Class .55_3^0i 
 Book V U34^ <^ 
 
 COHfRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN 
 
Bon^B of i^tipt 
 
 ICitrtr (Eliafc Mhm 
 
 ^ubltaljpft bn i^tt ^nenhtt 
 
 ^iamp^rtt. Mass. 
 
 1909 
 
 3Uu0trattntt0 
 
 3. Jpautifttr iKrtralf 
 Horttiamtitott 
 
^5°' 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY J. J. METCALF 
 
 ©CI. A 2535S6 
 
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 You sang me a song in the spirit 
 A gentle and generous song ; 
 
 And played me a tune on the pen-point 
 Whose echo is lingering long. 
 
3art-Waxh 
 
 These verses have been printed in the Spring- 
 field Republican, Zion's Herald, The World's 
 Crisis, Our Hope, All Nations Monthly, Berean 
 Quarterly, Messiah's Advocate, and in a few other 
 places. 
 
 Grateful to my many friends for their kindly 
 interest, I am glad to speak to them again. I thank 
 Miss Metcalf and Rev. Charles B. Bliss, pastor 
 of the Congregational church in Hampden. 
 
 LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN. 
 Hampden, Mass., Dec. 21, 1909. 
 
(HontrtttH 
 
 Fore Word 
 
 To a Poet-Frieud 
 
 Invocation 
 
 THE vSTORY OF JESUS 
 The Story of Jesus 
 His Word 
 
 The Carpenter's Son 
 Judas of Kerioth 
 His Homeland 
 Suffering and Glory 
 Fishers of Men 
 
 THE MACEDONIAN CRY 
 The Mactdonian Cry 
 The Missionary 
 The Evangel-Bearer 
 Our Servants 
 A Day-Dream 
 Harvest 
 
 "I WILL COME AGAIN" 
 " I will Come Again " 
 Psalm XCI 
 God Save the King 
 " I Change Not " 
 Mount Zion 
 The Golden Bells 
 Home 
 
 HAMPDEN 
 Hampden 
 Common- Wealth 
 Our Homeland 
 A Day in July 
 Snow-Flakes 
 The Wooden Wedding 
 The Golden Wedding 
 The Gambrel Roof 
 
 A MORNING SUNSET 
 A Morning vSunset 
 Our Mother 
 vSunday School 
 The Teacher 
 
 To Henry W. Longfellow 
 Carefulness 
 Freedom 
 
 SHORE-WARD 
 Shore- Ward 
 Rest 
 
 Joy in the Morning 
 By-and-By 
 
 " Neither Any More Pain " 
 Jerusalem 
 Wine of the Kingdom 
 
(§ 
 
 3lmi0ratto« 
 
 RISEN Christ ! E'er since that cloud of heaven 
 Received Thee out of sight at Bethany, 
 The pledge of Thy return, by angels given, 
 Has kept Thy lovers brave to wait for Thee. 
 
 O priestly Christ, behind the vail departed. 
 And sprinkling on the mercy-seat Thy blood ! 
 
 To watch for Thee thine Israel, eager-hearted, 
 Adown the temple courts for long have stood. 
 
 O kingly Christ, for endless years anointed, 
 God's chosen Prince for Zion's holy hill ! 
 
 The world-kings reign until the time appointed. 
 
 When earth, as heaven, shall do God's blessed will. 
 
 O living Christ ! Could he who calls it fiction. 
 
 That promise sure of Thine epiphany. 
 But share Thy Spirit's witness and conviction. 
 
 How would his conquered heart keep faith in Thee ! 
 
 I 
 
®V *lorg of StBtxB 
 
"SCANTUCK'S BANKS UNTROn" — Page 35 
 
(HI)? 0ttirg of Jrfiua 
 
 ^HE story of Jesus, the centuries through, 
 xJ Has over and over been told. 
 To far generations, the old and the new. 
 To nations, the new and the old. 
 
 The story has softened and sweetened the tone 
 
 Of motherhood's low lullaby, 
 And lightened the scepter of fatherhood's throne 
 
 With influence sent from on high. 
 
 And often in childhood the teachable heart 
 
 Has grown the more gentle and mild, 
 And wiser to carry its own little part. 
 
 Through knowledge of Bethlehem's Child. 
 
 It may be the lad, with his hearty good cheer. 
 
 And soul full of spirits and joy, 
 Grows kinder and braver and truer each year 
 
 By hearing of Nazareth's Boy. 
 
 Grief's tender Acquaintance and sorrow's schooled Man 
 
 In spirit still comforts the sad. 
 Till God in His season accomplish His plan, 
 
 And make the earth's wilderness glad. 
 
 fta Waxh 
 
 More blest to give than to receive ? 
 
 Can that be true ? 
 Yet Jesus told it for a truth. 
 
 And Jesus knew. 
 
 He knew the joy of sacrifice 
 
 At any cost ; 
 Of giving service, self, and life, 
 
 To save the lost. 
 
 And some have left their own sweet way 
 
 To walk in His ; 
 Have proven well the sacred text, 
 / And know the bliss. 
 
Qllir (Unrpmtn^si Bon 
 
 ^[^N Joseph's shop at Nazareth 
 ^ A youthful workman stands, 
 Plying the hammer, saw, and plane 
 With deft and willing hands. 
 
 He smells the breath of fragrant woods> 
 Whose clippings strew the floor. 
 
 Of cedar sweet from Lebanon, 
 Or fir, or sycamore. 
 
 He splits the sturdy grain apart — 
 
 Perhaps a Bashan oak — 
 And shapes the bow, and shaves the pir?^ 
 
 To make the ox a yoke. 
 
 I seem to find him thinking then, 
 
 Of his approaching quest 
 For weary souls, to bid them come 
 
 And take his yoke of rest. 
 
 And while he measures beam and board,, 
 
 Or hews the heavy sill. 
 To frame the boat, or build the house, 
 
 I ween he thinketh still 
 
 About the wise man's rock-held home 
 
 That stood unmoved for long, 
 Though rains had beaten, winds had blown. 
 
 And floods been high and strong. 
 
 Our daily toil is Heaven-blest; 
 
 To plow and pen and broom, 
 And every useful industry, 
 
 The Father giveth room. 
 
 lO 
 
Jitbaa at ICrrtotlj 
 
 '^' Forgive them, Father," Jesus prayed. 
 
 And will his prayer avail ? 
 Or was it only sentiment. 
 
 Spasmodic, fruitless, frail ? 
 "'Thou always hearest me," he said. 
 
 Then how shall answer fail ? 
 
 Forgive them? Whom? His careless friends:? 
 
 0, no, his foes, instead ; 
 Among them Judas, first of all 
 
 By greed of money led, 
 But first of all to penitence 
 
 And self -renouncement sped. 
 
 But Jesus called him Devil ? Yes. 
 
 Called Peter Satan, too ; 
 And Paul's sharp pen took pains to let 
 
 The same Greek wording show, 
 That now and then some deacon's wife 
 
 Might be a devil too. 
 
 Condoning not this traitor's crime, 
 
 A sin so great and plain, 
 'Tis fair to ask if he alone 
 
 Has traded love for gain ; 
 If he alone has sold his Lord 
 
 And bought a world's disdain ? 
 
 How few so full confession make» 
 
 As Judas made that day ! 
 ' I've sold the blood of innocence. 
 
 And thrown the price away." 
 Was not his broken heart a plea 
 
 For grace and mercy ?— Say ? 
 
 II 
 
TIDING David's pleasant pastoral lands 
 35V Revived their ancient fame, 
 When into Bethlehem's little world 
 
 The child of Mary came. 
 New charm to all the lovely slopes 
 
 Of Nazareth was lent, 
 When mid its homes there came to be 
 
 One holy childhood spent. 
 On Capernaum by the sea 
 
 Shone light from heaven then. 
 When Jesus trod its busy shore 
 
 And dwelt among its men. 
 
 The Jordan wave, the Hermon dew. 
 
 The strand of Galilee, 
 The restful stone of Jacob's well. 
 
 The soil of Bethany, 
 Though senseless all, did they not feel 
 
 With almost human sense 
 The hallowing touch of holy flesh 
 
 That moved Omnipotence ? 
 
 And chief of all, Jerusalem 
 
 On princely Judah's heights — 
 Jerusalem of privilege 
 
 And rare inalien rights. 
 The home where gathered all the tribes 
 
 From every far off land — 
 Saw Jesus come with royal grace 
 
 And bounty in his hand. 
 
 12 
 
But ah ! her wicked citizens 
 
 Ignored their Blessed One ; 
 And shut their eyes on God's best gift, 
 
 Their own King David's Son. 
 that with penitential tears 
 
 Those eyes had first been wet. 
 Before his own had wept for them 
 
 Upon Mount Olivet ! 
 
 Sweet Olivet ! what fuller scene 
 
 Than meets its westward look, 
 Adown its softly sloping sides. 
 
 And o'er the Kidron brook, 
 Has ever wrought on human heart 
 
 Or burst on mortal eye — 
 Jerusalem, so folded once. 
 
 So scattered by and by ? 
 Long home of prophets, priests, and kings. 
 
 Its every fallen gate 
 Has proved that word of prophecy, 
 
 That dreadful "desolate!" 
 
 E'en so, the Conqueror's banner now 
 
 Must wider be unfurled — 
 Not only Jews' Messiah he. 
 
 But Savior of the world. 
 E'en yet Jerusalem shall join 
 
 The general acclaim, 
 And shout with gladness, " Blest is he 
 
 Who comes in Heaven's name !" 
 
 13 
 
w 
 
 N the cross the Roman soldiers 
 Laid the Lord ; 
 
 Not resisting, not returning, 
 Look or word. 
 
 Hands and feet they spiked and fastened 
 
 To the tree, 
 While from every wound the blood-drops 
 
 Trickled free. 
 
 Ready arms the wood supporting 
 
 Lifted it. 
 Till with drop and thud it settled 
 
 In its pit. 
 
 Thus we see the Man of sorrows 
 
 Lifted up. 
 Not for tears nor three-fold praying 
 
 Stays the cup. 
 
 How three lingering hours in anguish 
 
 Jesus hung, 
 Pens have written, tongues have witnessed, 
 
 Lips have sung. 
 
 But no script, nor song, nor sermon. 
 
 E'er may say 
 What the World's alone Redeemer 
 
 Bore that day — 
 
 Thorny crown, abuse, reviling, 
 
 Taste of gall, 
 Taunt of soldiery and priesthood. 
 
 And the call, 
 
 "God ! My God 1" until the latest, 
 
 Loudest cry 
 Told the story, that for sinners 
 
 Christ must die. 
 
 14 
 
Lo ! Three days away, by Heaven's 
 
 Kind decree, 
 From his tomb the risen Master 
 
 Went out free ! 
 
 Now, where far beyond the veiling 
 
 Glory pours, 
 Priest with God, He waits with mercy 
 
 Near the doors. 
 
 Would we at His grand returning 
 
 Share his chrism? 
 We must meekly share with patience 
 
 His baptism. 
 
 Fuller not than His, of suffering, 
 
 Our estate. 
 Hardly less than His the rapture 
 
 Which we wait. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 **JtBljpra of li^tt" 
 
 The great blue sea of life is full 
 
 Of souls astray from God, 
 Of whom how many a precious draught 
 
 Waits but for net and rod ! 
 
 And He who loved the seashore so 
 Stands calling once again. 
 Come, follow me, and I will make 
 You fishermen of men." 
 
 15 
 
II 
 (Slu Mncthamm Org 
 
2Ii)^ iUar^bnman (Ury 
 
 ♦^jriS night at Troas. Dipt beneath the sea, 
 ^J'The westward, isleful, sea, the sun has set 
 Upon the tired pulse of toil and care. 
 Against the east Mt. Ida lays her brow, 
 And lets it bathe itself in evening dew, 
 The while the slowly-northering Xanthus seeks 
 The sea, beyond the old near-lying site 
 Of ancient Troy, whose noble gates — (so ran 
 The verse of Grecia's olden poet, were 
 It dream or were it very history) — 
 Twelve times a hundred years before, withstood 
 For forty lingering seasons, patiently, 
 A siege of Javan's bravest, princeliest, men, 
 Until their fatal gift, the towering horse. 
 Built many a cubit high, and secretly 
 Intestined with a band of s worded men, 
 Sprung fast its awful snare of blood and fire 
 On that devoted city. 
 
 Now 'tis night 
 At Troas. Paul in vision hears from far 
 That strong, historic, Macedonian cry, 
 Which echoes long. And so to Europe's lands 
 His gospel flies. Philippi hears the prayers 
 And songs of prisoned men at midnight hour. 
 And Salonica sees a goodly band 
 Of noble converts rise. Bereans, too, 
 Grow nobler still. Great heathen Athens learns 
 Of God the Father and his risen Son, 
 And Corinth is "exalted unto heaven." 
 
 19 
 
When, by and by, from Caesar's capital 
 
 This bonded, faithful, man shall think to write 
 
 To those beloved Philippians, will it be 
 
 With fettered words? No, no. But love and faith 
 
 Shall guide his pen to grandest utterances, 
 
 Which many a toiling child of grace, away 
 
 Along the multiplying years, shall read 
 
 And love, and then thank God for courage new, 
 
 But o'er a greater Troy still hangs the night — 
 And sounds the world-wide Macedonian cry. 
 
 'TlTOR gold sometimes a man will leave his home, 
 
 ^J^ His friends, his all, and brave a hundred ills, 
 
 Till, face to face with death, he sets on gold 
 
 No whit of value. So, for love of men, 
 
 The good bondservant of the Lord will go 
 
 Away from home and all its bliss, to tread 
 
 The paths of strangers. Braver heart than his 
 
 Ne'er ran the risk of water, fire, or sword, 
 
 Or deadly pestilence. Nor keener mind 
 
 Than that which draws the labyrinthine plan 
 
 Of gospel mission-work has ever graced 
 
 Earth's gallery of intellect. What strife 
 
 With loneliness, privation, climate, care. 
 
 And language, tries each patient soul, that threads 
 
 Such maze of idioms and moods of men ! 
 
 But this man's strife is for the higher prize, 
 
 The prize of souls. And so, when face to face 
 
 With death, his heart is full of trust and hope 
 
 Of happy resurrection from the dead, 
 
 When he shall say with joy, " Here, Loid, am I, 
 
 And here are those whom Thou hast given me." 
 
 20 
 
®1|0 Stiati00l-learer 
 
 TjCOW beautiful upon the heights 
 1*^ The feet of him who brings 
 Good tidings from the Lord of lights, 
 Glad tidings of good things ! 
 
 As if with telescopic eye 
 
 He sees all tribes as one, 
 And hears with ultra ear the cry 
 
 From every Macedon. 
 
 God speed his way from tropic plains 
 
 To where the ices lie ; 
 From conquered lands and prison chains 
 
 To realms of liberty ; 
 
 From Indian bloom and shrine and priest 
 
 To banks of polar snow ; 
 From countless China in the East 
 
 To western Mexico ; 
 
 From far-famed Britain's ancient soils 
 
 To sunset states and young ; 
 From waters where the sailor toils 
 
 To sands o'er deserts flung; 
 
 From pomp and pride of stately church, 
 
 And rule of churchly state, 
 To nooks which almost baffle search. 
 
 And souls outside the gate. 
 
 God speed him till the times begin, 
 
 When surely, as foretold. 
 The King shall bring His kingdom in, 
 
 And set His street of gold. 
 
 21 
 
That day the Lamb shall take his bride, 
 
 The Shepherd fold his sheep, 
 The Father with his sons abide. 
 
 And saints their Sabbath keep. 
 
 Full fifteen hundred millions strong 
 
 Now crowd our mother earth. 
 But none may count the blood-washed throng 
 
 Redeemed in second birth. 
 
 ^•^ 
 
 Dear tired toilers in far lands, 
 How ought we, every one. 
 
 To stay not, but stay up, your hands 
 Till set of harvest sun ! 
 
 How strengthens He the loving heart 
 
 That dares its all divide. 
 And spend for love the larger part 
 
 And then be spent beside ! 
 
 How guideth He the hands and feet 
 
 That strive so patiently 
 To bear the burden and the heat 
 
 Of all the busy day ! 
 
 Ah, ye who sow in earthly tears 
 Shall reap in heavenly joy. 
 
 And spend the grand eternal years 
 In high and sweet employ ! 
 
 22 
 
A 3au-Brpam 
 
 jfj WALK in spirit far away 
 cll On India's "coral strands," 
 And tread the valley where they say 
 Our faithful mission stands. 
 
 I take the Christian captain's hand, 
 Give each dear helper mine. 
 
 And note how God has sped the band 
 On mission so divine. 
 
 I hear the Word, the hymn, the prayer, 
 
 Discern the witness given, 
 Apply the text, " The Lord is there," 
 
 And in my heart thank heaven. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 l^arupfit 
 
 How white for harvest everywhere 
 The whole earth's acres wait^! 
 
 What pity. Lord, Thy men are few. 
 With all the growth so great ! 
 
 Who, who will go and work to-day. 
 
 Or who the Reaper send 
 To save the grain ere harvest pass, 
 
 Or golden summer end ? 
 
 2X 
 
Ill 
 
 31 »U (Eom^ Again ** 
 
"a ci-oih) rs ON TiiKiR SKY " — Pag-e 47 
 
'*il HiUl (Homf Agattt" 
 
 fES, once for all, the Christ will come ; 
 He said he would. 
 This same green earth shall be his home, 
 That drank his blood. 
 
 While nineteen hundred Christian years 
 
 Their marches tread. 
 His members wait in toil and tears 
 
 Their sacred Head. 
 
 And " some fair morn with rosy light" 
 The night shall crown ; 
 Some soft sweet hour of starlit night " 
 Bring Jesus down. 
 
 Paalm X0I3I 
 
 The "secret place of the Most High " 
 
 Is where I long to dwell, 
 From clashing arms of nations free, 
 
 And rising hosts of hell. 
 
 How very near that dreadful day 
 Of world-wide strife may be, 
 
 Is known to Him in heaven above 
 But not on earth to me. 
 
 Meanwhile in closet of my home", 
 
 Or closet of my heart. 
 With Him who sees in secret still, 
 
 I find a place apart. 
 
 As Mercy sang on Bunyan's page, 
 " Let Him, if 't be His will," 
 
 Well shepherd me till dawns His day 
 For folding Israel. 
 
 27 
 
" (gnii #atip % King" 
 
 ♦ * A KING shall reign in righteousness" — 
 
 <^V My king, your king, our strong redress, 
 A whole world's king, that world to bless. 
 " God save the King!" 
 
 Baptizing in the ritual grave 
 John saw the Holy Spirit lave 
 The royal Man at Jordan's wave. 
 " God save the King !" 
 
 And yet to death th' Anointed came, 
 To cross and pain and blood and shame, 
 Asserting still his kingly claim. 
 
 "God save the King!" 
 
 He rose. And now, till time restores, 
 He waits where heavenly glory pours, 
 Beyond "the everlasting doors." 
 "God save the King!" 
 
 When David's race accepts the things 
 His re-built tabernacle brings. 
 Thrice welcome back, thou King of kings ! 
 " God save the King!" 
 
 "diail]attgp Not" 
 
 In God's eternal cycle great. 
 
 Lie paths of times untold. 
 Incalculable aeons wait 
 
 The world His hands uphold. 
 
 A thousand years tho' He abide, 
 
 'Tis but a day's abode. 
 Our life, which wearying hours divide, 
 
 Is not the life of God. 
 
 How good to know He changes not, 
 
 Though ages change apace. 
 And ne'er shall fail in one small jot 
 
 The promise of His grace ! 
 
 28 
 
m 
 
 OUNT ZION of David, magnificent hill ! 
 What hopes and what memories gather thereon ! 
 High-priestly Melchisedek's Salem is still 
 
 The goal of God's people and throne of His Son. 
 
 Dear Mount of Jehovah, His chosen of heights. 
 Bestowed on His nation, His chosen of men ; 
 
 The place of His rest, and the page where He writes 
 His marvelous Name with the centuries' pen. 
 
 Though " plowed as a field," and though desolate long, 
 Though shorn of its dwellers, the great and the small, 
 
 There yet shall be gathered with joy and with song 
 God's Judah and Joseph and Benjamin, all. 
 
 To Zion right soon the Redeemer will come. 
 And turn from His people ungodliness then. 
 
 The wastes will be plenished, the scattered come home, 
 And Salem be " joy of the whole earth" again. 
 
 The tent of Jehovah shall stand on its crest, 
 
 And Jesus Messiah shall govern it well. 
 There Israel's children, brought back to their rest, 
 
 And children of children forever shall dwell. 
 
 29 
 
NTO the high and holy place, 
 On gracious work intent, 
 Long, long ago, our great High-priest 
 Beyond the veiling went. 
 
 And then the tinkling of his bells — 
 
 His sound of entrance in — 
 Was heard, when fell the power that saved 
 
 Three thousand souls from sin. 
 
 Still on the right of heaven's throne, 
 
 Where radiant glory pours. 
 He holds for us His ministries 
 
 Behind the heavenly doors. 
 
 ' Behold he cometh out !" The cry 
 Is heard afar to-day. 
 And hark — His sound — the music sweet 
 Of bells not far away 1 
 
 30 
 
 J 
 
 1| 
 
Are we almost there ? Are we nearing home ? 
 
 Are those the lights of the Father's house ? 
 Are these the tones of his harps that come 
 
 On the evening air at the journey's close? 
 
 Do the waymarks wane on the thoroughfare ? 
 
 Do the last ones point to the promised end ? 
 Have they, who the way of the Lord prepare, 
 
 Made straight His paths for the homeward trend ? 
 
 The four-realmed form of the monarch's dream 
 Takes shape apace ; and the mountain stone 
 
 Waits near to smite with its might extreme 
 The way for a heavenly Monarch's throne. 
 
 The robe, the ring, and the fatted calf. 
 The ample floor where the music calls. 
 
 And kiss compassionate, tell not half 
 That waits for sons in the Father's halls. 
 
 31 
 
IV 
 
IjaEAR town that carriest well thy part 
 2t* In Massachusetts fair, 
 Thy history is in the heart, 
 Thine influence on the air. 
 
 Eight times a score of years have passed 
 
 Since first the trail of man 
 Was broken in the forest vast, 
 
 Where fox and rabbit ran. 
 
 Thy wooded hills stood grandly then. 
 And Scantuck's banks untrod, 
 
 And restless breast unbridged by men. 
 Dreamed not of net and rod. 
 
 While gray and green of hills at play. 
 
 And mottle of the glen, 
 Threw all their tint and grace away 
 
 On brute and insect ken. 
 
 A settler came with wife and child. 
 
 And others followed fast, 
 Until their dwellings in the wild 
 
 To rank of village passed. 
 
 In course of time the meeting-house 
 
 Upon the common rose. 
 Where saddled horses pawed the browse 
 
 Ere second sermon's close. 
 
 35 
 
The seats were slabs, as was the wont. 
 
 With bark still on the wood ; 
 A clapboard crowned the pulpit's front 
 
 And held the book of God. 
 
 The people grew. Their households free 
 
 Bore their full mete of men. 
 Without its generations three 
 
 Where stood the dwelling then ? 
 
 Judge Bliss could represent the shire, 
 
 And Parson Warren pray, 
 And Burt Esquire, and Sessions " Squire" 
 
 Deal justice in their day. 
 
 And there were Newell, Isham, Cone, 
 Shaw, Goodwill, Turner, Day, 
 
 Flynt, Stacy, Adams, Eggleston, 
 King, Russell, and McCray. 
 
 Burt, Chapin, Morris, West and Lord, 
 Hunt, Stebbins, Chaffee, Pease, 
 
 Root, Langdon, Burleigh, Beebe, Wood 
 And Smith — and more than these. 
 
 The village grew, and mills upsprung 
 
 As men came in to stay ; 
 And belfries rose, till seven bells rung 
 
 On Independence Day. 
 
 The church and school took each its part 
 
 The truth and light to spread. 
 And hardly less than pastor's heart 
 
 Was held the teacher's head. 
 
 The sterling rule of fatherhood 
 
 And sweet maternal cheer 
 Have here combined their powers for good 
 
 And fashioned character. 
 
 36 
 
a o 
 
 < < 
 
 ■ 
 
Thy books recall the natal date 
 
 Of doctor, lawyer, clerk, 
 Historian, preacher, magistrate, 
 
 And more, of worth and work. 
 
 Men of the cloth, the pen, the pill, 
 
 The safe, the sword, the sea, 
 The bar, the bench, the chair, the mill. 
 
 The rail — have hailed from thee. 
 
 In eighteen hundred seventy-eight 
 
 A break from Wilbraham 
 Left thee to rule thine own estate 
 
 And choose another name. 
 
 Though there are Hampdens everywhere 
 Among the wide earth's towns, 
 
 Yet few men's names have fame more fair 
 Than England's honored John's. 
 
 But let no fortune hide the faults 
 
 Which break the law within. 
 For that which God to Heaven exalts 
 
 Must answer for its sin. 
 
 Live long, dear town. Thy strength renew. 
 
 For lovelier soil than thine 
 Dame Nature gives to townships few 
 
 This side the storied Rhine. 
 
 As mountains guard som.e city's wall, 
 See how thine own guard thee. 
 
 And point, as if from earthly thrall, 
 To Heaven that maketh free. 
 
 37 
 
A thousand links there are that hold 
 
 All men in common weal, 
 Whose kindly ministries untold 
 
 To every soul appeal. 
 
 The same warm sun that blesses me, 
 Awoke earth's primal flowers. 
 
 The same white moon that glints my tree 
 Once glinted Eden's bowers. 
 
 I see the same Orion rise 
 
 That rose on Uz and Ur, 
 And lured to study of the skies 
 
 Each great astronomer. 
 
 The very bow Jehovah set 
 
 His covenant to speak 
 Is bending, when the hills are wet, 
 
 Above my valley meek. 
 
 The hues that crown my sunset sky 
 
 The same have ever been. 
 O'er lake and plain Messiah's eye 
 
 Took all their glory in. 
 
 (iur ^om?-ICattb 
 
 Though Orient shores the sunrise greet. 
 And South lands count their spoil ; 
 
 Though soft Levantine fields are sweet 
 With vines and wines and oil; 
 
 To us there is no dearer seat 
 Than our Columbian soil. 
 
 We sit in pleasant places here. 
 
 Between the mighty seas. 
 A goodly heritage we share. 
 
 Whose blessings still increase, 
 A heritage of love and prayer, 
 
 A heritage of peace. 
 
 38 
 
A ia^ tit July 
 
 'JI^EHIND the ridgy eastern hills the sun 
 1^ Is coming up. Across his great red face 
 Two pictured oaks are gliding down like views 
 Upon a showman's canvas. Up and up 
 He rides, and leaves them standing dim and still, 
 With only sky for background. All along 
 The fields the widening sunlight eastward creeps 
 And creeps, till all the little world that lies 
 Within our whole horizon smiles. 
 
 The air 
 Is full of song and sweetness. Fasting cows 
 Eye wistfully the tempting pasture blades 
 That nod outside the barnyard wall, until 
 The noisy milkers drop the clattering bars 
 And give them freedom. Bustling matrons ply 
 Between their stores and stoves and tables, while 
 Great fragrant promises of breakfast float 
 Away from open doors, and barefoot boys. 
 As yet unjacketed, go brushing dew 
 Or paddling in the pools of recent rain. 
 
 Beside the winding fences and the brook 
 The supple mowers swing the gleaming scythe, 
 And round and round the ponderous machine 
 Goes clanking through the stately waving grass. 
 
 The sun is hot and high. Within the shade. 
 The cooling brookside shade, the sated cows 
 Stand lazily. The butcher's tired horse, 
 Returning from his daily round is glad. 
 Slow stepping up the hill. The kitchen glows; 
 But willing hands have spread the noonday meal. 
 
 That past, the rested men assault again 
 The half made hay that patiently awaits 
 The turning. Lo ! What thing of life is this, 
 That pulls and kicks and tosses right and left 
 
 39 
 
Th' astonished hay so fast and spitefully, 
 
 Till all the stretching acres find themselves 
 
 Turned upside down? 0, labor-saving steel ! 
 
 0, cunning hand of man ! While early sons 
 
 Of young New England plied their ample hands, 
 
 How little did their farthest thought forecast 
 
 The revelation of such mystic strength 
 
 And skill ! See how the maddening tedder's wrath 
 
 Has surely praised the maker ! 
 
 Now the men 
 May rest awhile. Beneath the elm the cup, 
 The sweetened, gingered (only gingered) cup 
 With homely wit goes round. Lunch past, the rakes 
 Come on. The windrows grow. The tumbles pile. 
 The cart comes lumbering up and pitchforks play, 
 'Till load on load is safely in the barn. 
 
 The sun is low. The cows come slowly home. 
 And played-out children eat their bread and milk. 
 How still the clean-swept empty meadow lies! 
 
 Upon the crown of yonder western hill 
 The woodman's axe has left one kingly pine. 
 And there, just there, the sun is going down, 
 A picture fair — the green-robed monarch set 
 In gold — but fleeting, for no living man 
 May bid again the sun stand still. So down 
 He sinks, to wake the world beyond, and leave 
 Our worn and tired one to rest and peace. 
 
 40 
 
DECEMBER 
 
 Up in the height of the heaven blue — 
 
 No, it is gray to-day — 
 And all the realms of the low air through, 
 
 The feathery snowflakes play. 
 
 Over the trodden and plundered bed 
 Of earth with its autumn stains 
 
 And faded patchwork of fields, they spread 
 The fairest of counterpanes. 
 
 Whitest of things in the world is snow, 
 
 Stillest of sounds its sigh ; 
 Lightest of touches on cheek and brow 
 
 Its kisses of greeting die. 
 
 Type of the purity known above. 
 
 And type of the covering tide 
 Of paschal grace that was spread in love, 
 
 The stain of our sin to hide ! 
 
 MARCH 
 
 Ah ! But the sight was a fleeting thing! 
 
 For the conquered snowflakes feel 
 The warm, soft, breath of the waking spring. 
 
 And what does their flight reveal ? 
 
 The same old face of the ground once more, 
 
 All stripped of its veil, appears 
 With its worn out features furrowed o'er 
 
 With the wrinkling lines of years. 
 
 There, in the track of the vanished snow, 
 'Mid the grasses flat and brown, 
 
 Great sorry mosaics of rubbish now 
 On the northering sunshine frown. 
 
 O, Lamb of Calvary, bare not so 
 
 My soul in Thy spring, I pray; 
 But over it still thine atonement throw 
 
 In the great revelation day. 
 
 41 
 
OIl)r Blnubfit litiiiiing 
 
 W 
 
 But she asked in a twinkling, and left me betimes, 
 Before I could think it and utter it too, 
 
 That poets write poems, and rhymers make rhymes. 
 What sort of a verse would she like ? Let me see. 
 
 Blank verse is my forte, for it's easy to write — 
 The blanker the better — and blank should this be ; 
 
 But the subject in hand is not grave enough quite. 
 
 A wedding ! A wooden one ! More than my match 
 
 Will be "firstly " and "thirdly" and so forth, I'm sure. 
 For I've wondered and pondered and scratched the gray thatch 
 
 Above my top story for half of an hour. 
 For something to prime with. But, spite of it all, 
 
 Not the thinnest old ghost of a " firstly " will rise. 
 So I've climbed lower down, where I lovingly call 
 
 On the tenderest depths of my heart for supplies. 
 
 To tell the whole truth, five years don't inspire 
 
 Very much of a flourish of pencil or ink. 
 If the five were a fifty, my flight might be higher. 
 
 (I hope the good couple won't hark while I think. ) 
 I'll ask them to let me, this once, be excused. 
 
 They're sure to be gracious — 'tis one of their ways. 
 I'll promise their mercy shall not be abused. 
 
 And give them my uttermost thanks all the days. 
 
 42 
 
The years are full of first wedding days, 
 
 The altars of bridal gifts. 
 On a day unmarked by some marriage-vow 
 
 No curtain of morning lifts. 
 
 But when the years from the plighting time 
 
 Have woven the lives of men 
 Into half the web of a century, 
 
 Ah ! Where are the pledgers then ? 
 
 For the ritual words, "Till death do part," 
 
 Are surely a prophecy; 
 Nor bond, nor honor, nor strength of love 
 
 Can put the fulfilment by. 
 
 So a rare good gift at the hand of Heaven 
 Is your golden wedding day — 
 
 A table-land toward the mountain top, 
 A glade toward the twilight gray. 
 
 Be the day to you, who for fifty years 
 Together have smiled and wept, 
 
 A happier one than the marriage-time. 
 So long in memory kept. 
 
 Sweet rest beyond 1 May it wait for each. 
 
 Whatever in life betide. 
 And raiment white, when the shining Christ 
 
 Shall take to himself his Bride. 
 
 43 
 
m 
 
 HERE maples wave o'er the sunny tiers 
 Of a dear New England hill, 
 
 A gambrel roof of a hundred years 
 Makes home for a household still. 
 
 Colonial sway had spent its tide, 
 
 And federal rule begun, 
 When the stalwart builder led his bride 
 
 And christened his hearth of stone. 
 
 In time all round the ancestral tree 
 
 Six pairs of pattering feet 
 Improved their skill and their liberty, 
 
 While life and its loves grew sweet. 
 
 But the birdlings, all but one, outgrew 
 The scope of the sacred nest. 
 
 And spread their wings to the wider blue 
 Of the north, the south, the west. 
 
 And the gray haired lord and lady rare 
 Lay down in the dreamless sleep, 
 
 And left the pastures and gardens fair 
 To the later lord to keep. 
 
 Then over again the wedded lives. 
 The patter, the flight, the pall, 
 
 While the great perpetual roof survives 
 For the latest lord of all. 
 
 44 
 
V . 
 
A iHorntng ^utta^t 
 
 ^yOO long ere we could dream the night would come, 
 V!/ " This child of fond affection" fell asleep. 
 Too long ere noon this cloud enwrapped the home, 
 And draped its sacred walls with darkness deep. 
 
 The hope, the ardor, and the fair intent, 
 Which marked his busy preparation-day. 
 
 How soon is all their inspiration spent. 
 
 And all the prize they promised snatched away ! 
 
 Since our first father fell, no household band 
 Is ever made so strong it does not break. 
 
 The law of death still bears relentless hand. 
 Suspending never yet for love's sweet sake. 
 
 But then, the early dead are they who die 
 
 Beset by loving care and tenderness. 
 And so, since death must be, would you or I 
 
 Call back the dead to live till love is less ? 
 
 But none the less a cloud is on their sky. 
 
 Who miss so suddenly the step, the look. 
 The voice, the word, the touch, the smile, the eye, 
 
 Of him so long the lambkin of the flock. 
 Yet memory's lights can pierce the cloud to-day: 
 
 One falls on scenery where a young heart bows 
 To Jesus' grace, and finds the only way 
 
 To reach the Father and the Father's house. 
 
 The things unseen, the life and world to come. 
 
 Are dearer now — more strong to bend the will 
 And guide the feet along the path to Home ; 
 
 For life and light and Heaven are kindly still. 
 
 "Because I live, so ye shall live," He said, 
 Who died, was buried, rose, and went on high. 
 
 And He who brought from death our conquering Head, 
 Will bring His members with Him, by and by. 
 
 « 
 
 47 
 
m 
 
 (§m Matbn 
 
 E loved you, Mother ! Ere our tender feet 
 Could hardly climb our father's threshold low, 
 Our hearts had caught a draft of love so sweet 
 From out your lips that we can taste it now. 
 
 The goosequill and the old blue spelling-book. 
 With which our opening powers began to bore 
 
 The awful mine of lore and language, took 
 Their only charm for us from out your store 
 
 Of smiles and kind encouragement. And when 
 Sometimes the rock-bound ore so baffling lay 
 
 That tools gave place to tears, how deftly then 
 You made the granite yield us victory ! 
 
 We loved you, Mother ! All along the years 
 Of life's strange discipline of joy and pain. 
 
 Beneath your mmistries of smiles and tears. 
 The joy was sure to wax, the grief to wane. 
 
 We loved you. Mother ! So, how strange and sad, 
 How very sad and how surpassing strange, 
 
 We rarely told you so, to make you glad, 
 
 With tones and touches meet for love's exchange. 
 
 O careless world of women and of men, 
 Beset by love's sweet service while we live, 
 
 To leave, till love's sweet heart has passed our ken, 
 The answering ministry we meant to give ! 
 
 48 
 
Blessed the day 
 
 Calling away 
 The weary from labor and children fronfi play. 
 
 Beautiful bell, 
 
 With echo and swell. 
 Ringing the hour of God's worship to tell. 
 
 Light the young feet. 
 On many a street, 
 Hastening on in the schoolroom to meet. 
 
 Happy the throng 
 Raising the song 
 Of praise and thanksgiving to God that belong. 
 
 Cheerful the place, 
 
 And welcome each face. 
 And precious each lesson of wisdom and grace. 
 
 But a holier spell 
 
 Than of lesson or bell 
 Is the spirit of Jesus within us to dwell. 
 
 The way may be long 
 
 And the battle be strong, 
 Which ends in "Sweet Home " and the conqueror's song, 
 
 And snares may befall, — 
 
 But what of them all, 
 If God's be the service, and God's be the call ? 
 
 Is she queen of the schoolroom ? Yes, O yes ! 
 
 Its floor is her throne to-day. 
 A child leans forward to touch her dress 
 
 And another to say his "A." 
 She smiles, and guides with a patience meet 
 
 The growth of the young idea. 
 Whose fruit, please Heaven, shall ripen sweet 
 
 In the sun of some far-off year. 
 
 49 
 
cUit ^mr^ M, iCottgfftlUmt 
 
 Dear busy hand, so wont so long 
 
 The fair white page to trace 
 In gentle ministry and strong. 
 Dispensing generous wealth of song 
 
 And verse of power and grace ; 
 
 To grasp thee once would be delight 
 
 Because we claim thee kin 
 By sympathy, in daring spite 
 Of will of thine, or mile or height. 
 
 Or social line between. 
 
 Dear busy brain, whose patient play 
 
 Has wrought us pleasure so 
 In opening for us far away 
 Enchanted galleries of to-day 
 
 And of the long ago ; 
 
 Whose sceneries, rich with cottage, tower, 
 Sea, mountain, stream, and lake, 
 
 Have held our eyes for many an hour ; 
 
 We feel thine artful, artless, power, 
 And glad confession make. 
 
 Dear heart, whose faith and hope and love 
 Have made cold words so warm, 
 
 And found for doubt, the floods above. 
 
 Always some olive-leaf to prove 
 The passage of the storm. 
 
 We court the friendships thou hast wrought 
 With charms thy love can lend, 
 
 'Till many a figure which thy thought 
 
 Has into mystic being brought, 
 Seems like a household friend. 
 
 50 
 
Of one "dead lamb," one "open door," 
 
 One "solemn voice and slow," 
 Of many a shape that comes once more 
 With noiseless footsteps on the floor, — 
 
 Ah, yes ! We know — we know. 
 
 At " Children's hour" we've seen them glide 
 
 Softly, for siege prepared — 
 Then, victor-victims, fast inside 
 The tender-hearted "dungeon" hide, 
 
 "Grave," "laughing," "golden-haired." 
 
 What rhythm, witching to our ears, 
 
 In Plymouth story rings, 
 And follows far through hopes and fears 
 Patient Evangeline for years. 
 
 And her sad victory sings. 
 
 War's ' ' Miserere " on the air, 
 
 Christ's "Peace" and God's "Good-will;" 
 The low- voiced reading after care, 
 The clock's "Forever" on the stair. 
 
 Are sounds that echo still. 
 
 With "God o'erhead and heart within," 
 
 Dear singing soul, sing on, 
 'Till thou shalt reach that " Wayside Inn " 
 Where toil shall cease and rest begin. 
 
 When sets thy westering sun. 
 
 Beyond this strangely changing lot. 
 
 Beyond these pictures dim. 
 Be thine the life where death comes not. 
 Thine ' ' Ultima ' ' of this forgot 
 
 In that life's perfect hymn. 
 
 51 
 
(EarpfuhtcBH 
 
 g^TEP lightly, child, 
 ^^ The baby sleeps. 
 Speak kindly, child, 
 Thy mother weeps. 
 
 Be gentle, man, 
 
 Thy neighbor grieves. 
 Be honest, man, 
 
 God counteth sheaves. 
 
 Have mercy, friend. 
 Sore heart needs ease. 
 
 Be faithful, friend, 
 The Master sees. 
 
 Write plainly, scribe, 
 In words that burn. 
 
 Nor let one bribe 
 Thy sentence turn. 
 
 Preach boldly, Paul, 
 Mayhap with tears. 
 
 Pray always, all. 
 The Father hears. 
 
 Walk straitly, saint, 
 'Tis one strait way. 
 
 But love's restraint 
 Is liberty. 
 
 52 
 
Dare, dare, to count before you build 
 
 The cost of all your tower. 
 Lest, ere its stories half be filled, 
 
 Your purse exhaust its power. 
 
 Dare, dare, to try each spirit bright, 
 That comes with offering free. 
 
 And bid it rise to face the light, 
 Whate'er its gift may be. 
 
 Dare, dare, to test the very friend 
 
 Of all your sunny years, 
 And prove how far his graces tend, 
 
 When days are dark with tears. 
 
 Dare, dare, to doubt the times and laws 
 
 Of power unjust and proud ; 
 To trace afar each hidden cause, 
 
 And tell the truth aloud. 
 
 And even dare to probe the Book 
 
 Which bears God's word from heaven ; 
 
 For it itself doth bid us look 
 For proof of all things given. 
 
 Although alone you keep your post. 
 
 Yet many an upper room 
 Recruits today a growing host 
 
 Who claim their freedom come. 
 
 For not alone to fight the fight 
 
 Will Heaven leave him long, 
 Who dares to wage a war of right 
 
 Against whatever wrong. 
 
 53 
 
VI 
 
My bark may plow the deepest seas 
 
 Or strike on sanded bars, 
 Or icy bergfs at far degrees 
 
 Beneath the polar stars. 
 
 But I am sure One guides the helm. 
 And guards each beam and joint. 
 
 Who lets no tempest overwhelm, 
 And holds the needle's point. 
 
 I'll soon descry the palmy shore 
 
 And towers of Salem see. 
 Where waits, when sailing all is o'er. 
 
 Eternal rest for me. 
 
 In the sleep of the silent night 
 There is rest for the weary frame. 
 
 And throbbing pulses which all day long 
 Have answered to labor's claim. 
 
 In the valley of penitence 
 
 There is rest for the sorry soul 
 With feet that have strayed on the hills of sin 
 
 And hands that have spurned control. 
 
 In the faith of the wounded Lamb 
 There is rest for the broken heart, 
 
 In which Jehovah is pledged to dwell, 
 From the troubling world apart. 
 
 In the halls of the Father's House 
 There is rest for each faithful son, 
 
 When "sorrow and sighing shall flee away," 
 And the Father's good will be done. 
 
 57 
 
log ttt tfif Morning 
 
 'Tis midnight hour, and the night is dark' 
 And the way beset with gloom, 
 
 While the pilgrim's lamp gives feeble spark. 
 0, when will the morning come ? 
 
 'Tis three o'clock, the heaviest hour. 
 
 The hour men oftenest die. 
 And fear and doubt on the spirit lower.. 
 
 0, when will the night go by ? 
 
 Tis four o'clock, and the tardy light 
 
 Delays in the eastern skies, 
 Till the pilgrim's faith sore longs for sight™ 
 
 O, when will the day-star rise ? 
 
 Ah, light steals on, and the night is past,. 
 And the day is breaking. See ! 
 
 Earth's signs are on, and her armies vast 
 Are training to set her free. 
 
 IHg-attli-ISQ 
 
 To one remorseless river-bed 
 
 All paths of mortals tend. 
 A cradle rocks where each begins, 
 
 A grave awaits the end. 
 
 By man came sin ; by sin came death ; 
 
 And death has passed on all ; 
 For they who share his life and death 
 
 Share also Adam's fall. 
 
 But on the other shore there lies 
 
 Another path of life. 
 Which the Anointed One has found 
 
 After a mortal strife. 
 
 Some day this pilgrimage will end. 
 
 And Jordan cease to be. 
 And dying life give blessed place 
 
 To immortality. 
 
 58 
 
God grant we may, through mercy great, 
 
 Be gathered by and by 
 *' To Canaan's fair and happy land, 
 
 Where our possessions lie." 
 
 ^^ 
 
 "Nn%r Atty Mar^ fain" 
 
 What ! Not any more ? Say, not any more 
 That maddening thing that o'er and o'er 
 Has followed so closely the primal fall. 
 And pierced the heart of creation all ? 
 
 Ah ! Not any more shall the pulses beat. 
 And the muscles grind with the nameless heat 
 That cuts, like a warrior's weapon sharp. 
 The sentient strings of the human harp ? 
 
 No more, no more, of the weakening wave 
 That sweeps on a mortal as if a grave 
 Were opening wide like a gate of hell. 
 To take him down where the dead ones dwell ? 
 
 But God has promised his dead shall rise ; 
 0, yes ! In the word what a comfort lies ! 
 Shall rise undying and glorified. 
 When falls on the age its eventide. 
 
 In the by-and-by, on the other shore, 
 
 Aye, then and there will be pain no more. , 
 
 For God has promised it shall not be, 
 
 In His own new earth with its healing tree. 
 
 59 
 
3lFnt0alpm 
 
 Whene'er I read the words that bring 
 
 To my enraptured view 
 The city of the one great King, 
 
 Jerusalem, the New," 
 At once sweet memory recalls 
 
 The words and tones of old, 
 " When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls 
 
 And pearly gates behold ?" 
 And back again the echoes come. 
 
 Across the years to me, 
 "Jerusalem, my glorious home. 
 
 Thy joys when shall I see ?" 
 
 i»^ 
 
 Wxm of ll|p iKtngiinm 
 
 The lands of the olive and vineyard red 
 That smile on thy southern sea, 
 
 beautiful Europe, I may not tread. 
 Nor taste of their luxury. 
 
 But the royal wine of the " Land ahead " 
 Will sparkle, I hope, for me. 
 
 60 
 
E WAY MAY BE LONG " — Page 49 
 
HJe'lO 
 
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