.vj&xy- ^^ -^^ % °y^%^/ ^-^ -^^ Life AND Song POEMS BY ANNA r/hENDERSON BUFFALO CHARLES WELLS AIOULTON 1900 TVv^O COPIES Rl_.::2iVED, Library cf GOEig,s?Q«^ Mff 351800 RigUtir of Gop5»?|g||jfe T ^ -s ^- \ 4 £ 4-5 U4- I <^ ^ ^5895 Copyrighted 1900 by Anna R. Henderson. SeCGHD CO?*Y, LIFE AND SONG ^n&^x PAGE Life and Song 9 Blossoms 20 Garner the Beautiful 22 Flowers by the Wayside 23 An Idyl of Spring 26 Fancies . . . , 27 A Picture .... 28 Balanced .... 29 Voices of the Tides 31 California Eoses 34 West Virginia at the Columbian Exposi- tion . . . . . 35 First Settlers of Williamstown 38 Graves of Isaac and Rebecca Williams 44 Relic Day 46 What the Primrose Told . « 48 The Painter and Poet . . 49 Spain .... • * . 51 Americans All . 53 Raising the American Flag { it Santiago 55 The Flag of Spain . 57 The Field of Song . 58 Story of the Shoe . 63 Her Mission • . . 67 A Child's Fancy . . 68 Bonnie's Prayer . . 70 VUl INDEX PAGE To a Little Son ... . 71 Rosalie 74 Babyhood 75 A Common Lot .... 76 Paying their Way 79 The First Gray Hair . 81 The Happiest Time 82 Stepping Heavenward 87 Three Days 88 A Little Sin .... 90 What To Be 92 Roses and Tnorns 93 Abide With Me . 94 On Easter Morn, 95 Eace to Face with my Saviour 96 No Day Without Its Deed . 98 ''It Doth Not Yet Appear" 99 Loved and Lost . . . " . 101 Faith Never Worries . 102 Bells at Evening Time 105 A Wish , 106 A Thought .... . 107 The Easter Lily's Mission . . 108 The Upward Way . 110 God's Will To Me . 112 gifc and ^0n^ As they dwelt with the Poet. I would that Life and Song, Might each express the whole of each." Sidney Lanier. CHILDHOOD X^ WINS were they — Life and Song, Born together, In fair weather. When the days were long. Stepping lightly, hand in hand, Forth they went in Wonderland. Song began her rippling cooing, When Life's eyes, In glad surprise. Shone on all the great world's doing, "Love and wonder, joy and play," That was all sweet Song could say. In the sunny vale of childhood. Played they long, Life and Song. Plucking flov/ers from bosky wildwood. Playmates of the bird and bee. Murmuring brook and rustling tree. 10 LIFE AND SOKG "Come," called Life; cried Song, *'I folow, We will go, Soft as snow, Down through many a fragrant hollow, Where the vagrant wild flowers sweet ; Spring to meet our springing feet." Life was full of all fair motion, Past the reach Of prosy speech; Like a wavelet of the ocean. Full of grace, till (none could doubt it), Ouly Song could tell about it. Tell in silver notes whose measures, Ever rhyming. Ever chiming, Seemed the drippings of pure pleasures ; Like the sprinkling, tinkling tune. Of a bobolink in June. Only Song could chant the story Of glad plays, And sunny days ; Of wild rose and morning glory ; Brooks that ripple, rains that sprinkle. Buds that blossom, stars that twinkle. Only Song could tell the praises New and sweet. Though incomplete. Of the violets and the daisies. LIFE AND SOKG 11 Where they wandered hand in hand, Through enchanted fairyland. Only Song could fitly render, All the kisses. All the blisses Mother love gave, sweet and tender; Clearest tunes with sweetest words. Played on Life's awakening chords. Twins were they, but did not know it, Never thinking. Ever drinking ; Grateful? Scarce enough to show it ; Of the bubbling wine of pleasure, Brimming o'er Life's amplest measure. Thus it was that they went straying, Glad and long. Life and Song, In the spring of childhood Maying, Joy's deep riddle. Life had guessed it, Claimed it, and sweet Song expressed it. YOUTH Life had left the tiny valley. Where the brook Its dimples took On with many a laughing sally. Life had climbed the upland slope. Led by Youth and wLiiged by Hope. 12 LIFE AKD SOHG ** Sweet, sweet Song, come follow after," Called she long. *'Come, dear Song." *'Tune and rhyme and smile and laughter, All I need to tell the truth Of the sunny land of Youth." So came Song and walked beside her, On the height. All was bright. Lovely Life, ah, who could chide her? Care and wisdom could not reach her. Only Love and Song could teach her. Whispered Life, with sweet insistence, "Sing full strong, Dearest Song, Of the keynote of existence. It is pure, without alloy, I have found it, it is Joy." Song then wrought a lyre in fashion Graceful, olden. Gleaming, golden. Smote the trembling chords of passion ; Till the notes of deep desire. Upward rose like sparks of fire. *'Azure skies," sang Song, "are o'er us. In the bushes, Larks and thrushes Join to swell a wordless chorus." LIFE AND SONG 13 *'Sing, sweet Song," said Life, *'sing sweeter. We will travel faster, fleeter." Sang then Song, "On distant ocean, I can see. Fair and free ; Stately ships with graceful motion. And they sail, they sail in truth. For the sparkling shores of youth. "Spicy gales are gently blowing; Soft and bland, Toward the land, Earest perfume round thee throwing, All fair riches are for thee. When thy ship comes in from sea. "Whore those roseate clouds are gleaning. Vast and fair. Through the air ; I can see a castle gleaming. Love, the King, doth hold the key. And he waits, dear Life for thee." "Song," said Life, *'thy voice doth hover. Glide and roll. Above my soul. Thou art dearer than a lover. I would have thy rapture fill me, Speak each bliss that e'er shall thrill me." 14 LIFE a:n^d soxg ''Life," said Song, "if I delight thee. Every day. Blithe and gay ; Let no harsh words e'er affright me. Keep thyself in purity, As the twin of Poesy." Thus they spoke to one another. Oft and long. Life and Song ; Walking close as friead and brother. Heart to heart, for aye revealing, Each the others deepest feeling. MANHOOD Far upon the sunlit mountain, Grandly bright. In its height ; Far above the plash of fountain ; Where the light was clear and strong. Walked together Life and Song. Spake then Life, " 'Twas toilsome climbing; Dusty highway. With no by-way. If you kept some sweet notes chiming, Bells of fame and wealth were ringing. Till I scarcely heard your singing. "See how far it lies below us; Youth's fair vale; LIFE AN'D SONG 15 In the dale ; Sweetest spot that earth can show us. I — that hurried on so fast, Knew not when its bounds I passed." Sang then Song, **It had illusions, Yet 'twas fair. Free from care ; Gay with Fancy's rich effusions. Still I see its colors blending, Breathe its incense sweet ascending. **Fame hath thrown a garland round thee. Jewels bright As the light. Honor's liberal hand hath crowned thee, Glossy are thy laurel leaves ; Golden are thy harvest sheaves. *'Yet," said Life,* 'the flowers that dally At my feet Are not so sweet As the violets in the valley, And thy voice is not so clear, In this rarer atmosphere." Darkly rose a cloud before them, Black as night ; Hid the light. Threw its ebon shadow o'er them. Somber cloud of woe and sorrow ; Doomed to shade each coming morrow. 16 LIFE AND SOi^G Life sat down in deep despair, Sad his cry, "Fool was I Deeming skies were always fair," Song in darkness, drawing near him. Breathed one plaintive note to cheer him. *'J^ay," cried Life, "we part forever. Dearest Song, Loved so long. I can bear your voice, no, never. Sorrow's hand is o'er my eyes; All my path in darkness lies." But sweet Song was not dismayed Sought for power Every hour. To uplift the heavy shade Laid on Life by darksome grief. Sought for words to bring relief. So she sang in cadence tender. Sad and low. Soft and slow, Sympathy indeed to render. Soothing teardrops fell and glistened. Till Life raised his head and listened. Then she sang in words of beauty, Truer, clearer. Stronger, nearer, Sang of faith and work and duty ; LIFE Ai^D SOKG 17 Sang of Heaven's own fadeless morrow, That shall lift the night of sorrow. *'Song," said Life, ''come close beside me, Thou art mine, I am thine. Teach me patience, never chide me. We will walk, through changing weather, Down the sunset slope together." AGE Came the time of winter weather. Clouds were drifting. Snows were sifting. Life and Song sat down together ; Raked the coals of dull desire. Fanned and coaxed the dying fire. Strangers deemed they were mismated, (Song they say. Was made for May), It should fly, nor thus be fated, To embrace a darkening ember, In the air of bleak December. Youth (they said) was fair and rosy, Mate of Song, All day long. Age was withered, age was prosy. Yet they piled their driftwood higher, Built of broken spars their fire. 18 LIFE AND SONG *'Song," said Life, "thy strains so tender Tell but part, Of my heart. Thou hast only learned to render Faintest echo of its gladness, Surface fathom of its sadness. Still I long to hear thee singing, All thy rhyming, All thy chiming. Keeps my spirit Heavenward winging. Thou hast been the soul of me, Heaven born, deathless Poesy. "Sing to me in cadence pleasant, Like the swell Of vesper bell. I have little in the present. Sing of hearts that aye are haunted. By the ghosts of days enchanted." So the notes of Song went ringing. Sweet and fair, Through the air, Zenith and horizon winging ; Till all time became a part Of the poet and his heart. And the world that paused and listened, Oft and long. To the song, Said through tears that softly glistened ; LIFE AND SOIS'G 19 **Life and Song will ope the portal Of the land of love immortal." Still the raptured tones went swelling, Notes of glory- In their story; ** Earth," cried Song, *'is not my dwelling; Life, together we will fly. To our native home on high." So they found the poet dead. Smile of grace, On his face. And the ones who loved him said, "Life and Song are his together Twins in Heaven's unclouded weather." 20 BLOSSOMS "'^^ThEN first the spricgtime's fair array,' In Northern lands I saw around me, An apple tree, a great bouquet, With showers of blushing petals crowned me. I shook them lightly from my brow ; "Your charms," I said,* 'can never please me. Weary with winter's cold and snow, No Northern pleasures can appease me. '*I hardly see, I cannot prize The beauty which each bloom discloses, For, oh, my heart is all in love With orange flowers and Southern roses. Yet more, methinks I cannot find Eoom in my heart for Northern faces, So closely are its tendrils twined Eound far oS friends with Southern graces." Successive years 'neath Northern skies, Far absent from my native bowers ; Have weakened not those blessed ties That bind me to the land of flowers. Yet am I changed. When blossoms fall, I greet them with as true a blessing. As those which crowned me at the call Of coaxing South winds soft caressing. BLOSSOMS 21 My stubborn heart has larger grown, And has a thousand sacred places Where love shall evermore enthrone Most fondly cherished Northern faces ; With earnest love I gladly clasp The palms where l^orthern firmness lingers, But reach my other hand to grasp The precious warmth of Southern fingers. The songs I sing shall breathe a strain In praise of Northern vales and mountains, But evermore the glad refrain Shall be of Southern palms and fountains, And for the flowers I love the most. Their beauty in my heart enshrining, With apple blossoms of the North Shall Southern orange blooms be twining. e^ 22 GARi^ER THE BEAUTIFUL f -jr-^^NEE the beautiful as you go, Wait not for a day of leisure, The hours of toil may be long and slow. And the moments few of pleasure ; But beauty strays by the common ways. And calls to the dullest being; Then let not thine ear be deaf to hear, Or thine eye be slow in seeing. Kind Nature calls from her varied halls, *'I will give you balm for sadness," Let the sunset's gleam and the laugh of the stream. Awaken thoughts of gladness. If a bird should pour his song by thy door Let thy heart respond with singing ; The winds and the trees have harmonies. That may set thy joy bells ringing. Pause oft by a flower in its leafy bower, And feast thine eye on its beauty , A Queen hath bliss no rarer than this, 'Tis thy privilege and duty. And, oh, when the shout of a child rings out, And its face is bright with gladness. Let it kindle the shine of joy in thine, And banish doubt and sadness. FLOWERS BY THE WAYSIDE 23 Then gather the beautiful by your way, It was made for the soul's adorning, 'Tis a darksome path which no radiance hath. At noon, at night, in the morning. Hard is the soil where we delve and toil In the homely field of duty, But the hard of our King to us doth fling, The shining flowers of beauty. gl0tx^ex0 hi^ tils: ptatj^id:^ ^^^J'OW glad am I that not alone in gardens; Vs5 Close walled and guarded, lovely flowers bloom; But along the roadside lift they radiant faces. Offering to each passer beauty and perfume And I often seek them, leaving richest roses, Fair stately lilies, pinks and tulips gay; Glad to find the treasures Nature's hand dis- closes Bright and blithesome darlings, flowers by the way. Mother Nature tends them, sows their seed and trains them. Twines the trumpet flower upon the fences old; Leads the morning glory o'er the rock wall hoary, Bids the fragrant primrose lift her cup of gold. 24 FLOWERS BY THE WAYSIDE Calls the willow catkins in the earliest spring- time, Tells the dandelion to star with gold the sod, Waves the purple asters in the autumn sun- shine. Teaches grace and lightness to the goldenrod. Scatters honeyed clover thick amid the grasses, Wreathes the blackberry blossom, tints the violet shy ; Saves a place for milkweed and yarrow as she passes, Clusters starry daisies, looking toward the sky. And I often liken these glad flowers, uncul- tured. To the vagrant poems, scattered here and there ; Seedlings from some free heart, touched by sun and shower, Springing up unbeckoned, seeking light and air. Fain would I behold them, gathered in a gar- land, With the hues and odors of the seasons gay ; Fragrant, unpretending, living, giving, blend- ing, Nature's happy children, flowers by the way. AI5 IDYL OF SPUING 25 3tn S^^bI ^f spring; The sovereign year hath daughters dear, Twelve maidens, sad and merry; Fair red-lipped June with voice a tnne And pallid January. December old, with aspect cold, July, dark-eyed and lazy ; September with her hair of gold, And March, but March is crazy. November is a nut-brown maid, October, beauteous, merry, August, dull maid, dreams in the shade. And cross is January. One sunny morn was April born. The wind had just stopped blowing; And soft and clear to please her ear, A brook began its flowing. Glad April smiled, fair, radiant child, And all the world grew sunny, *'Ha, ha, my dear," exclaimed the year, "I am glad you are blithe and bonny." But when she knew, though skies were blue. That grass and flowers were sleeping ; 26 AN IDYL OF SPRIN'G She hid her face with childish grace, And drowned her smiles in weeping. But, lo, the birds, with sweetest words, Came singing love and praises, And from the earth, to greet her birth, Sprang violets and daisies. Then April, the changeful maid. Would laugh for very pleasure. Till Earth's great voice would cry "Eejoice-' We've riches beyond measure. And then for joy which seemed to cloy, Her happy eyes ran over ; "Let grief be dead," the stern Year said, "With Happiness your lover." But still she wept and still she smiled. While leaves and breezes kissed her. Waxed wroth the Year, "you wayward dear, I'll call your fairer sister. "Come forth this day, my charming May, For you shall bloom the posies ; I'll crown you dear^ best child of Year And wreathe your brow with roses." Sweet April fled, but bent her head. In homage to her sister, And threw the while, a sunny smile. To rosy May, and kissed her. FANCIES 27 gander T BUILT a bridge of fancies, ^ When I was young and gay, Of smiles and songs and dances, And flowerets of the May, With sparkling dewdrops gleaming, With every beauty rife ; It seemed to my fond dreaming. To span the stream of life. I wove a web of fancies, When youth and joy were mine, The roses of romances. Made gay the fair design. I sang a song of pleasure. At what I deemed would be The riches of the measure The fates would till for me. My glittering bridge of fancies, Went down beneath a storm ; The web of fair romances Has never decked my form. But song shall still aspire, To duty, love and truth. And bear my spirit higher Than all the dreams of youth. 28 A PICTUKE 31 ^ij^twr^ ®"'^^^ED, red o'er the quaint little doorway, -^-X«> The blossoming roses fall ; And flecked are the sands of the pathway By the shadows of lilies tall, A cottage neath boughs of apple. And framed in the foreground fair, A mother with dimpled baby. Like a blossom and bud most rare. The flush of the sunset lingers O'er the picture, tender, complete; There are smiles and fluttering fingers. There are cooings and whisperings sweet. They wait for coming footsteps ; 'Tis a scene to well repay The happy husband and father. For the toils of the working day. I pause by the leafy lilac, Charmed by the spell which lies In the sweetest, fairest picture Which ever has blessed my eyes. Why do I wail and linger, When eager my steps should be? It is in another man's garden, Ah me, ah me, ah me. BALAN'CED 29 IT WAS Saturday evening, toil weary, I traversed the long, dusty street, With a bundle of work and a baby. And a little one close at my feet. We were passing the homes of the wealthy, I deemed them the dwellings of pride, And the thought of our hardships and labor, Bushed over my soul like a tide. Near the door of a mansion most stately. Whose porches were blossoming bowers ; Was a lady, herself like a lily. And her labor was— gathering flowers. "For her are the roses," I murmured, "But briars our doorway should crown;" And I shook off the hand of the prattler, Who was eagerly pulling my gown. "Oh, Mamma, do wait dust a moment, Ose bootiful flowers to see. How I wish at most loveliest lady. Would div dust one blossom to me." She heard it, she came down the pathway. With a look that was almost divine ; She placed her sweet clusters of roses. In the hands of those wee ones of mine. 30 BALAN"CED I murmured my thanks, "but such flowers Were too fine for the humble and poor," Then she spoke, and her fair face was sadder Than I ever had looked on before. *'You are rich with such beautiful children, Best treasures our God ever gave; I was plucking these poor little flowers. To put on my little one's grave." Oh then how my envy was silenced; To pity and thankfulness turned ; For her were the briars, while roses Seemed crowding the path I had spurned. Thus oft by a showy external. We mete out our love and our hate ; Forgetting that justice eternal Is holdig the balace of Fate. ^ VOICES OF THE TIDES 31 TTWO friends, one happy golden time, "Were wandering on a far off shore ; Where falling waves in cadence chime, And rising tides like thunders roar. They watched the gleaming waters blend: They caught the music of the sea: And spake the eldest, "Tell me, friend, What words the waters speak to thee. ''Which hath the power to stir your soul; The ebbing wavelets chanting low ; Or sounding billov/s mighty roll, When rising tides resistless flow ? "They have a music which I love. These rising waters of the sea ; The waves beneath and winds above, A mystic language speaks to me. "Full oft my tide of hope seems low. So coldly gleam the sands of care ; So darkly loom the rocks of woe, My spirit yields to dull despair. 32 VOICES OP THE TIDES *'Each crested billow rising high. And battling with this rocky shore, And mounting upward to the sky, With voice of gladness ever more. ''Inspires my soul with courage true, And for life's battle makes me strong; My heart and hands their work renew. And 'victory' is their labor song. ''As ships come in with rising tide. With treasures from beyond the sea; Hope breathes of blessings rich and wide, Some tide of fate may bring to me. "0 rising waves, come bravely in, I hail you, proud and conquering sea ; The cheering message which you bring, Is Nature's dearest voice to me." "0 honored friend, I gladly hear, Your earnest words," the other spake, "And love the words of hope and cheer. Which Nature's searchers all may take. "That fancy must be dim and low. Which does not in her works rejoice; And dull the ear which does not know That God doth speak through Nature's voice. "Each heart may find a message true. To crown its joy, or calm its fear. The words these waters speak to you. Are not the same as those I hear. VOICES OF THE TIDES 33 '*My life is bright, I do not need A rising tide to strengthen me ; My joys outrun their eager speed, With braver song than sings the sea. "I seek the calmness of that hour, When waves are low upon the strand; That quiet thoughts may have the power. My restless spirit to command. *'Each tiny wave, each crown of spray; The tinted shell that softly sings, Create, methinks, in sweetest way, A worthy love of humble things. ''My hands, long filled with worldly pelf, Eelease their hold of sordid toys. My heart forgets its love of self. And thrills with higher, gentler joys. "As ships sail out with falling tide, With precious freight from far off strands ; In hope and love I wander wide ; With those who dwell in distant lands. "0 falling tide, your gentle voice. In words of wisdom speaks to me; And lessons which my soul rejoice, I learn from thee, murmering sea. "One noble thought we'll cherish well. With love for letters and for art; Some wiser things than books can tell, Are wispered to each human heart." 34 CALIFORN^TA ROSES ACROSS the hill the wind blew shrill, .^^ And smote the frozen river ; My garden bowers, devoid of flowers, Neath icy mail did shiver, It seemed so long since flower or song 'Twas ours to inherit, A gloomy pall hung over all And chilled the bravest spirit. A message bland from far-ofi land, A land with sunshine teeming, A paper cold, but in its fold — Could tired eyes be dreaming ? Great petals blush, like sunset's flush, Each silken fold encloses A perfume rare as Heaven's own air. Pink California roses ! Though winds that blow are thick with snow, My perished pets entombing, Somewhere, somewhere, the skies are fair, ^;And fragrant flowers are blooming; The clouds of gray seem rolled away. And Fancy's power discloses The groves of green we ne'er have seen, A land of feasts of roses ! WEST VIRGINIA AT THE EXPOSITION 35 Queens of a giant race of flowers, Ye mock us, sweet new comers, Compared with thine, what beauties shine To deck our eastern summers? A glimpse is ours of those rich bowers, The land of sun discloses. While Memory holds, within its folds Those California roses. ^^y^T VIRGINIA! Land of forests, land of rippling streams and mountains. She who cherishes the motto "Mountaineers are always free," Comes with heart as pure and crystal as her own glad flashing fountains, To present her regal offerings at the World's great jubilee. For she heard Columbia's ^ oice to her dutous children calling **Come, my loyal sons and daughters, with your garnered treasures rare;" And she hastened from her mountains where the tinkling streams are fallinj. In the gathering of the nations and her sister states to share. 36 WEST YIRGIKIA AT THE EXPOSITION She is crowned with mighty forests, where the century's forces slumber She is ribbed with richest mineral, and her veins are full of oil, She has smiling fields of jolenty, and her fruits she may not number. She has health for those who languish, she has wealth for those who toil. But she would not guage her merits by her rich material treasure, 'Tis a time when truth and honor call for loftier, better store, To her noble sons and daughters does she point with proudest pleasure ; \yhile a heart that throbs with rapture swells within her bosom's core. Then she turns her to the Southland, and she says, "you are my mother. We can never be divided in our hours of weal and woe," Then she says unto the Northland, "Clasp my hand, you are my brother. And in bands of love united we will ever onward go. She would walk the path of progress, led by truth and right and duty. To her God and to her conscience ever loyal, ever true; WEST YIRGIXIA AT THE EXPOSITIOJ^ 37 She would enter realms of science, find new fields of use and beauty, Ever marching 'neath the banner of the red, the white, the blue. When the great Republic's children throng in loving homage round her, And pour their lordly treasures in her hands and at her feet, When with gnrlands full of beauty they with joyful hands have crowned her. Where magnolia, rose and poppy with the passion flower meet. When upon her brow a blossom flushes like the sunset's splendor; And you deem it adds new lustre to a face where glory thrills. Some old mountaineer will whisper in a voice proud and tender, *"Tis a spray of mountain laurel from our West Virginia hills!" 38 FIRST SETTLERS OF WILLIAMSTOWl^r gU*^t §^ttl^r^ of ^illi^tn^iomn Written for Williamstown (W. Ya.) Historical Society. "TTET us gather on:: tliouglits from the scenes r*>^^^ around iis, The pleasures and cares that are ours today, And escaped from the chains that have closely- bound us, Go back to the past that is far away. From the onward rush of a civilization, Whose days are as full as the ancient years, "We would turn to the youth of our glorious nation. And live in the lives of the pioneers. We would see the unbroken forests swelling. In the vale which our clustered homes adorn, And mark the rise of the first rude dwelling, And the first fair harvest of golden corn. Before our starry flag "Old Glory," Had ever unfurled its stripes to the sun. When we had no place in the Nation's story. And unknown was the name of Washington. FIKST SETTLERS OF WILLIAMSTOWiq- 39 Before the Liberty Bell had wakened In patriot hearts a responsive tone, And our tribute money was closely reckoned By George the Third on the English throne Where Grave Creek enters the broad Ohio, In seventeen hundred and seventy-one, Were two pioneers, bound for uDsettled regions, Joseph and SamueJ Tomlinson. A bracing of heart for unknown dangers, A farewell to friends who were firm, though few. And the brothers were off on their perilous voyage. With their meager stores in a little canoe. Down, down the flood of the mighty river, The noble, majestic Ohio, O'er waves that ripple and flash and quiver, They journeyed on in the long ago. Never a smoke from a friendly chimney Kose neath the blue of the arching sky, Nor low of cattle, nor bell from steeple. Fell on the ear as they floated by. Perchance the scream of the startled eagle. Broke on the air as he soared in flight; Perchance the bark of the wolf or panther, Smote the gloom of the silent night. 40 FIRST SETTLEES OF WILLIAMSTOWN Perchance the red deer paused to watch them, Bending down to the stream to drink, Perchance the black bear viewed their passage, From bluff that frowned o'er the river's brink. But Heaven was kind and no red-skinned warrior Sent them an arrow from bison thong, But favoring skies and waves and breezes. Marked where the pale face passed along. Down to the brink of the swelling river. Crowded the lofty forest trees, Green with the leaves of the early springtime, Murmuring soft in the Southern breeze. Fair as a dream were the hills and vaJleys Of the wondrous, beauteous virgin land ; And curving islands fringed with willows, Like emerald stones in a silver band. At last where the waves of the swift Musk- ingum, Lose themselves in Ohio's tide. They found the spot which their hearts had chosen. And moored their bark on Virginia's side. And now, (for this was their second voyage). They sought and found, not far from the shore riKST SETTLERS OF AVILLIAMSTOWiq- 41 A mighty beech with a name engraven, S. T. They had marked it the year before. And soon through the woods awoke an echo, Never before in their denseness heard ; Undistarbed save by whoop of savage. Or growl of beast, or the song of bird. The strokes of the ax rang clear and steady, And, sight unseen through the ages before. First home of the valley, a white man's dwel- ling, A settler's cabin arose on the shore. A clearing was made, and soil was broken, And soon there dawned the eventful morn. When the hand of the white man sowed in the valley. First fruit of the ages, a crop of corn. Deem you they recked at their humble labor, What destinies they were shaping then? Forerunner of a thousand harvests. To gladden the lives of a million men. Brothers were these of Rebecca Williams, Wife of Isaac of future renown. And this was the land that these brothers gave her. Fair site of the village of Williamstown. 42 FIRST SETTLERS OP WILLI AMSTOWK Of what did they think when their labor over, They sat at their door in the evening still, And watched the sunset adown the river, Or the trees on the nameless Harmar Hill ? Did they long for the rise of a mighty nation. Of English speech, but from England free. The refuge of those of every station. Whose hope was plenty and liberty ? Did they muse of happy homes in the valley Of orchards rich on the steep hillside ; Of mill and market, and school and temple, And fleets of coal on the river wide ? Did they foresee the rise of a noble city. To gain in honors as years advance. And wear as a dower, through pride and power. The name of the hapless Queen of France.* Perhaps they dreamed of rustling cornfields. Of acres with golden wheat a-gleam. But caught not the sound of the rattling reaper. Or threshing machines that are run by steam. We can but wish there had come before them, Like faint mirage o'er the waters clear; Or a spell from enchanter's wand cast o'er them, A lighted steamboat drawing near. *Marietta, Ohio. FIRST SETTLEES OP WTLLIAMSTOWK 43 We can but wish they had dimly reckoned, Of an iron horse propelled by fire, Or fancied distant realms that beckoned. And answered and heard by electric wire. But unguessed by them were the strides of science, Unseen the discoveries of coming men. And the history fair of the noble valley. Their opening labors were christening then. They could not deem that a future hour. Their humble work would with honor crown. And their name be treasured as sacred dower, A century later in Williamstown. While we enjoy the busy present. Crowded and crowned through the circling years. Back we turn to the days that have vanished, Honor and praise for the pioneers. And while homes and harvests smile in the valley And the river flows toward the setting sun, Shall the tale be told of the first white settlers, Joseph and Samuel Tomlinson. And their names shall go down through com- ing ages. To the children of children yet unborn. White dwellers — the first of this noble valley First home and first harvest of golden corn. 44 GRATES OF ISAi^C AND REBECCA WILLIAMS git tJti? ^vnve^ of gL^aac HtxA Williamstown, W. V., Nov. 18th, 1896. HE flush of a rosy sunset, Burns where the low west clears, As I stand in the autumn evening. By the graves of the pioneers. The gleaming, broad Ohio, By the sun's last rays is kissed, And the brown woods on the hillside Are veiled in purple mist. Slowly the shadows lengthen. And twilight settles down, O'er storied Marietta, And quiet Williamstown. And here, obscure, unnoted, For nearly seventy years. Have slept these dauntless partners. The early pioneers. Kebecca and Isaac Williams, Drusilla, their daughter dear First white child of this region ; First wedded couple here. GEAYES OF ISAAC AND KEBECCA WILLIAMS 45 They looked from their h amble cabin On wild unbroken ground ; And in the redskinned warrior A wily neighbor found. 'Twas theirs with joy to welcome Ohio's earliest band; And share their garnered har^vest With free, unstinted hand. Isaac, the hunter, woodsman, The scout and spy most leal ; Kebecca skilled in healing. And deft at the spinning wheel. Their bold adventures over, Their life of hardy toil; Amid the scenes they cherished, They rest in chosen soil. Sleep well, oh brave and loyal, Beneath your native sky ; While changes mark your valley, And men are born and die. A record that ye thought not. Is yours through coming years ; An honor that ye sought not. Sleep well, oh pioneers. 46 RELIC DAY ®<^ELICS of the long ago, ■*• VS) How we gathered them together, Searching attics dim and low, In the stormy, eerie weather. Eelics of the early years. Of the hardy pioneers ; Of the long ago. Reel that never whirls and clacks. Spinning wheels that never hum, Hackles for the broken flax, Clocks whose works are long since dumb. Woolen hose and buckskin slippers, Longnecked gourds they used as dippers, In the long ago. SnufE-box, pipe, and powder horn, Dogskin shot-pouch, flint lock rusty; Mortar made for pounding corn. Hunting shirt, moth-eaten, musty. Demijohn for home-made whisky. Some old pioneers got frisky In the long ago. Old andirons that lustre lack, Pewter plates all dull and battered; Kettles huge and gridirons black. Big stone pitcher, glassware shattered. RELIC DAY 47 Odd blue dishes, English make, Board for baking johnny cake; Good, so long ago. Woolen coverlids so gay. Knitting yarn and needles rusty ; Chests where homespun linen lay. Candle moulds and snuffers dusty, Patchwork quilts that made a show, In the long ago. Letters yellow, dim with age, Words of grave advice and duty. Prim precision marks each page, Knew they romance, loved they beauty? Folded with a poem rare Lo, a tress of shining hair, — Oh, the long ago. Quilted skirts and gowns of crepe, Samplers worked with tints so mellow ; Baby caps of quaintest shape, Leghorn bonnets old and yellow, Oh, they look so melancholy, Did they shadow faces jolly. In the long ago. Hoard them up, though useless, old, Talk of all those hardships often, Let their memories be as gold ; They who toiled our lot to soften. Cherish, aye, through all the years. Memories of the pioneers. Of the long ago. 48 WHAT THE PRIMROSE TOLD TThE Primrose whispered a secret to me, As we met iu a dusty lane ; But not understanding, I made quite free To ask her to tell it again. Then she said, "Why, Violet, Mint and Clover, And Goldenrod so gay, Have told you the same thing over and over. Many and many a day." *'But tell me again, I do not know;" So she said with a shining face, "A sweet and a pleasant thing may grow. In a very barren place." THE PAIi^TER AKD POET 49 nrHE artist stood in the doorway Of a gallery wide and grand ; Where the fairest picture on the wall Was the work of his cunning hand. He heard the rapturous murmur, As the gazing throng passed by ; And caught the gleam of pleasure keen, That shone in each kindling eye. **For this," he thought, *'have I waited, And filled is my measure of pride ; But would I that with my labor, My heart was satisfied. "Dim are the hues of my canvas. And its colors seem not fair, Compared with the glow of the sunset, I sought to fasten there. **And though, as reward for my effort, The world's applause is hailed. My own heart sits in judgment On my work, with the verdict, — failed." 50 THE PAIi^TER AKD POET The poet sat in the sunset, When the songs of his life had been sung, And he heard their thrilling music, Ee-echoed from tongue to tongue. He knew that from church and cradle, By hearthstone and in mart. His countrymen, loved and loving. Where singing the songs of his heart. And he sighed amid his smiling, "Ah, would they could only reach The thoughts that stirred my spirit, Ere they prisoned themselves in speech. "But I could not frame a measure, So melodious, true and strong. It could hold the joy and pleasure That flooded my soul with song. "And from language I could not borrow, Words of so solemn a roll ; They could figure the waves of sorrow. That have swept across my soul." And amid the sound of praises. That like incense rose and fell ; He cried. "my soul is a secret, I tried, but I could not tell." SPAIl^ 51 A^L' ITH eyes that gaze into immensity, The tigress nation sits beside the sea. Dreamy is she, and yet she does not sleep. Black memories in her heart forever creep, Of woe and greed, and tortures dark and dire, The Inquisition's dungeon, rack and fire. Through the soft air that breathes of romance blest. She hears the cry of conscience long sup- pressed. She heeds not; she whose day of joy and feast Is that which sees the death of man and beast. Cruel is she, and glories to retain The greed of power, and the greed of gain. Sore twitchings fret her at the thought of one Who brought her honor — Italy's great son Columbus! Honored name while time re- mains. Yet loaded by her hand with galling chains : Yea, deepest of the thorns that vex her soul, Is thought of that great region lost to her con- trol. What memories stir her of her dreams of old ; Boundless dominions, subjects, power, gold. In retrospect she sees bold Cortez' band Spread desolation through the Aztec land ; 52 SPAii^ While Coronado scours the Western plains, And plants her banners o'er its wide domains: And Ponce de Leon finds the land, forsooth, Where springs the fabled fount of endless youth. How stirred her cruel heart with joy untold. At dark Pizzarro's stores of bloodstained gold. What empires lay within her grasping hand ! Yet all have slipped away like ropes of sand. To her, of that unrivaled, fair domain, But two small islands as her own remain. She hears a voice that calls across the sea, It is a people's cry for liberty Like Pharaoh of old, relentless, slow, She answeres back, ''I will not let you go." Silent, yet deeply mooved, the nations stand, Waiting the loosing of that cruel hand, Waiting till Cuba breaks her iron chain. And the new world at last is free from Spain. January 1897. AMERICAKS ALL 53 ^^jr ARK, mid the clangor of war's alarms, "^^^^ A nation is calling her sons to arms. A mighty nation, whose boundary strands, Are Atlantic's shores, and Pacific's sands, In the sunny South, in the frozen North, They are hearing her call, "my sons, come forth." "Aye, aye," They answer that ringing call, "Brothers are we, Americans all." She can hear the tramp of their marching feet ; From the lonely plain and the city's street. Merchant, mechanic, and student and seer! Farmer and hunter and mountaineer. World worn manhood, and youth and health; Empty handed, or blest with wealth; They march, and they answer their country's call "Brothers are we, Americans all." "Hail, who are ye with step so true ?" "We are the men who have worn the blue," "And you, with the martial air today ?" "We are the men who have worn the gray. 54 AMERICAN'S ALL Foemen once, but our battles past, We stand 'neatli one glorious flag at last; We join our hands at Liberty's call, Brothers are we, Americans all." Valiant and varied the coharts that come; Men of trade from the city's hum. Sons of adoption from over the main : Cowboys bold from the Western plain. Swarthy blacks, whose fathers were slaves. And Freedom's own children, the redskinned braves They fall into ranks at Columbia's call, A nation united, Americans all. Honor and cheers for the brave and the true. Smiles and tears for the heroes in blue, Not for glory and not for gain; Do they come from the city, the farm and the plain. But every arm that is raised to smite. Will strike for Freedom and Truth and Right, For they march, they march at Humanity's call, Brothers and comrades, Americans all. EAISING THE AMERICAN FLAG 55 At Santiago de Cuba: July 17th, 1898. TV OON in a tropical country, <^^ And a blazing sun looks down ; On the waving palms of the mountains, And the red roofs of the town. On the walls of Morro Castle ; And the battle ships that lay ; Grim guards of the land locked harbor, Of Santiago bay. And high in the fleckless sunshine. To be seen from the land and the main, Floats a red and yellow banner, The flag of haughty Spain. Floats as it aye has floated, Whenever a breeze could blow, Since Columbus raised its standard, Four hundred years ago. Dawned has the day of its furling. Emblem of tyranny, Room, room for a broader banner, The flag of liberty. 56 RAISIiTG THE AMEEICAN FLAG Slowly its brave defenders Their cherished arms lay down ; Steady the tramp of their victors, In the streets of the ancient town. Ten thousand hearts beat faster, And silence falls like a swoon, As the bell from the old Cathedral, Chimes out the hour of noon. Slowly down from the azure, The yellow and red is curled, Quick, quick to the leaping breezes. Are the Stars and Stripes unfurled. From the lips of the waiting thousands. Springs one exultant cheer ; As the sound of martial music Salutes each listening ear. ^'Tis the Star Spangled Banner, oh, long may it wave. O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." Float high o'er the sea-girt island, Flag of the brave aad the free. Till its people learn the meaning, Of right and liberty. Then down from its lofty standard. Let thy gleaming folds be furled. That the flag of a newborn nation, May greet the gazing world. THE FLAG OF SPAlK 67 And the lone star of Cuba in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. OH, the flag of Spain, that ruled the main Through centuries marked in story ; Explorers grave and pirates brave Flocked under its folds for glory. Columbus bore that flag to our shore. To be furled or humbled, never; Is it true that its folds shall float no more O'er the western world forever? Oh, the flag of Spain, o'er Mexico, It waved at Cortez's pleasure. When he brought the gentle Aztecs low. And razed their land for treasure, O'er fair Peru its colors flew; Pizarro's cruel token; When tortures bold brought Indian gold. And Inca's hearts were broken. Oh, the flag of Spain, through loss and gain. With ehame has been mixed its glory; But its triumphs long will live in song ; And are part of Columbia's story, 58 THE FIELD OF SOKG Above Balboa's dauntless band, It waved with graceful motion, When their wondering eyes, with glad surprise, Saw the Pacific ocean. Oh, the flag of Spain, let none complain. That its red and gold bars shiver, O'er the castles proud of the old Grandees, On the banks of the Guadlaquiver, But its reign o'er the western world is o'er. We shall call it back, no, never, It's bars are furled to the young new world. Forever and forever. TpAIR, fair, neath ever radiant skies, ^ Watched o'er by stars with tender eyes. Ripened by sunlight, fed by rain ; Rarest of all earth's fields of grain; Fanned by the breeze of minstrelsy. It lies — the field of Poesy. It smiles it waves through countless hours. Shut in by hedge of fragrant flowers. Above it sounds the wild bird's note. While o'er it sweetest breezes float: And reapers good and glad aand strong. Go toiling in the field of Song. THE FIELD OF SONG 59 But I, my task is not to wield, A scythe in such a heavenly field ; From stubbly hillsides all the day, I clear the briars and stones away. But when the pensive twilight falls, I wander where my fancy calls. And glean, where others passed along; As reapers in the field of Song. I have no blade to cut such wheat ; I tread with slow and clumsy feet. And yet, content and glad am I AVith scattered grains that shining lie, I walk the ground which seems to me The Eden land of earth to be. I linger late, I tarry long; A gleaner in the field of Song. SONGS OF MOTHERHOOD AND HOME (61) QUIET thoughts of quiet homelife in a ^^ simple little village, How they often throng my memory as the ebbing moments flow, Till I've almost tears for trials that have vext us and perplext us. And an echo for our laughter in our home of long ago. There was nothing fair about it to delight the heart or fancy Of a poet or a painter should he chance to pass that way ; It will have no place in story, for it saw no deeds of glory. And its history is the history of a thousand homes today. For within this little cottage lived a Father and a Mother ; And they had so many children that they know not what to do : And they loved them, and they whipped them, and with bread and broth they fed them. In this humble little dwelling which they always called The Shoe. •^ (63) 64 THE STOUY OF THE SHOE There were children in the doorway, there were children at the windows, And they laughed and cried and chatted, and they played and worked and grew, And they tasted sweet and bitter from the cup of life together, Health and sickness, pain and pleasure in the noisy little Shoe. There were merry times at evening in the heel, the little parlor, There were jests and plans recounted, there were stories old and new ; There were gatherings in the morning in the crowded toe, the kitchen. There was never one too many in the cosy little Shoe. There were many hours of laughter, of sun- shine and of singing. When Life's roses seemed to cover all the ugly thorns that grew; There were weary days of labor, full of anxious cares and sighing, For Poverty sat grimly as an inmate of the Shoe. Spring wreathed her apple blossoms o'er the humble little doorway, And autumn's fruitage mellowed neath the sunshine and the dew; THE STORY OF THE SHOE 65 The summer roses reddened, and the winter snowdrifts whitened, And Time was working changes with the people of the Shoe. Oh, the first break in the household when the blue-eyed laddie left it, A seeker after Fortune amid fairer scenes and new ; Oh, the looking after letters, and messages and blessings. And the hopes that circled outward from the narrow little Shoe. There are no locked doors when Cupid knocks with urgent, magic fingers. The story told so often is always sweet and new; And 'twas twice and thrice repeated as the seasons came and fleeted And lovers' footsteps lingered on the thres- hold of the Shoe. Sweet Love, who binds and severs, unbidden guest, yet welcome. How tasteless were life's meetings and its partings but for you : Oh, you brought some tears and sadness, when you came with smiles and gladness, Bridal veils and orange blossoms to the dear old homely Shoe. 66 THE STORY OF THE SHOE Like a brown nest in the autumn, whence the singing birds have flitted, Stood at last the little cottage, for its in- mates sought a new ; Lock the door and close the windows, it may seem to be forsaken, But associations cluster in the vacant little Shoe. And the children weep at evening, though the hearth fires glimmer brightly, "What darlings, sad and cheerless in a home so nice and new?" "Oh, 'tis pleasant and we like it, but we can- not keep from crying, For, oh, we feel so sorry for the poor old lonely Shoe." Hearts may bravely beat or lanquish as the march of life goes onward, But the gentle touch of Memory will often wake anew Sorrow for the ills that found us, joy for all the good that crowned us, When we lived and loved together as the people of the Shoe. What though loving hearts must sever, golden links unite them ever. May their sunny days be many, and their cloudy days be few ; HER MISSION 67 May they form a band in Heaven, when the chains of life are riven ; God bless the flock that scattered from the humble little Shoe. WhE was only a little woman, tis true, <^-^^ And hers was a common story ; She never had dreamed of a thing to do That would lead to fame or glory. She could not paint, she could not sing, And she could not write a sonnet ; She had not a face to lend a grace To a stylish love of a bonnet. She had not wealth, or a dream of ease. She never had travelled for pleasure ; She knew not the art to charm and please, In the realm of social leisure. And yet she deemed that her life was blest, In its humble sphere of duty. Though only those who knew her best. Guessed half of its hidden beauty. For hers was a genius for little things ; The realm of home to brighten ; And she scorned not the humblest work which brings Some force to cheer or lighten. 68 A child's FAN"CY For comfort and order were hers to command And the joys of life grew longer, As childhood clung to her loving hand, And manhood, through her, grew stronger. And some who loved her were half afraid, That her sphere was far too small ; But, oh, the happy home she made, Was a great thing after all. And when her beauteous spirit shall flee, From its realm of loving and giving. Her stainless monument shall be. The lives that were blest by her living. ^|l/rY dear little girl climbed up on my knee, ^^ V_g) In the dusk, in the summer weather. And as happy as two who love can be. We quietly talked together. We had stories of bees, of the birds and the trees, Of the moon and the stars of even; But the little one's thoughts went beyond all these, And she wanted to talk of Heaven. "Oh, Mamma, they say it is far away. The land where there is no dying; 69 And I wonder so how we ever can go, When we have no wings for flying/* "My little dear, we never should fear. Our Father will not forsake us, And when he doth care to have us there, He will find some way to take us." Then the eyes of brown looked dreamily down, O'er the question a sage might ponder; A little while, then there came a smile. Which was more of delight than wonder. "Oh, Mamma, dear, I have thought of a plan, As good as you ever can teach me ; ril climb on the fence just as hign as I can. And the Lord wont have far to reach me." Perhaps I smiled at the thought of the child. But there flashed through my heart a feeling That its depths should be stirred by each simple word. Such a lesson to me revealing. How much I had dreamed of the good which it seemed The Father might give or teach me, And yet my feet had never been fleet In climbing to help Him to reach me. And the thought of the child, pure and unde- filed, Lisped out on that summer even. Sank down like a seed in a soil which had need Of a growth for God and Heaven. 70 bo:nnie's prayer ®^^^EAR little Bonnie, four years old, XJ Thoughtful as child of her age could be, Said her prayers, as her mother told, Nightly, kneeling beside her knee. But she said one night, this quaint little elf, "I've a wish, my Mamma so good and true, Let me kneel by the bedside all by myself. And make my prayers as the big folks do.'* So all were quiet as mice could be. While Bonnie robed in her night gown white. Stole on tiptoe and bent her knee, All alone for her prayers that night. Only a moment the wee head bowed, Then the face came up with a smile most fair. And the other children laughed aloud. At the wondrous shortness of Bonnie's prayer. There came a little flush of dismay. Over the radiant face so small, *'I couldn't think of much to say. So I said, *Lord, keep me,' and that was all." TO A LITTLE SOK 71 Papa kissed her and gravely smiled, **That was the best of prayers, my dear, It was all you needed to say, my child. You could ask no more if you prayed a year." ^0 a gtttl^ ^0n \\/^HY earnest thou hither, oh fair one, oh, dear one, A stranger to life, to its sorrow and joy; Did earth have a vacancy waiting thy presence? Was there need of thy coming, my own little boy? Oh, wee little pilgrim, beginning life's journey Though earth is abloom, there are thorns 'mid the flowers; But there's surely some path for thy footsteps to follow. Or thou hadst not been sent to this strange world of ours. Our hearts were in need of thee, dear little son, There were chords to be stirred by a touch such as thine ; There were hopes to be wakened, and love to be won, And thoughts to be turned to the Giver divine. 72 TO A LITTLE SO^- Such sweet springs of tenderness flow at thy bidding, And selfishness pales 'neath the smiles that you give, Now work is worth doing, and life worth the living. Our hearts will have need of thee long as we live. Our home was in need of thee, good little child, And Love bade thee enter a kingdom thine own; Thou hast filled it with pleasure and joy un- defiled. Oh, monarch with loyalest hearts for thy throne. There was lack of the laughter thy voice did awaken Of thy innocent beauty, thy gladness and truth, Thou bringest the sunshine of happiness with thee. Our home will have need of thy childhood and youth. The world will have need of the life thou canst live. Thy country have need of the work thou canst do ; TO A LITTLE SON" 73 For the good thou canst gain, and the good thou canst give Will earth have a place and a welcome for you. May this wee hand grow strong in the fight against sin, The good cause of right all thy efforts engage, Ah, wondrous the victory the feeblest may win. The world will have need of thy manhood and age. And Heaven will have need of that spirit of thine, Which was formed for a dwelling more noble than this. There are mansions prepared by the Father divine. Thy fit habitation through ages of bliss. Thy God will have need of thee ! mystery sub- lime, For good and for glory thy life He hath given; May the labors, the longings, the sorrows of time, Prepare thee for Him who hath made thee for Heaven. 74 ROSALIE J XJST two years have rolled above us, Since, to be beloved and love us; Came she, sweet as sweet could be; Baby Rosalie. Like a little radiant jQlower, Blooming in a wintry hour, Such a welcome one was she, Dainty Rosalie. Like a little sparkling fairy Bright with looks and motions airy, Seems she, with her smiles and glee, Our Rosalie. the love forever winging. And the happiness upspringing ; Round the path of such as she ; Darling Rosalie. Little barque on Life's rough river; Sailing toward the vast forever. What her course : ah, who may see ? Precious Rosalie. With the hand that led her hither. From the whence and toward the whither. Safely dwells for such as she. Little Rosalie. BABYHOOD 75 ®"^^^ABY and I are together all day, -^—^ AYonderful baby, this wee one of mine, Lips full of kisses, and hand full of play. Eyes that are brighter than April sunshine. *'What will they bring her, the long coming years ; Mornings serene in the uplands of youth. Maidenhood's happiness, womanhood's tears, Loving and laboring, duty and truth ?" Thus muse I often, yet ever to me Cometh a whisper which seemeth to say, "Dream not too much of the wondrous 'To be,' Live loving heart in the light of today." Ah, I may see in these bonny brown eyes, Grave lights of wisdom, and yet do I trow, They will look ever at life with surprise, Wondering, questioning a3 they do now. What if the fingers of Honor should place Laurel leaves bright on this beautiful brow ; Matchless to me is your babyhood's grace, You could not be dearer than you are now. 76 A COMMON LOT Eock-a-bye, baby, and mother shall sing, Softly a song that shall chime with your play, Life may be lovely, but never can bring, Happier times than it gives us today. Chasing all dreams of the future away, Kissing you softly on cheek and on brow ; Loving you just as you are today; You can never be sweeter than you are now. 31 (&0%nnx0xt got I IS a common story I have to tell. And perhaps you will think you know her well ; The little woman who touched in me The magical spring of sympathy. She was not a heroine, not at all ; A farmer's wife, with a sphere so small; Though she often dreamed of deeds sublime, Yet she never did them, she hadn't the time. She worked in the morning, she worked at night; And her labors were never completed quite. There was milking, and baking, and churning to do, And cleaning and mending, and nursing, too. A COMMON LOT 77 Till the weeks seemed alike as tliey whirled away, And Sunday was never a resting day. She heard from afar the church bells chime, But she seldom went there, she hadn't the time. She was never accounted a woman of taste, For her garments so plain, were put on in such haste; The vast world of books, and the wide realm of art. Were regions in which she had scarcely a part. Though the song of the birds, and the scent of the flowers. And the hues of the sunset in evening's soft hours, "Would thrill all her pulses like music or rhyme, But she rarely watched them, she hadn't the time. Were the toils for her household expended in vain ? Oh no, they loved "Mother,'* though poky and plain She had a kind heart ; and they knew it full well. They felt she was dull, and they couldn't quite tell 78 A COMMON" LOT Why she sometimes was cross, and was ill at her ease, When some women seemed born to be pleas- ant and please. She loved them with love of a tropical clime. Without its caresses, she hadn't the time. Was it strange, ere the evening of life had nigh. The summons was heard, she must take time to die. She folded her worn hands and lifted her prayer; *'0h, God, I have had so much labor and care ; 1 never have given Thee my thoughts as I would, I wished to be saintly, I longed to be good : But the cares of this life checked each purpose sublime, Dear Father, forgive me, I haven't had time." ^ PAYING THEIR WAY 79 X WONDERFUL thing is a baby, -^^~V«) A king in the realm of hearts ; The household judge and jury, And master of countless arts. But the best thing about a baby, You may mark it any day Is its power that has no rival, To fairly pay its way. Cheeks that are softer than roseleaves. Hands that are swifter than birds ; Hair that is silken and sunny, Coos that are sweeter than words. Smiles do they bring to the saddest. Sunshine and music are they ; Blessing and love do they carry. To always pay their way. You may talk of the works of artists Of the treasures that wealth can buy, Of fashion, and books, and jewels. With their power to satisfy ; A better wealth has the household. That is gladdened every day By a laughing, rollicking baby. That always pays its way. 80 PACING THEIR WAY But oh, the interruptions, And the work that a baby will make ; And oh, the self denials, And the time that a baby can take. A kiss makes up for the trouble, A smile cures all the bother; There was never a baby that went to bed. The least in debt to its mother. A rest of petting when tired A comfort when hearts are sad ; / A perfect, flawless possession. When every thing else seems bad. And so we coddle and kiss them, And love them all the day ; And are glad that the blessed babies Will always pay their way. THE FIRST GRAY HAIR 81 ®Jt^ giv^i mvnv; irdiv OUT on the porch where the sunshine Falls soft through a leafy screen ; I stood with my tall young daughter, My lass of sweet sixteen. And she laughed as she said, "0, Mamma, I hope you do not care, For here is something funny, I've found your first gray hair." Strange, that so light a sentence. Should seem like a cloud at noon ; Should jaugle amid the heart strings, Like a discord in a tune. Strange that we have to show it, And then be plainly told, Before we can ever know it. That truth — we are growing old. But I with such fields of labor Awaiting my willing hand, I, who had done so little Of the work my youth had planned ; Oh, Time, you gay deceiver. You have caught me unaware. And I own that I am not ready For your gift of the first gray hair. 82 THE HAPPIEST TIME Glad are the skies of morning, And the hills of toil and hope, But pensive shadows gather, O'er the path down the western slope. And a cloudlet dims our sunshine. And we feel the evening air; When some one, kind and cruel Points out the first gray hair. ^^(^^^NDMOTHER, we would a question ask. Wishing for answer true; Which was the happiest time of life. And the best of all, to you ?" "Well, come hither, my merry Bess, And Laura, and brown-eyed Sue ; But first of all I would have you guess, And tlien I will tell you true." "Then here," said Bess, "you shall have my guess. It was when you were but a child; Gathering flowers through careless hours, By fancies sweet beguiled. THE HAPPIEST TIME 83 Thoughts as fair as the morniDg air. Sweet as a poet's rhyme, I would say that Childhood's day, Was Grandmother's happiest time." *'Nay," said Sue, "it was when as a girl She led her class in school ; Young Ambition awake in her heart, Success her guide and rule. Or when as fairest of maids she stood In beauty's loveliest prime, I am sure it is truth that the flush of youth. Was Grandmother's happiest time." **And I," said Laura, '*will venture to say. That the happiest time she knew, Was when as a maiden, fair and gay, She found her lover true. Soft moonlit hours in summer bowers, Fond vows that with heart-beats chime, Oh, the golden sway of Love's young day. Was Grandmother's happiest time." "Well have you guessed, my children dear, Thus would it seem to youth, All of the times you have named were sweet And radiant days in truth. Childhood's glad time, and Youth's fair prime, And the hours of Love's young thrall, But I had some years which I count with tears. As the happiest time of all. 84 THE HAPPIEST TIME "It was when my children were little ones all, And the work of the day was done; I could number the heads in the snowy beds, And kiss them, every one. Or when from play at the close of day They gathered around my knee ; Oh, the days when my children all were mine, Were the happiest days to me. *'Some have wandered, and some grown cold, And some are asleep with the dead ; I shall never number them all in my fold, Or count each sleeping head. Oh, that mothers could all of them know, In the days of their children's prime; That the little ones fair, with the toil and the care, Have brought them their happiest time." SONGS OF THE FAITH ^^^PPING Heavenward, Lord, am I, ^^^ As the days go fleeting by ? Daisied fields of youth are round me, Cloudless is the blue o'erhead, Yet I ponder, as I wander. Whither goes the path 1 tread ? It must lead me, lead me ever, Toward some goal, though distant far, Onward, neath the sun of morning. Onward, neath the evening star. Wisely let me choose my way. Stepping Heavenward, day by day. Stepping Heavenward, Lord, am I, As the noon of Life draws nigh ? Here the rocky steeps of trial. Bid me choose a smoother way. There the thorns of self denial. Press the feet that fain would stray. Worn and footsore, I must falter, But the steps are one by one, Lead me, heavenly hopes that beckon, Till the toilsome march is done. Smoothing all the roughening way, Stepping Heavenward, day by day. (87) 88 THREE DAYS. Stepping Heavenward, Lord, am I As the days move silently ? Lo 'twas but a little journey, Though no resting place it gave Aged feet are these that linger x\t the portals of the grave. Lowly in the darkening distance, Lies the path I long have trod. Glorious pilgrimage, whose ending Is the city of my God. Glad the journey, blest the way, Stepping Heavenward, day by day. Three days, with their records of mortal life, Yv^ent up to the courts of Heaven; They stood at the gate where the Days all wait, To be blessed, or banned, or forgiven. And the angel who looked in their faces said, *'I would hear your mournful story; Where your brows should be glad, they are dark and sad. And ye are not days of glory." THREE DAYS 89 Then one said, "I was a Day of Pain, And I smote while strength was lent me One who turned his face to the God of grace, "While he blessed the hand that sent me." *'Pass on," said the angel; "0 blessed day. Not in vain was thy smiting given ; Thou hast used a rod from the hand of God, And thy works shall be owned in Heaven." Then the next said, *'I have walked with Death, For I was a Day of Sorrow, But the one I grieved, with a heart bereaved, Trusted God for a heavenly morrow," *'Pass on," said the angel, "the soul thou hast touched. Shall own thy beauteous adorning; Thy sorrowful face shall be radiant with grace, And thy name shall be Joy in the morning." Then the last said "I was a Day of Sin," His voice was hopeless and hollow; "I have looked in vain, again and again. For a Day of Repentance to follow." "Pass on," said the angel, "the Judge awaits, Thy moarnful record within. And the darkest day that can pass this way ; Is a day that is dark with Sin." 90 A LITTLE SIX 31 gittl^ ^ixx f\^CE a little stranger ^^ At my heart did knock ; But I had given to Conscience, The charge of key and lock. And she said ''his mien is winning, But I may not let him in ; For I know him, yes, I know him, And his name is Sin." Yet still he stood entreating, With a mild and gentle air; And his voice was softest music. And his face was wondrous fair; Then Impulse pleaded for him. And Desire said, "let him in," But Conscience said, "beware him. For his name is Sin." Then Pride and Mirth and Pleasure, And other friends benign, Declared that they had seen him In fairer hearts than mine. Some said he was a white Sin, Some said that he was small, And some assured me boldly. That he was not Sin at all. A LITTLE SIN 91 So I said to Conscience boldly, ''You are very grave and old, I am tired of your preaching. You have grown so strict and bold. To assert my independence, I shall dare to let him in, I can turn him out as quickly, If his name be Sin." So he entered bland and smiling. But before I shut the door. He was followed by his kindred. And they numbered full a score : At first I thought them comely, They beguiled with many an art, But they played the saddest havoc. With my well swept, garnished heart. Then I called to faithful Conscience, "Help me chase them, one and all;" But she seemed so deaf and feeble. As to scarcely heed my call. Yet I battled long and bravely. Till I drove them from the door. But they left their mocking memories, And their footprints on the floor. Ah, I fear my heart can never, Be as pure as it has been ; Ere I turned my back on Conscience, And let in that little Sin. 92 WHAT TO BE ptjtat to ^e ®