I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS,! th- ~^&lf^.. r ^4^.'r t UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f POEMS Farm and Fireside. 'TIS CHRISTMAS EVE, BCT THE STOCKINS DON'T HANG BY THE CHIMBLET THERE.— Fu(/e 59. POEMS Farm and Fireside BV ^ EUGENE J. HALL, AITTnOR OF STORIES OF A WINTER NIGHT ; CALEB COMERFORD FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW; WON AT LAST; MANKIND TN GENERAL, ETC. CHI C A (JO : .TANSEN, McCLUKG Ot COMPANY. 18 7 5. >S (774- Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1874, by JANSEN, McCLURG & COMPANY, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Rlwtrotvped hy A. Zkksk & Co TO MARY, MY WIFE, KINDEST CRITIC TRUEST EARTHLY FRIEND. PREFACE. The following poems are neither the result of hours of idleness nor the imperfect fancies of one who has had nothing else to do. Most of them have been written in the editorial room, with the worry of printers and the hurry of newspaper work about the writer. He has received many words of encouragement from his friends, and has been gratified by the kindly reception some of them have met with from the press and the people. All have been written with a purpose ; some to point out the abuses that are common in society, to show their deplorable effects and the means of reform; some to create a kindly feeling towards the poor and lowly ; some to exhibit a few peculiar phases of human nature, that have come to the author's observation ; some to describe the joys, the sorrows and the experiences of the human heart, and every one with the earnest intention and sincere hope of doing good. As literary achievements, the author does not claim any high degree of excellence for them, nor does he expect the approbation or the applause of literary persons. They have been written for the people ; and to the working people, among whom the author has passed the greater portion of his life, he looks for encour- agement and patronage. If therefore they meet with a friendly welcome from those for whose good they are intended, he will feel that his efforts in their behalf have not been in vain. E. J. H. CONTENTS. POEMS OF THE FARM AND FIRESIDE. Old Farmer Brown, 17 The Women's War, 25 Hard Times, 32 Christmas Eve, 39 Aiuay Down East, 43 Rufus RaivUn's Ride, 47 Old Holden, 50 Theresa Trotfs Dream, 52 Contentment, 54 A Morning in July, 58 September, 60 October, 62 Leila and Jane, 63 ^'Help Me Across,"" 66 After the Summer Time, 68 A Home Picture, 69 The Old Clock in the Corner, 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Marah, 77 Twilight, 83 Tabitha Topp, 87 Victoria Grey, 91 (11) 1 2 Conients. World Weary, 95 Midnight, 97 Helen, 99 Tioice Asleep, 100 Then and Now, 101 Solomon Ray, 103 Two Pictures, 105 On the Bank of the Murmuriny Ji'ill, 108 True Friends, Ill Sleep, 112 Another Tear, 113 ILLUSTRATIONS. Frontispiece — 'Tis Christmas Em, hut the stockin's don't hang by the chimbley there 4 Han nail, Fm sick a limn' here, an' a work/in' from spring to fall, ... 19 And, kneeling down on the time-Korn floor, both bowed their heads in prayer, 23 An' liftin' my hands up to heaven, I prayed for a speedy reform, ... 27 Josiah Johnson started and went his homeward way, 33 Bread an' butter are gittin' high an' wages are gittin' low, 37 She turns from the 'window and lingers atchile by the open door, .... 55 The leafless trees are brown and bare, 71 And beneath the waving branches oft' we told our tides of love, 80 3Iiss Tabitha Topp, a young lady in town, 86 That she thought herself charming was plain to be seen, 91 JShe wearily sighs — "And women must weep, And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep, 94 A child, of beauty rare, with a cherub face and golden hair, 105 A loathsome wretch, in the dungeon low. With the face of a fiend and a look of woe, 107 On the hank of the murmuring rill, 109 (13) POEMS OF THE Farm and Firesid E POEMS Farm and Fireside OLD FARMER BROWN. INSCRIBED TO THE PATKONS OF HUSBANDRY. From the harvest iield old Farmer Brown came home witli a look of care, He threw his hat on the floor, and sat down on his old splint- bottomed chair. He wiped the sweat from his dripping brow, and pulled out his old jack-knife, He whittled away to himself, awhile, and called to his little wife. From her quaint and tidy kitchen, she came through the open door ; With her sleeves pinned up to her shoulders and her skirt pinned up before. She looked as faded, wrinkled and worn as the folds of her gingham gown, When she saw the haggard and hopeless look on the face of Farmer Brown. Then, down on her rocking-chair she sank, in a sort of helpless way, IS^or spoke one word, but listened and looked to hear what he might say. 3 (17) 1 8 Poems of the Farm and Fireside. " Hannah, I'm sick a livin' here, an' a workin' from spring to fall A raisin' 'taters an' corn to sell, that don't bring notliin' at all. Here we have worked together, for forty years, like a pair o' slaves. An' that old mortgage ain't lifted yet, that I owe to Gideon Graves. That judgment note o' Deacon Dunn's, will soon be fallin' due. An' where the money's a comin' from, why, I can't tell, nor you. I'm kept in sech a worry an' fret, by all o' these sort o' things, That I have to sell the stuff that I raise, rite off for what it brings. It costs so much for my taxes now, an' to keep the wolf away, That I haven't no chance to make a cent, an' that is wdiat's to pay. Hannah, we've both on us grown old, an' our children all are gone,, There is no one now that is left at home for us to depend upon. I ain't as strong as I used to be, nor as able to work, I know, But I've got to set these matters square, an' the farm '11 have to go. " Half o' the world lives idle, with plenty to eat an' wear. An' the ones who work the hardest, have often the least to spare. The farmers work till their forms are bent, an' their hands are hard an' brown ; The workmen delve in the dust an' smoke, o' the workshops in the town ; The sturdy sailors bring to our shores the wealth o' foreign lands, An' the other half o' the world subsists, by the work o' these hard- ened hands. An' this is one o' the reasons why, I can't pay what I owe ; While you an' I are a gettin' old, an' the farm '11 have to go. "I've worked in the woods in the winter time, I've plowed an'^ sowed in the spring, I've hoed an' dug through summer an' fall, an' I haven't made a thing. Sometimes I lie awake all night, an' worry an' fuss an' fret. An' never a single wink o' sleep, nor a bit o' rest I get. I think of our grown-up children, an' the life they've jest begun — They've got to hoe the same hard row. as you an' I have done. I think o' the politicians, an' the way they rob an' steal. Old Farmer Brown. 21 An' the more I think o' farmin', the poorer it makes me feel. The specuhitors buy up our cheese, our butter, our wool an' hay ; An' they sell 'em ag'iii for more'n twice as much as they had to pay. They bleed us in transportation, they fleece us everywhere; They cheat us on our provisions, an' the very clothes we wear. They live in their lofty houses, on the best that can be found. Their wives wear dazzlin' diamonds, an' their children loaf around, In the summer they go to the sea-shore, an' the springs, to make a show. An' that is the way our butter an' cheese an' our corn an' 'taters go. " We work in the sun all sunnner, raise turnips an' corn on shares, That the railroads an' politicians may cheat us an' put on airs. They carry the reins o' power, an' will till we fill our graves. They rule an' ruin the markets, an' we are a pack o' slaves. What's to be done ? God only knows. I've failed in many ways, In tryin' to lay a leetle by, to ease my declinin' days. I never have been a shiftless man, — I've figgered, I've worked an' tined. While the old farm's been a runnin' down, since the day that father died. I've borrowed money to pay my debts, an' I've watched the interest grow. Till it's tairly got the start o' me, an' the farm '11 have to go." Then the little wife of Farmer Brown stood up upon the floor. And she looked at him in a kind of way that she never had before, The furrows fled from her shriveled cheeks, and her face grew all aglow : "/ never will sign the deed, John, an' the farm shall never go. There's jest one thing to be done, as sure as you an' I were born, You must join the Grange an' vote, John, if you would sell your corn ; Hope an' prayer are good, John, for the man who digs an' delves, But Heaven will never help us, John, nnhss we lielp ourselves. 22 Poems of the Farm and Fireside. I ain- 1 as chipper an' smart an' spry, nor as strong as I used to be, But I've got a heap o' spunJc, John, when it's started up in me." Over the okl man's furrowed face, the tears began to flow. He never had felt more proud and strong, since their wedding long ago. A golden gleam of heavenly hope, illumined his soul's despair, •And, kneeling down on the time-worn floor, both bowed their heads in prayer. t / The Women s War. 25 THE WOMEN'S WAR. A LAY OF THE LAST CRUSADE. Well, Amos, I've been to the nicetin', we held it at Barker's to- night ; I tell jou the Lord is a coniin' in all o' his power an' might. The glad songs o' Zion are ringin', in iMaces not used to the sound, Where our boys have been wastin' their evenin's, in drinkin' an' loafin' around. All over the land that we live in, in country an' town, everywhere. We're a goin' to give Mr. Tyndall a test o' the power o' prayer. I've been to the meetin' at Barkers', we give him a sudden surprise ; When he looked up an' seen us a comin', I tell you he opened his eyes. He stared at us over the counter, each eye looked as big as the moon, But wx wan't to be frightened in that way, we walked right into the saloon. He didn't attempt to oppose us, he was willin' to give us fair play ; He looked all around him an' chuckled, but never a word did he say. There were lots o' young men there a loaiin', I reckon a dozen or more ; When some on 'em seen us a comin', they slid out the leetle back door. Some stood by the counter a drinkin' ; they hadn't an atom o* sliame, An' those who were playin' at billiards went on with their impiou& game. The rest on 'em sot there a sippin' their whisky, their brandy an'' giib 26 Poems of the Farm and Fireside. A lookin', a leerin', a winlvin', an' waitin' for lis to begin. I gazed at the bright lookin' bottles behind the tall counter dis- played ; I thought o' the lives they had wasted ; I thought o' the graves they had made. I thought o' the boys they had ruined, by leadin' 'em widely astray ; O' the wrongs they had wrought on the helpless, by stealin' their substance away ; An' all o' the power within me, swept over my soul like a storm, An' liftin' my hands up to heaven, 1 prayed for a speedy reform. While, out o' the mouths o' the sisters, who solemnly knelt by me there, A hundred impressive responses j'ined in with ni}- passionate prayer. Then we sung that glad hymn o' salvation, " O turn ye, for why will ye die ?" An" it seemed to my soul in that moment, God's glory was comin' so nigh. We sang o' the lowly Redeemer, an' those that he perished to save, An' when the last stanza was ended, the room was as still as the grave. Bill Barker looked over his counter, the prospect he didn't enjoy;. 'Twas plain to be seen he was thinkin' o' those he had helped to destroy. He glanced at the row o' bright bottles before his broad miri-or arrayed. Like one who is proud o' his power, nor cares for the wrecks he has made. But soon o'er his hard-lookin' features a kinder an' softer look stole ; Perhaps some good angel was tryin' to soften his sin-burdened soul. He looked sort o' troubled an' worried, an' still he had nothin' to say ; He seemed to be quietly wishin' we women were out o' the way. All was still ! till a w^ild-lookin' woman, with a face jest as white as a shroud ; Orept stealthily out o' a corner, an' stood in the midst o' the crowd. Her holler cheeks spoke o' starvation, her sunken ej'es told o' dis- tress ; The Womens War. 29 Her qiiiverin' lips o' mute anguish no language o' mine can ex- press. She lifted her talon-like fingers high over her head in despair, An' walkin' straight up to the counter, she gazed at the rumseller there. He looked at her pale, haggard features, an' turned with a shudder away, He spoke not a word, but he listened to hear what the woman w^ould say. " Look ! Look on your work here, Bill Barker," she cried w^ith a passionate wail ; " You have ruined my home an' my husband, and sent both my young boys to jail. They say 1 am raad ! do you wonder ? Your liquor has brought all my woe ; I tell you your time is a comin' — God's judgment is cei'tain hut slow ! " Then turnin' away from the counter, she silently passed from the place ; The rumseller's conscience was troubled, he showed it all over his face. His mind seemed to be all unsettled, his feelin's he couldn't control ; I knew that a powerful struggle was goin' on down in his soul. An', Amos, I reckon, no language can picter' the way that he felt ; He looked kind o' sorry an' 'umble, like one jest beginnin' to melt. An' when in a few moments after, we j'ined in a season o' prayer, He silently came round the counter an' noiselessly knelt by us there. The men had all finished their playin' an' drinkin', and stood by the wall, An' over their rough-lookin' faces the tears were beginnin' to fall. The sounds o' the revel were over, the air seemed more pure and serene ; An' all on us felt in that moment, the presence o' angels unseen. 30 Poems of the Farm and Fireside. As soon as we finished our prayin', Bill Barker rose up from the floor, An' while we stood wonderin' an' gazin', he started an' opened the door. Then, takin' a barrel o' liquor, he rolled it along with his feet ; He knocked out its head with a hatchet an' spilt it out into the street. Then all on us turned in an' helped him to finish what he had begun : ... . / He emptied his bright-lookin' bottles, nor paused till the good work was done. Then turnin', he said, " I'm a goin' to close up my business to- night; I've made up my mind to be honest, I mean to try hard and do right. I've sent moi'e young men to destruction than any man livin' in town. But I'm goin' to put up my shutters, an' tear my old liquor sign down. I'm goin' to work, an' God willin', I'll be a respectable man ; Go on with the good work you'i'e doin', I'll help you as much as I can." Then when he was through with his speakin', we all commenced sin gin' again, An' "Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee," was our joyful refrain. An' those who had been there a drinkin', seemed moved by the power o' prayer, An' sang with the deepest o' feelin' the words o' that heavenly air. An', Amos, I can't help believin' that music went up to the sky. To be chanted an' echoed in Heaven, by beautiful angels on high. Yes, Amos, I've been to the meetin', you needn't look smilin' nor queer. That we are goin' to conquer, I haven't a doubt nor a fear. The Womens War. 31 You may laugh an' may say that we women are crazy an' out o' our lieads ; That we'd better be darnin' our stockin's, a sweepin' or makin' the beds ; But we're goin' right into tlie battle, noi" will we give uj) in despair;. If we only go at it in earnest, there's a wonderful power in prayer. 32 Poe^ns of the JFarm and Fireside. HARD TIMES. From the noise of the busy workshop, at the close of a winter day, Josiah Johnson started, and went liis homeward way ; His face was black and dusty, his hands were cold and bare. And through the holes in his garments, he felt the frosty air. Weary and worn, he grumbled, at the hardness of his lot ; He came at last to his dwelling, a low and cheerless cot. The broken panes of the windows were filled with wads of straw, The kitchen was damp and smoky, the old stove would not draw. His wife was pale and sickl}^, she never had been stout. He found her hardly able to labor or be about ; He looked at her haggard features, he gazed at her faded gown. He hung his hat on a rusty nail and, with a sigh sat down. Then, looking up at his wife, he said, in a melancholy way : *' What is the use I'd like to know, o'workin' from day to day ? l^othin' comes o' my labor, but a pittance mean an' poor, Hardly enough to keep the wolf away from our humble door. I don't believe there's a man in town that works more hours than me, An' yet I'm ragged an' pinched an' poor, an' wretched as I can l)e. 1 never have been lazy, I never have loafed around, A steadier man than I have been, 'aint nowhere to be found ; But I never seem to prosper, however hard I try. An' there's nothin' left for me to do. but to dig along, an' die. ^' I don't know what is a comin', I wouldn't think it strange If our country should go to ruin, unless there comes a change. It is loaded down with public debts, an' I am much afraid That none o' our children's children will live to see 'em paid. Our cities an' towns are bonded for more than they can bear, An' the people are pinched an' worried with taxes everywhere ; From the coast o' Californy to the piney woods o' Maine, f~ J|f»fli|!f''i(j?i Hard Times. 35 Our debts grow like a torrent in tlie time of a heavy rain. *' Where has the money gone to i It isn't hard to tell ! ell ; <4o visit our legislatures wherever the^- may be, An' lookin' under the surface jest see what you can see ; Regard the pitiful picter an' turn in shame away, Nor wonder that our loved country is a goin' to decay. ■" The standard o' ])ul)lic honor, is gittin' mighty low, While truth an' ])atriotism are things o' the long ago. Our laws are made by loafers, to sudden greatness grown, Whose intimate acquaintance I'd be ashamed to own ; Who load the people with burdens they cannot well endure, Who vote themselves the nu)neys, exacted fi-oni the poor. *' A man who runs for office, is covered with mud an' slime, By half o' the worthless idlers an' loafers o' his time; He must spend his money freely, an' give the lion's share O' the spoils o' his pul)lic office to the half who send him there, lie must visit the vilest places, an' listen to curses loud, And pay for plenty o' liquor to ti-eat a drunken crowd; He must stand at the pollin' places when election day comes 'long. An' beg an' buy an' dicker for the votes of a vulgar throng. An' all o' the money he squanders in bribin' these greedy knaves. He steals ag'in from the peo])]e when he gits the place he craves. 1^0 man o' truth an' honor will stoop to things so low. If ever he runs for ofiice he don't have any show. .So fellers are sent to congress, to vote themselves more pay. An' the times keep gittin' harder an' harder every day. Hard times! hard times! is the common cry in every place I go, Ih-ead an' butter are gittin' high an' wages are gittin' low ; Our business men are a breakin' up, our banks are goin' to smash, An' everybody is deep in debt an' greatly in need o' cash. A hard, cold winter is comin' on with all of its want an' woe, God pity the poor an' the hungry ones, with nowhere on earth to go." 36 Poems of the Farm and Fireside. Then, after thinking a minute, Josiali Jolmson's wife Piit down her pan of potatoes and h^id aside her knife. And standing up bv the table, she said in a cheertnl wav, " Tlie times are a growiu* better an' better everv dav ; It's only the worthless bottom that's tallen out o' thinffs. That's got up this commotion among tiuaneial riu^s. 'Tis goin' to be a blessin*, it'll stop those frauds an' crimes. An' reckless speculations that have helped to make hard times ; An' the day is swiftly eomin'. when things that are bought an' sold. Will be paid for in hard money, in silver an' in gold. An' as to the politicians that have plundered the land so long. Tou may be right in some things an' in most may not be wrong. The only way for to reach 'em an' humble their guilty souls. Is to go \riih your feller fcorl'ers an\face 'em at the polls. Stand up for men o* honor on every election day. An' tend to your daily duties an* labor an' hope an' pray. Remember when you are weary, that hard times come no more. When the troubles o' life are over, an' we walk on the golden shore." -\'/ i-krzstmas Rze. CHPJSTMA: il- ls" an old ^yew-EngLmd fcrtchen. wiie^ a wtmn wood tire bnmed bright. Sat gf.^od old Firmer Ketch. -im. and his wife, one wiarer nigrir- Tlie wind witKoar was wailing, wirii a wild and woeftil sound. And rfie deeey tbids of tke tirf mn g saow lay deep upon ine grnimtf- Bnc whan c?ared Farmer Kereham. tbr the * — -" - — :-ioors \ For he had roddered the ^.'arde. and done :^ ,-es; And aiu^ in the chimney eomer. in his ^sy-ehair. he sir. Silently smoking his old elaj pipe, and pC' ' . ' ■ j .•■ir. While, plying her kninino: needles, his w:: -_ -r-. . Humming a hymn and dreaming a dream, of tihe Ions a^o. Over the old-time tire-place, a msty musket hnnir. And a score decav. The knitdng Ki^ Er»:-m the woman's hands, the old man turned aboar^ He took his pipe Irom. his month, and he slowly knocked die ashes out. And after thinking a moment, he said. wich. a solemn air. '^ Tis Chr-ist7Tiis than working or thinking. Whenever he called. Mrs. Topp took great pains To give him a glass that " befuddled " his brains. O, woman, feir siren, men cannot withstand The cup of destmetion that lurks in thy hand. How oft have the noblest been led and b^uiled To taste the bright poison because you have smiled. O. t^anpt not thy friend with the power that lies In thy musical voice and thy clear, lustrous eyes. Thy influence dazzles his brain like a mist. Thy sc'ft. pleading accents he cannot resist. And yielding at last to thy subtle control. He drinks and he dies, wrecked in body and souL BL So Tabitha married Augustus Fitz Foodie, And started away with her hnst«and and poodle. To Europe her lord kindly prv^mised to take her, So die was as happy as money could make her. Tabitha Topp. 89 They crossed the Atlantic; they landed in France; They tarried at dissolute Paris awhile, To patronize fashion and art, and to dance; There Tabitha carefully studied the style. They visited Sicily, Venice and Rome, Admired St. Peter's " magnificent dome," Pronounced it a " temple of wondrous design," And its pictures of martyrs and saints " very fine." They went to the Vatican — saw Pius IX. They wandered together through elegant halls, They gazed at the treasures 'A art on the walls. The works of the masters, of which they had heard, With their faded old faces, " looked very absurd." They traversed the Alps, they descended the Rhine, Viewed all the old ruins and notable places ; They thought " tlie old ruins, tho' striking and bold, "Would have looked very well if they wasn't so old." They visited England — attended the races. Then greatly " disgusted with foreign aflPairs," This new-married couple came home for repairs. Now, if there was ever a silly extreme In popular folly, 'tis going abroad. For half of our " European tourists " would seem Better fitted by nature to carry a hod. "All must follow the fashion, as every one knows," So over the water each simpleton goes. m. ADVERSITY. Time glided away, with a great deal of change ; How many fond lovers a few years estrange. Poor " Tabbie " grew older and thinner and whiter, Forgot how to smile, and soon learned how to sputter, Because her "Augustus would lie in the gutter "; In short, his attentions had ceased to delight her : QO Miscellaneo2is Poems. He drank and he gambled ; he lived very fast; Unregretted he died, with the tremens, at last. Misfortune, 'tis said, never travels alone. And " riches have wings," for they often have flown. The honse of the Topps, being largely involved In wild speculations, the bubble dissolved ; There suddeidy came a great financial crash That carried away all their hopes and their cash. The sheriff" " came down like the Avolf on the fold "; Their house and rich furniture had to be sold. Now those who had loudlj^ professed to admire The Topps when they dressed in their showy attire. Pronounced them exceedingly vulgar and plain. The ORTHODOX brethren all frowned with disdain. And ceased to remember the Topps in their prayers When they learned of the change in their worldly aftaii'S. Forsaken by friends (?) and avoided by all. Even those they despised now rejoiced in their foil. MORAL. There are sorrows and ruin, and want and distress. And griefs that no language can speak or express. That may come to a man with no will to abstain From as trifling a thing as a glass of champagne. And they on whom nature has deigned to bestow A plentiful share of the good things below Should not walk through the world too conceited and vain, Regarding the lowly with haughty disdain. They may fall from the top to the foot of the stairs And crush all their proud, supercilious airs. v Victoria Grey. 91 AaCTOPJA GKEY. A GIDDY young girl was Victoria Grey, One proud and determined to have her own way ; And, rather than bend, She would lose her best friend, — She was one upon whom one could never depend. That she thought herself charming was plain to be seen, By her confident manners and satisfied mien ; She was one of that kind That one often will find With a small, selfish heart and diminutive mind. Victoria Grey had a passion for dress, Tho' taste and good breeding she did not possess ; On the street she would flirt. And sweep through the dirt. With thirty-six yards of light silk in her skirt. 92 Miscellaneotcs Poems. She had many lovers, it may be a score, — She had promised to marry a dozen or more ; All felt happy and gay At the confident way They were flattered and loved by Victoria Grey. Augustus Yan Quirk was her fortunate flame (Victoria loved his euphonious name), — A weak little fellow, Whose whiskers were yellow, "With little white hands and a mind rather mellow. He took her to operas, dances and plays, He won her aflections in various ways ; He whispered a store Of tender love lore. That blighted the hopes of the dozen or more. They were married at last ; 'twas a famous aflair, Made brilliant by presents of real plated ware, — 'Twas a transient display, The talk of a day ; And this was the end of Victoria Grey. Five years have passed by, and Augustus Van Quirk Has never been guilty of going to work ; Just over the way Is a small sign to-day, " BoAKDiNG — Mrs. Van Quirk " {nee Victoria Grey). SHE WEARILY SIGHS — " AND WOMEN MUST WEEP, AND THE SOONER IT's OVER THE SOONER TO SLEEP.' World Weary. gr WOULD WEARY. The radiant firelight softly falls, With a rosy glow, on the parlor walls : While a maiden sits with a look of care. And lists to the wail of the evening air. There are misty tears in her drooping eyes, As sorrowful thoughts in her soul arise. Her heart is heavy, a burning pain Throbs and thrills through her troubled brain. She wearily sighs, " and women must weep. And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep." Out on the street, through the frosty air, The gas-light gleams with a ghostly glare. Through the wailing wind and the drifting snow, A homeless woman M^alks to and fro ; Her heart is heavy, a burning pain Throbs and thrills through her troubled brain. No home, no friends and no warm attire, Ko easy-chair by a blazing fire. Women must suffer " and women must weep. And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep." And thus it is ever when trials fall, Where the firelight glows on the parlor wall ; Or out on the street, where the wild winds blow And drift and scatter the winter snow. Like a leafless tree alone and bare, Is a woman's heart in its wild despair. ^6 Misccllmieoits Poems. When her soul goes forth with a mournful cry, As the wind with a woeful wail sweeps by. In wealth or poverty, " Women must weep, And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep." Midnight. qj MIDNIGHT. The north wind was frigidly blowing, With a weary, disconsolate moan. The stars by black storm clouds were hidden, The streets were deserted and lone. Save the flickering lamps of the city, That burned with a dim spectral gleam, All was wrapped in the mantle of midnight And darkness was reigning supreme. Through the dim lonely streets of the city, Unmindful of darkness or gale, There hurried along the damp pavement A wOiVTAN, distracted and pale : Kor paused she to rest, tho' aweary, Nor heeded the rain and the cold. Till she stood, in the blackness of midnight, Where the dark waves of Michigan rolled. Alone, with her proud spirit broken ; Alone, with her sorrow and shame ; Alone, with her crushed heart and beauty. With neither a home nor a name ; With memories drifting before her, That tortured her heart and her brain, Of friends and companions, once loving. That never would love her again. A dark wave swept onward before her, With lofty and foam-laden crest ; Her hair in the north wind was streaming, Her thin hands were clasped to her breast. ^8 Miscellaneous Poems. A plash in the merciless waters, A struggle, a gurgle and moan ; The billows rolled wildly above her ; The desolate pier was alone. O Death ! in thy unknown dominions, Ko pitiless storm-billows roar, "With thee, the worn heart may find refuge, Where trouble may haunt it no more. Thou peace of the sad and the lowly, — Thou comfort of all the depressed. Thy dark mantle hides all our sorrows — Thou givest the world-weary rest. The south wind was tenderly blowing, No longer the wild waters rolled. But gently were dancing and gleaming In ripples of purple and gold. And drifting about on their bosom, With glowing clouds floating above, A pale face stared upward towards Heaven, Appealing for pity and love. Helen. 99 HELEN.^ "While her young life was bright and fair With hope and promise everywhere, The spoiler came, and at his will Her beauty paled and passed away, As fades the splendor of the day "When twilight falls and all is still. O tranquil slumber I Heavenly birth ! She sleeps to wake no more on earth, But in a holier atmosphere Her spirit smiles upon us here, As peacefully, as from the skies The stars look down with trembling eyes Upon the dewy world below. Whose sorrows she may never know. Uplifted on the shore of time, O Death ! thy gateway stands sublime. Beyond there is a brighter shore. From whence we may return no more. unknown boundary that lies 'Between the world and Paradise ! * In memory of Helen A. Waters, who died Aug. 11th, 1872. C:^. lOo Miscella7ieous Poems. TWICE ASLEEP. A CHILD lies sleeping in calm repose, As sweet and fair as a dewy rose ; Her little white hands are laid at rest Over her gently-heaving breast. Sunny smiles on her red lips play, — Linger a moment, then pass away. Forms and faces of earth and air Flit through her mind while she slumbers there, Amid the misty and mellow skies, Their white wings dazzle her dreaming eyes, Until she wakens in mute dismay. While her fleeting fancies fade away. She sleeps again — in her last repose ; She lies like a withered and faded rose. Over her forehead, pale and fair. Ripple her tresses of golden hair ; Her little white hands are laid at rest Over her tranquil and lifeless breast. Her voice is silent, and, come what may, No smile will gladden her lips of clay. For the happy dreams she dreamed are through; How sweet to hope that they all came true ! Then and Now. lOI THEN AND NOW. THEN. Long ago sweet Lilian Claire, Stood by a window, young and fair ; She smiled to think that her soul was free From the earthly cares that were yet to be. But the smile on her sweet lips died away As she thought of her lover, Allen May. "Ah, me ! " she sighed, "if I only knew My beautiful day-dreams might come true." Fond is the love that a woman feels, Tender the passion her heart conceals. She who has truly loved may know That love is a woman's heaven below. These were the thoughts of Lilian Claire As she built her castles in the air. NOW. Fifty years have gone away, Allen and Lilian are old and gray. Bright young grandchildren 'round them cling, Gay and happy as birds in spring. Lilian, clasping the old man's hand. Proudly looks on the youthful band. I02 Miscellaneous Poems. Then softly whispers, sweet and low, Just as she used to long ago : "Allen, our journey is almost through, My youthful day-dreams have all come true ! " Solomon Ray. 103 SOLOMON EAY. A HAED, close man was Solomon Ray, Nothing of value he gave away ; He hoarded and saved ; He pinched and shaved ; And the more he had, the more he craved. The hard-earned dollars he toiled to gain, Brought him little but care and pain ; For little he spent, And all he lent He made it bring him twenty per cent. Such was the life of Solomon Ray ; The years went by, and his hair grew gray, His cheeks grew thin. And his soul within Grew hard as the dollars he worked to win. But he died one day, as all men must, For life is fleeting and man but dust ; The heirs were gay That laid him away, And that was the end of Solomon Ray. They quarreled now, who had little cared For Solomon Ray while his life was spared ; His lands were sold. And his hard-earned gold All went to the lawyers, I am told. I04 Miscellaneous Poems. Yet men will cheat and pinch and save, Nor carry their treasures beyond the grave. All their gold some day Will melt away Like the selfish savings of Solomon E,ay. Two Pictures. 105 TWO PICTURES. Two pictures hung on the dingy wall Of a grand and old Florentine hall ; One of a child, of beauty rare, With a cherub face and golden hair. The lovely look of whose radiant eyes Filled the soul with thoughts of Paradise. The other face was a visage vile, Marked with the lines of lust and guile, — A loathsome being, whose features fell Brought to the soul weird thoughts of hell. io6 Miscellaneous Poems. Side by side, in their frames of gold, Dingy and dusty, cracked and old. This is the solemn tale they told : A youthful painter found one day, In the streets of Kome, a child at play, And, moved by the beauty that it bore — The heavenly look that its features wore — On a canvas, radiant and grand, He painted its face with a master hand. Year after year on his wall it hung, 'Twas ever joyful and always young, — Driving away all thoughts of gloom. While the painter toiled in his dingy room. Like an Angel of Light it met his gaze, Bringing him dreams of his boyhood days. Filling his soul with a sense of praise. His raven ringlets grew thin and gray ; His young ambition all passed away. Yet he looked for years, in many a place, To find a conti'ast to that sweet face. Through haunts of vice in the night he strayed, To find some ruin that crime had made. At last, in a prison cell, he caught A glimpse of the hideous fiend he sought. On a canvas weird and wild, but grand, He painted the face with a master hand. His task was done ; 'twas a work sublime, An angel of joy and a fiend of crime, — A lesson of life from the wreck of time. Two Piciures. O crime ! with ruin thy road is strowii, The brightest beauty the world has known. Thy power has wasted, till, in the mind. No trace of its presence is left behind. The loathsome wretch in the dungeon low, With the face of a fiend and a look of woe. 107 Ruined b}' revels of crime and sin, A pitiful wreck of what might have been. Hated and shunned, and without a home. Was the Gliild that played in the streets of Eome. io8 Miscellaneous Poems. ON THE BANK OF THE MURMURING RH^L. At the foot of a hill by a murmuring rill That runs on its way to the sea ; Lived a maiden as fair as a creature of air, And as lovely as woman could be. In the places she strayed, through the beautiful glade The lovely wild-flowers now blossom and fade, Yet lone is the valley to me, Lone is the valley to me. Sweet Marion Glenn, neither language nor pen Can picture thy beauty so rare ; What memories rise at the thought of thine eyes And thy tresses of ebon black hair ! Thou wilt meet me no more in the low cottage door. The Summer winds whistle, the Autumn gales roar. And the dead leaves are swept through the air. The dead leaves are swept through the air. Yet the clear waters flow, as they did long ago. By the cot at the foot of the hill ; And the drooping elms wave o'er a mossy green grave, On the bank of the murmuring rill ; While the golden sun gleams, and the silver moon beams In the day and the night time, on woodlands and streams. But the beautiful sleeper is still. The beautiful sleeper is still. ON THE BANK OP THE MURMURING KILL. True Friends. Ill TRUE FRIENDS. Some souls there are that never change, Some friendships that endure ; That neither time nor years estrange, Some hearts divine and pure — And as we meet tliem here and there About the world, how dear they are ! And were it not for friends like these. To bless our cheerless fate, The life we live on earth below Were more than desolate, And this dark, lonely world of ours Were like a garden void of flowers. 112 Miscellaneous Poems. SLEEP. The summer moon is creejDing through the skies, The evening wind disconsolately sighs ; Hushed are the sounds of toil and busy trade, The crickets chirp their evening serenade. The weary laborer slumbers in his cot, And all his cares of living are forgot : The children long have ceased their joyous play. In happy dreams they sleep the night away. O sleep ! thou heavenly balm for human woe, Thou hidest all our sorrows here below. In thy embrace, the mourner smiles again, And aching hearts forget their poignant pain. While faces marred by lines of worldly care. Are, by thy touch, made beautiful and fair. O sleep ! thou heavenly balm for human woe. The common comfort of the proud and low. i^AOi Another Year. ANOTHER YEAR. II Another year has gone, to come no more ; Its scenes of joy and hours ot gnet are done- 'Tis gone where other years have gone belore, Where all must end that ever was begmi ; Where gaunt and gray oblivion loves to dwell, ^^ And inttnt Time first lisped the hours "larewell. Below the fleecy folds of drifting snow. Like beauty laid at rest, the verdure lies; Beneath the ice the silent rivers flow, The rippling rills are hidden from our eyes, While time glides by r.s swiftly as^the wind. And only leaves his memories behind. The spring-time came, and, ere it passed away, The world was robed in beauty everywhere; The blooming roses and the new-mown hay Perfumed the breezes of the summer an-; Then Autumn came, and with her flying gold The simple story of a year was told. Farewell, Old Year, for thou art gone at last. And Time has borne thee on his hoary wmgs Into the silent ages of the past ; And now another year he proudly brmgs. Thy funeral dirge is chanted by the breeze, Through the bare branches of the leafless trees. The New Year comes with many frowning fears, Yet with a thousand promises of joy ; The sombre shadows of maturer years Our vouthful fancies and tair dreams destroy; 114 J/isit'/Janetfus Pocnis. Yet heavenly Hope looks do\m with angel eyes From glesuuing. golden gates of Paradise, Ambitiou ]x«ints ns to the toilsome way T ? to wo: rand renown; Yei -. - deeting ]^ .......v ...s must decsv. And all our fading fancies totter down, — Willie coming bards may sing immortal songs Oi onr great failings and stupendous wrongs. There is - n that never fades i»r dies: Tlie : Heaven. How marvelonsly grand, Tho' all life's howling tempests that arise. Sweep o'er the rock of ages where we stand ; We glanee adown the pathway we have trod. And leave onr imjierfeetions all with God. O Time ! roll down thy ceaseless course of change With all thy universal h'ght and sliade : O Mystery ! before tliy K^undless range All human understanding falls dismayed : Thy veil, that puzzles every human brain. By angels only can lie rent in twain. JJ""^^ Jansen, McClurg & Co.'s PUBLICATIONS. MEMORIES: A STORY OF GERMAN LOVE. Translated from the German by tieorge P. Upton. Small Quarto, 173 pages. Holiday Edition, red lines, tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.25. POEMS FOR THE FARM AND FIRESIDE. By Eugene J. Hall, author of "A Winter's Night," etc., etc. 8vo, 114 pages. Fully illustrated. I'rice, 81.75. The same, full gilt. Price, $2.25. ACROSS THE SEA AND OTHER POEMS. By Thomas S. Chard, author of "The Waking." Square i6mo, tinted paper, 55 pages. Price, $i.(X). TRUTHS FOR TO-DAY. A selection of the best discourses by Rev. David Swing. i2mo, tinted paper, 325 pages. Price, $1.50. TRIAL OF PROF. SWING. 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