quiet home, 
 
 To cheer our hearts till autumn's haze 
 Shall tell JOU time for change has come. 
 
 What subtle instinct points your way, 
 To leave your far-off Southern home, 
 
 A visit to our clime to nav. 
 
 So soon as balmy spring has come.'' 
 
76 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 With weary wins^ you mvist retrace 
 Your aixtumn journey o'er again, 
 
 To land 3'ou in your wonted place, 
 Within these busy haunts of men. 
 
 When genial suns unlock the streams 
 That long were bound in winter's chain, 
 
 It minds me of life's early dreams. 
 To hear your welcome voice again. 
 
 Your matin song is to my ear 
 
 The sweetest of the feathered throng, 
 
 That gives us music year by year, 
 For none can boast so sweet a song. 
 
 And when I hear 3'our witching lays, 
 My heart with pleasing memory fills; 
 
 But when you bring back by -gone days, 
 A touching sadness through me thrills. 
 
 Then welcome, sweet birds, to our home; 
 
 May fate you from the spoiler save; 
 And when my time for death has come, 
 
 I hope you'll sing above my grave. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Earthquake at Calabria, Italy. 
 
 The zephyrs blew softly, the sky was serene; 
 Old ocean was calm, though his bosom was green; 
 All natui-e seemed slumb'ring in quiet repose, 
 Nor dreamt of the sorrows, destruction and woes, 
 That like a dark cloud hovered over the land, 
 To burst in its fury on Italy's strand, 
 To lay her in ruins her pt^ople to humble, 
 And cause into chaos her cities to tumble. 
 
 As Nature thus rested in slumber profound, 
 
 Not a breeze fanned the olive trees shading the 
 
 ground ; 
 The sun shone in splendor on castle and tower, 
 And man appeared basking in life's sweetest bower, 
 'Till belching Stromboli excited their wonder; 
 'Twas the voice of Jehovah, in accents of thunder, 
 Proclaiming His judgement which now was at hand, 
 That cities and castles should neither withstand. 
 
 Euphemia, the queen of fair Italy's shore, 
 
 To oblivion sunk down, and she rises no moi-e; 
 
 Her halls and her palaces, beauty and mirth, 
 
 Alike found a grave in the bowels of earth; 
 
 There was no righteous Lot from oblivion to save. 
 
 And she tottered and sunk to her waterj' grave; 
 
 And the cloud of God's vengeance hung dark o'er the 
 
 gloom, 
 And left but a lake there to point out her tomb. 
 
78 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Lo humbled in ruin vain Tropia lies, 
 
 With her spires and her steeples that loomed to the skies; 
 
 Her streets that wit, beauty and vanity trod, 
 
 Turned chainbers of mourning when smote by His rod; 
 
 The young and the aged, the master and slave. 
 
 Lay in peace side by side in their common grave; 
 
 All ranks and distinctions are mingled in one, — 
 
 The beggar in rai^s and the king on his throne. 
 
 'Twas the wrath of Omnipotence scourging the land — 
 
 A bolt of His vengeance still warm from His hand; 
 
 Proud Italy tottered by dint of a nod, 
 
 Her people acknowledged the presence of God, ' 
 
 With a crash her strong towers came thundering down, 
 
 They vanished like vapor at Deity's frown; 
 
 No lightnings were gleaming the visions to shock, 
 
 But it seemed as if God at man's power would mock. 
 
 To conquest and power let Britain aspire. 
 Let nations sink under her merciless ire, 
 Let her scepter be swayed o'er the cringingly brave; 
 And her inonarchs each bow to ambition a slave, 
 But, O, that sad day inay my eyes never see, 
 When this freedom land shall an Italy be, 
 To be shook to her center, to atoms to tumble. 
 The pride of an ignorant people to humble. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLI-: HOURS. 79 
 
 Address to the English Sparrows. 
 
 You thieving pirates, cursed of men, 
 Sad day for us poor mortals when 
 
 Your race first crossed the oce.m; 
 Some thought you'd be a blessing then. 
 
 But soon they changed their notion; 
 
 And love for you began to wane 
 When you attacked the farmer's grain 
 
 Instead of w^orins and beetles, 
 And people wished you back again 
 
 To eat old England's victuals. 
 
 The fool that brought yovi to our shore 
 Should be condemned forever more 
 
 To listen to the clatter 
 Of your infernal tribe a score. 
 
 His noodle brain to shatter. 
 
 Such music never mortal heard 
 
 From braying ass (that sweet song bird) 
 
 As from you greets our hearing; 
 Nor Chinese gong has ever stirred 
 
 Our souls with strains so cheering. 
 
 The people's houses built with eaves. 
 With airy nooks where sticks and leaves 
 
 Can find a place to rest in, 
 You impudent imported thieves 
 
 Are sure to stick a nest in; 
 
8o AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Thus dropping litter here and there, 
 Enough to make good housewives swear 
 
 And wish you all in Ttxas, 
 England, Tophet, anywhere, 
 
 So you no more could vex us. 
 
 Then hie you back to Britain's fogs, 
 Or to the land of fens and bogs, 
 
 And therein do your thieving. 
 Whence drove St. Patrick snakes and frogs^ 
 And where the people house with hogs, 
 
 Us from your filth relieving. 
 
 And we will ever bless the day 
 When from our shores you sped away, 
 
 And left us peace and quiet; 
 Then if beyond the sea you '11 stay, 
 
 We'll be the hapfiier by it. 
 
 The Slave's Lament. 
 
 O God! to whom all creatures bow, 
 
 Thou who supports the weak and faint; 
 
 Hear Afric's son who calls Thee now, 
 O! listen to his sad complaint. 
 
 O, send a balm for slavery's wound! 
 
 For Africa is bound in chains, 
 Her children trodden to the ground, 
 
 Without a friend to soothe their pains. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. Si 
 
 Thou once didst free, Almighty God, 
 
 The slave from Egypt's iron hand; 
 And will Thy justice and Thy rod 
 
 Not visit too this guilty land ? 
 
 liberty! thou sacred name — 
 Thou idol of the human heart; 
 
 1 know that justice bids me claim, 
 
 Of thy rich gifts an equal part. 
 
 For thee our masters crossed the flood,- 
 And left their homes and native land; 
 
 For thee they freely shed their blood, 
 To wi-est thee from the tyrant's hand. 
 
 Why then, O why! do they forbid 
 
 That we this precious boon should have.'' 
 
 For which they bravely fought and bled, 
 And God to all his creatures gave. 
 
 liberty! for thee I pine, — 
 
 For thee to heaven devoutly pray; 
 
 1 know in justice thou art mine. 
 
 Yet vainly seek thee day by day. 
 
 They tell me I 've been bought with gold, 
 
 But O, my God ! can this be just. 
 To barter an immortal soul, 
 
 For such vile trash as sordid dust ? 
 
 O slavery! it is only those 
 
 Who wear thy yoke can ever tell, 
 Of half thy miseries and w^oes, 
 
 Or how near kin thou art to hell. 
 6.— P. 
 
82 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 They tore me from my native land, 
 My parents' cries I hear them yet; 
 
 I still can see them weeping, stand,^ — 
 Their bitter grief I '11 ne'er forget. 
 
 My mother, O it broke her heart 
 
 With anguish, grief anJ torturing pain, 
 
 To see her last fond hope depart, 
 To never soothe her soul again. 
 
 My children — would they'd ne'er been born, 
 If 'twere but thus to be a slave; 
 
 I'd rather lived as one forlorn. 
 And sunk unpitied to my grave, 
 
 Than to have suffered what I 've borne, 
 A scene that rends my very heart. 
 
 My children from rny bosom torn, 
 And we forever doomed to part. 
 
 But O my bitterest woe of life! 
 
 The parting with my bosom friend; 
 A lovely, kind and doting wife. 
 
 In wretchedness her life to end. 
 
 They tore her from my warm embrace, 
 She shrieked, she prayed in wild despair, 
 
 While floods of tears bedewed her face. 
 But still they heeded not her prayer. 
 
 O white man! if thou couldst but know 
 One half the ills that slavery brings, 
 
 Thou'dst quick our liberty be>tow. 
 
 And blunt our mis'ries' deadliest stings. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 8,3 
 
 O freedom! thou bequest of heaven, 
 
 That God in mercv and in love, 
 Alike to all mankind has given, 
 
 O may I taste it soon above! 
 
 'Twere better I slept in my grave, 
 
 Thus freed from all my torturing pain, 
 
 Than I should live a tyrant's slave, 
 And ask his mercy but in vain. 
 
 O pity! attribute of God, 
 
 Why that sad blush upon thy face.'' 
 
 Why forced behind oppression's rod. 
 To find a shameful hiding place. 
 
 mercy! w^hither hast thou fled.'' 
 Thou balm for slavery's keenest pains; 
 
 In vain thy soothing tears are shed. 
 
 While Afric's children groan in chains. 
 
 My earthly joys like dreams have fled. 
 My heart by sorrow's sighs is riven; 
 
 1 long in dust to lay my head, 
 
 And rest my weary soul in heaven. 
 
 I'll gladly hail the happy day, 
 
 That death shall come to my relief; 
 
 When I from hence shall pass away. 
 And leave this vale of tears and grief. 
 
 The judgement day is drawing near, 
 
 Man's sacred rights to vindicate; 
 Our suff"'rings then will all appear 
 
 To seal the cruel master's fate. 
 
84 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 To 
 
 That snowy bosom's graceful swell, 
 
 Like some white rosebud bursting full, 
 On which the sculptor long might dwell, 
 
 Perfections model there to cull, 
 Mj raptured gaze spellbound can chain, 
 
 And contemplating more admire, 
 Until my passion-stricken brain 
 
 Is flaming with poetic fire. 
 
 Yet should those outer charms all fade, 
 
 That full, round form its plumpness lose,. 
 And wrinkles those fair cheeks invade. 
 
 Thy soul would still inspire my muse; 
 And I should be thy willing slave, 
 
 And thou my shrine continue still. 
 Till I am sleeping in my grave, 
 
 My joy shall be to do thy will. 
 
 And then on that Elysian shore, 
 
 Where all is peace, and love, and joy — 
 Where tears and parting are no more. 
 
 And bliss is pure without alloy — 
 There in that ever hallowed spot. 
 
 With thee to dwell and be at rest. 
 With earthly trials all forgot, 
 
 Would be a fate supremely blest. 
 
 But duty calls, and I must go 
 
 And leave awhile this luring place, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 85 
 
 T'or good or ill; but none can know 
 
 How I shall long to see thy face. 
 But O, fear not my constant heart 
 
 Will its devotion once regret; 
 For though sad fate must bid us part, 
 
 My charmer I can ne'er forget. 
 
 The Evening Gun. 
 
 One summer's eve I pensive sat, 
 
 When nature lay all hushed and still, 
 
 And flitted forth the soft winged bat, 
 The sun had sunk behind the hill. 
 
 The bees into their hives had crept, 
 The laborer's daily toil was done, 
 
 And in their nests the birdlings slept. 
 
 When loud boomed out the evening gun 
 
 Which turned my thoughts to human life, 
 So much 'tis like one single day. 
 
 Now joy, now grief, now peace, now strife, 
 Then silently to steal away — 
 
 To steal away and be forgot, 
 Nor leave a ripple on the wave 
 
 Of life's broad sea that heeds us not, 
 When once we're landed in the grave. 
 
$6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 That gun's loud boom that silence broke 
 Upon the tranquil evening air, 
 
 And all the neighb'ring echos woke, 
 To my imagination were 
 
 So much like life's too brittle thread, — 
 A flash, a sound, a smoke, a thrill; 
 
 The flash is gone, the sound is dead, 
 The smoke dissolves, and all is still. 
 
 So we too in our manhood's prime. 
 Those halcyon days that swiftly run. 
 
 Go heedless of the flight of time, 
 Till wakened by life's evening gun. 
 
 The Song of War. 
 
 My true name is murder, by courtesy war, 
 A name that the good of all nations abhor; 
 I make no distinction 'twixt peasant and lord, 
 Nor pity is known when I unsheath my sword; 
 
 The king on his throne or his menial slave. 
 
 Alike at my fiat go down to the grave. 
 
 With blood -besmeared banners I stride through the 
 
 land. 
 With the engines of death firmly grasped in my hand. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 87 
 
 And defiance I bid to a terrified world. 
 As cities and hamlets to chaos are hurled. 
 The fruits of his labor, the husbandman's joy, 
 In the track of my minions I haste to destroy, 
 
 And the country is changed to a drear barren waste, 
 Through which I have passed in my hot eager haste 
 To beleaguer some city to rob of its gold, 
 Though its people should suffer with anguish untold, 
 
 And the tears of the widow incessantly flow 
 In the print of my footsteps wherever I go. 
 I brothers engage in unnatural strife. 
 Where they give blow for blow — where they give life 
 for life, 
 
 And oft the death struggle 'twixt father and son, 
 Is seen in the conflict where battles are won. 
 I, as a stern arbiter, always maintain, 
 'Tis the right of a tyrant possession to gain, 
 
 Of what to his neighbor may rightly belong. 
 But gained by mj' flat it never is wrong. 
 When vengeance is glutted and thousands are slain. 
 And gaunt-visaged famine stalks wan in my train — 
 
 When nothing is left as temptation to lust, 
 And cities lie humbled and prostrate in dust, 
 I cease my carnival, my banner is furled, 
 And peace for a season I give to the world. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Scene in Indianapolis during the Rebellion, 
 
 Along the streets all hurrying fast 
 The crowds of busy people past, 
 When from a cellar Doured a throng 
 Of news-boys shouting that old song, 
 
 Journal extra! Five cents! 
 
 Their eyes were bright, their faces red, 
 As on their way they hurrying sped, 
 Each screaming out like trumpet sound 
 Those words of interest profound. 
 
 Journal extra! Five cents! 
 
 The dusty streets they did defy, 
 And pell mell dashed pedestrians by, 
 Each seeming with the rest to vie 
 In keeping up that one same cry 
 
 Journal extra! Five cents! 
 
 Another battle! one sang out ; 
 Another answered with a shout. 
 Another glorious victory's won^ — 
 McClellan 's safe — and Washington I 
 
 Journal extra! Three cents! 
 
 In many faces there was light 
 
 Of hopes to hear of soiue big fight, 
 
 As like a silver clarion rung 
 
 The accents of the news-boy's tongue. 
 
 Journal extra! Three cents! 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 89 
 
 "Try not to pass," an old man said, 
 "Till I learn if mv son has bled 
 And died to save our government; " 
 Then on the news-bov shouting went. 
 
 Journal extra! Three cents! 
 
 ''O stay!" a maiden said, and pressed 
 Her hand upon her throbbing breast, 
 A tear stood in her bright blue eye; 
 Still loud rang out the news-boy's cry, 
 
 Journal extra! Three cents! 
 
 The maiden handed out the chink, 
 And he was oif as quick as wink. 
 Then down the street he took his flight, 
 Still yelling out with all his might. 
 
 Journal extra! Three cents! 
 
 " Vot news, mine poy," a meinheer said. 
 Taking his beer-glass from his head, 
 But drank again, nor turned aside; 
 The lad sped on and but replied, 
 
 Journal extra! Two cents! 
 
 As 'neath the trees went down the sun, 
 And from the mart the crowd was gone, 
 Then died away far down the street, 
 Those words that oft our hearing greet, 
 Journal extra! One cent! 
 
90 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 October. 
 
 beautiful October days ! 
 
 With forests dressed in gorgeous hues, 
 The atmosphere a mellow haze 
 
 That lends enchantment to the view. 
 In such unique, entrancing ways. 
 
 As mid the falling leaves I roam 
 A sense of sadness fills the heart, 
 
 Till waking dreams of childhood's home. 
 Recall the past and tears will start 
 
 For those long sleeping in the tomb; 
 
 And I in fancy range again 
 
 My native woods, in colors bright; 
 
 Or through the fields of golden grain, 
 With steps so free and heart so light — 
 
 1 wish those days might still remain. 
 
 October days will come as fair 
 
 As in the treasured times of yore; 
 
 The same red sun, the balmy air 
 
 We knew in years that come no more; 
 
 But Where's their pristine pleasure.^ Where.'^ 
 
 Oppressed with care and oft with grief, 
 
 A round of toil my daily lot. 
 The days flit by, and like a thief 
 
 They steal away and are forgot, 
 Nor give from toil one day's relief. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 9! 
 
 Just as to-daj to-morrow '11 be, 
 
 Beset with care on every hand. 
 Still I must brave life's stormy sea, 
 
 But where my fragile bark shall land, 
 As yet is all unknown to me; 
 
 But trust 'twill be on that bright shore 
 Where none but gentle breezes blow — 
 
 Where pelting storms are known no more — 
 Nor chilling sleet nor driving snow — 
 
 There meeting friends who 've gone before. 
 
 Then welcome mild October davs, 
 
 With forests all in beauty dressed, 
 The golden sunshine, mellow haze 
 
 And country with rich harvests blest, 
 All claim the poet's sweetest lays. 
 
 Musings of an Invalid. 
 
 As far from my home a sad stranger I wander, 
 A face that's familiar how seldom I see; 
 
 And oft when alone in my saunt'rings I ponHer 
 On what the result of my wand'rings shall be. 
 
 Shall strength be restored to a body that's wasted, 
 And vigor return to a poor feeble frame, 
 
 And life be as sweet as when erst it was tasted, 
 Or only a life that is life but in name.? 
 
92 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Will there be inspired some object for living, 
 Long lost from a feeling of conscious decline? 
 
 Some new lease of life that this climate is giving, 
 To call me anew in life's battle to join? 
 
 Or shall I return after all of this roaming, 
 All broken in spirit and wasted in frame; 
 
 But seeking the grave to release me from gloaming, 
 And leave to my kindred naught else but a name? 
 
 Though in youth our desire for life may be stronger, 
 In age 'tis but nature to cling to it still; 
 
 But why should I wish that I tarry here longer. 
 Life's banquet is ended, I 've eaten my fill. 
 
 Then adieu to the scenes that enchanted a stranger. 
 For your grandeur my eyes may again never see; 
 
 That I fall by the way I perceive there is danger, 
 And I 'd die with my friends wheresoever they be. 
 
 They 're Waiting. 
 
 They're waiting, they're waiting beyond the dark river; 
 
 With loving hearts waiting to welcome me there. 
 To be in that region united forever, 
 
 A blissful eternity with them to share. 
 
 In the damp charnel house tho' their bodies are sleeping, 
 Their justified spirits look down on us here; 
 
 And while they are waiting they vigils are keeping, 
 Regretting each sorrow, recording each tear. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 9^ 
 
 As life is uncertain and time is so fleeting, 
 It can not be long tor those lost ones to wait, 
 
 'Till I will be there to receive their warm greeting, 
 When I shall have past through the bright mystic 
 gate. 
 
 And entered that land where no farewells are spoken, 
 Where from sad weeping eyes will be wiped all the 
 tears — 
 Where by death's ruthless hand are no loving hearts 
 broken, 
 But joy fills the sum of eternity's years. 
 
 The Wife's Lament over her Dead Husband. 
 
 Come, angels, weep with me to-day. 
 If weep you do when mortals weep ; 
 
 I can not see my future way, 
 I'm blinded by affliction deep. 
 
 My staff on which so long I leaned. 
 Is broken now and I 'm undone ; 
 
 The hand that all my life has screened, 
 Lies pulseless, cold, and I 'm alone. 
 
 Kind Father, hear the widow's plaint. 
 Bowed by this crushing load of grief ; 
 
 And O, support me ! else I faint — 
 Send thou this stricken heart relief 
 
94 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 He's now at rest — his sufF'rings o'er, 
 Though loss to me, to him "tis gain ; 
 
 But why should he thus go before, 
 While I must still behind remain ? 
 
 My life's a burden now to bear. 
 Still I submit to God's decree. 
 
 Else I would soon be with him, where 
 I from its burden would be free. 
 
 The world seems dark and dreary all, 
 No cheering ray lights up the gloom ; 
 
 Impatient I await to call 
 
 To rest within the friendly tomb. 
 
 Then, angels, weep with me to-day, 
 If weep you do when mortals weep^ 
 
 And, Father, hear me when I pray, 
 For my last, welcome, final sleep. 
 
 My Heart. 
 
 Thoughts suggested by noticing the throbbing of the heart on 
 awaking out of a sleep in the night. 
 
 Toil on true heart, thy measured tread 
 Is reeling off my spool of time, 
 
 Till fate as last shall snap the thread, 
 And land me in another clime; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 95 
 
 Then I shall have no further need, 
 Of thy good service, faithful heart ; 
 
 But quicken not thj measured tread, 
 Lest we too soon be doomed to part. 
 
 Thy work 's been all I could desire, 
 
 By day, by night, awake, asleep. 
 Thou seem'st of toil to never tire. 
 
 But still thy constant throbbing keep. 
 
 If thou should'st stop to i-est a spell, 
 What havoc such a rest would make — 
 
 What sore disaster, who can tell ? 
 Go on then for thy owner's sake. 
 
 My limbs get weary day by day, 
 
 My brain calls loud for needed rest ; 
 
 But thou canst still pursue thy way, 
 To feed life's fires within my breast. 
 
 Such nice machine was never made 
 By chance-work of uncertain laws ; 
 
 Intelligence is here displayed. 
 
 That's proof of some designing cause. 
 
 Since thou for six and three score years, 
 Canst such continued throbbing keep, 
 
 I'll of thy failure have no fears, 
 But feel secure and go to sleep. 
 
96 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Invalid's Farewell to Los Angeles. 
 
 Farewell fair city of the plain — 
 
 And mountains capped with virgin snow ; 
 I ne'er shall view these scenes again, 
 
 Since duty calls me hence to go. 
 
 The ever restless wheels of time, 
 
 Have borne me on through hopes and fears ; 
 While tarrying here, the fate's been mine 
 
 To know of joy oft mixed with tears. 
 
 With fond regrets I leave the spot. 
 
 Made dear by friendships warm and true : 
 
 Where such kind greetings were my lot, 
 'Tis sad to say at last adieu. 
 
 When in my far off eastern home 
 
 I think of those I left behind. 
 How oft the happy thought will come 
 
 Of those that now are but too kind. 
 
 Where'er I roam by land or sea, 
 Whate'er may be my muse's theme, 
 
 These friendships hei'e will ever be 
 An oasis in memory's dream. 
 
 Fair city, then, a long farewell. 
 
 May naught but peace your borders know ; 
 That Heaven's blessing on you dwell, 
 
 Shall be my prayer where'er I go. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 97 
 
 Indianapolis. 
 
 Grand city of beauty, that sits like a queen, 
 In the lap of this valley of plenty and peace, 
 
 With broad streets and shady, all bordered with green. 
 From the hot summer sun giving pleasant release. 
 
 With churches whose steeples point upward to heav'n, 
 In silence and grandeur by night and by day; 
 
 'Tis thus to the people the warning is given, 
 
 That they from earth's pleasures must soon go away. 
 
 For men gen'rous hearted and women as fair 
 As the sweet fabled houris of paradise lands. 
 
 In helping the needy few with you compare, 
 
 For you go to the stricken with wide-open hands, 
 
 A call for relief never reaches the ear, 
 
 Of the city's great noble souled people in vain; 
 
 All cries of distress they are soonest to hear. 
 And thus they the love of the suffering gain. 
 
 Fair city, the pride and the boast of the state. 
 
 Excelsior your motto, guard well your good name ; 
 
 You've well earned the title of loyal and great, 
 Let no anarchist mob ever tarnish your fame. 
 
 I knew you an infant in years long ago, 
 
 A time that to memory ever is dear. 
 And while I remain in this region below, 
 You '11 share the best love of 
 
 The Old Pioneer. 
 7 — P. 
 
gS AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Sad Parting. 
 
 Far from thee, JuHa, I must go, 
 O'er Afric's sands or Greenland's snow, 
 It matters not what fate may be, 
 Since, Julia, I must go from thee. 
 
 But O! let not this parting grieve 
 The stricken deer that I must leave 
 To mourn the fate that bids us part. 
 And crush mv Julia's loving heart. 
 
 For hope will linger with the soul, 
 'Mid tropic heat or frigid pole ; 
 Though of all other joys bereft, 
 Hope is one priceless jewel left. 
 
 Then from thee, Julia, I must go; 
 O'er Afric's sands or Greenland's snow, 
 In whatsoever clime I be. 
 My heart will still remain with thee. 
 
 General Hancock Dead, 
 
 Soldier, patriot, loyal, brave and always true, 
 Who than party better far his country loved — 
 
 Who in his country's time of need his duty only knew, 
 And then with sword unsheathed his love for country 
 proved. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 99 
 
 With sore surprise and sad of heart he heard the na- 
 tion's call 
 For help in beating back the nation's common foe; 
 Then quick upon her altar, unreserved, he laid his all, 
 And to the field ensanguined marched to lay the 
 rebels low. 
 
 No thought but one his patriotic breast inspired, 
 
 That thought was but to strike till every foe should fly 
 
 A thought with which all loyal hearts were fired; 
 
 Them led he forth to meet the foe and conquer or to die. 
 
 On bloody fields of deadly strife where rebels' leaden hail 
 Like swarms of bees thick hurled through the 
 sulph'rous air, 
 Bravely he stood, his gallant heart all could not cause 
 to quail. 
 Stern duty nerved his noble soul his country's fate to 
 share. 
 
 And when sweet peace her balmy wing spread o'er the 
 bleeding land. 
 And man with heated passions cooled gave place to 
 reason's sway. 
 Quick to forgive he grasped an erring brother's hand, 
 An internecine war of blood fraternal thus to stay. 
 
 'Twas thus the grand old hero lived, with honors thick 
 upon him, died, 
 In duty's path in face of death he ever faithful trod; 
 If fortune smiled or if she frowned, whatever fate betide, 
 'Twas still the pleasure of his life to serve his country 
 and his God. 
 
lOO AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Fatal Kiss. 
 
 They talked of saluting each other's lips, 
 Meanwhile Cupid, seated on his rose, 
 
 Was drawing the fatal string, 
 And, as they kissed, let fly his arrow — 
 Pierced through both their hearts — 
 
 And deep and lasting was the sting. 
 
 Nearing the Close. 
 
 Life's evening shades are drawing near. 
 
 Its sun is sinking in the west. 
 And soon will close another year, 
 
 That brings ine closer still to rest; 
 
 For there's no rest while here below, 
 
 For mortals to life's bvirdens born. 
 Small is at most the good we know. 
 
 Till 'tis farewell and we are gone — 
 
 Gone to that land eye hath not seen — 
 
 A land of perfect rest and peace, 
 From us but hidden by a screen, 
 
 Through which to pass brings sweet surcease, 
 
 From all the toils and cares of earth — 
 
 Sad disappointments and regrets, 
 That mar man's happiness from birth, 
 
 Until life's sun in darkness sets. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. lOI 
 
 O, woe is me if it were true. 
 
 That all of life is but to live. 
 And pass my earth's probation through, 
 
 With such mixed joys as earth can give; 
 
 And if 'tis all of death to die, 
 
 To pass awaj and be forgot — 
 To lay this mortal body by, 
 
 Down in the grave mid worms to rot; 
 
 'Twere better to have never known 
 
 A life so soon to pass away, 
 Like autumn leaves by north winds storm, 
 
 Dead and forgotten in a day; 
 
 Forgotten, leaving not a trace 
 
 Of what I was or where I'd been; 
 Naught save on earth a vacant place. 
 
 For some one else to enter in. 
 
 With inspirations just as high. 
 
 The vacancy again to fill. 
 To disappointed live and die, 
 
 And leave the room to others still. 
 
 Tho' warm blood courses through my veins, 
 
 It moves with ever-iess'ning flow; 
 And what few years for me remains, 
 
 A secret is I msiy not know. 
 
 But this I know, the shades appear, 
 
 I feel their breath upon my brow; 
 And soon will death's dark night appear. 
 
 Of this I have assurance now. 
 
I02 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then be prepared, O, wearj soul, 
 When that eventful time shall come, 
 
 To go and gain the wished for goal, 
 In thy long-sought, eternal home. 
 
 I'm Sixty To-Day. 
 
 I 'm sixty to-day, and how changed is my feeling, 
 
 Since the long-vanished years of my youth's early- 
 dream; 
 
 And while three-score-and-ten fast upon me is stealing. 
 The years but glide faster down time's restless stream,. 
 
 Tho' years have flown swiftly and time has been fleeting. 
 They blessings like morning dew shook from their wings. 
 
 To cheer me by day, and give rest as their greeting. 
 When night its dark mantle o'er tired nature flings. 
 
 The world seems as bright as in days of my childhood* 
 When I rambled through meadows a stranger to care. 
 
 Or plucked the wild flowers 'mid the unbroken wild- 
 wood, 
 As blithe as the birds and as free as the air. 
 
 I 'm sixty to-day, but till far in life's gloaming, 
 My spirit was bright as in life's early dawn; 
 But now with path darkened and done with my roam- 
 
 The loved ones are missed that before me are gone. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 103 
 
 I 'm sixty to-day, and 'tis time for reflection, 
 To see if those years have been worthily spent; 
 
 Is there for Hfe's errors still time for correction ? 
 For all of life's follies still time to repent ? 
 
 But now a dark burden my spirit is breaking. 
 
 Its brightness fast changing to sadness and gloom; 
 
 With a grief-stricken heart that for others is aching, 
 I soon shall leave all to find rest in the tomb. 
 
 November. 
 
 November comes with chilling air, 
 And all its wonted gloom and cloud; 
 
 The forests, stripped of leaves, are bare, 
 And nature wears a gloomy shroud. 
 
 As if in mourning everywhere. 
 
 The robins to the south have flown. 
 The bluebird's song is heard no more; 
 
 The cricket's chirp has silent grown; 
 
 The chipmuck hoards his winter's store, 
 
 And through the tree tops cold winds moan; 
 
 And as the mournful dirge they sing 
 Of summer dead and laid away, 
 
 We fondly dream of coming spring — 
 Of sunny days in balmy May — 
 
 Such days as only May can bring. 
 
I04 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 When nature dons her robes of green, 
 And mirth pervades the ambient air; 
 
 When flowers of various hues are seen 
 That well might deck the glossy hair 
 
 Of laughing girl or fairj queen. 
 
 'Tis thus in waking dreams we live. 
 For what's to come we longing look; 
 
 Leach like, our constant cry is give — 
 With illest grace denial brook; 
 
 Nor thankful are when we receive. 
 
 The old infirm delight to see 
 
 The cheerful fire's inspiriting glow, 
 
 And if from toil and care they're free. 
 
 And naught but sweet contentment know, 
 
 They're happy still as age can be. 
 
 But O, the hungry, thin-clad poor, 
 To whom all comforts are unknown; 
 
 Who see gaunt famine at the door, 
 And must endure their woes alone — 
 
 To such cold brings afflictions sore. 
 
 O, ye who have a heart to feel 
 A sympathy- for other's woes — 
 
 To you the cold winds make appeal 
 To go before the day shall close 
 
 And change some sufferer's woe to weal. 
 
 Search out the widow's cheerless home, 
 Where poverty' and want are found, 
 
AMUSEiMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I05 
 
 Where cheering hope can never come, 
 Where toil in arduous, weary round 
 Makes up of life the daily sum. 
 
 Then bless the cold November storm 
 
 For opportunity that's given 
 The hungry poor to feed and v^^arm. 
 
 Thus giving earth foretaste of heaven. 
 By doing good in every form, 
 
 Ode to California. 
 
 O California! land of wonders, 
 Destitute of lightnings, thunders, 
 
 And of pure cold water too; 
 Though 'tis but once that I have seen you, 
 'Tis enough, for to outgleen you 
 
 Is an easy thing to do. 
 
 What 's the use your big potaters, 
 And your pig-tailed Chinese waiters. 
 
 While your Kearnej^ spouts his gab ? 
 And your women all so lazy, 
 Enough to set poor husbands crazy, 
 
 Your brokers always on the grab. 
 
 Though you have fine grapes and peaches, 
 'Tis no cause to " bust " your breeches, 
 Puffing up with tropic pride; 
 
I06 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Though jour oranges are bigger, 
 By Florida's they cut no figure, 
 When the eating them is tried. 
 
 True, jour skies are bright and beaming, 
 But then with flies all nature's teeming. 
 
 And earthquakes shake jou everywhere; 
 Then jour warm dish-water "sankies" 
 Ne'er would suit us eastern jankees, 
 
 Tho' jour skies were alwajs fair. 
 
 To jour wines I will knock under, 
 And jour pears, how oft I wonder 
 
 How such big ones ever grew; 
 Melt in jour mouth, and sweet as honej,. 
 And more JOU get for less of monej 
 
 Than anj place I eyer knew. 
 
 But jour people, I must praise them, 
 To the highest point I '11 raise them. 
 
 For their kindness ever shown 
 To the sick or needj stranger; 
 When of sufF'ring there is danger 
 
 Truer friends were never known. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I07 
 
 Yockop's Troubles in America. 
 
 Mine cracious! Mine cracious! how plows the coldt 
 vint! 
 
 It vos colter, alrettj, dan effer pefore; 
 So vosser dan efFer in Yarmanj bint, 
 
 Und ven I vas pack dare comes me here no more, 
 
 Un ven summer cooms roundt den der sun vas so hot» 
 Mine pare arms all ofer mit plisters is purnt; 
 
 Unt so long as I lif I shall never forgot 
 
 Der lesson dat I in dis country have learnt. 
 
 Den der cyclones da cooms unt da virls all aroundt, 
 Unt prokes down der houses unt der beoples is kilt; 
 
 Unt notting is left dare dat stood on de groundt 
 Put der cellars dat unter der houses vas pilt. 
 
 Den der peer in dis country is vosser dan all, 
 Ven I takes put swi glasses it futtles my head, 
 
 Und der taste is so vosser so pitter like call, 
 
 Ven I trinks swansy classes I sure vas gone deadt. 
 
 Mine Katrine she croomples at me efry day, 
 Unt plames me for nringing her ofer der sea, 
 
 So far from her home unt her beoples avay, 
 Unt sometimes, alretty, she skolted at me. 
 
 Unt sometime she cries, den it makes me feel padt, 
 
 So padter as effer I felt in my life; 
 Unt it puts me to dinkin of dis ting and dat, 
 
 Till I almost cries too, de same as mine vife. 
 
It)8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Put I tells my vife, Katrine, to vait schoost avile, 
 Till a little more money ve makes, den ve'U co 
 
 Pack to der old country ; den dat makes her schmile, 
 Ven she dinks of dat bromise, it please her so. 
 
 Den she vas so happy it makes me happy too, 
 
 Unt I coes to mine vork mit a heart dats so light, 
 
 Dat der vork seems so easy vot efFer I do, 
 
 Dat I vissles unt sings from der morning till night, 
 
 An Acrostic. 
 
 Being importuned by a loquacious old maid for a poem on her 
 nanie^ I -wrote for her this. 
 
 O — f all the droll creatures of nature's producing. 
 L — ove meets none so cold and so heartless as thee; 
 D — etested by man, to his mis'ry conducing, 
 M — ay we soon from such pests and tormenters be free; 
 A — nd may the young maidens all by thee take warning, 
 I — nsure a good husband while life's in its morning, 
 D — etermined more happy and useful to be. 
 
 For all of which impudence my ears zvere soutidly boxed. So 
 to appease her excusable indignation I produced for her the fol- 
 lowing: 
 
 R — ound thy fair brow is richly twined 
 O — f beauty's charms the sweetest given; 
 S — o blended with a taste refined, 
 E — 'en saddest hearts they would illume. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. IQ9 
 
 A — nd make them blithe as childhood's bloom, 
 
 N — or longer leave them wrapped in gloom, 
 
 N — or leave them to be sorrow riven, 
 
 B — ut beauty's roses soon must fade, 
 
 A — nd wrinkles mar that classic brow — 
 
 R — ough lines those blooming cheeks invade, 
 
 T — hat look so sweet and charming now; 
 
 O, — keep thy soul so pure, so clean, 
 
 N — o change in sweetness can be seen. 
 
 Uncertainty. 
 
 Uncertain are terrestrial things. 
 
 When law's enforcement lax is — 
 Uncertain what to-morrow brings 
 As acts of legislatures, kings; 
 But always sure are taxes, 
 
 A bank is an uncertain place 
 
 For us to put our treasure; 
 They'll take it in with such a grace. 
 And such a child like, smiling face. 
 
 Then steal it at their leisure. 
 
 And when we call to get it back. 
 
 Behold the bank is "busted"; 
 And then they take their fat grip sack, 
 And off to Canada they pack. 
 The cash with them we trusted, 
 
no AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The men we choose the laws to make 
 
 In our state legislature, 
 Will every advantage take 
 To legislate for party's sake, 
 
 In politics 'tis nature. 
 
 A man to get you on his note 
 
 For money he would borrow, 
 Will say you' 11 always get his vote, 
 And that he'd sell his only coat 
 To pay you back to morrow. 
 
 But when you've had to pay his debt, 
 
 His friendship he has banished; 
 And when you meet him, you can bet. 
 Not even promises you' 11 get, 
 
 And soon your hopes are vanished. 
 
 Uncertain is a verdict when 
 
 It is a jury finds it; 
 A jury of a dozen men 
 Will disagree five times in ten, 
 
 For pleading only blinds it. 
 
 Do as you will you find the same 
 
 Uncertainty attending; 
 And if you play for wealth or fame, 
 You'll find it an uncertain game. 
 
 In disappointment ending. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. Ill 
 
 The Poet's Address to his Wife. 
 
 Mj dear, good wife, these nineteen years 
 We've smoothly glided on together, 
 
 Through jojs and sorrows, smiles and tears, 
 And all vicissitudes of weather. 
 
 And now our twentieth wedding-day 
 Has come to greet us with its blessing; 
 
 Then let's enjoy life while we may — 
 'Tis all of earth that's worth possessing. 
 
 Our joys like some pellucid brook, 
 
 Have issued forth from love's pure fountain, 
 
 As streams gush from some pleasant nook. 
 In shady dell of tree-clad mountain. 
 
 "'TIS true we've faults, but who has not .'' 
 'Tis thus with every human living, 
 
 But let it never be forgot. 
 
 Our hearts grow better by forgiving. 
 
 We've seen enough of toil and care, 
 By which our happiness to measure; 
 
 But then the trials that we share. 
 But give a zest to ev'ry pleasure. 
 
 Then for contentment let us pray. 
 Ne'er at the ways of God repining; 
 
 Tho' this may be a gloomy day, 
 
 To-morrow may be bright and shining, 
 
112 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Kind Father, grant us still Thy smiles- 
 Let all our follies be forgiven, 
 
 And keep us from the tempter's wiles, 
 And land us safe at last in heaven. 
 
 Why? 
 
 While age creeps on us years go by, 
 I ev'ry phase of life survey, 
 
 And can not tell the i-eason why 
 It is I'd wish to longer stay. 
 
 To mingle in the world's turmoil, 
 With only hope to cheer me on, 
 
 While I am weary with the toil 
 Of all the years ali'eady gone. 
 
 I know that trials sore must come, 
 
 And sorrows follow in their wake. 
 And make of future days the sum, 
 To be endured for other's sake. 
 
 But life is short and soon at most, 
 I shall go hence to come no more^ 
 
 But go to join the countless host, 
 Who have for ages gone before. 
 
 But, help me, O, my God, I pray, 
 With resignation to Thy will. 
 
 To bear whatever comes my way, 
 And be thy faithful servant still. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. II3 
 
 Farewell to My Childhood's Home. 
 
 Farewell ye loved scenes of my long vanished childhood, 
 The brook on whose borders so often I played, — 
 
 Farewell ye dear nooks in yon thick-clustered wildwood 
 Where oft I in summer reclined in the shade. 
 
 Adieu to the hawthorn that stood by the thicket, 
 
 Where in summer his medley the mocking-bird sung; 
 
 The refrain being trilled by the shrill piping cricket, 
 When evening its stillness o'er nature had flung. 
 
 The knoll in the orchard where lonely are sleeping 
 My kindred now past from their labors away, 
 
 I bid all adieu while my eyes dim with weeping; — 
 O, stranger, tread lightly above them, I pray. 
 
 I leave these enchantments in strange lands to wander 
 
 Perhaps I may never behold them again; 
 And it saddens my spirit to sit here and ponder 
 
 On childhood's bright dreams and how fleeting they've 
 been. 
 But now these loved haunts are the home of another. 
 
 The ones that so loved me I see here no more; 
 My silv'ry haired father and dear sainted mother, 
 
 Long since found a home on a far brighter shore. 
 
 Then why should I wish that my stay could be longer, 
 Since all is now gloomy that once was so dear; 
 
 For though by long absence the passion be stronger. 
 The dear ones I loved never more can be here. 
 
 Then a last long adieu, but I ever shall cherish 
 The mem'ry of joys that attended me here; 
 
 Nor never till love in my bosom shall perish, 
 Will earth have a spot to my mem'ry so dear. 
 8— -P. 
 
114 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Farewell to Summer. 
 
 Golden summer now farewell 
 
 You've noblj jour engagement played, 
 
 But soon must break jour magic spell, 
 Since to the earth jour debt is paid, 
 And jou will then be laid to rest, 
 Bj all this well-fed people blest. 
 
 Coquettish as the changing breeze. 
 
 You've oft feigned leaving once for all, 
 
 But seemed so well the world to please. 
 You waited not applause to call, 
 But all at once jou changed jour will. 
 And lo, JOU tarrj with us still. 
 
 The trees still wear their regal dress — 
 The katjdid pipes' forth his song. 
 
 And we can surelj do no less 
 
 Than wish jou would jour staj prolong; 
 
 To bless us with these balmj dajs. 
 
 We have through jour coquettish ways. 
 
 In autumn's lap jou smiling sit. 
 
 With genial warmth shines forth the sun; 
 And through the haze winged insects flit, 
 
 As when their life had first begun; 
 
 And thus jou round the season up. 
 
 To fill with joj the poor man's cup. 
 
 And now as through the woods I roam, 
 
 Mj thoughts go back to bj-gone jears — 
 tOf pleasure in our humble home — 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. II5 
 
 A home that seldom knew of tears; 
 
 Then think when comes the autumn's gloom, 
 
 We're one year nearer to the tomb. 
 
 But ah, how swift the years go past! 
 Like meteors shot athwart the sky. 
 
 They seem so bright but cannot last, 
 We have but time to say good-by, 
 'Till they are gone to come no more, 
 To cheer us on this changeful shore. 
 
 September, 1887. 
 
 Deal Gently with the Erring. 
 
 Deal gently with the erring, — 
 Thou knowest not how well, 
 How gallantly they struggled 
 Before they, yielding, fell. 
 
 Remember sore temptation 
 
 Ere long may cross thy way, 
 And finding thee unguarded, 
 Make thee an easy prey. 
 
 Deal gently with the erring — 
 With passion's wayward child; 
 
 And when reproof is needed, 
 O let thy words be mild. 
 
Il6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Remember that the Savior 
 Forbeareth long with thee; 
 
 And in his law commandeth, 
 His saints like him to be. 
 
 Deal gently with the erring, 
 Who think they're in the right. 
 
 Be gentle in thy efforts 
 
 To bring them to the light. 
 
 Remember that impressions 
 Of childhood's early bloom, 
 
 We oft regard as sacred. 
 
 And wear them to the tomb. 
 
 Deal gently with the erring 
 In the slipp'ry paths of youth,. 
 
 And strive by good example 
 To win them to the truth. 
 
 And to the world be courteous,. 
 
 Forbearing be, and kind; 
 And let the weeping orphan, 
 
 In thee a parent find. 
 
&.MUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS II7 
 
 Latter Day Prophets. 
 
 O! Wiggins. The Wiggins 
 Of the Canada diggins. 
 "Who pretends inspiration right down from above; 
 You're a Httle too slow, 
 As our prophet can show — 
 Tiean our home prophet, the only Sam Love. 
 
 You've made a big blunder, 
 Though vou made the fools wonder 
 
 Jf an earthquake was coming to spoil the State fair; 
 When it dont come to pass, 
 'Twill but prove you an ass, 
 
 Who, with our own Samuel; will just make a pair. 
 
 You state your conclusion 
 
 And cause such confusion 
 ^Mong darkies, while wise people call you a fool 
 
 And pay no attention 
 
 To all your pretension, 
 "Believing you'r only the stock-jobbers tool, 
 
 Who use such devices 
 
 For Bear-ing the prices 
 'Of stocks and all things that the people must buy; 
 
 But seeking for fame 
 
 By such means is a shame, 
 Though on your predictions fools only rely. 
 
Il8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 A Parody, 
 
 Gov. Walker^s Descent on l^a'cvrence, Kan., in 1856. 
 
 Our old Gov'nor came down like a wolf on the fold, 
 His blue-graj eje beaming defiant and bold ; 
 All blust'ring and boist'rous as gov'nor could be, 
 Like gov'nor Willard when out on a spree. 
 
 Like the grass on the prairie in midsummer seen, 
 The old punkin-head dotard looked awfully green; 
 For when he saw Lawrence stretched out on the lawn,. 
 He found to his sorrow his courage was gone. 
 
 For there the darned yankees stood gaping around, 
 Not an effort was made for defending the town; 
 And the phiz of the rascals looked tauntingly wise. 
 As sly twinkles provokingly danced in their eyes. 
 
 And there stood the gov'nor his nostrils spi^ead wide 
 
 As down his dry throat rolled of whisky a tide; 
 
 And he frothed and he foamed and he slobbered with^ 
 
 rage. 
 Like a mammoth wild lion confined in a cage. 
 
 And there was the soldier all frolic and fun, 
 With a brick in his hat and no load in his gun; 
 But he said 'twas a shame to be thus made the tool 
 Of that old granny. Walker, the tarnal old fool. 
 
 There too lay the colonel his death-dirge unsung, 
 His brain had got foggy his joints were unstrung; 
 With a drop in his eye and his running at large. 
 On defenceless Brown Betty he rushe to the charge,. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. II9 
 
 Till the battle waxed fierce and the conflict was dire, 
 And the essence of rje set his courage on fire; 
 Still with valor he fought till he fell from his stud 
 Bj the hand of Brown Betty kerslump in the mud. 
 
 But again our old gov'nor is loud in his wail, 
 
 And threatens all Lawrence to ride on a rail. 
 
 If thej don't pay their tax and recruit up his liquor 
 
 He says he'll march straight oft'and just let them flicker, 
 
 And the widows of Lawrence ( if any there be ) 
 Are anxious as ever a husband to see; 
 And the rest of the people are blithe as you please, 
 And old granny Walker can back out and grease. 
 
 The Loafer's Lament over the Close of the Campaign. 
 
 O, I'm sad and I'm dejected, 
 
 The election is so near; 
 For then farewell to whisky. 
 
 And the foaming lager beer. 
 
 Just now I live in clover, 
 
 For I've but to give the wink, 
 
 Now till voting time is over, 
 And I get all that I can drink. 
 
 Though its hard to vote for Bynum, 
 And sore against my will, 
 
 To vote for a Republican 
 
 Is a blamed sight harder still; 
 
I20 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 For they're opposed to whisky, 
 Thoui^h thej keep it mighty sly, 
 
 And I cannot do without it. 
 Far mv whistle gets so drv. 
 
 Though Bynum worked for Creelman, 
 And said some naughty things 
 
 About our sainted leader, 
 That to my mem'ry brings 
 
 Sad thoughts of that dead hero, 
 Who gave us papa Jones, 
 
 Still he's a friend to whisky. 
 And that all sin atones. 
 
 So I will vote for Bynuni, 
 Since Hendricks now is dead, 
 
 And has no means of knowing. 
 What cither's done or said; 
 
 But that can't cure my sadness. 
 For a tear comes in my eye. 
 
 To think how I will suffer. 
 
 When my whistle gets so dry. 
 
 When the voting time is over. 
 Candidates can't see me wink, 
 
 Then I cannot live in clover, 
 But must paj for what I drink, 
 
 O' I wish the campaign lasted 
 
 Ev'ry day of ev'ry year! 
 Then I'd always be so happy, 
 
 With no dearth of drink to fear. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 121 
 
 The Husband's Address to His Dying Wife. 
 
 Farewell, dear wife, but not forever, 
 For soon again we'll meet above; 
 'Tis sad the golden chain to sever, 
 
 So long cemented by our love, 
 
 « 
 
 Our home will be so lone, so dreai", 
 
 No more thy dear sweet face I'll meet; 
 
 But oft will drop the silent tear. 
 
 For her my stricken heart would greet. 
 
 The busy world will pass along, 
 
 All heedless of my lonely grief; 
 And though I mingle with the throng, 
 
 'Twill to this heart bring no relief. 
 
 Though 'tis my loss I know 'tis gain 
 To thee, dear wife, to be no more, 
 
 Racked by this endless torturing pain, 
 And have thy patient sufF'rings o'er. 
 
 Those many pleasant by-gone years 
 We floated down life's busy stream, 
 
 Seem now amid my grief and tears, 
 
 Like some sweet, weird, dissolving dream. 
 
 Then fare thee well my loving wife! 
 
 But God be thanked 'tis not forever; 
 Yor soon we in a better life. 
 
 Shall meet where death no more can sever. 
 
122 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Closing of the Legislature. 
 
 Ring down the curtain, play is o'er, 
 
 The halls are emptj, stillness reigns 
 Where late was tumult, and the floor 
 
 Where men long taxed their heated brains- 
 In wrangling in fierce party strife. 
 With party hate and rancor rife. 
 
 Ring down the curtain, once for all. 
 
 And hide our noble State's disgrace 
 Beneath a ten-ply sable pall — 
 Hide it forever from the face 
 Of ev'ry decent honest man, 
 And put the guilty under ban. 
 
 Ring down the curtain on the scene — 
 Expunge the record they have made. 
 And tell it not there's ever been 
 A trust so shamefully betrayed — 
 Trust the confiding people gave 
 To men who each proved party's slave.- 
 
 Ring down the curtain, there to stay, 
 
 Till better men the people find 
 To make their laws some future day — 
 Men whom no party ties can blind 
 To follow blindly in its wake. 
 Nor do a wrong for party's sake. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURb. I23; 
 
 Ring down the curtain now, too long 
 
 Have those grand halls been put to shame 
 By that wild, madlj wrangling throng, 
 Besmirching Indiana's name; 
 
 Yes, let the curtain quickly drop, 
 This howling farce at once to stop. 
 
 At last we see the curtain down. 
 
 For which we all give grateful thanks; 
 No more we'll see a graceless clown 
 Rule o'er a crowd of dupes and cranks, 
 Whose room is always better than 
 The presence of such rowdy clan. 
 February, 18S7. 
 
 Don't ^A/■orry and Fret. 
 
 Whatever befall as I go on life's way, 
 This motto I cling to and never forget; 
 
 Come good or come ill, come whatever may. 
 My motto's the same, "never worry or fret." 
 
 Our cares and our troubles will be quite enough,. 
 
 As we sail on life's sea with vexations beset; 
 But be that sea placid or ever so rough. 
 
 It never shall tempt me to worry or fret. 
 
 To-day may be gloomy but hope cheers me still;; 
 
 Though fortune's a fickle and heartless coquette. 
 I trust to my Maker and bow to His willi. 
 
 And at fortune's freaks never worry or fret. 
 
124 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Tho' gone are the hale von days of my youth. 
 
 The pleasure they brought me I'll never forget, 
 For their loss w^ill but ansv^^er to teach me this truth, 
 
 It never mends matters to worry and fret. 
 
 For all of our labor ps life passes by, 
 
 We can use but a little of all v^e may get; 
 
 For tho' we gain millions at last we must die, 
 So never for wealth will I worry or fret. 
 
 . The Brevity of Human Life. 
 
 How short our stay upon this sphere, 
 
 We are but creatures of a day ; 
 Like withered leaves, all brown and sere, 
 At closing of each passing year. 
 
 'Tis but good night and then away. 
 
 In youth when life is all before. 
 
 The world is viewed with happy eyt s, 
 
 But we must pass our full three score. 
 
 And count our many trials o'er. 
 The all of life to realize. 
 
 For ah, how soon does time dispel 
 
 The gilded dreams that youth had l^nown! 
 They vanish, and 'tis then farewell 
 To joys on which we love to dwell, 
 
 When with the years our youth has flown. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I25 
 
 The place that knows us now must soon 
 
 Be left for other ones to fill; 
 Life's morning flies, we pass, it's noon — 
 Its sun becomes a pale, cold moon, 
 
 And next the throbbing heart is still, 
 
 And we have done with toil and strife — 
 
 A record made for time to come, 
 No more to know the ills of life, 
 With which this mundane shore is rife, 
 
 When safely housed in our long home. 
 
 However much we wish to stay 
 
 In this mixed world of joy and teen^ 
 To mingle in its battle-fraj. 
 Stern nature's debt we're called to pay 
 
 Then fruitless mourn what might have been. 
 
 Life. 
 
 life! who can thy essence tell.'' 
 Thou mystery of mysteries. 
 
 On which so oft I wond'ring dwell, 
 Yet ne'er can fathom what it is. 
 
 1 wonder what its spring can be. 
 
 And why awhile to us it clings, 
 And then o'er lethe's shoreless sea, 
 It takes its flight on noiseless wings- 
 
126 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Departs as silent as it came, 
 
 Nor leaves a ling'ring trace behind; 
 
 Goes out like some spent taper's flame, 
 As though it were the same in kind. 
 
 Ah! what thou art my eager soul 
 
 Would give a thousand worlds to know; 
 
 Or could I only reach a goal. 
 
 Where I might see thee come and go — 
 
 A tangible, embodied thing. 
 
 An entity to feel and see, 
 And thus unlock thy mystic spring, 
 
 I from this longing should be free. 
 
 I Know we dwell together now, 
 
 And, too, that we ere long must part 
 
 But why, or where, or when, or how. 
 Is too abstruse for reason's art. 
 
 Then wait my soul ih' appointed time. 
 And God will make the mystery plain, 
 
 When death reveals a life sublime. 
 And unalloyed with doubt or pain. 
 
 Autumn Leaves. 
 
 ■On receiving in a letter from a distant friend a couple 
 auMitnn-hued leaves. 
 
 Bright autumn leaves, how much they tell 
 Of days embalmed in mem'ry's dream. 
 
 At thought of which our bosoms swell. 
 With such emotions as would seem 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I27 
 
 To take us back to vanished years, 
 
 Of childhood sports and youthful mirth — 
 
 'Of mingled joy and bitter tears. 
 Sure heritage of man on earth. 
 
 How very like their life to ours, 
 
 In spring so tender and so bright, 
 •Commingled with the wildwood flowers, 
 
 Presenting scenes to charm the sight. 
 
 And when the summer's heat has come, 
 And changed them to a darker hue, 
 
 "'Tis like the change that makes the sum 
 
 Of our life's shades we must pass through — 
 
 Pass through as on our journey here, 
 
 We hurry on to that unknown, 
 To which with muffled steps we steer, 
 
 To reap whatever we have sown. 
 
 Like them how short must be our stay. 
 
 Like them we fall and are forgot. 
 Like them so soon we pass away, 
 
 Like them we're left alone to rot. 
 
 Like them to us shall come a spring- 
 To wake the dead to life again; 
 
 And then the life that it will bring. 
 Shall be hke their's devoid of pain. 
 
 O, may the likeness still endure, 
 
 When we shall feel life's autumn blast; 
 
 -And like them may we still be pure, 
 Like them most lovely at the last. 
 
129 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Choice of Hearts. 
 
 Ye laughing njmphs, je bright-eyed girls, 
 Triumphing in your gentle beauty; 
 
 With ruby lips and teeth like pearls, 
 With rosy cheeks and glossy curls, 
 That round your brows the zephyr furls, 
 Sweet angels, fit for brighter worlds. 
 
 What kind of hearts for mates will suit ye^ 
 
 The soldier heart, says one proud dear, 
 Upon his noble war-horse dashing; 
 
 Whose gallant soul ne'er harbored fear, 
 
 Whose eyes, save when my side he's near, 
 
 Are never known to shed a tear, 
 But are with valor always flashing. 
 
 Give me but proud ambition's heart 
 
 Another chimes, her dark eyes dancing: 
 Who yearns to act the ruler's part. 
 Bids high for power in every mart. 
 
 With prospects bright and fast advancing^ 
 
 Whose restless soul will never sleep. 
 While his unvanquished rival 's living; 
 
 But will a costant vigil keep. 
 
 And lay his plans both broad atid deep. 
 
 Till he shall all his rivals sweep 
 
 Down to the shades of deep oblivion. 
 
 Give me the heart that's tuned to love. 
 Says somes weet, little blue-eyed elf: 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I2g 
 
 A heart inspired thus, from above, 
 
 To me the richest boon will prove, 
 
 Can I but claitn it all myself. 
 
 A constant heart, says gentle Sue, 
 
 With others is above comparing: 
 That to one little heart is true; 
 Whose warm embrace is always new. 
 
 And has no nook for others sharing. 
 
 <jay fashion's heart another chimes, 
 
 Her silks and crinoline wide-spreading; 
 
 Who freely launches out the dimes 
 
 To keep his wife up with the times. 
 
 And at the outlay ne'er repines, 
 
 While fashion's giddy maze we're threading: 
 
 Who has for balls and routs a taste, 
 
 For theaters a burning passion; 
 Who frequents every mirthful place, 
 With mustached lip and whiskered face, 
 Can dance and sing with perfect grace, 
 Nor show of plebean airs a trace; 
 
 O! give, give me the man of fashion. 
 
 The pious heart, one maiden says, 
 
 With true devotion in her bearing: 
 A heart that to the Father prays. 
 And walks in all the Saviour's ways, 
 That merits all my worldly praise. 
 
 Alike my joys or sorrows sharing. 
 9 — P. 
 
130 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The generous heart, one maid repHes, 
 With sympathy her bosom burning: 
 
 A heart that hears the orphan's cries, 
 
 Nor once the needed aid denies. 
 
 But gladly makes the sacrifice 
 
 While on such acts his soul relies. 
 To satisfy its Godlike yearning. 
 
 The poet heart! — well, who would think, 
 That such a one would e'er be thought of I 
 
 The man who never has the chink. 
 
 More than will buy his meat and drink; 
 
 Whom chance may to oblivion sink. 
 More deep than mortal ever wot of. 
 
 Dear girls, in vain your reason pleads. 
 
 While thus you choose, without reflection,. 
 To learn one thing each of you needs. 
 Men's hearts are not known by their creeds 
 Nor by their poring o'er their beads. 
 But always in their daily deeds 
 
 You'll find them open for inspection. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I^I 
 
 To Streaks of Gray in a Young Lady's Hair. 
 
 Unwelcome guests that tell a tale 
 
 She would not have the world to know; 
 
 Quick, hide yourselves beneath her veil 
 
 Lest what's concealed jour presence show. 
 
 Those silkj tresses, raven hued, 
 
 She'd have from such a blemish free; 
 
 Then why should you yourselves intrude 
 Where you must so unwelcome be.'' 
 
 Conceal your tell tale silver tint, 
 
 That of the years that she has known 
 
 Might give, perchance, a silent hint 
 Of what few maidens like to own. 
 
 Go seek a more befitting place, 
 On some old crone's devoted head 
 
 That's needing hair; and with a face 
 From which all beauty long since fled. 
 
 You cause no comment when you're there 
 
 For all agree it should be so; 
 Nor would one notice you, or care 
 
 How many by-gone years you show. 
 
 Be quick, intruders, then, to hide 
 
 Before it proves for her too late! 
 For gray hairs ill become a bride. 
 
 And might decide a maiden's fate. 
 
132 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 On The Death of Henry Major. 
 
 33d Regt. Ind. Vols, 
 
 O^erthe fair land of freedom the storm cloud was hanging 
 And freemen b}^ thousands were must'ring for war; 
 
 Already their steel with the foeman's was clanging, 
 And echoing back from the mountains afar. 
 
 And the tocsin of war o'er Columbia was ringing, 
 The bugle's wild blast floated shrill on the gale; 
 
 To death or to vict'rj her brave sons were clinging — 
 The sheen of their weapons flashed bright thro' the vale. 
 
 And the echo came back to each patriot calling, 
 To up and be doing, to arm for the strife; 
 
 And told them their brethren in battle were falling, 
 And purchasing liberty's blessings with life. 
 
 With a true love of country his brave spirit burning. 
 Young Henry went forth, for that country to fight; 
 
 Altho' for his maiden his fond heart was yearning, 
 He sacrificed love on the altar of right. 
 
 The poet's rich pencil may ne'er paint the feeling, 
 That stirred to commotion the depths of his heart, 
 
 As from her warm lips the last raptured kiss stealing, 
 He rose for the ensanguined field to depart. 
 
 Down her care-furrowed cheeks flowed the tears of his 
 mother, 
 
 As bidding her son a fond mother's adieu 
 She returned to her home in her bosom to smother, 
 
 The grief that like daggers was piercing her through, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS I33 
 
 Her fancy oft painted the rebel steel gleaming, 
 Above her sons head in the thick of the fight; 
 
 And the sight of his wounds, with the red current 
 streaming, 
 The vision that haunted her spirit by night. 
 
 But fortune denying such exquisite glory, 
 
 Stern death by disease laid him low in the tomb. 
 
 And left but his comrades to tell the sad story. 
 
 That shrouded his loved ones in sorrow and gloom. 
 
 I've a tear for the stricken, disconsolate-hearted, 
 As such I will drop it, fond mourners, for you; 
 
 For the tears that we shed for the dear ones departed, 
 Are the pledges of love that our pathway bestrew. 
 
 But why, why those eyes dimmed and reddened with 
 weeping.? 
 
 O'er the golden bowl broke at the fountain of love.'' 
 Since promise is given, though now in death sleeping, 
 
 Again you'll embrace him in heaven above. 
 
 Autumn. 
 
 Now comes apace the time of gloom, 
 That ever rounds the closing year. 
 
 When nature gathers in her tomb. 
 
 The summer's glory bronzed and sere. 
 
 The balmy spring long since is past, 
 With all its pleasant, mellow days, 
 
 And summer's green is yielding fast. 
 To autumn's blight and somber haze^ 
 
134 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The sun receding south apace, 
 
 When slowly sinking in the west, 
 
 Displays a broad, round, gory face, 
 And earth prepares for winter rest. 
 
 The swallows circle in the air, 
 
 High up on suifc and tirek-.^s wing, 
 
 For their long journey to prepare, 
 To regions of eternal spring. 
 
 The blue bird and the mimic jay, 
 And robin with his ruby breast, 
 
 Stop but a moment by the way. 
 To give their weary wings a rest 
 
 But men must stay and brave the storm 
 Of dreary winter's drifting snow. 
 
 And use his art tO'keep him warm, 
 However cold the winds may blow. 
 
 The dust lies heavy on the corn 
 
 Beside the sun-parched country lane; 
 
 The meadows of their grass are shorn — 
 The wheatfields of their golden grain. 
 
 The goldenrod blooms on the lea — 
 Chrysanthemums beside the door; 
 
 By all which signs 'tis plain to see 
 That sultry summer now is o'er: 
 
 The sleepy atmosphere is still, 
 
 Pervaded by a dust and smoke, 
 Enshrouding ev'ry vale and hill, 
 As with a somber, mistv cloak. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I35 
 
 The katydid pipes that old song. 
 In years long gone I used to hear; 
 
 The evenings growing cool and lonij. 
 All go to prove the autumn near. 
 
 'Tis thus the seasons come and go, 
 
 Fit emblems of the joy we crave, 
 But naught is certain here below, 
 
 Except our summons to the grave. 
 
 So, too, the years portray our life — 
 
 The spring, the summer, autumn's gloom. 
 
 Till we have done with earthly strife. 
 And find our winter in the tomb. 
 
 To sleep forgotton till appears. 
 
 The spring that wakes us from the dead 
 
 To that new life devoid of tears, 
 
 Where sad farewells are never said. 
 
 Imprompu to C- 
 
 0>i receiving from him a present of a cigar, it being one of a 
 number vjon by him on a wager with F. L. 
 
 Dear Jake, thanks for the braw cigar. 
 
 Ye kindly sent me as a present; 
 'Twas a wee thing to send so far. 
 
 But then the i-eekin o't was pleasent. 
 
 I ne'er before partook of aught 
 
 That had been staked or won by betting, 
 
 And even now to me 'tis fraught 
 With visions of a sin besetting. 
 
136 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But I, like all kind hearted folks, 
 Could na' refuse a friendly token, 
 
 Sae weel I kend your love for jokes, 
 And that ye kend my love for smokin'. 
 
 I did nae burn it right away, 
 But kept it till a time of leisure, 
 
 For weel I kend it wad nae pay. 
 So soon to sacrifice the ti^easure. 
 
 Then thanks, dear Jake, for the cigar, 
 That ye so kindly thought to send me; 
 
 Where e'er ye gang — however far. 
 May peace and happiness attend ye. 
 
 My Neighbor Next Door. 
 
 We all have our troubles of various kinds, 
 
 And some of them real, of magnitude great; 
 While some are imagined by petulent minds, 
 
 But to suffer vexation is every one's fate; 
 There's music, good music, I love it so well. 
 
 But a medley discordant is always a bore. 
 And grates on my ear like a gong or a bell. 
 
 Such music there comes from my neighbors next 
 door. 
 
 On an ancient piano they thump and they beat. 
 And a puppy's refi'ain often burdens the air. 
 Till sick and disgusted I fain would retreat 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 137 
 
 From an ear-splitting hubbub no mortal could 
 bear: 
 If I try for a time to find quiet and rest, 
 
 From dogs and piano comes music galore, 
 That would stir up the gall in the wild savage breast, 
 The music that comes from my neighbor next 
 door. 
 
 I bear the noise bravely as well as I can — 
 
 For the sake of their feelings have nothing to say. 
 Preferring to bear, like a much martyred man, 
 
 Than tell them that girl of theirs never can play: 
 So in sickness or health it is always the same, 
 
 Into my doomed ears there continues to pour 
 A racket would put a Comanche to shame, 
 
 Till I wish them in Guinea, those neighbors next 
 door. 
 
 But wishing can't silence a nuisance like this. 
 
 So I meekly submit to whatever must be. 
 But with no good will for the sweet mincing miss, 
 
 Who's constantly causing such torture to me, 
 I sigh for a season of quiet and peace, 
 
 Till I can take comfort again as of yore; 
 But there will be none till I get a release 
 
 From the unearthly din of my neighbors next 
 door. 
 
138 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The November Snow Storm. 
 
 'Tis the eighteenth of November, 
 
 And the chill autumnal blast 
 
 Sweeps like howling demons past; — 
 
 Sweeps the drj leaves from the tree>; 
 
 And snow flakes, as in December, 
 
 Fill the air like swarms of bees. 
 
 On thej hurry, leaves and snow-flakt-s, 
 
 Leaves and snow-flakes all together. 
 
 Thick as flies in summer weather. 
 
 What a din this storm of snow makes. 
 
 Now again the wind blows fiercer. 
 
 Fiercer than it did before; 
 
 Drives the sleet against the casement, 
 
 Drives the sleet against the door, 
 
 And the house reels on its basement, 
 
 Till it shakes the very floor; 
 
 This November is s piercer. 
 
 Hurley-hurley! pans and baskets, 
 
 Pelmell in a heap they go; 
 
 'Tis no use to try to mask it 
 
 Winter's here before we ask it; 
 
 Fall the crystal flakes of snow, 
 
 Like gems spilt from heaven's casket. 
 
 Whew! there goes the pails and wash-tubs, 
 
 Pails and wash-tubs in a pile; 
 
 All the world seems in a hub-bub, 
 
 Tommy's cap flies o'er the stile. 
 
 Still the storm gets higher, higher. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURb. I39 
 
 And the clouds grow darker too; 
 Wife savs make a better fire, 
 Carlo skips around the spryer, 
 To the barn the cow draws nigher, 
 With her shivering calf close by her, 
 While they both seem to inquire, 
 What shall we poor cattle do ? 
 Howls the bleak wind through the f west; 
 Through the forest brown and sere; 
 Like the wail of night-hag chorist, 
 Falls the sound upon the ear. 
 Making all without appear 
 Gloomy, dark and doubly drear. 
 Doors are creaking, windows knocking. 
 Snap the clothes upon the line, 
 These November storms are shocking. 
 All our hopes of sun-shine mocking; 
 Oh ! I wish the sun would shine. 
 
 One by One. 
 
 As one by one the roses fall, 
 
 By God's eternal fiat driven, 
 So one by one go friends till all 
 
 Down in the grave from us are hidden. 
 
 Tenacious clinging all the way, 
 
 Till we arrive at death's dark river. 
 
 The last love's tribute there they pay, 
 But crossing shrink from with a shivL'r 
 
140 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 That we must follow them we know, 
 Since here we're only on probation; 
 
 There's no escape, all, all must go, 
 
 For death knows naught of rank or station. 
 
 Naught can our hoarded wealth avail, 
 
 For which through many years we've striven,. 
 
 When we must furl our tattered sail, 
 And to the one last port be driven. 
 
 Then why, O why, ihis eager strife ? 
 
 When what we gain we only borrow; 
 And tho' we claim to-day for life, 
 
 We have no mortgage on to-morrow. 
 
 To-morrow's sun may never rise 
 
 To us, or rising may be clouded 
 With mist that shuts it from our eyes — 
 
 In mist of ebbing life enshrouded. 
 
 Musings of Idle Hours. 
 
 Oh! Julia — sing those words again. 
 You sang so sweetly yester-night; 
 
 It calms the tumult of my brain, 
 
 And makes my saddened spirit light. 
 
 Sing, Julia, if but for the sake 
 
 Of him whose soul is bowed with grief ;. 
 It seems this aching heart must break, 
 
 Without some balm for its relief. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, I4I 
 
 My pillow, Julia, seems so hard, 
 
 This aching head can find no rest; 
 And peace so long has been debarred, 
 
 All earthly hope has flown this breast. 
 
 Perhaps 'twas justice aimed the stroke. 
 That brought me all this flood of woe; 
 
 Perhaps 'twas mercy, too, that oped 
 
 The fount from which my sorrows flow. 
 
 But may not mortal man complain, 
 
 When sore afflictions press him down ? 
 
 May he not seek relief from pain. 
 Or to elude sad fortune's frown.'' 
 
 Then, Julia, sing those words again — 
 With cheerful heart, sweet Julia, sing; 
 
 It soothes the torture of my pain. 
 To hear your sweet-toned caroling. 
 
 The Better World. 
 
 There is a world of life and light 
 For which I strive from day to day, 
 
 Where is no intervening night. 
 To hide the beauties of the way. 
 
 There brightest flowers forever bloom, 
 To scent the circumambient air 
 
 With sweet ambrosial perfume. 
 For every one who enters there. 
 
142 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 That world is far bejond the ken 
 Of us while in this vale of tears, 
 
 But to our sense will open when 
 
 We've past our earth-allotted years. 
 
 Supremely is the pilgrim blest, 
 
 When weary with the world's turmoil^ 
 
 He, in that land at last may rest, 
 Forever free from care and toil. 
 
 In that bright world no grief is known — 
 No count of days, no end of years — 
 
 No graves by mourners flower-strewn — 
 No blighted hopes, no farewell tears, 
 
 That world I soon shall enter in. 
 And find the rest for which I sigh; 
 
 And there anew will life begin. 
 
 When I have bade this world good bye. 
 
 Though in the grave my body sleep, 
 The soul immortal then set free. 
 
 Shall on its life progressive keep. 
 Throughout a vast eternity. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 143 
 
 The Good Old Days of Yore. 
 
 Oh for the days, the halcyon days, 
 
 Those good old days of yore, 
 When ladies fair, as free as air, 
 
 No hoops nor bustle wore. 
 
 When maidens grown, sweet flowers full-blown 
 
 Plied wash-tub broom or pail; 
 Nor feared to toil lest they might soil 
 
 A long-grown finger nail. 
 
 Nor never thought their mothers ought 
 
 Mere kitchen-drudge to be; 
 The task to take, to scrub and bake. 
 
 While they went labor free. 
 
 When each sweet bud enriched her blood 
 
 By draughts of open air, 
 As though good health was greater wealth, 
 
 Than skin so lily fair. 
 
 Bright laughing girls with flowing curls, 
 
 They romped the whole day long. 
 Out in the sun where all their fun 
 
 Helped make their muscles strong. 
 
 When gallant beaux ne'er pinched their toes, 
 
 With boots as tight as jacks: 
 But dared to woo their maidens true. 
 
 With homespun on their backs. 
 
 When each could plow and milk the cow. 
 Alike wield axe or maul; 
 
l44 amusement of idle hours. 
 
 Could plant and sow and reap and mow, 
 Better than dance at ball. 
 
 " When cold the sire sat bv the fire, 
 
 As snug as mortal can; 
 Nor was he called by great or small. 
 The "boss" or the "old man." 
 
 When each took care to always share 
 With neighbors what he had; 
 
 And all inclined to be so kind 
 That none could long be sad. 
 
 Then be not slack to give me back 
 Those days in mem'ry laid; 
 
 When on a friend we might depend. 
 In sunshine or in shade. 
 
 Heedlessness. 
 
 How seldom we think of the sure-coming day 
 
 While in life's giddy whirl with congenial friends, 
 
 That all of these pleasures must soon pass away, 
 Till death the career of some cherished one ends. 
 
 How soon then's forgotten the lesson when learned. 
 We miss them awhile and they fade from the mind, 
 
 And the love that in life had so ardently burned 
 Cools down and we soon to our loss are resigned. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I45 
 
 'Though ahnost forgotten bj lapse of long years, 
 
 They still, like lost love, are embalmed in the heart, 
 
 Till mem'rj awaking will cause the sad tears 
 Afresh froin dried fountains unbidden to start. 
 
 Tis a mercy to man that in time he forgets, 
 
 Else troubles and heart aches we only would know; 
 
 Our hearts would be burdened with painful regrets, 
 Deep sinking our spirits in fathomless woe. 
 
 How oft have we spoken the last sad adieu 
 To some one whose love was the joy of the heart; 
 
 And when in the grave they were hidden from view, 
 Have left there in sorrow alone to depart. 
 
 Then pause, heedless man, for a moment and think 
 How short on the earth is life's journey at best; 
 
 And that every day we are walking the brink 
 
 Of the grave, where the weary at last may find rest. 
 
 Thoughts on Our Dead Volunteers. 
 
 Sleep on — sleep on, ye gallant brave, 
 Who at your bleeding country's call, 
 
 Your lives and fortunes freely gave. 
 And on her altar laid your all. 
 
 Sleep on, that last long, lonely sleep, 
 Where only earthly peace is found; 
 
 And angels constant vigils keep, 
 To guard the consecrated ground. 
 10 — P. 
 
146 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 No more you'll mingle in the sti'ife, 
 Nor see the crimson current flow — 
 
 When brother takes a brother's life, 
 In battle with the common foe. 
 
 With jou the conflict now is o'er — 
 Life's battle fought and vict'ry won; 
 
 Reveille ne'er shall wake you more, 
 Beneath the circuit of the sun. 
 
 The "dogs of war" with demon howl, 
 And hideous notes may fill the air; 
 
 Still though around your graves they prowl,. 
 Shall not disturb one sleeper there. 
 
 But when in heaven reveilles beat, 
 For patriots to muster there — 
 
 Then you again your friends shall meet, 
 And each his meed of glory share — 
 
 Shall be permitted to enjoy, 
 
 (Safe bivouacked in your heavenly home,). 
 Sweet rest and peace without alloy, 
 
 Where rebel traitors never come. 
 
 And when in far-oflf coming years. 
 The story of your death is told, 
 
 A grateful people shall with tears 
 Baptize the sod above your mould. 
 
 I see your homes now desolate. 
 By each fireside a vacant chair — 
 
 Where oft the absent loved one sat. 
 All seem to ask where is he — where.'^ 
 
AMUSEiMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 147 
 
 And echo answers back from far, 
 
 In tones of deep portentous sound, 
 From fields of fratricidal war — 
 
 They're sleeping here low in the ground. 
 
 Then by his friends ne'er be forgot 
 The dear young soldier's lonely grave— 
 
 Nor aught disturb the hallowed spot, 
 
 Where sleep our country's gallant brave. 
 
 The Coasters. 
 
 A Pictuj-e of Human Life. 
 
 I saw some children on a hill, 
 
 Its slopes were coated o'er with snow; 
 
 I watched them gliding down until 
 They reached the level ground below. 
 
 As down the glossy slope they sped, 
 With cheers they fast and faster went; 
 
 Each striving hard to haste his sled, 
 As if on naught but speed intent. 
 
 Some watched their crafts with studied care. 
 
 From ev'ry danger to defend; 
 They chose their goal and landed there. 
 
 By faithful struggling to the end. 
 
 But some cared not their sleds to guide. 
 
 They tho't of nothing but their fun, 
 Their sleds, unguided, turned aside 
 
 And stopped their race when scarce begun. 
 
148 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Like coasters down that steep hillside, 
 Are we poor mortals here below; 
 
 When starting o'er the track to glide, 
 Our progress seems to be too slow. 
 
 For in ov;r early childhood we 
 
 Think that our time so slow moves on. 
 
 We dream mv;ch better times to see, 
 
 Nor count our pleasures till they're gone, 
 
 Then we but wish for greater speed. 
 
 Our fancied pleasure to increase; 
 But as we farther on proceed, 
 
 It brings from longing no release. 
 
 As nearer to the foot we come, 
 Our time does but the faster fly; 
 
 And days uncounted make the sum 
 Of swift winged years as they flit by. 
 
 jBut when the level land we near. 
 
 And see our pleasure cannot last, 
 We then begin to have a fear, 
 
 That after all we've gone too fast. 
 
 O, coaster, guide yovir craft aright ! 
 
 And keep the straight and narrow trend — 
 The final goal keep well in sight, 
 
 Till you haved gained the wished-for end, 
 
 For we're God's children coasting down 
 The hill of life to land unknown. 
 
 Where we shall meet His smile or frown, 
 And reap what we on earth have sown. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I49 
 
 Written in an Album. 
 
 Ah! when I near this virgin page, 
 So spotless, pearly-white and clean, 
 
 It 'minds me of young innocence, 
 All pure and undefiled by sin. 
 
 The slightest touch of ruthless hand, 
 Its magic beauty will impair, 
 
 And leave indelibly a stain 
 
 It must forever blush to wear. 
 
 And when I bring my inky pen 
 In closer contact with its face, 
 
 Shall I add lustre to the page.'* 
 Or shall I only add disgrace .^^ 
 
 These lines I trace for friendship's sake, 
 Will they by thee be_ often read ? 
 
 Or will they soon be quite forgot. 
 And meet but cold neglect instead ? 
 
 If so, then friendship's but a name — 
 A dream that waking drives awsiy — 
 
 An ignus fatuus of the mind, 
 To vanish at the dawn of day. 
 
 No, no, my heart was never formed 
 Pure friendship's ties so soon to break, 
 
 Mementos all to me are dear, 
 If only for the giver's sake. 
 
150 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then let me have one gift from thee, 
 Not valued for its worth in gold; 
 
 But valued for the one that gave — 
 Its value then can ne'er be told. 
 
 And when our work on earth is done, 
 And we from bondage are set free, 
 
 May friendship be renewed above, 
 As lasting as eternity. 
 
 In Memory 
 
 Of Thomas Lochhart^ aged gzyears, ^^years a Christian preacher . 
 
 He with the word, the spirit's sword fought well 
 
 The bloodless battle of his sovereign Lord; 
 And now, with armor oflf has gone to dwell 
 In heavenly mansions, there to swell 
 
 The song of the redeemed, as his reward. 
 
 He vict'ry gained, a greater, nobler far 
 
 Than hero e'er on field ensanguined won; 
 Among earth's truly great he shines a star, 
 Without one blemish-spot his light to mar, 
 When life is with its cares and labor done. 
 
 A vet'ran of the war he passed away 
 
 Tho' never back to foe by him was turned; 
 But mingling in the thickest of the fray, 
 He fought and trusted to his God for pay, 
 For what his service long had justly earned. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I5I 
 
 Unlisted for the war in early years, 
 
 He for his bounty trusted till the close; 
 Nor never gave he place to doubts or fears, 
 Tho* weaning of the cause might bring him tears. 
 Still bravely fought he on against all foes. 
 
 A soldier long, at last he's furloughed home, 
 
 A furlough that eternal is, to God above. 
 Where pain's unkown and sorrows never come — 
 Where perfect bliss makes up of life the sum, 
 
 And strife and hate give place to peace and love. 
 
 O, blessed dead, who in the Lord have died ! 
 
 Follow their works, and they from labor rest. 
 Whose faith was in a Savior crucified, 
 And sinful pleasures had themselves denied; 
 
 Such shall in heaven live among the blest. 
 
 When good men die of good works full, and years, 
 
 Why should we mourn our loss when 'tis their gain.-* 
 For them we have no doubts, no anxious fears, 
 But putting trust in God we dry our tears, 
 
 And happy are to know they're free from pain. 
 
 T^est, weary soul, enough on earth thou'st done; 
 
 To from thy labor respite find is meet; 
 T'or thee there's no more work beneath the sun. 
 Since thou the christian race so long hast run, 
 
 Rest from thy toil must be to thee more sweet. 
 
152 AML'SEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Woli in Sheep's Clothing. 
 
 A wolf in sheep's clothing, a butternut bold, 
 
 Through our state to the devil had better be sold, 
 
 So he with his jackals concocted a plan 
 
 For making the transfer, and chose for their man 
 
 To serve as accomplice in driving the trade, 
 
 (When they'd get the plot all successfully laid,) 
 
 One Jefferson Davis, a wily old sinner. 
 
 The chosen high priest of helFs temple the inner, 
 
 Where the incense he burns has a sulphurous smell,. 
 
 And the light of the flame gives a blue tinge to helL 
 
 No man could be chosen more fitted than he, 
 
 'Tween parties so august the umpire to be; 
 
 So the wolf (his slim chance of success to increase) 
 
 Just labeled his plot "A proposal for peace;" 
 
 A proposal for peace with those dark, sooty regions 
 
 Where wolves in sheep's clothing are covmted by legioni, 
 
 Where treason's the shibboleth, watch wordand crown.. 
 
 Of wolves of all shades, be theyNi-black or Brown 
 
 To convince the dear people he meant them no harm^ 
 
 He drew up resolutions as long as his arm. 
 
 Then he rose in the senate and read them aloud, 
 
 As thovigh of his mission he felt very proud; 
 
 And to prove to the Hoosiers their country was lost,. 
 
 He feigned to count up what to save it would cost, 
 
 And argued that rather than suffer such evil, 
 
 'Twere better by far to be sold to the devil; 
 
 For, said he, it is plain to a man of good sense, 
 
 That to go to the devil would be less expense; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 1 53 
 
 Besides, 'twill be seen that from that happy day 
 We could all have our niggers, for which let us prey. 
 Then the wolves of all colors set up a loud howl, 
 'Bout how pleasent 'twould be with Jeif. Davis to prowl 
 Round the homes of the Yankees to kidnap all niggers,. 
 To eonsign to the rice swamps, mosquitoes and chiggers 
 Of South Carolina that quarrelsome state, 
 That's kicked up a muss in the fam'ly of late; 
 And the balance of Dixie, the fire-eater's home, 
 Where none but the chivalry ever may come. 
 One lupus as Ni-black as 'tis safe to be 
 And claim any rights in "The Land of the Free," 
 Thought our old constitution by and by they'd amend; 
 And use that as means to accomplish their end. 
 But to making their project most certain to pay. 
 Some serious impedimeiits stood in their way, 
 One a stiff-backed old governor, loyal and true, 
 Beneath a starred banner of red white and blue; 
 Besides there came thundering up from afar 
 A warning that seemed their bright prospects to mar — 
 The sound of all others that traitors abhor, 
 A voice from the red fields of grim-visaged war, 
 Where traitors by thousands are laid in the dust, 
 As a merited doom for betraying their trust. 
 Then there's given the hint that whatever may come, 
 A traitor's no less for being at home; 
 And that come when it may, whether early or late, 
 Wherever they're found they must share the same fate 
 Feb., 1S63. 
 
154 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Vanity, Vanity! All is Vanity. 
 
 On the murder^ hy her husbatid of Mrs . Wiiifield B. Thompson 
 in Nevj Tork^ yune 15, 1886. 
 
 With woman's trust, and light of heart, 
 
 She to the marriage altar came, 
 With friends and home to gladly part, 
 
 And go with him and wear his name. 
 
 With woman's faith she doubted not — 
 Her spirits pleasing hope buoyed up; 
 
 All else for once was quite forgot, 
 Save drinking of love's nectar-cup. 
 
 With her affianced by her side. 
 
 How happier could maiden be.^ 
 Like a confiding new made bride, 
 
 In him her eyes no favilt could see. 
 
 They each their plighted faith declare 
 Before their God and waiting friends; 
 
 Each vows all good or ill to share. 
 On which their wedded bliss depends. 
 
 Out in a world of care and strife. 
 
 They start upon life's devious way; 
 She now a loving, trusting wife, 
 
 With one true friend let come what may. 
 
 But, O, how little we can know 
 
 Of what awaits us for to-morrow ! 
 To-day in pleasant paths we go. 
 
 To followed be by days of sorrows; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I55 
 
 Or else, perchance, will summons come 
 
 For our departure to prepare — 
 To leave our cherished friends and home, 
 
 And go but O, not knowing where. 
 
 One week of pure connubial joy, 
 
 On swiftest wing had past her by — 
 One week of bliss without alloy, 
 
 Or cloud to once obscure her sky. 
 
 But dearest friends may faithless prove, 
 
 And soon forget their solemn vow; 
 And hatred take the place of love, 
 
 And they to evil passions bow. 
 
 So he who'd won a maidens heart 
 
 And hand without one warning giv'n. 
 
 Could act such dastard, murderous part. 
 As makes the angels weep in heav'n 
 
 Life's brightest sun may pale at noon, 
 
 However much of life we crave; 
 And at the last the greatest boon 
 
 May be a rest found in the grave. 
 
 How few the days of wedded bliss. 
 
 Till he, who to protect her vowed. 
 Betrayed her with a Judas kiss, 
 
 And made her bridal robe her shroud. 
 
156 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Home. 
 
 Sweet home — what music's in that word ! 
 
 What thrilHng joj that sound has giv'n — 
 How oft that idol name has cheered 
 
 The broken heart — the sorrow riv^'n, 
 The poor man wearied by his toil, 
 
 When evening's sable shades are come; 
 Forgets his troubles for awhile, 
 
 Soothed by the endearing ties of home. 
 
 While he enjoys his rural cot. 
 
 No lurking cares disturb his breast; 
 Tho' storms arise he heeds them not, 
 
 While he with home — sweet home is lilest. 
 Fired by ambition's idle dream. 
 
 Intrepid youth is wont to roain; 
 Yet often in the battle's 'gleam. 
 
 He heaves a sigh for home — sweet home. 
 
 The lowly Christian journeying here, 
 
 With holy joy looks to the tomb; 
 Nor feels at death's approach a fear, 
 
 But smiles to meet its silent gloom: 
 To hini the grave no terror brings, 
 
 Tis God's own voice that bids him come;. 
 While he a song of triumph sings, 
 
 The angels greet him welcome home.. 
 
 Tho' in pursuit of honoi" — fame, 
 
 Man may consent with home to part; 
 
 Yet sickened by that empty name, 
 
 There's naught but home can sooth the heart;. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I57 
 
 And though in hope of sordid gain, 
 
 He braves the mighty ocean's foam; 
 When storms distract the raging main, 
 
 His anxious cry is home — sweet home. 
 
 Home is the peaceful haven where 
 
 The raging tempest never harms, 
 Por love is ever waiting there. 
 
 To shield us with her outstretched arms : 
 Tis home where woman brightest shines. 
 
 And there she angel-like appears; 
 'Tis home her sweetest charm refines, — 
 
 Her cheerful smiles the le dry our tears. 
 
 Sweet home — how dear the ties that there 
 
 So fondly twine around the heart; 
 O ! may we all its blessings share, 
 
 Till death shall bid us hence depart: 
 Then, when my body failing here, 
 
 Must to its mother dust be given, 
 I would that none should shed a tear, 
 
 Since I've a better home in Heaven, 
 
 The Boys that are Needed. 
 
 You sing of the girls that are wanted, 
 And give a bewildering list; 
 
 But I sing of the boys that are needed; 
 For still do a few such exist. 
 
158 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But they are bj no means so plenty, 
 As thej were in the halcyon past; 
 
 For boys now, before they are twenty. 
 Are pleased when you say they are fast. 
 
 Not always the thing that's most wanted 
 
 By poor, silly mortals below, 
 Is the thing that's most urgently needed, 
 
 As ev'ry observer must know. 
 
 The boys that are most badly needed, 
 Are boys who are willing to work; 
 
 Nor says the world owes them a living, 
 While all kinds of labor they shirk. 
 
 Boys always to parents respectful, 
 
 And to ev'ry person polite — 
 Who shun e'en appearance of evil, 
 
 And dare at all times to do right: 
 
 Not minding the sneers of the rabble. 
 Nor caring what loafers may think. 
 
 When he firmly and flatly refuses 
 
 Their soul-damning poison to drink — 
 
 Who think that their home is the best place,. 
 
 When they the day's duties have done; 
 And seek pleasure in helping their parents, 
 
 Rememb'ring that life's not all fun — 
 
 And if to his gray-headed mother 
 He's helpful, obedient and kind 
 
 His worth far exceeds every other 
 A maid for a partner can find. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 1 59 
 
 And if tender and kind to his sisters, 
 And jealously guards their good name; 
 
 Whenever you find such a boy, girls. 
 When a man he will still be the same: 
 
 And if, when a woman to marry 
 
 Sometime you should wisely conclude 
 
 You'll find for a husband he's better 
 Than any fool leg-twiddling dude. 
 
 And if, when a man, he should ask you. 
 And you answer you'll not be his wife, 
 
 There's but once that you after will rue it, 
 And that's ev'ry day of your life. 
 
 This Life is but a Shadow. 
 
 This life's but a shadow — a dream, 
 That dies at the dawning of day; 
 
 When we start on its journey we seem 
 To travel from sorrow away. 
 
 How bright the alluring scene. 
 
 That fancy will paint to the view — 
 
 How eager will youth at sixteen, 
 Its soon-vanished pleasures pursue. 
 
 But alas! disappointment doth soon 
 
 Our anticipation destroy; 
 And we sigh for a happier boon, 
 
 Devoid all this earthly alloy. 
 
l6o AMUSExMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 How soon the gay pleasures of youth, 
 Transform to a sorrowful gloom! 
 
 'Tis then that we learn the sad truth, 
 That life's but the road to the tomb. 
 
 How wretched would be the estate 
 Of man, were he never forgiv'n; 
 
 He well might deplore his sad fate, 
 If he had no prospect of Heav'n. 
 
 Blighted Lives. 
 
 Fifty years! Yes fifty long and lonely years 
 
 Since that sad day when last they met as lovers meet; 
 
 Met, not to part as lovers part w^ho know no tears, 
 But part with warm embrace and kisses sweet: 
 
 Ah no! Two hearts too proud to be the first to yield — 
 Two proud, obdurate, stubborn, unrelenting hearts, 
 
 Against the pleading voice of nature steeled, 
 Each tempted now to use a lover's subtle arts : 
 
 Nor of their gloomy future thought save at the last 
 Each thought the other must and would relent, 
 
 And show some sign repentant of the past, 
 That anxious lover might construe as meant 
 
 As an advance toward reconciliation, each desired : 
 And so did time creep slowly by from day to day, 
 
 Each enxious waiting till of waiting sick and tired, 
 While their sick hearts but drifting farther were apart. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. l6l 
 
 So waited they and dreamed and wished and waited still, 
 As time on laggard wing went moving slowly on 
 
 Each nursing an unyielding, stubborn will, 
 
 Till in each breast all hope was dead and expectation 
 gone. 
 
 And then flew they apart, to meet, they tho't no more; 
 
 Far o'er the sea he went, determined there to rove 
 A vagrant on some far off", unknown shore. 
 
 And there defiance bid to woman's charms and love. 
 
 But ah, mistaken man! who would God's fiat set at naught 
 Who would at natui-e's laws dare scoff" and sneer; 
 
 Their wisdom is by such too often dearly bought, 
 
 And for it paid with many a sad regret and bitter tear. 
 
 Could we of life the course and end from the beginning see 
 And on the vista long of coming years for once look 
 down. 
 
 How from great sorrows many might it us keep free, 
 And all our earthly life with many pleasures crown , 
 
 That otherwise would never be our happy lot to know — 
 Nor could we ever realize the bliss ecstatic and untold, 
 
 That we must miss as on our devious way we blindly go, 
 Nor know we of our loss till time is past and we are old; 
 
 And then when 'tis too late we backward look and 
 mourn. 
 And wish our lives we might anew begin; 
 But being now of all life's sweetest pleasures shorn. 
 It but increases our regrets to think what might have 
 been. 
 
 11 — P. 
 
l62 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 He is Fallen. 
 
 On the Death of J. ^. Adams. 
 
 Farewell: — a nation's pride farewell! 
 With pain we've heard his parting knell^ 
 
 And come to bid a last adieu 
 To one who for his country lived, 
 And who her highest gifts received, 
 
 A patriot daring, firm and true. 
 
 Let party strife around him howl, 
 And envious foes with malice foul, 
 
 His many virtues strive to blot; 
 Yet he shall in our hearts abide. 
 When they in deep oblivion's tide 
 
 Shall long have sunk and been forgot. 
 
 Let heroes boast their thousands slain, 
 And misers count their sordid gain; 
 
 His fame is nobler, brighter far, 
 Within our councils bold to stand. 
 And battle for "the rights of man," 
 
 And clog oppression's crushing cal-. 
 
 "The wants of man" with him are o'er, 
 Such earthly wants he knows no more, 
 
 As low he mingles with the dead; 
 He's through life's weary journey trod, 
 And met "the mercy of his God," 
 
 That precious boon for which we plead. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 163 
 
 His voice no more in halls of State 
 Man's sacred rights shall vindicate, 
 
 His long career on earth is done: 
 And now a fond wife drops a tear, 
 For him on earth she held most dear, 
 
 *Fredonia mourns a favorite son. 
 
 His country's hope for three-score years. 
 He lived with few or no compeers, 
 
 Then in her service passed away; 
 As at his post he noblj stood, 
 He fell, the great, the wise, the good, 
 
 The Chatham of America. 
 
 Farewell: — a nation's pride, farewell! 
 Long will thou in the affections dwell. 
 
 Of fair Fredonia's gen'rous sons; 
 And as succeeding ages roll, 
 And freedom spreads from pole to pole, 
 
 They'll rank thee with her noblest ones. 
 
 *Fredonia, Mr. A.'s proposed name for the United States. 
 
 The Last Parting. 
 
 Kiss me, darling, ere I leave you 
 For that far-off unknown shore; 
 
 But let not this parting grieve you, 
 I am but going on before. 
 
164 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 To that home where there's no parting 
 With our nearest, dearest friend. 
 
 Where no cherished souls are smarting, 
 When a loved one's life must end. 
 
 Though our union's been so pleasant, 
 We, awhile at least, must part; 
 
 Grieve you though it may at present, 
 Time can heal the wounded heart. 
 
 Since in torture I must languish, 
 Let my earthly stay be brief; 
 
 For so long I've borne this anguish. 
 Death is welcome for relief. 
 
 And beyond this world of sorrow, 
 
 We,ll united be again; 
 Then weep not, for I to-morrow 
 
 Shall be free from all my pain. 
 
 O, I do not want to leave you! 
 
 Or I'd gladly go in peace; 
 But I know what pain 'twill give you, 
 
 Though to me it brings release. 
 
 Last farewells must now be spokgn. 
 And I'll leave you all alone; 
 
 So now kiss me, love's last token, 
 For you'll miss me when I'm gone. 
 
 If the world seems dark and lonely, 
 When I'm gone to my long home, 
 
 Then remember 'twill be only 
 Little while till vou will come. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 165 
 
 And I then will gladlj greet you, 
 
 On that blissful untried shore; 
 Then what joy 'twill be to meet jou, 
 
 Where we'll parted be no more. 
 
 Now I'm passing through the river, 
 
 And I feel its chilly tide; 
 But farewell to pain forever. 
 
 When I reach the other side. 
 
 Childhood Days. 
 
 childhood days, how sweet they were! 
 So blithesome and so gay; 
 
 So full of frolic — free from care — 
 No joy so rich as they. 
 
 Then give me back my boyhood days. 
 Yes, give them back once more. 
 
 And you may have the nation's praise, 
 And all its golden store. 
 
 1 hate this pomp and gaudy show, 
 To me it brings no joy; 
 
 Their pleasures all I would forego, 
 To be again a boy. 
 
 And childhood's dream how soon 'tis fled. 
 
 Mirage of desert-sea, 
 Till we like wanderer's phantom led. 
 
 Too late its fleetness see. 
 
l66 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then give me back those days again, 
 (Tisall I'll ask of earth), 
 
 And I'll exchange vny poet-pen 
 For childhood's careless mirth. 
 
 Is Life Worth Living. 
 
 This question all important is 
 
 To evanescent man below; 
 Whatever future fate be his, 
 
 'Tis his most anxious wish to know. 
 
 If 'tis to live a few short years 
 In struggling for our daily bread 
 
 To mingle joy with sorrow's tears, 
 
 And then be numbered with the dead. 
 
 If this be all that life can give, 
 As it on fleetest wing goes by, 
 
 'Twere better far to never live, 
 If we must only live to die. 
 
 For Hawthorne aptly says that life 
 
 Is the predicament where we 
 Are pleased, and doomed to toil and strife, 
 
 Till death at last shall set us free. 
 
 The beasts that range the forests o'er — 
 The birds that cleave the air at will — 
 
 That know to live but nothing more, 
 Than ours their fate is better still. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 167 
 
 If it be true that life's short span 
 Of time, to us on earth that's given 
 
 Is all, then were thy state, O, man ! 
 A sad foretaste of wished for heaven. 
 
 But cheering hope, offspring of faith, 
 
 Points to a life beyond the tomb; 
 While trusting what the Savior saith, 
 
 Despoils the grave of all its gloom. 
 
 From the dread of death faith brings reprieve 
 
 And thus resigns us to our fate; 
 For when 'tis best whv should we grieve, 
 
 When death but opens wide the gate. 
 
 That ushers us to life of bliss, 
 
 Where pain or sorrow never come; 
 
 A life so better far than this, 
 Within elvsian's happy home. 
 
 'Then rest in hope, O, longing soul ' 
 And be content with what is given, 
 
 'Till thou shalt reach that blissful goal. 
 To spend eternity in heaven. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Song of the Volunteers. 
 
 "We are coming, Father Abraham^ 
 
 Three hundred thousand more," 
 To battle for our liberties 
 
 As did our sires of yore. 
 Yes, we're coming, Father Abraham^ 
 
 A gallant band and true, 
 Rallying round that same old flag. 
 
 The loved Red, White and Blue. 
 We are coming, Father Abraham, 
 
 By thousands at your call, 
 Upon our country's altar 
 
 To oflier up our all. 
 It matters not a farthing 
 
 Who holds the helm of state. 
 When traitor hordes are gathered 
 
 To seal our country's fate, 
 If he is but an honest man, 
 
 A patriot good and true, 
 That marches to the music 
 
 Of the red, white and blue. 
 A serried host of gallant braves. 
 
 We'll come at his command. 
 To strike till we in rebel gore 
 
 Baptize a rebel land. 
 O'er the mountain, through the valleysy 
 
 Our bristling steel shall gleen 
 Till not a hostile bayonet 
 
 Shall anywhere be seen. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 169 
 
 We are coming, Father Abraham 
 
 From our fact'ries and our plows; 
 That these thrice accursed rebels 
 
 Shall now be made to feel 
 That we still have a goverement 
 
 That's backed bj loyal steel, 
 We are coming, Father Abraham — 
 
 Mere "mudsills" though we be. 
 To teach the southern autocrat 
 
 That mudsills will be free; 
 To teach the southern nabobs 
 
 And nigger drivers how 
 These "small fisted farmers" 
 
 Can fight as well as plow, 
 And that "greasy mechanics" 
 
 Will gladly quit their toil 
 Till they shoot every traitor 
 
 That dares pollute our soil. 
 We are coming. Father Abraham — 
 
 From mountain and from glen, 
 To the music of the Union, — 
 
 Three hundred thousand men, 
 With willing hearts and ready hands 
 
 To the rescue now we come, 
 Having left behind our jewels. 
 
 All safely housed at home; 
 For these our precious jewels — 
 
 Our little ones, our wives. 
 Our mothers, sisters, lovers. 
 
 We offer now our lives 
 And swear by the eternal, 
 
170 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 As once Old Hickory swore, 
 That this hydra-headed treason 
 
 Shall curse our land no more; 
 For every foe, wherever found, 
 
 Shall quick receive his due, 
 A minnie ball or bayonet 
 
 Shall pierce him through and through, 
 Give us Grant, Wallace, Sherman, 
 
 To lead us to the fight. 
 And Davis and his minions. 
 
 Shall soon be put to flight. 
 Then when we've restored the Union 
 
 Again we'll start anew, 
 Beneath that same old banner 
 
 Of the red, white and blue. 
 August 29th, 1863. 
 
 On the Death of Gilbert Haines. 
 
 [Addressed to his mother, of Haines Falls, N. 2'C\ 
 
 Gone, gone to his rest is the pride of his mother, 
 
 Her once earthly treasure and joy of heart. 
 While in her own bosom her grief she would smother, 
 
 The wound death inflicted continues to smart. 
 The pitiless death has the golden bowl broken — 
 
 The silver cord loosened that bound him to earth. 
 Still sweet is the words that the wise man has spoken, 
 
 That death to the righteous is better than birth. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 17I 
 
 The wheel at the cistern and cup at the fountain 
 Are broken, and silently gone to decay, 
 
 And lonely the home on the foot of the mountain. 
 But hope looks beyond to the home far away, 
 
 ^Where again you shall meet, and united forever, 
 
 Shall dwell with our Savior on that peaceful shore, 
 
 Where death has no power dear loved ones to sever, 
 And sorrow and parting are thought of no more. 
 
 Fond mother, thy God did but take what He'd given — 
 A mother's best blessing, a dutiful son; 
 
 And though near to despair thy sad heart may be 
 driven, 
 Still say, not my will, but thine, Father, be done. 
 
 For life is uncertain, and time is so fleeting, 
 Our joy is so often transformed into gloom; 
 
 With faith that our lost ones we soon shall be greeting 
 In heaven, why should we dread death or the tomb.? 
 
 The grass is now grown o'er the loved one that's 
 sleeping. 
 To waken no more till eternity's dawn. 
 And oft o'er the mound will thy eyes dim with 
 weeping. 
 But soon thou wilt go where the sleeper has gone. 
 
 Then dry, dry thy tears, there's no weeping in heaven. 
 But all tears will be wiped from the sad mourner's 
 eyes; 
 
 For Jesus has died, and the promise is given. 
 
 That soon He'll return and our dead shall arise; 
 
172 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And then we shall meet in sweet union forever. 
 
 While songs of redemption shall burden the air 
 In that blissful abode where will be joy supernal; 
 
 And I pray our good Father we all maybe there. 
 Indianapolis, July 26, 1884. 
 
 Haul Down That Flag. 
 
 Suggested by seeijig our Natio7ial ensign floating over Indiana'' s-- 
 disloyal Legislature . 
 
 Haul down that flag from o'er that dome, 
 Nor longer let its broad stripes wave 
 
 Above their heads who'd sell their home, 
 And be a tyrant's cringing slave. 
 
 Let not those glorious stripes and stars 
 
 Float o'er a vile, polluted den 
 Of those who love the "snake and bars," 
 
 Emblem accursed of God and men. 
 
 No longer shame that standard sheet 
 By waving o'er that traitor band. 
 
 Who plotting treason only meet 
 To forge the chains for freemen's hands. 
 
 They but disgrace our freedom's name — 
 
 A libel on our liberty — 
 Our fair escutcheon's blasting shame, 
 
 And curse to those who dare be free. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I73 
 
 If they their country will betray — 
 For paltry trash their birthright sell, 
 
 Let not that flag above them stay, 
 The stor_v of their shame to tell. 
 
 Your sons upon the tented field — 
 The blood of those in battle slain — 
 
 All have to you in vain appealed 
 
 If that proud flag shall there remain; 
 
 Or if some Cromwell's spirit bold 
 
 Don't enter that polluted den 
 And say, as once he said of old, 
 
 "Get out! Give place to honest men!" 
 
 Then haul that flag down from that dome, 
 
 Nor longer make it blush to wave 
 Above one traitor to his home. 
 
 Or truckling, servile, menial slave. 
 Feb. 22, 1S63 
 
 Evening in Jerusalem after the Crucifixion. 
 
 Soft falls the dew on Calv'ry's brow, 
 The curtain on the drama falls. 
 
 And evening throws its shadows now 
 Jerusalem, around thy walls. 
 
 The quaking earth again is still — 
 The lab'rer seeks his needed rest, 
 
 Bvit fear of some impending ill 
 Disturbs the quiet of his breast. 
 
174 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The tragic scene the day has known, 
 Though past can never be forgot: 
 
 All feel a fear they dare not own, 
 
 But fain would know their future lot. 
 
 The vaunting scribes 'twixt hope and fear,; 
 
 And mocking priests the crowd among. 
 List, eager words of doubt to hear 
 
 That fall from ev'rj babbling tongue. 
 
 The blushing sun that veiled his light, 
 Has sunk behind the distant hills. 
 
 Since he refused to view the sight, 
 That every breast with horror thrills. 
 
 The rended rocks, the riven vail. 
 Like spectres pass before their eyes, 
 
 CompelUng bravest hearts to quail, 
 A feeling they would fain disguise. 
 
 With waning faith and sad of heart, 
 A faithful few in sorrow bowed — 
 
 A mournful group the throng apart, 
 Stand list'ning to boistrous crowd. 
 
 The man of sorrows and of grief. 
 Is laid to rest and sleeps in gloom; 
 
 But know, O death, thy power is brief, 
 And brief thy vic'try boasting tomb : 
 
 For man shall learn it is God's son 
 Their wicked hands have crucified; 
 
 And that a vict'ry great he won, 
 
 And death was vanquished when he died. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I75 
 
 The Time lo Weep. 
 
 There is a time for everything, 
 
 As down life's rapid tide we sweep; 
 
 Yes, there's a time for everything — 
 There's e'en a time for us to weep. 
 
 There is a time for us to sing — 
 
 'Tis while the joys of home we reap; 
 
 But when these joys must take the wing, 
 Then is a time for us to weep. 
 
 There is a time for us to love — 
 
 'Tis while on earth a friend we keep; 
 
 But should our friends all faithless prove, 
 What heart so cold but then would weep ? 
 
 There is a time for melancholy — 
 
 A time to feel contrition deep; 
 When we have yielded aught to folly, 
 
 Sure, that's a time that we should weep. 
 
 There is a time for joy serene — 
 'Tis v^^hen God's holy law we keep; 
 
 But when unfaithful we have been, 
 'Tis then a time for us to weep. 
 
 There is a time for being sad — 
 
 'Tis when in death our friends all sleep; 
 
 And other earthly joys are fled, 
 
 Oh, there's a time that we may weep! 
 
176 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 When we're oppressed with grief and care, 
 And storms of sorrow round us weep; 
 
 And we've no one our griefs to share, 
 Then, surelj, that's a time to weep. 
 
 When done with time and all below, 
 
 And death's cold chills do o'er us creep. 
 
 If unprepared from hence to go. 
 
 Oh, that's the time that we must weep. 
 
 Lines written in an Album. 
 
 A-round thy heart let love entwine, 
 N-or let one blemish mar thy soul; 
 
 N-ew joys of innocence be thine, 
 *A-nd keep all passions in control. 
 
 B-e thine a life as pure as snow, 
 E-ndearing all thy friends to thee; 
 
 L-ike some stray angel here below, 
 L-et all thy life a sermon be. 
 
 K-eep well in virtue's flowr'y path. 
 En-robed in maiden modesty, 
 
 A-nd when your life shall close at last 
 Y-ou'U dwell in heav'n eternally. 
 
 Of youthful beauty now possessed. 
 That seldom maiden hath surpast, 
 
 O, let it not inspire thy breast 
 
 To think such charms will always last. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I77 
 
 For beauty's roses soon must fade. 
 
 And wrinkles mar thy snowy brow — 
 Rough lines thy blooming cheeks invade, 
 
 That look so sweet and charming now. 
 
 Then let thy heart be kept so pure 
 
 (Whatever else may thee betide) 
 That beauty will through life endure, 
 
 The wrinkles of old age to hide; 
 
 Rememb'ring this — "tis only those 
 
 Who walk the path all saints have trod, 
 
 And strive to lessen human woes. 
 Shall meet the mercv of their God. 
 
 Phantasmagoria. 
 
 Tell me not in flowing numbers, 
 
 Things are always what they seem; 
 
 Oft beneath the surface slumber 
 
 Things of Avhich we'd scarcely dreair, 
 
 'Neath the dark waves of the ocean, 
 Lie ten thousand things unseen; 
 
 Countless shrines of love's devotion. 
 Hidden by the liquid screen. 
 
 Myriads of gems are gleaming, 
 In its deep, unfathomed womb; 
 
 Diamonds with bright lustre beaming 
 Light the darkness of their tomb. 
 12— P. 
 
1/8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Still its waters give no token. 
 
 Oft its treasures hid below; 
 So sad hearts by sorrow broken, 
 
 Oft a cheerful surface show. 
 
 Note yon laughing rich-clad inaiden — 
 See feigned jov dance in her eyes — 
 
 Yet perhaps her heart is laden, 
 With a grief her mirth belies. 
 
 Mark the man of wealth and station, 
 
 Whom the world thinks free from care; 
 
 Or the ruler of a nation, 
 
 Who can all its honors share. 
 
 The Maiden's Beau Ideal. 
 
 'Tis nob a pigmy I would crave, 
 Such could not be my beau ideal; 
 
 But I would have a stalwart frame — 
 No popinjay, but something real ; 
 
 A man that's worthy of the name. 
 To woman gallant, not her slave. 
 
 No face alone could charm my heart ; 
 
 A lip mustached and smirking mien 
 Could not a spark of love inspire, 
 
 Such shallow arts are all terrene. 
 And could not fill my soul's desire ; 
 
 I'd have him act a nobler part. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 1 79. 
 
 If when his mother's old and gray, 
 With tott'ring step and eye-sight dim, 
 
 And lost is all her pristine grace, 
 
 Rememb'ring what she's done for him. 
 
 He loves to kiss her wrinkled face, 
 And all her tender care repay — 
 
 If like the needle to the pole. 
 
 His love will ever turn to me : 
 If fortune frown or if she smile, 
 
 He will the same forever be, 
 And cleave the stronger all the while, 
 
 With all the ardour of his soul: 
 
 Then I would trust him with my life. 
 
 And leaving all the world beside 
 I'd risk my happiness, my love. 
 
 And with him brave life's troubled tide; 
 And 'twould an unmixed blessing prove,. 
 
 Of such an one to be the wife; 
 
 And life would be unsullied bliss — 
 A constant round of love and joy,. 
 
 To fill the soul with sweet delight. 
 And happiness without alloy, 
 
 And darkest davs would still be brigrht. 
 If I could have a mate like this. 
 
 But ah, our fate when comes the real. 
 Who! who can tell what it shall be; 
 
 To-day we launch on life's broad stream. 
 No breakers in its course we see, 
 
 But things may not be what they seem. 
 Nor have we found our beau — ideal. 
 
l8o AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 A Dream. 
 
 I dreamt a dream of th' olden time — 
 Long j^ears ago when I was young; 
 
 Sweet dream it was and all in rhyme — 
 Bright sparkling gems on mem'ry strung. 
 
 I saw our cottage in the wood, 
 
 And heard the wild bird's cheerful song, 
 While in the door my mother stood — 
 
 Dear mother now in heaven so long. 
 
 I heard her busv humming wheel, 
 A sound tho' long since died away, 
 
 Still when in dreams 'tis heard I feel 
 A thrill of happy childhood's day. 
 
 The katy-did piped forth his song, 
 As shrill and sharp as erst of yore; 
 
 That endlfss screech that all night long, 
 So oft Fd listened to before. 
 
 Those by-gone scenes like spectres pass; 
 
 They come, I know not why or how; 
 Tho' then they cheered the heart, alas! 
 
 Thev make me melancholy now. 
 
 How witching all those trifles seem, 
 That were to me as nothing then; 
 
 But mellowed long in mem'ry's dream, 
 They're worthy of my muse's pen. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. l8l 
 
 Then waking all those vanished years, 
 
 In panoramic visions past 
 Before mj^ eyes now dimmed with tears, 
 
 For blithesome days that could not last. 
 
 Hard Times, and "Why ? 
 
 Oh, the times are so hard, is the cry of the nation. 
 
 And the wail is re-echoed on every hand. 
 From the poor and the lowly to those in high station, 
 
 The words are repeated all over the land, 
 Till nothing is heard but a constant complaining, 
 
 And grumbling at something, but none can tell what. 
 While they by experience are just now regaining 
 
 What once they had learned but again had forgot. 
 But complaint never bettered a people's condition. 
 
 The fault when they find it is always their own: 
 To gain sjadden wealth they have had such ambition, 
 
 At last they must reap what their folly has sown. 
 The ladies, dear creatures, run wild after fashion, 
 
 And spend all their money before it is earned; 
 For outward adornment they get such a passion, 
 
 That anything useful there never is learned. 
 But on a piano they spend their time drumming, 
 
 To torture the ears of their neighbors next door; 
 Or tunes operatic are constantly humming, 
 
 'Till 'tis to all near them a nuisance and bore. 
 All their talk is of polkas, quadrilles and cotillions — 
 
 Of masque balls and novels from morning till. night — 
 
I02 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Spend all their men's money, tho' counted by millions. 
 
 And still make complaint of their horrible plight. 
 With wardrobe sufficient to clothe a small nation, 
 
 Thej'r all the time just on the verge of despair. 
 And their minds are harrassed with a sad perturbation 
 
 That the times are so hard thej' have nothing 'to 
 wear — 
 Have nothing to dress in but what they've discarded 
 
 Full two weeks ago as not fit to be seen; 
 And now with disgust it is bj them regarded, 
 
 Altho' rich enough for an empress or queen. 
 So many now think it disgraceful to labor, 
 
 They try to make money some easier way; 
 By gift enterprizes or swindling a neighbor. 
 
 Or piling up debts they'r not able to pay; 
 Or by graveyard insurance on some one that's dying. 
 
 They oft defraud others a living to gain; 
 'Tis thus to make money they ever are trying, 
 
 "By ways that are dark and by tricks that are vain." 
 But, O, the cashier of the merchant or banker, 
 
 Who lives maximum life on his minimum pay; 
 To have a good time he will constantly hanker; 
 
 Till he steals all the money and then runs away — 
 Away, off to Canada spending his money 
 
 With reckless abandon and lavishing hand, 
 While he laughs at the sheriff and thinks it so funny. 
 
 To live unmolested in such a free land. 
 E'en the banker himself often yields to temptation. 
 
 And squanders the money that's put in his care: 
 His conscience not feeling the least perturbation. 
 
 And often at church he engages in praver, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 183 
 
 And prajs to the Lord to make people more trusty 
 
 And honest than people in business appear; 
 While his bible at home is neglected and dusty, 
 
 And o'er small peculations he drops a sad tear. 
 The Goulds and the Vanderbilts, Astors and Sages, 
 
 And all of that Shjlock monopolist clan, 
 Exact the most service and pay the least wages, 
 
 Oppressing all others wherev^er thej' can. 
 The shyster attorneys stir up litigation, 
 
 As the only resort a retainer to gain ; 
 By their impudence striving to make compensation, 
 
 For M^hat they are lacking in learning and brain. 
 The best of their lives many young men are giving 
 
 To that senseless employment called playing base ball; 
 Rightly ycleped. a base method of making a living, 
 
 Productive of good to nobody at all: 
 While some have turned dvides at the cost of some 
 tailor, 
 
 And all honest labor they sneeringly shun; 
 But often are called to take board with the jailor. 
 
 As the final result of their frolic and fun. 
 Their hands are so white that they never could soil 
 them 
 
 By such plebeian business as holding a plow; 
 Besides their fine clothes, 'twould eternally spoil them, 
 
 Hence never to labor they solemnly vow. 
 So the farm is deserted by father and mother. 
 
 For life in some city to live at their ease; 
 Regarding such life far above every other, 
 
 For there's no restraint, they can do as they please. 
 Like the prodigal son that we read of in story, 
 
184 AMUSEMEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Thej take all the money that comes to their share; 
 And then they go forth in their pride and their glory, 
 
 And turn up their noses at labor and care. 
 Arrived in the city their gay time beginning, 
 
 They blindly rush in to their lite of delight. 
 But, alas, are knocked out at the very first inning, 
 
 And find themselves left in a sorrowful plight. 
 Then next on the street, they're, perhaps, digging gravel, 
 
 To earn a few shillings to buy them some bread; 
 Till disgusted with life they conclude they will travel — 
 
 Turn tramps; thus it is that these hard times are 
 made. 
 When nothing is certain but death and high taxes. 
 
 And all is depression, suspicion and strife; 
 And stealing in office in magnitude waxes. 
 
 As tho' to gain wealth was the sole end of life. 
 When nobody's honor can longer be trusted, 
 
 With faith in mankind and all confidence gone, 
 And banker's turned thieves till their banks are all 
 "busted" 
 
 O, then we indeed are a people forlorn! 
 
 On the Death of a Little Girl. 
 
 She's gone — her pure spirit from earth has ascended, 
 In peace her dust slumbers beneath the green sod; 
 
 In yonder bright heaven, by angels attended. 
 She basks in the smiles of her father — her God. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS I05 
 
 There clad in the white robes of angels of glory, 
 
 She smiles and looks wistfully down on us here, 
 And longs to be telling her rapturous story, 
 
 To fond weeping parents and relatives dear. 
 Fond mother, why mourn for thy daughter that's sleep- 
 ing, 
 
 Tho' shut from th}^ gaze by the damp, chilly tomb; 
 And why those dark eyes dimmed and reddened with 
 weeping. 
 
 That fair brow beclouded with sadness and gloom ? 
 Hath not a kind Savior a sweet comfort giv'n, 
 
 Bestowing on children his blessing and love; 
 And said that "of such is the kingdom of heaven,'' 
 
 Beholding the face of the Father above. 
 The beds of sweet flowers her little hands watered, 
 
 Are still blooming brightly where once she had been; 
 And her last little foot-prints, as round them she 
 tottered, 
 
 In painful exactness a mother hath seen. 
 Tho' empty the cradle where often she slumbered — 
 
 Tho' ne'er on its pillow she'll nestle again — 
 Her short journey ended, her infant days numbered, 
 
 She's passed from a world of temptation and pain. 
 Adieu, lovely cherub! we'll cease to deplore thee, 
 
 And leave thee in peace to repose in the tomb; 
 Since Jesus has entered its darkness before thee. 
 
 Dispelling its terrors, dispersing its gloom. 
 No more will the eye of affection behold thee. 
 
 Since encircled thou art in death's icy embrace; 
 Nor again shall the arms of a mother enfold thee. 
 
 Nor press her warm lips to thy sweet smiling face, 
 
l86 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 I've a tear for the weeping disconsolate hearted, 
 As such I will drop it, fond mother, for thee; 
 
 But remember, tho' reft of thy loved one departed, 
 Christ saith that the mourner shall comforted be. 
 
 The Stream of Human Life. 
 
 The stream of life with ceaseless flow, 
 Goes sweeping on from day to day ; 
 
 Its surface strewn with Mrecks that show 
 The dangers that beset the way. 
 
 Along the stream are thickly strewn 
 Debris of wrecks gone down before — 
 
 Crafts that the adverse winds have blown 
 And shattered on the rocky shore. 
 
 Each day new passengers set sail. 
 
 While others leave the treach'rous wave; 
 
 Some scarcely start before they fail. 
 And find their haven in the grave. 
 
 Some on no certain port intent 
 
 With swelling sail launch on the stream, 
 And being but on pleasure bent, 
 
 Of storms and breakers dream. 
 
 But hidden rocks that lie below, 
 By placid surface kept concealed, 
 
 Bring to the careless voyager woe, 
 
 When bv his wreck thev stand revealed. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 187 
 
 But some as they pass down the tide, 
 
 Keep steady helm and well-trimmed sail; 
 
 With studied care their crafts thej guide, 
 Till safe in port they canvas brail. 
 
 Their watchful eyes are on their chart, 
 That ever\^ breaker they may shun; 
 
 They choose their goal before they start. 
 And so their course is safely run, 
 
 'Tis thus the stream of human life 
 
 Flows on through cycles of the years 
 
 Unchecked by human toil and strife — 
 It flows mid mingled mirth and tears. 
 
 Ode to Friendship. 
 
 O friendship! name forever dear. 
 
 To those who know thy priceless worth ; 
 
 'Tis thou canst dry affliction's tear. 
 And light the gloomiest spot of earth. 
 
 Thou fuel art that feeds the flame. 
 That on love's holy altar burns; 
 
 And love is only love in name, 
 
 That thy refining influence spurns. 
 
 O, may thy sweet and silken bands. 
 
 Twine ten fold round each wedded heart ; 
 
 And bind inseparably their hands, 
 
 Whom God hath said let no man part. 
 
l8S AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 May those who thus together blend 
 Their sorrows, cares and happiness, 
 
 Find each a true and faithful friend, 
 And drink of pure connubial bliss. 
 
 When sore affliction round us waits. 
 
 And chills the heart with blighting grief, 
 
 Thy tear, O friendship! dissipates 
 
 The lowering clouds and gives relief. 
 
 When all my friends have past away, 
 Or all to me have faithless proved, 
 
 I would on earth no longer stay, 
 Since I no more could be beloved. 
 
 And when the path of life I've trod 
 To mother dust my body giv'n, 
 
 Give me the friendship of my God, 
 I ask no more — for this is heav'n. 
 
 The Tippecanoe Club. 
 
 Gray vet'rans who've won the great vict'ries of peace- 
 Grand vict'ries far better than vict'ries of war; 
 
 We'll soon get our furloughs that give us release, 
 And with it the bounty our service was for. 
 
 One by one we are going, staunch old pioneers, 
 To the club-house eternal, on that mystic shore, 
 
 Where we who are here in a few passing 3'ears 
 Will join them again to be parted no more. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 189 
 
 "With grief-stricken hearts we consign to the grave 
 
 Our brothers, who greeted us cordially here ; 
 Those noble old men with their kind hearts and brave, 
 
 We'll drop on each new grave a sad brother's tear. 
 They've borne well the burden and heat of the day, 
 
 To faithfully serving 'tis meet that they rest ; 
 But keep cheerful hearts as we go on our way, 
 
 For no respite we'll find save in mother earth's 
 breast. 
 The three score and ten that's allotted to man. 
 
 The most of our number already have seen ; 
 And now one by one death is lessening the clan, 
 
 Till the last place is vacant where once we had been. 
 "We still bear our love for 01.d Tippecanoe, 
 
 Who carried our standard in years long ago. 
 The noble old hero with brave heart and true, 
 
 Who in war nor in peace turned his back to the foe. 
 But since he is gone to the far-away land, 
 
 And his mem'ry is all that is left to our care. 
 We'll give to the grand-son our warm friendship hand 
 
 As one who is worthy our friendship to share. 
 When the author of this has gone down to the tomb. 
 
 In that dark, silent chamber to take his last sleep, 
 Forgetting his follies, he trusts you'll find room 
 
 In your mem'ry his friendship and virtues to keep. 
 
190 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 To a Little Girl. 
 
 On receiving from her a Christmas gift of a Cross and Bible, 
 
 Thj present, Mary, I will take 
 
 As friendship's gift, and to that end 
 
 Will keep it for the giver's sake. 
 In mem'ry of my little friend. 
 
 That cross on which the Savior died. 
 When, with his last expiring breath. 
 
 He blest the thief that by his side 
 Asked for his mercy ere his death. 
 
 That cross on which our hopes are built, 
 Of life in brighter worlds above — 
 
 On which a Savior's blood was spilt. 
 In token of his Father's love. 
 
 These scenes shall teach me how to live — 
 To sympathize with other's woes — 
 
 Shall teach me always to forgive 
 Alike the faults of friends or foes. 
 
 That book shall be my constant guide — 
 Shall guard my actions day by day. 
 
 And when for ought I'd turn aside. 
 Forbid my wayward feet to stra^'. 
 
 Shall buoy me up when wrapt in gloom — 
 Shall soothe my heart when sorrow riven ; 
 
 Shall light my pathway to the tom.b ; 
 And lead me safe at last to heaven. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I9I 
 
 And maj'st thou choose that better part, 
 Whilst in thy days of early youth — 
 
 Resign thy young and generous heart 
 To deep impression by its truth. 
 
 And when life's weary course is run. 
 
 And to the dust thy body's given, 
 May'st thou, (thy earthly sorrows done), 
 
 Find mercy, peace and rest in heaven. 
 
 The Bereaved Parents. 
 
 Put by the harp, I cannot play, 
 
 My heart is sad, oppressed with grief; 
 
 My thoughts are wand'ring far away, 
 To bring my aching heart relief. 
 
 Nor can I sing our fav'rite song, 
 
 That once could give us such delight. 
 
 The one we've known and sung so long, 
 I cannot bear to hear to-night. 
 
 For what is song when hope is lost ? 
 
 Or music's sweet enchanting strain, 
 If purchased at so great a cost 
 
 Of crushing grief and mental pain ? 
 
 The voice that once our hearts could thrill 
 With joy and sweet parental pride, 
 
 On earth is now forever still. 
 
 But sings beyond cold Jordan's tide. 
 
[92 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But we hear not its dulcet tone, 
 
 'Tis music not for mortal ears; 
 We now can only sit alone, 
 
 And drown our grief in bitter tears. 
 
 The world seems now a barren waste. 
 All draped in dark and sombre gloom; 
 
 From such a scene who would not haste. 
 And seek oblivion in the tomb. 
 
 A painful silence haunts our home. 
 
 Where once were sounds of song and mirth ; 
 
 Nor dreamt we that a time would come, 
 To blight all happiness of earth. 
 
 But 'tis our fate, we sing to-day. 
 
 And on to-morrow mourn and weep 
 
 O'er some dear loved one past away. 
 And gone to their long final sleej). 
 
 A Parody. 
 
 Farewell to the Professors and Studetits of my Alma mater. 
 
 Farewell! but as oft as the time shall appear 
 That call the blithe students to congregate here, 
 
 Then think of the friend who's resorted here too, 
 And so pleasantly spent the long winters with you. 
 
 His hopes may be blighted — no trace may remain, 
 Of all the bright dreams that now flit through his brain; 
 
 But he ne'er will forget the warm friendship that threw 
 Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with vou. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. [93 
 
 As still at that season together you meet, 
 To sit and to learn at Gamaliel's feet; 
 
 Where'er I may be, whether gloomj or bright, 
 ^ly soul, happy friends, will partake your delight. 
 
 Shall join in your studies, your sports and 3^our wiles. 
 And return to me beaming all over with smiles; 
 
 Too blest if it tells me that 'mid your gay cheer, 
 Some kind voice had murmured "I wish he were here.'' 
 
 It Pays Best in the End. 
 
 It always pays best in the end, boys. 
 
 It always pays best in the end. 
 To be of some pleasures denied, boys. 
 
 By father, for he's your best friend. 
 
 To you it may sometimes seem hard, bovs. 
 
 To not be permitted to go 
 Just where inclination would lead you, 
 
 But don't, if your father says no; 
 
 For he is much older than you, boys, 
 And of the world much more has seen; 
 
 And older he surely is wiser 
 
 Than you while you're still in your teens. 
 
 You sometimes may think you are wise, boys, 
 And that your old father's a fool; 
 
 But remember how long he's been learning. 
 By spending his life in a school — 
 13 — p. 
 
194 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 A school where is more to be gained, boys, 
 
 In every day that you live, 
 Of knowledge to you that's more useful. 
 
 Than years of amusements could give. 
 
 Time, was when like you I was young, bovs, 
 And tho't I should have my own will: 
 
 But a sturdy old father controlled me. 
 For which I am thanking him still; 
 
 For if I'd been left to myself, boys, 
 
 With nothing to do but to play. 
 I'd, perhaps, all my life been a vagrant. 
 
 And a curse to all round me to-dav. 
 
 So don't be too smart while you're young, boys, 
 Determined to have your own wav. 
 
 But take the advice of your father, 
 You'll find in the end it will pav. 
 
 To My Wife. 
 
 My dear good wife of thee I'll sing. 
 
 Thou shalt employ my sweetest lavs; 
 Thy sterling worth such pleasures bring, 
 
 I care not for a nation's praise. 
 
 Away ambition, wealth and fame, 
 
 They have no charms on earth for me; 
 
 They're but an empty hollow name, 
 Compared, my dearest wife, with thee. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. I95 
 
 I covet not a Nero's crown, 
 
 Deep crimson djed in human gore; 
 
 I care not for such higfh renown, 
 Thy love, dear wife, I value more. 
 
 Were I. like Alexander, great, 
 
 Possess'd of all on land and sea; 
 The world submissive at mj feet. 
 
 I'd leave it all, dear W'ife, for thee. 
 
 Or should the Indies at my call, 
 
 Yield all their store of wealth to me; 
 
 With joy I'd sacrifice them all, 
 
 For one sweet smile dear wife, from thee. 
 
 Ah 3^es — were all things earthly given. 
 
 In one rich massive gift to me; 
 There's nothing else save peace in heaven, 
 
 Bvit I'd exchange, dear wife, for thee. 
 
 The Oil Spot. 
 
 [The "Oil Spot'" is situated ten miles south of Sabine Pass, 
 into which flows the Sabine river to the Gulf of Mexico. 
 The river forms the boundary between Louisiana and Texas. 
 The ''Oil Spot" extends tAvo miles along the shore and seaAvard 
 about three-quarters of a mile. A storm from the ?\orthwest by 
 East to Southeast has a sweep of from three to seven hundred 
 miles across the Gulf of Mexico into this mystic haven. During- 
 a gale this spot is wonderfuUj^ defined. Looking seaward the 
 scene is grand. An acre of towering foam marks the abrupt 
 dissohition of the lashing seas as they thunder toward the shore. 
 This occurs in about eighteen feet of water, from which the 
 
ig6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 slorm-driven craft, creaking- and straining^ in ever}' limber, 
 emerg-es, and suddenly finds herself reposing like a child rocked 
 in its mother's arms, hemmed in by a wall of wrath, where the 
 w^eary mariner can be lulled to rest by the roar of the wind and 
 waves. The place is termed the "Oil Spot," not from any 
 known analysis of its nature, but simply from its condition; it 
 has no troubled water.] 
 
 Weird river, what magic lies hid in thy waves, 
 That tumult is ended when reaching thy goal ? 
 
 In thee we behold what humanity craves — 
 At the end of the course an "Oil Spot" for the soul. 
 
 A haven of safety 'round which in their rage. 
 The mad waves of passion may struggle in vain; 
 
 Where tho' all his demons the storm-king engage. 
 The waves in that haven no entrance can gain. 
 
 There the storm beaten mariner finds sweet repose. 
 From all of his trials and dangers secure; 
 
 For once in that haven no matter how blows 
 The tempest, he feels that his safety is sure. 
 
 And we are but voyagers on life's stormy sea, 
 And our bark is so fragile, so easy to sink. 
 
 If dashed on the breakers, tho' under the lee. 
 Our voyage is all made on eternity's brink. 
 
 And when storms are raging and waves running high, 
 And all is confusion and helpless despair. 
 
 We long for the "Oil Spot" and wish it was nigh, 
 And we its protection permitted to share. 
 
 Tho' oil on life's waters we struggle to pour. 
 The waves in their fury still lash our frail bark. 
 
 Till we sigh for the "Oil Spot" beneath the lee shore, 
 Before the day ends and we're left in the dark. 
 
 That haven is found in the far-away land, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 197 
 
 Where no raging ocean can dash its inad waves 
 On the bark of the mariner moored bv the strand 
 
 That the river of Hfe through eternity laves. 
 
 Then, voyager, be watchful, keep trimmed ev'i y sail, 
 
 And tho' winds are adverse press on to the goal 
 And j'ou shall ride out the tempestuous gale, 
 
 And safelv be moored where is rest for the soul. 
 
 A Phantom all a Phantasy. 
 
 'Twas evening, and lunar beams danced on the ocean 
 The moon to the zenith rode up in the sky; 
 
 No breeze sighed a whisper, but still all commotion, 
 And slumb'ring profoundly the world seemed to lie. 
 
 I stole from the scene's of man's strife and distraction, 
 Some place of retirement and quiet to find. 
 
 Where I might, (deeply wrapt in a blissful abstraction,) 
 Give rest to the body and peace to the mind. 
 
 I strolled on the beach where the wind had been sweep- 
 ing 
 The sand from its bed to the far distant plain; 
 But now the lone Night-Hag her still watch was keep- 
 ing, 
 O'er mermaids and spirits that dance on the main. 
 
 I paused for a moment to view the soft billow, 
 And hear the sweet mtisic that dwelt in its roar. 
 
 As gently it nestled upon its deep pillow — 
 
 Embraced and kissed fondly the surf-beaten shore. 
 
igS AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 All lonely I stood — what a time for retlection! 
 
 The soul to its Author by faith might ascend. 
 And there with bright angels in happy connection, 
 
 The conf'rence of justified spirits attend. 
 
 Thus musing, my mind wandered back to my child- 
 hood, 
 
 Regrets sweet and painful my bosom did swell, 
 
 When I thought of our cottage deep set in the wild- 
 wood — 
 
 The last parting scene when I bade it farewell. 
 
 I thought of the tears of a fond weeping mother. 
 
 That for a lone wand'rer so often could liow; 
 
 Sweet tears that gush forth from such founts and none 
 other — 
 
 Deep sorrow that none but a mother can know. 
 
 I fancied I stood by the grave where she's sleeping; 
 
 M V pride then was humbled, I knelt down and 
 prayed, 
 
 Baptised in the cold dew the lilacs were weeping, 
 
 That stood by the spot where hergrav hairs were laid. 
 
 To that mound my warm lips I drew nearer and nearer, 
 Till enraptured I kissed and embraced the green sod; 
 For it seemed to my heart than all places 'twere 
 dearer — 
 
 Far dearer than all the green isles I had trod. 
 
 Long, long there I lingered, ere hence I departed. 
 For my last earthly treasvire reposed in that tomb; 
 
 And I mused if she'd died all alone — broken hearted. 
 Her last days beclouded with sadness and gloom. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. H/J 
 
 I rose to depart, for my poor heart was breaking, 
 I wept not a tear, for the fountain was dried; 
 
 I looked, when lo! there, as from sweet sleep awaking, 
 In long flowing white robes she stood at my side. 
 
 My mother! My son! and with arms wide extended, 
 I sprang to embrace her with raptvu-ous delight, 
 
 As I wept on her bosom an angel descended. 
 With visage so brilliant it dazzled the sight. 
 
 I spoke to the stranger, I asked him his mission — 
 To my interrogation there came no reply, 
 
 I turned to behold him, but O sad transition! 
 He vanished like magic far in the blue sky. 
 
 Again to my mother I turned me delighted, 
 
 For like sAveet enchantment each movement would 
 seem. 
 
 But all my fond hopes in a moment were blighted, 
 I woke from my slumber, 'twas naught but a dream. 
 
 I rose, the pale moon in the west Avas descending; 
 
 The deAv on my garments hung heavy and chill: 
 And since, ever present, with ev'ry thought blending. 
 
 The scenes of that vision are hauntinsf me still. 
 
200 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Voyage of Life. — No. 2. 
 
 As voyagers on an vinknown sea, 
 How many start with swelling sail, 
 
 Not thinking in what port 'twill be 
 Where they at last must canvas braiL 
 
 All seems so calm on leaving shore, 
 They think 'twill always be a lull. 
 
 And they will sail life's ocean o'er. 
 
 With no storm-wave to chafe their hulL 
 
 But should the waves sometimes run high^ 
 They hope to smoothly ride the crest 
 
 And pass all danger safely by, 
 So, never fear disturbs the breast. 
 
 Fond hope abides them ev'ry hour, 
 And serves an anchor to the soul; 
 
 x\nd trusting to its magic power 
 
 The}^ think to reach the wished-for goaL 
 
 Thej' by such means their faith renew 
 While sailing o'er a placid sea, 
 
 And on their pleasant course pursue. 
 Well sheltered by some friendly lee. 
 
 As on their way they smoothly move, 
 By pleasures of the voyage beguiled; 
 
 Their craft propelled by hope and love,. 
 They laugh at tales of tempest wild. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 20I 
 
 But when rough winds begin to blow, 
 
 And billows roll in frightful form, 
 Thej find their bark, made but for show, 
 
 Too fragile to withstand a storm. 
 
 Or when at last their bark grows frail, 
 
 And tells them soon their voyage must close. 
 
 And they must furl their tattered sail 
 In port unknown to find repose. 
 
 'Tis then they sail a stormy sea. 
 
 By waves of doubt 'mid breakers driven; 
 
 And drifting outward from the lee. 
 
 They miss the port for which they'd striven. 
 
 To Miss A. D. U. 
 
 Talk not to me of verdant spring, 
 Nor of the tiny birds that sing. 
 
 Among her leafy bowers; 
 
 Nor of the rose's blushing hue, 
 
 Besprinkled o'er with morning dew, 
 Or wet with gentle showers. 
 
 Nor of the murm'ring streamlet's song. 
 That glides the pleasant vale along, 
 
 Its banks with daisies spread; 
 
 Nor of Golconda's sparkling gems, 
 
 That spangle gew-gaw diadems, 
 To crown an empty head. 
 
202 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 No, speak thou not of things like these. 
 
 And think thereby a heart to please, 
 That knows a bliss like mine; 
 
 To look upon that lovely face, 
 There in bewitching smiles to trace. 
 
 A sweetness onlv thine. 
 
 A beauty of perfection's mould, 
 
 That chains my gaze with magic hold. 
 
 And bids this heart adore; 
 
 And shall forever make it thrill 
 
 With love's emotion, deep, until 
 Its throbbing is no more. 
 
 I'd rather in a cottage dwell. 
 
 With thee, fair one, I love so well. 
 Thus with thee to abide; 
 
 Than in a courth^ palace live. 
 With such cold joys as wealth can gi\e. 
 
 And own the world beside. 
 
 If driven from my native shore. 
 Its green-clad hills to see no more, 
 
 It will not cause a tear. 
 
 If when through desert wastes I roam, 
 
 Deprived of friends and home, sweet home, 
 Thy dulcet voice I hear. 
 
 With thee Fd brave di-ear Greenland's snow, 
 Where piercing wind* forever blow. 
 
 And pelting storms arise; 
 
 Or Afric's scorching heat withstand. 
 
 And traverse o'er its torrid sand. 
 Beneath its burnins: skies. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 203 
 
 All this — ay, more, I'd undergo. 
 
 For thee, sweet girl, my love to show. 
 And know thee only mine: 
 
 But 'twere a bliss too pure — too rare. 
 For one like me, for once to dare 
 
 To ask, or ever wish to share, 
 To own a heart like thine. 
 
 Carlotta's Complaint. 
 
 O, dreary these walls that environ me round. 
 
 But more dreary still is my heart; 
 And dreary there falls on my ear ev'ry sound, 
 
 That makes me from dreaming to start. 
 
 My husband, dear loved one, O, whv his delay 
 
 In coming? Awaiting him here. 
 He must know my suspense is increasing each day, 
 
 And waiting but adds to my fear. 
 
 I pine in this prison tho' palace it be, 
 
 Like a bird of its liberty shorn; 
 And longing and pleading again to be free. 
 
 This fate can no longer be borne. 
 
 Thy land, Montezuma, I see in my dreams. 
 
 And hear, Guatomozin, thy wail; 
 A crime fit for demons that tragedy seems. 
 
 When reading that harrowing tale. 
 
204 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 I would I had never beheld the curst place, 
 That has brovight me but sorrow and woe, 
 
 And thence to be driven in shame and disgrace^ 
 By a cruel and pitiless foe. 
 
 This humiliation I never can bear, 
 
 My spirit that never could bow, 
 Is fitted the splendor of empire to share, 
 
 And must not be shorn of it now. 
 
 Weird spectres surround me by night and by day, 
 
 With faces sardonic the}' leer; 
 While vainly I labor to drive them away, 
 
 O, why must they always be here.^ 
 
 Be here to reproach me with jeering and scorn, 
 
 And laugh at my pitiful plight, 
 And taunt me with failure at evening and morn.. 
 
 And burden forever my sight. 
 
 Napoleon, arch traitor, is seeking my life — 
 
 His poison is wrecking my brain, 
 God pity the fate of a heart broken wife, 
 
 And give back her husband again. 
 
 Ambition, deceitful, alluring word. 
 
 Disgusted I trample it down. 
 For once in my bosom a passion it stirred, 
 
 For empire and w^earing a crown; 
 
 To reign o'er a people I never had known, 
 'Twas folly, 'twas madness in me; 
 
 A folly I now must regret all alone, 
 Since no more Maxamilian to see. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 205 
 
 Vain glory terrene, evanescent at best, 
 
 A phantom we follow in vain; 
 Whose love as a passion once entering the breast, 
 
 Till death as a tyrant will reign. 
 Come death, welcome messenger, make no delay 
 
 A heart-broken wife to befriend 
 By taking her hence from this prison away, 
 
 x\nd make of her sorrows an end. 
 
 Death. 
 
 O death! thou heartless tyrant, king 
 
 That reigns supreme o'er all the earth — 
 
 Monarch of ev'ry living thing. 
 From earliest period of its birth. 
 
 When man the happiest life enjoys, 
 
 He speaks thy name with bated breath; 
 
 And sight of thee all mirth destroys, 
 Thou unrelenting lev'ler, death. 
 
 And tho' thovx'rt called "the poor man's friend," 
 To him "the kindest and the best," 
 
 How few there be when comes the end. 
 That welcome thee to give them rest. 
 
::o6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 Nobodys Child. 
 
 The pale round moon looks coldly down 
 Upon the glittering frosty snow 
 
 That like a pall lies on the town, 
 
 While she's no home Avhere she can go. 
 
 Her tattered clothes flap in the wind, 
 That chills her to the very bone. 
 
 But not because herself has sinned — 
 But must for other's sins atone. 
 
 With anxious eyes she looks around. 
 
 And into warm, bright parlors peeps; 
 But no warm place for her is found. 
 
 Who in some corner nightly- sleeps. 
 
 The snow that creaks upon the street 
 
 At ev'ry step of passers by, 
 Goes to her cold half-naked feet, 
 
 Till she at last begins to cry. 
 
 And thus she murmured as she cried — 
 "I know no mother's love or care, 
 
 No father to a home provide, 
 
 Such blessings I may never share. 
 
 '•O God, great Father of us all, 
 
 Whose voice can calm the raging sea — 
 Who notes the sparrows when they fall, 
 
 I pray Thee pity take on me. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOIRS. 20^ 
 
 "And let me know a mother's love, 
 
 And feel that I still have a friend, 
 Or take me to thj'self above. 
 
 And bring iny sorrows to an end." 
 
 The sound of footsteps died away, 
 
 Till inorn should wake the mart again, 
 
 When wrapped in snow and lifeless lay 
 The little waif freed from her pain. 
 
 Now in the potter's field alone 
 
 Where bloom the flowers in freedom wild, 
 She sleeps beneath a rough-hewn stone 
 
 That bears these words, "Nobody's Child." 
 
 To a Poetess. 
 
 Now^ my good niuse, thy sweetest strain, 
 And thou, my soul, thyself prepare, 
 
 To range the whole poetic train, 
 
 And paint the brightest genius there. 
 
 Think not I flatter when I tell, 
 
 How bright thy rhyming eflbrts shine; 
 They chain us like a magic spell. 
 
 Such strains poetical are thine. 
 
 They, like the sun amid the sky, 
 
 Diffuse a radiance so clear. 
 That other planets, tho' as high. 
 
 Dependent satellites appear. 
 
208 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The' our congenial spirits may 
 
 In closer union never join, 
 Still may'st thou cheer life's wintry day, 
 
 While kindred hearts respond to thine. 
 
 Still in a rich and endless stream, 
 Pour out the treasures of thy soul, 
 
 In strains that half seraphic seem, 
 
 And spread thy fame from pole to pole. 
 
 Yes, spread thy nitid light afar — 
 
 Shine as Columbia's brightest gem — 
 
 Be thoii her daughters beacon star. 
 And win her richest diadem. 
 
 Long may'st thou tread that flow'ry path, 
 By all such master spirits trod; 
 
 Then dying, soar away at last, 
 
 And meet the mercy of thy God. 
 
 The Bereaved Mother's Refrain. 
 
 My baby, my darling, so far from me sleeping. 
 My heart's greatest treasvire so soon past away, 
 
 For thee my soul's longing, my eyes dim with weep- 
 ing, 
 Thou all of iny night dreams and thoughts of the day. 
 
 By the now empty cradle in sadness and sighing, 
 To solve the inscrutable ways of my God, 
 
 My grief-burdened heart is persistently trying. 
 While bearing with patience the chastening rod. 
 
AMUSEM5NT OF IDLE HOURS. 2O9 
 
 O pitj, kind Father, a poor bereaved mother! 
 Who mourns her first born that can be here no more; 
 
 Who in her own bosom her anguish would smother, 
 Tho" 'tis an affliction most grievous and sore. 
 
 Through the lone silent rooms as I listlessly wander 
 No joy for the future on earth can I see; 
 
 And when on the far-away home-land I ponder, 
 My thoughts are all centered, O lost one, on thee. 
 
 For thee, my sweet baby, my mother's heart's break- 
 ing. 
 As I think of thy body in darkness and gloom. 
 
 To take its long, lone sleep from which there's no 
 waking, 
 Till the last trumpet wakens the dead from the tomb. 
 
 O, when shall I ever again be permitted 
 To clasp thy loved form in a mother's embrace? 
 
 When I for elysium shall better be fitted, 
 I'll press my warm lips to thy sweet baby face. 
 
 Farewell, then, my bright baby-angel in heaven! 
 Thou joy of my heart for a few fleeting years; 
 
 Since God has but taken what once He had given^ 
 I'll cease to deplore thee and dry up my tears. 
 
 Be Content "With Thy Lot. 
 
 Be content with thy lot where a wise God may place thee, 
 Nor dare to complain, tho' humble thy station; 
 
 Remember His blessings and mercy will ti-ace thee, 
 As well to the cot as the halls of a nation. 
 14 — p. 
 
2IO AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Ye brown fisted farmers, ye favored of heaven, 
 Who by honest labor procure a good living; 
 
 Rejoice at the calling that to you is given, 
 
 And bless a just God for his wisdom in giving. 
 
 Mechanics, ye craftsmen, use well your vocation, 
 Contented submit to the will of your Maker; 
 
 Combined with the farmer, you're props of the nation, 
 And of its true honors shall each be partaker. 
 
 Ho! all ye brave seamen, who plow the salt ocean. 
 Think not of your calling as one that's degrading; 
 
 But cleave to your trade with an honest devotion, 
 With cheerful contentment your wishes pervading. 
 
 Fair woman, man's comforter, honor and glory, 
 Submit with content with the order of Heaven; 
 
 Nor murmur that man should presume to rule o'er thee, 
 Since 'tis but the right, God in wisdom has given. 
 
 Ye preachers, glad tidings throughovit earth proclam- 
 ing, 
 
 Tho' high is your standing, let meekness abide you; 
 With pure, holy zeal be your hearts ever flaming. 
 
 And be ye contented tho' men should deride you. 
 
 All ranks and conditions to Heaven resigning. 
 Be grateful for whatever to you is given; 
 
 Then when in the Autumn of life you're declining, 
 Shall find sweet content in your prospects of Heaven. 
 
AMUSEMENT OP^ IDLE HOURS. 2 1 
 
 An Affecting Scene. 
 
 O, father, dear father, come back to our home! 
 
 For when you're away all so lonely appears; 
 Come home to us, father, O, plea«e father come, 
 
 To comfort dear mamma and dry up her tears. 
 Poor brother is crying and baby is sick — 
 
 The fire is gone out and the coal is all gone; 
 So father come with me, please, father come quick. 
 
 For mamma's with brother and baby alone, 
 These sweet pleading words of a bright little girl. 
 
 Fell soft on the ear of a broad-shouldered man, 
 Whose head seemed bewildered and all in a whirl 
 
 With the hilarious joy of a mirth-making clan. 
 The bright chandeliers poured their light in the room, 
 
 Where the cold-hearted father was having delight; 
 While the wife of his bosom in sadness and gloom. 
 
 All lonely was spending the cold cheerless night, 
 Witli balance unsteady he stood on his feet. 
 
 And by a strained effort prevented a fall; 
 Secure in warm quarters from cold and from sleet, 
 
 No pleadings of pity he heeded at all; 
 But carelessly answered the sweet pleading child, 
 
 That when he got ready he'd come back again; 
 Still waiting she gazed on the scene for awhile, 
 
 Unwilling to leave him, afraid to remain. 
 Go home and don't bother me, gruffly he said, 
 
 As he looked at the child with a cold vacant stare; 
 Go home to your mother and all go to bed, 
 
 And soon you'll get warm and by-and-by I'll be there. 
 
212 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And as she went out, down her cheek stole a tear, 
 
 But she braved the cold blast with the storm-driven 
 sleet; 
 With her heart full of sorrow and trembling with fear^ 
 
 She started alone down the snow-covered street. 
 But soon she returned to the trial once more, 
 
 And sought out her father with sad broken heart; 
 And pleading more ardently still than before, 
 
 Appealed to his pity with sweet childish art. 
 Our home was so happy, she tenderly said. 
 
 When you would stay home and not leave us alone; 
 And you know that dear mamma is always afraid 
 
 At night time, dear father, whenever you're gone. 
 Then he slowly raised up and stood musing awhile, 
 
 As if of the matter to take time to think; 
 And then stooping down whispered low to the child^ 
 
 And left with reluctance the gay skating rink. 
 
 ■Woman. 
 
 Come now my muse and with thee bring, 
 Thy choicest strains, thy sweetest lays; 
 
 And kindly aid me while I sing. 
 
 Fair woman's well deserving praise. 
 
 Sweet are the zephyrs as they move 
 O'er meadows green, and waving corn; 
 
 But sweeter far is woman's love. 
 
 To man, from home and country' torn. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 2I3 
 
 How glorious is the morning sun — 
 
 How soft his beams, how pure his light — 
 
 How lovely when his course is run, 
 His crimson tints, betok'ning night. 
 
 How lovely, too, the azure sky, 
 
 At eve, w^hen all is hush'd and still ; 
 
 Fair Cynthia shedding from on high, 
 Her placid light on vale and hill. 
 
 How beautiful the lily white. 
 
 When view'd upon a summer's morn, 
 
 With silver dew-drops soft and bright. 
 Upon its blushing beauty borne. 
 
 Yet woman's charms than all beside, 
 
 Can more refresh the weary soul; 
 When griefs oppress and ills betide. 
 
 And time's dull car wheels heavy roll. 
 
 Her faith quells all desponding fear. 
 That's lurking in the troubled breast; 
 
 Her witching smiles dry every tear, 
 And care-worn man is sooth'd to rest. 
 
 To feel a pang for others' woes, 
 
 Is woman's never-varying lot; 
 Her tender bosom ever glows 
 
 With purest love that changeth not. 
 
 She yields her own to a tyrant's will, 
 From whom she suffers every wrong; 
 
 Yet with his faults she loves him still, 
 Nor are those ills remembered long. 
 
214 AMUSEMENT OF IDI.E HOURS. 
 
 Her modest virtues far out shine, 
 The gold of India and Peru; 
 
 The diamonds of Goncolda's mine, 
 Must blush and own their rival too. 
 
 Such are the beauties, such the fate, 
 Of her, whom nature ne'er surpassed; 
 
 And inan, tho' wise and rich and great, 
 Must bow at woman's shrine at last. 
 
 The Last Man. 
 
 At last! At last the curtain drops and all is o'er; 
 Six thousand years, can comprehend the human 
 
 mind 
 Such length of time.^ Can count the millions of our 
 
 kind. 
 Who've lived and loved and hated and gone to come 
 
 no more.^ 
 What for this problem so abstruse that man could never 
 
 solve — 
 Which the eternal God did from infinity of mind 
 
 evolve.^ 
 These are his tho'ts as there, alone, he deeply meditating 
 
 stands 
 Like some weird phantom; and wonders if in other 
 
 lands 
 Life has gone out: life, mystery of mysteries — un- 
 known flame — 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 215 
 
 Has it in the earth gone out as silent as it came? 
 
 'Tis on a promontory high far stretched into the sea, 
 
 He stands, a man with hoary locks and beard thick, 
 long and flowing; 
 
 A naked rock it is on which he stands; no tree 
 
 Nor shrub nor flower to cherish vision is there grow- 
 ing 
 
 On all that vast extent of land behind; and on the sea 
 before 
 
 Was seen of commerce not a sign — one swelling sail 
 
 Of ship, nor smoke of steamer through the water plow- 
 ing as of yore, 
 
 Tho' anxious looks he, vision-strained, still does he 
 fail 
 
 Of life one sight to see, tho' gazing long on ev'ry side 
 
 O'er barren wastes of rocks and land and o'er ocean 
 wide. 
 
 The sea gull with his supple wing, the petrel skimming 
 surface near. 
 
 Now absent are, and stillness i-eigns all over land and 
 sea; 
 
 A silence so profound it fills his longing soul with fear; 
 
 A dread of something, but of what 'tis not within his 
 power to tell. 
 
 But there he stands mid silence so profound his tho'ts 
 he almost hears; 
 
 The gentle breeze from oceanward he used to love so 
 well 
 
 No whispering murmur makes; but soon thoughts turn 
 to tears. 
 
 Soliloquizing, this the burden of his spoken thought: 
 
2l6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Must all man's toil and aspirations high thus come to 
 
 naught ? 
 And have I lived of Adam's race the very last to be ? 
 How strange that the sad fate should be reserved for me 
 The end to w^itness of a drama, long — 
 Of change of scene continuous, of actors a countless 
 
 throng; 
 And in the play their part each acted well or ill. 
 Striving with what tact they had a place too large to 
 
 fill. 
 So acted each a part as best they could, then passed 
 
 away; 
 When stepping off the stage a vacancy to leave, but still 
 Come others closely treading on their heels from day to 
 
 day. 
 Thus empty stage was never seen, till now the play is 
 
 done, 
 And I upon the stage to act a single part am left alone, 
 This rock my stage, my audience the universe of empty 
 
 space, 
 Myself a remnant save to God above unknown — 
 A representative the last of Adam's numerous race. 
 
 Retrospection. 
 
 When backward I look down the vista of years, 
 Through which I have past to my present estate. 
 
 And. measure my joys by my sorrows and tears. 
 Though joys have large balance it is not so great 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 217 
 
 JVs to cause a desire to retrace them again, 
 
 Though, perhaps, some mistakes I might manage to 
 shun — 
 
 Mistakes that long after have given me pain 
 
 That I could not recall then the wrong I had done. 
 
 I've laughed with my friends in the midst of their cheer 
 And mingled my own with their tears when they'd 
 weep, 
 
 O'er the grave of some loved one no more to be here, 
 But gone, gone to rest in their last lonely sleep, 
 
 And left in the family one vacant chair — 
 
 A void in some heart that no other could fill — 
 
 A grief-stricken heart in the depth of despair, 
 
 While it murmured, " my God I submit to Thy will." 
 
 •Crushed hopes in profusion lie strewn all the way — 
 Vain hopes that naught earthly could ever fulfill, 
 
 And vaunting ambitions long gone to decay, 
 
 Though fondly their victims would cling to them still. 
 
 Adown that long vista of three score of yeai-s. 
 Debris of vows broken how many I see ; 
 
 -And oft of my own here and there one appears. 
 Though from such conviction I fain would be free. 
 
 Of my early companions so many have gone 
 
 To that far away land that no mortal may know. 
 
 That, musing, I seem as if left alone 
 
 In a wide world to finish my journe}^ below; 
 
2l8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But still with a heart full of love for my kind, 
 In my old age to cheer me, and trusting my God, 
 
 I will press to that goal that my spirit shall find. 
 
 When this mortal in peace rests beneath the green'sod. 
 
 Boston's Humiliation. 
 
 O, Boston ! Poor Boston; who'll care for you now, 
 
 Since your garland of victory is torn from your brow? 
 
 Your hero is beaten, and laid on the shelf 
 
 For the rest of his life to go on by himself; 
 
 And you for an idol may look but in vain, 
 
 For John L. can never his prestige regain; 
 
 Tho' you still have your culcha, of which you may boast. 
 
 It can never fill the place of the idol you 've lost. 
 
 Or, to keep up your fame, if you've no other means, 
 
 You may challenge the world on your famous baked 
 
 beans, 
 That through all time's changes tenacious remain, 
 Giving strength to the muscle and food to the brain. 
 But muscle and culcha are far different things, 
 And dift^'rent the glory that each of them brings; 
 And then just to think 'twas a son of John Bull 
 Filled the cup of your sorrow clean up to its full. 
 No more will the ladies his muscles admire, 
 To view beaten muscles they have no desire; 
 One time to admire him they thought it was fit, 
 But Johnny is now a "dead cock in the pit," 
 And all of his backers are humbled in dust. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 2I9 
 
 When they'd filled all good people with shame and disgust 
 While they worshipped a bmte, though) they called him 
 
 a man. 
 Because he was built on the two-legged plan. 
 But your idol is vanquished, your money is lost, 
 And your glory has been bought at too heavy a cost; 
 And though it seems hard, to your fate you must bow, 
 For who, O! proud Boston, will care for you now ? 
 
 I'm Growing Old. 
 
 I'm growing old, I'm growing old, 
 This story I've so oft been told 
 
 Its truth I shan't dem^; 
 But if by this is meant my heart 
 In life's affairs should take no part, 
 
 I'd ask the reason why. 
 
 Tho' I have passed my three score years. 
 And here and there a line appears, 
 
 Made by the hand of time, 
 My heart is still as warm as when 
 Was erst inspired my limping pen 
 
 To write my thoughts in rhyme. 
 
 Though I am old no cause I see 
 Why I should but a nuisance be 
 
 To all the world beside; 
 At evei'v thing to fret and scold, 
 And claim to be because I'm old 
 
 All other people's guide. 
 
220 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Rememb'ring that I once was young, 
 'Tis meet I hold my chiding tongue, 
 
 When others would be gay, 
 And lend my aid to swell the jo}^ 
 Of every laughing girl and boy. 
 
 And joyous be as they. 
 
 Then tell me not that age has dried 
 Within my heart love's blissful tide, 
 
 And left it withered — sere; 
 For still I live for care and love 
 Of those I prize all else above, 
 
 And are to me so dear. 
 
 Kathleen's • Refrain. 
 
 Och, Paddy, me darlint, come back to me now. 
 The shamrock is bloomin' so charmingly white; 
 
 Come back to your Kathleen, renewin' yer vow; 
 For ye me heart's breakin', dear Paddy, to-night. 
 
 I did not intind it, dear Paddy, to be 
 
 A final farewell, when, refusin' that kiss, 
 
 I tould ye henceforth ye were nothin' to me, 
 Nor did I once drame of its comin' to this: 
 
 Nor did I belave phat ye tould me was thrue, 
 That so soon I'd be sorry for phat I had said; 
 
 And that I me couldness would, bitterly rue; 
 
 But 'tis thrue, the thing niver is out uv me head. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 221 
 
 It haunts me in daytime whereiver I go, 
 
 And bothers me drames when I'm shlapln' at night. 
 Till wakin' or shlapin' no peace can I know — 
 
 Not a thought iver comin' to make me heart light. 
 
 Och, Paddj, me darlint, if ye did but know 
 How I am repintin' the slight that I gave, 
 
 And how jer own absence is causin' me woe. 
 Ye could not refuse the forgiveness I crave. 
 
 Be azv now wid me, me darlint, I pray, 
 
 'Tis yer iver thrue Kathleen wud ask for yer grace; 
 By the moust howly virgin I schwear it this day, 
 
 I'd rather than all of the saints see yer face. 
 
 I pray all the saints and the virgin beside, 
 
 To spare me this sorrow that's breakin' me heart; 
 
 For ye promised this day ye wud make me yer bride, 
 And that from yer Kathleen ye'd niver depahrt. 
 
 Then, Paddy, come back to me like a good man. 
 And kisses, belave me, I '11 give ye galore: 
 
 And phativer will plaze ye I '11 do if I can, 
 
 And that little skrimmage shall plague us no more. 
 
2f22 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 "P, Where is the Girl of the Long, Long Ago?" 
 Joaquin Miller. 
 
 O, where is the girl of the long, long ago ? 
 
 And the echo comes answering, whei-e is she ? O, 
 where ? 
 
 Whenever jou meet her you're certain to know 
 
 'Tis her by the features expressive of care. 
 
 You may know her whenever you happen to meet 
 One who was a girl in the years past away, 
 
 Tho' she may not appear so bewitchingly sweet. 
 
 With her features all wrinkled and hair thin and gray. 
 
 Not so charmingly sweet as in years long ago. 
 
 When with forehead like marble and glossy dark hair, 
 
 Her cheeks like pink roses in settings of snow — 
 A creature of beauty surpassingly fair. 
 
 Her teeth then would rival the whitest of pearls — 
 Her form was as perfect as mortal's could be — 
 
 An Houri, fit queen for the paradise worlds. 
 Her movements so graceful, so agile and free. 
 
 Her love -beaming eyes were as dark as the night, 
 Or blue as the arch of the Heaven above; 
 
 And like stars in that Heaven they sparkled as bright, 
 When hearing the story of passionate love. 
 
 Her mouth was a study a painter might crave 
 As a model, so pouting and ruby her lips, 
 
 That a kiss to a lover if ever she gave, 
 
 'Twas sweeter than nectar that Jupiter sips. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 223 
 
 But now all her ravibhing beauty is gone, 
 
 The bloom on her cheeks we shall see there no more; 
 Her features all careworn are shrunken and wan, 
 
 Her eves not so sparklinglj bright as of yore. 
 
 But her teeth are so cunningly formed by the art 
 
 Of the dentist they still give the semblance of youth; 
 
 But one charm remains, 'tis the warm, loving heart 
 That still is o'erflowing with goodness and truth, 
 
 And that heart's ever moved by the plaint of distress. 
 
 Her cares ever open to charity's call; 
 With a word of good cheer the despondent to bless, 
 
 Thus she lightens the burdens of one and of all. 
 
 An angel of mercy for many long years. 
 She still by all ages is loved and caressed : 
 
 Partaking alike of their joys or their tears. 
 Her bark will soon moor in the haven of rest. 
 
 Instead of your asking where 'tis she is gone, 
 
 You had better be asking who'll now fill her place, 
 
 To be our dependence, the hope called forlorn, 
 To cook our good dinners and keep up the race. 
 
224 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Cyclone. — A Parody. 
 
 The heat was oppressive — a burden to bear — 
 
 A closeness most stifling pervaded the air, 
 
 While thick clouds, and gloomy, hung low o'er the 
 
 scene, 
 With an ominous sui-face of dull, murky green. 
 
 'Twas a signal foreboding that danger was near. 
 The brutes were all restless, excited by fear; 
 Not a breeze stirred the forest, nor scarcely a sound 
 Was heard to disturb the dread stillness profound. 
 
 When the cyclone came down like the wolf on the fold, 
 
 And no mercy it showed to the young or the old, 
 
 As in its mad fury resistless it whirled 
 
 Till to utter destruction all objects were hurled. 
 
 'Twas the middle of summer, and all things were green. 
 The landscape presented a heart-cheering scene 
 Of fields waving full of the bright, golden grain. 
 Of which there was soon not a scrap to remain; 
 
 For the storm in its wrath came careering that way. 
 With a power for mischief no mortal could stay; 
 But it swept on its course, its dire vengeance to take, 
 'Till death and destruction was left in its wake. 
 
 When the storm-king had emptied his vials of wrath, 
 And left desolation and death in his path, 
 Then deep lamentations were borne on the air, 
 Of people left homeless in helpless despair. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 225 
 
 And there all the fruits of the husbandman's toil, 
 
 That he by his labor had gained from the soil— 
 
 The product of seed that in hope he had sown, 
 
 By the breath of the storm-king was scattered and 
 strown. 
 
 'Tis thus, by disaster, we mortals are taught, 
 How all things of earth are so constantly fraught 
 With dependence on Him who the wind and the waves 
 Controls in His hands as His servants and slaves. 
 
 And man saw how futile his efforts and vain 
 Control of the forces of nature to gain, 
 And learned that all nature is ruled by a God, 
 Who makes the earth tremble by dint of a nod. 
 
 The Dude. 
 
 With spindle shanks and empty head — 
 With only thoughts of style imbued, 
 He struts the streets as if he fed 
 On nectar brewed for gods instead 
 Of for a darling, dainty dude. 
 
 He struts with consequential air, 
 
 And ogles girls with manners rude. 
 And thinks he looks so debonaire, 
 He charms the hearts of all the fair. 
 And makes them solemnly declare 
 He is a specimen so rare. 
 They long their earthly lives to share 
 With such a sweet and lovely dude. 
 15 — p. 
 
226 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. • 
 
 His pantaloons tight as the skin, 
 
 Show not one spot of ampHtude: 
 'Tis mystery how he them gets in, 
 But then his legs must be so thin, 
 For like a man's legs had they been. 
 He never could have been a dude. 
 
 He sports a cane of limp rattan, 
 
 Admiring ladies to delude 
 With the idea that he's a man; 
 But though he does the best he can, 
 
 They plainly see he's but a dude. 
 
 He thinks he an Apollo is, 
 
 So shows his shape as when he's nude, 
 A waxed mustache adorns his phiz, 
 He struts as if all earth were his, 
 And says I guess I know my "biz," 
 
 If people do all call me dude. 
 
 He smokes a perfumed cigarette, 
 
 All labor he long since eschewed, 
 He'd rather be the ladies pet 
 Than in the sun to toil and sweat. 
 And so turned out to be a dude. 
 
 His diamonds are of paste or glass 
 But he imagines he 's so shrewd 
 He'll make them for true diamonds pass^ 
 "Which proves himself to be an ass — 
 Just ass enough to be a dude. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 227 
 
 Upon his speech I only dwell, 
 
 To say he simpers like a prude; 
 Or when his great exploit he'd tell, 
 He English apes like Broadway swell. 
 
 Who's cousin-german of the dude. 
 
 His hat on side his head he wears. 
 
 And strikes a graceful attitude; 
 For admiration's all he cares — 
 "Ba Jove," the oath he always swears, 
 As he at handsome ladies stares; 
 And smirks when he grimed men compares 
 
 With such a dainty, dashing dude. 
 
 Of ideas he has very few. 
 
 And what he has are stale and crude; 
 He never has a thought that's new. 
 But always keeps the end in view. 
 To prove that to his role he's true, 
 And is forever in a stew; 
 
 For fear the ladies call him dude. 
 
 Since it is said naught's made in vain, 
 
 On that old saw I'll not intrude; 
 But still to me there's one thing plain. 
 A thing that must with me remain. 
 When I have racked my giant brain 
 In counting up the loss and gain. 
 
 No use can I see for the dude. 
 
228 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 A Hymn to Deity. 
 
 O, Thou great source of ev'ry good 1 
 Help me to serve Thee as I should, 
 
 And live alone to Thee; 
 Thou art the spring of all my joy — 
 Mj peace and bliss without alloy, 
 
 And shall forever be. 
 
 When I by troubles like a flood 
 
 Am overwhelmed on life's rough road. 
 
 I look the Thee alone: 
 And when oppressed with grief or care, 
 I go to Thee in humble prayer 
 
 And thanks for mercies shown. 
 
 I know Thou ready art to give, 
 And all Thy suppliants receive. 
 
 According to their need : 
 And know Thy boundless mercy will 
 Bear with my faults and love me still. 
 
 And be my friend indeed. 
 
 When loved ones from this mundane shore, 
 Are called away to come no more 
 
 To me beneath the sun, 
 I know they can not come again, 
 And though I weep will not complain, 
 
 But say Thy will be done. 
 
 Where'er I roam though far abroad, 
 I'm in the presence of my God: 
 An object of His care; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 229 
 
 And He will guide my wayward feet, 
 Mj loved and lost in heaven to meet, 
 To be forever there. 
 
 Then, O, my soul, be on thy guard, 
 And strive to gain the great reward 
 
 Of perfect peace and rest, 
 In that unknown, the heaven above, 
 The purchase of a Savior's love: 
 
 The home of all the blessed. 
 
 The world may laugh to scorn my faith, 
 But I shall till my latest breath. 
 
 Trust Thee for ev'ry good; 
 Then, O, my God, hear thou my prayer. 
 And help me still my cross to bear. 
 
 And serve Thee as I should. 
 
 Who is My Friend ? 
 
 Who is my friend ? How can I know ? 
 
 How can I know who is my friend ? 
 Is he my friend who would bestow 
 
 A favor for some selfish end ? 
 
 Is one who greets me with a smile. 
 And gives my hand a cordial grasp. 
 
 But with a Judas kiss the while 
 Emits a poison like the asp ? 
 
230 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 To permeate and blast my fame 
 For honesty and noble deeds, 
 
 And smirch, for aye, my honored name, 
 And sow of wrangling strife the seeds ? 
 
 Ah ! no, upon my list of friends 
 I ne'er could enter such a sham; 
 
 On that proud list too much depends 
 On one who knows me as I am. 
 
 And tells my faults to me alone, 
 
 And from the world will them conceal. 
 
 Whose friendship best to me is shown, ^ 
 By helping me my faults to heal. 
 
 A friend like this is far more dear 
 To me than hoards of shining gold; 
 
 For with such ones I'd have no fear 
 Of sad neglect when I am old. 
 
 With such a friend if I can live 
 This evanescent, troubled life, 
 
 I'll know all bliss that earth can give, 
 And such thou art my faithful wife. , 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 23I 
 
 For What Are We Thankful? 
 
 Your question propounded : my question is why 
 
 Are we placed in this world of contention and strife ? 
 We come in so helpless — our first act a cry — 
 Our whole life a struggle, and though we may try 
 To make it a success, disappointed we die, 
 Complaining of fate and disgusted with life. 
 
 'Tis true we have battled with dust and with heat. 
 And that every day brought its cares and its toil. 
 
 That we the cold winter with plenty might meet; 
 
 But our arduous labor but made our sleep sweet, 
 
 Enhancing our relish for all that we eat; 
 
 Nor are our hands empty, nor bleeding our feet. 
 But we're paid for our labor in fruits of the soil: 
 
 For the fields yielded plenty of bright golden grain. 
 The meadows abundance of grasses supplied; 
 
 And just when was needed came sunshine and rain. 
 
 With soft, balmy breezes that followed in train, 
 
 No pessimist surely could ever complain 
 That any great blessing to us is denied. 
 
 You talk about prisons, but people are free 
 
 To do as they please while they please to do right: 
 
 So prisons are never a terror to me, 
 
 And I am content with whatever may be 
 
 My lot in this world, but how many I see 
 
 Who can but blame themselves for their indigent 
 plight. 
 
232 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 You complain of the babies that murder your sleep ; 
 
 Were not you once a babe keeping mother awake 
 Through the long hours of night that so lazily creep ? 
 And was not her affection so fervent and deep. 
 That she nightly vigils was willing to keep, 
 
 And sacrifice rest for her dear baby's sake ? 
 
 Then let us be thankful, nor dare to complain 
 Of the lot that's assigned us whatever it be; 
 
 'Tis the wisdom and mercy of God to deraign, 
 
 That we're doomed to labor our living to gain, 
 
 For that is far better for us in the main. 
 
 Than that we should ever from labor be free. 
 
 The Plea of the Street Arab. 
 
 A thieving street Arab they call me. 
 Because I must sleep in the street; 
 
 Nor care they what ills may befall me. 
 While foraging for what I eat. 
 
 I never knew father or mother, 
 
 To guide me in this world of strife; 
 
 Nor have I a sister or brother, 
 To aid in my struggle for life. 
 
 They say I am only an Arab, 
 And all that I live on I steal. 
 
 Because when I'm starving I may grab 
 A biscuit so hungry I feel. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 233 
 
 While rich people's boys are oft stealing, 
 
 When they have plenty at home, 
 Remember how oft I'm feeling 
 
 So hungry, and have not a crumb. 
 
 You rich folks w^ho always have plenty. 
 May talk of how wrong 'tis to steal, 
 
 But, starving, there's not one in twenty, 
 But would do the same thing for a meal. 
 
 I'm kicked, and I'm cuffed and I'm pounded, 
 
 And no one shows pity for me; 
 But like a wild beast I am hounded. 
 
 Till no chance to do better I see. 
 
 The people all seem so hard hearted, 
 
 I never dare ask them for bread; 
 And since in this way I have started. 
 
 How often I wish I was dead. 
 
 Then I'd go to a world where there's needed 
 
 No bread for a poor homeless boy. 
 No cries to be heard and not heeded; 
 
 In that world they say all is joy. 
 
 I wish I could wake up some morning, 
 And find myself transported there — 
 
 Transported without any warning. 
 The bliss of that country to share. 
 
 But no, I must stay here still longer. 
 
 And follow the life I have led. 
 Till I have grown bigger and stronger; 
 
 So good night, I must hunt me a bed. 
 
234 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Lover's Rebuff. 
 
 He found her sound asleeping and kissed her, sub-rosa, 
 Her pink lips so pouting, how could he forbear ? 
 
 So tempting they looked just beneath her snub nosie — 
 So sweet that no nectar could with them compare. 
 
 It woke her, and blushing so coy and so winning, 
 She warned him to never attempt that again; 
 
 Thus being knocked out at the very first inning, 
 He vowed that his wooing should not be in vain. 
 
 Defeated, he tried a new mode of attacking 
 The citadel bastioned 'gainst weapons of love; 
 
 For soft words of flattery not being lacking. 
 
 He called her his angel just dropped from above — 
 
 His darling, his pet and his heart's only idol — 
 The light of his soul and the joy of his life. 
 
 And said that he longed for the day of their bridal, 
 When she would become his own dear little wife. 
 
 He told of her exquisite, ravishing beauty — 
 Her smiles so bewitching, her limpid dark eyes; 
 
 To worship such charms he declared was a duty — 
 A tribute to beauty none ever denies. 
 
 But she'd already learned how resistless the power, 
 That beauty possesses for charming the heart — 
 
 That it reigns supreme tyrant in ev'ry love-bower. 
 And plays there with Cupid the grand living part. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 235 
 
 But she listened to hear the old story delighted, 
 The story that pleases a maiden's willing ear; 
 
 But all his fond hopes she most cruelly blighted, 
 By saying such beauty you'll not capture here. 
 
 Then she flew in a pet and turned up her snub no^ie. 
 And told him that things are not all as they seem. 
 
 And left him to ponder on kissing sub-rosa; 
 
 When from his sleep waking he found 'twas a dream. 
 
 A Metrical Evening Prayer. 
 
 Our Father, now before we sleep, 
 We offer up our evening prayer. 
 
 That thou wilt us in safety keep. 
 Protected by Thy gentle care. 
 
 We humbly bow before thy throne. 
 With grateful hearts for what is giv'n 
 
 And thanks for all thy mercies shown. 
 And promise of a life in heav'n. 
 
 Guard us, O God, from ev'ry ill, 
 That we secure in peace may rest, 
 
 And of thy care be objects still. 
 And with thy mercies still be blest. 
 
 And when the morning light shall come, 
 And call to duties of the day, 
 
 O guard our peaceful humble home 
 From ev'ry danger, Lord, we pray. 
 
236 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Help US to make the best of life, 
 
 Till we our earthly course have run, 
 
 That when we leave these scenes of strife, 
 We may the plaudit hear, "well done." 
 
 But if on earth we wake no more, 
 O, let our faults be all forgiv'n, 
 
 So we may leave this mundane shore. 
 And wake to better life in heav'n. 
 
 The Two Busy B's. 
 
 O, say have you heard of the two busy B's, 
 
 Who are 'gainst each other so gallantly fighting, 
 Till there comes to our hearing on every breeze, 
 
 A sound that Republican hearts is delighting ? 
 And their shouts fill the air when the B's both declare 
 They will fight to the last, (they're a game, plucky pair;) 
 
 Tho' they gather no sweetness but plenty of gall, 
 
 To bitter all honey expected next fall. 
 
 It's a free-for-all racket, a catch-as-catch-can — 
 A go as you please, and a soul-stirring tussel; 
 
 First one then the other gets the place in the van, 
 And they both still declare they'll go in on their 
 muscle; 
 
 While the friends of each shout, the rascal turn out. 
 
 Or we'll show you at last what it is we're about. 
 When the first of November so chilly shall come, 
 We'll elect your big B to stay right here at home. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 237 
 
 Where now are the bolters who boastingly swore 
 They'd have naught to do with such strife and con- 
 tention ? 
 
 But deserting their brothers and coming no more, 
 Proceeded to set up their own rump convention, 
 
 And flung to the breeze, with their choice of the B's, 
 
 Inscribed on their banner, then do as they please, 
 And say let the consequences be what it may, 
 Our B 's in the fight, and he's in there to stay. 
 
 Fight on, ye brave fellows, fight on to the last, 
 
 And show to your backers you're valiant and plucky; 
 
 Press onward, press onward, not minding the past, 
 And if you're elected you'll feel you are lucky, 
 
 And the welkin will ring with the songs you will sing, 
 
 If you shall escape from the other B's sting. 
 And all that you lose your opponents will gain, 
 And time will be given to bury your slain. 
 
 On the Death of Riley Foster. 
 
 Farewell, dear old soldier, the conflict is ended. 
 The battle well faught and the victory won; 
 
 Now furloughed from earth and by angels attended. 
 Thy furlough's eternal since service is done. 
 
 Thou'st gone from the cares of this short life forever 
 And moored safe at last in the haven of rest; 
 
 And though thou to 11*^ shalt return again never, 
 We'll meet thee again in the home of the blest — 
 
238 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 In the home of the blest never more to be parted, 
 Around the bright throne of our Father above, 
 
 Where dried are all tears of the once broken hearted. 
 And all get i-eward for their labor of love. 
 
 Though lonely her home to a fond wife and mother 
 She mourns not as one without faith in her God ; 
 
 But in her own bosom her grief she will smother, 
 And meekly pass under His chast'ning rod. 
 
 Sad mourner, be patient and stay all thy weeping, 
 
 For 'twill not be long till thy summons will come. 
 And thy dust shall beside the lost loved one be 
 sleeping, 
 And thou shalt then meet him in heaven, your 
 home. 
 
 There in that blest miansion, the region supernal, 
 Where all is so beautiful, peaceful and fair, 
 
 Thou'lt join him again in a union eternal, 
 And no tears at parting shall ever be there. 
 
 The Fate of Man. 
 
 As vanish mists before the sun, 
 
 Upon a cloudless summer morning. 
 So does our life's swift current run. 
 Till time with us its work has done. 
 And given u& a timely warning. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 239 
 
 That we must soon pass through the screen 
 
 That the unknown from us is hiding; 
 The flimsy veil that hangs between 
 The world we know and that unseen, 
 To which we all are surely tiding. 
 
 While here on earth we eat and drink, 
 And spend one-third our time in sleeping, 
 
 And daily walk on death's dark brink, 
 
 Of which we seldom stop to think, 
 
 Save when o'er loved and lost ones weeping. 
 
 Though warnings come from day to day, 
 
 To tell us we are only mortal, 
 "We little heed to warnings pay. 
 But sing and dance along our way, 
 
 Till called to enter lethe's portal. 
 
 How short at most is human life. 
 
 How soon our fleeting days are ended; 
 
 We live 'mid care, turmoil and strife. 
 
 With fierce contending passions rife, 
 In tumult and confusion blended. 
 
 As on our way we careless go. 
 
 Buoyed up by hope, depressed by sorrow, 
 Though of what bides us here below, , 
 Save of to day we can not know. 
 
 We laugh today and cry tomorrow. 
 
 But when the world fades from our view, 
 And we are called to cross death's river, 
 
 The parted veil we'll then pass through, 
 
 In worlds beyond to life renew. 
 
 Ah! life to last unchanged forever. 
 
240 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 How small will then this world appear, 
 And all in which our souls delighted, 
 Save friends who are to us so dear. 
 For them "we'd wish to linger here, 
 
 But that last wish by death is blighted. 
 
 For all are doomed to share one fate. 
 Since here we're only on probation, 
 And death will claim all soon or late, 
 The groveling poor, the rich and great, 
 Without regard to wealth or station. 
 
 While Jamie's Awa. 
 
 Cauld blows the win' ower Scotia's isle, 
 And muckle snaw is on the lea; 
 
 And I maun lanely hours beguile, 
 While Jamie's gaen far ower the sea. 
 
 The lazy hours gang slae alang, 
 When he is frae me far awa', 
 
 And I alane to wark maun gang, 
 And hae nae happiness at a'. 
 
 Blaw gently win's that swell his sails. 
 
 That he frae danger may be free. 
 Till in this port he canvas brails; 
 
 Then aiblins he will pity me. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 24 1 
 
 And stap at hame and roam nae mair, 
 
 To leave his Mary all alane; 
 For ither gear I wad nae care, 
 
 We' Jamie and our bonnie bairn. 
 
 His love I prize a' else aboon, 
 
 More precious 'tis than mickle gear; 
 
 Wi' him the hovn-s pass but too soon — 
 Wi' him too soon wheeps by the year. 
 
 Our Natal Day. 
 
 All hail to the day when our fathers decided 
 That we a great nation of freemen should be;, 
 
 E Pluribus Unum to ne'er be divided, 
 Divine right denying we ever are free. 
 
 As sons of the fathers who made us a nation, 
 We'er jealous of rights that were given us then; 
 
 And tho' as a people we're still on probation,. 
 The hei-itage left us we'll ever defend. 
 
 May the vict'ries of peace be our pride and our glory, 
 
 While Europe is ravaged by bloodshed and strife, 
 
 Till their fields are laid waste and their plains are 
 
 made gory, , 
 
 Where her people for empire have sacrificed life. 
 
 16-- P. 
 
242 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Let us as one people in harmony blending, 
 Preserve all the rights of the children of toil, 
 
 In justice their birthright forever defending, 
 And honor earth's noblemen tilling the soil. 
 
 God bless our loved country and vinion forever, 
 And make it a beacon of light to the world; 
 
 And keep it a union no intrigue can sever. 
 
 Till from tottVing thrones every tyrant is hurled. 
 
 And mankind cemented in union fraternal 
 
 Shall cultivate peace and seek conquest no more, 
 
 And banish all tyrants to regions infernal, 
 
 Who crimson earth's bosom with innocent gore. 
 
 Since the slave in his shackles is heard of no longer, 
 And color or race can put none under ban, 
 
 Our union is only cemented the stronger. 
 
 When character makes up the gauge of the man. 
 
 Then-cherish the day when our fathers demanded 
 That we a great nation of freemen should be; 
 
 As patriots determined together they banded 
 By their fiat enforcing their children are free. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 243 
 
 Christmas. 
 
 The joybells peal their merrj notes, 
 Glad Christmastide is now begun; 
 
 And on the ci-ispj air there floats 
 The cheerful sound of youthful fun. 
 
 Glad children with their i-uddj cheeks, 
 
 Are out in all their glee; 
 While age the genial fireside seeks, 
 
 As happy as they well can be. 
 
 There as the bleak winds whistle by, 
 They hear blithe children at their play, 
 
 They oft remember with a sigh, 
 The pleasures of a by -gone day. 
 
 When they defying cold and storm, 
 Rejoiced to see this season come. 
 
 When spite the cold, love still was warm 
 Within their happy childhood home, 
 
 Where mother sat an honored queen, 
 That ruled her empire with such grace, 
 
 That better rule has never been, 
 
 And none has better filled their place. 
 
 When they around that mother's board, 
 All gathered anxious to partake 
 
 Of what a mother's love had stored, 
 Of dainties for her children's sake. 
 
244 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But now since time with restless wheels, 
 Has borne them on far past their prime,. 
 
 Thej listen to the jojbell's peals, 
 And wonder at the flight of time. 
 
 But let us all be glad to-day, 
 
 And make the most we can of life: 
 
 And putting anxious care away. 
 
 Forget all earth's turmoil and strife. 
 
 Let all dissensions be forgot — 
 Let joy untrameled rule the hour; 
 
 Tho' fortune frown we'll heed it not, 
 But trust to Him who has the power 
 
 For all his creatures to provide — 
 
 Who counts the sparrows when they fall; 
 
 With him wx've need of naught beside, 
 His guardian care is over all. 
 
 This day was born Jehova's son, 
 Who died to save us by His grace; 
 
 And o'er the grave a vict'ry won, 
 
 That brought redemption to our race. 
 
 The world stood wond'ring at his birth, 
 But only more to wonder when 
 
 He told his mission, "Peace on earth, 
 And eveiTnore good will to men." 
 
 But now amid our mirth and cheer, 
 'Tis meet we pause awhile and think 
 
 Where we shall be another year — 
 Of that unknown upon whose brink 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 245 
 
 We're doomed to walk from day to day, 
 
 Pursuing phantoms that we crave, 
 Nor think how soon we pass away, 
 
 And are forgotten in the grave. 
 
 On the Death of General Grant. 
 
 He's fallen! He's fallen! The grand and the great — 
 The firm iron will that no foe could withstand; 
 
 Like all other mortals he shared the one fate. 
 
 When death the pale conquerer laid on him his hand. 
 
 How grand were his deeds a saved country well knows, 
 And the great, throbbing heart of the nation will 
 mourn 
 
 For the kind-hearted soldier who conquered its foes, 
 Rememb'ring how meekly his honors were borne. 
 
 He's fought his last battle, his only defeat. 
 
 For the foe that he grappled his skill was at fault; 
 
 A foe that none ever successfully meet. 
 Has ended his marches and ordered a halt. 
 
 The heart of the brave, noble soldier is still, 
 
 And he's bivouached where soldiers need weapons no 
 more. 
 
 And a vacancy's left that few others can fill, 
 For no one was found who could fill it before. 
 
2/^6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The tumult of battle no longer he hears 
 
 On the ensanguined field where his comrades are slain; 
 Tho' we baptize his grave with a great nation's tears, 
 
 He never can wake to war's conflict again. 
 
 Tho' gone to the grave still his memory lives 
 In the hearts of a people he labored to save, 
 
 While to the sad hearts such a memory gives 
 A feeling of sorrow as deep as his grave. 
 
 The pale messenger's summons all flesh must obey, 
 No distinction he knows 'twixt the great and the 
 small; 
 For the fiat's gone forth that at last comes the day. 
 When the greatest of earth must give heed to his 
 call. 
 
 God pity the widow, the grief stricken wife, 
 Who mourns for her dead in her lonely estate; 
 
 Bereft of the joy and the pride of her life, 
 O, pity, kind Father, the widow's sad fate. 
 
 Now, since he has left us and sorrow is vain, 
 
 We'll rejoice that from trouble he's found his release; 
 
 Tho' never in life we shall see him again, 
 
 We'll cherish his counsel, "Now let us have peace." 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOULRS. 247 
 
 Death vs. Life. 
 
 Tho' life is a struggle and pleasure a dream — 
 And tho' much we get we oft lose it again — 
 
 Tho' our good may prove less than far off it would 
 seem, 
 And pleasure oft ends in an increase of pain, 
 
 Still cling we to life, ti'usting hope for a day 
 
 When all of our troubles and sorrows will cease; 
 
 When our cares and our heartaches are all past away, 
 And we shall know only contentment and peace, 
 
 If such a great boon to us mortals could come — 
 That delights of elysium unmixed with alloy, 
 
 And pleasures ecstatic of life make the sum, 
 Till our days were all spent in exuberant joy, 
 
 From the fiat of death there could be no appeal, 
 However on earth we were anxious to stay. 
 
 Inexorable death with a conscience of steel, 
 Would sooner or later claim all as his pre}'. 
 
 By the leaves of the forest that flourish and fade — 
 By the flowers that gladden the earth with their 
 bloom — 
 By the havoc the spoiler relentless has made. 
 
 We're taught that life's pathway but leads to the 
 tomb. 
 
248 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The mightiest monarchs earth ever has known, 
 Tho' miHions submissive had bovv^ed to their will, 
 
 Like the dry, withered leaves bj^ the autumn winds 
 blown. 
 Have mouldered to dust and forever are still. 
 
 The vast generations of men that appeared 
 In the ages long past, like a nocturnal dream 
 
 Are gone and forgotten, and empires they reared 
 Have vanished, engulfed in oblivion's stream. 
 
 As grass they came up, and as grass were cut down, 
 All race and distinction have mingled in one; 
 
 The beggar for bread and the king with his crown. 
 Alike from the earth have all perished and gone. 
 
 Grim death is the spectre that havmts every feast — 
 The dry, grinning skeleton rattling its bones, 
 
 From whose unwelcome presence we'd fain be released — 
 A ghost for whose visits naught ever atones. 
 
 Man shudders at tho't of the damp, chilly grave, 
 Tho' thei'e with proud emperors he might be laid, 
 
 'Twould be such an honor as no one would crave, 
 To sleep in such bed tho' for emperor made. 
 
 The dark valley of death we recoil to pass through, 
 
 Tho' its passage to life in elysium led; 
 The journey tho' short we instinctively view 
 
 With feelings of shrinking, unspeakable dread. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS 249 
 
 Nonchalant we walk on the verge of the tomb, 
 
 And long for a region of unsulled bliss; 
 But dreading the grave with its darkness and gloom, 
 
 Tenacious we cling to a sad world like this. 
 
 'Tis thus bv a struggle a short space we're here. 
 
 And then the place knowing us, knows us no more; 
 
 But a pall and a casket, a sigh and a tear. 
 
 And the curtain drops down and life's drama is o'er. 
 
 The Voyage of Life. 
 
 A voj^ager on a stormy sea, 
 I started out with swelling sail, 
 
 Not knowing in what part 't would be 
 Where I at last should canvas brail. 
 
 The storm that raged when leaving shore, 
 Though sometimes varied by a lull. 
 
 Returned more angry than before, 
 
 And time-waves chafed my fragile hull. 
 
 Oft when these waves ran mountain high, 
 My craft would ride the highest crest; 
 
 Then in despair would sink till I 
 
 Would feel all courage leave my breast. 
 
250 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But then would "hope assert its power, 
 And rouse anew the fainting soul, 
 
 To struggle on, though dark the hour, 
 Till I should reach the wished for goal. 
 
 Then with my waning strength renewed, 
 I battled with the fretted sea; 
 
 And still my onward course pursued, 
 And strove to gain some sheltered lee. 
 
 As on mj varying course I went. 
 If fortune frowned, or if she smiled, 
 
 I to mv task with ardor bent, 
 
 Though wave lashed wave in tumult wild. 
 
 My time-worn bark is growing frail, 
 
 And soon this stormy voyage must close, 
 
 And I shall furl my tattered sail, 
 But in what port no mortal knows. 
 
 But I must toss from wave to wave, 
 And be by freaks of fortune driv'n, 
 
 Till I my dust give to the grave. 
 And rest mv wearv soul in heav'n. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. ' 25I 
 
 Melancholy. 
 
 O, put my pen far, far awaj, 
 
 I can't indite a song to-day; 
 
 I can not write one single line, 
 
 Such gloomy thot's and cares are mine. 
 
 My thot's are on another theme 
 That haunts my mem'ry like a dream 
 That once had vanished, but again 
 Returns to rack anew my brain; 
 
 Till scenes long vanished from my view. 
 Come crowding on my mind anew, 
 To haunt me as a vision past. 
 Too painful then to longer last. 
 
 One vagrant tho't to mem'ry brings 
 The griefs that time shook from his wings, 
 As he in haste went flitting by. 
 Not heeding once the broken sigh. 
 
 That welled up from a bleeding heart 
 That felt afresh the cruel smart. 
 That once was felt so keenly sore. 
 But hoped was gone to come no more. 
 
 Some future day as time goes on, 
 When all this cloud of gloom is gone, 
 And from this burden I am free, 
 And happy thoughts return to me, 
 
252 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 If inspiration seize me then, 
 
 I'll with new hope resume mj pen 
 
 And write for you, dear friends, the song. 
 
 For which you've waited now so long, 
 
 Then put my pen from me away. 
 Nor ask me for a song to-day. 
 No mortal man could ever wright 
 When he is in such dismal plight. 
 
 The Lament of the Russian Exile in Siberia. 
 
 Turn backward, turn backward, O, Time, in your flight, 
 And bring me, sad wand'rer, the pristine delight, 
 That in days long ago, in my childhood, I knew. 
 With the glimmer of joy that my innocence threw 
 
 O'er all the bright visions that haunted my dreams, 
 
 Which now in my mem'ry an oasis seerhs 
 
 In the desert of life as I listlessly stray 
 
 Through strange lands, and dreary my lone weary way. 
 
 O, let me but visit once more the loved wood, 
 On whose border our cottage invitingly stood, 
 And see my dear parents who stood in the door. 
 When they bade me farewell, to behold me no more; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 253 
 
 And let me again the companionship share 
 
 Of the ones that I loved in our rustic home, where 
 
 'Twas I was launched on the ocean of life, 
 
 To drink of its pleasures and share in its strife — 
 
 Where the pole-star of hope glittered bright in the sky, 
 
 And joyous and mirthful the days flitted by. 
 
 Just give me the pleasure, if but for a day, 
 
 That I knew in that home in the time far away — 
 
 Give me but one day of the bliss that I crave, 
 
 And without one complaint I'll go down to the grave; 
 
 Yes, go to the grave, bidding welcome its gloom, 
 Well knowing that always there's found in the tomb 
 Sweet rest for the weary and grief-burdened soul. 
 Regarding its bosom a thrice welcome goal. 
 
 The beast of the forest, the bird of the air, 
 Go — the bird to her nest and the beast to his lair; 
 When coming or going they always are free, 
 But all of life's sorrows seem centered on me. 
 
 Turn backward, then, pittiless time, in your flight, 
 
 For I am so sad and so gloomy to-night; 
 
 Or else a lone wand'rer in mercy befriend 
 
 By hast'ning the time when this struggle shall end. 
 
254 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Hobbies. 
 
 First crazj^ quilts are all the rage, 
 And crazy women make 'em; 
 
 All such are but a crazy set, 
 In any way you take 'em. 
 
 Next roller skating takes the cue, 
 
 And high the fever rages, 
 Till people act as crazy now. 
 
 As those of former ages. 
 
 Among the men base ball 's the thing 
 That claims the most attention; 
 
 And other hobbies, too, the^^ ride. 
 Too numerous to mention. 
 
 High teas just now are hobbies too, 
 
 To draw a crowd selected. 
 To talk of new spring bonnets where 
 
 The fashions are reflected. 
 
 But last, the trump that captures all— 
 The righteous and the sinner, 
 
 Is the progressive euchre craze. 
 For breakfast, tea and dinner. 
 
 Till hobbies grave and hobbies gay. 
 At various times are ridden. 
 
 And every one some hobby has. 
 Permitted or forbidden. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 2^5 
 
 So 'tis with short-lived creatures here, 
 
 Such follj freaks to follow, 
 In search of human happiness. 
 
 But echo answers, hollow ! 
 
 Lost Child. 
 
 A little child out on the street. 
 
 Had wandered far away from home; 
 With weary limbs and dusty feet, 
 And tear-wet face so fair and sweet, 
 She cried, O mamma, mamma, come ! 
 
 Lost child ! Lost child ! the thrilling sound 
 
 Rang out and floated on the air; 
 A child is lost nor can be found. 
 Though search is made the city round. 
 In streets and by-ways everywhere. 
 
 Lost child, how every heart is stirred. 
 
 That hears the oft repeated cry; 
 How swiftly passes round the word. 
 And with what sympathy 'tis heard. 
 Nor does one human wonder why. 
 
 A stalwart man of sable hue, 
 
 With loud outcry and clanging bell, 
 
 Goes marching all the city through, 
 
 With banner held aloft to view, 
 The sad event to all to tell. 
 
256 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURSi 
 
 If We poor mortals here below, 
 
 For one lost child such care can feel, 
 Who can our Savior's sorrow know, 
 When we in paths forbidden go, 
 Despite His loving, last appeal, 
 
 To us to walk the narrow road, 
 
 And be of all our faults forgiven; 
 To follow where the saints have trod, 
 And meet the mercy of our God, 
 And gain at last a home in heaven. 
 
 When my departure hence is near, 
 
 May I, by naught of earth beguiled, 
 Have not one ling'ring cause to fear, 
 That I shall then be doomed to hear 
 The sad refrain, Lost child ! Lost child ! 
 
 Address to England After the Fall of Khartoum. 
 
 Wake up, sluggish giant, and slumber no longer, 
 The time for prompt action now surely has come; 
 
 Don't take time for yawning until you feel stronger, 
 But strike, strike for honor abroad and at home. 
 
 The Saracene's sword through the Soudan is gleaming. 
 The desert resounds with his cannon's hoarse roar, 
 
 And the blood of your sons is in red rivers streaming. 
 Till thousands shall see their loved island no more. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 257 
 
 Brave Gordon with valor his banner defended, 
 Tho' hard were his trials, unequal the strife, 
 
 Till traitors crept in and the conflict was ended, 
 When like a doomed hero he gave up his life. 
 
 O, proud, haughty Britain! in humiliation, 
 
 How smirched is thy crest, and thy luster how dim; 
 
 How plunged into mourning thy great boasting nation, 
 Thy cup of deep sorrow, how filled to its brim. 
 
 While now, a great nation, in sackcloth and ashes 
 Stands dazed and bewildered at what has been done. 
 
 The steel of the Arab defiantly flashes 
 
 And gleams in the rays of the bright desert sun. 
 
 Like locusts a people in dark swarthy legions, 
 Delighting to revel in rapine and blood, 
 
 Spring up as by magic in those desert regions, 
 Relentless as is their famed Nile at its flood. 
 
 The boast of El Mahdi seems near consummation^ 
 That he'd drive every infidel into his grave; 
 
 And down to the depths of the deepest damnation 
 Most gladly he'd send them for Islam to save. 
 
 The land of Mahomet that witnessed his glory 
 And vict'ries mid scenes of contention and strife:, 
 
 The land of his miracles sacred in story — 
 The land where in triumph he ended his life. 
 
 The Mussulman's faith begets reckless devotion — 
 Mad hate and resentment no other can know; 
 
 Expecting in paradise bliss in proportion 
 
 To his prowess in slaught'ring his infidel foe„ 
 17— p. 
 
258 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 He rushes to battle with fanatic ardor, 
 
 Believing that Allah his cause will defend; 
 
 Hence all this inaction but makes the task harder 
 This fierce bloody struggle to bring to an end. 
 
 Then wake up huge sluggard and dally no longer — 
 But haste to make bare thy strong arm in its might, 
 
 For while you are sleeping the prophet grows stronger, 
 And makes more uncertain the end of the fight. 
 
 Press forward with vigor without vacillation, 
 
 But when complete vict'ry shall be your reward, 
 
 Remember that mercy becomes a great nation, 
 
 And "vengeance is mine, I'll repay, saith the Lord." 
 
 June. 
 
 O queen of roses, sunny June, 
 To thee I would my muse attune 
 
 To sing thy praises; 
 With roses bright thy path is strewn, 
 
 And inodest daisies. 
 
 The softly whisp'ring, balmy air. 
 In fields and forests everywhere. 
 
 Is richly laden 
 With odors sweet that w-ell compare 
 
 With breath of maiden. 
 
AMUSEMEXT OF IDLE HOURS. 259 
 
 Thy genial warmth and sunny day-^, 
 Oft mellowed by a misty haze, 
 
 Such pleasure giving. 
 Demands the constant, grateful praise 
 
 Of all the living. 
 
 The husbandman is cheered to see 
 His growing corn and verdant lea 
 
 Wet by the showers, 
 And happy is as king could be 
 
 In royal bowers. 
 
 All nature wears a smiling face, 
 Nor is there seen one lingering trace 
 
 Of winter's freezing; 
 For death to life has given place, 
 
 And all Is pleasing. 
 
 The robin chants his matin lay, 
 Soon as appears the peep of day. 
 
 To give us warning, 
 Plain as his warbling voice can say, 
 
 Get up, 'tis morning. 
 
 Thrice welcome June, whenever here, 
 Thou banner month of all the year 
 
 For love and roses; 
 Rare are the scenes our hearts to cheer 
 
 That June discloses, 
 
 Were I to live a thousand score 
 
 Of years on earth's most favored shore. 
 
 Than June is giving 
 Of pleasant days I ask no more 
 
 While I was living. 
 
26o AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS^ 
 
 Life's Changes. 
 
 My j^outhful days, how have they fled^ 
 And given place to days of care? 
 
 But that fond hopes are not all dead, 
 'Twould be a burden hard to bear. 
 
 What me awaits I can not know, 
 But am resigned to what may come;. 
 
 Well knowing trials come and go, 
 And thus make up of life the sum. 
 
 While hope survives I'm happy still. 
 And look bej'ond the silent tomb; 
 
 Now near the foot of life's rough hill,. 
 'Tis hope alone dispels its gloom. 
 
 Help me, my God, to patient be. 
 In all my troubles here below, 
 
 For I but look for help from Thee; 
 Whenever adverse winds shall blow. 
 
 Guide thou my fragile bark, I pray. 
 
 Till I shall land on that bright shore, 
 That 's blest with an eternal day. 
 
 And care and tears are known no more. 
 
 Of what befalls I'll not complain, 
 
 I know it is the common lot 
 Of man to know full share of pain, ■ 
 
 And soon to die and be forgot. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 261 
 
 Since we must suffer well as do 
 
 Our Maker's wise and sovereign well, 
 
 I'll patient pass my troubles through, 
 His righteous purpose to fulfill. 
 
 Though with unending cares beset, 
 And must be so while life shall last, 
 
 I pray I never may forget, 
 
 The many blessings of the past ; 
 
 But trust my God for what I need. 
 
 In ev'ry trial sharp and strong. 
 Till I am from earth's troubles freed. 
 
 For sure the time can not be long. 
 
 Much longer here I can not stay, 
 
 For good or ill, for weal or woe, 
 ''Tis man's sure fate to pass away, 
 
 But whither, ah, what seer can know.? 
 
 The Close of Life. 
 
 Twite's evening now is growing late; 
 
 I've known full share of joy and tears; 
 Soon I'll pass through the pearly gate, 
 To where lost friends now stand in wait, 
 
 While passes my declining j^ears. 
 
262 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 I know the time must shortly come, 
 When this worn body, weak and frail,. 
 
 Must by the earth be taken home. 
 
 To moulder in the silent tomb. 
 For God's decree can never fail. 
 
 'Tis but to pass an open dooi% 
 
 And leave behind my friends most dear^ 
 And meet the loved ones gone before, 
 And safely landed on that shore 
 
 Where never's known a parting tear. 
 
 There in our house not made with hands,. 
 
 Where peace and joy forever reign — 
 Where our blest Savior smiling stands, 
 Amid the happy blood washed bands, 
 
 Escaped from earth's turmoil and pain- 
 Through my remaining days content 
 
 With what my God in mercy gives, 
 Rememb'ring life is only lent, 
 Why should I His fixed laws lament, 
 
 While knowing my Redeemer lives. 
 
 Then patient wait, O, long lost friends !. 
 
 I soon shall join your happy throng; 
 Heav'n for our trials makes amends, 
 When life is spent and calmly ends, 
 
 Nor is the time of waiting long. 
 
 Then welcome be my final sleep. 
 
 When my appointed time shall come;. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 263 
 
 I would my friends refrain to weep, 
 Though thej may feel a sorrow deep. 
 For I shall be at rest at home. 
 
 And they will not have long to wait, 
 At most a few short months or years, 
 
 Till they pass through the mystic gate, 
 
 And there will learn their final fate, 
 
 Where naught is known of grief or tears. 
 
 To an Editor. 
 
 On his declining a Poem.] 
 
 Dear Sir: It seems you did not think 
 My poem worth the time and ink 
 'Twould take to put it into print, 
 So set your face as hard as flint 
 'Gainst publishing such trashy stuff; 
 And that plain hint was vague enough. 
 
 Return it ? No, I do not ask it ; 
 Let it help fill your fat waste basket, 
 That does with many such abound. 
 And sell for half a cent a pound, 
 And go the way of things of earth. 
 That sell for more than they are worth; 
 To exercise your judgment free, 
 'Twill suit. Yours truly. 
 
264 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The July Thunder Storm. 
 
 The summer sun all day had shone, 
 With fiery ardor all its own, 
 
 The sleepy air was still; 
 When clouds portentous in the west, 
 Loomed up with dense and murky crest, 
 
 Above the distant hill. 
 
 And moved with slow, majestic pace, 
 And hid at last the sun's bright face. 
 
 But still the sultry air 
 Remained oppressive as before, 
 Like that of some hot tropic shore, 
 
 A bvirden hard to bear. 
 
 Soon lightnings flashed athwart the dome 
 Of heaven, and hasting to his home 
 
 The husbandman was seen; 
 When overhead the thunder's crash 
 Came close upon the lightning's flash — 
 
 A moment all between. 
 
 And knowing then the storm was near, 
 As plain its roaring he could hear. 
 
 He heightened quick his speed; 
 And now the wind began to blow, 
 The forest waving to and fro. 
 
 For 'twas a storm indeed. 
 
 Next heavy drops began to fall. 
 And chickens, pigs, cattle, all 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 265 
 
 Showed signs of great unrest, 
 And hastened to some covert where 
 By instinct taught that thej could there 
 
 Protect their bodies best. 
 
 And soon the rain began to pour, 
 The skj completely covered o'er 
 
 With angry looking cloud; 
 The dry, hot earth began to steam — 
 The water from the eaves to stream, 
 
 And thunders echoed loud. 
 
 Till earth was moistened, and her face 
 Was cleanly washed in ev'ry place, 
 
 When bright shone out the sun; 
 Then O, how sweet and fresh the scene! 
 The fields put on a brighter green. 
 
 The storm its work had done. 
 
 Elysium. 
 
 Elysium, the far away home of the blest, 
 When life's fitful fever and labors are o'er; 
 
 Where time-battered pilgrims at last may find rest, 
 And know disappointments and sorrow no more. 
 
 The bliss of that region no mortal hath known — 
 Its beauties no mortal eye ever hath seen; 
 
 But there we shall reap as on earth we have sown, 
 And forever be freed from all heart-aches and teen. 
 
266 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 'Tis the land where the good of all ages shall meet 
 
 To walk the gold streets for the righteous prepared; 
 Where our iriends long bemoaned we with rapture shall 
 
 greet, 
 • A joj by the wicked to never be shared. 
 
 For a home in that region is ever my prayer, 
 
 To meet my lost loved ones who've gone on before; 
 
 Where long they have waited to welcome me there, 
 But soon I shall join them on that happy shore. 
 
 Though earth has its pleasures they soon pass away, 
 Like dreams of the night at day's early dawn. 
 
 Or dew of the morning some bright summer day, 
 They're with us awhile then forever are gone. 
 
 Then why should we wish that we longer might stay 
 Where all of our good is so mingled with ill.? 
 
 When passion is dead and our joys past away, 
 And life's banquet ended we've eaten our fill. 
 
 Then let me, resigned to Jehovah's decree. 
 In quiet pass out of the world's giddy throng, 
 
 And go to my friends where they're waiting for me. 
 For well do I know that the time is not long. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 267 
 
 Where Shall We Be? 
 
 Whei-e shall we be another year ? 
 Shall we the same as now be here ? 
 
 Or shall we be 
 Removed from this terrestrial sphere, 
 
 To place where we 
 Shall meet our friends who gone before, 
 Have landed on that happy shore 
 
 Where all is peace — 
 Where parting tears are known no more, 
 
 And where release 
 Shall be complete from toil and care, 
 Blest land for which we hope; and where 
 
 Is ever joy. 
 With which naught earthly can compare, 
 
 Free from alloy. 
 
 When we shall go, ah! who can tell.? 
 
 That 'tis from us concealed is well; ^ 
 
 Till our last breath 
 We on that time dislike to dwell; 
 
 But nature saith: 
 "The leaves their season have to fall — 
 Their seasons everything; but all 
 
 Are thine, O, death!" 
 And 'tis with man as other things — 
 
 The low, the high — 
 The same with vassals and with kings; 
 When death his dark pall o'er them flings, 
 
268 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 All, all must die. 
 But still to us the mystery clings 
 Of when and why. 
 
 Time's restless wheels will bear us on, 
 As in the years long past and gone, 
 
 Till we at last 
 Our winding-sheet in death must don, 
 
 And time be past 
 For us a future to prepare 
 In that unseen of spirits where 
 
 The weary rest; 
 And freed from earth's turmoil and care 
 
 Are ever blessed. 
 
 Tired'. 
 
 I'm tired, so weary, O, is there no rest 
 
 For a time-battered pilgrim this side of the grave? 
 I knoAv that my God orders all for the best, 
 
 But why must I ever to care be a slave ? 
 
 Each day brings its burden of worry and toil. 
 
 Anxiety haunts me by night and day, 
 Till the world seems a cauldron of strife and turmoil 
 
 And sad disappointments beset all my way. 
 
 I chafe at restraint like a storm-fretted sea. 
 
 When wave follows wave 'gainst a rock-bastioned 
 shore, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 269 
 
 And I long for the coming of time to be free 
 From all this vexation to know it no more. 
 
 But there seems no haven this side of the tomb. 
 For a storm-beaten mariner seeking for rest, 
 
 But with his best grace inust submit to his doom, 
 A respite to find, mother earth, in thy breast. 
 
 The Exile to his Betrothed. 
 
 Those limpid dark eyes I in memory see. 
 
 Still charming as when they were turned upon me. 
 
 In the days of our youth when young love's early 
 
 dream 
 Could make a lone desert a paradise seem. 
 
 A prospect so gloomy 'twould sadden the heart 
 Of others, awd cause them to haste to depart, 
 May to some loving soul be to memory dear, 
 If once has the shrine of its idol been here. 
 
 I think of those eyes, lighting up the sweet face 
 With a charm time's mutations can never erase, 
 Nor can change of fate ever drive it away, 
 Or cause it to wither and go to decay. 
 
 Tho' the sight may be dim, there'll remain something 
 
 still, 
 To cause the true heart of a lover to thrill 
 
270 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 With the same pleasing passion that he had once 
 
 known, 
 When first 'twas his daj^ dream to make thee his own. 
 
 And the long silken lashes befringing the lid, 
 Where the shafts of sly cupid in ambush were hid, 
 With the soul that thej mirrored completed a chain, 
 That the lover who spurned it embraced it again. 
 
 'Twas the acme of pleasure, a rapturous delight, 
 To have been ever with thee if hap'lj I might, 
 But alas ! Tho' it stirred up the depths of my heart, 
 Sad fortune condemned me from thee to depart — 
 
 To wander a stranger in lands far away, 
 
 No more at thy shrine my devotions to paj^; 
 
 But it cheers me to think, while beneath other skies, 
 
 Of the soul beaming out of 'those limpid dark eyes. 
 
 A Hundred Years From Now. 
 
 What matters if we're rich or poor, 
 
 Our wardrobe mean or rich and gay 
 If we are happy need we care 
 
 What after people think or say ? 
 Or matters it who rules as king, 
 
 To whose behests the people bow; 
 To us no good or ill they'll bring 
 
 A hundred years from now. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 27I 
 
 The countless millions of the eai-th 
 
 Just as the millions did before, 
 Rush on to-daj and laugh and weep, 
 
 And dance and die as those of yore; 
 One stakes his all in quest of fame. 
 
 To twine with laurel wreath his brow, 
 But fame will have no charm for him. 
 
 A hundred years from now. 
 
 Though monster ships should cleave the air, 
 
 With cunning wings their course to steer, 
 With lightning for their motive power, 
 
 And carry commerce far and near; 
 And should invention stop the loom, 
 
 And chemistry divorce the plow. 
 So all might live in blissful ease, 
 
 A hundred j-ears from now. 
 
 What will it boot if all those dreams 
 
 Of science of the present day, 
 Should prove a sure reality. 
 
 As not impossible they may, 
 Will it for man be loss or gain. 
 
 The labor-sweat upon his brow 
 To dry forever and for aye ? 
 
 Will he be happier than now ? 
 
272 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Her Final Resolve. 
 
 Take back the ring, I'll have no more 
 Of vows made only to be broken ; 
 
 'Tis proven as I've feared before, 
 It is not of your love a token. 
 
 Think not a trusting woman's love, 
 
 A true man's greatest earthly treasure. 
 
 Can e'er so evanescent prove, 
 
 As to be won and lost at pleasui-e. 
 
 A woman's love when once you gain 
 Is like the pole star fixed forever; 
 
 And through her life will firm remain 
 The same warm passion changing never. 
 
 But as go by the fleeting years 
 
 Though adverse winds distract life's ocean, 
 Till she may seek relief in tears, 
 
 They can not change her heart's devotion. 
 
 The love that only is terrene. 
 
 And not foretaste of bliss in heaven — 
 
 Where selfish ends are always seen, 
 
 And much is asked but naught is given. 
 
 Such sham pretense could never move 
 My woman's heart, howe'er professing 
 
 To be a pure, unselfish love. 
 
 For it would not be worth possessing. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 273 
 
 Your gold can never buy my heart, 
 I'd have you this one thing consider, 
 
 True love is never in the mart 
 
 For sale, to whom's the highest bidder. 
 
 I pray you then, take back the ring, 
 Since 'tis not of your love a token; 
 
 Take back the bauble, trifling thing. 
 
 And leave a heart by falsehood broken. 
 
 Rally Again, 
 
 Ho, comrades! Rally once again^ 
 And arm you for another tussle; 
 
 Strike manfully for Jimmy Blaine, 
 And Logan, go in on your muscle. 
 
 The democrats hope to get in 
 
 By feigning great love for the soldier;. 
 But by that trick they'll never win. 
 
 Till they a thousand years are older. 
 
 Since Tilden's off they'r all at sea, 
 And working out their own undoing; 
 
 While wond'ring who their man will be 
 They every renegade are wooing. 
 18 — p. 
 
274 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And throwing taffy round galore, 
 
 And with the labor knights coquetting; 
 
 The green greenbackers too thej bore, 
 Old Cockeye Butler not forgetting. 
 
 The ''Lincoln dogs" are all forgot. 
 
 Who used to wear their master's collar; 
 
 Dan Voorhees waxes fizzin' hot, 
 
 When for the soldier he can hollow. 
 
 Now steam is up and track is clear, 
 
 The clans are gath'ring, hear the slogan; 
 
 The rallying cry the cohorts hear. 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! for Blaine and Logan ! 
 July i, 1884. 
 
 May. 
 
 Thrice welcome, bright May, with thy w^ealth of sweet 
 flowers, 
 
 So pleasant, cantrasted with cold winter's gloom; 
 As we sit in the shade of our green leafy bowers. 
 
 It seems as if earth had revived from the tomb. 
 
 When fanned by the gentle, delightful warm breezes, 
 The blood leaps afresh through the deep purple veins; 
 
 And naught is there felt in all nature but pleases. 
 When the wreck of drear winter no longer remains. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 275 
 
 The dew sparkles bright on the fields of green clover 
 Like diamonds, when kissed hy the sun's early ray; 
 
 And the song of the lark and the robin and plover 
 Enliven the hours of the long sunny day. 
 
 The bees round the sweet honey-blossoms are humming 
 To gather their nectar to add to their store; 
 
 AndfPp from long slumber all nature seems coming, 
 And fresh comes the breeze thro' the wide-open door. 
 
 All creatures seem happy, and mankind rejoices 
 To greet thee, thou lovliest month of the year; 
 
 And borne on the breeze are the blithe merry voices 
 Of children delighted that May-day is here. 
 
 O, earth is indeed a benignant old mother, 
 Supplying our needs as our time passes by. 
 
 Till we love her so well we'd exchange for none other. 
 But only regret that we ever must die. 
 
 Still 'tis but a foretaste of promise that's given. 
 That when we leave all of these beauties below, 
 
 Through eternity's rounds in the mansions of heaven, 
 Delights we'll enjoy that no mortal may know. 
 
 The chill blasts of winter can enter there never — 
 No night with dark pinion shall follow the day; 
 
 But the light that shines forth from His throne shall 
 forever 
 Make heaven far brighter than sunshine of May. 
 
276 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Star Spangled Banner of 1884-5. 
 
 O say, have you heard of that north border-land, 
 
 To which all our scoundrels are constantly streamings 
 Till they form in that region a bold robber band, 
 
 And the cities with thieves and defaulters are teeming,. 
 And embezzlers are there with their nonchallant air. 
 
 Feeling sure that no sheriff can bother them there. 
 While the flag of old England defiantly waves 
 
 O'er that refuge of thieves and that home of our 
 knaves. 
 
 It's the land where the villain no vigils need keep, 
 
 For with perfect abandon he nightly reposes; 
 When he goes to his couch he as soundly can sleep, 
 
 As if he reclined on a bed made of roses; 
 When he catches the gleam of the morning's first beam 
 
 In eftulgence of glory to him it will seem 
 To say to that banner, O long may it wave, 
 
 The skulker from danger of bastiles to save. 
 
 And where are those now who so valiantly swore 
 
 When the money was missing and all was confusion^ 
 They'd have their revenge by afflicting us sore. 
 
 But found out at last it was all a delusion 
 To think they could save by their boasting so brave. 
 
 What was then just as safe as if hid in the grave. 
 So long as the banner of Johnny Bull waves 
 
 O'er that refuge of thieves and that home of our 
 knaves. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 277 
 
 O, shall it be ever with this freedom land, 
 
 That bankers and swindlers can bring desolation 
 On people by stealing on every hand, 
 
 Thus smirching the name of a proud honest nation? 
 No, surely there must be some way for the just. 
 
 Who putting their money with others in trust, 
 Their earnings for needs in the future to save, 
 
 Can be more secure from the wiles of the knave. 
 
 Then rouse, ye who make for us treaties and laws, 
 
 And show yourselves worthy your exalted station; 
 Lay by your dissensions and root out the cause. 
 
 Of all this great evil that's bringing prostration 
 To business; and then we shall have honest men 
 
 In all of our banks and our offices when 
 Our Star Spangled Banner of justice shall wave 
 
 As a terror to ev'ry description of knave. 
 
 Constancy. To . 
 
 Forget ? That word is easy spoken; 
 
 Yes, easy 'tis to say forget; 
 But though all vows were rudely broken. 
 
 Thou wouldst in memory linger yet. 
 
 For though the heart that's worth possessing, 
 When 'tis by cold indifference met, 
 
 Might well regard it as a blessing, 
 To be enabled to forget. 
 
278 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 While in this body there remains 
 The purple current warm and free, 
 
 That rushes leaping through my veins, 
 This heart shall throb alone for thee. 
 
 Forget thee, darling ? Never, never ! 
 
 'Till yonder sun forgets to shine — 
 'Till death the silken cord shall sever 
 
 That binds this constant heart to thine. 
 
 Forget thee ? Yes, perhaps I may, 
 When love no longer is divine — 
 
 When moon and stars forget their way — 
 The ivy 'round the oak to twine. 
 
 When I have left no heart to love — 
 When my last star of hope is set — 
 
 When there's no joy in heav'n above, 
 'Till then I never can forget. 
 
 Nor can I once torget the bliss, 
 
 The thrilling joy, the rapture sweet, 
 
 Imparted by that first warm kiss — 
 Returned with maiden coyness meet. 
 
 For what is mem'rv but a shrine 
 In which with miser care we store, 
 
 For after thought the bliss divine 
 
 That we've enjoyed in days of yore.^ 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 279 
 
 To heart that's pure and formed for love, 
 No pleasure comes when there's but one, 
 
 For heav'n's decree comes from above — 
 It is not well to be alone. 
 
 Then, loved one, banish all thy fears, 
 
 I'll kiss those cruel tears away; 
 And though I live a thousand years, 
 
 I'll ne'er forget this happy day. 
 
 A Phantom all a Phantasy 
 
 I sat beneath an old oak tree 
 
 Its leafy branches widely spreading ; 
 
 I thought upon the stormy sea, 
 
 And land, where short-lived creatures, we 
 The thorny path of life are treading. 
 
 'Twas on a pleasant day in June, 
 
 When earth with life is always teeming ; 
 I sat with nature to commune. 
 For with her works I felt in tune. 
 
 My mood half musing and half dreaming 
 
 I thought of one dear to my heart. 
 
 When life was in its early morning ; 
 And felt anew the cruel smart, 
 When fell disease doomed us to part. 
 Of which it early gave us warning. 
 
28o AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then thoughts of those who cheered my soul 
 
 In halcyon days long since departed ; 
 And sad the thoughts that to me stole, 
 To find how few had reached the goal, 
 
 For which with swelling sails they started. 
 
 Some at their country's urgent call, 
 
 Most nobly to the rescue bounded, 
 And on her altar laid their all, 
 Where canon's roar and whiz of ball, 
 
 Like demons damned through air resounded. 
 
 Some staked their all in quest of fame. 
 
 And thoughts of all things else were banished, 
 Come good or ill, 'twas all the same, 
 Could they but gain a world-wide name, 
 But now all thirst for fame is vanished. 
 
 Some wrecked their lives for lands or gold, 
 And on the earth laid up their treasure; 
 
 While some their early manhood sold. 
 
 And prematurely were made old, 
 Pursuing phantom, sensual pleasure. 
 
 'Twas thus the years passed in review, 
 
 And made a startling panorama. 
 Of comrades whom long since I knew, 
 But now are left so very few. 
 
 Who once were actors in life's drama. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 281 
 
 Sad wrecks were there by land and sea, 
 
 Of fortunes and of good intentions; 
 But some had moored safe in the lee, 
 Where from all storms forever free, 
 
 They rest secure from earth's dissensions. 
 
 But some, with me, are actors still, 
 
 In parts that we ourselves have chosen. 
 
 Our cups of earthly bliss to fill. 
 
 As we pass down life's rugged hill. 
 Before our genial hearts are frozen. 
 
 I mused upon the teeming earth, 
 
 So full of mingled joy and sorrow; 
 The cry that ushers in our birth, 
 The happiness of youthful mirth. 
 
 The laugh to-day and wail to-morrow. 
 
 'Twas thus I saw the play go by. 
 
 With shifting scenes, but new ones never. 
 
 All laugh, and weep, and dance, and die. 
 
 Nor stop to ask one reason why. 
 But heedlessly go on forever. 
 
 While there I sat beneath the oak. 
 The noonday sun above me beaming. 
 
 Discordant sounds the silence broke. 
 
 And I to consciousness awoke, 
 
 To find I onlv had been dreamingr. 
 
282 
 
 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The New Year. 
 
 Another year has come and gone, 
 With all its mingled jojs and tears, 
 
 And now the welcome New Year's morn 
 To many happy homes appears. 
 And mem'ry brings of by-gone years. 
 
 To homes that know but love and peace, 
 The new j'ear brings a time of cheer. 
 
 And gives from toil a da3''s release: 
 Reviving scenes to mem'ry dear, 
 Makes this the field-day of the year. 
 
 To some the memories are sweet — 
 To others much of sad despair. 
 
 As in their home their eyes will meet 
 A once well-filled, now vacant, chair. 
 And mem'ry asks where are they — where 
 
 And echo answers from the tomb, 
 
 Where sleeps the loved one gone before. 
 
 To peaceful rest within its gloom. 
 
 Where they shall see them never more,. 
 'Till met on heaven's eiysian shore. 
 
 The widow in her lonely home, 
 Still mourning for her recent dead. 
 
 And seeing naught in life to come 
 But drudge and toil for daily bread — 
 Bereft of love, has grief instead. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 283 
 
 In some the orphan's plaint is heard 
 
 For comfronts which they once had known; 
 
 No more they hear the voice that stirred 
 Their hearts with gladness all their own — 
 Such joys are now forever flown. 
 
 Thus life is mingled, good and ill — 
 To-day with joy our hearts are light, 
 
 Of cheering hope we drink our fill — 
 But on to-morrow comes a blight. 
 And all our joy is put to flight. 
 
 Platonic Love. 
 
 O, sweet delight ! O, rapturous joy 1 
 The acme of all earthly bliss, 
 
 To with a blushing maiden coy, 
 Exchange the first true lover's kiss. 
 
 The contact with the velvet cheek — 
 The dainty meeting of the lips. 
 
 Is pleasure cynic well might seek — 
 Is nectar stoic never sips. 
 
 It gives to youthful hearts a thrill 
 Phylosophy can not explain; 
 
 And as we go adown life's hill, 
 A pleasing mem'ry will remain. 
 
284 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The human heart is formed for love, 
 And to the heart attuned aright 
 
 It will the richest blessing pro^'e, 
 And make life's ev'rv burden light. 
 
 It gives to life a brighter hue, 
 
 Ascetic souls can never know; 
 And love that lasts a long life through, 
 
 For trusting hearts makes heav'n below. 
 
 A love that makes two constant hearts 
 
 In unison to throb as one — 
 That's free from all dissembling arts, 
 
 And warm at last as when begun; 
 
 And burns as bright in every stage. 
 
 And changing scene we must pass through. 
 
 With ardor never dirrimed by age,- 
 But whose delights are ever new. 
 
 And when the lapse of many years 
 
 Has paled the ardor of desire. 
 The beauty of pure love appears, 
 
 And burns as bright as youthful fire. 
 
 One with such lasting passion blest, 
 
 Will realize all earthly bliss; 
 And life enjoy with all the zest, 
 
 That was enjoyed with love's first kiss. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 285 
 
 To a Meadow Lark. 
 
 Sweet bird of my childhood how witching thy song, 
 Bringing back cherished days of the long, long ago, 
 
 And scenes that now only to mem'ry belong — 
 Lost joys ne'er again in life's journey to know. 
 
 How oft have I listened enchanted to hear 
 
 Thy sweet notes and cheery float soft on the air; 
 
 Weird music they seemed to my untutored ear, 
 
 As I wandered through meadows a stranger to care. 
 
 And still in my day-dreams I sigh for the joy 
 That always I knew in my dear rustic home, 
 
 When I was a thoughtless and light-hearted boy, 
 Nor dreampt of the trials and sorrows to come. 
 
 Tho' long years have past till my dark hair is gray. 
 Thy song is still sweet as it falls on my ear, 
 
 As it was when I heard it in time far away, 
 For it calls up the days to my memory dear. 
 
 Sing on, my sweet charmer, thy plaintive refrain. 
 The heart of thy lover with pleasure to thrill; 
 
 Thy song calms the tumult that's racking my brain, 
 And bids all complaint in my bosom be still. 
 
 When morning the orient with glory illumes. 
 
 And dewdrops like diamonds are sparkling and bright. 
 
 And the day-god his journey diurnal resumes, 
 Thy soft notes can fill me with rapturous delight. 
 
286 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And too, when the sound of the reapers is heard, 
 
 As they gather the sheaves of the rich golden grain, 
 
 'Tis cheering to hear thee, thou sweet-singing bird, 
 For it brings back the jojs of mj childhood again. 
 
 O, sing then, sweet warbler, a sad world to cheer. 
 Thy plumage so varied with jet and with gold; 
 
 Our world without song would be lonely and drear, 
 As love without trust is insipid and cold. 
 
 My life is far spent and its evening has come. 
 
 And soon I shall be where I'll hear thee no more; 
 
 But hope that I then in my far away home, 
 
 Shall hear sweeter strains on a less troubled shore. 
 
 Where care is forgotten and sorrow unknown — 
 Where the wicked no longer shall trouble my rest; 
 
 When the grass shall above my worn body be grown, 
 And my justified spirit shall be with the blest, 
 
 On the Death of William Keay. 
 
 Sweet home, to the suff'rer that's gone to his rest, 
 From all of his trials and sorrows set free, 
 
 To a mansion in heaven, the home of the blest, 
 Sure no better fate for tired pilgrim could be. 
 
 Take pity. Great Fether, take pity, I pray. 
 
 On the grief-stricken wife that is now all alone. 
 
 To mourn for her loved one gone from her away. 
 And left her in secret her loss to bemoan. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 287 
 
 Though many sad tears may be shed o'er his tomb, 
 Take comfort, sad mourner, and trust in thy God, 
 
 For Jesus has robbed the damp grave of its gloom. 
 Then with meek resignation pass under His rod. 
 
 The time is but short till the summons will come. 
 To join him again where there's parting no more; 
 
 Beyond the dark river he waits in his home — 
 A home he has only gone on to before. • 
 
 "Tis thus that our treasures we cherish to-day, 
 Not counting the swift-pinioned days as they fly. 
 
 To-morrow are called nature's tribute to pay. 
 
 And with sad aching hearts we must bid them good 
 bye. 
 
 On the Death of Julia Johnson Butterfield. 
 
 'Tis over, dear Julia, the end 's come at last. 
 
 All sufF'ring is ended, thy spirit is free; 
 Life's struggle completed, the dark river past, 
 
 On earth thy bright face nevermore shall we see. 
 
 Never see till we meet in that far-away land, 
 
 Where the good of all ages enraptured shall meet; 
 
 There thy friends will embrace thee and grasp thy warm 
 hand, 
 Delighted once more their lost loved one to greet. 
 
288 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 O lonely! how lonely will be the loved home, 
 
 Where thj presence was ever a source of delight; 
 
 How oft will thj kindred in dreams see the come, 
 Thy face with smiles radiant, blooming and bright. 
 
 In that broken home circle is one vacant chair, 
 
 To be looked on in sadness with eyes dimmed with 
 tears, 
 
 For the one who so late was an occupant there. 
 And a joy to the household in past happy years. 
 
 O, why should thy young life be ended so soon — 
 The fire on its altar so soon be subdued — 
 
 Its bright morning sun why go down ere its noon 
 Death's unwelcome presence on thee to intrude ? 
 
 But be still, stricken hearts, and from weeping refrain. 
 In heaven your loved one will patiently wait 
 
 Your coming, to clasp to your bosom again 
 
 Your lost one already past through the pearl gate. 
 
 We knew her so patient, resigned to the will 
 
 Of her God whom she trusted to do for the best; 
 
 And though she is gone we remember her still. 
 As a frail, tired pilgrim gone home to her rest; 
 
 Where soon we shall follow to that blissful shore. 
 
 And leave all earth's sorrows, contentions and strife; 
 
 There joining our friends to be parted no more. 
 We'll enter a new and happier life. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 289 
 
 The Dreamer. 
 
 The dreamer sat in his old arm-chair, 
 Of bett'ring man's condition dreaming; 
 
 And as he was no milHonaire, 
 
 He thought it only would be fair 
 
 For all to have an equal share 
 
 Of wealth with which the world was teeming. 
 
 He thought the world had all gone wrong, 
 Else every one in wealth would wallow; 
 
 And as he dreamed and pondered long 
 
 On all earth's hungry, thirsty throng, 
 
 He made the burden of his song. 
 Delusions are all things we follow. 
 
 But as he pondered in his dream, 
 
 Upon some plan to make cash plenty. 
 
 An idea bright as solar beam 
 
 Flashed through his brain a brilliant scheme, 
 
 That practical to him would seem. 
 
 He'd make one dollar count for twenty. 
 
 Though many plans ran through his head, 
 Not one produced unmixed fruition; 
 
 Till loosing hope at last he said 
 
 My schemes bring neither clothes nor bread, 
 
 Bvit discontent they cause instead, 
 And do not better man's condition. 
 19 — P. 
 
290 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And many such are dreaming still 
 Of ways to thwart Jehovah's fiat — 
 
 Some plan that's suited to their will, 
 
 By which their hungry mouths to fill; 
 
 And thus they dream and plan until 
 They find that plans make meager diet. 
 
 The Joys and Sorrows of Human Life. 
 
 Surrounded by a troop of friends, 
 We on life's journey early start; 
 
 Henceforth Until our journey ends, 
 How oft with them we meet and part. 
 
 Awhile w^e're nurtured by their care. 
 And joy is one continued round; 
 
 No parting sorrow enters there. 
 
 For home is where true joy is found. 
 
 Till we out in the world must go, 
 A speck amid the busy throng; 
 
 Perhaps not one of whom we know. 
 To cheer us as we pass along. 
 
 Environed by a bustling crowd — 
 A motley mass of human kind — 
 
 The poor and humble, rich and proud. 
 Where true home joys we never find. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 29I 
 
 Engaging in the race of life, 
 
 Where all is struggle and turmoil; 
 For some advantage constant strife, 
 
 And ceaseless round of daily toil; 
 
 Till weary with life's tread -mill round, 
 Resolved whatever else may come, 
 
 We go where loving hearts are found. 
 To seek once more our friends at home. 
 
 What joy, then wells up in the heart. 
 When meeting loved ones long away; 
 
 Mixed with sad thought that we must part, 
 And have our joy but for a day. 
 
 We sacrifice all else for sake 
 
 Of social converse with our friends, 
 
 But sorrow follows in our wake, 
 Soon as the joyful meeting ends. 
 
 But when the final call is heard. 
 
 And our last meeting here must end, 
 
 'Tis then the heart is deepest stirred, 
 To say good-bye to some dear friend. 
 
 Since lasting joy is never known, 
 
 While we are on this mundane shore. 
 
 But like dead leaves by rude winds strewn. 
 We pass away to come no more. 
 
 Why sorrow when our friends must go 
 To that blest land whei-e they will meet 
 
 The ones they loved while here below, 
 And live for aye in union sweet ! 
 
292 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Woman's Love. 
 
 O, woman's love ! tenacious, true, 
 
 The richest gift a man can crave — 
 A bHss that every day is new, 
 And lasts her whole existence through, 
 To perish only in the grave. 
 
 Through all report, if good or ill, 
 
 Her love remains an ardent flame; 
 To man she clings, bows to his will — 
 Condones his faults and loves him still; 
 
 And through all change her love's the same. 
 
 Like crystal stream 'tis always pure, 
 
 In this no other can compare; 
 Through every trial 'twill endure. 
 While from its course naught can allure, 
 
 All cold neglect 'twill meeklj' bear. 
 
 This priceless gift but give to me — 
 The love of one true woman's heart, 
 
 It matters not, then, where I be, 
 
 If I'm on land or sail the sea — 
 Alone or in the busy mart; 
 
 I'll know I have one faithful friend; 
 
 If fortune frown, or if she smile. 
 On her I always may depend 
 To from the slanderer's tongue defend, 
 
 And all my gloomy hours beguile. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. ' 293 
 
 Thus may a heaven be made below. 
 
 Where two fond hearts unite as one, 
 And naught of strife or discord know, 
 And if in age they trusting go, 
 
 With love as warm as when begun. 
 
 The Infidel's Soliloquy. 
 
 '' What shall I be ? Where shall I go," 
 When I must leave this mundane shore: 
 
 " I'd give ten thousand Avorlds to know — "' 
 Ah, yes, I'd give them all, and more. 
 
 Uncertainty environs round 
 
 About my path, go where I will; 
 
 What most I seek I have not found — 
 A talisman a void to fill. 
 
 An aching void within my breast, 
 
 A longing never satisfied, 
 That brings me day by day unrest, 
 
 And fear some ill may me betide. 
 
 I see the leaves green in the spring, 
 In autumn dead fall from the tree, 
 
 I hear the happy wild birds sing. 
 While all the woe seems left for me. 
 
294 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Thus in succeeding cjxles round, 
 The seasons come and seasons go; 
 
 But how or why I have not found, 
 Though I would fain the secret know. 
 
 Philosophy I've tried in vain; 
 
 It can not solve the problem why 
 A man with all his reas'ning brain, 
 
 Just like the beast is doomed to die. 
 
 And science, too, I've asked to tell 
 What all its labor has revealed; 
 
 But on its teachings though I dwell, 
 The one gi-eat secret stands concealed.. 
 
 And reason's realm I've wandered o'er. 
 And sought some certain clue to find; 
 
 But find that it can tell no more 
 To satisfy my longing mind. 
 
 Could I but know as some believe, 
 That there's a God who rules o'er all,. 
 
 It would my burdened soul relieve 
 Of all this load of doubting thrall. 
 
 I'll not believe what I can't see. 
 Or seeing can not understand ; 
 
 But if I could I'd then be free 
 
 From doubt and hopes built on the sand. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 2915 
 
 O, wretched man that I have been I 
 
 I've sailed a stormv sea unknown, 
 While I no guiding chart have seen, 
 
 Must trust my fate to chance alone. 
 
 And should I miss the wished- for goal, 
 
 Of which my friends so often tell — 
 That home of the immortal soul, 
 
 Where only righteous souls may dwell. 
 
 Then woe is me to have no share 
 
 In that elysian land of bliss. 
 Not be allowed to enter there. 
 
 With friends I've loved so well in this. 
 
 I've sought for light on nature's page, 
 
 From ev'ry source in earth and sky. 
 Have wise men read of ev'ry age. 
 
 But still must doubting live and die. 
 
 Then when I leave this troubled shore, 
 
 Shall I from all my doubts be free.? 
 If I go hence to come no more. 
 
 Where shall I go ? What shall be ? 
 
296 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 The Physician's Burden. 
 
 With anxious thoughts he leaves his home, 
 
 A friend is lying sorely ill ; 
 He fears, perhaps, the worst may come, 
 
 Despite his utmost care and skill. 
 
 'Twixt hope and fear he makes his way, 
 To where his suffering patients lie; 
 
 Oppressed with care from day to day. 
 On swiftest wing his time goes by. 
 
 However sad his thoughts may be, 
 
 He must assume a hopeful air, 
 And seem from ill foreboding free. 
 
 Nor show one feeling of despair. 
 
 Buoyed up by hope, depressed by fear. 
 His thoughts no settled peace can know; 
 
 And though he shed a secret tear, 
 A hopeless look he must not show. 
 
 To hide his fears must be his care. 
 When he is where the sick may see; 
 
 .Though with the friends their grief he share. 
 He must from look of doubt be free. 
 
 He needs must wear a cheerful face. 
 All gloomy fears must be concealed, 
 
 Lest he might show the slightest trace 
 Of what he would not have revealed. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 297 
 
 To him who struggling for his hfe, 
 
 ( Now even balanced in the scale.) 
 With death in an unequal strife, 
 
 Where all his skill may naught avail. 
 
 His sympathy, however great, 
 
 Must be completely in control ; 
 From day to day it is his fate, 
 
 To bear this burden on his soul. 
 
 On Returning a Disappointing Book of Poems. 
 
 Take back the book, 'tis naught to me, 
 For disappointment 's all I find ; 
 
 Few beauties in its lines I see. 
 To captivate a poet's mind. 
 
 The author lacks the poet's art, 
 
 The most essential of his cue. 
 The power to touch and stir the heart, 
 
 A power possessed but by a few. 
 
 . A lack of pathos here is seen. 
 
 Though love is sung in many a line. 
 The sentiment is all terrene. 
 
 Not making love a thing divine. 
 
298 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Then place the book back on its shelf, 
 And let it there remain for me; 
 
 I'm only judging for myself 
 
 Of what a poet's book should be. 
 
 The Long Ago. 
 
 Not long ago I visited my early childhood home, 
 
 To view the mem'ry cherished spots where once I loved 
 
 to roam; 
 To see again the lofty trees, the tangled underwood, 
 And shady dells where I had played near where our 
 
 cottage stood. 
 
 I wished to see the limpid stream, the little babbling 
 
 brook, 
 Where often I for hours had fished with bent pin for'a 
 
 hook ; 
 When if I caught a minnow once it gave my heart such 
 
 joy 
 
 As I have never felt since when I was a fisherboy. 
 
 But O, how changed the scene that there presented to 
 
 my eyes, 
 A change, for which though well prepared, was still a 
 
 great surprise; 
 The grassy lane so ample then where I foot-races ran. 
 Seemed to have dwindled half in width since I became 
 
 a man. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 299 
 
 The orchard where so oft I played nor knew of want or 
 
 care, 
 Now but a few old half-dead trees of wonted fruit were 
 
 bare; 
 But on the highest knoll there stood the same white 
 
 marble stones, 
 Beneath them resting there in peace my long-lost loved 
 
 ones' bones. 
 
 The first grave in that hallowed spot was for my mother 
 
 made. 
 And there by kindly neighbors' hands my truest friend 
 
 was laid, 
 And there sleeps still the one I loved all else on earth 
 
 abx)ve. 
 For I had learned to know the worth of a good mother's 
 
 love. 
 
 Then one by one went others, too, the household grow- 
 ing less. 
 
 Some far away in parts remote without love's last caress; 
 
 Till few are left of all that group who were so happy 
 there. 
 
 When living in that humble cot a mother's love could 
 share. 
 
 The farm o'er which in youthful days 'twas my delight 
 
 to roam, 
 Divided now by stranger hands no longer looked like 
 
 home; 
 But still I hoped from mem'ry's book my favorite haunts 
 
 to trace,' 
 
 The time to me now seemed so short since last I saw 
 the place. 
 
300 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 But forests that I once had loved were changed to fields 
 
 of grain, 
 And I those noble, giant trees shall never see again; 
 But sadder change than all beside 'twas very plain to 
 
 see, 
 In once black hair now turned to gray, but still belongs 
 
 to me. 
 
 Ah, how on their swift noiseless wings the years go flit- 
 ting by, 
 
 We scarce can learn to live till we must also learn to 
 die; 
 
 'Tis thus by time's unresting wheels w^e toward the grave 
 are borne, 
 
 And every day confirms the truth that "man is made to 
 mourn." 
 
 Decoration Day, 
 
 Chant requiems o'er our gallant dead 
 And strew with flowers every grave 
 
 Of those who nobly faught, and bled, 
 And died, their country's life to save. 
 
 Yes, bring sweet flowers of balmy May, 
 And strew them as their dirge we sing 
 
 Above their dust, who in the fray 
 Of battle fell, to safety bring 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 3OI 
 
 From danger of a rebel hoard, 
 
 Who armed to take the Nation's life, 
 
 Had drawn the traitor's murderous sword, 
 And plunged us in fraternal strife. 
 
 How calm thy sleep in honored tombs, 
 Who died that we in peace might live; 
 
 And when each Spring in beauty blooms, 
 This is a tribute all can give. 
 
 But, Oh ! the many mourning hearts 
 
 Of mothers for their long lost sons. 
 Who, acting gallantly their parts, 
 
 Fell, and their graves marked "unknown ones." 
 
 While rebels spew their venomed slime 
 
 Square in the face of loyal men, 
 Let all such know that space nor time 
 
 Can ever change what they have been. 
 
 Then ne'er forget the gallant dead. 
 
 Whose lives were for their country given. 
 
 Who for the right have fought and bled, 
 And now are bivouached safe in heaven. 
 
302 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The River of Death. 
 
 We dread to cross the murky stream, 
 To us it looks so dark and cold. 
 
 Ne'er lighted by one cheering beam, 
 
 It would a dismal passage seem, 
 Alike to all, if young or old. 
 
 When first we feel its waters chill, 
 We shrink to venture on its tide; 
 
 And many cross against their will. 
 
 To earth tenacious clinging still. 
 
 They doubt and dread the other side. 
 
 But when we've long been racked with pain. 
 
 Till life's a burden hard to bear. 
 And fever-fires consume the brain. 
 The stream some long to cross, to gain 
 A sure release from pain and care. 
 
 When to its brink I'm drawing near, 
 To leave this for the other side. 
 
 However dark its waves appear, • 
 
 I hope to cross without a fear, 
 
 And land where my loved friends abide. 
 
 Till then, to keep my record pure, 
 Shall be my constant, earnest care — 
 
 Life's troubles to resigned endure. 
 
 That I may make my title sure, 
 Eternity with them to share. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 303 
 
 Terestrial Mutibility. 
 
 Uncertain are all things of earth, 
 The good we crave may never come; 
 
 Man, from his earliest day of birth, 
 Has wants that make of life the sum. 
 
 The brightest hopes will often fail, 
 And disappointments come instead; 
 
 The greatest pleasures oft entail 
 The greatest pain when passion-led. 
 
 The fairest bud may fail to bloom — 
 The brightest flower will fade and die — 
 
 Bright morning suns may set in gloom, 
 And tears may dim the brightest eye. 
 
 Most trusted friends may faithless prove, 
 When most their kindly aid we need — 
 
 Indifference take the place of love. 
 
 And cause the burdened heart to bleed. 
 
 The strongest man may die to-day, 
 
 Struck down while in his manhood's prime; 
 
 Wealth may take wings and fly away. 
 And leave us poor all after time. 
 
 A traitor's kiss our Lord betrayed — 
 Kiss given in love's sacred name; 
 
 And, O, how oft has trusting maid 
 Been by some traitor's kiss the same. 
 
3^4 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Like shifting sands of desert waste, 
 Or snow-flakes on some Arctic shore, 
 
 We're drifted on, till soon the place 
 That knew us once knows us no more. 
 
 And as we on life's journey go. 
 
 And seek for every change a cause, 
 
 We find naught stable here below. 
 Except the Great Creator's laws. 
 
 And these are fixed so firm and sure. 
 They're never changed by human skill; 
 
 But one, all living must endure — 
 To die, God's fiat to fulfill. 
 
 And then is fixed our final fate. 
 No after-change is ever known; 
 
 But all who lived, the small, the great, 
 Will reap as they in life have sown. 
 
 The Life We Live. 
 
 While I am on this mundane shore, 
 By freaks and whims of fortune driven, 
 
 I of her favors ask no more. 
 
 But am content with what is given. 
 
 Like some frail bark far out to sea, 
 That haven seeks but finds it never. 
 
 That struggles hard to gain the lee. 
 But still is tempest tossed forever. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 So I, a voyager of a day, 
 
 Where all is tumult and commotion, 
 Without a chart to guide mv wav, 
 
 Must sail o'er life's tempestuous ocean. 
 
 But trust my God for what He says, 
 And thus the consolation borrow — 
 
 That though I pass some gloomy days, 
 I hope for sunshine on to-morrow. 
 
 And that at last when life is done, 
 And back to dust my body's given, 
 
 Life's battle fought and vict'ry won. 
 To find full recompense in heaven. 
 
 305 
 
 The River of Life. 
 
 In the far-away land is a pure crystal river, 
 
 That flows through a city of peace and delight; 
 
 There the righteous shall live and enjoy it forever, 
 Where the day never closes in shadows of night. 
 
 The green trees of life cluster thick on its border. 
 Their fruits for the people in plenty to share; 
 
 And no evil passions will there cause disorder, 
 For none but the righteous can ever be there. 
 20 — p. 
 
306 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 , The leaves of the trees are for heahng the nations, 
 Who conquer temptation in this world of strife, 
 And faithfully live out their earthly probations, 
 And seek immortality — eternal life. 
 
 That river shall flow on through numberless ages, 
 As long as eternity's cycles shall last; 
 
 And the city shall stand when the poets and sages 
 Who told of its beauties from mem'ry have past. 
 
 There all who for home in that city have striven, 
 And trusted their God and the word of His grace, 
 
 Their sins blotted out and all freely forgiven, 
 Forever will bask in the smiles of His face. 
 
 From the throne of Jehovah that river is flowing 
 Its life-giving waters to all who will drink; 
 
 And sweet-scented flowers profusely are growing, 
 Delighting the thirsty who come to its brink. 
 
 On that river's green borders may I live forever. 
 And drink of its waters so sparkling and clear, 
 
 Where death's ruthless hand nevermore can dissever 
 The sweet ties of friendship that twine round us here. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 307 
 
 The Hot Sunday.— July 17, 1887. 
 
 A sky of brass is overhead — 
 
 The sun with furnace heat is shining — 
 
 The grass upon the lawns is dead, 
 
 With dust and spider-webs combining. 
 
 The corn-blades, rolled up in the sun, 
 
 Are checked from all pretense of growing, 
 
 And rivulets that laughing run. 
 
 Have all dried up and ceased their flowing. 
 
 The leaves turn yellow on the trees, 
 
 When they should still be green and growing; 
 And jnortal's sigh for one cool breeze, 
 
 But no such breeze for them is blowing. 
 
 To live almost a burden seems, 
 
 Still we're to life tenacious clinging, 
 
 While restless nights are plagued with dreams 
 That this excessive heat is brinsfinsr. 
 
308 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 El Mahdi. 
 
 El Mahdi, the son of Saad Hassan half dreaming, 
 As lazily yawning he lay in his tent, 
 
 With the fame of the Prophet his hot brain was 
 teeming. 
 And he soon to rival his glory was bent. 
 
 I'll rally the clans, they will come at my bidding; 
 
 I'll call them to join me from near and from far, 
 And then from the infidel soon I'll be ridding 
 
 This country, by dint of a Bedouin war. 
 
 I'll offer a heaven surpassing Mahomet, 
 
 Though his was so teeming with jetty -eyed girls- 
 
 Although for his herald he had the great comet, 
 The flaming debris of a milHon of worlds. 
 
 The musselman's power by infidels broken, 
 For Islam I'll gain by the dint of the sword; 
 
 My tiat's gone forth and the words I have spoken, 
 This land shall be freed from this infidel hord. 
 
 Their Gordons and Bakers I'll send to perdition, 
 With all the apostates Jhat follow their train; 
 
 By the beard of the Prophet, I'll make exhibition 
 Of prowess to show them their boasting is vain. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 3O9 
 
 Soon the tocsin of war o'er the desert resounded, 
 And Arabs like locusts gave heed to the call; 
 
 To battle for Islam they joyfully bounded, 
 For Islam to conquer or gloriously fall. 
 
 And the battle waxed hot as on, on to the slaughter, 
 The Saracen rushed in his murderous rage; 
 
 For mercy he knows not, hut giving no quarter, 
 He makes no allowance for sex or for acre. 
 
 o 
 
 The babe at the breast of the suppliant mother, 
 No mercy can find in the Bedouin's heart; 
 
 His malice is such as there's found in none other, 
 The helpless to murder's the hight of his art. 
 
 While England stands dazed in her doubting inaction. 
 Debating what course it is best to pursue, 
 
 The Soudan is ravaged and rended by faction, 
 And scenes of past ages the Arabs renew. 
 
 O, England! proud England I arouse from thy slumber, 
 And rescue poor Egypt, thy weak protege; 
 
 Her people defenceless, now slain without number. 
 Invoke thy strong arm the dread carnage to stay. 
 
3IO AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 W^ritten on the Sand. 
 
 [ Walking across the sandy beach we saw two beatified crea- 
 tures slowly walking- toward where the band was playing. My 
 companion said they could not be bride and groom, they were 
 too young and too happy. But she had been writing on the sand 
 with her parasol, and when we came to the spot we stopped to 
 see the tracings. There they were— "H. W. B. and E. F. B." 
 "That tells the story," said my friend, and began writing on 
 the sand himself.] 
 
 Ah! thoughtless creature, dost thou know 
 
 That thou art writing now the fate 
 Of ev'rj mortal here below — 
 
 The rich, the poor, the small, the great .'' 
 Say, dost thou recognize the truth, 
 
 While walking on the wave-washed strand, 
 In all the buoyancy of youth, 
 
 Our names are only writ on sand .'' 
 
 Now is the heyday of thy years, 
 
 And all life's pleasures are before, 
 But oft those eyes will dim with tears, 
 
 And oft will disappointments sore 
 Fall to thy lot as time goes by. 
 
 And cares will come on ev'ry hand; 
 Then thou wilt say, with long-drawn sigh. 
 
 Life's joys are only writ on sand. 
 
 Great heroes, glorying in the fame 
 
 That they have gained by ceaseless toil. 
 
 May hear to-day the world proclaim. 
 Above the din of life's turmoil, 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 3I I 
 
 The greatness of the deeds they've done; 
 
 Tho' while their fame spreads through the land 
 They boast the victories thej have won, 
 
 Their fame is written on the sand. 
 
 Yes, on some shifting, sandy shore. 
 
 Where adverse winds are sure to blow. 
 And blot it out forevermore, 
 
 Nor leave a trace by which to show 
 That such great ones had ever been, 
 
 With power their fellows to command; 
 Though for a time their deeds may gleen. 
 
 They are but written on the sand. 
 
 Thus will all mem'ry of us fade 
 
 At last, and leave no trace to tell 
 Of all impressions we have made — 
 
 If we have acted ill or well, 
 Time will our every effort mock, 
 
 In grateful memory to stand — 
 To have our names graved on the rock, 
 
 For they 're but written on the sand. 
 
312 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Our Native Girls. 
 
 Let others boast the beauty of 
 Their foreign belles with golden hair; 
 
 I sing Golumbia's native girls, 
 
 With graceful forms and faces fair. 
 
 Their limpid ejes of ev'ry hue. 
 
 "Would put to blush the brightest gem 
 That ever rojal maiden wore, 
 
 Or decked a regal diadem. 
 
 With lucid eyes that ever are 
 Reflecting mirrors of the soul, 
 
 Their hearts are warm and ever true 
 As is the needle to t^ie pole. 
 
 Their peachy cheeks and ro?y lips, 
 As nectar of the gods are sweet; 
 
 And unsurpassed by womankind. 
 
 Are their small, shapely hands and feet. 
 
 With independence never known. . 
 
 Or dared in any other lands, 
 They greatest defterence are shown, 
 
 And every man's respect commands. 
 
 Then let them praise their foreign belles, 
 But everywhere our flag unfurls, 
 
 At home, abroad, by land or sea, 
 
 God bless our mothers and our girls. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 3I3 
 
 Mistaken. 
 
 Some say the world is growing better, 
 
 But how better I can't see; 
 While ev'ry day tells of some murder — 
 
 Some days even two or three. 
 
 While human life is held so lightly, 
 Who can say that we improve 
 
 In our regard for fellow mortals, 
 Bv our true, unselfish love. 
 
 While thei'e's so few that can be trusted 
 With a penny not their own. 
 
 It's poor showing that the people 
 Have one whit the better grown. 
 
 And so lax is now the virtue 
 Of the nien, ah! women too, 
 
 That of few can u be stated, 
 That they're to its dictates true. 
 
 On ev'r}' hand foul places flourish, 
 Where men and women lewdly vile, 
 
 Meet for bachanalian revels. 
 And their bodies to defile. 
 
 Marriage vows are lightl}' spoken. 
 Making virtue hide her face. 
 
 Knowing they will soon be broken. 
 Endinsf onlv in disgrace. 
 
314 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Under foot the laws are trampled — 
 Both the laws of God and man; 
 
 People lie and try to swindle 
 Everybody whom they can. 
 
 In the craze for sudden riches, 
 
 People lose all moral sense, 
 And with conscience seared and hardened, 
 
 Gain their wealth through false pretense. 
 
 And if you sa.y that one 's dishonest, 
 He will deftly shift the blame, 
 
 And will try to ease his conscience, 
 By saying, "others do the same." 
 
 Men or women strictly honest. 
 Are so rare and hard to find. 
 
 That it's chance if we don't find such 
 In life's race left far behind. 
 
 Many christians (.'') serve the devil 
 Six whole days in ev'ry week, 
 
 And then expect accounts to balance. 
 By being, Sunday, extra ineek. 
 
 And the preachers, lest they anger 
 Some rich member of the fold, 
 
 Dare not reprimand such sinner, 
 Lest they lose the sinner's gold. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 315 
 
 So his sins are nicely covered, 
 
 And the devil laughs to see 
 How by preachers he is aided — 
 
 Knowing what the end will be. 
 
 Let poets sing the good time coming, 
 Of peace on earth, good will to men; 
 
 When all mankind are dead and buried, 
 Then will be peace, and only then. 
 
 No, tell me not the world is better, 
 While no improvement can be seen; 
 
 We should be better now, we're wiser, 
 But all remains just as it 's been. 
 
 Death of the Old Wife. 
 
 She'd lain all the day in a stupor. 
 With constant short'ning of breath; 
 
 Her husband in sadness sat near her. 
 Silently watching the work of death. 
 
 And now as the night drew around them 
 Its dark sable curtain of gloom, 
 
 She woke and called her aged partner. 
 To ask if night darkened the room. 
 
 He tendei'ly bent himself o'er her. 
 And took in his own her wan hand. 
 
 And answered her softly, that darkness 
 Was fast shutting light from the land. 
 
3l6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And then her thoughts turned to their children, 
 And asked him if thej' were all there; 
 
 Their children, who'd all gone before ihem, 
 And left them a sad lonely pair. 
 
 With, trembling he answered her question: 
 The children, dear one, are all safe; 
 
 Don't think of them, Jenet, niy darling. 
 But rather think now of j'ourself. 
 
 My trust is in Thee, blessed Father, . 
 
 She said, though so dark is the way, 
 I'd rather with God walk in darkness 
 
 Than alone in the sunlight of the day. 
 
 Oh, w'here is our Charley! she muttered — 
 Their Charley, whose soft golden hair 
 
 'Neath the snows of a score of long winters 
 Had lain, she imagined, still there. 
 
 The hands that so faithful had labored, 
 So bravely had lightened his toil, 
 
 That never had shirked any duty. 
 However their palms it might soil; 
 
 Those hands, all so calloused and w^rinkled, 
 So cold now, he patted and kissed; 
 
 Well knowing how lonely and dreary 
 
 'Twould be when the old wife was missed. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 317 
 
 For oft in their long- wedded journey 
 
 Together they'd stood by the bed 
 Where the death-angel claimed for his victim 
 
 The mother, or family's head. 
 
 And when the slow hours had reached midnight, 
 
 That spirit so gentle and mild, 
 As peacefully past from its labors, 
 
 As comes the calm sleep of a child. 
 
 Then the stricken old man, sadly weeping, 
 
 They tenderly lead from the room, 
 And strove with their kind words and cheery 
 
 To brighten his dark night of gloom. 
 
 You 've found heaven first, my dear Jenet, 
 He murmured, but soon you will come 
 
 To take your old heart-broken partner 
 With you to our heavenly home. 
 
 So, ere the first winter snow's fallen, 
 
 The old man has gone to his rest, 
 To live with his faithful companion, 
 
 For aye in the land of the blest. 
 
 And thus was their grand diamond wedding, 
 Their friends had so kindly prepared, 
 
 Transferred to a far brighter mansion, 
 
 Where its joys by their children are shared. 
 
3l8 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 
 
 The Closing Year. 
 
 As one by one the years go by, 
 Struck from the calendar of tiine, 
 
 Our days do but the faster fly, 
 
 When we have passed our manhood's prime. 
 
 And as each year draws near its close. 
 How few that stop for once to think 
 
 Of what each living mortal knows, 
 They're one year nearer to the brink 
 
 Of that eternal world unknown, 
 
 Where though they're free from earthly care, 
 Their bodies here must sleep alone, 
 
 With loathsome worms their beds to share. 
 
 Our childhood's years we'd hurry on, 
 They seem to move so very slow; 
 
 But when our three score years are gone, 
 How like the wind the seasons go. 
 
 The hoary heads will backward look, 
 And sigh for childhood days' return; 
 
 'And would again life's trials brook. 
 If youthful fires again could burn. 
 
 But ah, sad thought! to sigh is vain. 
 
 For turning back time's restless wheels; 
 
 The years once gone ne'er come again. 
 Nor heed is paid to our appeals. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 3IQ 
 
 For time to stop and wait awhile, 
 
 Till we can better be prepared 
 To go; but we can not beguile 
 
 The fate that those before us shared. 
 
 But as it's been so will it be, 
 
 The years will come and jears will go. 
 
 And man full much is sure to see 
 Of disappointments, strife and woe. 
 
 And he will hate his brother man, 
 And lie and cheat for greed of pelf — 
 
 Will cheat his brother when he can, 
 As if he lived but for himself. 
 
 And wars will come just as before, 
 
 And rapine desolate the land ; 
 And blood will flow and carnage sore 
 
 Will shock the sense on ev'rj hand. 
 
 And widows' tears will fall like rain, 
 
 And orphans' cries will fill the air. 
 All mourning for their loved ones slain, 
 
 'Mid desolation everywhere. 
 
 And men will bow at woman's shrine — 
 
 Be captive led at her sweet will; 
 As though she were a thing divine, 
 
 Will bow her slave obsequious still. 
 
 Now as the year fades from our view, 
 
 Reluctantly we say farewell ; 
 But greet with joy the coming new, 
 
 While slowly tolls the old year's knell. 
 
;20 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Mystery! Mystery! All is Mystery! 
 
 In the far-away future and tomes of the past, 
 Lie hidden magnificent mysteries that time 
 
 Has written before and will write to the last, 
 Thus making a volume of problems sublime. 
 
 These problems no mortal is able to solve, 
 
 So mixed with turmoil, with contention and strife; 
 
 Nor can mortal brain the great secret evolve. 
 That lies hidden in death and the essence of life. 
 
 The long-past beginning we've sought for in vain. 
 The Author we judge by the work that is done 
 
 In making the ocean, the mountain and plain — ■ 
 The star-spangled heavens and life-giving sun. 
 
 We gaze on these wonders and can but adore 
 
 The power that formed them and holds them in place; 
 
 The great, mighty ocean confining in shore, 
 
 And guiding the planets while moving through space. 
 
 The lightning that flashes so bright in the cloud, 
 And rends in an instant the loftiest tree. 
 
 Is a power so hidden by nature's dard shroud, 
 We only can wonder of what it can be. 
 
 The grass that in summer grows under our feet — 
 The trees in the forest in verdant robes drest, 
 
 When the cold winter comes with its frost and its sleet, 
 All stripped of their beauty, retire to rest. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 32I 
 
 But the warm breath of spring when it kisses the earth, 
 Revives them to life and to beauty again; 
 
 'Tis thus from dead nature there comes a new birth, 
 By a process abstruse we can never explain. 
 
 But man is the mjstery par excellence still, 
 In weakness he enters the threshold of life; 
 
 Then all living creatures subjects to his will. 
 
 And spends all his days in contention and strife. 
 
 In strife for existence, till passing away. 
 
 He leaves all his troubles and sorrows below; 
 
 His short journey ended, forgot in a day, 
 
 He goes, but O, whither, ye seers, does he go .'' 
 
 Where, where is that country ? O, tell us, ye seers, 
 Who know all the secrets from others concealed, 
 
 If that land is like this full of sorrow and tears; 
 We're longing to have this great secret revealed. 
 
 But wait, restless soul, till the summons shall come, 
 
 To go to that country wherever it be; 
 There resting in peace in that coveted home, 
 
 Thou wilt from thy longings forever be free. 
 21 — P. 
 
322 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 "Condemned to Death." 
 
 [^ Answer to a Poem by Mrs. Sarah T, Boltoti, making a plea 
 for the Chicago Anarchists. \ 
 
 " Condemned to death for a heinous crime ; " 
 
 Already they have lived too long, 
 And justice says for them it's time 
 
 To die, a w^arning to a throng 
 Of dastard whelps of foreign birth, 
 
 Who leave their country under ban — 
 Base vagabonds unfit for earth— r- 
 
 Accursed alike by God and man. 
 
 "No hope for them in the bending sky;" 
 
 Nor should there ever be again; 
 And do you ask the reason w^hy ?^ 
 
 I answ^er, they 're no longer men, 
 But human bodies whence the soul, 
 
 Disgusted, fled and left alone 
 To demons damned entire control, 
 
 As all their hellish deeds have shown. 
 
 You ask, " will it restore the slain 
 
 To life again, to take these lives .^ " 
 Ah, no ! Too long in death they've lain, 
 
 Mourned for by lonely widowed wives. 
 But mawmish sympathy that's shown 
 
 For fiends whose hands with blood are stained, 
 Are seeds from which such crimes are grown, 
 
 And none are from fell deeds restrained. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 323 
 
 " Have we abolished the law of God ? " 
 
 Though He commands, "thou shalt not kill," 
 That man may form such deeds be awed, 
 
 He makes His law much broader still. 
 And says, "that he who sheds man's blood, 
 
 By man shall his own blood be shed," 
 This law of His through time has stood, 
 
 Nor can another fill its stead. 
 
 " Have we forgot the crucified, 
 
 Who'd mercy to his murd'rers shew, 
 And sought their pardon when he died, 
 
 And said they know not what they do ? " 
 Ah no, they knew not what they did ; 
 
 But well these fiendish felons knew; 
 Theirs was a crime God's law forbid. 
 
 Yet dared their deed with this in view. 
 
 Such is the plea you make for those 
 
 Who sow the seeds of bloody strife, 
 To make of friends relentless foes 
 
 That seek to take each other's life. 
 No, no, let not such maudlin plea 
 
 Be made to save their worthless lives; 
 Far better for the world 'twill be 
 
 To have them dead than held in gyves. 
 
324 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 A Christmas Carol. 
 
 This night the stars together sung, 
 Rejoicing at a Savior's birth, 
 
 This was the song of ev'rj tongue — 
 Good will to men and peace on earth. 
 
 The angels caught the glad refrain, 
 Good news to all mankind we bring ; 
 
 Mesiah comes, on earth to reign 
 O'er all the universe a king. 
 
 While loud hosannahs long resound 
 From all the hosts of earth and sky. 
 
 And all rejoice with joy profound, 
 On swiftest wing the tidings fly. 
 
 To his mild reign of peace and love. 
 With reverent obedience bow; 
 
 His right he brings from God above, 
 And comes to claim his kingdom now. 
 
 Rejeice this day O, earth, rejoice ! 
 
 As written in the sacred tome, 
 And published by heraldic voice. 
 
 Redemption to our race has come. 
 
 Though in a stable was his bed. 
 
 His star shone bright as sparkling gem, 
 
 And to his couch the Magi led ; 
 
 Then for our sins thy blood was shed, 
 O, precious babe of Bethlehem ! 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 325 
 
 Those Rebel Flags. 
 
 Give back those rebel flags ? No! no! 
 
 Though greeting with fraternal hand 
 Each one who was the Nation's foe, 
 
 Let them this fact well understand, 
 That, though their crime we now forgive, 
 
 And hail them friends as once of yore, 
 In rnem'rj long their crime will live 
 
 Ere it dies out to come no more. 
 
 Those flags, mementoes of their shame. 
 
 To have them why should they desire ? 
 They can but tarnish their good name. 
 
 And stir again the Nation's ire; 
 When treason stalked with shameless face 
 
 Through all the South, on murder bent, 
 Those flags, the badge of their disgrace. 
 
 To treason inspiration lent. 
 
 The blood of every soldier slain 
 
 In battle for his country's cause — 
 Blood drank by the ensanguined plain — 
 
 Cries from the ground for you to pause. 
 And not insult the honored dead. 
 
 Who gave their lives that we might live- 
 To give us peace who fought and bled. 
 
 And gave their all they had to give. 
 
 Those flags, reminders of a crime 
 That nearly cost the Nation's life, 
 
 Should not be kept for coming time. 
 To tell us of that deadly strife; 
 
3^6 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 No, never give them back their flags, 
 But make of them rebellion's pyre; 
 
 The cursed things tear into rags, 
 And let them be consumed by fire. 
 
 Let not one rebel flag remain, 
 
 'The story of their crime to tell ; 
 From even mention now refrain 
 
 Of crime conceived and born in hell ; 
 From hist'ry's page forever blot 
 
 All record of the bloody scene. 
 That it may sooner be forgot, 
 
 That such a v^ar had ever bieeri. 
 
 The Missionary's Dead Wife in Africa. 
 
 Far from her home her body sleeps — 
 Alone, sleeps in a foreign land. 
 
 Where ev'ry breeze that passes sweeps 
 Upon her grave the desert sand. 
 
 With ardent love for all. mankind, 
 
 She from her pleasant childhood home 
 
 Went out, her inmost soul resigned, 
 To brave whatever fate might come. 
 
 'Mid dangers dire, by land and sea — - . 
 
 The wild beast roaming o'er the plain — 
 All these she faced to help to free - - 
 
 A race who'd long in darkness lain. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 327 
 
 But burning sand and tropic air, 
 
 At last their deadly work had done; 
 'Twas more than such an one could bear, f 
 
 And now her earthly course is run; 
 
 And in that world where all is peace 
 
 Her spirit lives among the blest; 
 Glad from earth's toils to find release, 
 
 And enter into promised rest. 
 
 Then sleep! O, weary body, sleep! 
 
 Till that eventful day shall come. 
 When all who for lost loved ones weep, 
 
 From ev'ry land are gathered home. 
 
 On the Death of President Garfield. 
 
 'Tis done, 'tis done,^ the damning deed, 
 The fiends of hell would blush to own; 
 
 A wretch has done*for office greed, 
 A crime his death can ne'er atone. 
 
 With heart depraved and cunning hate 
 The assassin planned his dev'lish crime; 
 
 And to assure his victim's fate. 
 
 He sought propitious place and time. 
 
328 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And sped the fatal missile forth, 
 That crashing through the Nation's head 
 
 Pierced the great heart of South and North, 
 Till from its every pore it bled. 
 
 If that great soul without complaint. 
 With love to man, with trust in God, 
 
 And resignation of a saint, 
 
 Ne'er murmured at the chast'ning rod. 
 
 What heart so hard save one of stone 
 But would a brother's faults forgive, 
 
 And let our grief all wrongs atone, 
 And make us all like brothers live ? 
 
 'Mid requiems o'er our honored dead. 
 Let strife and malice be forgot. 
 
 And tears baptize his silent bed. 
 
 While angels guai-d the hallowed spot. 
 
 A mother now mourns for her son — 
 A widow drowns her grief in tears, 
 
 An^ all lament our noble one. 
 The Nation's hope for coming years. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 329 
 
 To Mother Eliza Garfield. 
 
 Fond mother, in tears o'er thj loved one that's sleeping, 
 How sweet to thj heart will' the memory be, 
 
 As thou thinkest of him in the midst of thy weeping, 
 How soon his loved visage again thou shalt see. 
 
 Though all is now dark and thy pathway seems dreary, 
 Firm faith will be with thee to solace thy woe — 
 
 Firm faith that in heaven is rest for the weary, 
 Who finish in sorrow their journey below. 
 
 This chast'ning a merciful Father is giving ; 
 
 Though 'tis for the present affliction most sore. 
 Thy soul may find comfort with thoughts that while 
 living 
 
 For mother such filial affection he bore. 
 
 All, all of thy labor shall yet be rewarded, 
 
 Though now it may seem but lost labor of love, 
 
 For all thy brave deeds are in heaven recorded, 
 Awaiting their author in mansions above. 
 
 And among the great heroes of history's pages. 
 
 Thy name shall shine out as the most brilliant star, 
 
 To be sung by the poets of long after ages. 
 With never a blemish its luster to mar. 
 
 With thine, bereaved mother, my prayers shall be 
 blended. 
 For strength in thy grief for the dear absent one. 
 
SS^ AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 Till life's weary journey at last shall be ended, 
 To say not my will, but thine, Father, be done. 
 
 Then dry all thy tears, there's no weeping in heaven; 
 
 Though no more in the flesh that loved son thou shalt 
 see, 
 Hath not a kind Savior the sweet promise given, 
 
 That grief stricken mourners shall comforted be? 
 
 To Mrs. Garfield. 
 
 Sad mourner in thy lonely home, 
 So gloomy now and doubly drear; 
 
 For him who nevermore can come. 
 How oft will fall the silent tear. 
 
 The pleasant haunts of former days — 
 Scenes of domestic happiness. 
 
 Where each enjoyed in quiet ways. 
 The purest of connubial bliss; 
 
 A home of peace without alloy. 
 
 Now turned a baren dreary waste. 
 That brings the stricken heart no joy. 
 
 Nor of its pristine sweets a taste. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS, 33I 
 
 Though angels look in pitj down, 
 
 And tears of sympathy like rain 
 May fall the martyr's fame to crown, 
 
 They may not bring him back again. 
 
 But trust thy God, whose tender care 
 Notes e'en the sparrows when they fall, 
 
 And thou shall still His blessings share, 
 While waiting for the final call 
 
 To thy last, peaceful, final sleep, 
 
 Where all earth's sorrows are forgot— 
 
 Whence no one ever comes to weep. 
 And bathe with tears the hallowed spot, 
 
 Where sleep our loved ones gone before 
 
 To where the weary are at rest. 
 Safe landed on that shining shore, 
 
 The final home of all the blest. 
 
 Then, mourner, dry those bitter tears. 
 Nor grieve that one so good has gone; 
 
 A few more cycles of the years. 
 And thou shalt join, the absent one 
 
 In union that shall never end, 
 
 In heaven, the christian's blissful home, 
 
 Where Christ will be a bosom friend. 
 And tears and parting never come. 
 
33* AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Grave of the Gambler of the Sierras. 
 
 In a lone, dreary canyon, 
 'Neath the pure virgin snow, 
 
 Lies the body of the gambler, 
 Where the sage bushes grow. 
 
 His last pack is shuffled, 
 And his last card is played. 
 
 But a new game awaits him, 
 In the grave where he's laid. 
 
 For the carrion-crows are waiting 
 For the spring to melt the snow. 
 
 When they can glut their appetites 
 On the form that lies below. 
 
 Detested by the miners—^ 
 
 And an outcast, friendless man — 
 The terros of his comrades, 
 
 For the reckless course he ran. 
 
 He'd lived till he no longer 
 Could sponge a place to lie, 
 
 Or food to sate his hunger — 
 What could he do but die ? 
 
 His name upon the duce of clubs 
 He'd writ' in letters plain. 
 
 And pinned it with his Bowie-knife 
 Where it could be seen again; 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. JJJ 
 
 And 'neath his name was written this, 
 
 " Having shuffled his last deck, 
 The scourge of the Sierras 
 
 Has handed in his check." 
 
 And thus at last had past away 
 
 Some mother's idol son ; 
 'Twas the last game the gambler played, 
 
 And death the game had won. 
 
 The Maiden's Dilemma. 
 
 " I can't decide, I can't decide," 
 
 "Betwixt my suitors two;" 
 " I'm so perplexed and teased and tried," 
 
 " I know not what to do." 
 
 There 's Jones, an old and stupid bore, 
 
 Who does the best he can, 
 ( For one whose age is past three score ), 
 
 To ape the youthful man ; 
 
 But talks of love in stilted tones. 
 
 That chill my very heart ; 
 Besides, I hate the name of "Jones," 
 
 And all his boorish arts. 
 
334 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 And then he's so extremely fond-r- 
 
 So honeyed his caress, 
 No maiden's heart could e'er respond 
 
 To such insipidness. 
 
 Young Elbert is just twenty-one, 
 
 Of tall and perfect frame; 
 A farmer's poor, hard-working son, 
 
 But quite unknown to fame. 
 
 His handsome face and manly air 
 Command my warmest love; 
 
 I long with him life's sweets to share, 
 A bliss next that above. 
 
 I '11 own he is my heart's desire — 
 
 My beau ideal man- 
 That can my soul's devotion fire 
 
 As not one other can. 
 
 Yes, Elbert is just twenty-one, 
 While Jones is sixty-three; 
 
 With some that would suffice alone, 
 But 'tis not so with me. 
 
 "'Tis three to one in point of age," 
 
 "And that's a difference wide," 
 "But hear me through, and I'll engage," 
 * "You '11 say I can't decide." 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 33c; 
 
 Though one has youth and manhood both, 
 
 He's poor in point of gold ; 
 So I to Jones will plight my troth, 
 
 Though he is lame and old ; 
 
 For he has wealth laid up in store, 
 
 The hoarding of his life; 
 A million, or, perhaps, 'tis more, 
 
 To spend upon a wife. 
 
 So now 'tis done — my fate is sealed 
 
 For lifetime, weal or woe; 
 To love's behest I will not yield, 
 
 It's bliss I now forego.. 
 
 Farewell to cottage life and love ! 
 
 No more I'll sigh for you; 
 Henceforth shallgold my idol prove, 
 
 So love a last adieu. 
 
 And if in after coming years 
 
 It prove my great mistake, 
 I'll brave it all, and drown in tears • 
 
 My grief for Mammon's sake. 
 
336 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 The Deserted Bride. 
 
 She sat by the window in sadness and sighing, 
 Concealing the load on her grief- burdened heart; 
 
 Her new bridal bonnet beside her was lying, 
 As lonely she sat from all others apart. 
 
 A sylph-like, diminutive, sweet little creature, 
 
 With eyes dark as midnight and raven-hued hair; 
 
 A Grecian complete, both in form and in feature, 
 Her look was the picture of utmost despair. 
 
 She peered through the glass, with her eyes red with 
 weeping. 
 
 And eagerly scanned every face in the throng. 
 While herself she was asking, '' What can it be keeping 
 
 The loved one I trusted thus from me so long .'' " 
 
 What could be the source of such heart-sick'ning anguish 
 That crushed all the hopes of that lovely young wife, 
 
 And left her heart-broken to wither and languish, 
 In cruel suspense for the rest of her life ? 
 
 'Twas this; but a week since he vowed at the altar. 
 To love and protect her so long as they'd live; 
 
 Then so soon in his promised affection to falter, 
 Such perfidy could even woman forgive ? 
 
 "O, could I but see him one minute!" she muttered, 
 "To learn what it is that between us has come; 
 
 If 'tis that a word that's unkind I have uttered, 
 I'd then be resigned to this soul-blighting doom. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 337 
 
 With his kiss on mj lips on one evening he left me 
 To wonder and wish, and await his return; 
 
 And thus of all happiness earthly bereft me, 
 In doubt and in silence his absence to mourn ! " 
 
 The result of their meeting I well can conjecture. 
 For, just woman- like, when the trial shall come, 
 
 If he will half promise to love and protect her, 
 Forgiving him all, she will welcome him home. 
 
 God is Everywhere. 
 
 I see a God in everything — 
 
 In every place I chance to be — 
 
 In opening buds and flowers of spring- 
 If I'm on land or 'sail the sea — 
 
 In all that live on earth, in air, 
 
 A God is seen — seen everywhere. 
 
 Sun, moon and stars declare his skill, 
 As in their places they appear ; 
 
 Submissive to His sovereign will. 
 Not failing once from year to year. 
 
 They all His sure, fixed laws obey, 
 
 In darkest night or brightest day, 
 
 When I behold these works sublime, 
 The product of His mighty hand. 
 That do His bidding through all time, 
 22 — P. 
 
33^ AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS.. 
 
 Obedient to His own command, 
 I ask, O God, what 's man that Thou 
 Shouldst be so mindful of him now ? 
 
 So small a speck, O God, am I 
 Of all the creatures of Thy care, 
 
 What wonder if I query why 
 
 Of all Thy blessings I should share; 
 
 The answer comes, " if great or small, 
 
 God's watchful care is over all." 
 
 Met After Fifty Years. 
 
 So indeed this is Julia, the Julia I loved. 
 
 When we were both young in the long, long ago; 
 
 How faithful our vows to each other have proved. 
 Except our own hearts, never mortal may know. 
 
 She then was my Julia, with dark glossy hair, 
 
 And brow white as marble, and liquid brown eyes, 
 
 In the long-vanished years that I used to compare 
 To the bright twinkling stars in the soft summer skies. 
 
 And a mouth set with teeth that were whiter than pearls, 
 Enclosed by such pouting and ruby-red lips — 
 
 A mouth for an houri of paradise worlds, 
 More tempting than nectar that Jupiter sips. 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 339 
 
 Then her cheeks were Hke roses in settings of snow, 
 With down of ripe peaches to add to their grace; 
 
 To print a warm kiss there could mortal forego, 
 As enchanted he gazed on that love-lighted face ? 
 
 Her form was perfection no sculptor could mould — 
 A bosom where nature exhausted her skill ; 
 
 A being forever a joy to behold, 
 
 A beauty that led her slaves captive at will. 
 
 But time, unrelenting, such sad change had made — 
 His work as a spoiler so thoroughly proved, 
 
 With the charms of my idol such havoc had played, 
 I wondered that ever such creature I'd loved. 
 
 Then I thought, as I gazed on that time-battered wreck. 
 With a face bronzed and shrunken and silver-white 
 hair, 
 
 And wrinkles close grouped on the once queenly neck, 
 Could such a sad visage have ever been fair ! 
 
 Though the casket was shattered, far gone in decay, 
 Its beauty all vanished, no more to be seen, 
 
 The jewel I found sparkling bright as that day. 
 
 Which set me to thinking of what might have been. 
 
 Then she spoke and all tho't of the wrinkles was gone. 
 
 Her voice like sweet music fell soft on my ear ; 
 
 The same witching smile in its sweetness still shone, 
 
 • As in years long ago when I called her my dear. 
 
340 AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 
 
 March. 
 
 March is coming, blust'rifig, blowing, 
 
 Always making such a din, 
 
 While the air feels crisp and thin ; 
 
 Deceitful month of all the year. 
 
 Ever changing while yovi're here; 
 
 Fickle whims of weather showing, 
 
 What to look for there 's no knowing, 
 
 Making all look cold and drear, 
 
 Just as you have always been. 
 
 Little thanks to you we'i*e owing. 
 
 Now you make us think it's going 
 
 To be pleasant, clear and warm, 
 
 When succeeding some fine morning 
 
 Come murky clouds that give us warning 
 
 Of a coming winter storm ; 
 
 Next the snow, like feathers flying, 
 
 Fills the crisp and chilly air, 
 
 Whirling here and drifting there. 
 
 In our faces — everywhere. 
 
 All pretense of spring belying, 
 
 When for comfort we are trying. 
 
 All our efforts still defying. 
 
 Till it makes the wicked swear. 
 
 Winter in your lap is sitting, 
 
 While the days are by us flitting, 
 
 And we're longing for the spring. 
 
 That should be so warm and pleasant, 
 
 But your storms are more benefitting 
 
AMUSEMENT OF IDLE HOURS. 34I 
 
 Winter days than yours at present, 
 While you to winter habits cHng ; 
 But we can't blame you altagether, 
 For this ever changing weather; 
 Since you must be the go-between 
 Of the spring and winter season, 
 It would seem sufficient reason 
 Why you can not be serene, 
 But your storms will soon be over, 
 And we'll have warm April sun; 
 Then will growing wheat and clover 
 Hide the mischief you have done. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 My Portrait 5 
 
 Preface 7 
 
 The Flight of Time 9 
 
 Come, Gentle Spring 13 
 
 My Mind 14 
 
 Niagara 15 
 
 Seig, the Hero Engineer 16 
 
 Words 18 
 
 The Old Man's Address to his Old Wife 19 
 
 The Devil on the Steps of a Fashionable Church . . 20 
 
 My Last Request 22 
 
 The Bereaved Husband 23 
 
 Longfellow 25 
 
 A Winter Night's Reverie 26 
 
 On the Death of J. D. Nolin 27 
 
 The Prayer of My Declining Years 28 
 
 Song of the Tippecanoe Club 29 
 
 To my Mother, who died June 8, 1834 .... 31 
 
 Our Native Girls 32 
 
 What's the Use. 33 
 
 Young Man, keep your Record Clean 35 
 
 A Thanksgiving Hymn 36 
 
 The Final Qiiarrel 37 
 
11. INDEX. 
 
 Have Mercy 38 
 
 The Flood-suffering Mother 39 
 
 It always Pays Best at Last, Girls 42 
 
 The Occasion brings forth the Man 44 
 
 The Evict's Farew^ell to Erin : 45 
 
 My First Day at School— A True Story 46 
 
 On the Death of Mrs. Utter 49 
 
 The Future Life 50 
 
 Youth's Delusive Dream 52 
 
 Address to the Skull of a Prehistoric Man 53 
 
 To my Wife 57 
 
 Our two Angels 59 
 
 To Doctor Waterman 61 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. Landers 62 
 
 Destruction of Carthage 63 
 
 Winter 65 
 
 Fall Signs 67 
 
 The Dying Soldier on the Battlefield 69 
 
 The Drunkard's Wife , 71 
 
 The Bereaved Wife 72 
 
 Hobbies of the Hour 74 
 
 Welcome to the Robbins ... 75 
 
 Earthquake at Calabria, Italy 77 
 
 Address to the English Sparrows 79 
 
 The Slave's Lament 80 
 
 To 84 
 
 The Evening Gun 85 
 
 The Song of War 86 
 
 Scene in Indianapolis during the Rebellion , . 88 
 
 October 90 
 
 Musings of an Invalid 91 
 
INDEX. in. 
 
 They're Waiting 92 
 
 The Wife's Lament over her Dead Husband 93 
 
 My Heart 94 
 
 The Invahd's Farewell to Los Angeles 96 
 
 Indianapolis 97 
 
 The Sad Parting 98 
 
 General Hancock Dead 98 
 
 The Fatal Kiss 100 
 
 Nearing the Close 200 
 
 I'm Sixty To-day 102 
 
 November 103 
 
 Ode to California loc 
 
 Yockup's Troubles in America 107 
 
 An Acrostic 108 
 
 Uncertainty 109 
 
 The Poet's Address to his Wife 1 1 1 
 
 Why ? 112 
 
 Farewell to my Childhood Home 1 13 
 
 Farewell' to Summer 114 
 
 Deal gently with the Erring • 115 
 
 Latter Day Prophets 117 
 
 Governor Walker's descent on Lawrence, Kansas 118 
 The Loafer's Lament over the Close of the Cam- 
 paign 119 
 
 The Husband's Address to his Dying Wife 121 
 
 Closing of the Legislature, in 1887 122 
 
 Don't Worry or Fret 123 
 
 The Brevity of Human Life 124 
 
 Life ; 125 
 
 Autumn Leaves 1 26 
 
 The Choice of Hearts 128 
 
IV. INDEX. 
 
 To Streaks of Gray in a Young Lady's Hair. ... 131 
 
 On the Death of Henry Major 132 
 
 Autumn 133 
 
 Impromptu to I. G. C 135 
 
 My Neighbors next Door . : 136 
 
 The November Snow Storm 138 
 
 One by one 139 
 
 Musings of Idle Hours 140 
 
 The Better World 141 
 
 The Good Old Days of Yore 145 
 
 Heedlessness 244 
 
 Thoughts on our Dead Volunteers. 145 
 
 The Coasters 147 
 
 Written in an Album 149 
 
 In Memory of Thomas Lockhart 140 
 
 The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing 142 
 
 Vanity, Vanity, all is Vanity. , 154 
 
 Home I r6 
 
 The Boys that are Needed ' . . . 157 
 
 This Life is but a Shadow 1 159 
 
 Blighted Lives 160 
 
 He is Fallen 162 
 
 The Last Parting. . . '. .... 163 
 
 Childhood Days , . 165 
 
 Is Life worth Living 166 
 
 Song of the Volunteers 168 
 
 On the Death of Gilbert Haines 170 
 
 Haul down that Flag 172 
 
 Evening in Jerusalem after the Crusifixion 173 
 
 The Time to Weep j 7 r 
 
 Lines Written in an Album 176 
 
INDEX. V. 
 
 Phantasmagoria • ^77 
 
 The Maiden's Beau-Ideal 17S 
 
 A Dream iSo 
 
 Hard Times, and Why iSi 
 
 On the Death of a Little Girl 184 
 
 The Stream of Human Life 186 
 
 Ode to Friendship 187 
 
 The Tippecanoe Club 188 
 
 To a Little Girl 190 
 
 The Bereaved Parents ^9^ 
 
 A Parody 192 
 
 It Pays Best in the End, Boys. i93 
 
 To My Wife i94 
 
 The Oil Spot • i95 
 
 A Phantom all a Phantasy. ^97 
 
 The Voyage of Life No. 2 200 
 
 To Miss A. D. U 201 
 
 Carlotta's Complaint • 203 
 
 Death 205 
 
 Nobody's Child 206 
 
 To a Poetess ■ • 207 
 
 The Bereaved Mother's Refrain 208 
 
 Be content with thy Lot 209 
 
 An Affecting Scene 211 
 
 Woman 212 
 
 The Last Man 214 
 
 Retrospection 216 
 
 Boston's Humiliation 218 
 
 I'm Growing Old 219 
 
 Kathleen's Refrain 220 
 
 O, Where is the Girl of the long, lotig ago ? 222 
 
VI. INDEX. 
 
 # 
 
 The Cyclone. — A Parody 224 
 
 The Dude 225 
 
 A Hymn to Deity 228 
 
 Who is My Friend , . . 229 
 
 For What are We Thankful ? 231 
 
 The Plea of the Street Arab 232 
 
 The Lover's Rebuff 234 
 
 A Metrical Evening Prayer 235 
 
 The two Busy B's 236 
 
 On the Death of Riley Foster 237 
 
 The Fate of Man 238 
 
 While Jamie's Awa . . , 240 
 
 Our Natal Day 241 
 
 Christmas 24c 
 
 On the Death of General Grant 245, 
 
 Death vs. Life 247 
 
 The Voyage of Life ^ 249 
 
 Melancholy ' 251 
 
 Lament of the Russian Exile in Siberia 252 
 
 Hobbies 2 154 
 
 Lost Child 255 
 
 Address to England after the Fall of Kahrtoum. . 256 
 
 June 258 
 
 Life's Changes 260 
 
 The Close of Life 262 
 
 To an Editor 263 
 
 The July Thunder Storm 264 
 
 Elysium 265 
 
 Where shall We be .^ 267 
 
 Tired. 268 
 
 The Exile to his Betrothed 269 
 
INDEX. Vll. 
 
 A Hundred Years from Now 270 
 
 Her Final Resolve '. 273 
 
 Rally Again 273 
 
 May . 274 
 
 The Star Spangled Banner of 1884-5 .....; 276 
 
 Constancy. To — ■ 277 
 
 A Phantom all a Phantasy 279 
 
 The New Year 282 
 
 Platonic Love 283 
 
 To a Meadow Lark ^ ■. 285 
 
 On the Death of William Keay 2S6 
 
 On the Death of Julia Johnson Butterfield 287 
 
 The Dreamer 289 
 
 The Joys and Sorrows of Human Life 290 
 
 Woman's Love 292 
 
 The Infidel's Soliloquy 293 
 
 The Physician's Burden 296 
 
 On Returning a Disappointing Book of Poems. . . 297 
 
 The Long Ago 298 
 
 Decoration Day 300 
 
 The River of Death 302 
 
 Terrestrial Mutability 303 
 
 The Life We Live 304 
 
 The River of Life 305 
 
 The Hot Sunday — July 17, 1887 307 
 
 El Mahdi 308 
 
 Written on the Sand 310 
 
 Our Native Girls ti2 
 
 Mistaken o ^ t 
 
 Death of the Old Wife 315 
 
 The Closing Year 318 
 
Vni. INDEX. 
 
 Mystery ! Mystery ! All is Mystery !...:...: 320 
 
 Condemned to Death 322 
 
 A Christmas Carol 324 
 
 The Rebel Flags 32 15 
 
 The Missionary's Dead Wife in Africa 326 
 
 On the Death of President Garfield 327 
 
 To Mother Eliza Garfield 329 
 
 To Mrs. Garfield 330 
 
 The Grave of the Gambler of the Sierras 332 
 
 The Maiden's Dilemma 333 
 
 The Deserted Bride 336 
 
 God is Everywhere 337 
 
 Met After Fifty Years \. 338 
 
 March ^aq 
 
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