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 A. 1^. Johnson 
 
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 Entered according- to Act of Congress, in the year 1898, 
 
 BY A. R. JOIINSOX, 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 PUATTSBURC, IWO. 
 REGISTER-UEVER STEfl|VI PRINT. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting- the collection of verse and prose con- 
 tained in this little book, I do so solely for the gratifica- 
 tion and by the request of immediate relatives and 
 other valued friends. If they should be pleased, my ob- 
 ject shall have been accomplished. I have endeavored 
 to present candid, honest thoughts in a simple way, 
 and neither ask nor expect credit for any literary 
 achievement. There is not room on the heights for all. 
 Realizing this. I am content to dwell in the vale below, 
 whereNature bestows mosc bounteous blessings— where 
 there is a ])eaceful calm ; where the sweetest flowers grow: 
 where the songs of birds are gayest; where the bonds 
 of love grow stronger; where the breezes come so softly, 
 and where the tiny rills creep onward to add their share 
 to the vast, the mighty deep, but now and then stop to 
 moisten the ground, which has given birth to the fairest 
 and most fragrant of flowers, and to say that not one 
 sprig ol moss shall be ruthlessly torn from the banks of 
 beautilul greeen. Hence, the " loicp o/77ie VuJe.'' 
 
 A. R. Johnson. 
 Plattsburg, Mo , Dec. 25, 1898. 
 
f 
 
 TO MY >fOTHI<:n. 
 
 \(K<T EARTHLY iUil-NI 
 
 'r:ris viO'->k is 
 
 M-fPJ DEDICATE! 
 
imm 
 
 Ain<(»i{ ^^^ '^^ 
 
 Family HKiNinx 
 
 The Seaso.V! 
 
 .4(>-4' 
 
 .Iamik am> .Ii:ami:. ( I'l (.Icj-'iic) "3 .)4 
 
 .Iamik and .IivVMi:. {T\w S1<.1\ ) .',:,-C.2 
 
 .IrST PlFTKKX A^-AU 
 
 Lnuo.rrv -*^-^[ 
 
 Mock Miskuv "' 
 
 Mrs,N,.s ;;;'-;;-^ 
 
 My Child is 1)yl\(; at Homh :•,.")-:'.(■) 
 
 Short Seilmons ()..-(..) 
 
 Sweetest Soxtis <.:5-()4 
 
 Tell A<l\l\ the Stoky 24-2< 
 
 The Modeijn 'We Ain: Seyen :V.)-41 
 
 21-2:1 
 
 The Wandehew's Regret 42-44 
 
 . l)-2() 
 70 
 
 .28-:V2 
 
 The Wind Shifted West 
 Time's Last Offering... 
 
 "TiS WltlTTEX ON THE Sk 
 
 To Despondent Sinner '^'* 
 
 Useless Regret •'- 
 
THH WlNt> SHIFTED WEST. 
 
 'T 
 
 WAS a winter's Tiij;ht that Jake 
 Daiitoii Sit 
 Alone i«i his cal)in-(save an old cat 
 That was Iving asleep near by on the 
 
 floor, 
 While a trusty old dog stood guard at, 
 
 the door.) 
 He was quietly eating his evening meal. 
 Yet quite often there would a smile steal 
 Across his rough, bearded, bronzed fVioe, 
 Where Time, with its cares, had left its 
 stern trace. 
 The meal being done, Jake poked up the fire 
 And watched each blaze shoot higher and high( r , 
 It seemed that it never burned so before- 
 It threw its bright light from ceiling to floor. 
 And lit up the walls, rough, dingy and old 
 Tn brightest of colors, and kept oat the cold 
 Wind that was blowing direct from the east 
 Which augured much suffring for man and for beasl. 
 Jake's strong, steady arms were -PPorting his head 
 As he puffed his old pipe and thoughtfully said . 
 " I've now been the West nearly three years - 
 Then he raised his right hand to brush away tears 
 That sprang to his eyes and coursed down h,H face, 
 While his left from a pocket drew an old case: 
 "You'reoldandyou'rerough,butwhatyoucontoin - 
 
 He choked down a sob, but his tears fell as rain. 
 
;0 VCICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 The cabiu door rattled — the dog- gave a growl, 
 And the wind whistling past continued to howl. 
 '• Be 4uiet, old Tige ; 'tis the wind shifting west ; 
 Lie down and sleep; yes, jour master knows best!" 
 Again the old dog laid down hy the door, 
 Bat quickly got up and growled as before. 
 "Another growl? Then 1 will not contend 
 Against the plea ot a tru-<ty old friend." 
 
 Jake went to the door and opened it wide. 
 And the e'er watchful dog was close by his side- 
 Close by the side of his master so kind, 
 And cared not he for the cold, cutting wind. 
 Nor for the snow as it flew past the door, 
 Alrpady fallen a foot deep ori»-ore, 
 " Phew!" quoth Jake; "the wind's mighty strong! 
 But come in, my old Tige— nothing's gone wrong." 
 
 Again Jake was sitting close by the fire, 
 
 While TigH at his post seemed never to tire. 
 
 The dog listened again— 1») his ears came a sound ! — 
 
 Then he sprang to his master with one single bound, 
 
 And seemed to say plainly, '' Master, let's go — 
 
 Go from our blazing fire into the snow ! 
 
 Come, Master, come, or some day you'll rue it!" 
 
 Jake understood him, and said, " I will do it ! 
 
 With gloves and fur cap, and oven-oat warm, 
 Jake Danton prepared to face the wild storm, 
 While Tige looked up with joy in his eyes, 
 Seeming to say, " Master, you'll see I am wise 
 For having you leave that bright, burning log, 
 Though you are a man and I a poor dog !" 
 •' I'm ready !" said Jake, (old Tige wagged his tail ;) 
 " You take the lead and I'll follow your trail." 
 
THE WIND SHIFTED WEST. 
 
 A rnonient more and the dog ami mnsler 
 
 Were out in the snow, which now UA] Inster 
 
 Than an hour before, while it was blown 
 
 By the fiercest wind that ever was known 
 
 To swe"p o'er the desert. Idenk, bare and wihl 
 
 And kiss the frozen lips of ninii or child ; 
 
 It could but laujih rudely as it passed by , 
 
 " Ha ! ha! both man and doi;- have coine to die!'" 
 
 Tijie stopt a. moment, then pricked up his ears. 
 Which filled Jake's heart with hopes and with f. ars. 
 '• Hark ! Hark! What is that? A faint, wailing- sound'. 
 Some one is dyiuft* on the snow covered ground !" 
 This much from Jake, then he <>ave the word. " Vml" 
 And on went the dog throu'i,h the cold, drifting snow 
 On moved Jake Danton, and on the dog ran 
 Till he stopt by the side of a half-frozen man. 
 
 In Jake's strong arms the cold f«»riu was lifted — 
 Cared not he for the cold snow drilted ; 
 Though he was now acting the hero's part. 
 It was not from motive, bat from kindness of hc-ari . 
 The bright fire burned \u the cabin near by. 
 While the clouds breaking; 'way showed a, blue sky. 
 " I'm glad," said Jake, " that the wind shifted west : 
 'Twas the dog, not I, this time, that knew best."' 
 A few minutes more and Jake with his load 
 Was safely within his humble abode. 
 "A light gleams at last!" th^ man feebly said. 
 As he was laid gently down on a bed. 
 "Stranger, where am I?" the man asked at length 
 " Saved," Jake replied; "you're saved by my strength- 
 No! no! I forgot — the wind shifted west; 
 'Twas old Tige, not I, this thn^., t\\ it kue v b.;st I 
 
12 VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 " God bless my Old Tige, all praise be to you, 
 
 A knowing; companion, good. f;i,ithfal and true.'' 
 
 Thus saying he stoopt and can^ssed the old d(ig-. 
 
 Then put on the tire another large log. 
 
 The light in the room shone bright as before, 
 
 And Old Tige laid down to sleep by the door : 
 
 The storm lulled without— the room warm and bright— 
 
 And Jake watched the man with heait free and light. 
 
 The sun shone bright the following tnorning, 
 
 Its glorious light alike adorning 
 
 The hill and the vale and the mountains grand. 
 
 Like the fabled stories of some far-off land. 
 
 Where the fjozen snow and the lowing herds 
 
 And the fireside, bright and the song of birds 
 
 Enchant the soul of man with noble thought, 
 
 As he cries from his heart, " WhatGod hath wrought! ' 
 
 'Twas thus the day with its trials began, 
 
 As Danton sit by the side of the man 
 
 Who were as nothing, but for the arm 
 
 That placed him in the cabin so warm, 
 
 And the dear, kind heart that watched thro' the night. 
 
 And kept the tire burning so warm and bright, 
 
 Seeking each want of the stranger forlorn 
 
 Till night was dispelled by glorious morn. 
 
 The stranger awoke, as the sun shone in 
 And caused the fire to ^row weak and dim. 
 He looked at Jake with questioning eyes— 
 *' Lie still and rest ; 't was old Tige that was wise ; 
 He told me last night when the cold wind did roar 
 That some one was dying not far from my door. 
 'T was old Tige and I that the wild storm braved ; 
 Thank God that I went ! Thank God you are saved !" 
 
THE WIND SHIFTED WEST. '3 
 
 ■• Yes t remember," the man feebly said, _ 
 
 " And but for you I would now have been dead. 
 Take said, as he looked at Tige ssood and true, 
 'a.ve credit and praise to whom credit ,s due." 
 .. Then 1 thank the old dog for what he has done, 
 \nd 1 will weep for him when he is gone, 
 Ind most kindly think, 'mid joy and 'mid s rrfe 
 Onhe dumb,knowing friend that once saved my life. 
 Then he gave old Tige a loving embrace, 
 ;« tears trickled down his honest fair face; 
 He said not a word, for his grateful heart 
 Was thinking of the hour when he must part 
 wftrman a,^ with dog, so kind and yet brave, 
 Wi.o faced the wild storm in order to save 
 
 .^ stranger from 'l«'-*'>-r*''""f lirsowl 
 ■ But the harvest is reaped as seed are sow n. 
 
 A week passed by, yet the stranger remaioed- 
 tl hou^h ,jui>e recovered he'd been detained 
 Bv nouTe .lake Dantou-kind hearted soul. 
 Who hail ever sought the sad to condole. 
 He thought not of self, as many men do, 
 A f. end to all men, friend good and true 
 • With dear, kind wonls in sickness or health- 
 Thfhelrt makes the man, but never doeswealth. 
 .. near friend," said the man, as he sat one night. 
 With kind Jake Banton at the fireside bright, 
 .'To-morrow I'll leave, and yet I regret 
 To sav good-bve, but I'll not forget- 
 I^e, mfre: in my heart youMl e'er be cherished, 
 Reoause but for you I would have perished 
 wTsL- of others that were that mght slain 
 By the fierce storm as It swept o'er the pUm. 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 " Perhaps you thibk Fin a raaii very queer, 
 I've not asked your name siuce I have beeu here, 
 Nor told you my own — 1 think oJ it now, 
 And request your name— mine being- John Dow." 
 Jake thought a moment and then made reply : 
 '• That I have been thoughtless I will not deny, 
 But Jake Dantou tries to do do what he can 
 For the life and joy of a fellow man." 
 
 " So Jake Danton's your name? Now, tell me, I pray, 
 Why you alone in this cabin do stay?" 
 Jake Danton's breast began now to swell. 
 While tears to his eyes most freely did well. 
 " It is not because I'd aimlessly roam. 
 But for the love of my dear ones at home, 
 Who pray each night ere they sink to their rest 
 For me so lonely in the far-off West. 
 
 " I had bad luck in business back East 
 
 And couldn't pay debts, tho' I sold ever beast 
 
 I had on the place to meet the demands 
 
 Of those whom I owed ; [ worked with my hands, 
 
 And worked with my brains, but 'twas of no use- 
 
 I only received the worst of abuse 
 
 From those who knew me when the bright sun shone, 
 
 But when my luck failed I found they had flown. 
 
 " It is rather strange that such things should be, 
 
 You have plenty of friends in prosperity ; 
 
 There is not a thing you will be refused, 
 
 Perhaps it is because you can be used 
 
 To help the rich in their villainous schemes— 
 
 They turn to waste our life. Hope's sweetest dreams 
 
 They love to blast; the widow's heart they break ; 
 
 'T is strange that money should such hard hearts make 
 
THE WIND SHIFTED WEST. 
 
 '• 1 had but six cow when I came out West — 
 A very small start, but it was the best 
 I could do; and I will patiently wait 
 And work as I've done, both earl.v and late, 
 Till I have money to see my way clear, 
 Then I'll retuiu to my loved ones so dear — 
 Return to my home tind pay what I owe — 
 How drear are the dtiys ! I long now to go !" 
 
 "■ How much do you owe? ' asknd Mr. John Dow, 
 
 '' It was six thousand, but half as much now ; 
 
 You see 1 have paid a thousand fa year — 
 
 Ive got the receipts all stuwed away here." 
 
 To prove what he said, Jake opened a box 
 
 And on the floor fell two beautiful locks 
 
 Of waving, dark brovvii hair; " My child's" he said — 
 
 '• .\ly little girl's, who has long been dead." 
 
 Then with a look that was queer, sad and wild, 
 
 Jak»' buried his face and s()bbe(i as a child 
 
 Whose heart had been wounded by some great grief, 
 
 And oidy in tears could find a relief. 
 
 " True, I have three others, but it is queer 
 
 That the sweet little hearts, to us so dear, 
 
 Are the first to leave us at death's command 
 
 To walk the bright streets of another land." 
 
 "Yes, kind friend, but 'twas Jesus' wise will, 
 Who bade the wild waves of the ocean, 'Be still !' 
 Who, when our days are sad, lonely and drear, 
 Bestows blessed love our sad hearts to cheer. 
 Here is two thousand dollars, my gift to thee, 
 For your protection and kindness to me; 
 Perhaps it will help in removing your cares," — 
 " What ! entertained an angel unawares ?" _ 
 
VOICE or THE VALE. 
 
 John Dow then arose and passed throiij^h the door 
 
 And left Jake Dauton and Tige as before. 
 
 "Two thousand dollars! Why, surely Tra blest! 
 
 And all because the wild wind shifted west!" 
 
 Then noble Jake Danton thought of t je day 
 
 When all of his debts he'd be able to pay— 
 
 Of the bright time when he would cease to roam 
 
 And go and dwell with the dear ones at home. 
 
 * * * Two yea rs passed l)y— two years of hard toil 
 
 For poor Jake Danton, who tilled the rich soil 
 
 In addition to his kind, tender pains 
 
 To herds of cattle that now roamed the plains. 
 
 All bearing his brand, by honestv gained ; 
 
 No longer was Jake in -poverty chained, 
 
 As he sat by the tire w-th old Tige true 
 
 The night before bidding the cabin adieu ! 
 
 " Thank God !" said Danton, " this exile is done ! 
 The battle's been fought and the victory's won !" 
 Then he retired to seek rest for the night 
 And arose next morn with breaking daylight. 
 He was off o'er the plain, with gleeful rattle, 
 Driving to market his large herd of cattle, 
 When by chance into his heard there ran 
 Ten cattle owned bj another man. 
 
 To 'cut out' the cattle, Jake tried in vain, 
 
 So on moved the herd o'er hill and o'er plain, 
 
 Jake tried and tried till all hopes was gone, 
 
 Then drove his herd and strays all along. 
 
 In Life's great battles there's oft things to vex us, 
 
 Though few of us drive wild steers from Texas; 
 
 It is of no use to tell you about them, 
 
 The deil's own imps would fail to rout them. 
 
THE WIND SHIFTED WEST. 
 
 In the fjir west, in the wild, early days 
 
 There were very queer people who had V(!ry queer ways; 
 
 Now, if a man sht)uld be 'judged a horse ;hief, 
 
 He's akin to the rope as sickle to sheaf, 
 
 And tnany's the man that's died 'very queer;' 
 
 For stealing- no more than a wild Texas stt^er, 
 
 This makes the chances of a thief quite slim 
 
 When in reach of a rope, a mule and a limb. 
 
 There are diamonds out West, '♦bo' roughly they dwell. 
 
 As this tale's sequel most plainly will tell; 
 
 Gold does not glitter till brought from the ground. 
 
 Nor are rubies worn in sections where found ; 
 
 Kind words of men are like gold in the earth. 
 
 Hidden and dormant till need gives them birth ; 
 
 It is then that you find in the uncouth form 
 
 The heart that is gentle, tender and warm. 
 
 Jake Dauton had crossed a clear, rippling brook, 
 
 And stopt to rest in a cool, shady nook, 
 
 When five men rode up and leaped to the ground, 
 
 One shouting: "At last the thief has been found !" 
 
 " Surrender, or die!" another one said. 
 
 While a third chimed in, "An ounce of cold lead 
 
 Would make rattlin' feed for the buzzards, an' quick!" 
 
 " No ! he'd pass in his checks too all -fired slick !" 
 
 Jake Danton arose and bowed to the men, 
 
 Who in concert were threatening again ; 
 
 The leader then said, " I guess you must hang 
 
 Like the rest of the black, horse-thievin' gang! 
 
 You stole them 'ar cattle down on the Crow, 
 
 An' so we will swing you, just for to show 
 
 That we mean bizness— we'll clean out the thieves, 
 
 And camp on the plains till every one leaves !" 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 Jake listened calmly, then said, " Gentlemen, 
 I own all that herd excepting the ten 
 That fell in with mine, six miles up the Crow ; 
 I tried to 'cut them oat,' but couldn't do so." 
 " Well, well, that is ft'f^od, but then it won't work. 
 An' it won't hurt you to hang— just one jerk 
 An' you'll swing in the shade, so nice an' cool — 
 (Jim, tie the rope, an' lead up th^ mule," 
 
 The mule was brought up by cold-hearted Jim ; 
 The rope was prepared and thrown o'er a liml), 
 Then roughly placed over Jake I). m ton's head, 
 Who calmly, yet hoarsely, to the men said, 
 "Five gentlemen before me [ can now see; 
 How many are married'.* ' " I am," quoth three, 
 "Then three of the five are surely blest, 
 Though they are at home, and you out West. 
 
 " I am marri*»d, too— I've a, dear, darling wife, 
 And three rosy children— joys of my life— 
 I have a home, though 'tis bumble and plain- 
 Not a mansion grand, with fiower-strt-wn lane, 
 No chandeliers swing in largn, brilliant halls; 
 No grand and rare pictures adorn its walls; 
 There's nothing within but hearts full of love 
 For those gathered 'round and God up above." 
 
 * * * Across the plains a.t the mightiest speed 
 There was riding a man on a foaming steed; 
 His eyes were bent far ahead on the plain- 
 One hand held a box; the other a rein. 
 He was closely following Jake Dan ton's trail : 
 " On ! on ! my dear horse ! It won't do to fail ! 
 But keep up your speed— you're doing well now." 
 (These words were spoken by a man named Dow.) 
 
THE WIND SHIFTED WEST. '^ 
 
 The captors of Jake stood siler.t, arnazpcl, 
 As on canit the man, as onward he ^azed 
 '> Bv Jove!" said Ji.n, "do yoii s.e the dust .ol . 
 If twant for the hoss, you'd thin-c ' twas a whole 
 Hand of wild cattle a stampedin' by- ^ 
 
 Just look at him now. just see that ^oss flv ^ 
 
 'Perhaps TU find a Iriend-a friend now m need , 
 Tho t J .ke as he looked toward the man and thesteed. 
 • T was thus that the men their action delayed- 
 ( 1 sinole horseman their sentence h;^d sta^ed)-- 
 AiK:ions John Dow and his dark, foammg steed 
 Who daste 1 o'er the plain at mi^bt.-st spc.-d-- 
 But see! the horse filters! stumbles aye ^^ 
 No! strength is gained by his master s kmd cill., 
 Aiui onward he comes with clattering leet; 
 Only a horse, yet a messenger fleet. 
 On the face of John Dow was a clouded look 
 As he saw Jake's herd by the ripphng brook, 
 And his burly captors standing around. 
 As if the vilest of thieves thpy had found 
 Another moment and the horseman bold 
 Leaped o'er the rivulet clear and (^old 
 Ami sprang from his horse with sprighthest grace, 
 And smiling, radiant and bouyant tace. 
 " While passing your cabin early to-day 
 I stopped and found you'd just gone away ; 
 m looking around I espied tbis box- 
 (I knew you prized those beautiful lock-v 
 So I mounted my horse -my darling old I dl- 
 And followed your trail o'er plain and o u h.ll , 
 I saw you pursued-suspected a thiet- 
 So I hastened along to offer relief. 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 " Open your box and show what it contains, 
 And you'll be wished God-speed o'er the plains." 
 Jake showed the receipts and locks of brown hair 
 And his wife's picture— surpassingly fair— 
 And read them her letters with moistened eyes ; 
 They bade him look forward to unclouded skies; 
 They pictured bright days of unalloyed bliss, 
 And closed with the words, "Send baby a kiss." 
 
 The men stood dumb till the leader exclaimed, 
 "Them letters did the biz, or else I'm blamed." 
 " I thought," said Jim, as he sighed a relief, 
 " You was a queer man to be a horse-thief," 
 Five sleeves passed over the eyes of five men, 
 And wiped away tears, numbering ten. 
 Jake grasped the hand of warm-hearted John Dow. 
 Who said, " You saved me once— you are saved now. 
 
 Jake's heart was full, but he said not a word ; 
 " I'll tell you," said Jim, " let's buy all the herd !" 
 " Agreed! Just the thing!" exclaimed all the men, 
 •' And before countin' we'll throw in the ten— 
 Them ten wild Texans that caused all the row;" 
 *' It is all settled, why speak of it now?" 
 Said Jake Danton, to which Jim made reply : 
 " Because you want to sell and we want to buy !" 
 
 The money paid over, "good-byes" were said. 
 Every feeling of scorn haying nov^r fled ; 
 Jake mounted his horse and was off o'er the plain. 
 Breathing the pure air of freedom again. 
 And when at home with the loved ones dear, 
 'Mid peace, and quiet and words of good cheer, 
 To the Giver of Good prayers were then given. 
 To Him who is ruler of earth and of heaven. 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 21 
 
 m 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 I SAW a little babe that nestled 
 Close upon its mother's breast; 
 8avv the mother's sweet face brighten 
 As she the little one caressed. 
 
 I saw the night-clouds gather thickly, 
 
 After the departed sun, 
 And heard the woman murmur, softly 
 
 "I'm glad the day's work's done." 
 
 I saw the mother take the infant 
 
 To its little trundle bed ; 
 Saw her kneel, as it was sleeping, 
 
 When her evening prayers were said ; 
 
 Heard her whisper, " God, in mercy, 
 Keep my little one from harm ; 
 
 Keep her, Savior, keep her ever 
 In Thy loving, gentle arm." 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 THEN I saw a little maiden 
 As she tripped along- the way ; 
 Heard her sweet voice ringing gayly 
 On that cheerful summer day. 
 
 On she went o'er mount and meadow, 
 
 Up and down the flowery hill ; 
 Then she stopped, in childish wonder, 
 
 By a clear and rippling rill. 
 
 I saw her in her woodland rambles, 
 Gath'ring flowers fresh and fair ; 
 
 Saw her weave the choicest garlands 
 And nursing them with care ; 
 
 Heard her shout in accents charming, 
 
 As she danced in merry glee, 
 " Fm as happy as the wild-flowers, 
 
 And I'm sure I'll always be!" 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 T^EXT there came a pure young woman- 
 1/ Not a cloud upon her face- 
 Not a sorrow nor discontentment 
 Could the artist's pencil trace. 
 
 She was fair as autumn's noonday 
 
 As she hastened to the beach, 
 There to find in untold measure 
 
 The hope and joy she fain would reach. 
 
 But as she neared the surging waters 
 And saw them dash upon the shore ; 
 
 Heard them roar in hissing torrents — 
 (Sights she'd never seen before)— 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 Her .sti-eu<^'th i;ave wfiy and she was carried 
 b'ai- out upon the KeethinsA' foam — 
 
 Far IVoiu fi-iends and dearest kiudred — 
 Far away from (u)d and home. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 TJ WOMAN stiMio-u-led on the billows ; 
 yl Her face was ha<2,<i;ard, weak and worn; 
 Her hair hung down in locks disheveled, 
 Her bleeding- hands had torn. 
 
 She cried in a-nguish from the current, 
 
 As she'd olten cried before, 
 For some help — a liltle kindness — 
 
 From those along the shore. 
 
 But, no! her weakened form grows weaker, 
 
 And no one heeds her cries; 
 The waves ab(mt her roll still higher 
 
 And darker grow the skies. 
 
 Soon vshe's dashed beneath the billows 
 
 Of the deep and angry sea — 
 Thus the ending of the maiden 
 
 Who would ever happy be. 
 
 ^ilil* 
 
 m^Mmm 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 TELL AGAm THE STORY. 
 
 BIIOTHER, bring- the old time Uible, 
 Place it g-ently on my breast ; 
 Bring its soiled and crumpled pages 
 
 That mother's hands caressed. 
 Bring me, too, the hymn-book laden 
 
 With purest rays of hope divine; 
 Bring it quifk, my life is fading. 
 Bring it now, while yet there's time. 
 
 Read to me the Bible's pages 
 E'er I'm placed beneath the sod ; 
 
 Read to me of martyred sages- 
 Read of those who died in God. 
 
 Read again the life of Jesus — 
 Of his dying on the cross ; 
 
 Tell me yet to die is gaining, 
 To live is naught but loss. 
 
TELL AGAIN THE STORY. 2q 
 
 Tell me of His blessed promise— 
 
 Of the mansions built above; 
 Tell me of His gracious mercy— 
 
 Of His boundless, ceaseless love. 
 Tell ao-ain how Jesus suffered— 
 
 How He counted all but dross, 
 Save the Afterland's sweet mercy 
 
 And the glory of the Cross. 
 Tell me how the sacred pages 
 Reveal to us a (iod of love, 
 Who throughout the long-gone ages, 
 
 Bade us seek a home above, 
 Where we'll sing the songs eternal, 
 
 An I with angel bands e"er be 
 lu that land so bright and vernal— 
 
 In that blest eternity. 
 Let me hear again the story 
 Of the death on Calvary— 
 Of Jesus dying in his glory 
 
 To set all sinners free. 
 Tell tne of His wond'rous triumph 
 In those hours so filled with pain: 
 How He died without a murmur ; 
 How He 'rose and lives again. 
 Tell me how in God's great wisdom 
 There's naught but for the best ; 
 Say again that those who trust Him 
 
 Find a home amongst the blest ; 
 Speak to me once more of Jesus— 
 
 The meek the lowly Nazarine— 
 Let me profit from the teachings 
 Of His life, so sweet, serene. 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 Wlien no longer I can hear 3-011 
 
 Reading of the land sublime, 
 Let your voice peal forth in raptuie 
 
 In the swelling words of rhyme. 
 Open once again the song l)ot)U; 
 
 Sing old Coronn.tion dear, 
 Shout the words of Watts and Wrsley- 
 
 Blessed hymns of peace and chei-r. 
 
 " 'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus," 
 
 " When the billows darkly roll ;" 
 *'(/ome to Calvary Holy Mountain," 
 
 " That far away home of the soul."" 
 " All hail the power of Jesus' n;unt%' 
 
 ^' Rock of Ages VMt for Me ;' 
 " Blessed Savior may we ever 
 
 Follow, fo'low Thee."' 
 
 "Is Not This the Land of lleulah !"' 
 
 " Blessed Savior Comfort Me; '" 
 "On the Rifted Rock I'm Resting." 
 
 "Just as I Air Withou!: One Plea." 
 " What a Friend We Have in Jesus ;" 
 
 " I have suffered all but loss :" 
 " O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing," 
 
 " Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross !" 
 
 Sing these songs, 0, brother sing them 
 
 As we sang in days of yore, 
 Let me hear again their music 
 
 E'er I pass to yon bright shore. 
 Free the fetters! God, in mercy, 
 
 Take me home to dwell with Thee ; 
 Take me in Thy arms, dear Savior — 
 
 Let me live eternally ! 
 
TELL AGAIN THE STORY. 
 
 Thus is told tho Christian's triumph, 
 
 Who throuji!;hout this vale of tears, 
 Has souftht to fiiul a home with Jesus, 
 
 There to dwell for endless years. 
 May the God of all e'er lead us 
 
 To that brighter world above, 
 Fold us in his arms and bless us 
 
 With his never-dying love. 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 Tis Written on the Sky. 
 
 77 fHEN walking- out at sunlight's fading. 
 
 ^<^^ Not man J days ago, 
 
 I stopped to rest by a babbling brook 
 
 And listened to the flow 
 Of the water, as it hurried on 
 
 To mingle with the deep, 
 And wondered how many secrets 
 
 The little stream could keep. 
 I can entrust you with my thoughts— 
 
 In musing words I said 
 
 Then I^at me down upon the bank 
 
 As the summer's twilight sped. 
 I listened to the lowing herds 
 
 That roamed the lovely dells, 
 
 And gazed upon the roses fair ' 
 
 And the tiny, sweet blue-bells. 
 
•r/S \\fRITTEN ON THE SKY. 
 
 So sweet, that summer evenino-, 
 
 It seemed without alloy, 
 And I at once was dreaming- 
 
 Of nothing- else but joy, 
 The marshes spread before me. 
 Were gardens fresh and fair; 
 The woods a fairy picture. 
 And incense filled the air. 
 A hundred dreamy fancies 
 
 Through my vision spoke; 
 I saw tht^ beasts of burden 
 
 Freed from rein and yoke; 
 1 saw the little lambs at play — 
 
 The tpnder, clinging vines ; 
 And saw the many rural homes 
 
 Where love the heart entwines. 
 I saw the little children 
 
 In merry, childish glee; 
 1 saw the loving father bowed 
 
 Upon his bended knee ; 
 I saw the mother's fond caress, 
 
 And heard sweet infant prayers: 
 I saw the rich wheat garnered 
 
 And freed from chaff and tares. 
 I saw the children off to school, 
 
 And wondered why are they 
 So happy and so cheerful 
 
 Throughout the livelong day. 
 Then I thought that in this world- 
 
 This lovely home of ours— 
 That instead of plucking thistles 
 We all should gather flowers. 
 
30 VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 I gazed aloft— the scene had changed ! 
 
 Darkness hovered o'«^r me ! 
 I could but gasp as I beheld 
 
 The scene that stretched before ine ! 
 In living colors, of varied tints, 
 
 And yet of deepest dye, 
 I saw the warning, dread but true, 
 
 " 'TiS WllITTEN ox THE SKY.'" 
 
 Money is King ! Obey-his laws ! 
 Lest you, one and?all, 
 
 Drink from the proffered, tempting cup 
 The dregs of bitter gall ! 
 
 Money is King ! He ruleth all ! 
 8end forth the long, loud cry. 
 
 Drink from his cup— the only cup- 
 Drink, poor slaves, and die ! 
 
 You have no rights, you toiling band, 
 
 That money should obey ! 
 You seek a path from bondage ? 
 
 We only point the way. 
 Follow on ! Be yet our slaves ! 
 
 A.nd you will plainly see 
 That for you 'twas not ordained 
 
 Should breathe sweet liberty. 
 
 Y^ou've been our slaves these many ^ears, 
 
 Why not remain so still ? 
 Why break the ties that bind you yet 
 
 To money's stubborn will? 
 Why break the bonds that tie you down 
 
 To the humble minion's cell ? 
 Why cry from out your hiding-place— 
 
 The depths of earthly hell ? 
 
•TIS WRITTEN ON THE SKY. 
 
 We've seen your children clothe in rap;s 
 
 And loved ones bathe in tears! 
 We've seen you wreokeu and cast aloof 
 
 From h.^;pi)y, by-{>*one years! 
 We've seen you swept adown the stream 
 
 In the whirling-, ceaseless foam ! 
 We've seen you shiver in the cold, 
 
 And seen you robbed of home! 
 
 We've seen you weep— shed bitter tears— 
 
 And to anguish driven ! 
 We've seen distress come to your home — 
 
 Your only earthly heaven ! 
 We've seen your mourning-, dying wives 
 
 And weeping children cry ! 
 We've seen you drain our proffered cup— 
 
 'TwAs wurrTEN ox the sky! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Clouds t5\vei>t o'er — the scene had changed 
 
 A little child appeared ; 
 "Twas dressed in royal robes and sang 
 
 Of ease where it was reared. 
 It told of care and comforts blessed — 
 
 Of every want supplied— 
 And of complaints of poverty 
 
 It questioned — e'en denied. . 
 
 Swift clouds swept bj^ ! Thunder clashed 1 
 
 And lightning rent the sky ! 
 A babe crept out, and sought in vain 
 
 A mother's lullaby ! 
 The current strong went winding on 
 
 To the mighty ocean deep; 
 No soothing song would it prolong 
 
 To lull that babe to sleep. 
 
32 
 
 VOICE or THE VALE. 
 
 -NO, no ! it cried ! Why should it ci' v> 
 
 Was it of equal birth 
 With those who seek, through strategv. 
 
 To own one-half the earth ? 
 Is it to tod and tr.ivel on, 
 
 And life's great burden bear, 
 And close the door of the pinched and po,,,- 
 
 And die in silent prayer? 
 O, God, for justice to all mankind ! 
 
 O, hear the piteous call ! 
 Bring peace and comfort to the hosts 
 
 And equal rights to all! 
 Let freedom ring from every heigh t- 
 
 When indeed we're free! 
 Let the echo sound in vales 
 
 And spread Irom sea to sea! 
 Then will justice be complete; 
 
 Then will one and nil 
 Be freed from chains of poverty- 
 Be fi-ped from dregs of gall ! ' 
 Then will the people stand enthroned 
 
 And the nation of the earth 
 Give praise to those who noblv fought 
 To gain the rights of birth !' 
 
MUG/NGS. 
 
 33 
 
 Musin|s 
 
 Row often in life do \vh 
 1/ sit down and wonder 
 
 If beautiful flowers are 
 
 never to fade? 
 If loveliest sunsMne, by 
 
 dashes of thunder, 
 
 Is to turn into darnness and shade? 
 If brig-ht hours of childhood — O, dear, happy d; 
 
 Of their sweet pleasures none ever can tell ; 
 Their j>:ambols, and sports, and innocent plays- 
 
 But now we must bid them, forever, farewell ! 
 We wonder from whence all happiness comes ; 
 
VOICE OF TH£ VALE. 
 
 If some Fairy Land holds it in store? 
 If it is heralded from gold-crystaled domes 
 
 To heal up the hearts that are weary and sore? 
 We wonder, till tired, then sink down to rest. 
 
 Dreaming sweet joys are on every breeze blown, 
 Or of the dear ones whom we love best, 
 
 Or maybe of friendships long fjided and flown. 
 Thus we keep thinking and no wiser growing 
 
 As we drift out upon life's great sea, 
 As helpless as chaff before the wind blowing. 
 
 Which may scatter good seed, tho" chaff it may De. 
 'Twas ever through life the world has thus willed— 
 
 That sorrow and gladness must always be blend d, 
 So our complainings will never be stilled 
 
 Tillwemeet "overthere" when liie'sjourne\ 's ended. 
 
 
 ^2S 
 
 ;^fe^ 
 
MY CHILD IS DYING AT HOME. 35 
 
 JVly Child is Dying at Home. 
 
 DOWN the mountain on the pathway 
 Came a horpman swift and fleet ; 
 Came the 'horse in ceaseless dashing 
 On its clattering-, nimble feet. 
 
 On the face of the man was pictured 
 
 Every evidence of care, 
 Such as on a noble hero 
 
 Who would fain to do and dare. 
 
 O'er the streamlet dashed the rider. 
 Which had ne'er been crossed before, 
 
 And he leaped with hurried movements 
 At our humble cabin door. 
 
 "I am weak and worn and weary. 
 And with all my strength I'm trying 
 
 To reach that humble little cottage 
 Where my darling child is dying.' 
 
 " I am hungry," said the stranger, 
 "Can you give me bread to eat? 
 
 Quickly ! quickly ! don't detain me — 
 For my darling I must meet?" 
 
 "You are welcome to our cabin, 
 Come, partake, gain strength and ride 
 
 And may (lod give you courage 
 ' Till you reach your darling's side. 
 
36 
 
 VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 " We have a. little bill of fare— 
 
 'Tis coffee, pork and beans— 
 'Tis served to comers in our wny— 
 
 Not dished in flnetureens." 
 
 The stranger ate the wholesome meal 
 
 Then on his wi.v went flying- 
 To meet the lovely little one. 
 
 Who on a IkmI of pain whs lying;. 
 
 As he passed fiii- down the meadow. 
 As he vanished fi'om our si«^ht, 
 
 1 whis()ered with all reverence: 
 "God <2;rant he'll reach his homo 1o ni<;ht. 
 
MOCK MISERY. 
 
 37 
 
 MOCK MISERY, 
 
 LET lall the buniiug words — 
 Let laughter have its sway — 
 Let passion rule, if rule it must, 
 
 Aud true love turn away. 
 Life is but a passing thing, 
 
 Soon fires will cease to burn. 
 Frail form will fall aud mingle with 
 
 Th()i?e who to dust return. 
 But 1 must linger on and on — 
 
 See others glad and gtiy — 
 While I in misery must dwell 
 
 Till one grand judgment day ; 
 Then a reckoning will come 
 
 And justice rule on high ; 
 Then many a poor mortal 
 
 Will wish that he vvere L 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 ^7e-^ Mi^^ ^(M)^ 
 ARBOR DAY. 
 
 TDING loud the bells and usher in 
 
 iS The date the growth of trees begin. 
 
 Let children quit their careless play 
 And culture trees on Arbor Day. 
 Let beauty spread our landscape o'er ; 
 Let every one plant one or more. 
 Come! move on ! or clear the way 
 For those who love sweet Arbor Day, 
 
THE MODERN "WE ARE SEVEN/ 
 
 39 
 
 §Yen. 
 
 I MET a little factory girl- 
 She was eight years old, she said— 
 '• I toil from early morn till night 
 
 To earn our daily bread." 
 " Pray, little one." I said to her, 
 
 •' How can a child like you 
 Gainsay that you must labor 
 
 As only men should do?" 
 She looked at me with wond'ring eyes, 
 
 And raised her face toward heaven ; 
 '* I'll tell you, sir." she softly said, 
 
 *' Because of us there's seven." 
 
 *' What do you mean, dear child," I asked— 
 She quickly made reply : 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 " We are seven in all," said she, 
 
 "Tho' two were doomed to die- 
 Decreed to die of ^rief and want 
 
 In homes of cheerless fires, 
 In cities grand of this great land, 
 
 In shadows of church spires. 
 They passed out from this life of ours 
 
 And sought a home above, 
 Wherenve are told there's never want, 
 
 But all is peace and love. 
 
 " Thus five were left to battle on 
 And do as mamma said, 
 
 To ' cheer the living every day, 
 Forgetting not the dead.' 
 
 There's Joey, dear, the crippl(;d boy, 
 The oldest of the seven, 
 
 He cannot work — he is too weak. 
 And only fit for heaven. 
 
 There's little Nell— the dear, sweet girl- 
 She totters to and fro 
 
 While caring for the baby— 
 Our darling little Flo. 
 
 " So Kate'and I, from day to day. 
 
 Toil on as best we can 
 In the dark and gloomy factory 
 
 To do the work of man. 
 'Twould not be hard as people think, 
 
 When cheered by words of love. 
 To work for brothers here below. 
 
 And loved ones gone above. 
 If we could get fair wages 
 
 We'd work and never tire, 
 
THE MODERN "WE ARE SEVEN." 
 
 And bless the words of Christ, who said, 
 ' The laborer's worth his hire.' 
 
 " But we are given just enough— 
 
 (The rich men oall it 'pay')— 
 To keep the body moving 
 
 And work from day to day, 
 With scarce a fire upon our hearth. 
 
 While chandeliers shine bright 
 Within the homes of greedy rich- 
 Doth God ordain it right? 
 Methinks, kind sir, the Lord of all— 
 
 The God of earth and heaven- 
 Will grant a welcome place above 
 And re-unite our seven." 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S REGRET. 
 
 Y 
 
 EkS, stranger, I'm 
 hungry as mortal 
 can be ; 
 
 I'm hunting and hunt- 
 ing some light now 
 to see; 
 
 I've been hungry for 
 bread and meat 
 sometimes, 
 
 When I've blowed in 
 my dollars and nick- 
 els and dimes 
 
 For bad and worse whisky, for beer and for gin; 
 You say 'twas a shame— I say 'twas a sin. 
 
 But it ain't that that's vexing me now. 
 It's a fierce and mad burning, and 1 cannot tell how 
 To get rid of the feeling that's bursting my veins- 
 Sending wild thoughts thro' my hot, burning brains ; 
 No moment of rest, nor a moment of peace— 
 E'er hoping and striving to secure my release. 
 
 I remember years back when my dear mother knelt 
 At my bedside and prayed to dear Jesus who felt 
 
THE WANDERERS REGRET. 
 
 Pity and compassion for his erring ones here 
 And bade them ascend to that heaven so dear; 
 But you see I neglect(;d to follow advice 
 And drifted away into sorrow and vice. 
 
 First 'twas inviting and a glittering light 
 
 Shone e'er round the wrong but never the right ; 
 
 So I sought pleasure— I clutched at the bowl, 
 
 Which ruined my body and mortgaged my soul. 
 
 It js a great debt and I fear I can't pay 
 
 Though 1 live to the time of the Great Judgment Day. 
 
 I've heard the bells chime in the grandest church towers, 
 I've heard the good pray and passed many houra 
 In churches and chapt.'ls, at noontide, at night, 
 And tried e'er to steer for the Island of Right. 
 But it was of no use. so I drifted away, 
 And thus a poor sinner you see me today. 
 
 I've tried oftentimes to forget how to think. 
 Besotting my brains with the death-dealing drink , 
 Bringing new pains and forgetting all friends 
 'Tis the old, the old story, and always thus ends : 
 Respect all foigotten, and honor the same, 
 (rlorying in filth and rejoicing in shame. 
 
 Downward, aye, downward, how fast turn the wheels ! 
 How wretched my body and how my brain reels! 
 Good-bye to old friendships ! good-bye to them all ! 
 Good-bye to dear days I ne'er can recall ! 
 Good-bye to ambition, bright visions and dreams! 
 They've floated far down despair's murky streams I 
 
 I've heard of dear Jesus, who on the cross died, 
 Who suffered for all, (the dear crucified,) 
 
VOICE or THE VALE. 
 
 And often I think He would help even me— 
 Would shield my poor body and set my soul free— 
 If only I'd come and wander no more 
 On the cold, shifting sands of a desolate shore. 
 
 And so ril pray Jesus to come to me now 
 
 And ask Him to help me if He'll only tell how 
 
 A poor sinner may live in a home after this — 
 
 A home of sweet comfort, bright sunshine and bliss, 
 
 Where angels e'er sing on the bright, shining strand 
 
 And glorify God in the Great Afterland. 
 
TO DESPONDENT SINNER 
 
 TO DESPONDENT SINNER. 
 
 fJO to Jesus, seek no more, 
 
 \£r He aloue stands at the (loo , 
 
 He alone can let .vou in 
 
 And free yonr heart from careaiid s ik 
 
 He alone can set you free, 
 
 And give to you sweet liberty. 
 
 Go at once — do not delay— 
 
 And trust in Him to point the w y. 
 
 Just a word and Jesus will 
 
 Your aching heart with raptniH lill. 
 
 Remove your doubts, your ncc^dlcss 
 fears, 
 
 Check your weeping, dry your t • ;;- ; 
 ,."^~^" He will your every effort bles-<, 
 Give peace and joy and happiness, 
 Fill your heart with purest love 
 And fit your soul for heaven above^ 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 C3 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 
 
 Farailg Rgunien 
 
 meet, dear hen its, Xo cele- 
 brate— 
 \\> do not meet for tenrs— 
 'Tis thus Ave should cotnnicmoratf' 
 
 The kindly passiuji- yeais. 
 Let's siiio- the sweetest sou^s to day 
 
 And every one most happy be; 
 Let our hearts be ^lad and aay— 
 We've met this side eternity ! 
 
 In love's fond grasp we hold the 
 hand 
 
 Of a sister or a brother, 
 And see in age so proudly stand 
 
 Our father and our mother. 
 Time with them has been most kind, 
 
FAMILY REUNION. 
 
 More kind than e'er were we ; 
 lUit doubts and fears we leave behind, 
 And meet this side eternity ! 
 
 Our father's reached three score and ten, 
 
 'Mid scenes of doubts and fears — 
 He would not live them o'er again— 
 
 Those dark, uncertain years. 
 There's a better life with God above 
 
 For Christians such as he, 
 Tho' now we meet him here in love — 
 
 Far, far this side eternity ! 
 
 The Spring, the Summer, Autumn ])asse<l. 
 Then flowers, Iruit and grain ; 
 
 Xo season could forever last- 
 No pleasure without pain. 
 
 But let our hearts be light to-day, 
 And join in merr^- glee, 
 
 And let the young meet old and gray 
 Again this side eternity ! 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 ^^^UST fifteen to day," 
 
 (pj they told me, 
 And in thy beauty I be- 
 hold thee. 
 Lively, quiet or serene; 
 Free and happy, blythe 
 and gay, 
 
 Throughout the livelong, happy day- 
 Lovely maiden— just fifteen ! 
 
 I '11 ne'er forget the happy days, 
 When, in youth's wild roundelays, 
 I 've most happy been— 
 
JUST FIFTEEN. «9 
 
 And plucked the fairest, sweetest flowers 
 In the lovely, shady bovvers, 
 
 With fair maidens— just fifteen ! 
 
 Now I see your face so fair, 
 
 Your rosy cheeks and waving- hair. 
 
 As fair as any ((ueeu— 
 "^'our peerless form and eyes so bright. 
 The vision of my heart's delight — 
 
 Charming maiden— just fifteen ! 
 
 May thy heart, dear maid, grow lighter, 
 May thy eyes be even brighter — 
 
 And they will, I ween— 
 May thy cheeks be sweet and fair, 
 May thy heart be free from care 
 
 ^V hen thou art just twice fifteen ! 
 
ao 
 
 VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 OLIBE 
 we 
 
 JBEHTY! without thee life 
 ere a burden — 
 A dreary, desolate waste — 
 And this existence a wanton de- 
 struction 
 Of God-given powers. 
 Liberty ! enthroned amongst the 
 
 monarchs 
 Of all enlightened nations— 
 s^/^^'^ How fair to behold ! 
 
 'Twere thou who first gave us life, 
 And made us men— strong, noble men- 
 If but to thee we were true. 
 Yet, oftentimes, when in bondage bound, 
 We seek for rest and shade and ease ; 
 'Tis but to thee we need appeal 
 To be set free from every monster vile, 
 And feel that we indeed are men. 
 Who dare to do as conscience tells, 
 And fight the battles of adversity with a calm 
 
 reserve. 
 And win our way to a glorious destiny 
 That awaits all who dare to do. 
 Yet how proud we grow, and loathe thy name— 
 
JAMIE AND JEANIE. SI 
 
 Oh, fy ! for shame ! But 't is our nature ; 
 And who doth Nature's laws confound ? 
 The knave, or fool, or bonded slave 
 Hath not such presumption held. 
 All Nature says we should be free. 
 Born in freedom, and Liberty maintain 
 At whatever cost; 
 For 'tis all of life to know that we 
 Are not slaves to any vice, 
 Or to the dictations of man or men, 
 When wielded for our ill. 
 Far better that we bravely fight, 
 And in fighting nobly die, 
 Than yield one might to trivial things 
 That bring contentions and strife, 
 And petty bickerings that bring 
 Naught but sorrow and make us slaves, 
 Not men— strong minded men- 
 Such as are needed at all times. 
 And vet are so hard to find. 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 USELESS REGRET. 
 
 Sunset called for shadows that crept along the way — 
 Called for peace and comforts lost and chances swept 
 
 away- 
 Called for hours of childhood, when all was bright and 
 
 fair, 
 And I was happy all day long in knowing naught of 
 
 care; 
 When all was bright and beautiful throughout each 
 
 passing day — 
 Blessed peace and comfort, why should they flit away? 
 Why all this ceaseless toiling? Why should we ever 
 
 roam? 
 Why not give up our wandering when duty calls us 
 
 home? 
 
 Thus I felt at eventide of the day that just had passed ; 
 I felt that love and happiness could not always last ; 
 I thought of long-passed childhood's bright and happy 
 
 hours, 
 When in the shady wildwood we plucked the fairest 
 
 flowers. 
 But dear, sweet dreams have passed from out this busy 
 
 life. 
 And we are called to mingle in the toil and daily strife. 
 With the countless, crowding millions who live but for 
 
 to-day 
 And onward move without a thought of chances swept 
 
 away. 
 
JAMIE AND JEANIE. 
 
 JAMIE flflD JERHIE. 
 
 itji:jtt.t:i:it$±$ 
 PROLOGUE. 
 m\\E little child of one of the poor miners had died. 
 (D The larder was empty and there was no money 'm 
 the miserable hovel that Julian Moore called home, and 
 for want of proper food and attenti(m, the little one 
 had winged its way to a brighter and better land, where 
 justice only is known, and the pangs of hunger never 
 come. But it left behind it the dear ones who must yet 
 endure starvation's plague. Other miners, equally as 
 poor as he who must part with the treasure of his 
 household, gathered around the tireless hearth and 
 vainly offered solace to the bleeding hearts. A few 
 rough and discarded boards were converted into a ru«le 
 box, and in this the little, cold form was earned to the 
 silent city, upon the shoulders of the once strong and 
 hardy miners, but now, emaciated and trembling, they 
 <rrew weaker still under their slight but precious burden. 
 They, too, had loved ones dying at home from cold and 
 hunger, and well knew the extent ot the suffering of 
 Julian Moore and his family. It was a sad scene to 
 witness: Those tottering, trembling, almost palsied, 
 men women and children, bowing their heads, and with 
 
VOICE or THE VALE. 
 
 throbbing hearts, paying their last humble but sincere 
 tribute to the little one, whose once merry voice, and 
 smiling face, and pattering feet, and silvery laughter, 
 gave love, and light, and warmth, and hope, in a quiet 
 cottage home. A. sweet, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl of 
 seven summers was clinging to her we-^ping mother's 
 tattered garments. When her little brother was lowered 
 into his cold bed of clay and the clods fell heavily upon 
 the boards above him, the child sobbed: "Mamma, 
 let's go home! Brother is gone, and I'm so hungry! 
 Do get me something to eat!" The pleading child was 
 taken home. But who can estimate the agony of that 
 weeping mother as she realized she could not alleviate 
 the hunger of the dear little one who was yet spared 
 her? Surely, none but Him who graduates the scale 
 that weighs humanity ! 
 
JAMIE AND JEANIE. 
 
 JAJWIE AHD JEAHIE 
 
 ^HE inicertain light of a pale moon crept in between 
 \J theroughchinkin<i,sof the cabin and revealed a man 
 kneeling beside a couch on which lay the emaciated form 
 of a woman, ller eyes were wandering listlessly around 
 the miserable hovel, yet she moved not her head. She 
 was very weak. Her face bore a spirituel expression . 
 Her dark-blue eyes were of heavenly beauty, and the 
 half parted lips showed teeth of pearl. With regular 
 features and her light brown hair falling in massss over 
 the pillow, where rested her weary head, she was the pic- 
 ture of purity, beauty and innocence." 
 
 "Sleep, sweet lass; sleep, an' torget the pangs o' 
 hunger. .May the good God above forgive me forhavin' 
 brought you to this !" 
 
 These words wf.'re uttei'ed l)y Jamie McIvHnzie as he 
 now knelt beside his beautiful wife, who was rapidly fail- 
 ing, and with whom he felt he must soon part. 
 
 Two years ago Jeanie Hardman was the belle of 
 Orangedale. She was i-eared in luxury and was the pet 
 of the family. Her father was a banker and hfid at liis 
 command unlimited means. But she, loved Jamie Mc- 
 Kenzie and promised to be his wife. An irate fat her pro- 
 
Se VOICE or THE VALE. 
 
 tested against the union, but love prevailed, and Jamie 
 and Jeanie were married. They then went out into the 
 hard, cold world to fight the battles of life the best they 
 could. 
 
 It was true, Jamie was only a poor coal miner, but 
 his unbounded love for his beautiful wife, his tender care, 
 'in sickness and in health," fully repaid the beautiful 
 flower he had culled from society's midst for the sacri- 
 fices she had made. 
 
 "Sleep?" Jeanie said. "Yes, I shall soon sleep! 
 But, Jamie, I do not want to leive you! I know you 
 will be lonesome! You love me, lad! Come nearer— 
 and kiss me!" 
 
 Jamie stoojied and kissed the beautiful pale lips 
 thai were upturned. 
 
 " Do not speak, dear lass, of leaving me! It breaks 
 my heart ! Oh, darlin', what have I done that I should 
 be punished as I am ? I have tried to be kind to you, 
 lass, but I might have been kinder." 
 
 " No, Jamie; no man could have been more consid- 
 erate than you. Your devotion has brought to me 
 more happiness than the wealth of worlds could pos- 
 sibly have done." 
 
 ''No, lass, I have only brought you misery." 
 
 He bowed his head and tears fell thick and fast, 
 wetting the pallid cheeks of his suffering wife. 
 
 "My misery and suffering will soon be over," Jeanie 
 said, "because I shall soon go to a land where all is 
 peace and joy." 
 
 Jamie wept aloud, and his wife feebly raised her 
 arras and placed them around his neck. 
 
 "Do not weep, dear Jamie; you will not have to 
 wait long before you can come to me, and then we shi^l 
 
voice: of the vale. 
 
 be happy ajyain — happier even than we have been here." 
 
 " No ! no ! Darlin' lass, I cannot, will not, part with 
 you ! It is true I am crippled, and for montfis have not 
 been al)le to move out of this room, but the world is 
 wide, an' you, ray darlin', my own, swee*, darlin' lass, 
 shall not starve! I '11 go, hobble, crawl, but that you'll 
 have a bit(^ to save your pi-ecious life!" 
 
 '• Do not leave me, Jamie," she said, plaintively, "to 
 die alone. I want you here, darling-, to hold my hand 
 while I step across!" 
 
 "No, las«», you shall not die. This accursed monop- 
 oly! They ground us down! They raade servants of 
 us; then slav^es, i)aupers! They reduced us to beggary, 
 starvation, death! By the Eternal, I swear— 
 
 "Hush, darling: blame no one. Love is still in our 
 hearts. Of this alone let us speak as we separate- 
 forever." 
 
 She spoke calmly and her eyes poured lorth oceans 
 of love for him for whom she had forsaken all the luxu- 
 ries of life and showed that she was content to die upon 
 her hard bed of straw if only his gentle arm supported 
 her head as she brejij^thed the parting breath of life. 
 
 "But it's more, lass, than I can stand. The com- 
 pany has denied me work. When I was injured in the 
 mines I was promised a situation as soon as I was 
 strong enough to work, where I could earn enough to 
 keep you and myself in our humble home. This has 
 been disregarded. I would have been willin' to crawl 
 to the mine, to work on my hands and" knees for your 
 own dear sake, but they would not let me. They pre- 
 fer Chinese an' give 'em work, while you, poor darlin', 
 are dyin' for want of bread?" 
 
 "What is that, Jamie?" 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 "It'8 the Chinamen, Iriss. Some boss or head man 
 has come an' they are yivin' him a rereption. Just 
 think of the money they spend m such revehies as this, 
 dear. It would keep us for a year an' we could havf» 
 plenty to eat and we could help others. For months 
 we've been denied work. If those who are able to ^o 
 to the mines were })ermitted to do so we would not be 
 suffering, for the miners are kind-hearted and are 
 always willinj^; to render assistance. But you must 
 sJeep, precious lass, till mornin<>:, an* then Til get you 
 something to eat, dear. You know to morrow will be 
 Thanksgivin'. The rich will have many good things 
 that they'll throw away. When I see the servants 
 carryin' the waste out I'll just ask 'em for it." 
 
 '"Maybe, Jamie, you won't have to ask for crumbs. 
 Sometimes, on Thanksgiving da3', the rich shaie their 
 plenty with the poor. They carry it to them for 
 charity. Let us hope." 
 
 She could not speak more being utterly exhausted, 
 and closed her eyes. She was soon asleep. 
 
 A cloud passed over the moon and all was dark- 
 ness. Jamie hid his face in his hands and wept bitterly. 
 "Hope? hope?'' he moaned, "if I only could hope." 
 
 It seemed that the waters of life had almost run 
 their course for Jamie and his lovely wife, for whom he 
 had ever the kindest solicitude. Clouds of adversity 
 that had gathered, thickened, blackened day by day, 
 had finally burst in all their fury and sent their pitiless 
 storm down upon the heads of Jamie and Jeauie, two 
 as loving hearts as were ever united together to share 
 the joys and sorrows of life. 
 
 The first year of their married life was indeed a 
 happy one. Jamie was strong and hearty and was 
 
jamih: and jeanie. 
 
 over kind and geutle lo Jeanie. He went daily down 
 into the mines so gloomy, dark and dismal, to dig the 
 "black diamonds." Bat he went cheerfully, carrying 
 with him a fervent kiss from the pure, sweet lips of his 
 darling little wife, and every stroke of the pick was one 
 of love. When his work was done for the day, be- 
 grimed with smoke and dust, he would hasten toward 
 his home and was sure to meet Jeanie before he reached 
 it. hhe would present her pure, pink lips for the wel- 
 come kiss, Jind Ja:uie would say: 
 
 "IUe>s your sweet face, lass, 'twould be a pity ■ o 
 blacken it with coil dust."' 
 
 •'I can wash -ny face, Jamie, a- you do yours," she 
 would insist. '*Just one little black spot on my lips, 
 dear, so 111 look like you." 
 
 And so the lips of Jeanie duly received the "little 
 black spot." Then they would walk home, the little 
 wife chatting merrily and lovingly, and Jamie would 
 forget that he had grown tired during the day. Such 
 suppers, too, that Jeanie would have -spread upon the 
 pure, white tablecloth ! It seemed to Jamie thar no 
 man was so blessed as he with such a treasure for a 
 wife. 
 
 But one day Jeanie went at the accustomed time to 
 receive the welcome "little black spot upon her lips," 
 but Jamie did not come. She waited for an hour and 
 still he did not appear. Her heart grew faint, for she 
 knew that Jamie would not linger a moment after the 
 work was done without a cause. 
 
 She moved nearer the entrance of the mine and 
 heard a man say in earnest, sorrowful tones: 
 
 "Steady, lads, or you'll kill the boy 1" 
 
 With measured tread four miners emerged, carrying 
 
60 VOICE CF THE VALE. 
 
 a bruised and bleeding form. 
 
 "Tell me, sirs, tell me. is my Jamie dead?' ciied 
 Jearjie, her face as |)ale as death. 
 
 "No, lass," one of the miners replied. •'He's onl^' 
 badly hurt. Calm thyself lass; he wont die.'' 
 
 Jeanie stooped and received the little black spot ou 
 her lips, but Jamie did not known it, for he was uncon- 
 scious. Thus he was carried home, tie sufferer from 
 the premature explosion of a blast, which was to make 
 him a cripple for life. 
 
 Through many a long, dreary night the little hands 
 of Jeanie cared for him with the tenderness and love 
 that is only given to woman. 
 
 Mouths passed and it was known that Jamie must 
 ever be a cripple. The money he had saved was ex- 
 hausted and they could only rely on the charity of the 
 miners, who were ever ready t(f give assistance. 
 
 But a time came when this support failed them. 
 On the seco; d of September a riot occurred between the 
 white miners and the Chinese employed in the mine, the 
 latter being run out of town by the miners who had 
 been driven to desperation by the unjust discrimination 
 ot the company in favor o\ the Chinese, which so de- 
 preciated labor that their families could barely subsist. 
 The corporation secured the interference of the military 
 and the Chinese were brought back and reinstated in 
 the mines, but the white miners were refused employ 
 ment, and from poverty they were reduced to destitu- 
 tion and starvation. 
 
 At the time of this sketch there were hundreds ou 
 the verge of starvation. Half-clad women could be 
 seen moving hither and thither, searching for the refuse 
 from the table of the wealthy to keep their little ones, 
 
JAMIE AND JEANIE. 
 
 w liM wryr very drjir t(i lluMii.frc^ni 8t!ii-viii«i-. Soiiu- lin<l 
 «"\>-ii Im'pii com]"'"*-'! ^<> !">■ tlicir prceioiis (^iics iwiiy in 
 llu' }ir:iv(\ llir\ (Iviiio- for thn wiiiit of food jiiul attfMi 
 lion. S1 1 Olio DMMi Willi vvillinji- liJiiuls f'ould not obtain 
 work and wci'c iCihiccd almost 1o skeU'tons. 
 
 Wf'.-pinu- wona-n and children luiddlcd aronnd 1'r<'- 
 I ss lu'aillis on this cvfMiin.Li' and icfuscd to luM-oinroitrd. 
 
 A^ain tli(> moon lliirw its li^^lit into llic cabin and 
 •Tea nip a wok- p. 
 
 "Jamin!" she c-illed. 
 
 lb' awok(> from his levpiic and kissed his wife. 
 
 "Yf's lass, f "la heie." 
 
 "I had such a bpautifnl dream, Jamie. I thouodit 
 \()n wrr(> stionii- anrl well again; that you were at work 
 in tin- mines. 1 w.Mit to meet you as I used to, Jamie, 
 ;ind I was so happy, darling. Then, we came home to 
 sui)per. Jamie, and had ever so many nice things to oat. 
 I feel stronger now that I have slept. I will hope for 
 to-m.jrrow, Jamie. I feel that relief must come." 
 
 Patient, trusting woman, you shall not. bp disa])- 
 pointed. There is yet charity in the world, and it u.hi 
 ally comes from^the source least expecic*!. 
 
 "Rest again, lass, and as soon as morninir cnnn's 
 rilgooutand see if I can got so;ii< thing for vou to 
 eat." 
 
 There was sileriee again in the cabin. 
 
 The mo-.-ning dawned clear and b.-autifid. The sun 
 kissed the snow-clad mountains, lit up tin hills and 
 cast its light into the di-ep. dark y,-orges. 
 
 JamieaT!)se. kissed his wife and b,id<' Ium- bi> cheerful 
 He hobbled from the cabin upon his cruteiies. He 
 
62 VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 had traveled but a short distance when hn observed a 
 man ruuninu,- toward a ^-roap of tuiiinrs who wt're in 
 earnest conversation. The man shontpd: 
 
 "Relief! Relief!' 
 
 "What is it, lad?'" asked the miners in concert. 
 
 "Provisions are coming- from abroad!" 
 
 "Do you know this, la(i?'' doiibting-Iy inipiired one 
 of the miners, 
 
 "Yes, it's true; and more, too. Our wives and little 
 ones are to be clothed! The tiuin is coming- nowniid 
 we can on this day be truly th.iiikful.' 
 
 "God be praised!" fervently exclaimed [{ill Mc.\uley. 
 
 To'which there wasa responsive and euiiiest 'Amen!' 
 
 When Jamie heard this he almost forgot that he 
 was lame and weak and in pain. He made all haste 
 back to his cabin Entering he fell upon his knees at 
 the bedside of his sufferin^i- wife. 
 
 "Bear up a little bit longer, lass! Relief is coming! 
 We'll have meat and bread to-day! Good people are 
 sending us food and clothing!" 
 
 "Can it be true, Jamie?" 
 
 "Yes; hark! Hear the train! Relief, thank God, is 
 here!" 
 
 "God bless the givers!" murmered Jeanie, as she 
 clasped her white, slender hands 
 
 Who shall doubt but that this prayer was registered 
 in heaven to the credit of those providing succor? 
 
 Many tears were shed in the village, but they were 
 tears of joy, praise and tlianksgiving. And many wli > 
 had forgotten for years to thank the Giver ot all Good 
 for His tender mercies, knelt in fervent prayer. 
 
THE SWEETEST SONGS. 
 
 63 
 
 f^^Mr 
 
 ;lw8gteit ^^n|i 
 
 l^he lullabys that Mother .sang, 
 That o'er my baby cradle rang; 
 True-love's words— they ripple yet 
 In memory's grasp— I'll ne'er forget. 
 Time will not their sounds pnji.e, 
 Noi" yet obscure my motlit-r s t;ic(>. 
 They linger in their force suhlinK — 
 Grow stronger with the passing tinie. 
 True-lovt'"s vow- the cheering word 
 That in my h*^art all action stirred, 
 And bade me hop*' and onward move 
 Until I could devotion prove; 
 Snblimest touch, the sweetest chords- 
 Unspokf n vows— tlw^ slent words— 
 
THE SWEETEST SONGS. 
 
 Wliich bin(J for a ve the heart to heart 
 Till death alone the lovers part. 
 
 The songs that Jesus sang on earth 
 To all mankind of every birth— 
 The high, thelovv, the rich, the poor, 
 Find pe.ace above for»'vermore; 
 The songs to God my soul has thrilled. 
 And every doubt and fear have stilled; 
 Forgiveness yet— the gates ajar 
 To all who seek that land afar ! 
 
SHORT SERMONS. 
 
 60 
 
 mm- ^E 
 
 Whither are you driftiDg-, my boy? (Viii you an- 
 swer? The landing place of driftwood cannot be fore- 
 told by the most far-reaching imagination. If so. how 
 much less can be correctly surmised of Ihe hnnuni 
 branch, when caught in the onward current, though 
 ever ready to catch at a distant ripple, tairy a niomeiit 
 at every eddy, or give a careless and unconrernt d laugh 
 while gazing into some treacherous and dangerous 
 whirlpool? The smallest grain of sand occupies its 
 
VOIOE OF THE VALE. 
 
 place in the desert, whfch it helps to make, or adds one 
 mite and assists in l)>iil(]in<j; a mighty barrier against 
 which the wild throbs of the ocean shall beat for ages, 
 without visible effect, as generation after generation 
 [I'lss away. In drifting, ray boy, endeavor to occupy a 
 1 (lace among the other driftwood, however little your 
 l)r(isence may affect them. If you cannot dwell on the 
 heights, why, surely, no one will object to your existenee 
 in th<? vale below If a pebble should be loosened from 
 the iiighest peak no one will for a moment contend that 
 it is not entitled to a home at the mountain's base. 
 The loveliest vales, the sweetest flowers, the moss cov- 
 ered banks, and the rippling, cooling streams are not 
 on the heights. 
 
 Trust friends if you must, but first trust yourself. 
 
 Remember th.it silence very seldom makes blunders. 
 
 If you profess a friendship, fulfull the pledge at 
 whatever cost. 
 
 Gain the love of some pure woman and you have 
 not lived in vain. 
 
 If you cannot pluck flowers on the mountain tops, 
 gather them in the vale. 
 
 Honor is preferable to great wealth. Do right, 
 even should the world protest. 
 
 Reply upon your mother's religion; believe as she 
 believes. She is the last one on earth to lead you 
 astray. 
 
 Do not deceive. This the the worst thing you can 
 do. Heart-pangs may come when it is too late to 
 make atonement. 
 
SHORT SERMONS. 67 
 
 Bear in mind that where the thorns grow the thick- 
 est are found the loveliest flowers. Avoid the thistles 
 and pluck the blossoms. 
 
 Never take a decided stand upon any question until 
 you know you are right. When this is done, never give 
 in under any circumstances. 
 
 Whatever you do, see that it is well done. If you 
 only clean a gutter, do it in such a way that if. will 
 be admired by the passers-i»y. 
 
 Learn something each day, however little it may be. 
 It is the small things, my boy, that make up the great 
 bundle of life. Don't forget this. 
 
 Keep near the shore until vour barcpie is strong 
 enough to stem the tide, then launch forth fearlessly 
 and take your chances with the thousanils whose lite- 
 boats have sped away. 
 
 You know that the sand hills, at a distance, look 
 inviting, buf". when you reach tlietn a.ll is waste. So it is 
 in lile. Where are seen the very brightest fac«^s ^ire 
 found the saddest hearts. 
 
 You had better be honest than a hyprocrite. The 
 mantle of gauze thrown around hypocracy will at some- 
 time be pe^ietrated. Be truthful, careful and conscien- 
 tious. This is what the world asks of you. 
 
 The moth circles 'round and Tound the candle till 
 its wings are singed. Steer clear of the, apparently, 
 brilliant things of life, live for the benefit of your fellow- 
 men, and when all of life is over you may rest in peace. 
 
 Remember that there are hypocrites in the world. 
 During your journey you will meet many of them. You 
 
VOICE OF THE VALE. 
 
 will al^-io meet honest people who will extend to you a 
 helping hand, if you are deserving, but it is far better 
 that you help ycjurself. 
 
 Do not form too many friendships, because human- 
 ity is weak and fickle; but \\ you find a true friend don't 
 desert him in a time of need. If anyone does you a fa- 
 vor, appreciate and remember it: if an injury, forgivt^ 
 it— and forget it, if you can. 
 
 Don't be deceived. Reply upon yourself and don't 
 expect anyone to hold you up. Advice is cheaf>, and 
 you will find many who are willing to urge you to ac- 
 tion, but you are the only motive power, and if you 
 succeed yo.i must open the throttle and go ahead. 
 
 See here, my boy, you ate starting out early in life, 
 just like all b >ys do. [t is natural foi* l)f>ys to have a 
 starting point. You have yours. Ti-y to obey the 
 laws of Nature, the laws of the country in which you 
 live, do right by your fellow men. and you ■.vill piosper. 
 If you don't do these things you will prol.abjy run 
 against a snag. 
 
 Thousands of people have been stranded upon the 
 sea of life for a lack of courage. When adversities over- 
 take you say that you will overcome them, and say it 
 with a vim. Stand firm, and if anyone should say there 
 is not room for you, tell them that you will make room, 
 and be sure that you do it. This is a branch road lead- 
 ing to the great railway of Success. 
 
TIME'S LAST OFFERING. 
 
 69 
 
 ¥im§'s feast ®ikm 
 
 ^ ^IME-S last oifering- 
 
 -new-born 
 
 ^f A i»iecious «2,ift, this New Year 
 
 
 l)right! 
 The last year gone— its strife and 
 
 cares 
 Buried w ith all former years, 
 While this, a brighter day ap- 
 pears 
 To guide, we trust, our steps 
 
 aright — 
 A precious gift, this New Year 
 bright ! 
 
70 
 
 TIME'S LAST OFFERING. 
 
 All hail ! the happy, sweet New Year ! 
 
 It comes with comfort, peace and cheer ! 
 
 It says to all, " New laurels wiu ; 
 
 Free yourselves from dross and sin : 
 
 This day a better life begin." 
 Thus the unctions, sweet and dear. 
 Time's last offering— bright New Year! 
 
 Time folds his wings and speeds along, 
 Yet leaves with us the happy song: 
 
 We are children on the way, 
 
 Seeking an eternal day 
 
 In that land so fiir awny. 
 Free from toil, and care and wrong- 
 Where angelic hosts belong. 
 
 May w^ever, onward move 
 And by our every action prove, 
 Ourselves devoted, bnive an(f true. 
 Lay by the old, take up the new, 
 And then proclaim, We'll dare and do 
 The will of God who dwells above 
 And rules this world with boundless love. 
 
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