LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf .:.-*5>S2. i UNITED STAGES OF AMERICA. SHIRLEY EVERYDAY RHYMES MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY AUTHOR OF "A BOOK OF POEMS," ETC., ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY WILBUR LEIGHTON DUNTLEY He who wanders widest lifts No more of beauty's jealous veil Than he who from his doorway sees The miracle of flowers and trees I Whittier *r^X MANCHESTER, N. H. : Printed by The John B. Clarke Co. 1802 6** COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY. PROEM. FOR those who come to nature's shrine, And worship all that is divine In books and places and in men, I bring the fruitage of my pen. For lovers who are blithe and gay, For those whom love has never met, I bring my treasures, hoping they May some day fall in Cupid's net. For those by grief and sorrow tried, For those who, single-handed, fight Against the wrong, whate'er betide, And lose their all or gain the right ; For those who labor, those whom fate Has placed in hovel or in hall, I twine the laurel. Love or hate My verses, now beyond recall. MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY. Goffstown, N. H., April 2, 1892. CONTENTS. At Love's Door . A Song of Home When he went to Bow Social Politics . Spoonhanch Dead at the Ball The Family Clock Betty Spear Stars William E. Russell . Our Groceryman Lake Winnipesaukee . The Country Prayer-Meeting To Allen Eastman Cross . Original Hymn . As True as Truth Joe English The Devil's Account Defeat-Victory . Ella Wheeler Wilcox Through the Crawford Notch Not a Leap-Year Girl To My Artist The Highest Heights At Milking Time Page. 13 14 15 16 17 19 20 22 23 24 24 26 27 29 30 31 3 1 32 33 34 35 35 36 3.6 37 8 CONTENTS. When his Whiskers Grow 38 TO THE PlSCATAQUOG 39 When Winter Comes . . . 41 Pride 42 Bishop Bradley 42 to the goffstown poet 43 To "A Woman" 44 Roses Red 45 To J. E. O. . . . , 46 An Allegory . • 46 Our Flag 47 My Love, My Own . . 49 Who is Who and Which is Which 50 Recognition 51 Brakes 51 Lines on Receiving Some Flowers -53 On the Death of a Young Man 54 A New Idea 55 To a Bumblebee . .56 When I am Gone 57 Your Soul 58 The Bravest of the Brave 58 Maiden's Love Song -59 Monuments . 59 Lines to a Portrait . 60 An Apple Tree in Blossom .61 They are Strangers Now 61 Down at Amoskeag 62 Morning Mist 64 Talmage 64 Uncle Ben to the Minister 65 James Whitcomb Riley 67 Little Sister 69 The Moosewood is in Blow 70 Lines on a Visit to Yacum Springs 71 The Woman of the Past 72 CONTENTS. 9 The Woman of the Present 75 The Woman of the Future 74 A Grove of Pines . . -77 The Evening Train 78 At School 79 At Set of Sun 80 Better 81 Bessie 82 Worshipers 83 Again in Spring . . 84 A City Boarder 86 The World Moves on 87 White Clover 88 To Death 88 Repentance 89 Before She Thought 89 He is my Friend . . .90 Bad Company 91 One of the Boys 92 Long, Long Ago 93 I saw her Face -93 Surrender 94 The Leaves Are Falling Down 94 A Question 95 Take Your Choice 96 The Crimson Stain 96 A Good Name 97 For You and Me 98 Released 100 Over the Line 101 Eloped-Telescoped 101 We're Drawing Near 102 The Heart's Ideal . . . .... . . . 102 Your Sweetheart 103 Thy Way is Best 103 I Love the Woods 105 io CONTENTS. Who Braves Defeat 107 A Knownothing 107 Goldsmith 108 Reclaimed 108 When Love is Told . . 109 Afar 1 . . .110 Majory Jasper . no The Boys in At the Langmaid Monument 113 Stabbed . . 114 He Pays the Price 114 Stranded 115 Opportunity 115 The Girl I Didn't Kiss 116 Riches .117 Recompense 118 What Have You Done \ .119 Yaller Weed . . . . . . . . . .120 Forgive Me 121 Love 122 Ocean Shells 122 The Village Post-Office 123 Maskers . . .125 Keep Your Pot A-Bilin' 126 Uncle William . .127 Modesty 128 The Time Will Come . . 129 Only a Little While .130 Poetry 132 Trabblin' on to Glory 133 Unto the End 134 She is not Here 135 To Him Who Waits . . 136 The Pure in Heart 137 Life is too Short 138 Now or Never 139 CONTENTS. ii To a School Girl 141 The Farmhouse 'neath the Hill 142 Before I Go • 143 The Poet's Life .... • 144 The King's Daughters 145 Life and Love . 146 On Receiving a Blue Ribbon . 147 The Girl I Used to Know . 148 The Old Tavern 149 Willing to Try .... 151 We 'll Know Sometime • 151 Walt Whitman .... 153 The Man with the Overalls . • 153 Hannah Dustin 155 An Easter Song . . 155 Boxed 156 Love and Lightning . 157 To a Friend .... 158 Never Again .... 158 To a Young Poet 159 As We Look Back *59 AT LOVE'S DOOR. AT the door of Love I stood with bated breath, A great strong passion flooding all my soul ; I fancied I could almost cope with death ; Should I meet love I never would grow old. Within my mind were countless visions fair, Visions that school girls love to dwell upon ; I felt the kisses of the balmy air, And saw the pearly dewdrops on the lawn. I thought that life would be an endless dream ; I builded castles while I rang the bell. Ah ! what is life that we must always scheme ? Ah ! what is love that we so often tell ? And as I waited, anxious for a sign, The door was opened and I saw a grin Upon the butler's face as he saw mine. I asked for Love, he said Love was n't in. 14 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. A SONG OF HOME. T SING of my home in the valley, 1 Under the mountain high, Where the winds of winter rally, And the birds of summer fly. I sing of the maple olden, That grows near the roadside gray, With many a memory golden, : Hidden from men away. I sing of the pleasant landscape, The shadowy grove of pines, That encircles the ancient farmhouse, Singing their somber rhymes. I sing of my kindred living, Of my kindred gone before, Of the dear ones all forgiving Who have crossed the threshold o'er. I sing of my sister in heaven, Too gentle to linger here, Whose memory we have striven To keep sweeter year by year. I sing of the ties that bind me To that rural dwelling place, Of the past I 've left behind me, Of the future I must face. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. I sing of the thorns and roses, Among them all must tread, And before this brief life closes, Our hearts with grief may wed. I sing of my home in the valley, Under the mountain's crest, Where the winds of winter rally, And the birds of summer nest. WHEN HE WENT TO BOW. I REMEMBER Uncle Ezra, Who departed long ago, How he used to tell the children Of the sights he " see " in Bow. That was when he was a youngster, In his springtime's rosy glow, When he took his famous journey To the neighborhood of Bow. But he never could get over What he " see " and what he " heerd, Though the frosts of sixty winters Clung about his whitening beard. And. whoever told a story, Uncle Ezra wasn't slow To offset it by another Some one told him up in Bow. 1 6 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. I have heard the good soul tarried But a day and but a night, Then came back and never ventured From old Durham in his life. Strange he never longed for Boston, Or the ocean's ebb and flow. He was happy and contented, Telling what he " see " in Bow. Many years have circled 'round me, Since I used to hear him tell Of his wondrous trip and stories, On them all he loved to dwell. Still I think there 's many living Who believe they 've seen and know Everything, like Uncle Ezra, When they 've been to Bow. SOCIAL POLITICS. a T'M for reciprocity," he said, 1 And asked her for a kiss. 'Twas granted, and his soul was filled With Eden's vanished bliss. "You're for reciprocity," she smiled And nearer to him sat, " What would you do if you beheld A wicked Democrat?" SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 17 SPOONHANCH. IT'S blowin' out again, I see, Up there on the sidehill, An' in the parster down below ; It 's pesky hard to kill. You may dig it up and burn around The roots, but sakes alive ! It beats the deuce how that 'ere stuff Is bound to grow and thrive. When it is cut and seasoned well It makes a stiddy fire, But the man who puts it into wood Is worthy of his hire. It 's crookeder than all get out And hard as lignvidy. Though what I write is gospel truth, Some wimen folks will chide me, Who rave about its varied charms, And call it mountain laurel, When 'round the farm it 's rated 'bout Like yellowweed and sorrel. But after it gets blowin' out I must confess it 's pooty, Considerin' it 's a pizen bush, An' most amazin' rooty. 1 8 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. It 's blossoms they air pink and white, Just like the young gals' faces. A bunch of it will not look bad Stuck in your parlor vases. You may call it laurel if you like, It won't disturb my rest, For the old-fashioned name it bears, I 've alius liked the best. And when the woods are full of birds, And it is time to hoe, I know when I look on the hills The spoonhanch is in blow. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 19 DEAD AT THE BALL. [During a society ball in a western city, when the excitement was at its height, a young lady, apparently in the best of health, suddenly reeled and fell among the dancers. At first it was thought she had only fainted, but when her friends hastened to her side, she was dead.] DEAD at the ball, in youth's triumphant sway, The flush of health o'erspreading cheeks and brow, The future gleaming like a golden prow — Dead at the ball. Dead at the ball, in all her woman's pride; Her starry eyes, her soft, abundant hair; Struck down in death amid the young and fair — Dead at the ball. Dead at the ball, in life's transcendent spring, When tides of hope and love and joy ran high ; How sad to think that one like her must die ! Dead at the ball. Dead at the ball, her restless feet are still ; Her eyelids closed, her hands upon her breast, The record sealed, a mockery, a jest, — Dead at the ball. Dead at the ball — the giddy dance of death We may be dancing in life's banquet hall ; Fast beats the heart and slower comes the breath ; Dead at the ball. 20 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. THE FAMILY CLOCK. IT has stood on the shelf this many a year. Ticking the time away, In the humble home where I was born In the flowery month of May. It has stood like a faithful monitor Of family joys and cares. Like the timepiece known in deathless song, "The old clock on the stairs." It has witnessed scenes of joy and mirth Around the festive board, When the deepening shadows fell around, And the winds of winter roared. But under the glow of the evening lamp, Warm hearts beat glad and free, With never a thought of grief to come, Under the old roof tree. It holds more secrets than I can guess, Or ever can hope to pen, As it measures time with its friendly hands, Over and over -again ; As it ticks away in its sheltered nook, With the same untroubled face, One hasn't the heart to spy around, And the vanished past retrace. What the future may have in store for us . The family clock may know ; SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 2T Let us hope for the best as we used to do In our dreams of long ago, When our friend on the shelf dealt out the hours Of childhood rare and sweet, And the smiling earth looked beautiful In her bridal robes complete. It is only a common thing I know, Yet to me it is more dear Than the famous clock in Strasburg town, That is noted far and near. Though friends have met and friends have gone From my humble home to-day, The family clock still holds its own, Ticking the time away. 22 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. BETTY SPEAR. IN a little house she lived, Long ago ; And I 've heard it said She never had a foe. She was always very kind Unto all. And she never robbed poor Peter To pay Paul. I 've heard no beggar ever Passed her door, Hungry, but he thanked her 'er and o 'er. She was busy at her wheel ; How she spun For the neighbors ! Seems to me 1 hear it hum, As it did in other days That have fled. Pleasant is the memory still Of the dead. Seems to me I see her now, As she stood, With a kerchief o 'er her head, Wise and good ; SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 23 Or, with knitting, see her busy Sitting there, As she used to many times, In this chair. Here 's the Bible, old and worn, That she used, Showing oft the holy book She perused. Old-fashioned ? That is true Nowadays ; Many lessons we can borrow From her ways. And I think among the saints Who 've striven here, We shall sometime meet in heaven Betty Spear. STARS. WE all are stars, like those above us nights ; Some gleam and twinkle with unsteady ray While some shine on with constancy alway, And others are but passing aerolites. 24 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. WILLIAM E. RUSSELL. ONE of the leaders. Thou art fortified By truth and valor. Youth and hope are thine And duty nobly done the countersign. Where'er thou art, whenever thou art tried, Thou hast been true to life's divinest aims ; Standing for all that men esteem most dear, Reproachless and incapable of fear. When Justice calls thee pleading for her claims, Thou art a leader worthy of the name, As chivalrous as the chivalrous of old, Undaunted by defeat, unmoved by gold, Who sought the heights that conquerors attain. Thus I salute thee, reading on thy scroll The secret of thy knighthood and thy fame. OUR GROCERYMAN. EVER heard of Charley Parker, him who keeps the gro- cery store Where you see the shinin' letters Parker Brothers o'er the door ? Well, he 's the nicest fellow that we know for miles around, And we don't believe his equal in a hurry could be found. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 25 It 's goin' on twelve years or more since we fust with him met; Then he was postmaster in G , a good one too, you bet, Jist as perlite and sociable, an' alius tried to please, No matter if we called for stamps or calico or cheese. In all our dickerin's with him he has been fair and straight. He 's alius give good measure and he's alius give good weight, And we find he *s just the same to-day as what he used to be, A man with hosts an' hosts of friends an' not an enemy. One year the people 'lected him to represent the town Up to the legislatur', and he did the business brown; He did n't feel above the folks he used to know afore, As many are inclined to do who get a chance to soar. He 's alius been obligin', and used us like a friend, And we believe he will be the same unto the end ; An' while we live if news should come to us that he is dead, We think we would break down and cry, just like a girl unwed. And when we leave this world of care, its surTerin' an' its sin, We hope sometime that we shall meet our groceryman agin, And hear the white-winged angels sing up in the courts above, Where there will be no grief nor pain, but nothin' only love. 26 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. WELL did the Indians name thee, when of old They came across thy bosom's wide expanse, " The smile of the great spirit." In a glance They saw thy beauty marvelous unroll. They stood beside thee when the rosy light Of morning threw its beams across thy breast, And saw the day god drive far down the west His fiery coursers into clouds at night. Where once they stood I view the wide expanse Of shining water rippling to the shore. I see the islands and in peace adore All of the beauty that my soul enchants, Where fancy's wings are ever free to soar, As o'er the waves the sparkling sunbeams dance. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 27 THE COUNTRY PRAYER-MEETING. THEY have one at the schoolhouse Every Sunday when it 's fair, And I tell you it 's consolin' Jist to spend an hour there. Where neighbors meet to worship Without no style or show, And no one feels above you, There 's where I like to go. They have a little organ That plays the sweetest tunes ; O, how I love to hear it Playin' Sunday afternoons ! An' sometimes when I hear it I sit with dreamy eyes, Fer it kinder hints o' heaven, An' the joys of paradise. I love to hear 'em singin' The old hymns an' the new, It alius seems refreshin' And it kinder softens you. 9 I like to hear the children A jinin' with the rest, Theif voices sweet an' tender, I think I like the best. 28 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. Then there 's the Gospel readin', An' the simple, honest prayers, That exhort us to be godly, An keep out o' evil snares. There we learn about the wisdom Of the Father and the Son, An' how some day we '11 meet them, When our work on earth is done. We learn about the city That's paved with shinin' gold, Where we shall live forever, When we get into the fold ; Where there will be no sorrow. No sufTerin' or care, An' if we do our duty We will meet together there. If we do our duty bravely, With the angels we shall shout, When our earthly race is ended, And the last prayer-meetin's out. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 29 TO ALLEN EASTMAN CROSS. [On seeing portrait and reading poetry in Magazine of Poetry.] A CHAMPION of the good and pure and true, I see as I behold your likeness here, A follower of the art that we revere, A gatherer of heartsease and of rue, I read your verses with deep interest through ; A poet's soul is speaking in each line, Fervid with fancies, reverent, benign, A sympathy for e'en the homeless Jew, I find therein a sympathy like dew That falls alike on weed and bloom and vine. Your heart's ideal, may it soar and climb To loftier heights, that in the coming* time You may look out upon a wider view, Knowing at last what fame indeed is thine. 30 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES, ORIGINAL HYMN. [Written for the dedication of the Congregational church in Goffstown, N. H., Feb. ii, 1891.] WITHIN this holy dwelling We meet with glad surprise, And find a realm of beauty Is spread before our eyes. We hear the organ pealing * A welcoming refrain, Hosanna to the Father ! Accept it in His name. Accept the window gleaming With riches manifold, The sower and the harvest, Blest parable of old ; Accept the window bearing The ensign of a dove, The Holy Ghost descending Upon us from above. With grateful hearts o'errlowing We dedicate to Thee Our church to-day, O Father. Forever may we be Thy children ; let us worship Together till we die, Then take us to Thy kingdom Eternal in the sky. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 31 AS TRUE AS TRUTH. AS true as truth I would that thou might be, Dear lovers whispering of your plighted tryst, Though unto me love is a dream, a mist, That overshadows an unsounded sea. As true as truth I would that thou might be, O man, O woman, who would be my friend, As true as truth unto the very end, When nothing lingers but my memory. JOE ENGLISH. HISTORIC hill, precipitous and«steep Beyond the Uncanoonucs' rugged forms, Ye have, like them, defied the roughest storms That could be driven with relentless sweep. Historic hill ! where the brave Indian came, Joe English, followed by his dusky foes One autumn night. You know the fate of those Who fell, and why the summit bears his name. At last a martyr, the brave warrior's fame Will rest secure as does his monument ; Unlettered, reaching to the firmament. Others may fall but his will still remain Through changing years of glory and of shame, Ages and ages after this is spent. 32 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. THE DEVIL'S ACCOUNT. THE devil sat at his desk one day Looking his records o'er, And posting his books in a business way, As he often had done before. " You 'd be surprised," said the evil man, " If you knew who dealt with me. And the business I do inside of a year Would astonish you all to see. " Here is a record I 've just begun With a portly millionaire ; And here is one with a giddy maid Who rooms across the square. " Here is another with Amos Jones, On page one hundred and five. But he 's an old sinner," the devil said, " And the meanest man alive. •'' In his younger days he ruined two Of the nicest girls in town, And has always tried to uphold himself By pulling his neighbor down. " Here is a record of Polly Smith," And he reached for ledger K, " Several charges for scandal bred In the town of Attelway. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 33 " Here are a number I see are paid," And the devil crossed them out. " I must send to each of them a receipt, For they 're gone on a different route. " Here are a number of standing debts, That in order to get what 's due, I 'm some afraid," the devil said, "That each party I '11 have to sue. " Here are some mortgages I have held Too long," and the devil rose, And rung up his agents all around, And ordered them to foreclose. DEFEAT — VICTORY. DO not despair if vanquished in the fight, When you have fought the battle valiantly, Contending for the cause of truth and right. Defeat? Ah no ! I call it victory. Cheers rend the air and banners o'er us wave When we have conquered and our foes retreat, But often, when the spoils are gathered in, Our victory is bitterest defeat. 34 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. SWEET poetess, whose name is on the lips Of many thousands, thou whose thrilling words Have roused them like the songs of waking birds, When fair Aurora, golden-girdled, trips Across the land, when clover fields are red And full of bees, all laden with perlume, The earth a bride, the time — in June, When sweetest thoughts and loveliest visions wed, Sweet poetess, whose songs are blithe or sad, As varying as a changeful April day, I pay you tribute, whether grave or gay, My heart with all a tenderness has shared ; The while I read them fancy ever links Poppies and roses and carnation pinks. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 35 THROUGH THE CRAWFORD NOTCH. WILD, rocky gorges, mountains steep and high, On either hand salute my eager sight, As the swift train goes thundering with delight Through the great notch whose sentinels defy The angry whirlwind and the tempest drear.' Standing like giants, stern, heroic, bold, I see those wardens of the hilltops old. Ere man was born, for many a year They held communion from their wind-swept fold ; Upon those summits, dangerous and sheer, The eagles nest; I see the sunset's gold Burn on their altars half in love and fear. My vision rests while evening draweth near, And over all the waves of darkness roll. NOT A LEAP-YEAR GIRL. MY love for you " he said and sighed. " Is like the boundless ocean ; Whene'er I gaze upon your face My heart 's in a commotion." With a pure reverence, pure for everything That draws us nearer unto nature's heart. Unto the end I hold that we should pray For larger faith to see and understand ; What seemeth night may widen into day, And narrow vistas into worlds expand. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 135 Unto the end still seek the loved and lost, Who have been with us, — now we call them dead, Struck down in youth by death's untimely frost ; Believe them living and be comforted. Unto the end be good and brave and true : Have courage, O my brother and my friend \ There is so much, there are so few to do, Let us be faithful, faithful to the end. SHE IS NOT HERE. SHE is not here ; in vain I seek her face, Smiling upon me as it did of yore ; I wait her coming, but she comes no more ; She is not here. She is not here ; no more shall I behold The love-light shining in her peaceful eyes, Serene and beautiful as evening skies ; She is not here. She is not here ; no more her gentle hands Shall seek my own, and love's electric thrill Arouse my being. Everything is still ; She is not here. She is not here, for God has called her home, Out of this world with all its sorrows drear, Into his presence, nevermore to roam ; She is not here. 136 SHIRLE F S E VER YD A Y RHYMES. TO HIM WHO WAITS. TO him who waits amid the world's applause, His share of justice, toiling day by day, All things will come now dim and far away, To him who waits. To him who waits, beyond the darkness drear, The morning cometh with refulgent light, Bringing assurance of a day more bright To him who waits. To him who waits, though tears may often fall, And knees be bowed in sorrow and in prayer, All grief will end and everything be fair To him who waits. To him who waits and reaches out his hands To aid a toiler up life's beetling crags, Surcease will come from every ill that flags To him who waits. To him who waits, and struggles not in vain To overcome the evils that abound Within his breast, sweet will the victory sound. To him who waits. To him who waits there comes a wily throng, Who sneer and scoff and look with baleful eyes ; But what of them ? They are but gnats and flies To him who waits. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 137 To him who waits there must be recompense For useful work, whatever may betide, A compensation reaching far and wide, To him who waits. To him who waits the stars are always friends, The restless ocean and the azure sky ; All things in nature speak and prophesy To him who waits. To him who waits true love will some day come, And lay an offering at his blameless shrine ; Life will be love and love will be divine To him who waits. To him who waits the world will some day cheer And sing his praises ; Fame's mysterious gates Will open for him ; heaven seem more near To him who waits. THE PURE IN HEART. THE pure in heart, are they not sanctified By God's pure love and holiness within ? Aye, sanctified against the ways of sin And evil things for which men oft have died. Are they not pure in spirit as the wind That sweeps the hilltops when the day is fair ? As pure in spirit as the heaven sent air, The pure in heart, for they have never sinned. 138 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. The pure in heart, O they must stand alone, And often battle to secure the right ; Aye, single handed they must wage the fight, Until no evil motive has a home. Within the hearts of those by sorrow tried, Chained with the chains of passion and despair, Help them to conquer every foe through prayer, Until the bitter tears of grief are dried. The pure in heart are all God's children true, And if they love him they will see his face, Shining in glory from his dwelling place, When he shall call them at the last review. Aye, they will meet him and will not depart From that fair city fashioned not with hands. Some day they will behold the heavenly lands, And dwell with him for aye, the pure in heart. LIFE IS TOO SHORT. LIFE is too short for any vain endeavor, For useless sighing over vanished days ; No time for scorn, no time for needless praise, Life is too short. Life is too short for envy to be nourished, For sin to cumber up the path we tread ; Think of the suffering, hear the cry for bread ! Life is too short. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 139 Life is too short for avarice to devour And rob men's souls to seek its evil end, No time for bitter thought, you know, my friend, Life is too short. Life is too short to waste in tears and grieving Over the love that came but did not stay ; 'Tis sweet to dream, but dreams, too, pass away; Life is too short. Life is too short ; forgive and be forgiven, While yet we linger ; everything is brief, There is no time for idleness or grief; Life is too short. NOW OR NEVER. NOW or never, you must do Deeds of valor, passing through Storms and sunshine, day by day, Safe upon the heav'nward way. Now or never you must fight To uphold the truth and right ; Unto justice give your hand, Loving home and native land. Now or never you must bring Balm for heart's that's suffering, And a deeper feeling share With all minds oppressed with care. 140 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. Now or never you must climb Upward to the peaks sublime, Leaving trivial things below, Upward where the laurels grow. Now or never you must speak Words to cheer the poor and weak, Words to comfort those in pain, Crossed by agony or shame. Now or never you must lift High your standard ; life is swift, And before you seek your rest, Death may trample o'er your breast. Now or never you must turn Skyward, where God's glories burn, Morning, noon, and starry night, Seeking for the infinite. Now or never you must press To the gates of holiness, Putting sin and self aside, And in heaven at last abide. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 141 TO A SCHOOL GIRL. 1 OFTEN see you on the street, And, with a poet's eyes, Regard you as a floweret sweet, An angel in disguise. The sunbeams nestle on your face, And leave their kisses there, The wind blows with a careless grace Your wealth of auburn hair. I see you come and see you go, With sprightly step and looks, And ask myself, " Do you suppose Her mind is on her books? " Is she not longing for the time To greet her fairy prince, When love shall speak itself in rhyme, And tender thoughts convince? ' : A gentle princess, may you rule, Dear school girl, young and gay, When you have said good by to school And put your books away. Consider well the adage old, That wise men oft repeat, The adage that is often told, " Whate'er you sow, you reap." 142 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. It matters not when down the west Shall ride your Lochinvar, If love with love is truly blest And goes from star to star. THE FARMHOUSE 'NEATH THE HILL. OTHE farmhouse 'neath the hill, I can see it standing still, As I saw it in my childhood's happy days, When everything was new and beautiful to view, From morning till the sunset's opal haze. I can see the orchard trees, and I hear the hum of bees In the hollyhocks and roses near the wall. And where the brooklet flows, a barefoot urchin goes Again among the cat-o' -nine-tails tall. Down to the pasture spring I walk and lightly sing, As happy as in merry days gone by, When I wandered in the wood half lost in solitude, Or climbed the friendly mountain, looming high. How I love that farmhouse wide, with its trees on either side, Where I played and laughed and wandered when a boy ! I can see the swallows fly down the chimney from the sky, And again I dream a dream of vanished joy. Wherever I may go, I '11 find no place, I know, That will my mind with sweeter fancies fill. Fond memory guard the door, and time pass gently o'er That humble old gray farmhouse 'neath the hill. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 143 BEFORE I GO. BEFORE I go I would that I might sing A song to comfort some despairing heart, Laden with grief, from all the world apart, Before I go. Before I go I would that I might climb A little higher up the mount of fame, Braving the storms of envy and disdain, Before I go. Before I go I would that I might look In trusting eyes and find an answering light, Knowing that sorrow endeth in delight, Before I go. Before I go I would that I might cheer Some weary pilgrim on his lonely way, Shielding from those who startle and betray, Before I go. Before I go I would that I might stay Some youthful feet from where the spoiler leads, Warning from evils dark and baleful deeds, Before I go. Before I go I would that I might right Some grievous wrongs, a deeper feeling share With all oppressed by suffering and care, Before I go. 144 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. Before I go I would that I might do Something to live beyond life's fleeting show. Give me your hand and say, " I will be true/ Before I go. THE POET'S LIFE. WHAT is a poet's life at best ? Men think it only an empty thing Who are prone to sneer and scoff and jest At each skyward fancy taking wing. What is a poet's life at best? The school girl thinks it a life of dreams, Of beautiful visions fair and blest In the land of sunshine and gushing streams. What is the poet's life at best ? Some woman thinks it a round of loves, A feast of pleasure that has no rest, A life of roses and turtle doves. What is a poet's life at best ? The poet knows it is one of care ; His feet on the thorns of grief have pressed, And arm in arm he has walked with prayer. Although he may die without a thank, For sweetest measures receive but slang, You may call him a fool, a dolt, a crank, Yet the world is better because he sang. 10 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 145 THE KING'S DAUGHTERS. THE pure in heart, the high of soul, I hail the royal band Whose sympathies are with the weak And suffering of the land. Whose faces beam with heavenly rays, Sent from the court above, The gracious offering of our King, Whose coronet is love. I greet them with a brother's prayer,. Along the narrow way, And at their shrine I often bow, And sweetest tributes lay. Upon each breast I hail the sign Of royalty's decree, A symbol that will lead them on And on to victory. A passport to the realms of bliss, Where living waters flow, Through the fair city of our God, In Eden's golden glow. The pure in heart, the high of soul, For them this meed I bring, They all are children of the light, Dear daughters of the King. 1 46 SHIRLE Y'S E VER YD A Y RHYMES. LIFE AND LOVE. " "I \ 7* HAT is life, can you tell me, pray ? V V I asked a poet I met one day. The poet smiled and answered me, *' Moonlight and roses and mystery ! " SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 1 47 " What is love, can you tell me true ? " I asked a maiden fair to view. She blushed and whispered low to me, a Moonlight and roses and mystery ! " ON RECEIVING A BLUE RIBBON. WHILE looking o'er my evening mail, Inclosed within a letter, I found a dainty ribbon blue From one, — can I forget her? I must confess it touched my heart ; Remembrances are pleasant, Whether they come from one as fair Or some poor toiling peasant. It turned my mind to other days, I thought of lovers sighing, And pondered o'er the masters' songs Whose music is undying. I saw the heather covered hills, Where roved the ploughman poet. Had I the genius he possessed I know where I 'd bestow it. I find within this silken band The pledge of friendship's token. O may it ever be the same Through life, unchanged, unbroken ! 148 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. If I could win the love of one As gracious and as tender As ray young friend, with heart and soul I 'd evermore defend her. THE GIRL I USED TO KNOW. THE girl I used to know, dear heart, so long ago, Was a charming girl and very, very sweet ; The color of her eyes was the blue of summer skies, But my dream of paradise, It was fleet. The girl I used to know, dear heart, I loved her so, When she died, I grieved for many and many a day, For her sympathy was wide, and her love seemed like a tide, Sweeping vanity and pride All away. The girl I used to know, she 's where heavenly breezes blow, In that happy land beyond the moon and sun, And where I hope to go, leaving earthly scenes below, When at last life's fleeting show Here is done. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 149 THE OLD TAVERN. BESIDE the country road it stands, A relic of the past, With rambling roof and gables brown, That greet the wintry blast. Close to its weather-beaten sides, The lilac bushes grow, And near it, in the summer time, Old-fashioned roses blow. I 'm thinking of the days gone by, Before the steam cars came, Of how the stage coach rattled in And rattled out again. I fancy I can hear it now, A-coming down the hill, The tandem team, the cracking whip, Plied at the driver's will. I fancy I can see the boys And girls who gathered 'round The tavern then, to get the news And styles from Boston town. I 'm thinking of the days gone by, When, in the vacant hall, A crowd of lads and lasses gay Once held high carnival. 150 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. I seem to hear the fiddles play, And the gruff prompter's call, " First couple lead up to the right," And " Swing your pardners all." Before me, sweeping in a dream, The happy dancers glide. What rosy cheeks ! What smiling lips ! What haughty love and pride ! What looks of happiness and joy ! What messages untold ! O memory, to our anxious eyes Swing back your gates of gold ! In vain we ask. The dance is o'er, The dancing feet are still. We listen, but 'tis all in vain, No stage comes down the hill. Where once was mirth and social cheer, And hearts beat fast and free, Now all is silent as the grave In this old hostelry. Gone is the merry group that came And clustered 'round the door ; Gone are the pleasant days of old From us to come no more. But still beside the country road, Swept by the wintry blast, The empty tavern, crumbling, stands, A relic of the past. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 151 WILLING TO TRY. " ^ \ J ILL you love, honor, and obey V V This man ? " the preacher said Unto a sweetly gushing bride Before the altar led. She smiled and raised her drooping eyes, The bridegroom's face to scan, Then lowered them again and said, "I'll do the best I can." WE'LL KNOW SOMETIME. AS through this busy world we go, Some honest motives, yours or mine, May be misjudged, we dream not how, But yet I think we '11 know sometime. Why some men win, while others lose, Why some should reap where others sow, We strive in vain to comprehend, The secret yet sometime we '11 know. Why some are ever prone to rest, While others always seek to climb, Is still a mystery unsolved, But yet I trust we '11 know sometime. 152 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. Why some are striving after sin, While some are pure as Alpine snow, We cannot say, but yet I deem The time will come when we shall know Why some secure love's sweetest flowers, While others weeds and nettles find, We cannot understand it now, But yet I think we '11 know sometime. Why some with sorrow bend and grieve, While others happy-hearted go, With song and jest along the way, The time will come when we shall know. Why some must drain a bitter cup, While others sip and drink the wine, With reddened lips and mirthful voice, The answer will be ours sometime. Why some are ever bound to lead, While others blindly grope below, The riddle some day we shall guess, The time will come when we shall know. The time will come when man to man We '11 read life's message true, divine. Why we have gained, why we have lost, And all the rest, we '11 know sometime. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 153 WALT WHITMAN. OUR "good grey poet " has from us been borne Out of this world into the great unknown, Seeking the splendor of some far-off zone, Whose morning whiteness glimmers and is worn Upon his brow. The seal of kingliness Is set forever on his patient face, Turned starward with the old heroic grace He knew and felt when life was at its best. A cannoneer of song, a great artilleryman Of thought, who fought life's battles to the close, He now has peace, sweet peace and calm repose. Beyond the tumult that earth's weaklings plan, Triumphant o'er the jeers and gibes of foes, Thou hast the homage our poor words command. THE MAN WITH THE OVERALLS. YOU may take for your hero the simpering dude, Or the ballroom's petted pride, Arrayed in all of the latest styles, Whose knowledge you say is wide, With their elegant manners and toney ways, Who tip their hats as they pass, And capture with flattery's lawless wiles The heart of many a lass. 154 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. With their shining leathers and faultless ties, And the buttonhole bouquets, We know them ; we 've often seen them pass By us on the world's highways. You may take for your hero the soldier trim, Bright buttons and all of that, But beside the man with the overalls They often seem poor and flat. I know him ; his heart is as tender and true As ever was in man's breast, And his strong right hand is as loyal still As any we everjiave pressed. I know him, for into his eyes I have looked, And found by a mystical sign Something that many who claim to be men Have lost or can never divine. He is a hero, I know by his air, Though his clothes may be faded and worn, As worthy of praise as the hero who dies, And away from the battle is borne. Though humble his station, the humble may be The great when life's curtain falls, And over the line we shall some day meet Our friend with the overalls. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 155 HANNAH DUSTIN. HEROIC woman, thy heroic name we love to speak ; It is with honest prkie we point to it upon our his- tory's page ; Courageous, daring, not in any age We read of one more dauntless or discreet, Beset with dusky foes at Haverhill, Who plucked the infant nestling at thy breast, And slew it in thy sight. Their murderous quest At last was ended ; thou redressed the ill When slumber fell upon the Indian camp, After the painful march to Pennacook ; Twelve evil lives thou and the brave lad took, Who had been with thee through the torturing tramp ; Upon thy statues many pause and look, Thy feature's glow with fame's heroic stamp. AN EASTER SONG. THE earth with joy is swelling, From winter's bonds set free, And from each heart is welling A song of jubilee. From hilltop and from mountain The joyful tidings ring ; From every gushing fountain We hail our risen King. 156 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. The night of gloom has ended, Gethsemane is past, With all its grief attended The morning came at last. O lilies white and tender, We find in thee a sign Of what our hearts may render To Him we hold divine. Bright is the sunlight streaming O'er earth and heaven wide. Rejoice, O sad hearts dreaming! Again 't is Eastertide. BOXED. " 1 "\ T E 'RE in a box," we often say, V V When we are sore perplexed, And hardly know just what to do, Or what to think of next. We 're in a box, when at the play Our seats are near the stage, Providing we can get the cash Such boxes to engage. We 're in a box when at the court We sit as jurymen, — When we are good for nothing else, So says the joker's pen. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 157 We 're in a box when at the last We 've given np the fight, And they have taken us away, And put us out of sight. LOVE AND LIGHTNING. LOVE and lightning ! Let me see. Are they not some alike ? We never know just when or where Or how they both will strike. The question is, which is the worse ? Now answer me who will. There have been cases, I have heard, Where both were known to kill. And other instances, of course, About them we have talked, Of people that we often meet, Who have been slightly shocked. Before you die, you may get struck By the lightning's lurid glare, But the chances are ten times to one 'T will be some love affair. 158 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. TO A FRIEND. DO you remember how we walked and stood One night beside the river flowing wide, That moonlit night, when, wandering side by side, We paused to dream, as only dreamers could ? Have you forgotten how the silence yearned To find a voice ? how all was calm and still, Save for a friendly cricket chirping shrill His evening notes ? how silently we turned And wandered back into the city's glare? Our secret thoughts were left behind unsaid, As cold and silent as the voiceless dead. We left them and the river flowing there, That autumn night, when all around was spread, Nearer than either dreamed, a world of prayer. NEVER AGAIN. NEVER again, though the spirit yearneth After the things it sought to gain ; Joy may come, but the past returneth Never again. Never again will love that is tender Gladden the hearts where love is slain ; Waken to life and complete surrender, Never again. SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY RHYMES. 159 TO A YOUNG POET. Respectfully inscribed to Fred Goldsmith Walker, Salem, Mass. IN youth's bright morning, vigilant and brave, With the great future all before you spread, O'er flowery meads of song your footsteps tread. Gifted by God you have the power to save, To scatter sunbeams o'er each troubled wave That beats against some suffering brother's heart, To cheer him onward with your tender art, And point him upward unto Him who gave His life for others. From each lowly grave The story of the world's frail children read. Be ever loyal, both in word and deed, And not for riches but for goodness crave, Seeking the paths where worthy men succeed, 'Till at your feet the tides of fortune lave. A AS WE LOOK BACK. S we look back along life's dusty way, We find some barren places and some flowers, Some days of sadness and some sunny hours. As we look back. As we look back some memories give us pain, Some bring the tears unbidden to our eyes, And some, — Ah ! some shall we not always prize, As we look back. 160 SHIRLEY'S EVERYDAY - RHYMES. As we look back sweet faces on us smile. O happy eyes ! O cheeks with love aglow ! O little hands, your vanished thrill we know, As we look back ! As we look back the bitterness and gall, The things that tried us on our lonely way, Now haunt us less but dimmer grow each day, As we look back. As we look back the milestones, one by one, Gleam gray and white beside the old and new. We pause, for soon may come the last review, As we look back. As we look back the battlefields of doubt Are strewn with skeletons of passions slain. What first seemed loss at last we found was gain. As we look back. As we look back how tenderly we dwell O'er the old places vanished from our sight ! What fruitful themes that move the pen to write, As we look back. As we look back we know that God was true, That He will lead us down life's dusty track. Still for his favors let us humbly sue, As we look back.