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"FIVE DOZEN FANCIES" 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES B/'MORRELL, M. D. 
 
 illustrated 
 Published by Subscription 
 
 cincinnati 
 Earhart & Richardson, Printers xTvVv^ ^^ "''"'' 
 1893 
 
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 Copyrighted 1893. 
 
TO MANY FRIENDS, 
 
 ESPECIALLY FOUR 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS 
 
 Affectionately Dedicated. 
 
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PREFACE. 
 
 I HE poems contained in this little volume are fitly 
 named Five Dozen Fancies. They are nothing more. 
 Occasionally a fancy would slip from a busy pen and form 
 itself into verse, to lie, perhaps, for weeks and months 
 unconsidered and unrevised. Then they have slipped into 
 print. Some have come back to the author from the lips 
 of friends, and this fact is the apology for their appearance 
 in book form. A number of friends have asked for their 
 publication, and have generously offered to pay the cost 
 attached, and I have allowed them to carry out their desires. 
 I am well aware that many of the poems are faulty in their 
 construction— and I have considered the advisability of 
 making changes, but then they would not be free sketches 
 of fancy, but the labored result of effort, Those given 
 
have been selected by the subscribers, and I let them go 
 as they are, in the hope that they will be reminders of 
 many pleasant hours of friendly intercourse. 
 
 Thanks are here expressed to the Christian Standard, 
 Cincinnati Commercial Gazette, Times-Star, Knoxville 
 Journal, and many other papers and magazines, for their 
 kindness in allowing the use of the poems. 
 
 With the hope that this little volume will bind the sub- 
 scribers and the author in bonds of a continued friendship, 
 
 I trust it to them. 
 
 Chas. B. Morrell, M. D. 
 
 Cincinnati, April lo, 1893. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Hero Died To-day, 140 
 
 All Hail the Glorious Morn, 72 
 
 A Master Soul, 12 
 
 A New Year Sonnet, 69 
 
 A Reverie, 97 
 
 Ashes, 131 
 
 Autumn, 96 
 
 A Voice from Out of the Silence, 17 
 
 Awake, 64 
 
 Baby Fingers, 90 
 
 Bessie's Good Night, 80 
 
 Blind Girl's Song, The 15 
 
 But Would We ? 129 
 
 Can It Be ? 27 
 
 Casket's Best Jewel, The 29 
 
 Chimes of Amsterdam, The 6 
 
 Christmas Morn, 138 
 
 Contentment, 121 
 
 Damon and Pythias, no 
 
 David Makes the Chorus Resound, 22 
 
 Dead — U. S. G., 142 
 
 December, 60 
 
 Denial, The 41 
 
 Doady's Prayer, 75 
 
 Father's at the Helm, 147 
 
 Flag, The 95 
 
 Footprints in Eternity, 26 
 
 Garlands Fair, 32 
 
 Gates that Hang on Silken Hinges, 24 
 
 Gethsemane, 65 
 
 God's Laws are Good, 134 
 
 God's Wires are Never Down, 136 
 
 If We Lost Our Dread and Fearing, 135 
 
 In Grandma's Ingle Nook, 82 
 
In Memoriam — Charles H. Spurgeon, 37 
 
 I Will Wait, O Gentle Master, 25 
 
 Land of Daddle Doon, The 87 
 
 Light House, The 68 
 
 Light of the Savior, The 6r 
 
 Lonely Musician, The 149 
 
 Love, 94 
 
 Maiden and the Sage, The 116 
 
 Mother's Boy, 145 
 
 Motive, The 123 
 
 Now I Lay Me, I37 
 
 Passing Veterans, The 138 
 
 Phrenologist, The 106 
 
 Poetic Difficulties, 119 
 
 Pride, 133 
 
 Realization, 132 
 
 Recompense, 74 
 
 Red Ear, The 114 
 
 Shadow Cross, The 125 
 
 Since Yesterdaj^ 130 
 
 Smile of Death, The 28 
 
 Soul Like a River, The 128 
 
 Splendor of His Face, The 5 
 
 Star of Bethlehem, The 70 
 
 Student's Bride, The 102 
 
 Sympathy, 31 
 
 There Are Sounds Like Distant Thunder, 9 
 
 Think o' That, .92 
 
 To Venus di Milo, 93 
 
 Turn on the Light, • • • ^^7 
 
 What Says the Brook? '. . . 91 
 
 Whispers, 143 
 
 Widow's Aftermath, The 33 
 
 Would You Like to Be ? 78 
 
 Wrecked, 120 
 
The Splendor of His Face. 
 
 Some day, 
 
 Will fall awa}^ 
 
 This clogging robe of clay, 
 
 And I shall see the splendor of Thy face, 
 
 Shall glow within the circle of Thy radiant light, 
 
 Shall be with Thee far from earth's night, 
 
 " Saved by Thy grace." 
 
 And doubt 
 
 That crowds about, 
 
 And hope and love drives out. 
 
 Will pale before the splendor of Thy face, 
 
 And holiest peace enshroud me like a sun-touched cloud. 
 
 Angels will ring the song aloud ; 
 
 " Saved by Thy grace." 
 
The Chimes of Amsterdam. 
 
 In a church in Amsterdam, within the steeple proud and tall, 
 Are the silvery-throated chiming bells, beloved b}^ one and all. 
 
 In the morning, when the sun spears 
 
 Push aside the shades of night, 
 They speak greeting to its coming and a welcome to the light. 
 At the noon-tide, when the workers from their toil and labors rest. 
 They sing cheer and sweet encouragement, of honest labor blest. 
 In the trysting hours of even, when the 3'outh and maiden meet. 
 Then their voices, ever sweet and true, the lover's vows repeat. 
 
 Ever singing, ever ringing, making glad the hearts of all, 
 Though the note be one of tolling, 
 Yet it has a sound consoling. 
 For the sweetness of the doling 
 
 Bteaks the blackness of the pall. 
 
 And they ring out in all weather, 
 
 Through the mist and sunshine bright, 
 At the dawn of early morning, at the coming of the night. 
 And the hearts of all the people beat with gladness and delight, 
 As they listen to the chiming, 
 
 All the soft melodious rh5'ming. 
 Of the chimes within the steeple of the church in Amsterdam. 
 
Ill a church in Amsterdam, within a room beneath the tower, 
 Sits the aged ringer of the chimes, that mark each passing hour. 
 
 In the shadow and the darkness, only light enough to see, 
 There he sits, alone and silent, softl}' pressing on each key. 
 In the morning, when the sunlight pencils rays upon the floor, 
 In the noon-tide, when grown bolder it has glinted darkness o'er; 
 In the evening, when the lovers tell the story ever new, 
 There he sits in gloom and darkness, faithful to his work and true. 
 
 But the ringing and the singing 
 
 That makes glad the hearts of men. 
 All the sweetness of the chiming, 
 All the soft melodious rhyming. 
 All the solemn accents timing 
 As they sing a sad amen. 
 
 Have for him no note of gladness, nor of sorrow nor of blight, 
 Be it morning, be it noon-tide, or in even's fading light, 
 For he sits in gloom and darkness as the hours wing their flight. 
 Yet he goes on softly playing. 
 Never stopping or delaying, 
 In the room beneath the belfry in the church in Amsterdam. 
 
In the city all the people stop and listen to the chimes, 
 
 To the sweetly rising cadence, to the music of their rhymes. 
 
 There are many, very man}-, whom we can not even name, 
 Who are living in their places, touched by neither wealth or fame, 
 And their lives are full of sorrow, full of pathos, and of pain, 
 But they sing amidst their trials in a bright and happy strain ; 
 While the glom'ring shadow^s hover, in a rhythm sweet they sing, 
 In the hope that glad to-morrow will them greater pleasures bring. 
 
 And their notes are full and gladsome, 
 
 Although in a minor key, 
 And the accents sweet are ringing, 
 Sweetly timing, sweetly singing, 
 Joy and hope and pleasure bringing. 
 To the hearts they never see. 
 
 And those hearts take up the singing and its melody prolong. 
 For they onl}^ catch the sw^eetness and the hope within the song. 
 They forget, if ere they knew it, as they mingle with the throng, 
 That the soul that set it ringing, 
 
 That the heart that set it singing. 
 Was as lonely as the ringer of the Chimes of Amsterdam. 
 
There Are Sounds Like Distant Thunder, 
 
 Hark ! A sound like distant thunder 
 
 Breaks upon the listening ear, 
 Stilling action into silence, 
 
 Touching ever}^ heart with fear. 
 Low and moaning, like the tempest, 
 
 Soughing through the leafless trees ; 
 Like the sound of fierce waves breaking 
 
 On the rocky-bounded leas. 
 
 'Tis the sound of human heartbeats 
 
 Bounding 'neath the pent up fire. 
 Of oppression and injustice, 
 
 Stirring souls to deepest ire. 
 Men are calling, fiercely calling, 
 
 'Neath the binding chains of woe, 
 For some message that shall free them 
 
 Ere the deeper depths they know. 
 
 Truth in chains and justice bounden — 
 
 To this picture point they now, 
 And with brows of darkling passion, 
 
 To eternal altars vow ; 
 Life and limb, and all things holy, 
 
 To the breaking of the bands 
 That like writhing snakes enwoven. 
 
 Binds the labor of their hands. 
 
 Point they to the dancing sunlight, 
 
 To the flower-enspangled earth, 
 Then to hearthstones cold and dreary, 
 
 Heritage of honest worth : 
 9 
 
To the mansion gilt with splendor, 
 With the labor of their hands, 
 
 Bursting with the gems of beaut3^ 
 Gathered there from foreign lands. 
 
 To the meager fare, and scanty. 
 
 That is portioned as their share, 
 Fitting recompense for labor. 
 
 For the burdens that they bear. 
 Then to overflowing plenty, 
 
 Fit for prince or potentate ; 
 And their bosoms heave with anger, 
 
 Flash their eyes with deadly hate. 
 
 And the sound that now is swelling 
 
 In an angry undertone, 
 Like the pent-up fires volcanic 
 
 In their deep, dark homes of stone ; 
 Will burst forth in angry seething, 
 
 Like the maddened lava's race. 
 As it burns and smokes and singes, 
 
 Down the rugged mountain's face. 
 
 Men are quiv'ring 'neath the burdens 
 
 That upon their spirits press, 
 And, with sinews strained and bending. 
 
 Seek to break the binding stress ; 
 And the power that's now enbounden 
 
 By oppression's iron hand, 
 Will burst forth like storm-cloud rending, 
 
 Flooding terror through the land. 
 
 lO 
 
There are those who will not listen 
 
 To the sounds now heard afar, 
 Like the rushing sound of waters 
 
 Dashing o'er the mountain scar. 
 They shall stand in hopeless terror 
 
 When the storm shall overflow, 
 Sink beneath the awful dreadness 
 
 Of the overwhelming blow. 
 
A Haster Soul. 
 
 At times there falls from nature's building hand, 
 A soul, majestic and superbly grand; 
 The beating hammers ring a note as clear, 
 As that which falls from God on prophet's ear. 
 In timbre, like some monastery bell, 
 Which for the aeons past has rung its knell, 
 Has doled its run'e of human woe, its swell 
 Of human hope. The angels sing, for well 
 They know the power on earthly life, of such 
 A soul. They can forsee the Master touch. 
 
 It comes — that Master touch — and strays o'er keys 
 No other hand dare press, and sympathies 
 Unfold and souls awake. The symphony 
 Vibrates and swells, in measures grand and free. 
 Entangles in its rhythmic woof and web, 
 The moving mysteries of thought that ebb 
 And flow upon the shores of human life. 
 Forgotten is the petty care and strife 
 Of lesser things. The soul looks up and hears 
 The major note of power — and lulls its fears. 
 
 The mountain top is home for such a soul, 
 Above the rattling din and ceaseless dole 
 Of binding care. And from this lofty height. 
 In one bold sweep across the sky, the sight 
 Is flashed. From ether's edge to line afar 
 Where distant shadows break. 
 
 12 
 
From mountain scar, 
 It sees the tangled thickets hung with torn 
 And wind-blown tatters of dead hopes, all shorn ; 
 It notes the whitened ribs of wrecks, whose bleached 
 And mocking fingers mark ideals unreached. 
 It sees the struggle in the dark and drear 
 Of error's night ; and hears the wail of fear 
 That tells the sinking in the seething sea, 
 Beneath the waves of inhumanity, 
 Of some o'erladen soul. 
 
 The sight would stir 
 A Master Soul like this to eagle's whirr. 
 And it, like eagle bold, from eyred height 
 To realms above the sky would wing its flight ; 
 Straight to the altar of the Living Soul, 
 And from that altar seize a burning coal 
 Of God's own truth. 
 
 Then on that mountain height 
 Would watch the fire of truth divine ignite ; 
 Would watch the curling smoke its presence mark. 
 Would watch the tiny flash of brighter spark, 
 Would watch it glow and burn, a fire indeed. 
 To warm the pinched hearts, that cruel creed 
 Had left to freeze in shadows lorn and cold. 
 Would watch them cluster 'round the fire grown bold, 
 To warm the shriveled hands of thought at fire 
 Divine. 
 
 13 
 
The light grows brighter, mounting higher, 
 And life envigored moves with freer strides, 
 Till, like that matchless m^^stery that tides 
 Upon the northern sky, it gleams and shines, 
 And limnes with light, eternal bound'r}^ lines. 
 Then coward crowd of vultures that have preyed 
 On human woe, all ghastly and disma^^ed. 
 Sheer off in terror to some darksome spot 
 And hide and die. 
 
 And then this soul is not ; 
 Amid the human throng it stalked alone. 
 As kings are lonel}^ when the}^ mount the throne, 
 In generations yet to come, His name 
 Shall be with martvrs writ, and crowned with fame. 
 
The Blind Girl's Song. 
 
 When the hush of evening shadows 
 
 Marks the closing of the day, 
 And the birds are singing vespers 
 
 As the sun-light steals away, 
 
 Then there falls upon my spirit, 
 
 Peace I have no words to tell, 
 Angel voices seem to whisper, rest in peace for all is well. 
 
 Rest, for through the silent watches, 
 He will guard thee. He will keep, 
 And His angels will surround thee. 
 While thine eyes are touched with sleep. 
 
 When the hush of evening shadows 
 
 Bids the toiler cease his care. 
 Homeward turns his wearied footsteps. 
 
 To the loved ones waiting there, 
 
 Visions of the fire-lit hearthstone. 
 
 Children laughing in their play, 
 Stir my soul to sweetest music, at the closing of the day. 
 
 And the children's sweet-toned laughter 
 Echoes back the angel's song, 
 Rest, O rest, for He will keep thee 
 Through the midnight watches long. 
 
 15 
 
When the hush of evening shadows 
 
 Brings to me another sight, 
 When the day of all things earthly 
 
 Will sink calml}^ into night, 
 And the darkness that enshrouds me 
 
 Will forever from me fall, 
 I shall stand in heavenly brightness, 
 
 Answ'ring to the Master's call. 
 
 And the loved ones that surround me 
 In that haven of the blest, 
 Softly then to me will whisper, 
 Safe at last to home and rest. 
 
 i6 
 
The Voice From Out of the Silence, 
 
 Out from the deeps of silence 
 
 Where the myriad millions sleep, 
 Came a voice of thrilling sweetness 
 
 That made my spirit weep. 
 For it spoke to the soul of my being 
 
 In a wonderous undertone 
 Of the needs of stricken soul life, 
 
 Of the sorrowful and lone. 
 
 The strange magnetic pathos 
 
 Swept my soul in a weird refrain, 
 For it told a story truly, 
 
 And told it over again. 
 Go forth, go forth to the masses 
 
 And brand the terrible lie, 
 The soul lives on forever 
 
 And never, never shall die. 
 
 And it takes in horrid branding 
 
 The warp and the woof of sin. 
 The soul that lives on forever 
 
 Is the soul that is born within, 
 And the burden of woe that it carries 
 
 Shall weigh like a leaden die 
 And forever and ever 'tis withered 
 
 By the breath of a terrible lie. 
 
 17 
 
Go, go to the fountains of knowledge 
 
 Ere the streams grow vile and impure, 
 Go tell the grand truth to the living. 
 
 The hope of hereafter assure. 
 Like an eagle its pinions unfolding, 
 
 The soul seeks eternity's vale — 
 Go bid them to cease with their crying 
 
 To cease with their barter and sale. 
 
 For souls are the precious reflections, 
 
 The rays of a light divine. 
 Too precious to trifle and cheapen, 
 
 Too grand to be less than sublime. 
 Go bid them cast free the enchainments, 
 
 And stand in the image of God, 
 With justice and right as religion, 
 
 With eternal hope as the rod. 
 
 Bid murderers of human affection 
 
 vStand awed in the presence of right, 
 Bid them cover the face of this demon 
 
 That chains them to eternal night. 
 Break shackles or helplessly wear them 
 
 A slave through the ever and aye. 
 Break through the deep gloaming and glamor, 
 
 For day of God's freedom is nigh. 
 
 For thin grow the walls of the veiling. 
 And brighter and brighter the glow. 
 
 And eternity's light shall burn brightly, 
 Eternity's truth shall men know. 
 
 i8 
 
I have seen and have felt in the fuUness 
 The gleams that were feeble and small, 
 
 And above all the clamor and wailing, 
 The grand heavenly chorus shall call. 
 
 The soul, to be free, must not tramel 
 
 The truth that is grand and sublime, 
 The truth that shall rise in its power 
 
 And rule through the sweep of all time. 
 And woe to the hand that, restraining. 
 
 Shall hope to hold souls from the light ; 
 For seared b}' the flame to a cinder 
 
 'Twill fall 'neath a terrible blight. 
 
 But bold to all men speak this message : 
 
 The Son of God's love shines for all. 
 And the dawn of the day is approaching 
 
 When forth from the darkness the call 
 Shall roll like the beating of oceans. 
 
 Shall surge like the swiri of the sea, 
 And the truth on the heart shall emblazon 
 
 The knowledge that each soul is free. 
 
 Is free to grow lusty and gladsome, 
 
 Is free to grow puny a7id vile, 
 Ayid the use of that freedom in judgment 
 
 Shall answer to eter^ial trial. 
 
 19 
 
Wrecked. 
 
 O'er ocean blue, one Summer day, 
 
 A gallant ship sped merrily. 
 The quickning breezes gently blew, 
 
 And dancing waves beat glad tattoo. 
 The sailors sang, the good ship ran 
 
 'Neath clear blue sky of ether span. 
 The captain stood on upper deck, 
 
 And watched each growing cloudy speck 
 That floated by, a thing as free 
 
 As wild bird in the forest tree. 
 
 On horizon, where sea met sky. 
 
 The captain turned his watchful eye; 
 For spitting waves in distance told, 
 
 That wind and wave would be more bold. 
 The wild wind whistled clear and shrill, 
 
 A dimness settled — hushed and still ; 
 The sailors stopped their merry song. 
 
 And watched the dark clouds scud along. 
 At warning note the sails were furled. 
 
 And closely 'round the yards were curled. 
 
 The winds gained power and hurried by, 
 The waves rose higher and more high, 
 
 The clouds grew blacker — here and there 
 The lightning cut the dark'ning air. 
 
 The storm booms sounded low and dread. 
 The thunder rumbled over head. 
 
 20 
 
The lightning glowed in bolder flash, 
 
 And waves beat fast with threat'ning lash. 
 
 The sailors stood in awe and fear, 
 
 The storm came nearer and more near. 
 
 It broke at last with blinding crash, 
 
 That drove the ship with maddened dash. 
 The waves rolled o'er the gallant bark, 
 
 The lightning flashed with brighter spark. 
 The ship moved fast before the gale. 
 
 Which tore the mast and rent the sail, 
 And swept the deck with horrid roar, 
 
 And plank from plank in madness tore. 
 It caught that ship in wild embrace, 
 
 And hurled it in the tempest's face. 
 
 It tore and rent what ere it could. 
 
 The quiv'ring wreck with shudder stood. 
 The sailors launched the good life-boat. 
 
 Which angry waves hurled far afloat. 
 Above the sullen, angry notes 
 
 Rose mournful wails from human throats. 
 The somber clouds with dark'ning frown, 
 
 Saw gallant ship a wreck go down. 
 
 Then sun-light through the dark clouds broke. 
 
 That rolled away like curling smoke. 
 A silence stole upon the deep, 
 
 The waves sank down to quiet sleep, 
 The clouds rolled back from ether blue, 
 
 And breezes fanned like falling dew. 
 The stately ship that sailed before, 
 
 Rode o'er the ocean's crest no more. 
 
David Makes the Chorus Resound 
 
 The poets on the sweet muse call, 
 
 And touch with love the tuneful lyre ; 
 Make sweetest cadence rise and fall, 
 
 To thrill the heart with love's desire. 
 The songs flow free in melody, 
 
 And chords vibrate that have grown cold : 
 Time's captives — love and youth — are free 
 
 To roam again 'mid bowers of old. 
 
 The chord grows stronger, and the note 
 
 Speaks of the lives and deeds of men. 
 Whose living thoughts the evil smote, 
 
 Who wore fame's royal diadem. 
 And patriotic fire enthrills, 
 
 Ambition seeks the height to scale ; 
 The heart with nobler love enfills, 
 
 And dares the grander tasks assail. 
 
 Sonorous sounds, deep, rich and clear. 
 
 Respond to touch on strings grown bold ; 
 A Nation's life, to all hearts dear, 
 
 Is in majestic movement told. 
 And listening millions catch the strain, 
 
 And echo back its vibrant tone. 
 From ocean's edge to distant main, 
 
 From frigid north to torrid zone. 
 
 22 
 
But though the lyre be touched as soft 
 
 As infant hand on mother cheek, 
 Or deeply struck, till sounds aloft 
 
 Do with the mighty thunders speak ; 
 'Tis but ephemeral — born to die. 
 
 It passes like some fading dream ; 
 The soul sinks back with weary sigh, 
 
 And longings o'er the spirit teem. 
 
 But David makes the chords resound, 
 
 The weary ear the note repeats 
 In praise of God, the great — profound, 
 
 And fuller, grander, grow the beats. 
 The swelling note the mind enthralls. 
 
 The soul responds to nobler song. 
 And deep peace on the spirit falls, 
 
 As it with love is borne along. 
 
 The soul in grandeur gains the height. 
 
 And earthly hopes find pleasure rare ; 
 The heart in God sees new delight. 
 
 And casts awaj- its weight of care. 
 The note swells like the rhythmic tread 
 
 Of gathering hosts of angel bands ; 
 The songs of earth and heaven wed 
 
 Like beatino: surf on ocean sands. 
 
Gates That Hang on Silken Hinges. 
 
 O'er my spirit steals a fancy, 
 Is it fancy, only fancy? 
 Real it seems ; belief compelling, and I listen still ; 
 Gates that hang on silken hinges. 
 Silken hinges, rustling hinges. 
 Rustling like the waving tassels, wind tossed, at its will. 
 
 Angels visitant and loving, 
 Ever loving, truly loving. 
 Swing them softly backward, forward, as they come and go 
 And they sweetly message whisper. 
 Softly whisper, truly whisper. 
 Tell of joy and pleasure, where the living waters flow. 
 
 Just beyond those swinging hinges. 
 Swinging hinges, silken hinges, 
 Is the real, the glad fruition of our waiting hours ; 
 Then we'll hear the sweetest music. 
 Sweetest music, angel music. 
 Rest forever with the angels in those peaceful bowers. 
 
 24 
 
I Will Wait, O Gentle Master. 
 
 When life's weary work is over, 
 
 And the last sad words are said, 
 And the weeping hearts around me 
 
 Softly whivSper, he is dead ; 
 Then my soul will rise to meet Thee, 
 
 Then my spirit know the rest, 
 That Thou hast so often promised 
 
 When I nestled on Thy breast. 
 
 Then will all the shades and shadows, 
 
 That around me hover now. 
 Pass forever from my spirit, 
 
 As before Thy throne I bow. 
 And the mysteries and the sorrows 
 
 That were dark and strange to me, 
 Will be lost in heavenly brightness, 
 
 When I come to live with Thee. 
 
 I will wait, O gentle Master, 
 
 Wait until I hear Thy call. 
 Bear with sorrow and disaster. 
 
 Thou dost know and see it all, 
 Thou dost watch the feeble sparrow, 
 
 Care if one in sorrow fall ; 
 Thou wilt care and hover o'er me. 
 
 Thou who art my All in All. 
 
 25 
 
Footprints in Eternity. 
 
 We see the footprints leading down 
 
 To where the rolling river 
 Leaves mournfully the sands of time, 
 With ceaseless sob and varjdng rh3^me. 
 
 We look across its broad expanse, 
 
 And heart strings strain and quiver. 
 We gaze with eyes by love made fond, 
 Across the waves to shores beyond. 
 And hope to catch a glimpse once more 
 Of footprints on the heavenl)' shore. 
 
 But now the vision can not reach 
 
 - That dimly outlined landing. 
 
 For weeping eyes are filled with tears. 
 
 And heavy hearts o'ercome with fears. 
 The soul is wrapped in myst'ry drear 
 
 Past human understanding ; 
 
 But clouds will break in brighter day, 
 
 The dreary darkness fade away ; 
 
 And with the e5^es of faith we'll see 
 
 Those footprints in eternity. 
 
 26 
 
Can It Be? 
 
 Can it be — that the perfume of the flower ; 
 
 That the stars as the}^ circle in their sway ; 
 Can it be — that the song birds in the bower ; 
 
 And the sun as it marches to the day ; 
 All from one grand infinitude of power 
 
 Have their being, 
 And within that hand are held ? 
 Can it be — like a swift bird it is fleeing, 
 When the soul to catch the secret is impelled. 
 
 Can it be — that the weeping and the sorrow, 
 
 And the strains of the sweetest songs that flow 
 Can it be — that each weary thought we borrow, 
 And the symphonies that make the spirit glow; 
 Will in some glad and heavenly to-morrow 
 
 Show the rising 
 Of their ceaseless ebb and flow ? 
 Can it be — oh ! the mystery surprising, 
 Will my waiting soul the secret ever know ? 
 
 Now a wordless voice my secret soul is telliyig 
 Wait, oh, wait, there comes a day to every soul, 
 When the surges that are o'er the spirit ivelling, 
 Will forever and forever from it roll. 
 And the secret of the perfume of the flower, 
 And the sun that marches upward on his way, 
 Will be found in all its glory and its power, 
 That will zvrap the soul in briohtness in that day 
 
The Smile of Death. 
 
 On his face was a smile — on the face of the dead, 
 'Neath the ebony crown that encircled his head, 
 
 For the spirit had flown, and the soul essence fled, 
 lycaving only a smile on the face of the dead. 
 
 Did a light to the darkness a radiance impart, 
 As his soul on its journey was ready to start ? 
 
 Did his friends gather near him to love and to cheer, 
 And to bid him look forward, beyond doubt and fear? 
 
 Did he feel like the bird to the woodland returned, 
 
 When 'twas freed from its fetters as long it had yearned ? 
 
 And had life a new token, a joy yet untold, 
 
 Did the beauties of Heaven before him unfold? 
 
 Did he know, midst the shadows of gathering gloom, 
 That which none of us fathom this side of the tomb? 
 
 Were his hopes a fruition, was life's noblest dream 
 
 Then revealed to his soul, as he passed o'er the stream ? 
 
 What he saw none can tell, on his lips it was hushed, 
 For the cold touch of death all revealings had crushed ; 
 
 But that smile on his face — the cold face of the dead. 
 Told the story of peace, that his lips left unsaid. 
 
 28 
 
The Casket's Best Jewel. 
 
 Whence come, where go the currents of our life? 
 
 We try to catch the lesson from the past, 
 But it eludes our most persisent strife, 
 
 And leaves us on the ocean shore at last 
 Where waves of doubt beat high as mountain peak. 
 
 And thought and action move, a might}- tide ; 
 That quells to silence ere we dare to speak 
 
 The thoughts that in our secret souls abide. 
 
 Flows then this power from God's own mind sublime ? 
 
 And has it thus forever been a stream, 
 From chaos to eternity of time ; 
 
 Does it out-age the flashing sunray's gleam ? 
 Are we like flowers that grow but to fulfill 
 
 The law that bids them rise tho' but to die, 
 Is all within us shaped to good or ill. 
 
 Unchanged by aught that may within us lie. 
 
 Or may we sow upon life's outspread field, 
 
 The wheat of purpose holy — or the tares, 
 And will the Reaper gather in the yield. 
 
 When He has bid us lay down earthly cares ? 
 May we while yet amid earth's darkling clouds. 
 
 Catch glimpses of a promise yet to be, 
 When there shall fall the doubt that now enshrouds. 
 
 And then our souls from mysteries be free ? 
 
 29 
 
We can not be but creatures with our life 
 
 Already planned in every act and line ; 
 The casket holds a flashing jewel — rife 
 
 With sparkling rays in brilliancy divine. 
 They light the caverns, and the bright light falls 
 
 Beside the throne of reason and of thought ; 
 And on the soul-ear falls repeated calls, 
 
 To higher effort toward the goal long sought. 
 
 Let us in truth and highest honor sow 
 
 The wheat of noble thought and purest deed, 
 And trust the fount whence living waters flow, 
 
 To ripe' the grain and manifold the seed. 
 We can not err if holy purpose pure, 
 
 Our guiding star thro' all life's cares shall be. 
 The Hand that guides our life is firm and sure. 
 
 Will guide us safe to blest eternity. 
 
Sympathy. 
 
 The tempest fills the soul with dread, 
 
 And speaks in thunder tone 
 Of mighty forces held within the hand of God alone. 
 The rippling brook in murmur sweet, 
 
 Lulls care to seeming rest ; 
 The flowers are nature's poems fair, in daint}^ colors drest. 
 
 All nature tells a story, now sparkling, now sublime; 
 Of joy, of sweetest pleasure, in an ever-changing rhyme. 
 But when the heart is wearied 
 
 And the soul with sin oppressed, 
 She has no touch of sympathy 
 
 To soothe the aching breast. 
 
 Like the mirror that gives back again 
 
 The face that in it smiles, 
 She can but give the gift she has, a peace that but beguiles. 
 Ah ! then the soul with hunger turns 
 
 From all created things, 
 To Him who holds within His hand 
 
 The power from which life springs. 
 
 The soul cries out to God on high. 
 
 And answ'ring echoes bound. 
 The heart strings pulse and vibrate, 
 
 Thrilled with melodies new found. 
 And Christ, in gentle tone of love, in sympathy replies. 
 And bids the weary sin-sick soul to higher fields arise. 
 
 31 
 
Garlands Fair. 
 
 We seek to touch the height, 
 To wear the laurel wreath, 
 
 To win it we aim high, 
 
 Nor see the chance beneath. 
 
 We touch the poet's lyre, 
 We hold the artist's brush, 
 
 To grandest heights aspire, 
 We ape the master touch. 
 
 But fame escapes our grasp, 
 
 And we yield to despair. 
 We look for heaven in love. 
 
 And find it hiding there. 
 
 There in the loivly valley shades of human care, 
 There by the hand of love enbr aided, garlands fair 
 
 32 
 
The Widow's Aftermath. 
 
 A woman, meek, with weary, timid feet. 
 Stood gazing sadly down the golden street. 
 So rugged was the road her feet had trod, 
 She longed to enter into rest with God. 
 Her heart, with anxious fear, was cold and chill ; 
 Around her spread the silence, hushed and still. 
 Her hungry soul outreached, but did not dare 
 To enter through the gates, resplendant there. 
 She turned to go. When, lo, an angel bright 
 Stood close beside her ; gleaming in the light, 
 That now shone 'round them in a softened glow, 
 And lit the wa}'. A voice, soft, sweet and low. 
 Fell on her ear. 
 
 " Oh ! let me be thy guide." 
 And then the angel, walking b}' her side. 
 Led her along. A deep o'erpowering thrill 
 Surged through the weary soul, but seemed to fill 
 Her heart with fear. Close bj' a flowing stream 
 He led her feet ; it rippled like a beam 
 Of living light. By it they sta3'ed their way ; 
 By it the timid one knelt down to praj'. 
 
 33 
 
" Look," said the angel, ho, there stood beside, 
 One robed in white. He pointed to the tide. 
 And in a voice, seolian toned, said : " Drink." 
 The woman bowed and touched the water's brink 
 And laved her lips. Her soul with fear was torn. 
 The cr3^stal waters cast a form forlorn 
 Back to her gaze. The voice was low and clear : 
 " Why wearest thou that look of anxious fear?" 
 
 " Oh ! Master," spoke the trembling, weary one, 
 
 " Naught have I brought, and now my life is done. 
 
 When gifted eloquence has raised Thy name. 
 
 And pictured forth the splendors of Thy fame, 
 
 My lips were dumb. When stately chorus rose 
 
 To lead the sinner to thy blest repose. 
 
 My voice was not. Its weak and trembling tone 
 
 Was lost within the anthem ; sad, alone. 
 
 It touched no heart, to bend the stubborn will 
 
 To kneel to Thee. Oft have I felt the thrill 
 
 Of heart-sick doubt, when, loving Thee, I knew 
 
 No gold had I, to rear into the blue, 
 
 A massive dome of prayer. My store was small. 
 
 But though I, weeping, gave to Thee my all, 
 
 That all was naught." 
 
 34 
 

 I 
 
 '^At---: 
 
 H'' J^ 
 
 > 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 S 
 
 i 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 •% 
 
 ;#ife 
 
 JM^ 
 
 The Widow's Aftermath. 
 
 She saw a woven wreath of lilies.' 
 
Then to the Master's feet 
 She bowed in shame. But, as she knelt, a sweet, 
 Low chord of music fell upon her ear, 
 To burst in swelling harmony so clear. 
 That language grew ; and angel voices rang, 
 " Peace, peace to men," it was the song they sang 
 When He was born. The angel throng drew near 
 To where the woman bent in lowly fear, 
 And one by one, they passed before His face 
 And laid a treasure dowm ; until the space 
 About the Master's feet, all glorious grew. 
 "Look," said the angel, softly. On her view 
 There burst a scene so radiant and bright. 
 That scarce her eyes could bear the beaming light. 
 
 The Master spoke : " All these are thine," He said. 
 
 And to the glistening treasure bent his head. 
 
 iVnd, lo, the woman saw^ a woven wreath 
 
 Of lillies, wondrous fair, and in their sheath 
 
 Of beauty, lay a host of shimmering pearls. 
 
 An angel form, with rippling, golden curls, 
 
 Then spoke : " This wreath was laid upon the brow 
 
 Of one, thy patient life had taught to bow 
 
 To Him we love. And all these glitt'ring gems 
 
 Are th}' kind deeds, the royal diadems 
 
 Of heaven's throne." 
 
 35 
 
And then the Master spoke ; 
 And on that darkened soul a new light broke, 
 " Oh ! doubting heart, see how thou didst me wrong. 
 'Tis not the grandest anthem, proud and strong, 
 That thrills to heaven. Full oft the angels hear 
 A song too low for any human ear, 
 The love song of the soul. And pillared grey 
 Of massive pile has often led away 
 The soul from God. Within the human heart 
 Is God's true altar reared, and from it start 
 The prayers that reach His ear. And sweet, indeed, 
 The incense rising from the heartfelt need 
 Of loving hearts. It is the prayer of love 
 That echoes with the angel song above." 
 
 ^1^ Mi Mi Mi ;!< M< ^< '^ 
 
 The Master, pointing to the tide, said: " Drink." 
 The woman bowed and touched the flowing brink, 
 And then she knew. For in its waters clear 
 She saw her face, no doubt, no anxious fear ; 
 But mirrored there in all its heavenly grace. 
 She saw the splendor of the Master's face. 
 
 36 
 
In Memoriam==Charles H. Spurgeon. 
 
 No muffled drums, no cannon's thunderous boom 
 
 Mark the sad passage to the solemn tomb 
 
 That clothes thy dust. No flags are furled in grief 
 
 To tell the falling of a nation's chief. 
 
 No bells are toned to melody of woe, 
 
 To sing thy dirge in solemn rythmic flow. 
 
 And yet a chief has fallen in the strife. 
 
 Like distant echoes of the falling stream 
 That leaps triumphant, with a sunlit gleam 
 Adown the cataract, the voices swell 
 In mystic chorus as they sweetly tell 
 The stor}' that so often has been told 
 By thy heroic lips. Thou hast been bold 
 To tell the story of eternal life. 
 
 When kings shall lose their scepters, and shall pass 
 To blend, forgotten, with the dust-hid mass 
 Of ancient lore, thy name shall gain a glow 
 Alike to gold, bright polished with the flow 
 Of ever-gliding stream. And like some bright 
 And polished diamond, emblem of the light. 
 Thy name shall shine within the hearts of men. 
 
 37 
 
And like some precious heirloom, handed down, 
 -Will be the trust that thou hast made the crown 
 Of some lost soul. And like the piercing ray 
 That leaves the star millions of miles away, 
 To greet the eye of some one yet unborn, 
 Thy words will go to weary and forlorn 
 In ages yet to come, and whisper then 
 The same sweet story thou hast often told, 
 With lips heroic and with spirit bold — 
 The story of the Master thou didst love, 
 With whom thou art in heavenly realms above. 
 
 38 
 
Enchained. 
 
 Sometimes there sweeps a vision o'er my soul 
 
 Sublimely limitless. And eagle wings 
 
 Do bear my soul aloft to heights above ; 
 
 Until the snow-crowned mountain tops are lost ; 
 
 Until I see the splendor of the sun, 
 
 And glow and thrill with pouring in of power 
 
 That lights the soul to sight almost divine ; 
 
 Then human life, with all its varied web, 
 
 Its threads of hate and hope, its fear and joy, 
 
 Its shadows and the purposes that thrill 
 
 The human heart to action, all lie bare, 
 
 Like open pages of a printed book 
 
 Wherein the drama weird of life is writ. 
 
 Men come and go ; men on whose brow the dust 
 
 Of withered laurel lies in ashes white ; 
 
 And men whose hearts are torn by touch of woe 
 
 Lives w^ooed and won by sadness and distress ; 
 
 Till, like some vast enwoven tapestry, 
 
 I see and know all human weal and woe. 
 
 Then, bursting from an unseen mighty choir. 
 
 There comes a call to action and to life. 
 
 The soul leaps forth to answer to the call 
 
 To crv the words of freedom to the race. 
 
 39 
 
upon the soul then falls the binding chains, 
 
 That mock its striving as the ice-locked sea 
 
 Mocks the brave sun. Then wakes the struggling soul 
 
 To conflict fierce. Until the muscles groan, 
 
 And in their slavish anguish creak and snap, 
 
 Until the very currents of the life 
 
 Do knot and twist in struggles to be free. 
 
 Until the breath is wasted ; then it falls, 
 
 And bears its chains, a conquered slave once more. 
 
 40 
 
The Denial. 
 
 The feast was done. The Master lingered while 
 He gave yet a few tokens of His love. 
 The gathered friends of stern and rugged mien 
 Were saddened at the thought, half understood, 
 That they and He must part. 
 
 They heard His words. 
 And they were filled with doubt and anxious fear 
 They strove to grasp the Master's thought. 
 
 Then he, 
 Whose love had oft burst forth in impulse wild. 
 Made answer boldly ; 
 
 " Though all men may leave. 
 Loved Master, yet will I be true." 
 
 With calm 
 Benignant eyes, the Master looked into 
 His face. He saw the human weakness there, 
 The shadow of the cross — the awful death 
 He saw must come, He knew that human love 
 Could not its terrors bear, 
 
 And then, with voice 
 More gentle than rebuking, said : " Before 
 The cock shall crow, thou shalt deny me thrice." 
 
 41 
 
'Tis done. The Son of Man, whose every thought 
 Was filled with love for sinful men, betrayed 
 Had been. The hand of violence had touched 
 And bound Him, led Him forth to trial. 
 
 In doubt 
 And fear there Peter stood, and writhed betwixt 
 The impulse born of fear — and tender love. 
 He slipped unseen amid the angry crowd ; 
 While they bore Him into the judgment hall, 
 To taunt, and falsely swear His life away. 
 Among the hangers on, the scum of all 
 That Jewish mob, stood Peter. Doubt had brought 
 Fear — fear had roused all that was coward in 
 The man, and love had been forgotten. 
 They stood around the portal of the porch. 
 The night was dark and chill, and deepest gloom 
 Enshrouded all. About the fire they stood. 
 And talked in whispers of the deed that day, 
 Of Him who now was held a captive bound ; 
 And of the things that He had said and done. 
 And those were there whose leper poor had felt 
 His healing touch, and those who scoffed at Him. 
 
 And some were there whose hearts were closely wrapped 
 
 In what they thought was Isreal's highest good. 
 
 Who hated Him, in that they feared He might 
 
 O'erthrow their power within the ancient church; 
 
 But never one throbbed with the surge of thought, 
 
 That filled the mind of Peter, as he stood. 
 
 And heard them talk of Him whom he had loved. 
 
 42 
 
They looked with fear into each other's face, 
 
 As traitors fear, who know that they are vile. 
 
 And who are fearful lest they be betrayed. 
 
 At last a damsel, seeing Peter, spoke : 
 
 " Thou wast with Him in Galilee." Then sprang 
 
 The coward nature to his pressing need. 
 
 And he denied. A second then accused. 
 
 Then with a fearful oath he swore, and said : 
 
 " I know Him not." A third came boldly forth, 
 
 And when he heard him speak gave accent thus : 
 
 " Thy very speech is that of Galilee, 
 
 Thou art His friend." Then he denied again, 
 
 And turned to flee, when shrill}^ crew^ the cock. 
 
 Then burst the pent-up flood so long restrained, 
 
 And Peter wept. 
 
 The cruel deed was done ; 
 The cross its precious burden had upheld; 
 The protest of the elements had ceased; 
 The temple veil hung rent and useless there ; 
 The new-made tomb had claimed its habitant ; 
 Three weary days and nights had passed away, 
 And now the air was filled with rumors strange ; 
 'Twas boldly whispered that the darksome tomb 
 No longer held His form inclosed within, 
 That angel hands had rolled the stone away, 
 And set Him free. 
 
 43 
 
All through the dreary night 
 The fishers plied their nets without avail ; 
 The first grey shades told of the coming dawn ; 
 A sweet, calm voice spoke from the shore, and said : 
 " Hast thou of meat?" and when they said him, " Nay." 
 He said : " Then cast upon the other side 
 And thou shalt fill thy nets." They cast, and lo, 
 The nets were breaking with their heavy loads. 
 
 Then he whom Jesus loved looked to the shore 
 And said : " It is the Lord." Then Peter girt 
 His coat about him and made haste to shore. 
 
 They dined once more with Him whom they called Lord ; 
 And when the simple meal was at an end. 
 With Peter walked He slowly from the fire ; 
 All that had passed in those sad days now gone, 
 Flashed through the mind of Peter, as they walked. 
 And filled his heart with sorrow and with grief. 
 
 At last the Master spoke : " O Simon, Son 
 
 Of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these." 
 
 "Yea, Lord, thou knowest," quick the answer came, 
 
 Full from the heart. " Feed thou my lambs," and then 
 
 As Peter bowed in humble thankfulness 
 
 For the commission, said again to him : 
 
 " O Simon Peter, lovest thou me best." 
 
 And then the oath he swore within the gate 
 
 Danced like a flame through Peter's troubled mind, 
 
 " Feed thou my sheep." The words, so gentle, bore 
 
 A higher meaning now. He bowed his head. 
 
 44 
 
Again now softly came the self-same words 
 
 And Peter grieved and dared but whisper : " Lord, 
 
 Thou knowest all things well." " Then feed ni}^ sheep. 
 
 And Peter knew he was forgiven now, 
 
 That He had searched his heart and seen the tear 
 
 Of true repentance, and had bid him live, 
 
 Restored and blessed in the Master's love. 
 
 45 
 
Conversion of Saul. 
 
 The great Sanhedrim sat. Borne to their ears, 
 In strange portentous whispers, came the word 
 That all their efforts had been vain. 
 
 The Christ — 
 By secret council judged and foully slain, 
 Had (so 'twas wildly rumored) still great power ; 
 And those who followed him, now boldly preached 
 A risen Lord. 
 
 And so they met again ; 
 Resolved to stifle now the tiny flame, 
 Lest it should blaze beyond their power to check, 
 And in the end consume the ancient church. 
 In deep discussion, passed the anxious hours. 
 For some were there who half believed, and held 
 That He was Christ. 
 
 O'erweighed by haughty pride 
 The counsel of the evil ones prevailed — 
 They must o'erpower this growing faith at once. 
 They had adjourned, and one by one they passed 
 Out through the temple gate ; their faces marked 
 With lines of deep anxiety. 
 
 46 
 
One man 
 Stood by the portal of the porch, a man 
 Still young, and fair to look upon, his clear 
 Eye flashed with fire that stirred his inmost soul. 
 Clad in the robe of Pharisee, of white 
 Enfringed with blue, and broad phylacteries. 
 His high, pale brow 'betokened deep research 
 Into the higher problems of the law. 
 He was Gamaliel, taught in subjects rare. 
 
 This man was Saul — a servant of the law — 
 That cherished law which, through the ages past. 
 The Pharisees had gilded with the pride 
 Of fine distinction ; till the law itself 
 Was hid beneath the mask of formal creed ; 
 Like the great oak, heart eaten by the worm. 
 But standing still, a giant mockery 
 Of God's intent. 
 
 To him had been ordained. 
 Full power to go and crush this growing faith. 
 
 Forth to Damascus then he boldly rode. 
 
 His mind was filled with rush of mighty thoughts. 
 
 That thrilled the very fibers of his soul, 
 
 And wove a web of mystery too great 
 
 For human understanding. 
 
 47 
 
This the Christ ? 
 Messias of Isaiah's treasured scroll? 
 Messias that should come as Israel's King, 
 To free their neck from hated Roman yoke ; 
 To build again the throne where David sat 
 In royal splendor? 
 
 This unkingly man, 
 Whose voice was like a woman's, and whose touch 
 Had been alike for Publican and Jew — 
 This herder with the masses, who had said, 
 "That whosoever would, might come to him." 
 His Jewish pride o'erswept all humane thought. 
 And loosed the demon that lies chained within 
 The soul of every man. 
 
 His pulses surged 
 With hatred for the ones who dared to claim 
 This man as Israel's King and Lord. 
 
 And yet — 
 As countercurrent to the thought there came 
 A flood of diff'rent feeling, and there rose 
 From out the hidden caverns of his soul. 
 Dim mem'ries of the sacred pages, read 
 In days gone by. Isaiah's scroll — 'twas there; 
 " Rejected and despised of men was he." 
 "Afflicted and oppressed, and yet his mouth 
 He opened not." 
 
 48 
 
" And as a sheep before 
 The shearers — so he opened not his mouth." 
 " From judgment and from prison he was ta'en." 
 And like the passing of those specters dim, 
 That live but in the silence of the night, 
 There, written on the tablets of his brain. 
 Were tracings of the rumors he had heard. 
 This man, 'twas said; had even raised the dead; 
 Had bid the lame spring like the hart, and sing ; 
 Had touched the blind to living sight again. 
 That riven tomb — had Roman horde betrayed — 
 Or held the grave no vict'ry o'er this man ? 
 These men who spake so bravely for their cause, 
 Whence came their eloquence ? For well he knew 
 That ignorance had held them firmly chained, 
 Until they knew this man. 
 
 And then was stilled 
 The tempest that had filled his soul with hate. 
 And compassed him in deepest mystery, 
 The Pharisaic Jew — with all the pride 
 That years had lent, held conflict with the man, 
 And in contention tore the soul with doubt. 
 
 The mid-day sun shone bright upon the road — 
 Beyond, Damascus lay — and there his task. 
 
 49 
 
But suddenly there burst a gleaming light, 
 
 O'erpowering e'en the mid-day's brilliant glare, 
 
 As though the gates of heaven were torn apart. 
 
 Prostrate to earth in terror then he fell, 
 
 Blinded and awed he heard, as from afar, 
 
 A voice of heavenly sweetness to him say : 
 
 " O Saul, O Saul — why dost thou persecute ? " 
 
 In meekness, born of terror, Saul cried out : 
 
 " Who art thou. Lord?" And then the answer came : 
 
 " I am that Jesus thou dost persecute." 
 
 And then, upon that blinded, helpless man, 
 
 There burst a spirit sight, and now he saw 
 
 With soul sight far beyond the formal law. 
 
 And raising up his blind and sightless eyes, 
 
 He said : " What wouldst thou, Lord, that I should do ?' 
 
 50 
 
The Adulterous Woman. 
 
 At early morn the people thronged about 
 
 The temple gates. From far and near they came, 
 
 Egyptian, Greek and Pharisaic Jew. 
 
 The Publican and sinner, and the Scribe 
 
 Touched hem with hem, that they might hear him speak 
 
 Who spoke so boldly yesterda3\ 
 
 'Twas said. 
 That this might be the last day of his speech ; 
 That temple priests would bind him ere the night, 
 And having bound, would swear away his life 
 For blasphemy. 
 
 At last the Master came 
 And taught again. The eager faces gazed 
 With mingled awe and fear into his face. 
 Then, with a voice full-mouthed with melody. 
 He brake to them the bread of living truth. 
 What man had ever spoken as he spake ; 
 An everflowing fountain, from which fell 
 A flood of truth, whose matchless beauty found 
 A home within their cold and hungry hearts. 
 
 Between a deep conviction and the doubt 
 By Pharisees instilled, his hearers swayed. 
 Nor were the Scribes and Pharisees at one, 
 And 'mongst themselves held angry argument. 
 For he was there who met the Lord one night 
 And drank a sweet draught from the living spring. 
 
 51 
 
Rude disputations, muttered low and fierce, 
 Were mingled with the echoes of his voice. 
 The Pharisees to bind had vainly sought. 
 But yet no word or deed had to them shown 
 Where they might dare to brave the populace. 
 
 A murmuring tumult broke upon the ear, 
 Low cries of fear and vengeful words of hate ; 
 The mingled rush of many hastening feet. 
 When through the portal came a motley throng ; 
 A woman, who with torn and bleeding feet 
 Had hunted been along the stony path ; 
 A weak and sinful woman in the grasp 
 Of fierce and angry men. 
 
 With faces marked 
 With lines of great subtility, with scorn 
 Of Him enmingled with a growing fear, 
 They cast her, cowering, to the Master's feet. 
 
 There, at His feet, the trembling woman knelt. 
 
 While 'round her stood the Scribes and Pharisees. 
 
 Then one came forth and to the Master said : 
 
 (His accents held a threat within a taunt,) 
 
 " Rabbi, this is a vile adulteress. 
 
 In ver}^ act of sin she was betrayed, 
 
 We have the law. For hath not Moses said, 
 
 That stoned to death shall be all such as she ? 
 
 Such is the law. Rabbi, we pray you tell. 
 
 Do you read thus?" 
 
 52 
 
The throng expectant stood ; 
 Could one so gentle mete out justice stern, 
 Could harp-toned voice condemn the trembler there ? 
 
 Dare he, while 3^et the echoes of his claim 
 To God-like power still trembled on the air, 
 Dare he to push aside the ancient law 
 On which the temple stood. 
 
 A silence fell 
 Like chilling fear upon the multitude. 
 
 The Master stooped and wrote upon the ground, 
 In language known but to himself and God, 
 Two potent words : " The Law."* 
 
 Then stood erect, 
 With eyes whose gentleness revealed more power 
 Than heaven's thunderbolts, he looked upon 
 The faces fixed intentlj' on his owm. 
 With slow and measured tones, whose accents rang 
 Like scimiter on shield of armored foe, 
 He spoke : 
 
 " If there be one among you here. 
 Upon whose soul no touch of sin hath lain, 
 Cast ye the first just stone of punishment." 
 The silence deepened as the sentence fell, 
 A hush like midnight on a mountain peak, 
 Like breathless stoppage of the elements 
 Before the thunderburst. 
 
 "Note A.— The writer is aware that what Christ wrote is not revealed in the 
 Scriptures. 
 
 53 
 
Those Pharisees 
 Stood spell-bound, chained to abject silence there, 
 And hurtling passions surged like beating sea ; 
 The sword with which they sought the broken link, 
 Had feebly shattered on the shield of truth. 
 The polished law, which they had held supreme, 
 Was wrought by master speech, a mirror bright, 
 Where they might view their vileness. 
 
 One by one 
 They gazed into that mirror of the soul, 
 And one by one they slipped in guilt away. 
 
 The Master stooped and wrote upon the ground — 
 Wrote these two words beside The IvAW, " Is Love " 
 And then was born the spirit of the law, 
 Divinest mercy ruling over all. 
 
 The Christ looked up — the empty temple spread 
 Before his view, not one remained save her 
 Who trembled at his feet. 
 
 To her he said : 
 " Where now are those who did accuse. Hath none 
 On thee the sentence passed?" None, Lord, she said : 
 " Nor then will I. Arise and go thy way, 
 And sin no more." 
 
 The law had been fulfilled. 
 
 54 
 
He Carried the Flag. 
 
 I stood by a mound, with its mantle of green, 
 Unmarked, save a stone, with the number sixteen. 
 And on its bright surface many a bright flower. 
 With birds seemed to vie to make brighter the hour. 
 The veterans stood 'round it, a stern, rugged crowd, 
 With tears in the eye and heads reverently bowed. 
 And in mem'ry seemed lost, as a tear and a prayer. 
 The eye and the lip met. I stood unseen there 
 And gazed at the heroes, then thought of the dead, 
 And turned to a veteran with uncovered head. 
 Said softly : " Why, 'mid all the brave heroes dead. 
 Should this grave bring tears at the others unshed?" 
 His eye lit with fire, as he looked up and said, 
 " He carried the flag.'' 
 
 Then, as he sank down by the flower-covered grave, 
 A prayer floated over the heads of the brave. 
 He covered his face with his time-wrinkled hands, 
 And wandered afar into mem'ry's lands. 
 He choked back a sob, as he brokenly said : 
 " Full many lie here, but of all the brave dead 
 He stands in my mem'ry — the leader — the head." 
 *' Though years have rolled by, with their passions and pain, 
 Yet, as though it were yesterda}^ I see him again. 
 At the head of the regiment, fearless and bold, 
 As he grasps the old flag." 
 
 55 
 
'Twas all in tatters, from many a fight, 
 
 And hung like a rag, but he held it upright." 
 
 " The shriek of the bullet, the cannon's dull roar. 
 
 The shout and the shell roared like surf on the shore, 
 
 As brave man met brave man to fight and to die. 
 
 That Union might live, the old flag might still Hy, 
 
 We saw him, a leader, press on in the van 
 
 And cheer us to follow, nor was there a man 
 
 Who would have dared falter if hell's open gate 
 
 Had 3'awned to receive him — but on to his fate. 
 
 The smoke of the battle would hide from our sight 
 
 The flag that we loved, but throughout the hard fight, 
 
 His clarion voice rang out shrill on the air, 
 
 lyike the wail of a demon in hopeless despair ; 
 
 " Come on, boys, to victory, never say die, 
 
 I hold the old flag and I -tvill till I lie 
 
 Cold on the field, with my face to the sky.'' 
 
 We fought, and fought bravely, the battle was won, 
 
 And cheer after cheer rose as the calm setting sun 
 
 Ivooked down on the carnage and death. Cried the brave 
 
 " Three cheers for the flag, and three more we then gave, 
 
 We looked for its folds that had floated so free, 
 
 And the brave man who bore it so fearlessly." 
 
 We saw it still floating, and wondered with fear. 
 
 Why the bravest of soldiers should stay in the rear. 
 
 We eagerly sought it, with shout and with cheer, 
 
 We gave a sad groan as to it we drew near. 
 
 We saw the old flag waving proud o'er his head ; 
 
 He was asleep with the unnumbered dead, 
 
 His cold hand was clasped round the tall upright rod. 
 
 Which deep he had planted beside in the sod. 
 
When battlCvS were over and war raged no more, 
 
 The flag floated freely the whole nation o'er, 
 
 We sought the old field, that in death he might be 
 
 With men who were brave — but none braver than he. 
 
 We laid him among us and numbered the grave, 
 
 And though he be nameless — from hearts true and brave 
 
 A low prayer is spoken, a heart tear is shed. 
 
 As we vie with each other to honor the dead. 
 
 We know they are with us, as over his grave 
 
 We honor the flag he gave life to save. 
 
 57 
 
A Nonsense Rhyme. 
 
 If we could only coin, in dollars and cents, 
 The bullion we've gathered in mighty intents; 
 
 All the banks in the world would most certainly fail, 
 And the balance would go in a little tin pail. 
 
 And if all the things we've intended to do. 
 
 Should be strung on a string, like a bead necklace new, 
 It would go 'round the earth, and have plenty to spare 
 
 For each African savage to have all he could wear. 
 
 It's a mighty good thing, in this bright world of ours, 
 That the most of our plans are like Summer wild flowers, 
 
 That wall burst into blossom and then run to seed 
 Where only the chipmunks and squirrels breed. 
 
 58 
 
Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 Wooed by the wand of nature's chemic skill, 
 
 The golden colors flush the hill and plain ; 
 But thro' the Indian calmness, hushed and still, 
 
 We hear cold Winter's distant sad refrain ; 
 And o'er the spirit falls a solemn calm. 
 
 It listens to the echoes from the past, 
 And knows that for each wound there was a balm, 
 
 A golden harvest crowning fields at last. 
 
 And broken ties are joyously rebound 
 
 At kindly meetings 'round the family board, 
 And autumn's richest gifts are fitly crowned, 
 
 With all that peace and true content afford. 
 And low sweet chants of thankfulness arise 
 
 To Him who sits as Master over all. 
 Whose Hand upholds the monarchs of the skies, 
 
 Whose Eye doth note the humble sparrows fall. 
 
 It may have been that shadows fell across 
 
 The path we trod athrough the Summer's gleam, 
 It may have been that hearts have ached with loss 
 
 For those who passed before us o'er the stream. 
 But mem'ry brings us back the breath of flowers, 
 
 And wooing breezes of the tender Spring, 
 And thankfulness is master of the hours, 
 
 And bids our souls in holy chorus sing. 
 
 59 
 
December. 
 
 With leaden sk}^ and winds that whistle shrill, 
 December comes. The last of all the year. 
 Soon will the old year pass ; and joy and tear 
 That marked the passing, will have gone to fill 
 The caves of memory. To rise and thrill 
 Our hearts with joy, or echoes of the fear 
 The year has known. But ever sweet and clear 
 We hear thy joy bells, Christmas tide is here, 
 And we attune to melody of praise 
 And greet thy gladness with a merry heart, 
 And number as the choicest of all days. 
 The one that of thy sheave doth form a part. 
 We greet thy coming, tho' the shrill winds blow 
 To share the pleasures which thy days bestow. 
 
 60 
 
The Light of the Savior. 
 
 The light of the Savior is shining 
 
 Afar o'er the troublous sea, 
 
 It lights up the mist and the darkness, 
 
 It guides o'er the dangerous lea. 
 
 Oh, heed to the light that is gleaming, 
 
 No danger can ever come near. 
 
 So keep in the light of the Savior, 
 
 His light shines in radiance clear. 
 
 When darkness shall hover about us, 
 And swift waves oppress with their might 
 When hearts shall be heavy w4th sorrow, 
 He stands like a light-house at night. 
 And far o'er the angry waters 
 There flashes the light of his face, 
 A beacon of glory to guide us 
 All safe to the harbor of peace. 
 
 Oh, sinner, on life's angry waters. 
 
 Despair not or sink in the deep ; 
 
 His face is the light that shall guide you, 
 
 His word lull the waters to sleep. 
 
 The light of his face is now streaming 
 
 Far out o'er the troublous sea, 
 
 For Jesus, the bright light, is shining, 
 
 Is shining for you and for me. 
 
 6i 
 
The Veteran's Last Wish. 
 
 The golden links slip from the broken chain, 
 And, noiseless, fall upon the sands of time ; 
 And bounding waves, in ceaseless, throbbing rh5^me 
 
 Have borne my boat across life's stormy main ; 
 
 'Til now I catch a vision of the plain 
 Of immortality. The heavenly clime 
 Is near; with all its angel hosts sublime ; 
 
 With promises of rest from all life's pain. 
 But of the shadows rising from the past, 
 
 That glide, like specters, in the midnight dream, 
 I see but one to which I would hold fast. 
 To be with me as I pass o'er the stream ; 
 
 The faces of the heroes brave and grand, 
 
 Who fought with me to unify the land. 
 
 62 
 
For Sweet Love's Sake. 
 
 I saw him walking slowh^ down the street, 
 As though, as native of another sphere, 
 He had no interest in the people here. 
 
 His coat was ragged, torn and incomplete, 
 
 And ghosts of shoes apologized to feet 
 
 Blue with the cold. And yet, as he came near, 
 One might observe a shadow smile, as dear 
 
 As that which woos the lips of maiden sweet ; 
 
 And pinned upon the torn and ragged coat, 
 A bunch of fragrant blue-eyed violets. 
 
 I wondered if they of their choice would take 
 
 A resting place on some fair woman's throat. 
 Or if their flower souls held no regrets. 
 
 And w^ere contented there for sweet love's sake, 
 
 63 
 
Awake.* 
 
 Might}' Genius of Freedom — the friend of our race — 
 Cover o'er the proud symbols — no more let them wave 
 " O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ;" 
 With the red blush of shame now enmantle thy face, 
 And in pity and mercy, Oh ! hide our disgrace, 
 And account as all lost, the blood brave heroes gave — 
 " 'Tis the land of the rich and the home of the slave." 
 And the altar of liberty men dare displace. 
 By uprearing the idol of foul mammon's greed. 
 Oh ! awake from your sleeping — awake ! and arise ! 
 
 It is said in her halls that her sons are in need, 
 That the emblems of freedom are but flaunting lies — 
 Do not let fair Columbia this foul slander bear. 
 Oh ! awake ! Mighty Genius — Thy presence declare. 
 
 "Senator IngaUs is quoted as saying: "That this is no longer the 'land of 
 the free and the home of the brave.' It is the land of the rich and the home of 
 the slave." 
 
 64 
 
Qethsemane. 
 
 Each soul hath its Gethsemane, and through 
 
 The mystic shadowland must some time walk. 
 
 Each soul must weep ere it can truly know 
 
 The soul's divinest height. As He who hung 
 
 On Calvary, to save a sinful world, 
 
 Wept in sore anguish when the shadow fell 
 
 And hid alike the earth and the divine ; 
 
 So we must weep when shadows bind our eyes 
 
 And hide life's hopes. We must in anguish bleed 
 
 Until all touch of human strength is gone, 
 
 And to the Father, like a little child, 
 
 We weeping kneel. And then upon the soul 
 
 Will burst the heavenly hope, and strength divine 
 
 Will thrill in God-sent power ; a new born life. 
 
 65 
 
Eternal Life. 
 
 We seek to solve the mysteries that hide 
 
 The quick solution of the thought that bounds 
 The soul's divinest hope. The countless rounds 
 Of aeons speak but echoes of the tide 
 Of heart-voiced yearning. Merciless the stride 
 From life to — what? — eternal life resounds 
 In murmuring majesty, that half astounds 
 The listening ear. All doubts are swept aside 
 And lost within the wave that gathers scope 
 From longing human hearts. And blighted hope 
 Wins eloquent a tongue to plead the hour 
 Of justice. Gaunt and hungry forms that cower 
 In darkened night of earth, plead God-like right 
 To their inheritance of heavenly light. 
 
 66 
 
Let Me Recline. 
 
 Let me recline, Dear Lord, upon Thy breast. 
 
 For I am sad and Thou canst give me rest ; 
 Oh, let my faith entwine about Thy love, 
 
 To find with Thee a peace all else above, 
 Shield from mine eyes the brighter glare of day. 
 
 That I may rest, hid in Thy love, away 
 From earthly cares. Enfold me in Thy peace 
 
 Safe from the storms of doubt that never cease 
 To toss my soul. Oh, let Thy soft caress 
 
 Baptize my spirit with Thy tenderness, 
 And woo to sleep the waves that break and toss. 
 
 Nor cease Thy care, but bear me safe across 
 The troubled sea. Oh ! Lord, upon Thy breast 
 
 Let me recline, for there alone is rest. 
 
 67 
 
The Light House. 
 
 A mighty pillar, grey and grim, it stands 
 
 Where waves in angry quarrel lash and roar — 
 It guards in silent majesty the shore. 
 
 And laves the flashing waves like fine spun strands 
 Of yellow gold. Nor heeds the hoarse commands 
 
 Of seething waves, that 'round its firm base pour 
 
 Their whitened wreaths of foam. But calmly o'er 
 Their tumult, sends its radiance afar, 
 To guide the sailor, when his faithless star 
 
 Has listened to the wooing of the clouds. 
 
 To pierce, a polished glaive, the sullen gloom ; 
 To be his beacon, when the distant boom 
 
 Shall tell of breakers which the night enshrouds. 
 
 68 
 
A New Year Sonnet. 
 
 Another year has gone ; no falling tear 
 Doth mark its passage to the silent hush 
 Of countless ages. Rosy with the flush 
 
 Of new-born life, we greet the glad New Year, 
 
 That sprang with Phoenix life from off the bier 
 Whereon the dead year lay. We catch the blush 
 Of 3^outh, nor can the rising mem'ries crush 
 
 The hope that wells, a fountain sweet and clear. 
 With gladdened heart we listen to the lure 
 Of brighter things that lie but just before 
 Of promises of guerdons to be won. 
 
 We scan the painted shadows that assure 
 
 Forgetting that they died when clouds swept o'er 
 And hid from us the brightness of the sun. 
 
 69 
 
The Star of Bethlehem. 
 
 Long ago the world was dark, 
 Not one little shining spark 
 Lit the heavens now so bright ; 
 All the world was darkest night. 
 
 But God pushed the dark away, 
 Spoke — and came the first glad day 
 When the stars hung in the sky 
 And the sun and moon near by. 
 
 And he made them shine with light, 
 Twinkle there all through the night, 
 Hung them all up in their place. 
 All but one — He kept one space. 
 
 Kept a space there in the sky, 
 No one knew the reason why. 
 Of all stars the brightest gem 
 Was the star of Bethlehem. 
 
 Angels guarded it with care, 
 Only they knew it was there, 
 Knew that it could only shine 
 On the Son of Man divine. 
 
 So the ages sped away 
 Till the first glad Christmas day, 
 When the angels sang a song, 
 Sang it sweetly, sang it long. 
 
And the shepherds b}^ their sheep, 
 Saw it from the heavens peep, 
 Heard the angels sing Good Will, 
 On that evening calm and still. 
 
 And the wise men from afar 
 Saw the bright beams of the star. 
 Saw its light shine clear and bright 
 On that first glad Christmas night. 
 
 Star that marked the Savior's birth 
 Brought glad tidings to the earth, 
 Peace on earth, to men good will, 
 Angel voices sing it still. 
 
 Followed they its radiant light 
 Till the village was in sight, 
 Bethlehem — where Jesus lay. 
 Born our King on Christmas day. 
 
 And the}' brought their presents rare. 
 To the Christ Child lying there. 
 In a manger for a bed, 
 All the way the star had led. 
 
 So on each glad Christmas day, 
 We our brightest gifts display. 
 On this day the Christ was born. 
 So they called it Christmas morn. 
 
 71 
 
All Hail the Glorious Morn. 
 
 All hail ! all hail ! the glorious morn, 
 To-day, to-day, the Christ was born, 
 And bounding echoes loudly rang, 
 The song the angel voices sang, 
 Peace ! on the earth, to men good will, 
 The glad refrain is ringing still, 
 Lift up your soul and join the strain. 
 For Christmas tide has come again. 
 
 Chorus. — Let praises ring, our homage bring, 
 
 For Christ our Lord was born to-day, 
 In gladness sing, the palm branch 
 
 swing. 
 For Christ our Lord was born to-day. 
 
 The beaming light of radiant star, 
 
 The wise men saw and came afar. 
 
 To crown Him King, their homage pay, 
 
 Who in a lowly manger lay, 
 
 And white-robed angels sang the song 
 
 That's through the ages borne along, 
 
 This day to men is born a King, 
 
 Let praises to our Savior ring. 
 
Let loud hosannahs gladly rise, 
 
 To Christ our Lord beyond the skies, 
 
 With joyous hearts our tributes bring, 
 
 To Christ our Savior and our King. 
 
 Sing peace on earth, to men good will. 
 
 The angel voices sing it still, 
 
 Let hearts with Him in peace abide, 
 
 In this our happy Christmas tide. 
 
 10 
 
Recompense. 
 
 Where are the fancies of a year ago, 
 
 The hopes we builded and the plans we wrought ; 
 Have they all passed away and left us naught ? 
 We look o'er life and find it often so, 
 When we on plans our greatest care bestow. 
 Yet we are slow to learn the lesson taught. 
 To profit by the knowledge dearly bought. 
 For we forget the sorrow of the blow, 
 And plan again ; for hoping gives us joy, 
 And castles wrought by fancy oft contain 
 Our richest woven tapestries of thought ; 
 Our golden treasures, freest from alloy ; 
 
 Though substance lost, we count as richest gain 
 The web, in which are fancies bright enwrought. 
 
 74 
 
Doady's Prayer. 
 
 Little Doady, only four, 
 
 Wandered from his mamma's door, 
 Quick his paltering little feet, 
 
 Scampered down the busy street, 
 Past the jolly happy crowd. 
 
 Past the wagons rumbling loud, 
 Never stopping to look 'round, 
 
 Doady knew w^here he was bound. 
 
 Torn his jacket, mussed his hair, 
 
 Dirty faced, yet wondrous fair. 
 Fair as flowers that uprear. 
 
 Blooms of beauty from the drear 
 Of some swampy, stagnant pool, 
 
 Poverty was Doady's school. 
 But he onward pressed intent 
 
 On some childish errand bent. 
 
 Gleaming lights their brilliance throw 
 
 In and out the people go 
 Of the massive business block. 
 
 Gazing at the boundless stock 
 In the windows, broad displayed, 
 
 Little Doady, not dismayed, 
 Pressed his face against the pane. 
 
 Here was what he sought to gain. 
 
 75 
 
Robed in fur and wondrous fair, 
 
 Dear Old Santa Claus was there 
 With his sleigh and tiny deer, 
 
 Jingling bells so sweet and clear, 
 And his mighty pack of toys, 
 
 Dolls for girls and drums for boys, 
 And his childish eyes grew bright, 
 
 Doady stared with all his might. 
 
 None can tell what babies think, 
 
 New on earth from heaven's brink. 
 And no human heart had care 
 
 Of poor Doady standing there ; 
 Did he know this, little dear, 
 
 As he swallowed coming tear ; 
 Know of all the beauties rare, 
 
 None to him would Santa bear. 
 
 What he thought we can not tell, 
 
 But he on the pavement fell, 
 On his knees, and bowed his head, 
 
 Clasped his hands and quiv'ring said, 
 " Dod, I want dat buful doll, 
 
 Dat one wif de pitty eyes ; 
 Won't you pease on Santa tall 
 
 'Fore he tums down fom de sties?" 
 
 76 
 
" Tause I hasent any pa, 
 
 You know, Dod, you took him home. 
 Mamma says at Santa Tau 
 
 To the poor tant ever tum, 
 And I do so want dat doll, 
 
 Dat one wif de buful hair. 
 Wont you pease tell Santa so? 
 
 Amen, Dod," he closed his prayer. 
 
 Strong arms raised him from his knees. 
 
 Kindly faces 'round he sees, 
 Back to mamma fast they bear 
 
 Doady with the golden hair ; 
 And the gathered crowd then parts. 
 
 But in many kindly hearts 
 Starts an answer to the prayer, 
 
 lyittle Doady sent up there. 
 
 And when Christmas brought its joy, 
 
 Doady got his wished-for toy ; 
 And brave hearts on kindness bent, 
 
 Through the dirty alleys went. 
 With their gifts and kindly voice 
 
 Left their Christmas tidings choice, 
 And the answer to that prayer. 
 
 Sent its brightness everywhere. 
 
 77 
 
Would You Like to Be? 
 
 Say, grandpa, would 3^011 like to be 
 
 A little boy again like me, 
 To have the fun all o'er again, 
 
 To know about all things and men. 
 Say, grandpa, would you like to be 
 
 A little boy again, like me? 
 
 The whispering breezes caught the sigh. 
 
 As memory lit the fading eye ; 
 Then leaning back in his arm chair. 
 
 He dallied with the curly hair. 
 The ninety years of gathered sheaf 
 
 Unfolded for him leaf by leaf. 
 
 Ah ! me, ni}^ child, how oft have I 
 That same hope wished with heartfelt sigh. 
 
 When trials dread have dashed my plan, 
 I've envied oft the aged man. 
 
 And wished to know, while young and fair. 
 The secrets hid 'neath silver hair. 
 
 When ruthless time had borne me on 
 To early manhood's opening dawn. 
 
 Life's lessons, by experience taught, 
 
 Oft brought to me this self-same thought ; 
 
 And oft I wished for hoarded store 
 Of those who trod the road before. 
 
 78 
 
But years passed on, and one b}^ one, 
 Brought tasks to do, and duty done. 
 
 The knowledge that I held so dear, 
 
 Brought sometimes joy, sometimes a tear; 
 
 And I see now in every care, 
 
 The loving hand of God was there. 
 
 No, no, my child, my race is run, 
 My crown of life is almost won, 
 
 And in the evening's fading light, 
 I see the morrow, calm and bright. 
 
 No, no, my child, 'tis better so, 
 'Tis better far to hope than know. 
 
 ^{C ^ >i< ii^ >li * '-t^ >!< 
 
 The child stood by the old man's knee. 
 
 The chattering birds sang merrily. 
 His childish mind in mystery wrought, 
 
 While flashing rays with darkness fought, 
 The old man's look was far away ; 
 
 For he had waked to brighter day. 
 
 79 
 
Bessie's Good Night. 
 
 Day had passed, with rounds of pleasure, 
 
 Dolls and toys, and childish play. 
 With the coming of the shadows, 
 
 Nurse had put them all away. 
 Then the sleep fay claimed a captive, 
 
 Winning lids to heaviness. 
 And in snow-white robe of slumber, 
 
 Bessie claimed her last caress. 
 
 " Tell I 'tory," lisped the prattler ; 
 
 " No, sing I a pitty song. 
 An' I sing the song yite wis 'ou, 
 
 Sing about the angel th'ong." 
 Soft the snowy arms were nestled 
 
 'Neath the heavy bearded chin. 
 Dimpled cheeks and lips of coral, 
 
 Curls that prisoned gold within. 
 
 Eyes that, heavy now with slumber. 
 
 Droop like violets filled with dew ; 
 Voice as tender as the ripples 
 
 Where the ferns let brooklet through. 
 Rich and full, in tender pathos. 
 
 Swelled the voice of father's song, 
 "Safe across the distant waters 
 
 We shall gather with the throng." 
 
 80 
 
" Wis the angels," sang the treble, 
 
 "Wis the angels ever more." 
 Close the father pressed his darling ; 
 
 " Evermore upon the shore. 
 Ivitttle ones shall lead the chorus." 
 
 " 'Ittle ones 'ike me shall sing. 
 And zen papa, we'll see Jesus." 
 
 " Little ones shall see the King." 
 
 '* Sing some — more — 'ou — dear ol' papa, 
 
 Tause I want to sing wis 'ou." 
 " There shall be no pain and sorrow, 
 
 Heaven shall burst upon the view." 
 Heaven — I sink the pitty angels — 
 
 But the heavy eyelids fell. 
 Then the sleep fay took its captive 
 
 Where the sweet sleep angels dwell. 
 
 Then the strong arms laid the burden 
 
 'Neath the coverlet of white. 
 Bowed beside the sleeping darling, 
 
 In the flick'ring nursery light. 
 Knelt and praj-ed to God, the Father : 
 
 " Suffer me Thy child to be. 
 Make me as this little loved one. 
 
 Child of Thine eternallv." 
 
 8i 
 
In Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 One wintry day 
 In merry play, 
 The children spent a holiday. 
 In garret old, 
 The laughter bold 
 Rang out in childish melody. 
 They rummaged 'mid the rubbish. 
 
 And they tumbled o'er and o'er 
 The relics that had gathered on that grimy attic floor. 
 And with a childish eagerness, in every corner look 
 For something they can take at night 
 
 To Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 They peered and spied. 
 They looked and pried, 
 (As playful children will, you know,) 
 In cup-boards old, 
 'Neath dust and mold. 
 That laid on things of long ago. 
 At last a curly-headed tot, the cutest of them all, 
 Dragged out a package from beneath a crevice in the wall. 
 And one and all in eagerness their childish play forsook. 
 And rushed pell mell with noisy shout 
 
 To Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 82 
 
In fading light, 
 'Neath cap of white, 
 Just wand'ring off in drowsy nap, 
 Her knitting light, 
 In colors bright. 
 Was resting in her ample lap. 
 When with their noisy shouts and yells, 
 
 They tumbled and they tore, 
 Adown the stairs and through the halls, into the open door. 
 And 'round dear grandma on the floor, 
 
 Their 'customed places took. 
 The cherished place of all that house, 
 
 By Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 Her faded eyes 
 Lit with surprise 
 At package which they to her bring, 
 And dewy tears 
 In eye appears. 
 She gently slips the binding string, 
 The eager faces glisten, as they shout with one accord. 
 As soldier cap of paper and a tiny wooden sword 
 Is opened and before them laid, 
 
 For, by dear Grandma's look. 
 They know a story soon will come. 
 
 From Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 83 
 
Then grandma settled back into her sleepy hollow chair, 
 And watched the bright boy faces 
 
 That were gathered 'round her there, 
 And with a soft and gentle voice, 
 
 That with old memories shook, 
 This story told to eager ears, in Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 We called him Hal, when as a boy. 
 
 The fairest of our flock, 
 He pla5^ed about our knees in glee, 
 
 With torn and rumpled frock. 
 
 And we were very proud of him, 
 
 When on our Natal day, 
 He in his paper cap and sword. 
 
 Mocked in his childish way. 
 
 The soldier stride and martial air, 
 
 He would a soldier be ; 
 We praised his plan, the little man, 
 
 But bid him wait and see. 
 
 The years went by, how swift they fly. 
 
 The storm cloud gathered fast, 
 And war's dread note had sounded low. 
 
 The storm broke fierce at last. 
 
 And hurried feet and tear-stained eyes. 
 
 Told of the countr}' 's need. 
 And Hal went forth clad in the blue, 
 
 A soldier boy indeed. 
 
 84 
 
On many a storni}^ battle field, 
 In many a fierce-fought fight, 
 
 We heard of Hal, that brave and true, 
 He fought with all his might. 
 
 And comrades who, from battle scars. 
 Could front no more appear, 
 
 Poured stories of his bravery 
 In every 
 
 And pride grew stronger every day. 
 As each brave deed was told. 
 
 Till hearts leaped forward in desire 
 To clasp our soldier bold. 
 
 But one sad day, there came our way, 
 
 A comrade, battle stained, 
 Who brought the news of victory, 
 
 A glorious battle gained. 
 
 And he told how, amidst the fight, 
 Our boy stood grand and true. 
 
 As brave a man as ever wore 
 The uniform of blue. 
 
 That Hal was true, in every wa}', 
 
 To promise he had made, 
 When with his paper cap and sword. 
 
 Like you, dear boys, he played. 
 
 85 
 
The eager faces, flushed and hot, 
 On grandma's knees were pressed; 
 
 As she, with gentle hand of love. 
 Each boyish head caressed. 
 
 I think that Heaven would reveal, 
 
 If we could in it look, 
 A picture something like that one. 
 
 In Grandma's Ingle Nook. 
 
 86 
 
The Land of Daddle Doon. 
 
 One morning as I started out 
 
 To meet the daily cares, 
 A little blue-eyed ^^oungster stood 
 
 Before me on the stairs, 
 And tugging hard at my coat tail, 
 
 With pleading in his tone, 
 Said : " Papa, why 'ou doe away. 
 
 And where 'bouts is 'ou doein ? " 
 I stooped and kissed the little face ; 
 
 Oh ! I'll be back right soon, 
 I'm going, I am going to — 
 
 The land of daddle doon." 
 
 At evening when the sparkling fire 
 
 Had sent its brushes out. 
 And painted pictures on the wall 
 
 And furniture about; 
 And elfins of the fireside wove 
 
 The magic of their spells, 
 And shed the glow of happiness 
 
 That 'round the hearth stone dwells 
 A little blue-eyed toddler came, 
 
 And climbed up on my knee, 
 The dearest little baby boy 
 
 That ever you could see. 
 With : " Papa, tell me what 'ou saw, 
 
 I want to know yite soon. 
 All pitty sings zat 'ou saw there 
 
 In land of daddle doon. 
 
 87 
 
I looked into those deep blue eyes, 
 
 lyike wells of liquid hope, 
 Those eyes that told the story true, 
 
 That love bound in their scope. 
 Then sweetly stole upon my mind 
 
 A scene now far awa}^ 
 When life as only aspect had — 
 
 An endless holiday. 
 Before these wistful eager eyes 
 
 The stern cares fade away. 
 And we embark in fancy's boat. 
 
 O'er fairy waters stray. 
 
 Where is the land of daddle doon? " 
 
 Oh ! just right over there, 
 Where elfins and the brownies dwell, 
 
 And other things most fair. 
 And there they dance and sing and play. 
 
 And drink the dew of flowers. 
 And build themselves sweet little homes 
 
 Amid the fairy bowers. 
 'Tis they who whisper little songs 
 
 When baby is asleep ; 
 Who paint the pictures on the flowers. 
 
 And little birdies keep ; 
 And lots of funny things they do 
 
 That papa can not tell ; 
 The brownies and the fairies bright 
 
 In daddle doon do dwell. 
 
 88 
 
While little eyes were struggling hard 
 
 In sleep net cast around, 
 Perhaps by these same fairies 
 
 That in daddle doon abound, 
 In prattle that is sweeter far 
 
 Than most melodious tune, 
 Said : " Papa, tant I doe some day 
 
 Wis 'ou to daddle doon?'' 
 Then dainty God spun fringes drooped, 
 
 Down o'er the liquid lake, 
 And rose-bud lips half whispering said : 
 
 " Dear papa wont 'ou take " — 
 Then stronger grew the woven spell. 
 
 Almost unheard — " yite soon ! " 
 The measured breathing tells me true, 
 
 He is in daddle doon. 
 
Baby Fingers. 
 
 What can baby fingers do, 
 Small and rosy, bright and new? 
 
 One would think that baby hands 
 
 Fittest were for angel bands, 
 But the loving mother's heart 
 Would in bitter anguish start, 
 
 If the fingers on her cheek 
 
 Could no more their sweet love .speak. 
 
 What can baby's sweet lips do? 
 Baby's words are small and few. 
 
 Rose-bud lips a story tell, 
 
 That none else can tell as well. 
 Mother knows it, she will say, 
 If you ask her any day. 
 
 That the height of mother's bliss, 
 
 Lives in baby's tiny kiss. 
 
 90 
 
What Says the Brook? 
 
 Oh what says the brook, little maiden, 
 Oh what says the brook to you. 
 Oh what says the brook, little maiden, 
 As it murmurs the w^hole day through ? 
 
 // whispers a song of contentment, 
 It tells in its musical way 
 That God reigns above in the heavens, 
 And cares for ns all every day. 
 
 Oh what says the bird, little maiden, 
 As it tunes its sweet note all day long, 
 Oh what says the bird, little maiden. 
 As it carols its glad, happy song? 
 
 // sings that our Father in heaven 
 Cares e en for the birds in the air, 
 That safe in His arms He will bear us, 
 If we trust in the dear Savior's care. 
 
 Oh wdiat say the stars, little maiden, 
 As they twnnkle so bright in the sky. 
 Oh what say the stars, little maiden. 
 Way up in the heaven so high ? 
 
 Thev speak of the greatness and power 
 Of God, who has made them to shine. 
 They tell of the beauties of heaven, 
 Where divelleth the Savior divine. 
 
 91 
 
Think o' That. 
 
 Think o' that — four years to-day, 
 Eager mischief, full of play, 
 
 Dimple cheeked and hair of gold, • 
 Baby fast is growing old, 
 
 Yes, and we are growing grey. 
 
 Happy moments light and gay 
 Like sweet flowers in the way. 
 Soon they wither and grow cold. 
 Think o' that. 
 
 Four short years have passed away. 
 Fast they travel, nor delay. 
 Baby's story is soon told, 
 As we to our hearts enfold. 
 He is ours none dare gainsay. 
 
 Think o' that. 
 
 92 
 
To Venus di ililo. 
 
 O graven statue, thou art wondrous fair, 
 Thy flowing outlines full of grace, mark well 
 The Master's skill, who drew thee from the rough. 
 And made thee live. Yet thou art marble cold, 
 And in my mind I see a dancing elf. 
 Whose flowing vesture, swaying as she sways, 
 Does but reveal w^hat it would fain conceal. 
 And lends a sweeter charm, as visions make 
 The picture thrice its worth. Thou art but stone. 
 But eye entrancing still, will live through waste 
 Of years and still entrance ; but she, the bright, 
 The dancing elf, will die and pass awa}^ 
 
 93 
 
Love. 
 
 Oh ! what a noble thing is love — borne from 
 On high and given to man, for mankind's good. 
 The feeble voice of childhood's infant hour, 
 As prattling lips lisp softly evening prayer, 
 Thrill hearts with gentlest love. 
 
 The lover's wild- 
 Voiced passion wakes to life the dormant good, 
 And brings from hidden caverns, noble traits 
 Long hid. The mother's heart swells tenderly 
 With new and sweetened life, the very soul 
 Vibrates anew with love's contending strife. 
 The patriotic soldier, who holds best 
 The Nation's good, as paltry gives his life 
 When quickened pulses start, on glory bent. 
 
 But grander than the ocean's roar upon 
 
 The beetling cliffs, is love of Nation for 
 
 Her noble men. Oh ! hear it welling, hear 
 
 Its grand triumphant swell from hearts throughout 
 
 The land. Like some grand martial melody, 
 
 A thousand times more grand, it w^ells and swells. 
 
 'Tis music of the heart strings touched by love 
 And pure devotion, and it onward rolls 
 From ocean on to ocean evermore. 
 
 94 
 
The Flag. 
 
 Our flag. Oh ! when I see it fly so free, 
 
 O'er hill and vale, the pride, the joy of all, 
 
 The emblem of eternal truth, a love 
 
 Of liberty, my soul lifts up a prayer 
 
 To Him who holds within His hand the stars, 
 
 Which mark our sisterhood of States. 
 
 To Him 
 
 We look in thankfulness for patriots 
 And men, whose faith in God and truth upheld 
 Our flag. Our hearts enshrine their noble names, 
 Our mem'ries keep them green, and fame has wrought 
 A deathless crown to deck their brows. 
 
 Beneath 
 That flag all nations meet, and all are free. 
 No king nor prince can touch, to mar, the man 
 Who to this flag has sworn allegiance. 
 
 95 
 
Autumn. 
 
 " Unless ye die, ye can not live." Thus spake 
 The One we all adore. And so it is. 
 The flower must fall, the leaf must die, to make 
 The fallow earth, that it may send new life 
 In bright spring days. 
 
 We, in the autumn, feel 
 A strain of sadness thrill, as we behold 
 The dying year. We prate of faith, and know 
 That hidden in the bosom of the earth 
 Are forms as fair as those we mourn, and the}^ 
 Will burst and blossom in the sweet Spring air. 
 But still we cling with human love to what 
 We have. 
 
 Yet nature has a minor note 
 In autumn days, that speaks of rest, and bids 
 Us stop, look onward and look back. 
 Beyond the cold and snows to brighter days. 
 And backward o'er the blessings of the year. 
 We see its sorrows and its joys, and feel 
 A touch of sadness and regret that we 
 Had not lived it more true. 
 
 Yet none can say 
 That they can see no good in all that graced 
 The year, and all can feel the quickning power 
 Of thankfulness. 
 
 96 
 
A Reverie. 
 
 I was seated in my office, 
 
 At the close of one hot day, 
 Conning o'er my books of credit, 
 
 Seeking means a note to pay. 
 But in vain I sought the wherewith, 
 
 Not a dollar could I raise. 
 I leaned back, sore and sickened, 
 
 For my mind was in a craze. 
 Then I cussed the dull times freely, 
 
 And the fact that I was poor; 
 I wished that I, by magic art, 
 
 Could add unto ni}^ store. 
 But my wishes, like my working, 
 
 Proved as useless and as vain, 
 And I wished that bygone ages 
 
 Could return again. 
 
 When a man in need of money, 
 
 Could upon the devil call, 
 Could see his hadean majesty 
 
 Come promptly through the wall 
 And I wished that he would visit me. 
 
 Hoofs, horns, and tail and all, 
 For I felt that I would trade with him 
 
 If he would only call. 
 
 97 
 
I had vScarcely done my musing, 
 
 When by ways to me unseen, 
 In my office stood a man 
 
 Of rather queer and strange demean ; 
 He bowed and said as softly 
 
 As a chorded note in G, 
 " Let me beg your pardon, stranger, 
 
 I'm the one you want to see." 
 
 I shuddered for a moment. 
 
 As I took the stranger in, 
 I wondered if this fellow, 
 
 Was the father of all sin. 
 Cloven hoof or forked tail none, 
 
 Nor horns or fiery sulphur smell, 
 But neatly dressed in latest st^de, 
 
 He looked like an imported swell. 
 Coolly then he took a seat, 
 
 As though indeed it was no joke. 
 And reaching in his pocket, said: 
 
 "Say, stranger, will you take a smoke?" 
 I gasped in horror at the thought. 
 
 Grew shaky in the knees, 
 But I managed to politely say : 
 
 " Excuse me, if you please." 
 
 98 
 
While I was passing for a walk, 
 
 I heard your wild tirade, 
 Thought I would drop in on you, 
 
 And consummate a trade. 
 Please be quick, and speak up sharp, 
 
 I haven't long to stay, 
 For checking off the names I get 
 
 Keeps me busy night and day." 
 Then I thought a moment. 
 
 Named a sum I thought was rather low, 
 
 For added up it only made 
 
 Five figures in a row. 
 The devil smiled an ugly grin. 
 
 And softly winked his eye. 
 Politely said : " My dear, young friend, 
 
 I fear you're rather high." 
 
 These times, you know, souls are quite cheap, 
 
 In fact, I'm overstocked; 
 Unless some sudden change occurs, 
 
 I fear that hell will be quite blocked 
 And the market valuation, 
 
 You are prone to overate ; 
 You'll be astonished at the bargains 
 
 I have made of late. 
 
 99 
 
Then he pulled a note book, 
 
 Filled with names, and figures, too, 
 Laid it down upon my desk. 
 
 Requesting me to read it through. 
 You may believe I was astounded 
 
 At the figures there. 
 But truth is truth as soon as found. 
 
 It makes no difference where. 
 
 I saw, engrossed in red and white. 
 
 Upon the note book's page. 
 The names of men and women. 
 
 Who were great in ever}^ age. 
 Then for recent incidents I looked 
 
 Our city as a place. 
 And I found it represented 
 
 By every class and race. 
 Nothing struck me deeper 
 
 Than the price these souls had brought, 
 For despite the fact that they were great 
 
 The price was nearl}' naught. 
 Here a councilman had sold himself, 
 
 And thought himself well sold. 
 For the paltry little trifle 
 
 Of a hundred dollars, gold. 
 
 I GO 
 
There a legislator, sent by men 
 
 To represent their right, 
 Let his honor go for gold enough 
 
 To get his friends well tight. 
 Here a minister had lied for weeks, 
 
 To make a trip abroad, 
 And a lawyer — but the devil said 
 
 He bought them by the cord. 
 And all races, sects and families 
 
 Were bought at reduced rate. 
 And his royal highness said, 
 
 " Would scramble for their fate.' 
 I closed the book, convinced that men 
 
 Are other than they seem, 
 I rose to thank his majesty ; 
 
 When lo — it was a dream. 
 
 lOI 
 
The Student's Bride. 
 
 Some queer things happened 'twixt these gloomy walls? 
 
 Well, yes ; there have been weird and curious calls. 
 Spin you a yarn? I know of none more strange 
 
 Than one that happened when I used to range 
 These halls — 'tis years — I never can forget 
 
 The scene ; and even now the clammy sweat 
 Stands out upon my face, as I recall 
 
 The wicked awfulness that ran through all. 
 
 I will not call his name, 'tis better not, 
 
 Some things are best remembered — some forgot. 
 He came from a small country town, down south, 
 
 A dreamy fellow, with poetic mouth ; 
 " Lord Byron," all the boys had christened him. 
 
 Byronic, too, he was, and with a vim ; 
 A roysterer in sport, in jest as bright 
 
 As diamond, cut and sparkling in the light. 
 
 A wink would start him out for any sport ; 
 
 But when it came to study, he was short ; 
 But everybody loved him, and would tip 
 
 A " pony " or a " crib" if he made slip, 
 And keep him up — the " profs" would see and smile. 
 
 But hope that he would mend his ways ere while. 
 He did not seem to care, but jogged along, 
 
 Though last in work, he was the first in song. 
 
 I02 
 
He worked along, but one thing would not do — 
 
 No power on earth could drive or coax him through 
 The room where we dissected ; shrank away, 
 
 Just put the matter off from day to day. 
 We tried, with jest and ridicule and shame, 
 
 To make him feel more worthy of the name 
 He hoped to wear ; but 'twas in vain — no use, 
 
 He laughed at ridicule and at abuse. 
 
 He would not, did not, though the *' profs" had said 
 
 That failure certain hovered o'er his head. 
 He finished that year as he had desired, 
 
 iVnd we supposed had of his studies tired. 
 But next year, when the op'ning roll was read, 
 
 He turned up promptl3^ and to us he said. 
 That he was going through the whole affair. 
 
 And catch his ''dip " with all the others there. 
 
 And many bets were made, that he'd not take 
 
 His place to work without some funny break ; 
 And jokes were planned at his expense, to scare, 
 
 But he went on and never seemed aware. 
 A rumor spread, at last, that he was booked, 
 
 And to a wedding, not far off, he looked ; 
 But while on all things else he was as gay. 
 
 On this he never had a word to say. 
 
 lO- 
 
He put the ordeal off far as he could, 
 
 But to each question said he surely would 
 Do his share of the work, and would be brave; 
 
 But we could see his fears held him a slave. 
 At last the " profs" no longer would delay. 
 
 And bid him work upon a certain day. 
 Then came a yellow message, and he went, 
 
 Without a word about from whom 'twas sent. 
 
 The boys planned this and that to meet their end, 
 
 And each day served fresh interest to lend, 
 In how he'd act, or whether he'd come back. 
 
 He came at last, but joking seemed to slack, 
 For on his face he wore a saddened look, 
 
 And many all their jibes and jests forsook ; 
 But others thought the joke would do him good, 
 
 And to their purpose they most firmly stood. 
 
 The boys made ready for the ghastly joke, 
 
 But of it to "Lord Byron" never spoke ; 
 They gathered 'round about to see the fun. 
 
 And laugh and joke at it when they were done. 
 Here in this room, with all its musty dead. 
 
 With grinning skeletons on stony bed. 
 They 'ranged the scene that was to be the test, 
 
 Of whether he loved self or science best. 
 
 104 
 
Ths Student's Bride. 
 
 •' Behold thv bride! " 
 
I see the scene now as I saw it there. 
 
 Upon a platform, seated in a chair, 
 A wreath of faded flowers about her head, 
 
 O'erthrown with ghastly wrappings of the dead, 
 A woman sat — a weird and gruesome sight. 
 
 And over all there played a blick'ring light, 
 And ghostly shadows danced upon the face, 
 
 And shot athrough the hair in goblin lace. 
 
 Beneath the sodden marks of death's cold hand, 
 
 There shone the shadow that would fain command 
 Our homage; beauty once had reigned as queen 
 
 Of that deserted temple — yet was seen 
 What must in life have been a beauteous sight, 
 
 Bre fell disease had touched it with its blight ; 
 The soulless palace — mocking there at life, 
 
 With all its struggle, vanities and strife. 
 
 The master of the scene waved us aside. 
 
 " Bold seeker after truth, behold thy bride! " 
 He said. " Lord Byron " stood in silent awe. 
 
 As though a vision from the dead he saw. 
 A sick'ning pallor overspread his brow, 
 
 A wailing cry burst forth — I hear it now, 
 " Louise, Louise, My God ! " — then, with a bound. 
 
 He stood beside her, with his arms enwound. 
 And on her shrunken bosom bowed his head. 
 
 And when we sought to touch them — both were dead. 
 
 105 
 
The Phrenologist. 
 
 Almost forgotten, on a busy street, 
 
 Where moving crowds in daily commerce meet, 
 A relic lay, of years now passed away — 
 
 The grave yard of the church of earlier day. 
 The iron feet of busy trade, the stones 
 
 Had trampled down, and now the crumbling bones, 
 So fraught with tender mem'ries of the past, 
 
 To speculation's greedy maw were cast. 
 
 But few were left who knew, or cared to know, 
 
 Whose bones were there. Thus generations go. 
 The fiat had gone forth — the sacred mold 
 
 Should now a massive business block uphold. 
 Two men stood there and watched the work go on — 
 
 The one just touched by early manhood's dawn, 
 The other verging on the shadow land. 
 
 Beside an open grave they took their stand. 
 
 They watched the spademan cast the bones away. 
 
 As though but part of baser earth were they. 
 But one was gliding back on mem'ry's tide — 
 
 The other on his hobby was astride. 
 And when, at last, a skull the workers found. 
 
 The young man grasped the hollow, empty round, 
 And held it out upon his open hand, 
 
 Its measurements with cunning eye he scanned. 
 
 1 06 
 

 The PhrenoIvOGist. 
 
He deftly passed the yellow surface o'er, 
 
 As though each mark and suture he'd explore ; 
 He smiled, then with a wise nod of the head 
 
 Turned to the aged man there, and then said : 
 " A man was this of greatest strength and power, 
 
 And brains to cope with questions of the hour ; 
 A man renowned for richest eloquence. 
 
 In fact — a man of wealth and consequence. 
 
 " Combativeness" is rounded here, and large ; 
 
 Here "love of home" lays its ennobling charge. 
 They mark a life of power, to fight and do, 
 
 And " ideality " to grasp things new. 
 " Conception, large — to judge the right — 
 
 The ej^es that filled these cavities of sight 
 Flashed with the power that patriotism brought. 
 
 And deep respect for God and holy thought." 
 
 " No doubt this man was numbered with the brave. 
 
 Who scorned all vices which small souls enslave, 
 A pioneer who made the forest ring, 
 
 Of whom the present generation sing." 
 It may be, friend, that 3'ou could tell us all. 
 
 " How is it, does your mem'ry answer call.'*" 
 " The years are long that 3'ou have been with us ; 
 
 Could we not now his character discuss?" 
 
 107 
 
The old man smiled, as mem'ry lit his eye ; 
 
 " Well, yes; I did know him and — well, I'll try, 
 [The slyest twinkle lurked behind the smile,] 
 
 To picture Daniel. He's been dead awhile — 
 But then, we never can forget some men." 
 
 [How this new science has advanced since then. 
 " I'll ne'er forget when we laid Dan away, 
 
 In fact, the day was quite a holiday." 
 
 " I was quite young, was scarcely in my teens ; 
 
 Poor Dan was not, I fear, a man of means, 
 But was well known — in fact, the best of all — 
 
 The village held. ' Combative,' well ! No call 
 To fight was early — morning, noon or night 
 
 Were all the same to him, so he could fight." 
 " He loved his home, 'twas hard to make him rove 
 
 From his snug seat beside the rum shop stove." 
 
 " And there he'd talk the burning questions o'er, 
 
 And down his neck all kinds of toddy pour ; 
 ' Perception ' — Dan could scent a dance or ball 
 
 As far as you could hear an Indian call." 
 And " ideality," well, yes ; 'tis true, 
 
 Dan always was engaged on something new. 
 On every thing that passed Dan had his say. 
 
 From questions of the state to making hay." 
 
 io8 
 
" His 'reverence' was large — too large for church. 
 
 Most any sunny day he'd hunt a perch 
 In some cool, shady place, and there display 
 
 His richest eloquence, the livelong da}^" 
 '' In Christian men, he'd see the slightest flaw — 
 
 And tears from stones poor Dan could almost draw." 
 " He always had a fund of bran new jokes. 
 
 But work — Dan never put in many strokes." 
 
 '' But sit down here, my mem'ry's coming back, 
 
 Of stories of poor Dan there is no lack." 
 It takes me back to 3'ears now passed away, 
 
 When in the village church we used to pla}^ 
 "What, getting late?" " Don't hurry off, I pray," 
 
 " I've several other things I'd like to say." 
 " What, must you go? Well, if you must, good bye ; 
 
 Well ! well ! these thought have almost made me cry." 
 
 109 
 
Damon and Pythias. 
 
 In far-off lands, where fairer skies kiss waters ever blue, 
 There lived in ages past two men. 
 
 Whose noble deeds, and true, 
 Have rolled along the field of thought in fable and in rhyme. 
 With added light and beauty. 
 
 From those days of ancient time. 
 In Syracuse, in Sicily, an island in the sea, 
 
 Dionysius, a tyrant, ruled with great severity. 
 Here Damon lived — a Senator — as brave as he was learned. 
 Who scorned to kneel to tyrant's rule, 
 
 Whose soul for freedom burned. 
 A friend had he, a soldier bold, brave Pythias his name, 
 A nobler man ne'er lived and died. 
 
 More worthy of his fame. 
 
 Bold Damon had aggrieved the King, 
 
 His power had dared defy. 
 The King in anger sentenced him 
 
 That he should straightway die. 
 Brave Damon answered in disdain, 
 
 " Death, I can never fear. 
 But time enough I ask of you to see my loved ones dear,* 
 Then I will come, and at your will surrender up my life, • 
 
 For death is but a freedom, and a settlement of strife." 
 The King refused, and bade him make 
 
 His farewell to the world, 
 Nor day nor hour would he relent, his lips in anger curled. 
 The story spread athrough the land, it came to Pythias' car, 
 He to the King at once made way — his anger did not fear. 
 
 no 
 
'' Let Damon go, and I will stay as hostage in his stead, 
 And should he fail, I stand to pledge 
 
 His honor with my head." 
 
 '* If, when the time you give is passed, 
 
 And he has not returned. 
 
 Then I will seal by my own death 
 
 The friendship that has burned." 
 
 To chains and darkness Pythias went. 
 
 While leagues brave Damon sped, 
 
 To home and friends, to those he loved 
 
 Away from tyrant dread. 
 He greets his loved with fond caress, 
 
 His worldly matters safely place, 
 A sad farewell, a fond good bye, his steps he must retrace. 
 He calls his slave, " My steed prepare, no longer can I stay, 
 The moments fly, and Syracuse 
 
 Is leagues and leagues away." 
 
 The slave appeared in abject fear, and to his master said : 
 '' O master stay, you can not go, alas ! 
 
 Your horse is dead." 
 
 From Damon's face a look of scorn 
 
 Swept anguish and the pain, 
 
 '* A horse, a horse," no answer make, 
 
 " I must my place regain." 
 
 Ill 
 
The time speeds on, the hour is come, 
 
 The moments quickly fly, 
 There comes no Damon, and his friend 
 
 Is led in chains to die. 
 The tyrant King and soldier slaves 
 
 Jeer him with taunt and blow, 
 ''Now, where is thy Damon?" "Where is he?" 
 
 "We knew it would be so." 
 But Pythias to his friend was true, and made but one reply, 
 " If he come not, he can not come, and I will gladly die." 
 
 The block is ready and the ax is poised above his head. 
 The headsman waits the signal 
 
 Of the tyrant monarch dread. 
 But hark ! a rushing sound is heard. 
 
 Of hoofbeats on the sod, 
 Each moment brings them louder. 
 
 And the King withholds his nod. 
 Still nearer, clearer, then a rush, 
 
 The crowds expectant sway. 
 And Damon comes to save his friend 
 
 And give his life away. 
 
 The tyrant King in silence stands. 
 
 Such friendship — brave and true. 
 Such honor and fidelity, were greater than he knew. 
 A moment, and his voice rang out : 
 
 " Brave Damon, thou art free — 
 Thou art too brave a man to die, thine honor all can see." 
 " Henceforth to thee, a King no more, 
 
 Thy friend I'd rather be. 
 And join with thee and Pythias in love's fidelity." 
 
The blue sea kisses yet the shore of Sicily so fair, 
 But nothing else remains to mark 
 
 The scenes enacted there. 
 Brave Damon and true Pythias have mouldered into dust, 
 And all are gone, yet memory lives. 
 
 And will not yield to rust 
 Those gallant deeds — they live as bright 
 
 As when the world was new. 
 Are told in narrative and rhyme, 
 
 To good men brave and true. 
 
 113 
 
The Red Ear. 
 
 All scattered 'round the old barn floor, 
 Was shining corn, like yellow ore ; 
 
 And 'round the crispy yellow shock, 
 The sturdy men and maidens flock. 
 
 They tear the heart from yellow shield, 
 And tell the jokes of the harvest field. 
 
 The merry laugh of maidens fair, 
 Rings out upon the autumn air. 
 
 The bashful swains cast sheepish eyes, 
 And catch love's telegraphed replies. 
 
 And knots are tied in subtile way, 
 That wont be loosed for many a day. 
 
 At last, a lover grown more bold. 
 
 Some nonsense to his sweetheart told. 
 
 I do not know, but think 'twas this, 
 That he would like to have a kiss. 
 
 She flushed as red as roses fair. 
 
 Half trembling in the sweet June air. 
 
 And as he teasingly drew near, 
 He caught a smart box on the ear. 
 
 114 
 
The merry laugh the rafters shook, 
 But he the blow good-natured took ; 
 
 And then he said : " The joke is well, 
 But I think I can better tell." 
 
 I claim that you have sealed your fate, 
 And can no more my right debate ; 
 
 'Tis known to all, both far and near, 
 I get a kiss for this red ear." 
 
 The verdict did his point sustain, 
 
 And there are those who yet maintain. 
 
 That still is mixed with wedded bliss 
 Sometimes red ears, sometimes a kiss. 
 
 115 
 
The riaiden and the Sage. 
 
 In days gone by an ancient sage 
 
 Had pondered o'er the mystic page. 
 
 He studied, with his brow o'ercast, 
 
 The present things — the things long past. 
 
 But what he learned he kept himself, 
 
 Or bottled on a dingy shelf. 
 
 His wrinkled brow and face austere. 
 
 Was known to men both far and near. 
 
 In this same town a maiden sweet, 
 Lived in a cottage trim and neat ; 
 She sang all day and late at night, 
 And danced about like a fairy bright. 
 And everywhere the people said : 
 " She's like the sunshine overhead." 
 She smiled on one, she smiled on all. 
 Was ready at each nod or call. 
 
 The wise man once went down the street. 
 He scowled at all he chanced to meet. 
 And looked about with a chilling stare, 
 And growled and grumbled like a bear. 
 Men looked away with downcast eyes. 
 For he was thought extremely wise ; 
 They thought that all he did was right. 
 And they not fit to bear his sight. 
 
 ii6 
 
It happened that our maiden neat, 
 Had business down the self-same street, 
 She sang as usual, blithe and gay. 
 And even danced along the way, 
 Till b3^e and bye she saw the sage, 
 Who by this time was in a rage, 
 " At wickedness of those," he said : 
 "Who at the best would soon be dead." 
 
 He scowled at her, she smiled at him, 
 
 He tried to scold, she sang with vim ; 
 
 He tried in harshest words to speak. 
 
 But she reached up and stroked his cheek. 
 
 He tried his best to make her fear, 
 
 She tried her best his heart to cheer, 
 
 Until he broke into a smile, 
 
 And sage and maiden talked awhile. 
 
 You know," said he, "The world is dead. 
 
 The judgment da}^ hangs o'er 3'our head, 
 
 Your soul is lost in deepest sin. 
 
 You wicked are without and in ; 
 
 And don't you know that you must die, 
 
 In torment must forever lie." 
 
 " How can you laugh and be so gay. 
 
 When soon the days will pass awa}^?" 
 
 117 
 
The maiden looked up with surprise, 
 And then the tears came to her eyes. 
 A bird sang sweet on the limb above, 
 Her face lit up with tender love — 
 " My God made sunlight, star and flower, 
 To brighten and make glad each hour ; 
 He tells of love and mercy sweet, 
 Bids me lay care down at His feet." 
 
 I sing because my God is good. 
 
 And would not stop it if I could, 
 
 I know I do not do m}^ part. 
 
 But then I try with all my heart ; 
 
 I think that you His goodness rob, 
 
 She stopped, her ear caught a low sob. 
 
 She looked into the sage's face, 
 
 And lo, it shone with new found grace. 
 
 ii8 
 
Poetic Difficulties. 
 
 I have a muse who comes sometimes to me, 
 
 And tempts me into writing poetry (?), 
 In vain I try the tempter to restrain, 
 She sings her sweetest songs and tempts again. 
 
 I take my pen, her frenzy to indite, 
 
 And get two lines, and sometimes three — not quite, 
 When whang, the bell rings with a jar and shake. 
 That one would think the whole town was at stake. 
 
 'Tis only Tommy, who, with many a pant, 
 
 Sa^^s : Please to come and see John J. Van Zant. 
 
 Of course, 1 go ; for while I love my elf, 
 
 I love still better that most needed pelf. 
 The time glides by, the ills I have assuaged, 
 By pills and potions accurately gauged ; 
 
 I sit me down to wait the muses throe, 
 
 But muse is gone, the poetry wont go. 
 
 A da}' — a week — perhaps a month rolls by, 
 Ere I find time the muse again to tr}-. 
 
 I gain a verse or two, and hope the whole. 
 
 When soft I hear: " My love, I'd like some coal." 
 My muse is stunned, half tempted to retreat 
 And ne'er return, acknowledging defeat; 
 
 But patient still she tunes again her lyre. 
 
 And tries once more to stir poetic fire. 
 
 119 
 
I hurry on, and think I'm doing fine, 
 
 And finish off, except perhaps a line. 
 
 When whang again upon my ofiice door. 
 And in there walks a well-known tedious bore. 
 
 In haste I finish, I've been there before, 
 
 I know he'll talk until my brain is sore. 
 
 I rack my mind, some good pretense to find 
 To fire this bore, as I have long had mind. 
 
 Ah ! ha ! I have it, I his ear intreat, 
 While I a poem (?) to him can repeat ; 
 
 He first turns pale, no mercy will I show ; 
 
 He pulls his watch with many Ahs and Ohs, 
 He gasps and struggles — but I will not cease, 
 I keep right on — his struggles still increase, 
 
 And as he knows not what is yet in store, 
 
 He gazes eagerly upon the door. 
 
 At last, unable to withstand the strain, 
 He makes a rush, with all his might and pain ; 
 And I, now grateful for the good work done. 
 Lay back and laugh and think the whole — good fun. 
 
 1 20 
 
Contentment. 
 
 I sat one evening in the dusk, as setting sun went west, 
 The dream-God kissed m}' eyelids, 
 
 And my body sank to rest. 
 My soul unfettered was, I thought, set free to roam at will 
 O'er mountain and through valley, 
 
 By the babbling brook and rill. 
 My soul was filled with wonder, 
 
 And my mind, outreaching, sought 
 To choose from man}^ beauties seen. 
 
 The noblest, as I ought. 
 I o'er the mighty cit}^ flew, with all its noise and din, 
 
 Its mansions and its lowly homes, its gilded dens of .sin. 
 
 Into the richest palaces upon ni}" strange quest bent, 
 I wandered, half enraptured, 
 
 With the pleasures fate had sent. 
 I saw men leading others, with the laurel on their brow^ 
 My spirit urged that to their claim 
 
 I must the meed allow ; 
 I looked again upon these men, who were almost divine, 
 " What nobler thing can be in life, 
 
 Than fame as great as thine." 
 My mind had this conclusion drawn. 
 
 When low and sweet I heard, 
 " Not yet, not yet." Oh look again, 
 
 My soul with w^onder stirred. 
 
 121 
 
I sought to catch a parting glance, 
 
 But all had vanished now — 
 The rich men, and the leaders, 
 
 With the laurel on their brow, 
 And to a cottage I was led, 'midst noble trees and tall, 
 
 I floated into it unchecked by window or by wall. 
 A father sat in his arm chair, his wife sat by his side, 
 And children played about his feet 
 
 Around the fire place wide. 
 Their faces beamed with love light, 
 
 In the sparkling firelight's gleam. 
 Each heart at peace with others seemed. 
 
 Contentment reigned supreme. 
 
 I saw that holy love reigned queen 
 
 Within that cottage neat, 
 That calm contentment filled their mind, 
 
 And made each blessing sweet ; 
 That hearts were tuned to music grand. 
 
 Inspired by love divine. 
 That willingly, to share their peace, 
 
 I w^ould all else resign. 
 A calmness fell upon my soul, the question now was told, 
 I knew that love and sweet content. 
 
 Was better far than gold ; 
 Than laurels or than leadership, the greatest ever told. 
 That without love, all other things are barren. 
 
 Bleak and cold. 
 
 122 
 
The riotive. 
 
 ''Artist, paint for me a picture ; here is yellow gold ; 
 
 Paint in tones and colors, that which never shall grow old. 
 An immortal subject take, a thing to touch the heart. 
 
 Giving it the master touch, and choosing well each party 
 
 The master the commission took 
 
 And drew forth from his store, 
 The wealth of years of labor 
 
 And he conned them o'er and o'er. 
 Rude sketches of the mountains bold, 
 
 Of icebergs stern, and cold, 
 The mighty scenes from scripture — 
 
 Giant battle scenes of old. 
 
 The flame that on the altar burns of every artist's heart, 
 Refused to kindle into life, to burning impulse start. 
 
 He wearied of his striving, and laid down his useless brush ; 
 His heart was heav}" laden — in his face a fever flush. 
 
 In laughter rippled forth a child. 
 
 Who crept close to his knee, 
 With dimpled chin and eye as bright 
 
 As sunlight on the sea. 
 He seized his brush and colors, 
 
 And soon made the canvas speak ; 
 A picture grew as bright as flowers 
 
 That border Winter's bleak. 
 
 123 
 
A laughing face zvith dimpled cheek, 
 A face that angels might have kissed, 
 
 And lips that almost seemed to speak, 
 And eyes enwraped in dewy mist. 
 
 But something was there that cold words wont define, 
 A something that made it the thing that he sought, 
 A magic not painted with shadow or line — 
 Bold flashes of master-touch deftly enwrought. 
 And bold stood the motive beyond all his art, 
 He saw of his colors, that love formed a part. 
 
 » 
 W 
 
 124 
 
The Shadow Cross. 
 
 Noon-day sun was deftly painting 
 Shadows on the fence and wall, 
 
 On the street that lay before me, 
 And I watched the shadows fall. 
 
 Just before me, gaunt and ugly, 
 Shorn of beauty, cold and bare, 
 
 Stood a pole with arms extended 
 In the chill November air. 
 
 On its arms, in air suspended. 
 
 Hung the wires, with message fraught. 
 And weird fancies seemed to thrill me 
 
 With the lessons that they taught. 
 
 Messages of dire disaster 
 
 Shooting o'er that slender wire. 
 
 Flashing past those arms so somber, 
 Written in the lightning's fire. 
 
 But the thing that caught my fancy 
 Was the shadow on the wall. 
 
 From the pole so gaunt and ugly. 
 Standing there so grim and tall. 
 
 125 
 
Outlined on the rusty surface 
 Of the dark wall standing near, 
 
 Was the cross, in figure perfect. 
 We have learned to hold so dear. 
 
 And I thought how men are building, 
 Planning for the richest gain, 
 
 Never thinking, as they're rushing, 
 Of another's woe or pain. 
 
 And I hoped that some one passing, 
 Fearing strife and earthly loss. 
 
 Would catch wealth of sacred meaning, 
 From that shadow-outlined cross. 
 
 126 
 
Turn on the Light. 
 
 Has dimness come over your spirit, 
 
 A shadowy darkness and care ? 
 Have doubt's frosty fingers been playing 
 
 With flowers of hope that you wear ? 
 Have you felt that brightness and sunshine 
 
 Were sinking in blackness and night? 
 
 O, don't let it trouble you, brother, 
 
 Just turn on the light. 
 
 Some musty old cob-webby dogma 
 Has come between you and the light. 
 
 That insect, a skeptic, pestiv'rous. 
 
 Been touching your soul with its blight. 
 
 A host of wild doubts have surrounded 
 And settled on you in their flight. 
 But don't let it trouble you, brother, 
 
 Just turn on the light. 
 
 For God's word and purposes holy 
 Can stand all the light you can bring, 
 
 They've stood like a light-house for ages. 
 And breasted the tempest's wild fling. 
 
 They'll stand through the ages yet hidden. 
 An emblem of powder and of might, 
 So don't let it trouble you, brother. 
 
 Just turn on the light. 
 
 127 
 
The Soul Like a River. 
 
 The soul, like a beautiful river, is flowing 
 
 On, on to the sea of eternity going. 
 In youth, like a spring from its fern shades departing, 
 
 It gurgles and babbles in sweet laughter starting. 
 
 It ripples in murmurs through o'erhanging bowers, 
 
 It rustles and whispers, like winds o'er the flowers, 
 It rushes and dashes in sparkles and flashes. 
 
 And breaks into foam on the rocks as it crashes. 
 It widens its boundaries, and as it grows older, 
 
 It flashes no longer — like ashes that smoulder; 
 But floating on silently, watches and glances 
 
 At shade and at shadow, that over it dances. 
 
 It parts by the rocks — its passage impeding. 
 
 And moves on majestic'ly, strong and unheeding. 
 
 And life wrecks are on it, deserted and dreary. 
 The grave and the coffin, the moan of the weary. 
 
 It ever is flowing, its burdens upholding, 
 
 And gath'ring in power, like a storm-cloud unfolding, 
 'Till mingles its echoes, with surges resounding. 
 
 Of waves on the rocks of eternity bounding. 
 
 128 
 
But Would We? 
 
 We think if we were rich and great, 
 If fortune fair had been our fate, 
 
 That we would do what the}- do not 
 
 Who share this most desirous lot ; 
 The poor should thrive by gift of ours, 
 And dwell with us in flower}^ bowers, 
 
 And most unselfish would we be ; 
 
 We think we would, 
 
 But then would we ? 
 
 We think that if we office held. 
 All to do right would be compelled. 
 
 That naught could pass our watchful eye. 
 
 The slightest wrong we would descry ; 
 And boodle, bribes and such like sin. 
 While w^e were head could not slip in. 
 
 We think we'd run things perfectly; 
 
 We think we would, 
 
 But then w^ould we ? 
 
 We think if we professed to love, 
 The One who came down from above, 
 
 That we would live in full accord 
 
 With all the teachings of our Lord ; 
 That we would never trip or fall. 
 Be perfect in great things and small. 
 
 We think that we a saint would be ; 
 
 We think we would, 
 
 But then would we ? 
 
 129 
 
Since Yesterday. 
 
 Where is the bird with silvery note, 
 Where is the flower with tinted throat, 
 The brown earth's emerald-painted coat 
 Of yesterday. 
 
 The castles that we builded tall. 
 And reared with noble dome and wall. 
 And filled with hopes at fanc3^'s call, 
 All passed away. 
 
 But 'neath the Winter's chill and drear, 
 The grave of things we hold most dear, 
 Lies promise of a Springtime near. 
 Not far away. 
 
 And newer castles are upreared, 
 And newer fancies are endeared, 
 New hopes have to our souls appeared. 
 Since 3^esterday. 
 
 130 
 
Ashes. 
 
 " Dead," cries the mother in anguish, 
 The heart strings are broken and torn, 
 
 Sorrow and pain reign triumphant. 
 The sad soul is weary — forlorn. 
 
 Why does God send us these darlings. 
 And lend us these joys to our life, 
 
 Then in the height of our pleasure, 
 Our heart strings tear out in the strife ? 
 
 Better we never had known them. 
 Had lived out our lives all alone, 
 
 Joys had been better unspoken 
 
 Than lost in the heart's weary moan. 
 
 Better the fire on the altar 
 
 In flashes had ne'er brightly shone. 
 Than when it w^arms and caresses. 
 
 Cold ashes should cover the stone. 
 
 Hope, faith and love to the rescue, 
 
 To soothe the bruised heart made so sad, 
 
 Lost is the one to our hearthstone. 
 But hope bids the spirit be glad. 
 
 Chords that are broken and severed. 
 Will vibrate wnth new songs of praise, 
 
 Ashes that cover our altar. 
 Be lit in a heavenly blaze. 
 
 131 
 
Realization. 
 
 Death spoke to me and I lay down to rest, 
 
 As one might pillow on some loved one's breast, 
 
 I woke from sleep and caught the broader view, 
 My raptured soul enfilled with pleasures new. 
 
 Broad, flowery fields and spreading landscapes bright, 
 And sunlight playing on the mountain height. 
 
 Deep shaded vales, where rippling murmurs meet. 
 To blend with angel songs, a greeting sweet. 
 
 Those angel songs, O how my soul reached out. 
 And answered back, for all the fear and doubt 
 
 Through dreary years of pain, all now was clear, 
 Those singing angels were my loved ones dear. 
 
 132 
 
Pride. 
 
 Of passions that within the soul reside 
 
 None sit enthroned with half the power of pride. 
 E'en love, the Queen, whose potent power to swa}^ 
 None dare dispute, her sweet face turns away 
 
 When pride the scepter takes. Our passions all 
 
 In dumb obedience sink, to rise or fall. 
 
 At its supreme command. 
 
 True pride, in man, can rule an upright king, 
 
 And to its subject passions, good things bring, 
 A love of truth, a fearless power to do 
 The thing that's right, no matter what ensue, 
 
 And patriotic love of home and God. 
 
 All rise and live obedient to his nod, 
 
 Like Slavics of long ago. 
 
 But like those kings, who from their subjects take 
 
 The license to be base, and baser make 
 
 Their lives in kingly pride, so we give way 
 To evil thought and bent, nor strive to stay 
 
 The growth of pride, until we find, at length, 
 
 Our passions wild, ungoverned in their strength. 
 
 Have chosen false pride king. 
 
 i.^ 
 
 oo 
 
God's Laws Are Good. 
 
 'Tis not for finite minds to say 
 That nature's laws, which all obey, 
 Are in fulfillment good or bad — 
 
 God made them all. 
 The little flower, born but to die. 
 Fulfills in birth a law most high. 
 Its life and death full sanction had — 
 
 God saw it fall. 
 
 God's works are perfect in their law, 
 Our feeble judgment counts a flaw 
 When, in some human way, we've sought 
 
 To solve God's might. 
 But if we turn in honest prayer 
 To Him who rules the earth and air, 
 Our lives made pure by holy thought, 
 
 God gives the light. 
 
 134 
 
If We Lost Our Dread and Fearing. 
 
 Dimpled cheek the pillow pressing, 
 Pudgy hand the sheet caressing, 
 Dainty eyelids crowding down, 
 Snowy brow without a frown. 
 Passing smiles, like sunbeams dancing. 
 Made a picture soul entrancing. 
 
 Now my spirit falls to musing 
 
 On a subject not my choosing. 
 Thought I of the after-life, 
 Free from struggle, free from strife, 
 
 Thro' my mind the thoughts were teeming, 
 
 As the child lay sweetly dreaming. 
 
 Sleep, thou art a boon refreshing; 
 Death, art thou a hand caressing? 
 
 Sleep we welcome without fear. 
 
 Could death be as wholly dear? 
 If we lost our dread and fearing, 
 Would we greet with smile endearing? 
 
 135 
 
God's Wires Are Never Down. 
 
 The wild storm, as it shrieks across the plain, 
 
 Chants an uncann}^ weird, strange song of pain. 
 It shakes the mighty oak as wath a chill — 
 
 It tears and rends, and with a wanton will 
 Sweeps all before it. Then is heard a wail 
 
 From swaying wires high strung along the rail. 
 It bends and tears them — hurls them in the air. 
 
 It casts them to the earth and leaves them there. 
 
 Within a little station far away, 
 
 A woman listens to the wind's wild play. 
 She seems distressed, tears trickle down her face; 
 
 Beside her stands the master of the place 
 In uniform of blue. He shakes his head, 
 
 And when he reads the message of the dead ; 
 " I'm sorry. Mum," he says, "you're in this plight. 
 
 It can not go, the wires are down to-night." 
 
 A burst of bitter grief, a human cry 
 
 Is heard, it rises 'bove the wind's wild sigh, 
 " The wires are down." Oh ! God in mercy, be 
 
 My comforter to-night, to Thee I flee ; 
 My burden presses more than I can bear, 
 
 My heart seems bursting with its weight of care, 
 I know that Thou wilt hear, though all may frown, 
 
 I feel, I know, God's wires are never down. 
 
 136 
 
*'Now I Lay Me." 
 
 When silently the shadows 
 
 Shade the brighter glare of day, 
 And the song birds hush their whispers 
 
 And the children cease their play, 
 Then sleepy eyes give token 
 
 That 'tis time for evening prayer, 
 And mamma takes her darling 
 
 In the sleepy, hollow chair. 
 
 The lisping, " now I lay me," 
 
 Finds an answer in her heart. 
 Her prayer with baby's mingles 
 
 As they on their journey start. 
 Her arms, so strong, yet tender. 
 
 Clasp her own, her precious dear. 
 As she trusts her to the Savior, 
 
 Till the morning hours appear. 
 
 Oh ! the tender, loving mothers. 
 
 How, with love, their fond hearts swell. 
 When the little ones, to Jesus, 
 
 Evening prayers in sweetness tell. 
 Their hearts grow strong and tender 
 
 Toward the Master heart above. 
 Who gathered little children 
 
 In his arms in tenderest love. 
 
 137 
 
The Passing Veterans. 
 
 Rat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tu, 
 March the veterans into view. 
 Loyal soldiers, brave and true. 
 How the visions ebb and flow, 
 Of the stirring scenes enacted 
 Years and years ago, 
 
 Marshaled regiments in line, 
 Flashing in the bright sunshine. 
 Brave young fellows bent on glory, 
 (Found it 'midst the battle gory.) 
 Weeping maidens, brave young mothers, 
 Stifling groans as manly brothers 
 To the battle go. 
 
 Sabers flashing, muskets crashing. 
 Cannon booming, dark clouds looming. 
 Fierce shells shrieking, banners reeking 
 With the blood of brave men shed. 
 Banners flying, heroes dying. 
 Wounded groaning, bugle toning, 
 While the field is strewn with dead. 
 
 138 
 
Rising high a sound rejoicing, 
 Peace the gladsome note is voicing, 
 Back from battle scenes afar. 
 Come the veterans of the war, 
 Bringing back yon tattered rag, 
 'Tis the honored battle flag. 
 O'er and o'er they tell the story, 
 How they won those scars and glory. 
 Years and years ago. 
 
 Rat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tu, 
 
 March the veterans from our view. 
 
 139 
 
A Hero Died To=day. 
 
 Toll, toll the funeral bell, 
 But let its solemn knell 
 
 Chant a low song of praise. 
 With crape your hearts entwine, 
 
 Let love of manhood blaze. 
 Wreath laurel with the ivy vine 
 
 O'er mound above his clay, 
 And write above his grave : a hero died to-day. 
 
 Not scarred and battle-stained, 
 Not where the bullets rained. 
 
 Yet was he grandly true — 
 Not in the midst of strife, 
 
 Yet fame to him is due. 
 Not where the drum and shrill-voiced fife 
 
 Rose o'er the surging throngs, 
 Yet on the highest honor roll his name belongs. 
 
 The blazing flames rolled high. 
 Safety and life were nigh. 
 
 None dare his way impede. 
 " Not while a woman stays 
 
 Here in this awful need, 
 And blinded with the angry blaze." 
 
 Heard each despairing call. 
 And guided them from death to life, down that dread wall. 
 
 140 
 
Stood there midst circling light, 
 And bravely earned the right 
 
 A hero's name to bear ; 
 Stood like a soldier grand, 
 
 Saved every woman there ; 
 Bravely maintained his stand, 
 
 There midst that fearful tide. 
 Stood firm a hero bright — stood there and nobly died. 
 
 Toll, toll the funeral bell, 
 But let its solemn knell 
 
 Chant a low song of praise. 
 
 M 
 W 
 
 141 
 
Dead.===U. S. Q. 
 
 Dead, with his laurels untarnished, 
 Dead, with no blot on his fame, 
 Dead, and the Nation in sorrow. 
 Reverently whispers his name. 
 
 Dead, but his deeds are recorded, 
 Dead, but his work is well done. 
 Dead, but his hopes are rewarded, 
 The Nation unsevered is one. 
 
 Dead, but with martyr and father. 
 Dead, but in heavenly land, 
 Dead, but his soul in the sunlight 
 
 Is grasping each dead soldier's hand. 
 
 142 
 
Whispers. 
 
 From the woodland steals a whisper 
 
 Falling gently on the ear, 
 'Tis the wind, grown cool and crisper, 
 
 Telling of the fading 3^ear. 
 
 Nature's oriole of splendor 
 
 Lights the dead year's funeral ipyre, 
 And the dainty bloom of Spring-time 
 
 Pales before the autumn's fire. 
 
 So the year that now is gliding 
 
 Swift into the silent past. 
 Has its whispers and its chiding. 
 
 Flood the mem'ries o'er us fast. 
 
 And we add to woodland voicmg 
 Whispers of a thankful heart, 
 
 And our souls, in peace rejoicing, 
 Into holy anthems start. 
 
 God is good — the winds are singing 
 Tho' the Winter's chill is near. 
 
 God is good — our hearts are ringing 
 In a chorus sweet and clear. 
 
 143 
 
Every human heart has whispers ; 
 
 Some in minor accents thrill, 
 Like the soft, sweet evening vespers, 
 
 Or the babbling of the rill. 
 
 Some hearts swell in grander sounding 
 From hearts filled with purest love; 
 
 And the paeons are rebounding 
 To the vaulted heaven above. 
 
 
 144 
 
Mother's Boy. 
 
 When childish lips, in sweetest kiss, 
 Yield mother's heart the greatest bliss, 
 And dainty arms, in soft caress, 
 Would fain express their tenderness, 
 'Tis mother's boy. 
 
 When ringing laughter, full of glee. 
 When boyish cries sound merrily. 
 In pout and smile, in jo}^ and tear, 
 To mother's heart supremely dear, 
 Is mother's bo3^ 
 
 When other eyes shall thrill his heart, 
 And wake to life the nobler part. 
 When love shall conquer, bind and chain. 
 Her love as steadfast shall remain 
 For mother's boy. 
 
 Though hopes may wither and decay. 
 Though other loves may pass away, 
 Though other friends may shrink and fear. 
 One love shall burn. To her more dear 
 Is mother's boy. 
 
 145 
 
When men have brought the laurel crown 
 To deck his brow with fame's renown, 
 Her joy rests not in woven wTeath, 
 One thought lies hidden far beneath — 
 He's mother's boy. 
 
 The bonny brown may change to gray, 
 The tyrant time, steal fast away 
 The manly step. The mother's heart 
 Will still, in loving impulse, start 
 For mother's boy. 
 
 m- 
 w 
 
 T46 
 
Father's at the Helm. 
 
 The angry waves were rolling high, 
 And bright the lightning's flash, 
 
 The noble ship was shaking 'neath 
 The tempest's fearful lash. 
 
 The sturdy sailors grew less bold, 
 And trembled there in fear, 
 
 When to the deck there came a child, 
 Who said, " Is father here?" 
 
 The sailors pointed to the wheel. 
 And there the father stood, 
 
 The good ship answering to his touch, 
 As a noble courser would. 
 
 The child turned to the sailors there, 
 Her bright blue eye was clear — 
 
 With papa standing at the helm, 
 We have no need of fear. 
 
 Then, like the calm that fell upon 
 
 The lake of Galilee, 
 The child's pure faith rose high above 
 
 The beating of the sea. 
 
 147 
 
And courage came to fearing hearts, 
 Faith in the captain's hand, 
 
 And ere the night the gallant ship 
 Was anchored safe at land. 
 
 At times our weary spirits sink 
 
 Behind the clouds of fear, 
 We dread life's breakers sweeping o'er 
 
 The hopes we hold most dear. 
 
 But by the light of faith we see 
 The Savior's guiding hand, 
 
 To lead us safely through the storms 
 To the eternal land. 
 
 148 
 
The Lonely flusician. 
 
 He touched the harp strings softl}^ 
 
 For his soul was in the song, 
 And rapt and m^^stic melodies, 
 
 The still air seemed to throng. 
 For he was sad and lonel3% 
 
 Sang he to his weary soul 
 A hope of blessed freedom 
 
 From the heavy care and dole. 
 
 But hopeful through the melody, 
 His own heart thrilled with fear ; 
 
 The hand that touched the harp strings 
 Failed to dry the falling tear. 
 
 But on the still}^ softness 
 
 Of the calm, sweet evening air, 
 
 That hopeful prayer was floated 
 ^To another filled with care. 
 
 The message taught that soul to rise 
 
 Above the wear}^ strife, 
 And filled the heart with faith in God, 
 
 And hope of higher life. 
 The player's hand grew still and cold, 
 
 In vain he sought for bread, 
 They whispered as they loosed his hand 
 
 Alas ! that he is dead. 
 
 149 
 
Christmas Morn. 
 
 A song rang out, O ! long ago, 
 
 A glad new song, a glad new song ; 
 The shepherds saw a new star glow, 
 
 They heard the song, they heard the song, 
 Out in the night, so clear and still, 
 
 Rang out the sweet, the glad good will, 
 The shepherds bowed to Christ the King, 
 The King to whom the angels sing. 
 As ages go. 
 
 The star shone bright, O ! joy complete. 
 
 The wise men came, the wise men came ; 
 They laid rich treasures at his feet, 
 
 They praised his name, they praised his name. 
 They whispered low : the Christ is born, 
 'Twas on the first glad Christmas morn ; 
 They touched the manger as a throne, 
 Christ is the King, is King alone, 
 
 O, joy complete, 
 
 We greet the day, the Christ was born. 
 
 With holy love, with holy love. 
 And tune our souls each Christmas morn, 
 
 To Him above, to Him above. 
 We hail the King, our treasures bring, 
 While hosts angelic sweetly sing 
 
 That glad new song, " To men good will," 
 Peace, peace on earth, to men good will. 
 
 The Christ is born. 
 
 150