/ 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

Utrs* Carrie ^Jice 1&t\ovntmt> 
 
 Nee ESMOND, 
 
 Born 
 
 J/{<x,j, jSidi, i8(f6. 
 
 * _ 
 
 
 
Everett Waddey, Stationer and Printer. Kich'mund, V; 
 
^N 
 
 JJcCsicntiaii- 
 
 TIIIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED To THE FRIENDS 
 ()F MY DECEASED WIFE. 
 
 GEORGE THORNTON. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 In Memoriam 7 
 
 The Ivy 19 
 
 Regret 21 
 
 Lights of Home 23 
 
 Fate 24 
 
 "There's Many a Slip," 26 
 
 To Adele • 27 
 
 A Passing Thought 29 
 
 Buttercups 30 
 
 Waiting ■ . . . 32 
 
 " In the Bright Consummate Flower " 34 
 
 Home and Friends • 35 
 
 Hope 37 
 
 Little Stranger . . . 38 
 
 Friendship 39 
 
 It Came at Last 1 40 
 
 The Angel of Nature 41 
 
 Sometime 43 
 
 An Old Farm House ■ 45 
 
 Tear and Smile 47 
 
 Memory 49 
 
 To Jennie, on Her Second Birthday 5° 
 
 My Dream 51 
 
 Hope Deferred 53 
 
 A Question 55 
 
 Bridges— A Contrast . 59 
 
 Faith 63 
 
 Saints and Sinners 64 
 
 When Love is Kind 67 
 
 Sadness 69 
 
 My Petition 7 1 
 
 The True Gentleman 73 
 
 Charity 75 
 
 My Thought 77 
 
 The Mountaineer's Prayer 80 
 
 On the Sea of Life 82^ 
 
 Heaven 84 
 
 A Fragment 86 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 By Rev. Dr. C. F\ D E) K IvI S. 
 
 After the reading of the burial service. Dr. Deems 
 said : 
 
 "Ordinarily at funeral services it is not wise, because 
 it is not profitable, to speak much of the departed. 
 There is no skill of eloquence to make a bereaved heart 
 close down more tenderly over the memory of the be- 
 loved than it does of it's own accord. There is no painter 
 wdio can portray the character of a beloved departed to 
 make it seem more beautiful in form and more rich in 
 color than it does now to the eyes that look at it through 
 the tears of wounded affection. And yet somehow we 
 do linger around even the garment which some puri- 
 fied spirit throws off as it mounts to God ; and as we 
 
 7 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 think upon these tilings, we Christians — -who believe that 
 Christ is the resurrection and the life, who believe in 
 the blessed inevitability spoken of by the Apostle Paul, 
 that this corruptible must put on ineorruption, that 
 this mortal must put on immortality — feel that it is not 
 a thing to be desired because it enters in the order of 
 nature, but because it comes to us in the order of Christ. 
 
 " We sometimes wonder at ourselves that we cling to 
 the departing — hold them back, longing to keep them 
 here', clinging tenderly to them, not willing to let the 
 •mortal put on immortality — and yet when Ave come to 
 bereavements in our experience it is always the case. 
 
 " As I have been sitting by these precious remains, 
 meditating upon a life which seems from childhood to 
 have been marked with bereavements constantly, I have 
 said to her, How you have clung to your beloved and 
 yet how they have gone ! We know that the process 
 of living is a process of dying, and that the dying of 
 the body, which sets the spirit free, is not a curse to it, 
 but really a blessing, and yet how reluctant to yield! 
 Looking upon the face of our beloved friend to-day has 
 la ken me back to childhood, because there was a cler- 
 gyman to whom she was. so devoted, who was my col- 
 lege friend, a gifted young man. who came from the 
 
 - s 
 
IN MEMO R I A M. 
 
 same town with me to college, and there we prayed to- 
 gether and consecrated ourselves to Christ. Afterwards, 
 when he became a Bishop, we were in different branches 
 of Christ's Church, hut I can recollect how it was when 
 I left college, and it seemed so hard to him that I should 
 go out into the world while he staid behind. And so 
 from childhood to old age we have been holding our 
 beloved back, as Clod lias called them forward. And 
 yet when I come to think of it that is very natural ; 
 we hold them back just as the earth holds back the 
 seed, but while it holds it back it quickens and that 
 seed must spring up. It is the Apostle's figure, 'It 
 may chance of wheat or of some other grain,' and with 
 that new-old body it mounts out of the dark chambers, 
 in which the present life has hidden the soul, into the 
 broad and blessed sunlight of the life immortal. 
 
 "And this thing came to me with more force just now 
 as I was reading this little poem, which I am going to 
 read to you — a poem written by those hands, folded 
 now, stiff now, hands which struck the lyre of earthly 
 music, now become spiritual hands, striking the harps 
 of heavenly music, This is what she wrote, prophetic 
 of what has come to her : 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 " 'Pushing the clods of earth aside, 
 
 Leaving the dark, where the foul things hide, 
 
 Spreading its leaves to the summer sun, 
 
 Bondage ended, freedom won ! 
 
 O, my soul, like the ivy be, 
 
 Rise, for the sunshine calls for thee ! 
 
 " 'Climbing up as the seasons go, 
 Looking down on things below, 
 Twining itself in the branches high, 
 As if the frail thing owned the sky ; 
 Look up, my soul, like the ivy be — 
 Heaven, not earth, is the place for thee !' 
 
 "And so down here — down here in this world, even 
 
 through sweetest domestic surroundings, which some 
 
 of us men, thank God, do have so abundantly — she heard 
 
 the call to sunshine and she has risen and angels see 
 
 her now breaking the clod and climbing up to God. 
 
 What a grand idea that is, Beloved! Heaven, not earth, 
 
 is the place for us, and so the Saviour said, 'I go to 
 
 prepare a place for you:' and as is natural every man 
 
 seeks his place, every woman seeks her place, and if 
 
 Heaven be her place, why should not her spirit be 
 
 there? May I read another stanza? 
 
 " 'Wrapping itself 'round the giant oak, 
 Hiding itself from the tempest stroke, 
 Strong and brave is the fragile thing, 
 For it knows a secret— how to cling ! 
 So, my soul, there's strength for thee, 
 Hear the Mighty One : 'Lean on me ! ' 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ' ' ' Green are the leaves when the world is white, 
 For the ivy sings through the frosty night, 
 Keeping the hearts of oak awake 
 
 Till the flowers shall bloom and the spring shall break ! 
 Thus, O my soul, through the winter's rain, 
 Sing the sunshine back again !' 
 
 "And she hath clung like an ivy around the heart of 
 her husband. How often she has sung sweetness into 
 that heart! Do you not think this last stanza very 
 beautiful ? 
 
 " 'Opening its green and fluttering breast 
 To give the timid birds a nest, 
 Coming out from the winter wild, 
 To make a wreath for the Holy Child.' 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful how near this Christmas season 
 came to her? 
 
 " 'To make a wreath for the Holy Child — 
 Oh, let my soul like the ivy be — 
 A help to the world and a wreath for thee ! ' 
 
 " I think that is a poem that deserves to live in Ameri- 
 can literature. While Ave cling to one another let us be 
 held up by the blessed inevitability. We go forward, 
 for the seed must rise and the seed must grow and the 
 seed must come into sunshine. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 "I think here are some verses written by her that 
 have never been printed ; they are probably the last 
 things she wrote. I should think they would be an 
 unspeakable comfort to our beloved brother, the be- 
 reaved one, who is more than usually afflicted because 
 one more than usually bright and gifted has been 
 taken from him. I will read her little poem called 
 ' Sometime.' 
 
 " ' Life does not find completeness here, 
 We grasp at things too far away, 
 And overlook the gladness near 
 In dreaming of a coming day. 
 
 " ' We love and lose, we strive and fail ; 
 
 We dream — and dreams are idle things ; 
 The tree falls earthward in the gale, 
 To which some vine for safety clings. 
 
 " ' Oh, silent tears! oh, weary hands! 
 Oh eyes that ever look afar ! 
 Somewhere, I trust, in happier lands, 
 Life lifts for you its morning star.' 
 
 "Ah, my sister, your eyes already are gazing at that 
 morning star. 
 
 " 'Sometime, for those who trusting wait, 
 
 Shall the white flowers of gladness blow, 
 And Heaven most fully compensate 
 For all the losses earth can show.' 
 
IN MEMO R I AM. 
 
 "Beloved, let that be our comfort. Let us trust in 
 God. Let us commit this beautiful spirit into the 
 hands of our Heavenly Father. It seems to be a 
 strange providence that the sweet and the gifted and 
 the good go, and so many of us men and women, that 
 feel so dry and hard and useless and fruitless to the 
 world, are left alive. Sometimes when a beautiful 
 soul>, closely allied to us, lias passed into eternity, have 
 Ave not felt ashamed to be alive when that friend was 
 dead? Now, dear friends, our Christian religion comes 
 to us. I do not understand, and I do not pretend to 
 explain to any man, how it is that any man lives and 
 keeps from being mad who does not believe that Jesus 
 Christ told the truth when he said, 'lam the resur- 
 rection and the life;' for if that be not true, men and 
 women, Ave have no promise of immortality. There is 
 nothing in science to help us out. Science cannot help 
 us to any knowledge of the origin and destinies of our 
 humanity. The heart may be full of hopes of immor- 
 tality as the hearts of the old philosophers in Greece 
 were, and yet there is no knowledge of it. There is no 
 assurance. All that is said and written by the most 
 gifted men is poetry and mere rhapsody and mere 
 rhetoric, at the best, I tell you if God has not some time 
 out of Heaven given us a knowledge of our immortality, 
 
 !3 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 there is no way, that I know, to learn whether immor- 
 tality be a dream or a fact. If I do not believe, that 
 Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life, I have no 
 basis for the faith anywhere in any part of my mental 
 or moral constitution. When Jesus Christ comes and 
 says, ■ I am the resurrection. He that believeth in 
 me, though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and who- 
 soever liveth and believeth in me shall not die forever,' 
 then I have some hope. In that hope this beloved 
 gifted woman lived; in that hope she died, and the last 
 line in this very beautiful poem, which I first read to 
 you, seemed to be fulfilled in her last moments in an 
 extraordinary manner. She prayed that her soul might 
 be a help to the world and a wreath for Christ, and so 
 when she was in that last illness, she plead with the 
 doctor that she might be spared for her husband's 
 sake, a help to the world ; and when that could not be 
 she laid her soul- on Jesus as a wreath for his blessed 
 head. So may your life be, and so may be mine. 
 
 " Brethren, hear once more the exhortation of the 
 Apostle : ' Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stead- 
 fast, immovable, always abounding in the work of 
 the Lord, for as much as ye know that your labor is 
 not in vain in the Lord.'" 
 
 H 
 

 POEMS 
 
 '%M, 
 
 Se^ 
 
 '"^WM^T" 
 
THE IVY 
 
 USHING the clods of earth aside, 
 Leaving the dark, where the foul things hide, 
 
 !™™*»l ll Spreading its leaves to the summer sun, 
 Bondage ended, freedom won! 
 
 (), my soul, like the ivy be, 
 
 Rise, for the sunshine calls for thee ! 
 
 Climbing up as the seasons go, 
 
 Looking down on things below, 
 
 Twining itself in the branches high, 
 
 As if the frail thing owned the sky ! 
 
 Look up, my soul, like the ivy be — 
 
 Heaven, not earth, is the place for thee ! 
 
 19 
 
THE IVY. 
 
 Wrapping itself 'round the giant oak, 
 Hiding itself from the tempest stroke, 
 Strong and brave is the fragile thing, 
 For it knows a secret — how to cling ! 
 So, my soul, there's strength for thee, 
 Hear the Mighty One: " Lean on me! " 
 
 Green are the leaves when the world is white, 
 
 For the ivy sings through the frosty night, 
 
 Keeping the hearts of oak awake 
 
 Till the flowers shall bloom and the spring shall break ! 
 
 Thus, my soul, through the winter's rain, 
 
 Sing the sunshine back again ! 
 
 Opening its green and fluttering breast 
 
 To give the timid birds a nest, 
 
 Coming out from the winter wild 
 
 To make a wreath for the Holy Child — 
 
 Oli! let my soul like the ivy be — 
 
 A help to the world and a wreath for Thee! 
 
REGRET. 
 
 E mourn over years that have vanished 
 80 foolishly wasted and lost, 
 With sorrow we sink down astonished, 
 While counting what follies have cost. 
 
 Xo toil or heroic endeavor 
 
 Can make those bare deserts bloom ; 
 Saharas they shall be forever, 
 
 No effort can alter their doom. 
 
 Affrighted and trembling, some falter, 
 
 And weakly or cowardly die; 
 Some vow by the morrow to alter, 
 
 Unheeded the present glides by. 
 
REGRET. 
 
 Oh! waste not the moments in sighing, 
 Now use all the strength you possess ; 
 
 Have done with your weeping and crying, 
 For God doth insure you success. 
 
 Our anguish may prove a rich blessing, 
 The soil we watered with tears 
 
 May blossom with fragrance refreshing, 
 To pladden our remnant of years. 
 
 If taught by the past we awaken, 
 And fully the present employ, 
 
 All errors and follies forsaken, 
 
 Our lives may yet blossom with joy. 
 
LIGHTS OF HOME. 
 
 FAR the wanderer sees them glow, 
 Now night is near; 
 i They gild his path with radiance clear, 
 Sweet lights of home. 
 
 When my brief day of life is o'er, 
 
 Then may I see, 
 Shine from the "Heavenly House" for me, 
 
 Dear lights of home. 
 
 23 
 
AFTER LONG YEARS. 
 
 ET my poor heart be, old friend, 
 
 You would not step upon a grave! 
 Why seek that hard-earned peace to rend, 
 Long hours of weary silence gave? 
 
 We meet to-night with ceaseless speech, 
 Who parted last with scorn and tears, 
 
 And strive with clasping hands to meet 
 Across the gulf of vanished years. ■ 
 
 But all too wide that deep abyss, 
 
 We opened in our bitter pride, 
 
 And in it lies the youth we miss 
 
 While gazing down on either side. 
 24 
 
AFTER LONG YEARS. 
 
 And mourn the waste and bitter loss, 
 For which regret has come too late, 
 
 For nevermore may we recross 
 
 The broken plank that men call Fate. 
 
 Then, since our pathways separate tend, 
 Ah, let the past in sorrow rest ; 
 
 My thoughts go with you to the end, 
 I wish you all life's gifts and best. 
 
 But as for me each starved desire 
 
 Turns from its vainly answered prayer ; 
 
 To ashen-gray dies passion's fire, 
 And hope lies buried in despair. 
 
 25 
 
SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 S Peter sat at Heaven's gate 
 
 A maiden sought permission, 
 U And begged of him, if not too late, 
 To give her free admission. 
 
 "What claims hast thou to enter here?" 
 
 He cried, with sternest mien, 
 "Please, sir," said she, 'twixt hope and fear, 
 
 "I am only just sixteen." 
 
 "Enough!" the hoary guardian said, 
 
 And the gate wide open threw, 
 "That is the age when every maid 
 
 Is girl and angel too." 
 
 26 
 
TO ADELE. 
 
 SEE thee not as when we met, 
 
 In childhood's years, remembered now; 
 Scarce fourteen summers then had set 
 
 Their sunlight on thy beauteous brow. 
 
 Oh, what a change! And canst thou be 
 The same sweet child of modest worth? 
 
 Even beauty wandering bows to thee, 
 The bright-eyed angel of the earth. 
 
 Thou art blooming now, to thee is given 
 
 The beauty of those forms above, 
 Thine eye is lit with light from Heaven 
 
 And bliss is on thy lip of love. 
 
 27 
 
TO ADELE. 
 
 But ah! thou hast a charm refined, 
 
 Far, far above the aid of art, 
 The virtues of thy heavenly mind 
 
 And friendly feelings of thy heart. 
 
 Fair Adele! Let me still enjoy 
 
 Thy friendship, dear as other's love, 
 
 And may it bind without alloy 
 
 Our hearts, in Heaven's high halls above. 
 
 May bliss be thine in beauty's bower, 
 A stranger still to sorrow's tears, 
 
 And may sweet Friendship's fairest flowers 
 Adorn thy paths through future years. 
 
 28 
 
PARTING TOKEN. 
 
 To Airs. Geo. Alger, London, England. 
 
 IS hard when heart unites with heart, 
 The sad adieu must then be spoken; 
 
 ! Alas ! that friends froni us must part 
 And all life's tender ties be broken. 
 
 But no sad thoughts like these shall enter 
 The friendly heart that still is thine; 
 
 Fond memories of the past shall centre 
 And a bright wreath of hope entwine. 
 
 Then, though by distance we are parted, 
 
 Yet, in our thoughts we oft may meet ; 
 
 Forever may the faithful-hearted 
 
 Be joined by bonds of friendship sweet. 
 29 
 
BUTTERCUPS. 
 
 REEN are the meadows o'er; the touch of 
 
 spring 
 
 Is on the earth, its perfume in the air; 
 
 In yon clear brook the swallow dips his wing 
 
 And orchard trees their loads of blossom bear; 
 
 Scattered in lavish wealth o'er mead and field 
 
 The buttercups in golden beauty show, 
 
 Their burnished globes in tender pressure yield 
 
 To us, as once again we younger grow 
 
 And mark the tramp of little toddling feet, 
 
 The glowing rosy cheeks, the eager eyes, 
 
 The baby laughter and the prattle sweet 
 
 Of children, seizing each their shining prize; 
 30 
 
BUTTERCUPS. 
 
 Not flowers of cost as are exotics rare, 
 
 Flowers to be purchased only by much gold, 
 Not flowers to rest within a court belle's hair 
 
 Or make a fair bride fairer twenty-fold; 
 But flowers to deck a village maiden's breast, 
 
 A simple beauty, fairest unadorned, 
 Or be by childhood's dimpled fingers pressed— 
 
 Nature's gold cuplets by the wealthy scorned. 
 Bright buttercups, they mind of the days 
 
 When we no farther looked than childhood's hours. 
 Be this my simple song, sung in your praise, 
 Simplest, yet dearest of our sweet spring flowers. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 AITING for what? Shall I ever know? 
 Or shall the New Year creep drowsily by 
 'Till my death day comes? Shall I never 
 know why 
 
 I was born and must live out my life of woe? 
 
 Is the whole of my lifetime merely a pause 
 
 'Twixt my birth that was and my death to be? 
 Must I always follow and never be free? 
 
 Am I onl} r effect? Can I never be cause? 
 
 Or, am I but a link of the weariful chain 
 Of life and the sequence of things gone by? 
 I am forced to live, I cannot die, 
 
 But my life is empty and all in vain. 
 
WA-ITING. 
 
 Yet sometimes I hear my spirit elate. 
 
 At the thoughts of the glorious deeds to be done, 
 Cry, "Strike! Tis the time!" But in answer; One- 
 Shall I ever know who? whispers, "Silence! Wait." 
 
 It cannot be Hope, for her voice is subtle and sweet; 
 
 It is not Despair, for I know her well ; 
 
 'Tis like the ceaseless drone of a knell, 
 And wearies the heart with monotonous beat. 
 
 Shall another voice ever whisper to me: 
 
 "Awake! 'Tis the hour; go forward and fight, 
 Thy probation is ended, and impotent night 
 
 Has burst into day!" So, shall set me free? 
 
 I know not, I know not, this only I dread, 
 
 That ere that voice shall proclaim the hour — 
 Not only the will may be lost, but the power, 
 
 And I may be cold with the nameless dead. 
 
 33 
 
"IN THE BRIGHT CONSUMMATE FLOWER." 
 
 L( )WERS are the bright things which earth 
 On her broad bosom loves to cherish ; 
 Gay they appear, as children's mirth — 
 Like fading dreams of hope, they perish. 
 
 By them the lover tells his tale. 
 
 They can his hopes, his fears, express; 
 
 The maid, when words or looks would fail, 
 Can thus a kind word confess. 
 
 Then, lady, let the flowers we bring 
 For thee a wreath of beauty twine, 
 
 And as the blossoms deck the Spring, 
 So every tender wish be thine. 
 
 34 
 
HOME AND FRIENDS. 
 
 HERE is a power to make each hour 
 As sweet as Heaven designed it! 
 Nor need we roam to bring it home, 
 Though few there be that find it! 
 We seek too high for things close by, 
 
 And lose what nature found us; 
 
 For life hath here no bliss so clear 
 
 As home and friends around us. 
 
 We oft destroy our present joy 
 
 With future hopes, and praise them, 
 
 While flowers as sweet bloom at our feet, 
 
 If we'd but stoop to raise them. 
 35 
 
HOME AND FRIENDS. 
 
 For things afar still sweeter are, 
 
 When youth's bright spell hath bound us; 
 But, soon we're taught the earth hath naught 
 
 Like home and friends around us. 
 
 The friends that speed in time of need, 
 
 When hope's last reed is shaken, 
 Do show us still, that come what will, 
 
 We are not quite forsaken. 
 Though all were night, if but the light 
 
 From Friendship's altar crowned us, 
 There is no bliss on earth like this — 
 
 Our home and friends around us. 
 
 36 
 
THE HEART'S SECRET. 
 
 HAVE left my life behind me, 
 I have buried my heart to-day, 
 
 And turned the lock in the graveyard 
 And given the key away. 
 
 I know will come days of longing, 
 Oh, days of unspeakable dread ! 
 
 When I shall go back in spirit 
 To look at my precious dead. 
 
 But I shall not faint nor falter 
 Nor show by word or sign, 
 
 How I mourn for what lies buried 
 In this graveyard heart of mine. 
 
 37 
 
LITTLE STRANGER. 
 
 ELCOME, welcome, little stranger 
 
 To our midst. Where hast thou been? 
 Hast thou come from any danger? 
 
 With eyes so calm. What hast thou seen? 
 
 We greet thee with kisses ever sweet, 
 iVnd long to hear thy little story — 
 
 Told by lips we will often greet 
 With love's most earnest glory. 
 
 Have the fair, bright angels spared 
 
 Thee from their countless throng- 
 To shed thee — Sunbeam ? How they dared 
 
 Thou must tell the story in thy song. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 OW oft I have dreamed of friendship, 
 For friendship I had thought was made 
 To be a woman's solace in the shade, 
 And glad her in the light, and so 
 
 I madly thought to find a friend 
 
 Whose soul with mine would sweetly blend, 
 
 And as two placid streams unite, 
 
 And roll their waters in one bright 
 
 And tranquil current to the sea, 
 
 So might our happy spirits be 
 
 Borne onward to eternity ; 
 
 But she betrayed me, and with pain 
 
 I woke,- to sleep and dream again. 
 
 39 
 
IT CAME AT LAST. 
 
 T came at last, the missive white, 
 
 After a long, long time, 
 It fills my soul with fond delight, 
 And memory's bell rings clear to-night, 
 
 And very sweet its chime. 
 
 40 
 
THE ANGEL OF NATURE. 
 
 home hath she, all homes are hers, 
 Her. wreathed gifts she takes in twain, 
 To one her joy she ministers, 
 To one her eestacy of pain ; 
 Or, may be, drops them twined in one 
 Until their chequered use is done. 
 
 Where want has ground the earth to dust 
 And heartache settles on the- cheek, 
 
 She offers not the needed crust 
 
 To feed the hungry and the weak ; 
 
 Yet, with the light of ripening fields, 
 
 Her smile the thought of plenty yields. 
 41 
 
THE A N GEL OF NA T UK E. 
 
 She walks the streets that maidens frail 
 Have trodden since the nights of old, 
 But wades not through the miry trail, 
 Her feet are clean as hidden gold; 
 
 They move as o'er the virgin snows, 
 Yet in her step all passion glows. 
 
 42 
 
SOMETIME. 
 
 IFE docs not find completeness here, 
 We grasp at things too far away, 
 And overlook the gladness near 
 In dreaming of a coming da v. 
 
 We love and lose, we strive and fail; 
 
 We dream — and dreams are idle things 
 The tree falls earthward in the gale 
 
 To which some vine for safety clings 
 
 Oh, silent, tears! oh, weary hands! 
 
 Oh, eyes that ever look afar! 
 Somewhere, I trust, in happier lands 
 
 Life lifts for you its morning star. 
 
 43 
 
SOMETIME. 
 
 Sometime, for those who trusting wait, 
 Shall the white flowers of gladness blow 
 
 And Heaven most fully compensate 
 For all the losses earth can show. 
 
 44 
 
AX OLD FARM HOUSE. 
 
 X old farm house with pastures wide, 
 Sweet with flowers on every side, 
 A restless lad who looking from out 
 The porch with woodbine twined about 
 Wishes, a thought from out his heart : 
 " O, if T only could depart 
 From this dull place the world to see, 
 Ah ! me, how happy I would be." 
 
 Amid the city's ceaseless din, 
 
 A man who round the world has been, 
 45 
 
AN OLD FA R M HO USE. 
 
 Who, mid the tumult and the throng 
 Is thinking, wishing, all day long : 
 " 0, could I only tread once more 
 The field path to the farm house door, 
 The old green meadows could I see, 
 Ah ! how happy would I be." 
 
 ~m 
 
 
 ^£>l 
 
 3~ 
 
 4 6 
 
TEAR AND SMILE. 
 
 HAT are you?" said a tear 
 To a smile playing near; 
 "With a nickering shimmer 
 You transiently glimmer 
 On the meaningless features of mirth ; 
 But you nothing express 
 Of the anguish and stress 
 
 That make up man's portion on earth." 
 
 " You are rather severe," 
 
 Said the smile to the tear, 
 "For as day to shine aright 
 
 Needs a background of night, 
 
 47 
 
TEAR AND SMILE. 
 
 So grief must be bordered with gladness 
 And the light of a smile, 
 More than once in a while, 
 
 Helps a tear to unbosom its sadness." 
 
 4 8 
 
FANCY. 
 
 OR if Hope be a star that may lead us astray, 
 And " deceiveth . the heart," as the aged 
 ones preach, 
 Yet 'twas Mercy that gave it to beacon our way, 
 
 Though its halo illumines where we never can reach. 
 
 Though Friendship but flit like a meteor gleam, 
 
 Though it burst like a morn-lighted bubble of dew, 
 
 Though it passes away like a leaf on the stream, 
 Yet 'tis bliss while we fancy the vision is true. 
 
 49 
 
HER REST IS SWEET. 
 
 On the Death of Airs. Bradford L. Prince. 
 
 NDER the skies of May, out of the smiling day, 
 Into the shadows gray must she be borne away ! 
 "Will it -not grieve her? 
 Nay, for her rest is sweet, death's wondrous winding- 
 sheet, 
 Peace, in a calm complete, shrouds her from brow to feet — 
 
 Earth will receive her; 
 E'en as a mother's breast shelters her babe to rest. 
 Nor will death's lovely guest, passed beyond human 
 
 quest, 
 
 Know that we leave her. 
 
 50 
 
SELF-ABNEGATION. 
 
 F you should ask me to resign 
 
 My life-long hope — the hope of fame, 
 To put away this thing divine 
 
 And cease to work for wealth and name; 
 If you should tell me to awake 
 
 From this sweet dream so long I've had : 
 I'd do it all for your dear sake 
 And be content and glad. 
 
 If you should say in some far land 
 
 We'd live forever — all alone, 
 Away from friends and kith and kin 
 
 And all that I had called my own; 
 
 51 
 
SELF-ABNEGA TION. 
 
 I'd put my hand in yours, dear love, 
 And smile away the rising tears, 
 
 And never sigh for what I'd lost, 
 Thro' all the coming years. 
 
 52 
 
HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 HE tender trouble of her eyes 
 
 Is born of hope deferred; the tears 
 In witness of her grief arise, 
 
 From day to day, through all the years. 
 
 And often in her sleep at night 
 
 Are visions beautiful to see, 
 And in the darkness there is light, 
 
 And this is half her misery. 
 
 For dreams of vain delight are one 
 
 With weary waking thoughts of pain, 
 
 For when the happy night has gone 
 
 The dreary morning comes again. 
 53 
 
HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 And joy and sorrow fill her eyes 
 
 When friends surround her. Sudden tears 
 When quiet and alone, arise 
 
 From day to day, through all the years. 
 
 54 
 
A QUESTION. 
 
 EFORE I link my fate with thee 
 Or place my hand in thine, 
 Before I let thy future give 
 Color and form to mine, 
 Before I peril Heaven for thee — 
 Question thy soul to-night for me. 
 
 I'll break all other bonds nor feel 
 
 A shadow of regret, 
 Is there one link within the past 
 
 That holds thy spirit yet? 
 Or is thy faith as clear and free 
 
 As that which I can pledge to thee? 
 55 
 
A QUESTION. 
 
 Does there within thy dimmest dreams 
 
 A possible future shine, 
 Where thy life could henceforth breathe 
 
 Untouched, unshared by mine? 
 If so, at any pain or cost, 
 
 Oh, tell me now before all's lost. 
 
 Look deeper still, if thou canst feel 
 
 Within thy inmost soul 
 That thou has kept a portion back 
 
 While I have staked the whole; 
 Let no false pity spare the blow, 
 But in mercy tell me so. 
 
 Is there within thy heart a need 
 
 That mine cannot fulfill, 
 One chord that any other hand 
 
 Could better wake, or still? 
 
 56 
 
A QUESTIOX. 
 
 Speak now, lest at some future day 
 My soul should wither and decay. 
 
 Lives there within thy nature hid 
 
 The demon spirit, change, 
 Shedding a passing glory still 
 
 On all things new and strange? 
 It may not be thy fault alone, 
 But shield my poor heart from thy own. 
 
 Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day 
 
 And answer to my claim 
 That Fate, and that this day's mistake, 
 
 Not thou, had been to blame? 
 Some soothe their conscience thus, but thou, 
 surely, thou wilt warn me now. 
 
 Nay, answer not. I dare not hear 
 Thy words are now too late ; 
 
 57 
 
A QUESTION. 
 
 Yet I would spare thee all remorse, 
 
 So comfort thee, my Fate. 
 Whatever on my heart may fall 
 Remember, I will risk it all. 
 
 58 
 
BRIDGES— A ( 'ONTRAST. 
 
 HAVE a bridge within my heart, 
 KnoSvn as the bridge of sighs; 
 
 It stretches from life's sunny spots 
 To where its darkness lies. 
 
 And when upon this bridge I stand 
 
 To watch life's tide below. 
 Sad thoughts come from the shadowy land 
 
 And darkens all its flow. 
 
 Then as it winds its way along 
 
 To sorrow's bitter sea, 
 Oh, mournful is the spirit's song 
 
 That upward floats to me. 
 
 59 
 
BRIDGES— A CONTRAST. 
 
 A song which breathes of blessings dead, 
 Of friends and friendships flown, 
 
 And pleasures gone — their distant tread 
 Now to an echo grown. 
 
 And hearing thus, beleaguering fears 
 
 Soon shut the present out, 
 While joy but in the past appears 
 
 And in the future, doubt. 
 
 Oh ! often then will deeper grow 
 The night that round me lies, 
 
 I wish that life had run its flow 
 Or never found its rise. 
 
 I HAVE a bridge within my heart 
 
 Known as the bridge of faith, 
 
 It spans by a mysterious art 
 
 The streams of life and death. 
 60 
 
B R ID G E S—A CONTRAST. 
 
 And when upon this bridge L stand 
 
 And watch the tide below, 
 Sweet thoughts come from the sunny land 
 
 And brighten all its flow. 
 
 Then as it winds its way along, 
 
 Down to the distant sea, 
 Oh! pleasant is the spirit's song 
 
 That upward floats to me. 
 
 A song of blessings never sere, 
 
 Of love beyond compare, 
 Of pleasures flowed from tremblings here 
 
 To rise serenely there. 
 
 And hearing thus, a peace divine 
 
 Soon shuts each sorrow out, 
 And all is hopeful and benign 
 
 Where all was fear and doubt. 
 
 61 
 
BRIDGES— A CONTRAST. 
 
 Oh ! often then will brighter grow 
 The light that round me lies ; 
 
 I see from life's beclouded flow 
 A crystal stream arise. 
 
 62- 
 
FAITH. 
 
 Y future may be dreary 
 
 And bring me toil and pain, 
 My heart may oft be weary, 
 
 My cup no sweet contain; 
 But when the darkest hours appears 
 
 My heart will turn to thee, 
 And cast away its doubts and fears, 
 
 For thou wilt pray for me? 
 
rM 
 
 SAINTS AND SINNERS. 
 
 |HERE goes a woman who — loving too much, 
 Somehow or other, perhaps — became 
 Piebald with patches of soot and smutched 
 With blotches of sin and shame ; 
 But I think by the piteous look in her eyes, 
 
 (Have you seen the eyes of a stricken doe?) 
 That down in her heart she moans and cries 
 With unutterable woe. 
 
 There goes a column of circumspects — see 
 
 How cleanly and comely and sleek and fair, 
 And, unto the ultimate degree, 
 
 Prim and proper they are; 
 
 6 4 
 
SAINTS AND SINNERS. 
 
 Ah, worldling ! you need not pry nor peck 
 
 Into their natures for fault or flaw, v 
 
 They are not of your kidney, frail and weak, 
 They are strong and walk by the law. 
 
 But hark ! They have caught a glimpse of her skirts, 
 
 How keen they are on the scent of sin, 
 And the bound in the heart of each asserts 
 
 Itself, and the pack begin. 
 Bravely, my masters, mangle her now! 
 
 What to you is her awful stress? 
 And not in the daylight dare you avow 
 
 Pity for wretchedness. 
 
 There, there ! Enough now, handsomely done, 
 
 How whitely your teeth show when you snort! 
 
 And how like a poor scared deer did run 
 
 (Whither) the frightened girl, 
 65 
 
SAIXTS AND SINNERS. 
 
 Whither? But that can be naught to you 
 Why was her shadow flung on your path ? 
 
 And heaven of course must be pleased to view 
 A strong man's terrible wrath. 
 
 Well, I am a sinner, or what you please, 
 
 And you may be saints for aught I know. 
 But I declare, excellent Pharisees ! 
 
 Than whiter than driven snow, 
 Compared with you, is the soul you drove 
 
 Hard on the terrible edges of Tophet ; 
 And something, I think, was said of love 
 
 Bv some one — ( 'an vou tell ? 
 
WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 
 
 HEX love is kind. 
 Cheerful and free. 
 Love's sure to find 
 
 Welcome from me. 
 
 But when love brings 
 Heart ache or pang, 
 
 Tears and such things, 
 Love may go hang ! 
 
 If love can sigh 
 For one alone, 
 Well pleased am I 
 
 To be that one. 
 
 67 
 
WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 
 
 But should I see 
 
 Love given to rove 
 To two or three, 
 
 Then, good-bye — Love ! 
 Love must, in short, 
 
 Keep fond and true, 
 Through good report, 
 
 And evil, too. 
 
 Else, here I swear, 
 Young love may go, 
 
 (For aught I care,) 
 To Jericho. 
 
 / \ 
 
I 
 
 SADNESS. 
 
 Y soul is sick and lone, 
 
 No social ties its lave entwine, 
 A heart upon a desert thrown 
 Beats not in solitude like mine; 
 For though the pleasant sunlight shine 
 
 It shows no form that I may own, 
 And closed to me is friendship's shrine, 
 I am alone! I am alone! 
 I am alone! I am alone! 
 
 It is no joy for me 
 
 To mask the fond and eager meeting 
 
 Of friends whom absence pined, and see 
 69 
 
SADNESS. 
 
 The love-lit eyes speak forth their greeting ; 
 For then a stilly voice repeating 
 
 What oft hath woke the deepest moan, 
 ►Startles my heart and stays its beating, 
 
 I am alone! I am alone! 
 
 I am alone! I am alone! 
 
 I have a heart. I'd live 
 
 And die for him whose worth I knew, 
 But could not clasp his hand and give 
 
 My full heart forth as talkers do— 
 And they who loved me, "the kind few," 
 
 Believed me changed in heart and lone 
 And left me — while it burned as true, 
 
 To live alone! To live alone! 
 
 To live alone! To live alone! 
 
 70 
 
TO A FRIEND. 
 
 H, time is bright when roses meet 
 
 With spring's sweet breath around them, 
 And sweet the cost when hearts are lost 
 
 If those we love have found them. 
 And dear the mind that still can find 
 A star in darkest weather; 
 . But, naught can be so sweet to see 
 As true friends meet together. 
 
 The few long known that years have shown 
 
 With hearts that friendship blesses, 
 
 A hand to thee, perchance a tear, 
 
 To soothe a friend's distresses, 
 71 
 
TO A FRIEND. 
 
 That helped and tried still side by side, 
 A friend to face hard weather; 
 
 Oh, thus may I yet live to see 
 Your friend and you together. 
 
 72 
 
THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 IS he who every thought and deed 
 
 By rule of virtue moves, 
 Whose generous tongue disdains to speak, 
 The thing his heart disproves. 
 
 Who never did a slander forge 
 His neighbor's fame to wound, 
 
 Nor hearken to a false report 
 By malice whispered 'round. 
 
 Who vice in all its pomp and power 
 
 Can treat with just neglect, 
 And piety, though clothed in rags, 
 
 Religiously respect. 
 
 73 
 
THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Who to his plighted words and trust 
 
 Has ever firmly stood, 
 And though he promise to his loss 
 
 He makes his promise good. 
 
 Whose soul in usury disdains 
 
 His treasures to employ, 
 Whom no rewards can ever bribe, 
 
 The guiltless to destroy. 
 
 74 
 
CHARITY. 
 
 OWEYER greatly woman sin, 
 However deeply she may fall, 
 
 If we could only look within, 
 
 The angel has remained through all. 
 
 We never search for it in vain, 
 
 Although its presence may seem brief, 
 
 She has a heart for other's pain, 
 She looks so pityingly on grief. 
 
 Her thin hand seeks her slender purse, 
 
 When men of wealth pass heedless by, 
 In aid of those whose heavy curse 
 
 Have moistened not the virtuous eye. 
 
 75 
 
CHA RITY. 
 
 The lily from the pond's foul slime 
 Its sustenance and beauty draws, 
 
 And smiles in purity meantime 
 
 Governed by Nature's wondrous laws. 
 
 Thus from the very depths of shame 
 
 Humility and grief are given, 
 That purify the soul the same 
 
 To deeds and thoughts that look to Heaven. 
 
 The lily feels a thoughtless blow, 
 
 Its fragrance rises on the air, 
 While its bruised stalk sinks down below 
 
 And dies in gloom and silence there. 
 
 There is many a bruised heart now lies 
 
 Stricken beneath the silent sod, 
 
 Whose shattered hopes will thus arise 
 
 Reproaching those who struck, to God. 
 76 
 
MY THOUGHT. 
 
 " 1 have a bright thought. 
 What is it like?" 
 
 HAT is my thought like? " Like a bird." 
 " Like a wind harp at evening heard." 
 « 'Tis like a bee." " 'Tis like the sun." 
 " 'Tis like the cloud encircled moon." 
 
 " Like a kaleidoscope." " Like fire." 
 
 " 'Tis like the telegraphic wire." 
 
 " 'Tis like the crowded merry room." 
 
 " 'Tis like a monumental tomb." 
 
 So guessed each friend my unknown thought, 
 
 I to this test their guesses brought, 
 
 77 
 
MY THOUGHT. 
 
 My album, is my thought and word, 
 Now why is my album like a bird ? 
 A bird ? Why, sure, it makes a nest 
 Where sweet affections meet and rest. 
 Why like a wind harp? It will play 
 When love's soft zephyrs over it stray. 
 
 "Pis like a bee, because it stores 
 The gathered sweets of sunny hours ; 
 The sun by day — the moon by night, 
 Yield us the precious boon of light, 
 80 in the hours of grief and woe 
 This book its comforts shall bestow ; 
 Like a kaleidoscope 'twill be 
 When filled, in its variety. 
 
 And like a fire 'twill warm your heart; 
 
 When from dear friends you live apart, 
 
 78 ' 
 
MY THOUGHT. 
 
 This record of loved names will be 
 A telegraphic wire to thee, 
 Touching the electric chain which round 
 Our kindred hearts is darkly bound ; 
 And surely like the pleasant room 
 Where loving hearts' assemblage come. 
 
 'Twill, as you turn its pages o'er, 
 Gather your scattered friends once more; 
 But as your years glide swiftly on, 
 And friends from life, drop one by one, 
 This album shall at last become 
 Like a sad monumental tomb, 
 O'er those who life's rough sea have cros't- 
 A Record of the " Loved and Lost." 
 
 79 
 
THE MOUNTAINEER'S PRAYER. 
 
 IRI) me with the strength of Thy steadfast 
 hills, 
 The speed of Thy streams give me; 
 In that spirit that calms, with the life that thrills, 
 
 1 would stand or run for Thee. 
 Let me be Thy voice, or Thy silent power — 
 
 As the cataract, or the peak — 
 An eternal thought in my earthly hour, 
 ( )f the loving God to speak. 
 
 Clothe me in the rose-tints of Thy skies 
 
 Upon the mountain summit laid; 
 
 Robe me in the purple and gold that Hies 
 
 So 
 
THE MOUNTAINEER'S PRAYER. 
 
 Thro' Thy shuttles of light and shade. 
 Let me rise and rejoice in thy smile aright, 
 
 As mountains and forests do; 
 Let me welcome Thy twilight and Thy night, 
 
 And wait for Thy dawn anew. 
 
 Give me of the brook's faith, joyously sung 
 
 Under the clank of its icy chain; 
 Give me the patience that hides 
 
 Among thy hill-tops in mist and rain; 
 Lift me up from the clod ; let me breathe Thy breath, 
 
 Thy beauty's strength give me; 
 Let me lose both the name and the meaning of death, 
 
 In the life that I share with Thee, 
 
ON THE SEA OF LIFE. 
 
 |HE flowers hang their dewy heads, the sun 
 
 in glory sinks to rest, 
 I And whilst the gold and crimsoned glow is 
 fading in the purpled West 
 Our barks are loosed from the silvered strand and 
 
 out we drift on the ebbing tide, 
 With hope to light us o'er the wave, the star of faith 
 
 to be our guide, 
 And from the dim uncertain future, whence in coming 
 
 years we'll gaze, 
 How oft we'll long for childhood's home with child- 
 hood's bright unclouded days? 
 82 
 
ON THE SEA OF LIFE. 
 
 For round this dear and hallowed spot the angels seem 
 
 to weave a spell, 
 As echoed back from mount to mount we hear a low 
 
 and sweet farewell ; 
 And as the chords within our hearts receive these 
 
 echoes from above, 
 Like harps kissed by the autumn wind, they softly 
 
 breathe their tale of love ; 
 Of love that will entwine itself around each memory 
 
 of the past 
 
 And cling more closely when 'tis blighted by the 
 
 future's wintry blast. 
 Now in the gathering mist of tears, we shrine each 
 
 dear familiar face, 
 And through the deepening shades of even strive each 
 
 cherished hand to trace; 
 For to our hearts they're sad and lonely as they drift 
 
 upon life's sea, 
 
 And softly bid the sobbing waves to bear their last 
 farewell to thee. 
 
 83 
 
WRITE SOON. 
 
 ONG parting from the hearts we love 
 Will shadow o'er the brightest face, 
 And happy they who part and prove 
 Affection changes not with place. 
 
 A sad farewell is warmly dear, 
 
 But something dearer may be found 
 
 To dwell on lips that are sincere, 
 And lurk in bosom closely bound. 
 
 The pressing hand, the steadfast eye, 
 Are both less earnest than the boon 
 
 Which fervently the last fond sigh 
 
 Begs, in the hopeful words, "Write soon." 
 
WRITE SOON. 
 
 Write soon ! Oh, such sweet request of Truth 
 How tenderly its accents come ! 
 
 We heard it first in early youth 
 
 When mothers watched us leaving home. 
 
 And still amid the trumpet joys 
 
 That weary us with pomp and show, 
 
 We turn from all the brassy noise 
 To hear the minor cadence flow. 
 
 We part, but carry on our way 
 
 Some loved one's plaintive spirit-tune 
 
 That, as we wander, seems to say : 
 
 "Affection lives on faith" — Write soon! 
 
 85 
 
GRIEF WAS SENT THEE FOR THY GOOD. 
 
 JOME there are who seem exempted 
 From the doom incurred by all, 
 Are they not more sorely, sorely tempted? 
 
 Are they not the first to fall? 
 As a mother's firm denial 
 
 Checks her infant's wayward mood, 
 Wisdom lurks in every trial — 
 Grief was sent thee for thy good. 
 
 In the scenes of former pleasure 
 Present anguish thou has felt, 
 
 O'er thy fond heart's dearest treasure 
 As a mourner thou hast knelt. 
 
GRIEF WAS SENT THEE FOR THY GOOD. 
 
 Injthine hour of deep affliction 
 Let no impious thoughts intrude, 
 
 Meekly bow, with this conviction — 
 Grief was sent thee for thy good. 
 
 87 
 
BEWILDERING EYES. 
 
 HOSE eyes of golden brown 
 
 How soft their splendor is ! 
 When seen, those shining orbs all through 
 
 My thoughts arrive at this. 
 I think a seraph has come down 
 
 To gladden mortal men, 
 And from some airy height has flown 
 
 Where ages she has been. 
 
 Such eyes, for all, have loveliest charm 
 Though often dangerous prove, 
 
 Through all their glances, I affirm, 
 Beam looks of fondest love. 
 
BEWILDERING EYES. 
 
 Bewildering eyes of golden brown, 
 They pierce one through the heart 
 
 Whose easy smile, or matchless frown, 
 Bids all our seuse depart. 
 
PARTED. 
 
 E sang together, you and I, 
 
 In the village church sweet songs of praise ; 
 Your voice was like an angel's voice, 
 Your face was an angel's face. 
 
 We knelt together, you and I, 
 
 In that dear old church in sight of heaven; 
 And you prayed a prayer that the angels know, 
 
 That sin may be forgiveu. 
 
 We walked together, you and I, 
 
 In the happy groves where wood birds sing ; 
 
 But sweeter were the pleasant words 
 
 That you kept murmuring. 
 90 
 
PARTED. 
 
 They beat in time with our glad hearts, 
 Old words they were from some old song; 
 
 Laughing, you sang them, all for me 
 As we two wandered on. 
 
 We talked together, you and I, 
 
 Wise things you spoke for one so young; 
 
 I listened, feeling all the while 
 That on your words a story hung. 
 
 We lived together, you and I, 
 
 In those vanished years, two friends, no more; 
 Did you ever dream of what was to be 
 
 Could we span the years that were on before ? 
 
 If we loved together, you and I, 
 
 Was it wise the love was never told? 
 
 Was it better to let the time glide on 
 Till both life and love were old? 
 
 91 
 
A SIMILE. 
 
 HE night has a thousand eyes, 
 
 The day has but one; 
 Yet the light of the whole world dies 
 
 With the setting sun. 
 The soul has a thousand eyes, 
 
 The heart but one; 
 Yet the light of a whole soul dies 
 
 When love is done. 
 
 92 
 
IF THERE BE. 
 
 F there be a garden fair, where the zephyr 
 blows, 
 
 Where each season's flowers rare, beauties 
 new disclose, 
 Where we gather and entwine, lily, jessamine, colum- 
 bine ; 
 There I'd make the pathway shine, for thy foot's repose. 
 If -there be a loving breast wherein honor glows, 
 Whose devotion through all test no abatement knows, 
 If this breast free from deceit, ever with high purpose 
 
 beat; 
 There I'd make the pillow meet, for thy head's repose. 
 
 93 
 
4 !S 
 
 THE OLD CHURCHYARD. 
 
 REATHE soft and low — O whispering wind ! 
 
 Above the tangled grasses deep, 
 Where those who loved me long ago 
 
 Forgot the world and fell asleep. 
 No towering shaft or sculptured urn, 
 
 Nor mausoleum's empty pride, 
 Tells to the curious passer-by 
 
 Their virtues, or the time they died. 
 
 I count the old familiar names, 
 
 O'ergrown with moss and lichen gray, 
 
 Where tangled brier and creeping vine 
 Across the crumbling tablets stray. 
 
 94 
 
THE OLD CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The summer sky is soft and blue 
 
 The birds still sing the sweet old strain, 
 
 But, something from the summer-time 
 Is gone, that will not come again. 
 
 So many voices have been hushed, 
 
 So many songs have ceased for aye, 
 So many hands I used to touch 
 
 Are folded over hearts of clay. 
 The noisy world recedes from me, 
 
 I cease to hear its praise or blame, 
 The mossy marbles echo back 
 
 No hollow sound of empty fame. 
 
 I only know that calm and still 
 
 They sleep, beyond life's woe and wail, 
 Beyond the fleet of sailing clouds — 
 
 Beyond the shadow of the vale. 
 I only feel that tired and worn 
 
 I halt upon the highway bare, 
 And gaze with yearning eyes beyond 
 
 To fields that shine supremely fair. 
 95 
 
A COMMON WOMAN. 
 
 COMMON woman ! I've heard it said, 
 
 By women who knew far less than she, 
 But, wherein they find her not well bred 
 
 Is something I never well can see. 
 Her face indeed is rather plain, 
 
 And her manner unpretending enough, 
 Yet with civil treatment these might gain, 
 
 If her dress were only of finer stuff. 
 
 Intelligent ! Yes, that .is to say, 
 
 With a knowledge of human nature learned 
 From nature's volume, by the way, 
 
 And wisdom by experience earned. 
 
 9 6 
 
A COMMON WOMAN. 
 
 For every line of the careworn face 
 Speaks character tried, a lifelong test, 
 
 And it gives to homely features a trace 
 Of refinement, even in tranquil rest. 
 
 Her conversation does not turn 
 
 In a flippant way on serious things, 
 Nor take on an air of grand concern, 
 
 Discussing the trifles each day oft brings. 
 Her garments are often faded and worn, 
 
 And her hat not always a la mode, 
 But she's graceful as one "to the manor born" 
 
 As she consciously walks in the upright road. 
 
 Envoi. 
 
 Oh, when will the beau-monde learn to admire 
 
 True merit, whatever garb it's in ? 
 For homely dress, or gay attire, 
 
 Speaks naught of the living soul within. 
 
 97 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 HOU canst not forget me! for memory will 
 fling 
 Her light o'er oblivion's dark sea, 
 And wherever thou roamest, a something will cling 
 To th} 7 bosom that whispers of me. 
 Though the chords of thy spirit I never may sweep, 
 
 Of my touch they'll retain a soft thrill, 
 Like the low undertone of the murmuring deep 
 When the wind that has stirred it is still. 
 
 The love that is kept in the beauty of trust 
 Cannot pass like the foam from the seas, 
 Or a mark that the finger has. made in the dust 
 
 When 'tis swept by the breath of the breeze. 
 
 9 8 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 They tell me, my love, thou wilt calmly resign, 
 
 Yet I ever while listening to them 
 Will sigh for the heart that was linked unto mine 
 
 As a rosebud is linked to its stem. 
 
 Thou canst not forget me ! Too long hast thou flung 
 
 Thy spirit's soft pinions o'er mine, 
 Too deep was the promise that round my lips clung 
 
 As they softly responded to thine. 
 In the dusk of the twilight, beneath the blue sky, 
 
 My presence will mantle thy soul, 
 And a feeling of softness will rush to thine eye 
 
 Too deep for thy manhood's control. 
 
 Thou mayst go to the islands of beauty and fame, 
 Far, far from the " Land of the Free," 
 
 Yet each wind that floats round thee will whisper a 
 name 
 That is softer than music to thee. 
 
 99 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 And when round thee darkly misfortunes shall crowd, 
 Thou'lt think, like the beautiful form 
 
 Of the rainbow, that arches the thick tempest cloud, 
 My love would have brightened the storm. 
 
 Thou canst not forget me ! The passion that dwells 
 
 In the depths of the soul cannot die, 
 With the memory of all thou hast murmured and 
 felt, 
 
 In thy bosom 'twill slumbering lie. 
 Thou mayst turn to ano'ther and wish to forget, 
 
 But that wish will not bring thee repose — 
 For ! thou wilt find that the thorns of regret 
 
 Were but hid by the leaves of the rose. 
 
HEAVEN. 
 
 HERE'S a morn of light awaking 
 
 Where immortelles deck hill and glade 
 
 !! Which draws on our expectant vision; 
 Flowers bloom there and never fade. 
 
 There we gain life's compensation, 
 
 Sorrows are exchanged for joy, 
 Hopes once withered bloom in beauty, 
 
 Pleasures tasted never cloy. 
 
 In that home of life's fruition 
 
 Rainbow tints each cloud doth curl, 
 
 And the drops of heart blood anguish, 
 There become bright shining pearls. 
 
HE A VEN. 
 
 Crippled age comes back to manhood, 
 Steps once feeble now are strong, 
 
 Health and beauty crown each forehead, 
 Sobs of anguish change to song. 
 
 Hallelujahs now re-echo 
 
 All along the sounding shore, 
 
 Mortals catch the reverberation, 
 Weldino- links for evermore. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 ASTED all, entirely wasted, 
 
 Has ni} T life gone out from me 
 Like rare wine from broken bottles, 
 Slipping slowly to the sea. 
 
 <£>HE 6IHD.