Class _ Book CopyriehtU? . 7d6~ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. J Ir-T EDDIES A BOOK OF POEMS HUMOROUS SENTIMENTAL AND PATRIOTIC BY CLARENCE EDWIN SPRAGUE M D C C C C V .11) Two Goi)iC3 rteCttveg JUN 14 • & AAc. (Hw '* (>737 COPY B. / T6 3" 3 ? 5' Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1905, By Clarence Edwin Sprague, in the office of the Librarian, Washington, D. C. • ••*•••••« ••(,•« r 51 t THIS BOOK BeMcateb to MY MOTHER PREFACE. The universal sympathy of the best literary society seems to be with those writers whose abilities enable them to embellish the fictitious and beautify the com- mon things of life in the most touching" sentimental naturalness. Naturalness is freedom, and freedom is only ob- tained by the most delicate application, which is re- vealed only by a life spent in close proximity and inter- course with the beautiful elements of nature. Robert Burns, the great lyric poet of Scotland, learned from the freedom of the fields and woods the blessed sacredness of home and brotherly fraternity. The peaceful farm lands form for the heart of James Whitcomb Riley subjects that at the touch of his pen seem to fairly glow and exhale the sweet rusticity of nature. The preparation of this work for publication has not been suggested by any personal aspiration of the author. It is but a hasty issue in response to the con- stant request of friends and a pastime for the pleasure it has given him. It is with modest reluctance that he submits it to the opinion of the public, notwithstanding a knowledge (5) of the fact that, although it may accomplish little or no good, it can accomplish little or no harm. Yet it will be a great satisfaction to him can he know that in this humble manner he has been the means of cheering some discouraged heart that is buffeting against the waves of misfortune and disappointment. May it represent an humble tribute to the memory of his dear mother, whose sweet life will ever be a star of Bethlehem, leading his faltering footsteps up- ward into the care of Him who doeth all things well. The Author. (6) CONTENTS Eddies Page 1 1 HUMOROUS Look Before You Leap 15 If I Wuz a Bumble Bee 17 The Graphophone 19 A Lively Sprint 22 Indiana 24 Beans 26 Gratitude 29 Drip, Drip, Drip 30 If I Knew What Doctors Know 32 Negro Soliloquy 33 The Hired Man 34 Busted or Broke 36 SENTIMENTAL Drifting 39 At Peace 40 The Two Angels 41 Just Yesterday 44 (7) When We Were Young 45 In November 47 When 49 Let's Quit 5° To a Heart Flower 52 Aphrodite : A Sonnet 54 If I Should Die 55 The Furrow 57 Spring 59 The Tear Kissed Violets 61 To Robert Burns 63 Along the Way 65 An Empty Nest : A Sonnet 67 My Creed 68 The Lilacs by the Door 69 At Sunset Hours 71 Honeysuckles 73 The Trumpeter 75 To James Whitcomb Riley JJ The Whipper-Wills 79 Were I an Artist 81 When th' Vandivers Air Meller 84 Reflections 86 Outside the Gates 87 Are There Flowers in Heaven ? 88 Night 90 (8) Song and Sunshine 92 The Old Home 93 Thanatos : A Sonnet 95 The Little Shoe 96 A Smile 97 Thorns and Roses 98 Panegyric 99 Home Memories 101 The Tippecanoe 104 Falsehood 106 The Rain 107 In Memoriam 109 My Bonnie Lassie in A Thought 1 14 Life 115 The Lone Lover 117 The Sailor's Farewell 119 "Angel Eyes" 121 Over 123 In Bethlehem's Manger 125 Not Very Far 126 An Old Letter 127 To a Skeleton 129 PATRIOTIC Don't Be Afeer'd 133 The Boys of Sixty-four 135 (9) Little Ben 138 For Non-Immigration 145 Me and Jim 147 The Dying Soldier 153 Battle of Manila 155 The Last Recall 158 Memorial Address 162 Benediction 167 (10) Eddies. Whirl and dance, oh little eddies, Dance and whirl in merry glee ; Ripple on the silver surface, Sing a cheering song to me. Oft in lone and weary hours, When the cares of life would throng ; When its pleasures seemed deserted, You have cheered me with your song. Sing your sweet and misty praises From the river's mellow deep ; Sweeter sound than song of seraph, Gently sing me off to sleep. Filled with rapture, I have listened To thy merry cheering song, Till transfigured on thy gurgles You have carried me along. Carried me to distant borders, Where the sunshine ever glows, Or the aurora-borealis Gleams with frost of polar snows. (ii) Or where tiny blue-bells tinkle, Blended with the angels' song; Where the fields of blooming flowers Waved in one continued throng. Where the songster's merry warbles Floated on the fragrant breeze, Charming ears of sleeping poet 'Neath the river willow trees. Ripple, eddies, gay forever — Aye, forever, gurgle on ; Cheer the ones who follow after In my steps when I am gone. When life's river broads and darkens In its terminating sweep ; Sing, oh eddies, sing in praises — Sing me gently off to sleep. Sing and sparkle, litttle eddies, Sparkle like the morning dew ; In the course of life's great river I am but an eddy, too. (12) HUMOROUS Look Before You Leap. Sister heel a speckled cat. Thet speckled cat is dead ; It broke a cellar window slat, An' fell through on its head. You see, 'twuz apple-butter day — Tis sad it happened so — My pa had packed the jars away An' set 'em in a row. Then ma she tuck some paper down And tied across th' crocks Tth carpet chain, like goes aroun' Yer legs ter hold yer socks. An' where our cellar winder wuz, Thet cat broke through thet night— Jes' like a prowlin' critter duz — And sought a place ter light. He saw thet apple-butter jar Tth paper 'crosst th' top ; He jumped, alas, too hard and far, And landed in kerflop. Th' paper broke and through he went- What awful, awful woe! No way to check his deep descent Into th' jar below. (15) I saw upon th' winder case Thet kitten's footprints small — Where last had been his resting place Upon thet cellar wall. An' in thet apple-butter jar, Th' butter splashed about, 'Twuz pitiful t' see that par Cat's tail a stickin' out. 'Twuz really sad, a sad surprise ; I couldn't help but weep When gazin' on its closen eyes Ca'm in eternal sleep ; But thet air jar held sunthin' else Beside thet smeary plight — Th' idee not t' jump unelse You know jes' where t' light. I ain't been 'feard o' ghosts er ha'nts, Ner any sich o' like, Since I began ter wear my pants When jes' a little tyke; But when sin's way seems bright an' far Enticin me t' tread, I see an apple-butter jar Tth cat in on his head. (16) If I Wuz a Bumblebee. If I wuz a bumblebee — Bein's thet I hain't — And because I wasn't Didn't calculate complaint — But, if I had been a bee, Wouldn't it seem queer Not to have to work a bit All th' blessed year? If I wuz a bumblebee Would I rant an' buzz 'Round th' people's flower beds Like the other'ns duz? Would I sit upon a bloom, Pry th' leaves apart, Teeter on the swayin' stem, Peerin' in th' heart? Deeply dive between th' leaves, Pull an' kick an' rend, Leavin' nothin' stickin' out But my stinger end? Hang suspended on my head, Holdin' with my feet, Gazin' at my image down In reflectin' sweet? (17) If I wuz a bumblebee — Wouldn't it be nice — Drinkin' fragrant clover dew Sweeter yet 'en rice; One 'ud surely bask in joy, Livin' like they do; Free from all th' care and woe Thet vexes me an' you. If I wuz a bumblebee, I would never sting; Never chase th' butterflies Er think o' sich a thing. I would only eat an' live, Happy as cud be. Oh, sometimes I wish I wuz Jes' a bumblebee. (18) The Graphophone. Now uv all thet man's invented Since the wicked serpent glinted, And our early father sprinted Frum th' garden where he wuz ; Nothin' ever caused th' walkin' And the drivin' an' th' talkin' An' th' crowdin' an' th' gawkin' Like these singin' boxes duz. I'll be skeert, it beats th' Nation; Seems as tho' th' hull creation, An' th' future generation, Is transfigured in th' spout. Then when it is set agoin' Like a river spring aflowin', Sweeter, clearer, louder growin' Anxiously it tumbles out. Though one's heart it seems a fillin' With a joy thet's truly thrillin' When he hears the robbins trillin' In the woodlands in th' spring; An' th' medder-larks a pourin' Out the'r music an' a soarin' An encorin' an' encorin' Jes' as hard as they kin sing; (19) When it comes right down t' bringin' All th' feathered tribes a wingin', And weighin' up ther singin' With a graphophone in gear, I can't argue fer a minute They would anywhere be in it — Either robin, lark or linnet — Any season o' th' year. How this strange contrapshun started- Half machine, yet human hearted, With th' sweetest voice imparted Thet a mortal ever heard — Is beyond my comprehension ; An' th' names o' sich extension, 'Twould excite th' apprehension O' th' sweetest singin' bird. Onct I heard a preacher sayin' That a Grecian god was stayin' Up wher' Heaven's fields air layin', Standin' ready with his horn ; And each morning at his leisure, He would pour a certain measure Full of either grief or pleasure On each person that wuz born. Now, perhaps, some feller found him, Took his horn away an' bound him, Pour'd its trouble out around him — Fetched it back ter earth agin ; (20) Wound it up an set it singin' An' th' sweets o' heaven springin' Comes a pourin' out an' ringin' In th' eager ears o' men. (21) A Lively Sprint. I've seen fancy horses pacin', Clumsy dromedaries racin', Fleet raccoons and rabbits chasm', But o' all th' goin' some Thet I've ever been a seein' I'm obliged to be agreein' Wuz th' time when lot o' we'un Cann'd the preacher's bulldog home, Proud he was because he owned him ; Petted, fawned, ner never loaned him, So us fellers always stoned him, Every time he cum in town. Wuz a big, black, ugly feller, 'Cept his tail, an' it wuz yeller; Bark an' howl, thet dog could beller Worse 'en any cow aroun'. Now it really wuz excitin' When he started off a kitin', Hardly takin' time fer litin' In his terror an' dismay. Jes' one long unearthly beller, Follered by a streak of yeller Wuz the tale uv every feller When th' dust had cleared away. (22) Like th' wind he went a skootin', Still a bellerin' an' hootin' Darted through th' glass a shootin' In th' preacher's dinin' room ; Jumped into a pot uv taters, Slopped his tail in the termaters, Fetched the cook an' all th' waiters Onter him with pan an' broom. Then they sallied in an' thrust him, Beat him hard enough to bust him — Called him ugly names and cuss'd him And abused him in disdain; All about th' pantry dashin', Sendin' glass an china smashin', Went th' dog, an' fin'ly crashin' Through th' kitchen winder pane, Landed in th' slop barrel sour, Splashed aroun' fer half an hour, Floundered out and tuck a "splougher" Through th' flower beds, alas ! And th' last acounting uv him, By th' ones who used ter love him, Wuz his yeller tail above him, Flaggin' through th' orchard grass. (23) Ind iana. Sun is shinin all th' time, Down in Indiana; Birds and poets sing to rhyme, Down in Indiana. Fragrant clover blossoms there — Scenting sweet the gentle air — And there's pleasure everywhere, Down in Indiana. Hain't no pests t' kill th' twigs, Down in Indiana ; Hain't no runts amongst th' pigs, Down in Indiana. Everything is fat and free, So undoubtedly you see Thet it's mighty nice t' be Down in Indiana. People hardly ever die, Down in Indiana; Babies very seldom cry, Down in Indiana. Natur' wears as sweet a smile, As warter frum a sugar spile, Drippin' on th' blessed sile Uv ol' Indiana. (24) Meclder larks their praises sing, Down in Indiana ; Makin' all th' medders ring, Down in Indiana. Robbins flit about th' nest, Half in earnest, half in jest; Pausin' now an' then t' rest, Down in Indiana. Thoughts uv death bring up a sigh Fer ole Indiana; And I only long t' die Down in Indiana, And be buried in th' soil 'Neath th' fragrant pennyroyal, Where th' honeysuckles coil, Down in Indiana. (25) Beans. I like beans and ma likes peas, Dad don't like 'em; dad — well, he's Sort o' got his stomach set 'Ginst things greasy like and wet. Dad likes mush an' milk, an' he'll Set right down an' make a meal Out o' mush an' milk, unelse We've got pie er sumthin' else. Fer as I'm kencerned, w'y they Ken take all such stuff away. It might be all right fer some Indian er tramp er bum; But ter please a farmer boy, — Make his heart flip up for joy, — Offer him, long side o' meat, All th' beans thet he ken eat. Leastwise thet's th' case with me. But all people don't agree. Someone's bound t' get amiss Subjects delicate as this. As fer me, I'll tell you what: Soup beans, steamin' from th' pot, (26) With th' pig tails in betwixt, Creamed and buttered up, an' fixt In a manner I'll allow Only God and ma knows how, Makes my heart swell up an' thump 'Ginst my ribs with heavy bump. Don"t like these here butter beans Like ma cooks with sour greens — Them kind thet they had to sell At th' store fer quite a spell. Gee ! them beans they wuz a sight ; Cats slept in th' barrel o' night. But th' bean I do like best — Better'n any o' th' rest, Is th' little army bean, Cooked in with back-bone 'et's lean. Gee ! 'twere 'nough t' fat th' spleen Uv King Edward er his queen. So, with earnestness I say, If some feller's laid away Alabaster boxes rich In gay ointment an' sich, Thet he means to empty out On my grave with tear an' spout, I would simply ask if he — Since he thinks so much o' me — (27) Would present me while I'm here Somethin' in th' line o' cheer Thet would in tlr future dim Help me to remember him, And there's nothin' on God's greens Equal to a treat o' beans. (28) Gratitude. Hate ter hear th' people talk Uv the'r trouble, when it seems Thet th' very joys uv Heaven Trickle down in silver streams. Why, th' singin' o' th' birds, In th' medder an' th' wood, Is enough to drown in music All thet counteracts th' good. E'en th' thought thet one's alive, 'Joyin' what he has ter eat, Orter set his heart ter thumpin' Like a distant pheasant beat. Orter change to pleasant mood All his rude ungrateful pout, Tellin' him thet life is pleasure If he only finds it out. Life is full o' sweet fer me, An' it's jes' as full fer you, As a honey-suckle blossom Runnin' o'er with Heavenly dew. (29) Drip, Drip, Drip. Hark, th' distant thunder ! Hear it vibrate and boom Frum th' coming tempest Thet is shadowing its gloom ; How th' mighty echoes Through the heavens fairly rip, Warnin' o' th' shower With its drip, drip, drip. What an apprehension Thet a feller sort o' feels When thet sinking silence O'er th' face o' Nature steals ; When th' air is quiet And th' lightnings fairly zip Jes' before a shower With its drip, drip, drip. 'Taint thet one's a coward Thet he feels so sort o' queer, When th' jagged lightning Clips about a feller's ear; But I like it better When th' thunder packs its grip Jes' ter hear th' tinkle Of the drip, drip, drip. (30) Surely 'tis inspirin' T' hear th' pleasant rain, Falling from th' heavens In a tinklein' refrain ; Jes' ter see how Nature Drinks th 'rain with thirsty lip As it patters downward With a drip, drip, drip. Seems so sort o' soothin' T' a feller jes' tu hear Sound uv drippin' worter Tinker'n on a feller's ear ; Seems like dew o' heaven, Sprinkled by th' angel's trip, Fallin' out er Nature With a drip, drip, drip. One cud die with pleasure If he knew he would be laid Somewhere in th' orchard 'Neath th' harvest apple's shade, — Where th' summer showers Through th' leaves above cud slip, And tinkle on his kiver With a drip, drip, drip. (31) If I Knew AVkat Doctors Know. If I knew what doctors know, Would I make a pill That would cure all human woe — Banish every ill? Would I mix a sugared stew That through future years Would transform to honey-dew Everybody's tears? If I knew what doctors know, I would surely make Lozenges of cookie dough For the belly-ache ; I would formulate a cure P'or th' rhumatiz. Grand-pap wouldn't need endure Terrors then like his. If I knew what doctors know, None should ever die. Little babes would kick and crow Never pout nor cry ; Youth and love would sweetly go — Trailing hand in hand. If I knew what doctors know, Wouldn't things be grand ? (32) Negro Soliloquy. Seems queer ter see the white fo'ks boun', An' run, an' sweat, an' bustle, While I jes' loaf an' set aroun' An' never has t' hustle. I lite my pipe an' suck de stem, Wha's cloggy like an' greasy ; An' watch de clouds ob smoke gro' dim While life seems jes' as easy. De sun it shines, de storm it blows, No use a tryin' t' shun it; De good Lawd up in hebben knows Jes' how he's gwine t' run it. Yah, haw ! It makes me haf t' give A chuckle jes' t' see, sah, How hard some people wo'k t' live — How easy 'tis fo' me, sah, (33) The Hired Man. Yes, I'm th' horied man, an' so Am workin' by th' day ; Get sixty cents beside my board And washin' fer my pay. I sleep out in th' barn o' nights, But that, you understand, Is but a feller's duty When he's some one's horied hand. They call me out at four o'clock T' do th ' mornin' chores ; I tend my team, milk seven cows, And clean th' stable floors ; Then when they dip my breakfast up An call me in t' eat, There's buckwheat cakes an' sorghum, too, That's mighty hard to beat. But then it gets monotonous, The same thing every day, Without an alternation ; In one's diet anyway; And then, at my suggestion For a change they say, "Good land ! "W'y, this is like th' grub we fed The other horied hand." (34) I'm in th' field at daylight, An' I stay till dark at night, Then do th' evening's choring By th' lantern's glowing light. They dare not catch me lagging, Else I'm likely t' be canned ; Nobody wants a lazy feller Fer the'r horied hand. I have no time fer pretty things Like flowers, birds and bees; No time t' smell th' fragrant blossoms Breathing from th' trees ; I can't see none o' nature's charms Thet poets call so grand, Perhaps th' reason is because I'm just a horied hand. (35) Busted or Broke. To know that you're busted or plum dead broke — As the term is quite often expressed — Is the ornriest feeling, I truly believe, That mortal man ever possessed. The singing of bird and the humming of bee May brighten the lives of some folk, But nature's sweet charms have no meaning, you see, To a fellow that's busted or broke. You always can know him whenever he's seen, And this is quite often, you know. He stands on the corner with hands in his jean And digs in the dirt with his toe. No pleasure in life, or in anything else, His actions and manners betoke; He looks like a peacock just plucked of his tail — The fellow that's busted or broke. (36) SENTIMENTAL. Drifting. Steal softly, lotus breeze, from lands of dream And kiss the waves that lisp beneath my oar ; Rock gracefully my bark upon the stream, While I drift nearer to the fragrant shore. How dance the eddies in a merry prank, And crowd my course in wild gyrating glee ; The wavelets rush to kiss the emerald bank, Then hurry back as though to welcome me. Somewhere another heart beats with the wave, And on the surge of time is drifting on Into that peaceful landing named the grave ; Oh, could I signal it before it's gone. Ah, wert thou here, sweet chorus of my song, The distant stars would flash a brighter glint, While we in ecstacy would float along And drift for ave in seas of sweet content. (39) At P eace. Say, now, it's sweet when one can go to bed And pull the covers close about his head, Smooth down his pillow so, without a crease, And say to all the world, I am at peace, Then sink in sleep lulled by the angel's tread. I am at peace. Ah, can we say that when Our footsteps wander the eternal glen? Can we review the course that we have ran Nor long to live life's season o'er again, Can say my soul is purely free from sin? (40) The Two Angels. Within eternity's dim shades, On heaven's fragrant heather, Two angels tripping through the glades Came face and face together. The one was robed in spotless white, Adorned with sweetest flowers ; His face was like the golden light, That fills the summer hours. The other one was dark as night, When moon and stars are fickle, And in his hand he carried tight An hour glass and sickle. Then said he to the angel Peace : Oh, most delightful creature, What wonder man will never cease To love thy blessed feature. The living love and bless your name, They rush with joy to meet you ; The evil cease their work of shame, And all unite to greet you. (41) They laud your name on every hand, From mosque to Christian steeple; They beckon you from every land To dwell among the people. While I, poor, ugly angel Death, Have no one to adore me ; And those I kiss, my chilly breath Soon withers down before me. The living shudder at my tread, They bid me come tomorrow ; They curse me while they view their dead 5 Yet tremble in their sorrow. Oh, Heaven, must it ever be That I will cause all dying? I feel so sorrowful, said he ; Then kneeled and fell a-crying. Then spoke the blessed angel Peace : The dead are only sleeping; Oh, Angel, rise, thy trouble cease, And do not sit a-weeping. 'Tis true, the living dread your name, Perhaps they love me better ; ,Yet yours will be eternal fame .When you have struck life's fetter. (42) And in the joy that dying brings With me in rest forever, They then will bless your raven wings That bore them o'er the river. (43) Just Yesterday. Just yesterday there came the breath of love upon my cheek, A little hand lay tenderly, confidingly in mine; My soul enjoyed that rapture that no tongue can sing or speak, For cupid glances softly fell from other eyes in mine. Just yesterday I breathed the scent of rich carnations rare, I caught the glint of bridal colors beautiful and gay — A pretty face, a sunny smile, a fluff of golden hair, A voice that still re-echoes from the distance far away. Just yesterday I did not know that love could ever die, Did not forbode its sunny dream would any time be o'er. Alas ! its wave receded, leaving me in grief to lie Along with other broken hearts on life's tempes- tuous shore. Just yesterday a little hand in mine grew chill and cold, And hesitatingly was drawn reluctantly away ; Long time has filled the difference and the years have swiftly rolled, Yet in my heart it seems to me just only yesterday. (44) Wnen We Were Young. Mother, ain't it different since the children all have parted, Leaving us together while life's shadows deeper grow? Yet the birds are singing in their homes among the branches Jes' like they used to sing so many years ago. See, along the terrace how the jessamines are blooming, See the sweep and tackle where the mossy bucket hung — Let's take a stroll again down along the river, Down where we used to go when both of us were young. Once your hair was raven and your cheeks were like the roses, When we made acquaintance, in our simple childish glee; Then we went a-wading thro' the water after cattle, And I plucked the flowers that I proudly brought to thee. Now the frost of winter has descended on your shoul- ders, (45) And your hair is whiter than the lilies that I brung— Let's take a stroll again down along the river, Down where we used to go when both of us were young. Dear are the elm trees, tho' wrecked with time and tempest, Where I proposed to you, then wept with tears of joy; Still I can hear your voice in answer to my pleadings As I promised I would be your own, your darling boy. Love's time is beautiful, tho' sweet and sad its story; And its evening curtain is but all too quickly swung — Let's take a stroll again down along the river, Down where we used to go when both of us were young. Mother, you remember how we used to walk together Through the sun and shadow where the flowers bloomed so gay; How we sweetly promised that through life's uncertain weather Hand in hand together we would wander all the way. Years have come and vanished with alternate joy and sorrow, Yet we two are faithful to that song of love we sung — Let's take a stroll again down along the river, Down where we used to go when both of us were young. (46) In November. Since all the flowers hev' gone t' sleep, And all the leaves hev' fallen, It seems that I ken hardly keep Frum bustin' out a-bawlin'. There ain't no robins singin' now, Ner medder larks a-trillin', Ner sparrers chirpin' in th' mow To keep one's heart a-thrillin'. And so I'm kind o' feelin' sad, An lonesome like, an' dreary ; There's nothin' thet's a bein' glad, Ner tryin' to be cheery. Yet, when I think that after while When winter's gloom is over, The kindly light again will smile On fields of fragrant clover, And balmy southern breeze will bring A flush of bloom and berry, Along with happy birds to sing, And make th' woodlands merry, (47) My heart seems light and free from care ; I gaze with joy above me, An' feel so glad thet God is there And Ma is here t' love me. (48) Wh en. When will that hope which we so often cherished Be realized? That proud desire long ago which perished Regenerized ? Ah, when ? That fancy steeped in sweets of pleasure Which we so often sipped in hours of leisure, Develop in our hearts desire and treasure, We idolized. When will the skies that drizzle mists of sadness Transform and glow? And fragrant winds waft in a breath of gladness We could not know? When? Trust and hope to Heaven tripping nigher, We elevate our souls to realms higher, Until at last we grasp that rich desire We wanted so. (49) Lets Quit. Let's each one of us quit saying Evil things about each other ; Let's show more appreciation And regard for one another. Then, perchance, if one should stagger In life's double-quick of hurry, Let's the rest of us encourage him And tell him not to worry. Let's quit draining human nature Of its better half, then throwing All the dregs among our neighbors — Set the other half to growing. Sad it is that we so often, Through some word unthoughtly spoken, Or an act unmeditated, Burst some blessed friendship open. How the whole of us together Could transform this old world sweeter, Make the tired scales of justice Take a horizontal teeter, (50) If we would but tune our hearing To the higher song above us, And rebuke the gossip's slander Of the friends who truly love us. (so To a Heart Flower. Oh, little heart, why do you tremble so At each gentle summer breeze that stirs to blow ? Why is it your little head Always hangs its face of red And the dewy tears you shed Drip and flow? Don't you know the sky is blue Far away? And that everything but you Now is gay? Can't you hear the hum of bees Borne upon the fragrant breeze From the blossom laden trees, Every day? Then why need you look so sad All the while ? It were better to be glad. Just a smile Would transform your drooping face Into one of light and grace; Cruel tears would lose their place Afterwhile. (52) Ah, did Cupid with a dart From his bow Seek to pierce you, little heart, Long ago ? Did that arrow's flight so brief, End in disappointment's leaf, Causing you to break with grief And to flow ? Ltttle flower, once my heart Was heavy too, And I knew not in that hour What to do. Then I gazed in mute despair High above, and God was there, And he freed my heart from care Through and through. (53) Aphrodite: A Sonnet. Strange Goddess, cradled by the earth's first turn, Most laudable of all in Grecian fame, How with thy mystic lyre dost thou tame The flinty hearts of men, that they do yearn To look in other eyes and gazing learn Affection, stronger yet than any band That e'er was fashioned by a Vulcan's hand, And love for love is given in return? When sweep thy fingers o'er the magic strings Old hearts and young start with a pleasant thrill, And time's sweet evolution duly brings The longed-for issue of their anxious will. Thus like the universe of heaven above Earth still is governed by the God of Love. (54) If I Skould Die. If I should die, would some one shed a tear Of heavy grieving o'er my humble bier? Would some one pause a moment just to lay Upon my pall a fragrant, dewy spray With words of sad regret — if I should die? If I should die, what would the people say? Would they all congregate respect to pay? Would some one stoop to touch a marble brow, And say a noble life is finished now, He rests in sweetest peace — if I should die? If I should die, would some one shake his head And say 'twere better that he should be dead, The mighty universe will still move on, We'll soon forget him now, since he is gone, His day is duly spent — if I should die ? If I should die, would anybody care That I had gone away, somehow, somewhere Into a realm never to come back Across the foosteps of my former track? That I had gone to stay — if I should die? (55) If I should die, I wonder which 'twould be — Respected, mourned or spurned by man's decree- Would I go down loved by my fellowmen, Or followed by an execrating grin Of persons who were glad — if I should die ? (56) The Furrow. Each of us must make a furrow In the stony sands of time That will yield to us tomorrow Fruits of nobleness or crime. Make the sands of time productive, Deftly till the soil with care, Lest the seeds that we may scatter Fall to earth and perish there. Every act that we accomplish, Every base or noble deed, Insignificant and little, In the furrow is a seed. Each seed falling in the furrow, Good or bad, will upward creep ; What we scatter in the morning, In the evening shall we reap. Let us, then, be sure and careful, Choose the seed with eyes discreet ; Good grains scattered by the sower Spoileth sooner than the cheat. (57) May the bad seed lie distended, Soe the good on yielding spot; Evil deeds are oft remembered When the good are long forgot. Soe, that when the evening falleth, And our harvests we shall reap, That our arms may not be empty, Tares not overcome the wheat. Let us plow the furrow deeply, Crowd the stubborn plowshare in, That will leave a trail tomorrow Sands of time can not fill in. (58) Spring. Sweet Spring, with days like clover dew, So clear, and bright, and fragrant too, I love to sing in praise of you, My humble lays. I fain would set in brighter hue Thy bonnie days. Wherever wandering footsteps trend So far as earth and air extend, Wherever seasons change and blend, Tis very true No seasons such enjoyments lend, Sweet Spring, as you. Sweet Spring, why need you haste away ? Why can you not for always stay And let your sunlight ever play On hill and stream, And make all life a holiday Of happy dream? Because a fate there must befall Relentlessly to seasons all. And each must answer to the call When it is due — E'en writer of this humble scrawl Must answer too. (59) Sweet Spring, I hate to see you go Because it is I love you so ; Yet in my heart I truly know That it must be; And so I whisper sweet and low, Good-bye to thee. (60) Tke Tear Kissed Violets. One pleasant morn in April A woodland stroll I took, And paused to pluck some violets That grew beside the brook. I carried them to mother In simple boyish whim, The fragrant dews of morning Still dripping from the stem. She took the smiling blossoms, She held them in her hand, And sweetly smiled upon them With looks serene and bland; And then a change of features Came o'er that angel face, A look of love and pity My memory e'er will trace. But not a word in answer Fell from her closen lips ; Instead the teardrops gathered And fell in diamond drips To kiss the bunch of violets Whose faces sweet and blue Were smiling up to mother Through mists of tears and dew. (61) And then with words of kindness And tender, grateful look, She placed those dainty violets Within our Holy Book; And there through years of changes, Through years of grief and joy, Still lie that bunch of violets I gathered when a boy. Though time's unfathomed waters Have drifted us apart, The tear-kissed bunch of violets Is anchored in my heart. What though they're crushed and faded, No gold could buy away, The little sprig of flowers I plucked that April day. (62) To Robert B urns. In fancy's flight I drift away, Where Scotland's pleasant highlands lay I hear the ancient bag-pipes play A merry tune ; I hear the water lisping gay In bonnie Doon. And here upon the fragrant strand I see a little cabin stand, With flowers twining rich and grand About the door — The sweetest home in all the land, Although so poor. Oh, Robert Burns, thy humble birth But magnifies thy noble worth, That flashes on the British hearth A brighter flare, And draws from other "Hopes" of earth A jealous stare. Here in thy mountain-clinging shell, Amid the scenes you loved so well, Thy touching strains of lyrics fell With thrilling sound, Re-echoed on from dell to dell The world around. (63) 'Twas here you sang such touching praise Of country life and country ways, Of mother home, and sweetheart days In such a rhyme ; It drove away the misty haze Of winter time. 'Twas here you learned from Nature's lips That wisdom which so seldom slips, And poured it out in jingling drips So sweet and clear; Its beauty unrelaxing grips To fancy's ear. Small wonder that thy songs impart Such inspiration to the heart That sentimental thrills will start And buoy us on, Till earth, transfigured, seems a part Of Glory's dawn. Thy blessed strains, through all the years Will be resung with joy and tears, Until each heart and spirit nears With one accord, And each shall bear his brother's fears Before the Lord. (64) Along Tne Way. Along the way, there's many things to do, There's many hearts that should be spoken to, There's many little words that you may say To cheer a weaker soul, along the way. Along the way, where roses blossom red, Temptation's fragrant thorn may lift its head ; Then pluck it not, but turn in haste away, The path will seem more bright, along the way. Along the way, while everything is bright, May fall the shadow of a stormy night. Stand firm ; the sunshine of a brighter day Will fall before your feet, along the way. Along the way, someone may trip and fall, Perhaps may beckon you with plaintive call; Ah, then my brother, for one moment stay, And lift the fallen one, along the way. Along the way, somebody may be lost And soiled and blighted by sin's cruel frost ; Extend to such, a friendly hand, I pray And lead them nearer Christ, along the way. • (6 5 ) Along the way, you may be jostled hard, Perhaps o'ercrowded off the safer sward ; If so, with prayerful words this act repay, And God will help you back, along the way. (66) An Empty Nest: A Sonnet. Deep in the forest dell I found a nest, Empty and silent, swaying to and fro, Rocked by the breezes that did gently blow, Nor for a moment seemed to be at rest. Wrecked was its structure by the brambles pressed Once 'twas the home wherein wee nestlings lie Blinking with wonder at the summer sky, Longing to soar upon its airy crest. So may my soul be strengthened day by day, And graced by patient waiting year by year, That I might long to rise and soar away When that last hour to me is drawing near To that great realm, where in peace and rest, I'll leave- behind the old deserted nest. (6 7 ) My Creed. Not high in name would I aspire to be, Nor great in something that the world calls gain. God grant to me a soul from sin set free, A Christian name without a blot or stain. Some peaceful place that I may call my home, Though humble and secluded it may be. Thy love and grace will cheer me through the gloom And lead my footsteps upward unto thee. (68) Tke Lilacs By the Door. Thro' mists of time I see a cot, A humble cot, rude, thatched and low, With lilacs shedding and overspreading A little moss-grown portico. I see some one in humble gear Among the fragrant blossoms there, And 'tis no other than my mother In our family rocking chair. She's sitting there in peaceful rest, And gently rocking to and fro ; She's softly singing and sweetly bringing Gay memories up of long ago. How oft at close of summer's day, When all its toil and care was o'er, I'd find her sitting, engaged in knitting, Among the lilacs by the door. No painter skilled in works of art Could e'er produce so sweet a scene, Such lilacs blooming, the air perfuming, And mother sitting in between. But whither is the picture, pray — The lilacs and the portico? The vines have crumbled, the porch has tumbled, And mother, too, is lying low. (6 9 ) Sweet memories never fade away — Oh, mother dear, where'er you be, Can you hear me crying and sadly sighing Now in memory of thee? Oh ! What would heaven be to me Save mother dear had gone before ? I'm contemplating that she is waiting Among the lilacs by the door. (70) At Sunset Hours. When sunset hours passing slow Draw floods of glory to the west, As down the sun sinks into rest And evening shadows deeper grow. The clouds reflect a brilliant hue Of blended colors, red and gold; Still gentler tints their bosoms hold, That drift into a sea of blue. The verdant grass with dew is wet, Yet parting radiance lingering high Seems loath to quit the darkening sky, For long ago the sun has set. What will the sunset be to me At closing of life's little day That bears me with it far away Into the great Eternity? My heart seems yearning for the time To meet the ones I used to know So many, many years ago, Before they tripped to higher clime. (71) Oh, golden ocean, from thy tide Sweet voices calling I can hark, Seem urging to me to embark And ferry to that other side. Yes, oftentimes there comes to me A dreaming of the great beyond, Vague as before life's hours dawned, As mystic in obscurity. And O! how happy! Can I know I leave behind a thread of gold, That other eyes with joy behold, When to eternal realms I go ? (72) Honeysuckles. Honeysuckles, Honeysuckles — Ain't they beautiful and sweet As they vine in gay profusion Over everything they meet? How th' blessed little blossoms, Smiling thro' a mist of dew, Seem to speak a tender message Of God's love t' me an' you. Oft I've wondered that in heaven, Where there's music in th' air, If th' blessed honeysuckles Ain't a bloomin' everywhere. Wonder if, in distant ages, Some good angel didn't throw 'Suckle seeds from beds of Heaven To this pleasant world below, — Jes' ter' cheer us when discouraged, Jes' ter help us on our way, As we trod life's thorny pathway, In its course from day to day, Honeysuckles— how their beauty, In a way I can not tell, Seems to throw a cheerful halo 'Round th' home we love so well. (73) Oh, how sad it is to ponder On what future has in store; Time will bring its cruel changes And the home will be no more. Then no more we'll hear th' clatter Uv th' gate we entered through, As we tripped th' graveled pathway Where th' honeysuckles grew. Honeysuckles, Honeysuckles — How each blossom floods and drips With th' dew thet trickles downward From th' angel's finger tips. When a feller falls ter thinkin' Life is but a soggy loom, One ken see a heap o' Heaven In a honeysuckle bloom. (74) The Trumpeter. He took his tiny trumpet, With golden gilded rim, That on the eve of Christmas Old Santa brought to him — All day he promenaded, But when nights' shadows crept, He closed his little eyelids And quietly he slept. And while in peaceful slumber He heard from distant shore The echo of the trumpet He blew the day before, And then he must have followed In eagerness and sought The gaily painted trumpet That Santa Claus had brought. Thro' meads of smiling flowers That poured their fragrance sweet, And sprinkled dewy showers In bending 'neath his feet ; O'er mossy banks of brooklets His little footsteps strayed, Nor paused beside the water, Nor in refreshing shade. (75) And then, alas! my darling Did stray too far away, And 'mongst the heavenly blossoms He must have lost his way ; And angels must have found him And placed within his hand A clearer, sweeter trumpet And joined him to their band. Oh ! would that when I weaken, And when my feet must trip Through clouds of sombre shadows Where dews of darkness drip, That through the gilded portals, From heaven's happy den, The echo of his trumpet Will welcome me within. (76) To James Wkitcomt Riley. Jim Whitcomb, how I love to praise Thy worthy name and charming lays, That in the balance far outweighs The sweetest dew, And sets the skies of stormy days To deepest blue. Within thy lines there may be heard The hum of bee and song of bird, Through which luxuriantly is stirred A sweet perfume Of bursting buds, whose fragrance curd With clover bloom. Thus daintily within thy song The joys of summer run along, And seem to cheer us through the throng Of cruel cares, That fain would lead our footsteps wrong When unawares. And thus it is with thirsty lip We drink thy strains with eager sip, While fancy takes a deeper dip In thy refrains, That jingle like the tinkling drip Of summer rains. (77) And so in happy pride we claim A neighbor's right upon thy name, That sets our State to greater fame For noted race, And makes the happy Hoosier home An envied place. (78) The Wkipper- Wills. Like ter, on a summer's evening, When th' moon comes o'er th' hills, Move my cheer out in th' doorway, Lis'nin' t' th' whipper-wills. When th 'pinchin' bugs go skootin' Through th' darkness here and there, And the night owls wheel an' flutter Thro' th' balmy summer air. When th' care of day is over And th' stars begin t' gleam, Hear 'em call in all directions — Every woodland seems t' teem. When th' ripple uv th' river, As it works its weedy way, Seems t' float away th' trouble Thet accompanies th' day, Like ter set out there a smokin' ; Fer tobaccer smoke, you see, Sort o' skeers away muskeeters Thet come 'round t' bother me. (79) Like ter smell th' fragrant zephyrs Uv th' summer nights, when they Steal so sleepy-like and lazy Cross't th' fields uv clover hay. It is then thet life is pleasure When it seems thet one ken hear Jes' th' very voice uv' nature, Whisper n' in a feller's ear. You ken' talk uv sleighin' parties, And uv huskin' bees and such, But there's none uv all them doin's Gives me pleasure quite so much. Tell you what, it's sort o' soothin' Jes' ter know thet you ken still Move your cheer out in th' doorway Lis nin' t' th' whipper-will. (So) Were I An Artist. Were I an artist and could trace And gild the lines with skill'd art, And color with artistic grace The features dearest to my heart. If I could blend in colors gay The face that memory holds most dear, Ah, quickly would my pencil stray And set the same on canvas here. Whose would it be? Would I produce A military hero brave, Who spurned and scorned a flag of truce And fell to fill a soldier's grave? Would I on canvas fringed with gold Produce a king of distant age ? Or with a magic stylus mold The thoughtful brow of bard or sage? Or would I paint a blushing maid? With cheeks like dawn of summer skies, In silk and jewelry arrayed, With Cupid glances in her eyes ? (8r) Not so; but with a hurried hand A rare Madonna would I paint, And laud her name throughout the land As truest friend and purest saint. A mother's face, with snowy brow Festooned with locks of silvered gray, Upon whose lips I know not how The very smiles of Heaven play. A greater far than wisest sage, Or king by hosts of servants fed, Who sank to live on history's page Crushed by the crown upon his head. She is one, braver far than he Who fell in battle's deadly strife ; For she for years successfully Contended with the cares of life. More beautiful than blushing maid, As virtuous as she is fair, By Love's enticements ne'er betrayed, Unknown to vice's cruel snare. Hers would I paint, and finished, gaze Upon my work with brimming eyes, And beg those lips in choicest lays To speak and break their silent ties. (82) But delving in such thoughts as these Subjects the heart to greater pain. I strive to hurl them to the breeze And rest in hope to meet again. Meet where the flower-scented breeze Will fan the cheek in sweet caress, And where the song-birds in the trees Will pour their notes in sweetest stress. And where the saints of earth rejoice, And from the farthest of the dell, At every sound of mother's voice The echoes answer, ''All is well." (83) Wken tli" Vandivers Air Mell When th' vandivers air meller Air cum droppin' frum th' tree, Jes' as sweet an' plump an' yeller As a vandiver kin be — When th' golden sun drifts over Thro' a sky uv' azure blue, When th' fields air full o' clover An' th' clover's full o' dew — Oh, it's then thet life is pleasure, If it ever is at all, When one's kind o' at his leisure In th' airly part o' fall. When th' vandivers air meller How one's heart '11 rise an' swell, An' he feels thet he must beller Out as loud as he ken yell ; Fer there's sum'thin' really thrillin' In th' beauty o' th' days Thet air bilen' up an' spillin' Out their wealth uv yeller rays. Oh, I'll tell you what's th' matter, Fall is jes' th' time o' year Fur a feller ter live fatter If his appetite's in gear, (8 4 ) er. An' enjoy life's sweetest strippins Thet air sprinkled all around, Kind o' like th' meller pippins Thet hev pattered t' th' ground. When th' vandivers air meller An' one's heart is meller, too, Ain't it dandy fer a feller When he's nothin' much t' do, Jes' ter saunter through th' orchard In a keerless sort o' way, Unconcerned, nor vexed, nor tortured With th' troubles uv th' day? Flounder down amongst th' clover, Give his hat a backward shove, While th' shadders flicker over Through th' apple leaves above ; Sit and crunch th' apples meller, Watch th' sparrers dart an' skim, Feelin' thet no other feller's 'Joyin' life so well as him. I hev' heer'd th' fellers tellin' Uv th' seasons uv th' year And th' ones thet wuz a swellin' With th' heartiest uv cheer ; But until I must surrender An' be kivered in a pall, I shall ever rant th 1 splendor Uv th' airly part o' fall. (85) Reflections. As sweet were the hours as dew of the morning, When life was a fountain o'erflowing with bliss That showered a mist o'er the flowers, adorning The depth of my heart with an innocent kiss. When robins chirped sweetly in thickets and hedges, And lilacs and roses were everywhere seen, The brook that is choked now with mosses and sedges Was dancing and sparkling, a silvery sheen. The marshland and meadow with bees flitting over, The nightingale's whistle, and pheasant's quick beat, The tinkle of cow bells in pastures of clover, Come back to my mind with a pleasant repeat. But changes must come and the farm scenes have van- ished That one time afforded a picture sublime, And I from the scenes of my childhood am banished, Life's river is choked now with driftwood of time. (86) Outside the Gates. In folds of sun the day was laid, The sky was blue and all was fair; Outside the door my darling played Among the grass and flowers there. Inside, in pleasant work beguiled, Unnoticed hours stole away; I hurried then to call my child, Lest into danger he should stray. I raised the latch, and called his name, And anxiously I stood in wait ; Then back in childish treble came — "I'm only just outside the gate." Sweet innocence and kindred days, How nice it is when happy youth Ne'er from parental counsel strays, Nor turns away from honest truth. I've wondered since how it will be When at the heavenly courts I wait For answer to my plaintive plea — "I'm only just outside the gate." (87) Are There Flowers In Heaven? Air there flowers in Heaven, I wonder, Up there where the seraphim sing, Where there ain't any lightning ner thunder, Ner hornets ner locusts to sting? Up there where the beautiful glimmer Uv sunshine falls day after day, And yet not a dewdrop t' shimmer On a bud er a blossom er spray ? Say, wouldn't it seem kind o' funny, T' stroll through thet heavenly sheen An' breathe uv th' fragrance uv honey, And yet not a bloom to be seen? No lilacs a-shadin' th' doorway, No buttercups deckin th' sod, No pink beds a-fringin' th' pathway Thet leads through th' gardens uv God? No pastur' fields bloomin' with clover, Where robins an' medder larks sing, With butterflies flutterin' over, And honey-bees out on the wing? (38) O, surely th' infinite powers Thet fashioned th' earth long ago Hev fixed in th' heavenly bowers A place fer th' flowers t' grow. If they ain't I am kind o' a thinkin' — Though all may be tolerably fair — If there ain't any flowers in heaven, Things surely will look purty bare. (8 9 ) Nigkt. Again 'tis night ; the air is soft and warm, The birds and bees have all retired to rest, And nature with her ever-guarding arm Wraps close her darkening folds about her breast. A pleasant scent the rose and lilacs lend — A sweet perfume that seems content to stay ; While now and then the fragrant odors blend That drift from fields of new-mown clover hay. Within the folds the cowbells gently tink, The little lambkins jump, and frisk, and play ; All creatures seem with eagerness to drink The fragrant zephyrs of receding day. The noisy frogs monotonously croak, The crickets chirp accompaniment it seems, And oft we hear the echoes clearly broke By prowling night-owl's weird, thrilling screams. Down by the dock the river's lisping lip Throws kisses to its pebbled, mossy shore. Soft peals of laughter rise, and splashy drip That falls from evening pleasure-seekers' oar. (90) Sweet night, what gentle charms thou dost enthrall, How gently nature yields to thy behest, When like a veil thy darkening shadows fall To wrap the noisy world in quiet rest. And as the stars their tiny places fill And waning evening into darkness grows, All creatures hush and everything is still, Wrapped in the silence of a sweet repose. (91) Song and Sunshine. Jes' a little fleck o' sunshine, Jes' a little snatch o' song, Has a mighty heap o' cheerin' To encourage one along. When life's day is dark and stormy, And the rain will fall and run, All can quickly be made pleasant With a little fleck o' sun. When we feel downright discouraged, And life's troubles seem t' throng, We can often be encouraged With a little snatch o' song. Song and sunshine, blent together, O ! how sweet th' two may be, How they often make a feller Feel his heart flood o'er with glee. When I'm feelin' sad an' gloomy, An' all things seem goen' wrong, Give me jes' a fleck o' sunshine, Jes' a little snatch o' song. (92) The Old H ome. Tis sad to view the old home I left when but a boy, For memories awaken That are not akin to joy. The teardrops flood my eyelids So that I can hardly see To view again the old home — It is so dear to me. Tis sad to view the old home, For things are altered so— The fennel claims the dooryard Where the clover used to grow. The chimney now has fallen, And the moss is growing o'er The clapboard-covered portico That slants above the door. 'Tis sad to view the old home Since all the rest are gone; Remembrances awaken That I sadly ponder on. I wander down the pathway And through the orchard's shade, And note the many places Where in infancy I played. (93) 'Tis sad to view the old home, For everything is still, And something more impressive Makes my heart to strangely thrill. Oh, time, reform this homestead; Oh, time, bring back to me The features of the dear ones That I long so much to see. 'Tis sad to view the old home, 'Tis sadder yet to leave ; Oh, were it in my power Time's impressions to retrieve. I only trust and flounder on Through life's uncertain loam, That I shall meet my loved ones In a neater, sweeter home. (94) Thanatos: A Sonnet. Oh, chilly monster, is thy icy hand The Alpha and Omega of that sphere From which mysterious bourne thou dost appear To lead us through thy mystic shrouded land ? Pray, dost thou hail from Hades' stifling strand, Where Cerberus in frenzy shrieks and howls, And Archeron sweeps on with thundering growls, And tortured spirits trip the burning sand? Ah, no, 'tis from a sweeter, higher clime And by a better path thou drawest nigh To lull us to repose a little time, Soon to awake in realms beyond the sky, Where with the Gods we may forever be Transfigured in our immortality. (95) Tke Little SW. There's a little old shoe in the closet, All soiled with the dust and the years, All spotted and stained and besprinkled With a lone mother's grievous tears. Time once brought a beautiful baby To chatter and patter and play ; And then, in his innocent beauty, Time suddenly took him away, And left me alone with my sorrow, Solitary and nothing to do, But think of my desolate future And weep o'er his little old shoe. Oh, where have the little feet strollen That played in these shoes long ago, That wandered all 'round the plantation In the beautiful summer-time's glow? They're tripping somewhere with the angels, Somewhere in the heavens of blue ; And all that awakens remembrance Is a little, old, worn-out shoe. (9$) A S mile. Hast thou a smile hid somewhere in thy heart ? Don't, miser-like, conceal and bind it there, But let it from thy generous self depart — Perhaps 'twill lighten someone else's care. Perhaps 'twill cheer some weak, discouraged soul Whose luckless road hath led him far astray ; Perhaps 'twill give him strength that he may roll The stumbling stone within his path away. Then should reverses come in after years And thou wouldst need another's kindly aid, That smile may glimmer back through misery's tears, Reminding thee to whom it first was paid. 'Twill be a help to drive thy care away And lead thee in thy noble journey higher, Until at last will dawn the glorious day When thou canst reach the goal thou didst aspire. Then toss a smile wherever you may go, In some dark place 'twill strike a spark and burn ; Such little acts quite often root and grow And recompense to us a rich return. (97) Thorns ana Roses. Ever people are complaining To each other, I suppose, Jes' because our Heavenly Father Put's th' stickers with th' rose. And when cruel thorns of trouble Fill th' pathway of their feet, Keep complaining 'cause our Master Mixed the bitter with th' sweet; Never stoppin' to consider What this world would be if He Were to pluck away the roses Frum the path of them an' me ; Leavin' naught but thorns and trouble In our footsteps day by day — Roses might be purty helpin', Jes' ter cheer us on our way. 'Pears to me we should be grateful And complainin' strive to scorn, An' be thankful fer th' roses Thet He puts among th' thorn. ( 9 8) Panegyric. Can humble swain, with dusty brow, His rudely sculptured verses sing In tribute to the one who now Lies blighted by death's cruel sting? To one who through life's mystic spell - Stood firm and true to good and right, Who bore her sad affliction well And went away with sweet Good Night? Her work is done and free from crime — Oh, God, that such a life could blight. Flow gently, softly, flood of time, Give us a chance to grieve aright. And while we gaze with tearful eyes Upon our dead, through mists of flowers, We need not shudder with surprise, For that same destiny is ours. We need not grieve ; the night that falls And sprinkles dew tears on the lawn, And darkly heaven and earth enthralls. Is but a prelude to the dawn. (99) Tis sad about her bier to stand, And yet 'tis sweet to know that she Trips with the angels hand in hand, Robed in her immortality. We can but hope and trust through all And tread the narrow path she ran. Soon angel hands will raise the pall And we can greet her once again. Oh, let us bow with reverence low And hurl to heaven floods of prayer, For God needs help, yet well we know A new auxiliary is there. ( IOO) Home Memories. Thinkin' uv 'em kind o' worters Up my mouth, and sort o' draws Sumthing thet is sweet an' runny From th' corners uv my jaws; And my eyes they kind o' simmer And somehow or 'nother get Like my mouth does in a manner Sort o' wortery an' wet. When I think about th' pleasures And th' joys I squandered while We were all at home together Back in Indianer sile. Blessed is old Indianer, Blessed air th' days o' youth, Crowded with their happy pleasure And their innocence and truth. Sets my heart t' heavy thumpin' When I ponder o'er th' scene Of a good ol' fashioned breakfast An' th' time thet's slipped between. Sorto hurried like and graceful, Yet unnoticed, it has slid Like Ma used t' slide th' griddle 'Crosst th' cook stove's iron lid. ( ioi ) Buckwheat cakes and maple syrup Was th' family table's wealth, And its wholesomeness was proven By our ruddy rustic health. Used ter like t' watch my mother Dip th' foamin' batter in, Watch th' little air holes gather In th' upper side — an' then See her quickly flop an' turn 'em With dexterity uv hand That would far excel th' wonder Uv a fairy's magic wand. And then, oh, how sweet they tasted, Drippin' with their syrup wealth, T' th' seven happy youngsters All as hungry as myself. When we gathered 'round th' table, Greeted with a mother's smile That would all our trouble banish, All our childish woe beguile. But those scenes and pleasures vanished, Sorto somehow couldn't stay, And like dew on summer mornings Jes' arose an' went away. Makes my heart feel jes' as heavy, When I think uv youthful days, As th' buckwheat cakes some mornin's When th' batter wouldn't raise ; ( 102) And I long t' greet th' faces And th' mother's cheery smile, Like when all was home together Back on Indiana sile. ( 103 > The Tippecanoe. Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Where the moss and the flags and the calamus grew — Where the white lily lifted its Puritan face And nodded its head with Helenical grace — Where the willows in pride undulatingly swayed And shadowed the ground with their beautiful shade — Where the tangling grape vines in luxuriance hung, And chattering squirrels on the tree branches swung. Oh, the Tippecanoe! Oh, the Tippecanoe! Most beautiful stream 'neath the heavenly blue, With far sweeter waters than ever have burst To quench the fair Hoosierland's ravenous thirst — Where the deep heavy thud of the hoarse thunder- pump Awakens the echoes with thundering thump — Where the hoot-owl's complaint and the teeter-tail's scream Are drifted away with the laugh of the stream. Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! My spirits rejoice at remembrance of you And the hours I spent in the golden-clad yore, In lounging and strolling upon thy green shore, ( 104) How oft when a boy on thy banks I have lain And listened with joy to thy gentle refrain, Till shadows from dreamland would over me creep, Thy gurgling laughter would lull me to sleep. Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Where the most fragrant zephyrs of Hoosierdom blew, Where the ruddiest hours of boyhood were spent And the happiest pleasures were merrily blent. Ah, me, when I think of the days that have fled, Sweet memories haunt like the thoughts of the dead — I long for my boyhood, I long for the blue Of the rollicking, frollicking, Tippecanoe. (105) Falsehood. That little lie that's whispered by To set each tongue a quiver, From groundless source oft runs its course Into a mighty river. Then joined along with words of wrong It swells beyond a measure, And sweeps away a life so gay Of all its hope and pleasure. We may not know, by talking so, That we are harming others ; But then the blame may fall the same Upon our dearest brothers. And ere we know they slip and gc And sink in ruin under, While other eyes in great surprise Look on in guileless wonder. So do not shame your neighbor's name Because his step is humble ; For soon his route may change about And you in turn may stumble. (106) The Rain. Plink, plink, plinkety plink, Down comes the rain with a jingling tink, Down comes the rain from the heavens above, Beautiful proof of God's wonderful love. See how it drips from the edge of the eaves, See how its freshens the grass and the leaves, See how the clover heads blink from the sod, And holly-hocks sway with a welcoming nod. Plink, plink, plinkety plink, Nature is eagerly rousing to drink. The sun hides its face while the beautiful rain Comes pattering over the roof and the pane, Dashing its spray on the side of the wall, Faster and faster the little drops fall. Creatures seek shelter with gallop and bound, While dewdrops of heaven fall thickly around. Sometimes our lives seem as pure as the rain, Nothing provoking a cause to complain, Nothing to alter life's delicate trend, That threads on its way to its beautiful end. Fragrantest flowers bloom over our way, Showers of blessing fall day after day, Desires are soon in reality dressed, Fate gracefully bows at our every behest. ( 107) Then there are times when the shadows wili fall O'er the blue of the skies like a darkening pall, Obscuring the light, and the storms will appear, And rain with the mist of the grievous tear. Our trouble will rise and our sorrow will loom Gigantic and thick in the gathering gloom, Our spirits will sink and our bosoms will swell And we seem to be chained with the demons of hell. How strangely we find our life's uneven lane Alternately flecked with the sun and the rain. How strangely the bitter the sweetness decoys, And sadness winds on through our meadow of joys. Plink, plink, plinkety plink, Through joy and through sadness 'tis pleasant to think That hovering high o'er the storm clouds above God shields and protects with his glorious love. (108) In M emoriam. A certain master — noble, wise and good — Into his flower garden strolled one day And 'mongst the smiling blossoms paused and stood To choose himself a beautiful bouquet. And as he searched among the blossoms there A bloom of wondrous beauty met his eyes ; He stood and gazed upon the flowers fair With looks of admiration and surprise. Then thus he spoke to his attendants near While pride and pity swept his handsome face ; ' 'Tis shame to have this blossom blooming here, 'Tis far too sweet to bloom in such a place." Then stooping low, amid the fragrant throng, He plucked the smiling blossom from the rest, And said, 'Til plant it where it doth belong," Then kissed and pinned it to his mighty breast. And there 'twill be through all the flood of years, Its petals all ablaze with heavenly glow ; 'Twill waft its fragrance back through mists of tears Into the garden where it used to grow. ( 109) Sweet reader, in whate'er your fancy delves, In whatever walks of life your footsteps trend, Remember that our tombs we gild ourselves And life is not a dream with empty end. Remember that the echoes backward fly, That time shall recompense with interest due ; The soul of man was never born to die, But shapes itself by what we think and do. Then let us only truth and right regard And each in turn our bounties shall be given, Life's eve will bring the blossoms of reward, Plucked by the angels from the beds of heaven. (no) My Bonnie Lassie. My bonnie lassie, how I long To bask within her smile once more, And whisper softly in her ear The love my heart is swelling o'er. Ah, cruelly has fate decreed That she and I should drift apart, But lapse of time can only make Her memory dearer to my heart. Ah, ne'er can I forget the night When by the barn we stood alone Beneath the moonbeam's silver light; 'Twas there I claimed her for my own, 'Twas there I proudly held her hand, I kissed her lips in rapturous glee, 'Twas there in honeyed words of love She promised to be true to me. Within their little cots above, Low hidden 'neath the garnered grain, The pigeons in instinctive love Cooed words as tender as our own. Ah, sweeter far than linnet's song That charms the day when spring is here, Or clearest note of haverlark, Were those sweet words upon my ear. (no I would not, could not then believe Their sound would die away so soon, And all our sparkling dew of love Would melt ere it attained its noon. And when I muse on former times, Upon her words my memories rise And fancy turns to days of yore And delves in happy paradise. But fate is fierce, and time is mad And recompenses every hour, And often breaks the dainty stem Before the bud unfolds the flower. And so her love grew chill and cold, She eyed me with a rude disdain, And strive however as I might Her fallen love I could not gain. Another came in jealous mien, Came like the winds across the lea, And whispered tender, winning words And stole her love away from me. All summer long he pressed his suit — I watched in jealousy beside — Then when the forest foliage fell He claimed my dearie for his bride. Within the woodland by the brook That ripples off beneath the trees Where happy song-birds pause in flight To pour their sweetest melodies, (112) The sunlight penetrates the leaves And searching o'er the checkered ground, As though 'twere searching, yet in vain, For some one who could not be found. There in a lowly narrow bed That tender flowers fain would hide, Sleeps one who left a friend alone And went to be another's bride. Farewell, dear heart, the years have rolled Since first her hand grew cold to me ; Lead, kindly death, that I may go, And join her in eternity. (113) A Tkougtt. Grasp all chances while you may, Fortune changes like the sky, Pleasure can not always stay, Happiness is born to die. Life is cloudy at its best, Strike for truth and honor hard, Leave to destiny the rest, Time will bring its own reward. (in) Life. Is Life a dream with hollow, empty end, through which the mighty generations trend in eternal, per- petual succession? Some mystic oracle that lies within that unbound gulf 'tween heaven and hell, into which nature cries with animating voice and, lo ! there issues forth the carnal man? A prodigy of brute, to bide a while, a very little spell, in this mysterious realm that we call Life? Then sink away within the vortex of the gulf of death, forgotten by his fellows, consigned forever unto darkness and oblivion? Not so. This little life so weak and faint is but a prelude to the great beyond, a preface, mere, where mortal man may view an index to the mighty human soul. Man is not born to die, but fashioned in the like- ness of the One who breathed the winds, who fixed the stars and sounded ocean's depth, and scattered to the wind the seed of flowers to decorate and beautify the world. He holds the mold of life within his hand and fashions his own soul to its eternal form and fits it in its everlasting orifice. Else by his carnal nature weighs it down, far down below the great Redeemer's sight, until it sinks for- ever, enveloped in the mists, that rise between the infernal banks of Acheron. (115) O, soul ! robed in the original attributes of God, 'tis but by bending low to the great laws of nature, Heaven and man, we might attain to that great realm where with the angels we may trod the pathways of the Gods, robed in the splendor of our immortality. (116) 1 ne Lone Lover. Sweet Tip'canoe, with bonnie bank Where flowers blossom fresh and gay Where lilies floor the rushes rank And mellow breezes softly play, How is it that your liquid lips Can lap the shore in misty kiss, While from my eyes the tear drops drip, Sun melted dew of morning's bliss? Sweet Tip'canoe, it seems to me That by your quiv'ring monotone You fain would ask why it should be That I should feel so sad and lone? Ye need not ask — I need not tell — Oft have you seen together here The maiden that adored me well And I who treasured her so dear. How oft upon these banks we've Iain Beneath yon spreading willow tree ; She sang her love in sweet a strain As thou art singing now to me. Now, Tip'canoe, that one is gone, Her memory, tho', is green for aye, Aye, greener than the banks upon Which humble bard his tributes pay. (H7) Ah, now, I fancy, Tip'canoe, Your laugh has changed to pitying moans You sympathize with poet who Is rencled now with sighs and groans. Glide on forever, river blue, And let your ripples laugh and prank, And sing a dirge the ages through To maiden sleeping on thy bank. (i*8) The Sailor" s Farewell. Out beneath the apple blossoms, Uniformed in suit of blue Stood a sailor who was bidding To his love a last adieu. Close he held her to his bosom While she hung her pretty head, Then in low and softest whispers These sweet words he gently said : "Good-bye, my dear little darling, It is duty that takes me away, And if I never more meet you Remember the words that I say. I will be true to you ever, And to the flag that I love ; Good-bye, my dear little darling, Meet me in heaven above." Far away in distant harbor, 'Mid the crash of shot and shell, Nobly standing at his duty Lo! the gallant sailor fell, Then they raised him faint and bleeding, Tore his bosom folds away, Forth there fell a maiden's picture — At its sight they heard him say : (119) "Good-bye, my dear little darling, It is duty that takes me away, And if I never more meet you Remember the words that I say, v I will be true to you ever, And to the flag that I love ; Good-bye, my dear little darling, Meet me in heaven above." Out beneath the apple blossoms Sits a waiting heart alone, Sadly she is recollecting All the happy hours flown. Sad, oh, sadly she remembers All their plighted vows to wed, And his last fond loving kisses And the parting words he said : "Good-bye, my dear little darling, It is duty that takes me away, And if I never more meet you Remember the words that I say, I will be true to you ever, And to the flag that I love ; Good-bye, my dear little darling, Meet me in heaven above." ( 1 20 ) Angel Eyes. Sometimes when I gaze at the star-studded skies And bask in the light that is given, Methinks that the stars are the beautiful eyes Of the sentinel angels in heaven. And some are so modest and timid and small, And some are so brilliant and glowing, Yet ever the silvery glances that fall A wistful expression is showing. And two above all in the glimmering sky, So bright in their beautiful splendor, Awaken sweet memories long flitted by With glances so winsome and tender. I think of a beautiful one that is gone, Of one whose soft lashes are closen, And anxiously wait for that radiant dawn — When I to his side shall be chosen. How sweet is the hope lying deep in my breast That when from the earth I am going, Those beautiful eyes from the gardens of rest Will tenderest glances be throwing. (121) And finally when home in the heavenly skies Along with my beautiful lover, We'll gaze on the earth and with anxious eyes We'll beckon our other friends over. ( 122) o ver. Long years ago when life's hours were dewy, Dewy and fragrant with pleasures of youth, Then I was happy, for there was another Holding her heart as the proof of my truth. Oh, to live over those hours of childhood, Oh, to see over those features of tan. I could live happy in pleasure forever Kissing her ruby lips over again. Well I remember how often together Over the banks of the river we strolled, How we would wander through sylvian shadow, Gathering buttercups brighter than gold. Little we dreamed as we prattled together, Soon all our beautiful pleasure would fade ; Time thundered on with impetuous motion, Leaving me here with the thorns that it made. Now she is sleeping beneath the green elms On the same banks where the buttercups grew, Lonely and sad I am anxiously waiting To join her above in the heavens of blue — ( 123 ) There to live over the days of my childhood, There to see over her features of tan, There to live happy in pleasure forever Kissing her ruby lips over again. (124) In JBethlenem s Manger. Oh, the night was sweet and the skies were blue, The moon laughed out and the stars shone too — And soft were the glances they gently threw Into a manger peeping. For there in a stall where the white sheep lay, Cunningly cuddled amongst the hay, Dozing the beautiful night away The Christ child lay a sleeping. Far up in the skies the angels sang, The harps rang out with a merry twang, And down the ages the echoes rang, For great was the joy above Him. So sweet and so clear was their merry song, That people marveled His beauty long — Which son transfigured their lives of wrong, For the whole world came to love Flim. (125) Not Very Far. Not very far, O Love, have we to go Until the setting of the sun shall glow ; Not very far, perhaps, till you and I Must leave each other in a last good-bye, Not very far, O Love, not very far. Not very far, yet can we join in song And pray and hope and strive to right the wrong, And in our acts of love and kindness spray Life's path with joy, Life's path that leads away Not very far, ah no, not very far. Not very far adown life's little lane So fraught alternately with joy and pain, 'Tis but a season, till our feet must trend Amid the shadows looming at the end. Not very far, ah no, not very far. Not very far until the bars shall fall And we will answer to the Shepherd's call ; Together let us trip Death's mystic dell And leave behind the ones we love so well Not very far, ah no, not very far. (126) An Old Letter. 'Twas only a faded letter And written with gentle pen That I found in the dusty garret Which I hastily rummaged in. A letter old and yellow Still holding a sweet perfume Which stole from its musty pages Pervading the dingy room. And drawing forth the papers Rescanning the scented page, I traced the tiny letters All weak and dim with age. The spots where tears had fallen Upon its pages fair Were mingled with the crimson, Of bloody smirches there. I thought of my early manhood, When off with the Boys in Blue I tried as a gallant soldier, A soldier's task to do. I thought of the awful trenches, I thought of the bloody night When the letter came to cheer me Through the thickest of the fight. ( 127) And how as I gleaned its message, The anxious tear drops slipped, And how from my wounded forehead The drops of crimson dripped. How my poor weak heart grew stronger When I read by the lantern's glare That a heart in the dear old homestead Was praying my safety there. ( 128) To a Skeleton. Thou nameless horror, lost to fame and song, What has aroused thee from thy narrow bed? Hast thou returned to right some ancient wrong, Or tell the terrors of the silent dead ? Pray, what has been thy station, and what name Has been thy title when instinct with life Thou passed through time like other men the same And marked the sweet and bitter of its strife ? Oh God, was this strange clattering thing a man — A man who lived and loved with human heart Is this to hold the eternal soul again ? What wonder at its sight we cringe and start. Wert thou an alien to the soil thou trod Or nomad native of this ancient glen? Dissatisfied to sleep beneath its sod Ye seek to mingle once again with men. Did thy brute jaws e'er open to reveal The love and passion burning in thy breast, And did thy ivory teeth e'er close to steal A honeyed kiss from one thou loved the best? Hast thou within the revel castles gay, Plighted the wine cup with the ladies fair, And danced in ecstacy the night away, That should have found thee kneeled in earnest prayer? ( 129) From thy cadaverous eyes perhaps have fell The grieving tear drops o'er another's bier, While that which claimed the one you loved so well, Unrealized to you was drawing near. What brought thee down? — for once in manhood proud, Thy eye was bright, thy cheeks were red with bloom, Forgetting then the terror of the shroud, Thou seemed a triumph o'er the silent tomb. Didst thou amid the cannons' heavy boom Press hard the stirrup 'gainst thy hated foe, And charging madly through the smoky gloom, Sink down at thy opponent's saber blow? Or didst thou in some dungeon's inky cell, Far down beneath thy victor's revel halls. Entombed alive within a fireless hell, Wail out thy soul to the unpitying walls? Disease, perhaps, did mark thee for its prey, And love and care could not avail or save While day by day thy spirits wore away And sank at last into the silent grave. * * * Ah, time will hold its secrets safe and well, With all the mysteries which Death is rife, Till God shall speak and break thy silent spell And fill thy hollow breast again with life. ( 130)' PATRIOTIC Don t Be A£eercL When Abe Lincoln he got riled up, Tom McCabe, Jack Brown an' me All agreed to jine the army And to set the niggers free, But before we had enlisted Jack he hinted he was skeered, Then sez Tom an' slapped his shoulder, "Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." On the morning when we started," Tom an' I, we crossed the wood, Cut down through the clover pastur' Where Brown's house and orchard stood, It was hard to see Jack leaving Thet ole home wher' he wuz reared, As he told his crying mother, "Don't be afeer'd, Ma, don't be afeer'd." We had seen two months of service, Hadn't been much fighting done, But one day they flanked us proper, Charged with bayoneted gun — Then we drew up, stood in silence, Step by step th' rebels neared, Then Tom hunched Jack with his ramrod — "Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." ( ^33 ) Then when all of it was over, On returning from the chase, Lo! I found Jack in the grasses With a rigid upturned face. Tom was bending close above him, And with tears his eyes were bleared, As he told the dying soldier — "Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." (134) Tke Boys of Sixty-Four. Deep sleep the Boys of 'Sixty-four Through clear and stormy weather ; They fell beneath the flag they bore — The Blue and Gray together. They rushed to arms at Lincoln's call And gallantly assembled ; They hurried to the front to fall While all the nations trembled. Strew flowers o'er their lowly graves, Let tender words be spoken ; They struck the shackels from the slaves, Which lie forever broken. Ye lowly ranks of silent dead, When God thy tombs has riven The earth shall tremble from the tread Of marshaled troops of heaven. And angel guards will lead the way Where battle hells infernal No more shall break the glorious day Of peace and love eternal. (135) There Blue and Gray alike will stand, And clasping hands together, Will stack their arms at God's command To live in peace forever. No more to run the charge between The cannon's heavy rattle, No more to view the awful scene Of raging hells of battle. No more to hear the victors' yell O'er fallen foeman lying — The scream of shot, the burst of shell, The groans of wounded dying. Sleep on, poor boys, for angel wings Will guard thee through thy slumbers, Until the heavenly trumpet rings To rouse thy fallen numbers. Sleep on ! The cruel strife is o'er, Old Glory still is waving, Reflecting light to every shore, Encouraging and saving. No foeman's hand shall e'er despoil Our land of peace and flowers. God grant one law, one flag, one soil, Forever may be ours. ( 136 ) Oh, fallen boys in blue and gray, Sad have your lives been given, And though you're ranked in death today, You're ranked alive in heaven. ( 137) Little Ben. Just a year ago this Christmas — How the time has slipped away — I remember all thet happened Just as though 'twas yesterday. While the mery bells were ringin', After bein' 'way so far, Fightin fer his country's honor, Little Ben came home from war. When our President McKinley Asked th' States fer volunteers, And th' Boys in Blue responded With enthusiastic cheers, It was then thet little Bennie — Was our only child, you know — Got into his head th' notion Thet he though he'd like t' go. He had grown up tall an' handsome, He was twenty-one ; but then Somehow it seemed sort o' soothin' Jcs' t' call him Little Ben. Well, he kep' a coaxin', beggin', Asked me sometimes twice a day If I didn't want t' let him Jine th' troops and march away. (138) But I sort o' held my answer — It was somewhat hard, you know, For a loving, gray-haired father Jes' t' up an' tell him "Go! 1 ' But I saw it was his notion And his nature was t' roam, Saw he'd never 'mount t' nothin' If I kep him here at home. So one evening after supper, When th' milkin' all was done — We were settin' 'roun th' fire — Ben as usual begun. But I checked him in th' startin' And I looked him in th' eye, And my voice it shook a little, But I braced up an' sez I : ''Ben, I see you're bent on goin', But we need you here, you know ; Yet if nuthin' else '11 do you, You kin pack 'er duds an' go." Then I drove him t' th' city, Only four short miles away — Both of us were deeply thinkin', Didn't talk much on th' way. Then he left me, near th' station ; I stood 'round a while, an' then I was just a gettin' ready Fer t' drive back home asrin, k ta J ( 139) When I heard th' sound of music And th' tramp of many feet, And I saw th' soldiers comin', Swiftly comin' down th' street. As I glanced among th' faces Of th' soldiers as they passed, There I caught a glimpse of Bennie- He was steppin' quick and fast, He was in among th' others, They were marchin' two an' two, In his hands he held a musket, On him was a suit o' blue. Then he paused as he passed by me, Tuck my hand and then he said : "Well, good-bye, Pap, I'm a goin' — Then swept on with martial tread And th' last I saw of Bennie As he started off so far Was his broad-rimmed hat a wavin' From th' winder of th' car. Well, I went back to th' wagon And I drove back home alone, Thinkin' sadly of th' future And how fast that Ben had grown. Me an' Mandy kep' a workin', Even harder than before, Knowin' that our only stand-by Wasn't with us any more. ( HO) Then we got a letter from hint— Sed thet he was well and he Would be ordered with th' others To th' islands of th' sea. Well, a month had passed, I reckon, When we got another one — Just a single sheet of paper — Looked a little like a dun. Then my hands they shook and trembled As I broke th' seal away; Drawing out th' scrap I read it — Sounded sompthin' this 'er way: "I am writin' in th' trenches, And th' boys are fallin' fast; And there is no calculatin' Just how long th' fight '11 last. "We have only one short hour To refresh ourselves, an' then We'll be ordered with th' others Back into th' fight agin. If I live an 'God is willin', I will come back home agin." Then it winded up by sayin', "From your own son, Little Ben." Then my eyes began to water And I couldn't see no more, And th' paper somehow fluttered From my fingers t' th' floor. (ho In a week we got another — Envelope was black an' red — It was written by the captain — Mandy opened it and read: "Your son Ben has nobly fallen Fer a cause that's just and right; He was killed while bravely chargin' Through th' thickest of th' fight, And he has no stain or tarnish On his glorious career." This was signed by Captain Davis, Indiana Volunteer. Mandy bursted out a cryin', Worried 'round and couldn't rest, But I knew that God had done it And that God knew what was best. Pained me, though, t' think him lyin' Low beneath a foreign sod, But we'd give him to his country, To his country and his God. Well, th' farm was goin' reckless, Time sped on with awfel bound, Till a year ago this Christmas, When a little change came 'round. We were settin' in th' kitchen — Me an' Mandy there alone — She was silent, I was thinkin' How th' days had swiftly flown. ( 142) When I heard th' porch a-creakin' And a rap upon th' door — And it sounded as familiar As it had in days of yore. Well, I wheeled 'round in my rocker, Dropped my corn-cob pipe, and then Cleared my throat and looked at Mandy, Muttered, thoughtlessly, "Come in." Then the door it slowly opened, Slowly opened up, and then Standin' there upon th' threshold Was our long-lost Little Ben. And he sprang across th' kitchen, And he tuck me by th' hand, And I kissed him and caressed him As a father only can. And th' tears they kep' a fallin' On his suit of gold and blue, And I 'spect thet some was leakin' From my crusty eyelids too. 'Twas a false report, I reckon, That our noble Ben had fell ; How my ole heart went t' beatin' When he turned up safe and well. Then we knelt and went t' prayin' That all cruel wars would cease, And th' glorious white-winged angels Spread their loving wings of peace— (143) Spread their wings and floating o'er us, Sound their trumps and sing agin, As they used to in Judea, "Peace on earth, good will to men." C 144) For Non-Emigration. Curtain thy gateway, O land of Columbia! Heed not the clamoring voice of the world ; Forbid the stranger to trample the shadow That falls from our banner too freely unfurled. Long has it swung from the back-ground of heaven Over the stretch of the land and the sea; Nor can a slave stagger in its reflection But that his life is forever made free. Many the hearts that have thrilled at its flutter, Nor have their conquesting spirits been dumb, Swift as the wind that is swept by the heaven, Faster and faster the emigrants come. Hark to the already babel of voices — Foreigners' voices, so greedy and cold; Naught do they care for the honor of freedom, Naught but the glint of American gold. When first our gates were thrown open to greet them, Pathways bloomed forth opportunity's flowers. Soon they were trampled, through hasty confusion, By the fierce vultures of alien powers. (145) Did our brave sires who fell in the struggle At the fierce storming of old Bunker Hill, Purchase the liberties they have entrusted To us, to squander away at our will? No, it is sacred, this present of freedom, As the dear graves where our forefathers lie ; It should be handled with greatest discretion, 'Tis to be guarded with envious eye. Mark how Athena, in days of the ancients, Lifted the latch that the Spartan might come Mark how that greedy and jealous usurper Slew the kind parent that gave him a home. Curtain thy gateways, O land of Columbia! Heed not the shriek of the foreigners' cry ; Turn to thine own for thy self-preservation, Turn to the stranger when ready to die. (14$) Me and Jim. We'd lived together all our lives, Was raised together — me an' Jim — So that where one of us was found The other one was there with him. We swam together in the pond, And slept together in the mow, And rambled through the fields and wood, And life was pleasure, I'll allow. 'Twas then we sipped youth's honey-dew That time doth cruelly decoy; 'Twas then our steps seemed sprinkled o'er With sugar-sand of sweetest joy. At school we didn't do so well, Was punished daily as a rule; Somehow 'twas always me an' Jim Thet had t' stay in after school. And in th' spellin' classes when Th' master called on us t' trail Up ter th' front, 'twas me er Jim Thet tuck our places at th' tail. But school days smiled and sped away, We grew t' manhood — me an' Jim — I was sort o' short an' blunt, And Jim was sort o' long an' slim. (147) Then when th' Murphy girl moved in Our neighborhood, th' fellers they, Were all a cussin' me an' Jim Because her smiles came our way ; But take th' hull thing through an' through, Somehow er tother I cud see She favored me, bit more'n Jim — Had sort o' sot her eyes on me. Well, then, Jim he grew crust and cold, He didn't treat me as before, And things went on from bad to worse, Until Jim wouldn't speak no more. One night when I was comin' home I met Jim in th' road, an' he Low'd ter kill me if agin He ever sot his eyes on me. But when th' papers came agin I read thet Jim had gone away Ter some big town in Tennessee And there enlisted with th' Gray; But I'd made up my mind ter stay Here with th' old folks on th' farm, An' try ter watch an' keer fer them When all th' country was alarm. But when th' papers told about Th' fightin' at Chancellorsville — Where Stonewall Jackson met our troops And sent 'em tearin' down th' hill — ( 148) 'Twas then my blood began ter bile, I couldn't stand it any more ; I longed ter teach th' stubborn grays A reverence fer th' flag we bore. An' so I left th' folks at home With all th' summer's work t' do ; Went to th' city, and when there Enlisted with th' Boys in Blue. An so one night in early June I heard th' cannons crash and boom, And overheard the corp'ral say There'd be a heavy battle soon. The summons came — we all turned out — - Then there was startling dismay, For stretched before us, broad and dense, There stood a line of solid gray ; And while I stood in quaking dread, And saw th' cannons old and grim, Somehow my mind it wandered back To boyhood days and old friend Jim. I longed to see him once again, Ter look into his face once more, Ter clasp him by his honest hand As friendly as in days of yore. But here my reverie was checked — A rocket whistled through the air, The musket crashed, the fight was on, With terror reigning everywhere. ( 149) Then when th' firin' slacked a bit A sound of voices swelled and grew, And far upon th' right was heard Th' cheerin' of the Boys in Blue. The fight was o'er, th' victory won, Once more our country's honor saved, While over us with gaudy folds Our starry banner proudly waved. That night on sentinel duty when The moonbeams threw a ghastly ray Among the chaparrel and o'er The fallen soldiers as they lay, 'Twas then I heard some feller groan Among the bushes on my right, Where the skirmish line had been Before beginnin' of the fight. And then I crept up close behind, And somehow tore the brush away, And saw a soldier lying there Clothed in a rebel suit of gray ; And as he turned his head about He said to me in plaintive tone : "Water, water; I am dying, I am dying here alone." Then when I bathed his wounded brow And tendered carefully to him, I saw by glinting stars above The features of my old friend Jim. (150) "Forgive me, Bill," he slowly said ; "Forgive me for the wrong I've done, You wear the Blue, I wear the Gray, But soon both parties shall be one." And then he said with failing voice — And raised my trembling hand to kiss- "Just place your coat upon me, Bill, And do not bury me in this." It seems that I can see him now, With teardrops standing in his eye, And begging of me to forgive, Just to forgive and say good-bye. "Oh, I forgive you, Jim," I cried, And then I had to turn away To hide th' tears thet trickled down Upon his suit of rebel gray. But when I turned to look again 'Twas all in vain I called t' Jim; His eyes were closed, and then I knew That death had come and taken him. Well, then I sat there long beside And held him gently by th' hand, Jes' thinkin' of th' days gone by When back upon our father's land ; And then I clipped away a curl, Three buttons off his suit o' gray, To send 'em to his mother dear A waitin' fer him fur away. (151) I tuck my Union jacket then And wrapped him tenderly about, And buried him beneath th' stars, And so poor Jim was mustered out. Now when I hear th' Southern Grays, All cursed and slurred with Northern whim, Why, then my mind it sort o' strays 'Way back ter boyhood days with Jim. (152) The Dying Soldier. Unroll again the dear old flag That I may take a dying gaze Upon its folds — the gloom of death Is broken by its glowing rays. Old flag, although it's sad to die, 'Tis sweet to fill a soldier's grave And know that through the silent years Above me you will guard and wave. Through many days of storm and sun I've followed you with eager tread — In peaceful camp, in weary march, And in the charge o'er heaps of dead. I've struggled with you in the front, Where frenzied men rushed too and fro, With shriek and curses, groans and prayers, Till hell of battle laid them low. Then in the roll call I have heard The summons for a cherished name; Too oft a deathly stillness fell, And from the ranks no answer came. ( 153) Far in the distant camp tonight When bloody battle lantern's glare, And men shall line to call the roll, Ah, who will answer for me there? What tho' this cursed bullet flew And winged its deadly way to me, Had I a hundred thousand lives, Dear flag, I'd give them all for thee. Wave out, dear stripes, the angels 5 breath Will flutter you across the sea, And all the world will come to know That men are fashioned to be free. Wave out, altho' no more shall I Behold you blazing in the sky. May God and man respect your folds — Farewell, old flag, good-bye. (iS4) Battle of Manila I have heard the tales of battle Sung in ballad and in story — Of the gallantry and daring Of the men who stand to fall ; But of all that glint and glimmer Of a military glory, Dewey's battle of Manila Surely overdazzles all. E'en the Argonautic sailors, Headed by their gallant Jason, Who destroyed the fabled dragon That in Euxine river lay ; Or Heracles' journey Into hell's infernal bason, Couldn't equal Dewey's venture Into old Manila bay. Steering boldly to the harbor Where the Spanish fleet was lying, Frowning with its heavy cannon, He intruded slowly in. Little heeding the explosion Of the missiles 'round him flying, He'd resolved to beard the lion Who was growling in his den. (155) Like the lightning of a tempest, Rapid was the vivid flashing, When he trained his heavy cannon And returned a fierce reply, Awful was the loud explosion As the mighty balls went crashing, Sending clouds of smoke and splinters Flying upward in the sky. I can hear the Spaniards cursing As in hurry and in blunder They collided, crowded, jostled, Rushing madly to and fro ; I can hear the screams of drowning As they sink forever under, And the cold waves closed above them And entombed them deep below. When the Spanish ships were sinking, And their guns no longer roared, And the battle was decided To our hero and his braves — Touching must have been the picture As the smaller boats were lowered To receive their dying foemen From the hunger of the waves. Oft will be rehearsed with wonder This important tale of battle — When the right and wrong collided Down in old Manila bay. ('56) When the winter winds are howling, Making doors and windows rattle, Twill be told with pride and pleasure To our youth for many a day. (iS7) Tlie Last Recall. It was nightfall, the camp was still, The soldiers lay in slumber deep, And with his chapeau at his side The bugle boy had gone to sleep. How softly did the breezes steal To kiss his brow so white and fair, And flutter gently to and fro His tangled locks of raven hair. His infant friends the fairies came From dreamland regions far away, And led him backward through the years Into his childhood's happy day. He dreamed of father, mother, home, A maiden's eyes so sweet and clear ; He heard her calling out his name And whispering love into his ear. Cut, hark ! a ruder sound is heard, That swelling louder, louder still, Awakes the sleeper with a start And sets his pulses all athrill. (158) He hears the foeman drawing near, So still that there are no alarms ; He grasps the bugle at his side And blows a piercing call, "To arms !" How changes then that silent camp — Each soldier wakes to grasp his gun, And as the bugle sounds the charge They rush to battle on the run. The bugle boy is at the front, Where muskets loudest flash around ; But suddenly his trump is still — He reels and sinks upon the ground. Scarce had its echoes died away, When swelling clear upon the air, It sounds again to cheer the boys, Who rushing on had left him there. And while his life blood ebbs away He hears the flankers drawing near To close the soldiers all around And shoot them down like herded deer. He starts to rise so weak and faint, He sinks again in mute despair, And gazing upward to the sky He breathes a hurried, sinking prayer. ( 159 ) Then brings the bugle to his lips — How fluttering the echoes fall — So faint at first, then growing clear, He sounds a pitiful recall. The surging columns far away Soon hear the plaintive call, "Come back !" And wheeling round with rapid tread They cover a retreating track. The foe is foiled, the army saved, Yet in the grasses red and wet A rigid face looks to the sky, A glassy eye is fixed and set. Long may the mother wait in vain To welcome home her pride and joy ; Oft will the maiden breathe his name When longing for her soldier boy. And time perhaps will ne'er reveal The place or how he came to fall And die alone and could not know The issue of his last recall. The bugle horn is silent now, No one to sound a note of cheer, And many a cheek with powder stained Is dabbled by a soldier's tear. ( 160 ) With folded flags and muffled drum, Next morning at the break of day, The noble-hearted soldiers come And bore their bugle boy away. Each soldier laid with grateful hand A wild-wood flower upon the pall That hid for aye the lips away — The lips that blew the last recall. ( 161 Memorial Address. Honored Veterans of the Armies of America: I shall attempt to confine my feeble expressions to the subject of the great Civil war in America. Let us review then, for one brief moment, that epoch of American history covering that period of time from when, the name — the United States of America — implied but the original thirteen feeble colo- nies whose cradle was creaking in the blood of a revolution, up until the time that the first gun was fired by the Confederate forces at Fort Sumter, April 12, 1 86 1, against the national colors, and we will notice that we as a nation had experienced an unusual degree, a remarkable period of peace and of prosperity. I would have you to understand me to mean, in com- parison to that which was then existing among the ancient countries of Europe. History teaches us that it was but a few years be- fore this time that Napoleon Bonaparte, the greatest military leader that the world has ever known, was leading his vast legions throughout European domin- ions, causing kingdoms and empires to crumble at his touch and others to rise as if by magic at his bidding. Yet during all these years of American peace and (162) progress there had heen an underground current at work that was constantly washing out the foundations of our grand old government, preparing it to totter and almost to fall. A poisonous dragon was busily engaged fastening its deadly talons into the bosoms of some of the sev- eral states preparatory to rending out great talonsful of flesh and blood, the peace and prosperity of the great American republic. A great black war cloud had many years before risen up from the deep, dark jungles of distant Africa, had floated over the bosom of the mighty Atlantic, and had for years hung like a pall over the future safety and welfare of our governmental interest. Now, what did that underground current repre- sent? It represented the idea of American secession. The idea that a state could, of its own free will, dissolve itself from the national union and set up some sort of an independent government of its own. Then, what did that dragon represent? It repre- sented the idea that a man could eat his bread earned by the uncompensated labor of the slave. And when that great war cloud burst with a thun- der that shook the world, hurling thousands of the most perfect types of manhood down to the bosom of mother earth, never to arise, did it annihilate the prin- ciples of our grand old government ? Thank God, no. The people of truth and right and justice gathered with patriotic cheers around the trembling folds of the stars and stripes, and they raised them back firm, (163) unfaltering and high, high over the principles of a new government, a government without the slave. Oh, how dark and terrible the opening days of the Civil war must have been. It seems to me that I can see the conditions of our country as they existed at that time spread out before me through some magic panoramic manner ; it seems that I can hear the loud voices of the eloquent orators as they went about this beautiful land of ours, inciting the fair young boys of city and farm into the awful ranks of war. And it seems to me that I can hear the repeated cheers of those same boys as they gathered with hur- rahs of patriotism around the fluttering folds of Old Glory, resolved to go wherever it might lead them, in the peaceful camp, in the weary march and in the awful charge o'er heaps of dead. And into death? Aye, yes, and even into hell for the sake of the dear old American flag. And, again, it seems to me that I can see these same poor boys, upon the day before their departure for the front. Some of them arc strolling through the quiet, pleasant woodlands with the maidens that they love, pledging their undying truth and everlasting remem- brance. Some of them are bidding adieu to the aged gray- haired mother, upon the old veranda, who kisses and embraces them over and over again, in heart-rending silence. We see the young son as he leaves her, as he trips down the gravel pathway past the fragrant hon- eysuckle bushes ; we hear the clatter of the old gate (i6 4 ) behind him through which he had so often entered; in a moment he is gone, and is gone forever. Perhaps tomorrow's sun will shine upon these same poor boys, far out upon the firing lines of war, where the horses trample and the great guns bellow clouds of smoke ; there upon the cold damp ground in the wet and bloody grass might be seen their cold silent forms with white, rigid upturned faces. Such is the horror of war, yet I would to God that all its terrors ended upon the field of battle. Imagine the thousands of once happy homes for- ever made desolate; picture the waiting maid, wait- ing anxiously day after day for the soldier boy who will never return. Far out in the bloody war land in some secluded spot there is perhaps a solitary grave, uncultured and unsung; unkempt save for its fringe of summer flow- ers, and unsung save for the twittering of the song- birds in the branches above it. Picture that aged mother sitting upon the old veranda every summer afternoon, waiting, waiting to hear that footstep which will never fall. Ah, poor mother, the feet of your young son, the staff of your declining years, are forever silenced ; he is sleeping, sleeping that eternal sleep that knows no waking, with no funeral shroud save his uniform stained with his own heart's blood. But now the question arises. What is the issue to all such sacrifice of peace and love and happiness? Hark ! what is that ? As with a crashing sound I hear i & (165) the rattle of a million chains as they fall from the bleeding hands and feet of as many bondaged negoes. But listen ! listen ! there is a sweeter sound — there is a sweeter sound, that rises and wells above the ex- ultant shouts of the jubilant negroes at their freedom, and it is the voice of the great North and of the great South blended in the singing of that grand old strain that shall echo and re-echo down through all the com- ing generations of time these sweet and immortal words : "Oh long may that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." (166) Benediction. Great guard of heaven's door, Bear with us, we implore, Flood all with blessings o'er — Even to me. Hear thou the prayers we bring, Hear thou the songs we sing, Hear thou the bells we ring — Praises to thee. Teach us to watch and pray, Guard us from day to day, Lest we should drift astray, Wander in sin. Then when the shadows loom, Lengthening toward the tomb, Pilot us through the gloom Forever, Amen. (167) JUN 14 19C5 015 928 143 7