PS 3511 .0713 D7 1917 ++# ,V rt N » , *»_ A > y 6\ w , -t ?%,' aP '. O £°*t. W <£ fN V , o « 0"°. *b a> V t .% *t a><^ V *< *** C\ a? • - NT '3 J 13 n DREAMS 0' MINE By NICHOLAS O'TYNE DREAMS O' MINE DREAMS O' MINE BY NICHOLAS O* TYNE - LAGRANGE, INDIANA L. A. FOSTER 8c CO., PUBLISHERS 1917 ©C1.A462632 APR 30 1317 1A* \ s *U TO MY WIFE The best and truest woman I have ever known CONTENTS Page Don't Fret 15 When the Stars of Morn are Fadin' 16 The End of the Road 19 Contented 21 Faith 23 Mirandy Jane 25 Comrades 30 Darn 32 Shiftless 33 To My Soul 35 Bud Says 39 Reveries 43 June 47 Evening 51 The Shadow of the Cross 53 Yesterday — Today — Tomorrow 58 Jest Filosofy 61 A Travesty 65 The Islands of Home 69 Thoughts in a Church 71 Evening in a Cemetery 76 The Way 82 Courtin' 84 Memories 90 The Call of the Road 93 Eventide 95 The Island Fair of Dreams 97 Morning at Cedar Lake 100 Anodyne 103 Grit 105 DREAMS O' MINE Oh, dreams o' mine, of fancies born, Grim views of death and sighs forlorn, And whimsies in a lighter vein, Like glimpse of sunshine after rain; Of changing thoughts, a mirror fair, And moods unstable as the air. DON'T FRET Good brother, cease your fretting, Smooth out your wrinkled brow, You'll be over your plight And all will be right, In a hundred years from now. In a hundred years from now, my friend, In a hundred years from now, You'll have ceased your contriving And all of your striving, In a hundred years from now. WHEN THE STARS OF MORN ARE FADIN' When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is on the rose, And the night breeze still is sleepy and a noddin' as it goes, And the medder-lark is singin' in the maple by the stream, And the robin's chirpin' gentle as he sees the early gleam Of the sun a peepin' o'er the tiptop of the world And a growin' ever brighter as the robes of night are furled ; Ah! It's then that life's worth livin' and my soul with rapture glows, When the 'stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is on the rose. Yesterday was full of sorrow and its night was full of pain And the chirpin' of the crickets drove me mighty nigh insane, And the moanin' wind of midnight seemed to try its level best Just to ruffle up my temper and to banish sleep and rest; And a screech owl near my window, like a demon with its scream, Woke me from my restless slumber like a fearful, hateful dream, Drove away all thoughts of sleepin', tore to shreds my poor repose — When the stars of morn were fadin' and the dew was on the rose. Then I wandered through the medder and along the woodlot stream Just a-drinkin J in the music and a-lookin' at the gleam Of the sun rays shootin' higher, pushin' back the shades of night, And a-gildin all creation with their fingertips of light, Just a-paintin all the landscape purple, orange, red and gold 'Til the earth looked like the elf land where the fairies revel hold. All my cares and troubles leave me, all my sadness quickly goes — When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is on the rose. 17 When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is on the rose — 0, 'tis then that heaven's near me and angelic music flows Far above me in the splendor of the glorious dawn of day, Like the anthems of the angels on the Master's natal day, Risin' faint o'er sylvan chorus to the azure dome above, Bringin' peace unto the weary, tellin' of the Sa- vior's love; And my soul brims o'er with gladness and I know that God is close — When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is on the rose. 18 THE END OF THE ROAD When I sleep at last 'neath the marble In the shade of the maple or yew, Unreeking the tempest or sunshine, Unheeding the rain or the dew, When the trials of life are forgotten, Forgotten its cares and the load, 0, what the reward I may hope for To find at the end of the road? The pathway leads up from the valley Through dangers of morass and glen, Leads darkly e'er on through the forest, Leads onward through torrent and fen, Still ever the pathway leads upward, And rugged and long is the way, 'Til I reach the crest of the mountain At the weary end of the day. The top of the beautiful mountain Gleams bright in the evening sun, And sweet is the rest from my labors When the toilsome journey is done. All past is the shame and the sinning, And past is the struggle for fame, And worthless is wealth and ambition When death puts an end to the game. I know I'll find sleep without waking, Just a dreamless, beautiful sleep, Just a restful, untroubled slumber, As deep as the ocean is deep, With never a thought of the morrow, Its pleasures, its losses or gain, All careless alike of its sunshine, All heedless alike of its rain. 0, what the reward I may hope for, To find at the end of the way, When daisies are nodding above me And I sleep at the end of the day? 0, may it be surcease of sorrow That with me the journey has trod; May it be the boon without measure — That I rest at peace with my God. 20 CONTENTED The seasun's orful backard like," sez farmer Jim to Bill, "The tater bugs is eatin up the truck patch on the hill, The medder land is fur too wet, the cornfields is too dry, The weavils got my crop of wheat, the shintzbugs got my rye. My turkeys is a-droopin round, my chickens got the Pip, I got to give my flock of ewes anuther dose of dip; Mirandy's got the ager shakes, an Katie she aint well, Until it seems the hull durned place is goin plum to — well I jest aint go' to say the place we air all headed fur; It never duz no good to cuss and set around an slur; *N then, you know, I never wuz much given to complain. I wish that treetoad'd shet his head er bring a spell of rain. Ef this durned drowth don't soon bust up the crops is gone to pot — 'N then ef it should rain too much, the hay is sure to rot. 'N, say, I mos' forgot to tell, the heifer's lost her calf. An cholery 's got my fattest shoat, 'snuff to drive me daf. Wats that you say? My barn is full of last year's crop of hay, En ef I dont have eny corn, I've plenty enyway? Yer like my wife and darter Kate, the hull durned kit and bilin They never seem to worry none ef everything is spilin. 22 My hired man is puny-like, aint hardly worth a cuss, We had a chawin match today. He raised an awful fuss Jest cause he had to milk the cows — there's only ten or so — Fore brekfus, sed he'd draw his pay and quit right then and go. Wall, yes, the oats is lookin well, but then they're mostly straw, An full of smut as they can be, and fallen down. But, pshaw! Ez I sed, Bill, sum time ago, I never stew ner fret Jest cause the season's too durned dry or else too thunderin wet. I know I'm jest like you air, Bill, I take things ez they come, I never worry none at all, it aint no use, by gum! Jest cause thar's ever 'thing gone wrong and I cant make a cent, I never grumble ner complain, am never dis- content. 23 FAITH I know not whence the call shall come From mountainside or plain, To put aside earth's petty things And homeward turn again. If it shall come at noontide's hour Or darkest watch of night, My Father's hand shall lead me on To find the path aright. I know not where my Father dwells, In mansions bright and fair; But this I know : He guards my way With tender love and care. Strong are His arms to shelter me And safe my soul shall rest — Life's turmoil and its grief forgot — Upon His loving breast. MIRANDY JANE Mirandy Jane is porely like, she's sick beyunt a doubt, She jest dont seem to care to work, an is all petered out An goes a-pokin round the house, all puny-like an slow An takes a nour to milk the cows — they's only ten or so. Twus jest last night I sez to her, sez I: " Mirandy Jane, I'm feared you tuck a nawful cold, last Sunday, in the rain. An nen she sez, sez she to me: "Wy, Hiram, how you talk! I'll own that I'm all tuckered out, I seurse can hardly walk." "Mirandy Jane," sez I ter her, "You go see Doctor Snow" — He is the veterinary man that travuls with a show — An nen Mirandy Jane got mad, as mad as she could get An she lowed she'd take no medicine dosed out by ary vet. An sed that I must send to town, 'twant nuthin else would do, An get the wise old doctor Fake that's treatin sister Sue. Wall, now, to cut the story short, I went and brung him out; That doctor-man he knows his biz beyunt a shade er doubt, Tuck off his hat and set right down close by Mirandy Jane An sed that she wuz lookin bad an "had she eny pain?" 26 An nen he turned aroun to me, his looks a-speekin volyumes, Sez he: "Yer wife's real trubble lies in her spinal colyumes. ' ' I didn't know jest whut he meant and then he lucidated, And splained to me jest whut it was an whar twas located, An told me how it wuz some bones runs which way an tuther — Our heads air fastened to one end, we set on the other. Sez lie to me, he sez, sez he: " She's in bad con- dition, An it is such a streak of luck I am her physician." I want to say right now an here, it makes me sick an faint Fur I aint sure what she is got is fatal or it aint. 27 The doctor then he told me more, an this is w'at he said: "Mirandy's brains is meltin-like, an runnin from her head, Right down into these holler bones, that colyume, don't you know, An then her stomach is so weak, it throws em off too slow. Her bronkel tubes is rotted off, her diagram is loose, I'm much afraid her lights is out, if so 'twill raise the duce; I'm sure her liver's up side down, her bile is out of whack Her lungs is both clean out of place, I've got to get em back." 28 I tell you wat, I wuz scared stiff, w'y I'm a trimblin yet; I fixed it with him then an thar to doctor her, you bet. I give to him my brindul cow, a twenty dollar bill, An he's agreed to give her all "his tenshun, time an skill.' ' Fur w'en it comes to curin her, I'll spare no cash or pain; I'd ruther sell the sorrel mare than lose Mirandy Jane. 29 COMRADES We follow the road together, My comrade, Death, and I; I travel the wide world over With him e'er nigh. He stood by my cradle watching, Guarded by childhood play; He's ever, forever present, Both night and day. The path may lead on to glory Far up the hill of fame, It may lead upward to honor Or down to shame; Wherever the highway leads me, Whatever may betide, Wherever I bend my footsteps He walks beside. 30 He sits with me sleeping, sleepless, Treads by me all day long, Escapes him no note or whisper Of sigh or song; I may not forget his presence At festal banquets bright; He shares my seasons of pleasure And silent night. Comrade of life, I salute thee, My deathless comrade, Death. Keep me in closest communion 'Til my last breath. Friend Death, give me of thy counsel As long as life shall last, And I'll not forget my teaching 'Til time is past. 31 DARN I plant a garden in the spring and toil and sweat like everything, and hoe the weeds and pull the grass and try to raise some garden sass. I work that garden, wet and dry, it is the apple of my eye. It's filled with pickle, pea and beet and other things that's good to eat. My neighbor's rooster grim and tall, creeps through the broken garden wall and brings with him his haughty flock, Minorcas black and Plymouth Rock, and all with vim and purpose fell, soon tear my garden all to glory. The grocer- man, with smiles of glee, delivers garden truck to me; and when the evening's sun is low, I hear my neighbor's rooster crow. Next year I'll raise no cabbage red, but keep a dozen hens instead, and turn them out to roam and prey and seek my neighbor's truck to slay; if they'll fulfill my grim intent, I'll rest at peace and die content. 32 SHIFTLESS When a lazy kind of musick Loafs around an airly morn. An I here its drcwsey cadense In the rustlin of the corn, In the squirruTs keerlus chatter, In the sleepy drone of bees As they loiter in the clover Neth the whisperin apple trees, An above the misty mountin, That lies dreemin in the haze, Flote the fleesy clouds of mornin Crimsuned by the dazzlin rays Of the sun a-peepin over The far hilltop, all agleme With a splendur— elfin tinted— Of the Summer's golden sheen, 33 When the sleepy sprite of harvest Dimples ore the medow grass Brakin into languid billos Where her keerless footsteps pass, An her breth, a sutil fragranse From the poppie fields of night, Sets my vagrunt fancies dreamin, Fills my soul with ca'm delight, Then I own that I grow shiftless As the truant, reckless breze Noddin in the golden wheatfield, Dozin in the orchurd trees, An I jest forgit my labors, Restin in the checkered shade. Work's all right for recreashun, Loafin is a better trade. TO MY SOUL When first there came from out unfathomed void God's inmost, holy thoughts objective made, And chaos vanquished by mandate divine, Affrighted fled His presence, all dismayed, When o'er the boundless dome He spread His scroll, In planet-words His thoughts engraved thereon — A record grand of his sublimity — Unchanged as He through all the ages gone, E'en then wast thou in being, cycles old, Grayed with the frost of ages, bent with time; Allwise, supremely potent, grandly free, Endowed with knowledge limitless, divine, 35 Ne'er was thou born and never shalt thou die, Nor time nor place knew thy nativity, A part of God and near as wond'rous strong, And great as His wast thy divinity. Long hadst thou kept the vigil of the years, Far hadst thou roamed in mighty wand 'rings wide, All uncontrolled, unshackled, unconfined, Hadst shaped thy course with thought's capricious tide. Yet thou didst fall as even angels fall, Forsook and cast aside thy potency, Born into man, became a worthless clod, Low swain of earth; assumed mortality. 36 High hast thou ruled 'midst splendor's grand estate, Clanked have thy chains within the felon's cell, Deep drank life's joys and drained its bitter dregs, Lived in its highmost heaven, known its hell. Long years thou sat in splendor on the throne That ruled the ancient empire of the Nile; In Caesar's time thou knew the seven hills; The cloak of Christ thou touched, received his smile. And from the years thy heritage received, To learn and know all pleasure and all pain, To put aside the dross, hold fast this truth; That all, save knowledge, is and shall be vain. 37 When thou hast cast earth's attributes aside, And freed from cumb'ring weight of mortal frame, Groped from the night into eternal day, And past high honors and debasing shame, Thou shalt be strong again, surpassing strong, Nor good nor evil be but only wise; Beyond life's cares, forgotten all its wrongs, Knowledge supreme shall be thy paradise. 38 BUD SAYS Say, ef you've got the side ache bad, amd its hurtin like the duce, Don't try a-holdin of yer breath; w'y that aint enny use. Jest pick a stone fum off the ground an spit on it, you know, En put it right square back agen — the pain is sure to go. You'll never try to kill a toad ef you've got enny brain, You'll get the warts all on yer hands, just as soon as comes a rain, An nen you'll have to cut 'em out, er knot 'em off with silk — To kill a wart-toad makes your cows jest all give give bloody milk. 'N ef a hornet stings you bad, you take a piece of clay 'N spit on it 'n put it on the stung spot right away, 'N it will draw the pizen out an do it awful quick ; But ef you dont do it at twonce, 'twill make you awful sick. Say, w'en you go a-fishin, ef you step across yer pole, Ye '11 never ketch a single fish, not in the bestest hole, 'Nless you step right back agen, the other way, you know, P'vided thet you do it right, an solemn-like an slow. I had a lot of great big warts a-growin on my hand 'Til it looked like a warty toad. 'En then, great land! 40 My uncle Dudley took 'em off, cut notches in a stick An put the notches on the warts, nen burned it up real quick, 'N cross my heart an hope to die ef in a week or so Ef ever last one wasn't gone, — jest as he sed they'd go. It aint no sin to tell a lie ef you've got yer fingers crossed. You tie a string around yer thumb, you'll find wat you have lost. An jest last night, our old dog, Jack, he whimpered, howled and cried Til dad he sez that he is sure some one has certain died; An nen today he read aloud, it gave us all a shock, A man was struck an killed, you know, way out in Little Rock. When a snapper-turkle gits real mad and gits aholt yer toe, Its got to thunder mighty loud afore he '11 let you go ; En ef you want to ketch some fish, you can try it soon an late, You'll never have no luck at all, less you spit on the bait. Bill Jones he ses that it aint so, a horsehair turns to snake ; He ses the hull blame thing's a lie, an jest a nawful fake. But then, wat kin you 'spect of him? He growed right up in town Where they haint got no frogs nor toads nor ennything around. 42 REVERIES Toilworn, with business cares harassed, I cease my labors of the day; With dark forebodings all oppressed, Far from the madd'ning throngs I stray; Far from life's crowded thoroughfare, To seek thy solace, my cigar. Far wandering friend, from Southland mild, Thy ministrations banish gloom, From distant lands, a tropic child Of dainty form and rare perfume; Fair saint on friendly errand bent, A missionary of content. u For cheerless were departed days, As cheerless seem the days to come, And life holds many rugged ways To journey ere I reach my home; A home where those with toiling bent May rest at peace and be content. Now passing from the somber scenes I watch thy embers lightly fall And pass to peaceful, kindly dreams Of youth and friends beyond recall, I hear their voices as of yore And live again the old days o'er. From out the dim, forgotten past, Evoked by thy sweet, mystic spell — A benediction 'round me cast — Arise old scenes, remembered well; Born of thy incense, swing and sway The wraiths of friends of yesterday. u Amidst thy vapors glint and gleam A face with lovelight all aglow; A form is woven of their sheen — My sweetheart wife of long ago; I hear again her dear words and Feel press of lips and clasp of hand. Again Ave wander, as of old We trod the shining primrose way, And, hearts aflame, the story told By lovers told at close of day; Her sweet, sad smile I see again — ! dream of bliss. ! dream of pain. The deep'ning shades of evening fall, The fading landscape darker grown, The chill winds hasten to recall My vagrant thoughts to fancies flown, 'Midst hallowed dreams of yesterday And its wrecked idols, now I pray : 45 "0! God of love, divinely strong, Guide Thou my steps, though strangely bent ; Teach me the right, to shun the wrong, To kiss the cross and be content; Knowingly that blindly though I stray, Thy guiding hand e'er leads the way." So farewell friend, thy mission done, Thy dark'ning ashes old and dead; All finished is thy work begun, Ere, iinconfmed, thy spirit fled; Most faithful comrade I have known — Thou gav'st thy life to cheer my own. JUNE Thar's a drowsy kind of murmur 'Round the bloomin appul trees, Thar's a hidden, swingin senser Spillin perfume on the breese; From old natur's big pipe orgun- Ever stop pulled open wide — Like a glorious hallaluyer, Blooms afar a rithmik tide; Tis an ever risin anthum Throbbin through the quickened air To the open dore of heavun And the angels listenin there; All the world is full of gladness And her heart strings is in tune When the oreherd trees is bloomin On a sunny morn in June. Thar's a lazy kind of hummin Mungst the clover's crimsun blume Like a tapestra of musick Woven on a mistik lume. And the air is all a quiver Ringin with the songs of love, Risin sweet from grove and medder Tribut to His throne above; Hartborn anthums of His creturs Denizuns of wood and plane, Golden threads of joyus rithum Tangled in a silken skane, Drownden out all sounds of sorro In a universul tune, When the orcherd trees is bloomin On a sunny morn in June. 4s: And I wander through the medder Whar the brook is all agleme Darkened with the flowers shadders Silvur whar the sunrays streme; Smuth as velvut, flower patturned, Is the carput of the grass, And a milyun sparklin dimuns Gleme in dewdrops as I pass, And I jest drink in the musick Risin to the sky above, And I feel that heavuns near me, And I know that God is love, And I seem to see Him smilin In this glorius summer moon, When the orcherd trees is bloomin On a sunny morn in June. W Now, there aint no use in dyin When thars heavun all about; Twould be just as useless thinkin Of the speckles on a trout As twould be to try to better Things we see on ever hand; This is jest as good as ever Is the joyus promis land. Though you cant quite see the angels You can hear their voices ring, Risin faint ore silvan chorus Like the plesunt call of spring; And to jest go on alivin Is to me the greatest boon, When the orcherd trees is bloomin On a sunny morn in June. 50 EVENING When the shades of night are falling, And the poplars, grim and tall, Cast their ever length 'ning shadows Far across the garden wall, And the young moon's silver crescent Hangs aslant the western sky And the drowsy evening breezes Gently in the maples sigh, And the hours of toil are numbered, And the troubles of the day That seems ever to harass me Like grim specters, steal away, And above the distant hilltop, Shines a gleam from Venus fair, And the earth breathes benediction Like the one that follows prayer, 51 Stretched at length on earth 's broad bosom, I, life's captive, am set free, And I hear her great heart throbbing, With the love she holds for me; With her pitying arms she folds me, Good earth-mother to her breast, As she whispers softly to me, Hush, my child, lie here and rest. Gone, forgotten are all sorrows, Care and troubles cast aside, Like a work-worn, worthless garment — > Peace and joy with me abide, Peace that passeth understanding, Joy that evils has withstood And it seems that heaven's near me And I know that God is good. 52 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS Wearied His feet are and bleeding, All torn by the rugged road, And His drooping shoulders aching Bend beneath their crushing load. Falls the beaded drops of anguish Fast upon the bitter way Which the Master leads to triumph, To the crest of Calvary, Ever on before Him going — Symbol of our sin and loss — And His fait 'ring footsteps guiding, Is the shadow of the cross. S3 Upward climbs that shadow slowly, Upward toward Golgotha's crest, As it leads the way to torture, As it points the path to rest, Till He reaches that vile hilltop Where a thousand thieves have died; And they spit upon their Saviour While they watch Him crucified. Not alone is he to perish That they nail upon the tree; But their better selves are dying, Damned through all eternity. Slowly grows the shadow shorter Until shade and substance blend, From the cross, now doubly darkened, Slow the clouds of night extend, Still the multitudes blaspheme Him, Sneering all and all in scorn, 54 While they lose all hope of heaven And He gains his crown of thorn. As they shriek forth their derision, Reckless of their gain or loss, Slow again steals forth a shadow — 'Tis the shadow of the cross. Now the darkness comes at noonday Spreading from that awful gloom, All the mob is terror stricken, — Foulest born of hatred's womb — Slowly glide the tortured hours Through the sullen glass of pain, While the heavens moan in torment And the curtain's rent in twain, All the inner temple showing, Its poor treasures cast aside, All alike worn out and worthless, For the Christ, our Lord, has died. On the wings of blackest midnight Spreads a pall o 'er land and sea ; It will fade, ah! never, never, Never through eternity. All our tears may never light it, Nor our prayers wipe out that stain; In our hearts that sign and symbol Shall forever more remain, Casting o'er our lives the shadow Of our sin and sinning 's shame; Shall the cross and its dark shadow Be forever more the same. O'er the cross above the twilight, I can see His shining face, Ever filled with love and pity, All aglow with peace and grace; And His bitter crown of sorrow Has become a diadem; And in death, a King of Glory Has become Him mocked of men. My sad heart is filled with rapture All unrecking of its loss; And my faith rises triumphant O'er the shadow of the cross. YESTERDAY- TOD AY— TOMORROW -l— MEETING Adrift, on idle stream, 'midst changing scenes Our vessels met, and meeting stopped. Screens Were the flowers and trees. Along the bank We hid awhile away. Our anchors sank Beneath the crystal tide, and pausing there Our handclasp meeting, born was friendship fair. AUF WIEDERSEHN Passing, swift flying days, hours of content Fast fled; today became tomorrow. Bent Were our thoughts on present pleasures. Then Came the day of parting. That sad time when- So it is ordered — new found friends must part; Though lips may smile, tears all unbidden start. 58 -3- GREETING Greeting with beaming- face and cheery smile We now wave thee. Then laughter ceases. While 'Neath its cadence lie tears. Joys quickly change To anguish, and pangs of sorrow deep range Afresh o 'er happy mood and pleasure light — Our pathway, parting, lost in falling night. -4- FAREWELL Midway 'twixt dewy morn and sunny noon Of life we stand. Time passes swiftly. Soon The noon declines to night. And at eventide We cross the bar, and — Christ our pilot,— -ride Afar o'er foaming waves or shining sea, Drifting to aneh'rage safe, 'neath friendly lee. 59 — 5— REUNION Again, where spring the lovely asphodels On fields elysian, where music swells Upon the list'ning ear, as in the past, We meet. Here pain's unknown and pleasures last. Again we wander far and side by side. Our pathways, joining, never shall divide. 60 JEST FILOSOFY Thar aint no use in runnin up the track to meet the trane, Jest set right down, tip back your cheer and rest your hart and brane, Fur the trane is comin, stedy sure, the whole endurin while. Twont get in a bit the qwicker ef you cuss instead of smile, And it wont do a speck of good for you to stew and fret; The engins run on cole and steme and not on human swet. 61 Thar aint no use to grumbel ef the thunder dont bring rain; Suppose the corn is burnin up and all the hay and grane, Can you bust the drowth up qwieker ef you stand around and cuss? Will it make the medder greener fer you to rip and fuss? Why dont you jest relax yourself and sit around and grin And let God run the world awhile and trust it all to Him? Thar air sum folks so bizzy thet they aint got time to play, They never put off anything which they can do to- day; They go a-tarin on threw life, there muscles ringin wet 62 And seem to think that they were made jest factories for swet. Why cant they jest slack up a bit, put off a thing or two Which, mebby, when tomorrow comes they may not haft to do? Your little tank will only hold jest so much gasoline, And you can burn it mity fast a speeding your ma- chine ; But ef you take it lazy like, slow down fer curves and sand Youl find that youl have gas enough to rech the promis land; And I have notist that the man who sets the rode afire Most generally is the very one that gits a busted tire. 63 Fer all things comes to them as wates, tis so the adage runs; Then whats the use in workin hard twixt morn and evenin suns To gobel up your neighbors farm, his cows and pigs and such, And strive fer more and wish you had ole Midas golden touch? Now, jest set down and rest yourself and things wont be no worse Ef youl trust God to do His best to run the uneverse. (A A TRAVESTRY A guilty culprit sat within the dock, His soul deep steeped in the black dregs of hell, Besotted and debased; from honor fair Low had he come as those fair angels fell, Who from their high estate were overthrown, Scourged through the gates wide flung, the vaulted dome Of heaven echoing their souls' sad knell. Charged did he stand with crime against the state, Of foul and loathsome things of which we speak With 'bated breath. Charged that with brutish strength He sought to wrest from a pure child and weak Those virtues which sweet maidenhood holds dear And precious to her soul: and brings a curse Upon him who would thus her ruin seek. 65 Accused he stood, with deep guilt written o'er His sodden face, half turned in shame away, A thing of horror to all pure minded men To make them pause and silently to pray That when the court its solemn judgment gives In case like this fair justice shall be done Apart and all alone from mercy's sway. True, was he born of sin and of deep lust And sinful passion was he foul begot; The wretched heir of the delinquencies Of maid immoral and a drunken sot Who ne'er did call him son, nor aiding hand Thrust forth to dash aside that whisky fiend Which held the boy and steeped his soul in rot. Thus all alone he stood before the bar To be condemned of our sweet justice fair, To carry out the mandate of the law That on his aching shoulders he shall bear 66 Alone, amidst the sneers of thoughtless men, Within the felon's cell, in stripes arrayed, That breaking- load of sin of which he is the heir. Just was the sentence and upright the judge That on this clod of more than worthless clay Pronounced the judgment of outraged law, And from mankind relentless shut away And hid behind the prison's clanging door More weakness than of sin. And from a soul Born in His likeness hid God's gladsome day. But pause, kind friend, and pausing kindly note Those vagrant fancies which unbid intrude Upon the mind. And while we do uphold The sentence of the court in justice rude, Another takes the place within the dock Of him condemned. Now let the trial be fair And, may God grant, the prosecution shrewd. Not charged by affidavit signed and sworn Who now before the bar of justice stands Is he, but by outraged womanhood, That through the years has suffered at his hands; He who stood by and with a heedless sneer Did note the hopeless look of him condemned; Not for this man has been the law's commands. Now let fair Mercy take her place aside, And Justice slip from off her eyes the band, Her poised sword upflung to flash and fall Swift and unerring. Vengeance steels the hand That, in a cause like this, for virtue's sake Shall strike from off the shoulders that foul head That plots against the maidens of our land. Called are the witnesses, a vast array Come trooping in, with lips that hiss And pointing fingers quiver in his face, "Thou foul seducer and abortionist" 68 They cry, while through the audience there runs A murmur heard above their stifled sobs. Can there for him no punishment exist? Another witness comes; stay! who is this Who silent glides so noiseless o'er the floor? Why! 'tis a wraith! Has hell unbidden come To this fair trial and opened wide its door? This was a maid, once pure, despoiled by him On whom we sit in judgment here today; She comes his rest to ruin evermore. The trial is done. Behind the sacred bench Lies stacked his gold; from that is freedom born; And crushed beneath the yoke fair maidenhood Betrayed again, now wears her crown of thorn; And gentle Mercy, seeking e'er the good, No cause had found in him to intervene; And Justice droops her head again, forlorn. 69 Prate not to uie of our tribunals' fair And exact justice unto all men giv'n. The one received the felon's stripes and cell; The other merely lost his hope of heav'n; The one, unguided, only lost the way, The other, knowing, chose the way awrong, And Satan shall receive his soul unshriven. 70 THE ISLANDS OF HOME The sun-kissed islands lie over the sea, O'er the sea that is wild and gray, Where the storm clouds lower and the loud winds roar And colder than death is the spray. The islands of home are beautiful oi That lie in the calm summer seas, Snow-white gleam the sands of their coral strands And soft is their langourous breeze. The islands of home are fanciful ones I see in the land of my dreams, With daffodils bright in meadows of light Where glisten the mystical streams. Dark may be the sky and darker the day, When at last I put out to sea With the boatman pale in his vessel frail That carries my Pilot and me. Though the waves dash madly upon the shore And the beach is smothered in foam, I know o'er the brim of the earth's far rim Lie the peaceful islands of home. Though far from the islands of home I've strayed, And distant the lands where I roam, I'll anchor fast in the harbor at last, And rest in the islands of home. 72 THOUGHTS IN A CHURCH Dimly shines the Sabbath morning through the deeply leaded panes, Lighting up the vaulted ceilings with a symphony of stains, Tinting as with fairy brushes all the highly polished pews, Shim 'ring o'er the gleaming pulpit in a medley fair of hues, Bringing forth a deeper crimson from the carpets rich and rare, Where the wealthy of the nation kneel in semblance of prayer. 73 Bright the silken gowns are shining while the satin glints and gleams, And their rustling is as gentle as the music heard in dreams; Here a wealth of jewels glitters, diamonds hard and cold as ice, Cold as hearts of Roman soldiers offering up the Sacrifice. Turquoise blue as eyes above them, rubies gleaming darkly red, All in honor of a Master without place to lay his head. Peals aloud a glad hosanna from the organ and the choir, Stabbing through the solemn silence like a breath of liquid fire; Rising high and all triumphant to the marble dome above. 74 Singing of a Christ-child lowly, telling of a Saviour's love. Soothing is this hired anthem to the haughty of the land, Soothing as the clink of silver counted out in Judas' hand. At the portal stands a beggar, It is Lazarus of old, Asking meekly for assistance, for a trifle of your gold; Mary, wicked, wanton Mary, penitent and all in tears, Sits in sorrow on your church step batt'ling with her doubts and fears. He, a filthy, worthless beggar, she a prostitute forlorn, Have received the Saviour's blessing as you earn his bitter scorn. 75 Build your churches, heaven kissing, carved and stained by cunning hands, Line your pews with silken cushions, carpets wove in distant lands, Dim the light of God's own sunshine, Filter it through tinted panes, Hoping that with haughty grandeur to wipe out the guilty stains From your hearts and souls, forever blighted, blasted by the greed, That is parcel of your being and the trade-mark of your breed. "Lay not up in earth your treasures, tempting moth and thief to steal; As you deal with these, my children, shall my Father with you deal; Sell your houses, lands and baubles, give your money to the poor; 76 Life is short and time is fleeting, heaven only shall endure," Still we hear the Master speaking, as He spoke in days of old, "Know ye that the gates of heaven open not to keys of gold?" What think you that Christ, the lowly, cares for all the puny power That can raise a church majestic, with its springing dome or tower? Live the humble life and simple, poor in purse but rich in heart, Reckless, heedless of the morrow, keeping from earth's sins apart; Always onward, always upward, let your pathway ever tend, Hoping, trusting, praying, knowing, He will keep you to the end. 77 EVENING IN A CEMETERY The sun is low. Far flung" the shadows lie — Fantastic images of whispering grove — Grotesquely painted of the sun and shade, A checkered coverlet o'er earth's broad breast Thrown o 'er the graves of those who lie at rest Within the precincts of this peaceful glade, And cover them with mantle soft of love, Impartial all alike to low and high. Here let us pause, here let us pause awhile, Life's high emprise and all its cares forgot; Here for a moment cease our strife for gain, And careful con the lesson we may learn And learning profit great thereby, and turn An open mind to Nature's lore again, And here, at last, in this, God's holy spot. Renounce we all our petty thoughts of guile A saint rests here — a holy man of God — Who knew not how — nor ever strived to learn — To chisel from his friends the dross called wealth, But only how to walk the path of light That leads from dawn into the falling -night Where all must rest at last. Feared not the stealth Of sickness, sin nor death. He. never turned His face toward sin. Sleeps he beneath this sod. 79 He walked with God and was his soul serene. When death came stalking through a neighbor's door From the faint heart of him deep stricken there He drove the chilling terror quick away And by his eloquence of whispered prayer And gentle urging taught him how to pray, To see the Christ who with His love and power Could grant sweet peace beyond life's fading scene. The poor lie here. This is the potters' field, Unlovely portion of this hallowed ground; For e'en in death distinction must be made Between the pauper and him of high estate, And it is not meet that both the low and great Shall rest at last within the self-same shade Cast by the thorn or yew. The lowly mound Of both the rich and poor to caste must yield. 80 A rich man here— Your pardon, death, I crave- There are no rich or poor lie buried here, For all are equal in their last estate, And all that live are vassals of your might; Soon gone their little day, unending night' Doth give them rest. Forgotten love and hate, And, side by side, within these borders drear Lie low and high, each in his shallow grave. Now mark you well! Behold this noble shaft That stands so firm upon its granite base, Deep carved with skill; his epitaph is here Of him who rests in sleep without an end. Read what it says: -To all the poor, a friend, He gave his substance that their lives less drear Might be, nor ever turned away his face From those in need; He knew no greed nor graft/ 'Tis all a lie, and this they know full well Who cut these words so deeply and so true; About his debtors lie; could they but rise And shake their crumbling fists full in his face And make his deaf ears hear, all in disgrace Would hang his bony head and his dull eyes From out their grinning sockets start anew And search for peace amidst the depths of hell. The wind blows cold, come let us on our way; The sun is set and night comes on apace; The low 'ring shadows hover all about And brooding silence wraps the world in peace. Have we our lesson learned that we shall cease All useless striving after wealth nor flout Our puny power in poorer neighbor's face, To humbly live and still more humbly pray, 82 That the great God of love, divine and dear, May teach us all to walk the path aright, To put aside the dross, to look above Swift passing things of life, useless and vain; To see the Master on the tree of pain, His tortured face still all alight with love, A guiding beacon through the reek of night, And make our faith triumphant over fear. 88 THE WAY We're weak with the burdens we carry O'er the long and tiresome way; We're faint with the heat and the labor 'Neath the noontide's pitiless ray; And useless seem all of our strivings And we long for the end of the day. Our yesterdays all disappointments, Our todays brimming over with pain, And it seems that all our tomorrows Will be yesterdays over again, And faith's gleaming sunshine forever Be dispersed by life's clouds and its rain. 84 With faces uplifted in longing, O'er the ocean's far, uttermost rim, We catch the faint glow of a promise Flashing upward through clouds on its brim, And our faith perceives its fulfillment In a glory no doubting may dim. Then what is the use of repining? And what is the use to complain? Success must e'er follow reverses As sunshine must e'er follow the rain; And the path that leads o'er the hilltop, E'er leads down to the valley again. Leads down to the fair, smiling valley Where all hopes and our dreams we attain. And useless seem all our strivings Where forgotten are all disappointments, Forgotten are all trouble and pain — We find at the end of the journey Our home and our lost loved ones aa'ain. S3 COURTIN Like to go a-courtin On a winter day, Ekal to a circus Better than a play; Fun to see the sheriff Bitin off a chaw; Like to hear the lawyers Stand around and jaw. Like to hear Frank Jennings Pleadin of a case; Truth jest sets triumphant On his smilin face; Ought to be a showman, Tell you he can act; Pretty long on talkin, Mity short on fact. Little Jimmy Jackson Lookin wise, — but shaw! Knows a lot of schemin, Mity little law; Slick as any deakin, Voice as smooth as grease, Lyin jest as easy — Conscience is decease. Here's a out-town lawyer, Mister Henry Rake, Slippery as an eel skin, Crooked as a snake; Got a lot of bizness Rollin up the pelf. Gives his wife his money — Fraid to trust hisself. Lawyer Henry comes to Settle an estate, Aint no shakes at practise, Only jest probate. Mister Jesse Shylock Dresses mity grand, Makes a mint of money Sellin lots and land. 87 There is Fatty Jenkins, Sets around and dreams, Writes a lot of jingles, Head is full of schemes; Weighs above two hundred, Yet, in spite o' that, Cant call him a fat man, But a man that's fat. Esquire William Wilson, Senator of State, Great on yellocution, Knows he kin norate. Dont like his Polly Tickle Views a bit, By Jing! But I've alius found him Straighter than a string. Listen to the youngsters With their gifts of gab, On each other's doin's Closely keepin tab; Somethin 'sides their cow-lick Underneath their hat; Got more nerve than judgment- They'll get over that. Thought all lawyers crooked, Now I dont, b'Gee! Find them jest as honest As us farmers be — Good and bad among 'em, Straight and crooked sticks; Some as square as taxes, Others up to tricks. Dep'ty Clerk is failin, Growin old and gray, Got a lot o' gumption, Seen a better day. Bailiff looks important, Bigety and proud, You can trust his keepin Order in a crowd. 89 See the poor defendant Lookin mity pale, Knows ef he's convicted, Got to go to jail; Knows ef he's acquitted, Sure to come to harm — Thinks his pesky lawer Like to take his farm. Fun to watch the jurors Settin in a row, Lookin wise and solemn, Jest es ef they know What the Judge is sayin, What it is 'ats ment By "cum'lative evidence ' : "Criminal intent." Judge a-lookin pleasant, Noddin of his head, Jest es ef believin Everthing 'ats said. 90 Bet ye. they dont fool him With their tommyrot — Mity hard to change him When his mind is sot. Like to go a-courtin On a winter day, Ekal to a circus, Better than a play. Like to chaw terbacker, Spit an be content — Cause it aint a-costin Me a single cent. MEMORIES In my cozy study, after fall of night, Half asleep and dreaming, by the fire bright, Faces, forms of comrades, of the long ago Dance before my vision in its genial glow. And the years slip from me with their care and pain, Dreaming by the fire, I'm a boy again, Full of quick resentment at a slight or wrong, In my soul the music of unuttered song. v: In the old, red schoolhouse, at the organ old, Sits a fair musician, as in days of old, From her flying fingers the soul of music breathes As she plays the old hymn, "Bringing in the sheaves. ' ' Clear and sweet our voices sing the olden tune, Sweet and pure as sunshine on a morn in June; Deeper swells the music, at the master's nod, Rising ever higher to the throne of God. Gone, the fair musician now is only dust, And her casket's handles long since have turned to rust, Still, I hear her singing, soft as evening breeze Whispers 'midst the maples, "Bringing in the sheaves. ' ' 93 Sweet is retrospection at the close of da.y^ Sad is recollection of life's yesterday. When the harvest's ended, midst the falling leaves, May I go rejoicing, "Bringing in the sheaves." 94 THE CALL OF THE ROAD A vagrant, I move on forever, Far over the hill and away, Unheeding the needs of the morrow, Sufficient to me is today; The nation's broad highways I travel, With wanderlust as my goad; I've a curse (or a blessing) upon me, For I list to the call of the road. What think you I care for your riches? Am I not as wealthy as He Who, doing the will of the Father, Tramped onward from river to sea, With only the blue sky above Him, With naught but the earth for a bed, With only His mantle to warm Him And a rock to pillow His head? 95 For all of j^our mills and mansions, For all of your silver and gold, For all of your baubles and jewels, For all of your treasures untold, I would not exchange my condition, My freedom from worry and load, Nor the pleasures that always attend me When I list to the call of the road. EVENTIDE The weary day has passed away And it is eventide; And now once more along- the shore I walk the sea beside, And gaze with rapture on such scenes That artist's brush deride. Far o'er the waters of the bay The sun in splendor gleams And gilds the cliffs along the shore Like witchery of dreams And paints a rainbow in the spray 'Til earth transformed seems. The criss-cross shadows in the grove Of maples on the shore Weave with their moving fingertips Of lights and shadows o'er The emerald turf, a checkered screen Remembered evermore. Far-flung, the banners of the sky All purple fringed with gold, Their silver lining shining through Full many a wind-torn fold, Show, through their rents, fair visions bright Too wondrous to behold. God grant that when I come to die It be at eventide, That through the breakers on the bar My bark may safely ride, And I sail out to sun-kissed seas My Pilot by my side. 98 THE ISLAND FAIR OF DREAMS When the toilsome day is ended And the night wind, chill and cold, Howls about my ratt'ling casements Like a beast that's over bold; And the low 'ring clouds of evening Swiftly scud across the sky, And the heaped-up drifts of Winter Deeply in the forests lie. I see visions in the fire, Dancing in its genial blaze, And the present is forgotten In a dream of other days, And my study walls, like magic, Melt away, until it seems That again I am transported To the island fair of dreams. 9') There the air is heavy laden With the spicy breath of morn As it blows across the meadows With their flowers newly born; And the sky is blue above me As the sea is blue below, With its shining beach of coral Gleaming like new-fallen snow. Once again I hear the music Of a voice with laughter ring, Like the brooding call of Summer Mingled with the notes of Spring; And I look across the valley Where the brook in sunshine gleams, And beside it stands my sweetheart Of the island fair of dreams. 100 Hand in hand we wander onward O'er the beds of asphodels Far across the fields elysian Where the soul of beauty dwells; And our hearts melt into music Of the noblest, grandest themes. 0, the gladness and the grandeur Of the island fair of dreams. Now, the vision fades before me, Fades as gently as the light Of an evening, merging slowly Into darkness of the night; And my wife is bending o'er me With a smile. Her dear face beams Down upon me. She's my sweetheart Of the island fair of dreams. 101 MORNING AT CEDAR LAKE God made a dimple in the earth And filled it up with dew, Then spread a carpet green around, All canopied with blue, Smoothed out the sandy beaches white, With forests lined the shore, And made of all a vision fair Remembered evermore. Faint from the poppy fields of night Breathes soft a lang'rous air, That soothes the throbbing brow of pain,- Sweet banisher of care — While mists rise slowly with the sun And shimmer as they rise, And, dancing o'er the water, seem Thin veils of paradise. 102 My light skiff floats with idle oars, Of vagrant breeze the sport, Afar o'er dimpling waters bright, Heedless of time or port. Agleam with rosy light of morn, The dancing waves pass by, And each a picture, fair and true, Mirror of earth and sky. Blue is the cloudless dome above, Blue is the lake below; The murm'ring surf upon the beach, Breathes music soft and low. Clear is the water and as pure And sweet as morning rain. My soul enraptured here receives An anodyne for pain. Fair in the dancing light of morn The pure white lilies gleam, Each snowy petal floating on Its tiny raft of green, 103 Rests in each cluster, safe and sure, A mint of purest gold, And all a play-ground for the bees And fairies overbold. Amidst the matted rushes thick The herons drowsing stand; Booms forth the bittern's dismal call, Afar o'er lake and land; While from the island's distant shores Where thick the rushes grow, The pied frogs' orchestra resounds With solemn chords and low. Here, I forget the city's call, The sordid strife for gain; Here, I forget life's struggles fierce, Its losses, pleasure, pain. Here, can the whole sad world go hang; Give me my daily view Of lake and wood at break of dawn, I'll give the rest to you. 104 ANODYNE Come, dear brother, put aside Schemes of gain and thoughts of pride. Let us trip a lively measure Let us all take a fling at pleasure. All too soon the spring time passes Hearts of youth and blush of lasses. Come, dear brother, put away All the thoughts of yesterday; Yesterday is gone forever With its gains and its endeavor. What's the use of toil and slaving? Now is all that's worth the saving. 105 Come, dear brother, for today Let us wander out and play; Let us just forget tomorrow. Banish all our sighs and sorrow, For a day we'll cease our strivings. All our plans and our eontrivings. Come, dear brother, put aside Thoughts of wealth. Be satisfied Just to play. Forget our sinning, All the thoughts of loss or winning, All wealth is false and worthless pride — Come, let us be just satisfied. 106 GRIT Grit makes the man, The want of it the chump, The men who win Lay hold, hang on and hump. 107 vs. '• • » * A <» - . . s 1 u . %>'°"* £ o« <* tt t »o. *> v - s *° « & V c ° " ° * <^