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FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
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FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 I9IO 
 
Copyright 1910 by Richard G. Badger, 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 •^ 111" 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 ©CI.A265399 
 
This Little Volume 
 
 is dedicated to 
 MY CHILDREN 
 
 Who have had 
 
 All My Life, All My Love, 
 
 All My Ambition 
 
To the Reader 
 
 In introducing this little book of poems I feel, 
 to say in the words of Montrose 
 
 "He either fears his fate too much 
 Or his deserts are small 
 Who dare not put it to the touch 
 To gain or lose it all." 
 
 I therefore, take pleasure in saying it was at 
 the urgent request of many friends, who have from 
 time to time stored away in the bottom drawer some 
 of my pleasurable life work, being addicted to poeti- 
 cal fervor and romance for personal enjoyment: 
 as from the age of lA to 60, with pencil in hand, 
 I have gleaned the fields of literature. I therefore 
 ask, as a personal favor of the reader you lay aside 
 all criticism and enter into the spirit of these little 
 songs and the beautiful selections from other au- 
 thors herein embraced. 
 
 Cordelia A. McFalls 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The poems in this little book were in the hands 
 of the publisher when my mother, the author, died. 
 I have tried to carry out as best I could, her wishes 
 in relation to the book. The sketch of her life is 
 made up of fragments from articles written at 
 different times, together with some personal recol- 
 lections which will help to illustrate her character. 
 
 We beg the indulgence of the public for any 
 errors, which, had she lived, would have been 
 corrected. 
 
 A. McF. R. 
 Saugerties, March 15, 19 10. 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 Mrs. Cornelia McFalls, the daughter of Linus 
 and Charity Potter Pierce, was born in Rossie, 
 St. Lawrence County, New York, May lo, 1831. 
 She was educated in the district schools of her 
 time, and later became a teacher. Of a studious 
 nature, she spent much of her time in study and 
 became one of the best informed women in North- 
 ern New York. She gathered the things that count, 
 had quick perceptions, and took at a breath, as it 
 were, the complete meaning of the author, so that 
 she made herself a woman of rare culture and 
 true refinement. 
 
 When she was twenty-three years of age, she 
 was married to David McFalls, a young doctor 
 in her native town, who afterwards became a 
 physician of great skill and ability. Both were 
 always identified with the best interests of the com- 
 munity. 
 
 The atmosphere of their home was something 
 beautiful. Even the commonplace routine of daily 
 life was uplifted by a remarkable acquaintance 
 with the best thoughts of the world's literature. 
 To-day their children's memories are stored with 
 quotations implanted from the every day conver- 
 sation of their parents. 
 
 Mrs. McFalls was the mother of three children, 
 the oldest, Louisa, died of diphtheria at 5 years 
 of age, and her body is buried at Rossie; reference 
 
 II 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 to her is made in some of her poems. Mrs. Mc- 
 Falls possessed the true mother heart, overflowing 
 with a great love for her home. Even after her 
 husband's death and when her children had left her, 
 no meal was eaten, but that the table was laid for 
 them all. To her, they were ever present. When 
 a little girl she united with the Presbyterian church 
 and was a faithful member all her life. 
 
 Through the many vicissitudes of her life she 
 carried out in a practical way, her faith and under- 
 standing of the lessons she learned. Nearly four- 
 score years were hers and yet, to the very last, 
 buoyancy, kindness, goodness, joy and the spirit of 
 youth radiated throughout her being. For thirty- 
 six years she made her home in Gouverneur, N. Y, 
 Her fondest friends were there, her sweetest happi- 
 ness and her deepest sorrow. She was ever young, 
 however, and her heart was overflowing with that 
 rare, sweet sympathy that made her responsive to 
 every appeal. She was kindly in counsel, gentlest 
 in reproof and gladdest in encouragement. Good, 
 she saw in everyone; good she saw in everything. 
 She hated the low, the uncouth and vulgar. Life 
 to her was full of noble ideals and of lofty pur- 
 poses. 
 
 The bereavement in the loss of her beautiful 
 child and her dearly beloved husband, was power- 
 less to sap the glory of her faith, or to tinge with 
 
 12 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 bitterness her life. Though her heart was torn 
 with anguish, and her head bowed in humiliation, 
 her spirit rebounded, and she brushed the tears 
 away and took on a new strength to meet life's 
 struggles. Her heart broke forth in 
 
 "Oh God, have mercy on the pain 
 All feel who wear affection's chain 
 Have mercy on the strife 
 That hides the sunshine from the soul, 
 And bids the waves of darkness roll 
 On the mad sea of life. 
 Come in the hush of holy prayer, 
 And lighten up this, our wild despair, 
 Give to the eye of faith 
 The rosy tints beyond the clouds. 
 That have no gate but death." 
 
 Then taking up her life anew pressed forward. 
 She lived for those about her, fond, faithful, full 
 of interest in their every hope or project, bringing 
 cheer and blessing by her very presence. She was 
 ever a philosopher, getting happiness out of every 
 experience, no matter how adverse it seemed to 
 others. So through the many disappointments, 
 which life held for her, her fortitude always as- 
 serted itself. There was no complaining. From 
 sorrow she gained comfort in faith. She had 
 
 13 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 within resources or wonderful recuperation powers. 
 "Her mind to her a kingdom was, and her conver- 
 sation was always a delight." 
 
 The centennial history of the town of Gouver- 
 neur, published in 1905, says of Mrs. McFalls: 
 
 "In the heart of this village, which loves and 
 appreciates her warm, honest nature and versatile 
 talent, she has sung her sweetest songs always, al- 
 though no 'literary blue stocking,' " for quoting her 
 own words, she could work with one hand and 
 write poetry with the other; the very spirit of 
 poesy breathes in every line of her dainty verses. 
 
 From her earliest youth she wrote verse and 
 made for herself a name in the poet world. Her 
 verse has been published far and near. Always 
 overflowing with patriotism, she wrote many cam- 
 paign songs. One, "Dinna Ye Hear the Slogan?" 
 was sung over the length and breadth of the land. 
 
 Mrs. McFalls lived through the turbulent days 
 of the Civil War. Her friends never tire of relat- 
 ing an incident of the time, which illustrates her 
 great force of character. 
 
 Her husband, who was surgeon of the 142nd 
 Regiment, N. Y. Vols., was taken seriously ill 
 with typhoid fever at Fortress Monroe. Upon 
 learning this fact, she left her infant son with a 
 relative, boarded the stage, (in the days of few 
 railroads) drove about thirty miles to Antwerp. 
 
 14 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 There took the train for Washington. The route 
 from New York to the capitol was carefully guard- 
 ed all the way by picketed soldiers.. On reaching 
 Washington, she learned that an order had been 
 issued a few days before that no one could pass 
 through the lines. She sought an interview with 
 Congressman Wheeler, imploring him to aid her 
 in reaching the bedside of her husband, but he 
 could not see his way clear to give her assistance, 
 but he referred her to General Curtis, who also 
 was not in a position to give her much encourage- 
 ment. He, however, suggested that it might be 
 possible to get through in an ambulance. She 
 watched her chance and finally succeeded in board- 
 ing an ambulance and after a long and perilous 
 ride, she reached the bedside of her husband. He 
 was near death, but under her ministration recovered 
 his health and was able to tell how his plucky wife, 
 through her heroic efforts, had saved his life. 
 
 From her earliest years, she was known for her 
 activity in every day or social life, or in any matter 
 which came to her hand. It was she who was 
 chosen to promote any good cause, to lead in any 
 movement, in the community in which she lived. 
 To the very close of her life she prided herself in 
 keeping abreast of the times and she would not 
 allow herself to falter in her steps nor in any way 
 favor her age. Always a helpmate to her hus- 
 
 15 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 band in earlier years, she ministered to the sick, 
 or assisted him in surgical operations. 
 
 In his political life, she made him many friends 
 by patriotic poems or songs. When elected to 
 office, she left her home to be with him wherever 
 duty called him. 
 
 Loyal to her children, she put forth every eiiEort 
 to lead them in the highest paths of her ambition, 
 and sacrificed personal comfort that they might re- 
 ceive an education. That Mrs. McFalls had a 
 marked individuality, every one who knew her 
 knows. She was a self-centered woman, and had 
 resources within herself for personal enjoyment. 
 Often she said she was never lonely, that she had 
 more company than she could entertain on the 
 shelves of her book case, or in the recesses of her 
 mind. No resource can quite equal books when 
 one is alone and lonely. It was her greatest pleas- 
 ure to give her sorrow or joy embodied form in 
 verse. 
 
 With magic touch, she gathered the loveliness 
 from lawns, streams, birds and flowers, with a 
 heart peculiarly awake to every impression of beauty 
 and sublimity, seeking companionship in nature's 
 realm. To see her with a basket on her arm, wan- 
 dering out to some little rivulet or covert, was a 
 familiar sight. Here she would remain all day; 
 make a pot of cof¥ee over an impromptu fire and 
 
 i6 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 with a favorite book of poems in one hand, pencil 
 and pad, be as happy as the birds that caroled around 
 her. Thus life to this lady was a dream of sweet- 
 est enjoyment. "She envied not the rich their 
 state, but looked with pity on the great and blessed 
 her humble lot." The only envy she was ever 
 known to express, was when reading some beau- 
 tiful thoughts, she would lay down her book and 
 with a gesture peculiarly her own, exclaim, "Why 
 couldn't I have been the author of that?" One of 
 her last written thoughts was, 
 
 "I cannot reach the heights, Oh God! 
 With longing I aspire to lift 
 My soul in clearer thought, 
 To mount in reasoning higher." 
 
 Her hospitality was phenomenal. No one was 
 allowed to leave her house without refreshment, 
 and no one enjoyed the treat better than she. No 
 one was ever turned away from her door hungry. 
 The snarling dog or misused cat and the little 
 timid birds found a refuge with her. One day a 
 guest at dinner felt a peculiar sensation at his foot, 
 and looking down, saw some little sparrows under 
 the table looking for crumbs. "They are a part 
 of my family," she explained. Then repeated this 
 little poem of hers. 
 
 17 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 I caught a bird upon the wing, 
 
 And thought its plumage fair, 
 
 I tossed it forth the wind upon 
 
 To see it fan the air. 
 
 I thought to clasp it quick again, 
 
 My little bird of song, 
 
 But no; it lighted on a limb. 
 
 And warbled forth a song. 
 
 It arched its little head and neck, 
 
 All flecked with golden hue, 
 
 And peering down with sweetest song, 
 
 Warbled a clear adieu. 
 
 With outstretched hand I tried again 
 
 To clasp the pretty thing; 
 
 Again it fluttered in the air, 
 
 And on its downy wing 
 
 My beautiful was lost to sight. 
 
 It soared away beneath the stars 
 
 Through the shadows of the night. 
 
 In every storm she was like an oak, a rock; in 
 the sunshine she was a flower; in the shadow, a 
 sunbeam. Impatient with technicalities, with pre- 
 tence and deceit, she lived with, but yet apart from 
 many whose narrow horizon kept them from seeing 
 or understanding her high ideals of life. She loved 
 the beautiful and the good. She reached toward 
 the heights, and was the friend of heroic souls. 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 The record of her generous life is like a vine 
 around the memory. It would not become us to 
 speak before the world of some of the trials of 
 her life, nor could it be spoken, but it will help 
 others maybe, to know that it is possible to live 
 above the bitterest woes and like her, to live in 
 a higher atmosphere. 
 
 When she was seventy-eight years of age, she 
 was stricken with paralysis and lived only five 
 weeks, but her courage never left her. Her mind 
 remained clear and active and she bore her illness 
 with the same fortitude which was the keynote of 
 her character; even when the power of speech left 
 her, she made herself understood and at the end 
 quietly and beautifully sank to sleep. 
 
 Adjoining the home of her girlhood in old Rossie, 
 on the banks of the Indian river, a portion of land 
 was many years ago reserved for a burial ground. 
 Here beside her loved ones, she is laid to rest. The 
 following lines picked up on her study table, in 
 relation to this beautiful place, were probably the 
 last she ever wrote. 
 
 The sun has uncovered the grass mounds, 
 And the snowflakes have melted away 
 Into dew drops of tears forever 
 On the bosom of earth they will lay. 
 
 19 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 And I visit the graves of my loved ones, 
 And I think of the days that are o'er, 
 Of the ties that are broken so binding, 
 Now linked to the heavenly shore. 
 
 And I mourn for a sister, whose earth love 
 Was deeper than fountains below. 
 For whenever by sorrow afflicted 
 For me would her tears overflow. 
 
 Where the half-brothers, sleeping would waken 
 If they knew that in sorrow I roam, 
 For aflFection had builded a temple, 
 And roofed it with love o'er our home. 
 
 Oh yes, I am standing beside them, 
 Where my beautiful darling is laid. 
 With her long auburn curls in the casket, 
 Twined with rosebuds that never will fade. 
 
 Here the sunshine falls on the hillside. 
 Here the moonbeams rest for the night. 
 Here night's curtain is folded around them. 
 As it falls 'neath the twinkling light. 
 
 By the banks of the old Indian River, 
 Whose tide never ceases to flow, 
 Where pond lilies dance on her bosom, 
 As onward the crested waves go. 
 
 20 
 
CORNELIA A. McFALLS 
 
 Oh eddy, forever, I pray thee, 
 
 'Round the banks where my loved ones now sleep, 
 
 Lulled to rest by the murmuring music 
 
 Of waters that chime to the deep. 
 
 Sleep on, 'till the river shall broaden, 
 Where all of earth's people shall be 
 Gathered home in the mists of the morning, 
 As ripples that float on the sea. 
 
 Mrs. McFalls is survived by two children, Alida, 
 wife of Dr. Stanley C. Reynolds, of Saugerties, and 
 David, a lawyer of White Plains, and a dearly be- 
 loved brother, Linus J. Pierce, who lives in Du- 
 luth, Minn. 
 
 21 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 Silent Prayer 
 
 27 
 
 Childhood Home 
 
 28 
 
 Bonnie-Castle 
 
 31 
 
 Dust of the Desert 
 
 33 
 
 The Prose Author and the Poet 
 
 34 
 
 To Little Stanley Jim 
 
 36 
 
 The Lost Thought 
 
 37 
 
 The Rainbow of Hope 
 
 38 
 
 The Little Streamlet 
 
 39 
 
 To THE Stars 
 
 40 
 
 An Extravaganza to * * 
 
 42 
 
 Mrs. D. McFalls' Answer to Extra- 
 
 
 vaganza to * * 
 
 45 
 
 Measure for Measure 
 
 48 
 
 In Answer to "Measure for Measure'' 
 
 51 
 
 Friendship 
 
 54 
 
 To a Silent Muse 
 
 58 
 
 The "Silent Muse'' Answer to Mrs. D. 
 
 
 McFalls 
 
 60 
 
 Gems of Thought by the Wayside 
 
 6a 
 
 Lines 
 
 63 
 
 The Field of Culture 
 
 64 
 
 Lean on Me 
 
 67 
 
 Lines Addressed to a New Corres- 
 
 
 pondent 
 
 69 
 
 Birth-Day Poem 
 
 71 
 
 A Photograph of Life 
 
 72 
 
 Retrospection 
 
 73 
 
 To My Beautiful Fern 
 
 75 
 
 Response 
 
 76 
 
 Forget-me-nots 
 
 77 
 
 Marie 
 
 79 
 
 Custer 
 
 81 
 
 23 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Tribute to Major Brennan 83 
 
 Decoration 85 
 
 The Old and the New 89 
 
 A Question Poem 91 
 Lines to Mrs. Helen Rich, St. Joseph Mo. 92 
 
 Wake up 94 
 
 Thanksgiving Anthem 95 
 
 To My Genius 97 
 
 A Tramp in Church 98 
 
 Memorial Day 100 
 
 In Response to "Youthful Days^' 102 
 
 I am no Rude Iconoclast 104 
 
 Spring 106 
 
 Life's Boisterous Sea 108 
 
 Hurrah for Hayes and Wheeler iio 
 
 Condolence hi 
 
 Buried in Flowers 113 
 When the Mists Have Cleared Away 114 
 Re-Echo to "When the Mists Have 
 
 Cleared Away'' 116 
 
 Edwin D. Clifton 118 
 
 The Closing Year 120 
 
 Woman's Sphere 123 
 
 Storm King and Engineer 126 
 
 Music 129 
 
 Unrecognized, But Not Forgot 130 
 
 Sympathy 131 
 To THE Memory of Dr. S. N. Sherman 133 
 Pencilings From One of the Thousand 
 
 Islands 135 
 
 To Our Soldiers 137 
 
 To Helen McFalls Burdell 139 
 
 24 
 
FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
SILENT PRAYER 
 
 Ye whose hearts are filled with gladness, 
 Who, God's bounties richly share, 
 
 Bless the light that gilds your pathway, 
 Lift your heart in Silent Prayer. 
 
 Or should clouds around you gather. 
 Changing joy to dark despair. 
 
 Light breaks through the misty morning, 
 Joy returns in Silent Prayer. 
 
 When the weak in faith are faltering. 
 Bending 'neath their load of care, 
 
 Oh sustain their tottering footsteps. 
 Bid them trust in Silent Prayer. 
 
 Skies peer out behind the cloud caps. 
 Gemmed with colors rich and rare. 
 
 Clouds may wear a silvery lining — 
 Lift thy heart in Silent Prayer. 
 
 Life's deceitful, false, and fickle. 
 Weaving oft the tempter's snare, 
 
 If we would escape its follies, 
 We must trust in Silent Prayer. 
 
 Traveler, on life's dreamy ocean, 
 Weaving fancies, bright and fair. 
 
 If you glide adown life smoothly, 
 Guide thy course by Silent Prayer. 
 
 27 
 
CHILDHOOD HOME 
 
 Brother and I, 
 
 There were only we two! 
 
 My brother and I 
 
 Who'd been petted and fondled 
 
 As the years had gone by; 
 
 By the Indian River, our dear 
 
 Homestead stood, 
 
 O'ershadowed by balsams 
 
 Of evergreen wood 
 
 Behind it, the orchard, 
 
 The meadow and hill 
 
 The barn and the rocks 
 
 And the old grinding mill 
 
 Before it the roadway, 
 
 Laid out by the stream 
 
 At the bend of the river 
 
 Our childhood's first dream 
 
 Where the home all unique 
 
 By itself seemed to stand 
 
 With its o'erarching eaves 
 
 On its own titled land, 
 
 'Twas a dignified home 
 
 For the dear father's hand 
 
 With a waive and a look 
 
 Was a word of command ; 
 
 And he brought to this home 
 
 Very early in life 
 
 One of nature's own children, 
 
 A beautiful wife. 
 
 And she was our mother 
 
 Whose poetic mind 
 
 In everything lovely 
 
 Contentment could find. 
 
 For nature had fashioned 
 
 28 
 
In forming its plan 
 
 At the bend of this river 
 
 A loved haunt of man. 
 
 E'en the row-boat seemed happy 
 
 And rocked to and fro 
 
 As if half impatient 
 
 O'er the waters to go. 
 
 As gleefully, gladly 
 
 We pushed from the shore 
 
 To beat the wild waves 
 
 With the tip of the oar. 
 
 As out on the bosom 
 
 Of this beautiful stream 
 
 We caught the first glimpse 
 
 Of the poet's fond dream 
 
 For nature has voices 
 
 They speak from the deep 
 
 And the secrets of childhood 
 
 Forever will keep. 
 
 Thus my brother and I 
 
 Had a world all our own. 
 
 Where nature's enchantments 
 
 Around us were thrown! 
 
 Thus we grew independent 
 
 Because of the way 
 
 We heeded but little 
 
 The course others lay. 
 
 But life has its span 
 
 And when youth-time is o'er 
 
 The gray mists will gather 
 
 To cloud our life o'er 
 
 While old Father Time 
 
 With his cold, frosty mien 
 
 And his visage of age 
 
 On the face, will be seen. 
 
 But the Indian River 
 
 29 
 
Will flow on to the shore. 
 Where our ancestors sleep 
 By the home evermore. 
 But the homestead so dear 
 Has now gone to decay 
 For Time's rusty fingers 
 Are working alway. 
 For the well curb is gone, 
 And the porch looking o'er 
 The beautiful flower beds 
 That blossomed of yore! 
 But the charm of that home 
 That dear mother so fair 
 With her white, snowy cap 
 And her silvery hair, 
 In her poetic nature 
 Is lingering there. 
 
 30 
 
BONNIE-CASTLE 
 
 Ye moaning winds that round this island sweep, 
 
 Ye rolling swells that murmur from the deep, 
 
 What sad lament is borne upon the air 
 
 Round Bonnie-Castle and her scenes so fair! 
 
 But yesterday, all towering in her pride, 
 
 This queen of beauty by the riverside. 
 
 Robed in the brightness of a summer day, 
 
 Lulled with sweet music where the waters play ; 
 
 Adorned by lovely scenes, by nature blest, 
 
 Where cultured genius found delightful rest. 
 
 Here to repose where nature seemed to smile. 
 
 And draw enchantment round this lovely isle ; 
 
 Where art and nature, striving to outvie 
 
 In light and beauty, drew the wanderer nigh; 
 
 Here on the rocks in little basins laid, 
 
 The flowerets blossomed in the grateful shade. 
 
 Kissed by the sunbeams, watered by the spray 
 
 Of proud St. Lawrence coursing on her way. 
 
 Oh, Bonnie-Castle, sad be thy lament 
 
 O'er death's untimely frost so early sent; 
 
 E'en lovely nature moistens with a tear. 
 
 And dewdrops gather round the silent bier. 
 
 The trailing vines unclasp their fond embrace 
 
 And droop in mourning 'round this lovely place. 
 
 While tender mosses, springing up before 
 
 From slightest pressure, seem to rise no more; 
 
 Mourning perchance, as lifeless things may weep. 
 
 In drowsy slumber not in endless sleep. 
 
 Nature inanimate may revive again 
 
 And know no sorrow, feel no mortal pain ; 
 
 But grief wears furrows through the saddened heart, 
 
 And life grows weary when the loved ones part. 
 
 E'en the poor mastif? whining at the door 
 
 Scents for the footprints that return no more ; 
 
 31 
 
While fleet "Camilla," restless in her pride, 
 Sways half impatient on the foaming tide. 
 Thus not for faded flowers this sad refrain, 
 But inspiration, waking not again. 
 For robed in all thy beauty. Nature, know 
 No more of greatness genius can bestow 
 To this fair isle, where deathless, envied fame 
 Binds brightest laurels round good Holland's name. 
 
 32 
 
DUST OF THE DESERT 
 
 "An Affliction But Not Impure^' 
 
 There's many a desert in life, dear friend, 
 
 Vast swelling, thro' clouds unseen, 
 But never a cloud of dust so dense. 
 
 But a calm will come between; 
 And a breath of pure, sweet air float in, 
 
 With life's reviving power 
 O'er the desert sands, as pure and sweet 
 
 As spring's refreshing shower; 
 While Arabian desert's royalty dust 
 
 Of Ptolemie's withered prime, 
 Will float away with the desert sands. 
 
 With the delicate sweets of other lands, 
 Away thro' the realms of time. 
 And so, let the beautiful Nile flow on, 
 
 In the swell of ancient lore, 
 WTiile travelers, we, glide on thro' the sands, 
 
 Till time shall be no more. 
 
 33 
 
THE PROSE AUTHOR AND THE POET 
 
 Bent to his task, his head bowed down, 
 
 The author seemed to wear a frown 
 
 His mind was struggling for the tho't, 
 
 His eager visions vainly sought. 
 
 A poet came along that way 
 
 And to the author turned to say, 
 
 What makes you work so hard to bring 
 
 To light, your mental reasoning? 
 
 Your thinking powers must have their play 
 
 In nature's prompt, suggestive way. 
 
 You tax your mind in worrying long, 
 
 Why don't you weave them into song? 
 
 The author rubbed his fevered brow 
 
 And said, I wish you'd tell me how. 
 
 You try too hard, the poet said 
 
 Use easier terms for prose instead. 
 
 It may be grand in lofty strain 
 
 To seek for that, and seek in vain. 
 
 In poet lore our visions lie, 
 
 Like snow flakes fluttering through the sky. 
 
 We catch them, as they are flying by. 
 
 And let our pens the medium be 
 
 To work the problems easily. 
 
 We have a sort of thieving way 
 
 Extracting juices where they lay. 
 
 We cull the flowers, the essence take 
 
 From prose along the lines you make 
 
 Your cultured tho'ts your dreams we chime. 
 
 And thread them into verse of rhyme 
 
 Thus in our field we work together 
 
 Through time and tide and know not whether 
 
 The products of our minds will be 
 
 Received with friendly courtesy. 
 
 "Not always gilded spurs are worn 
 
 34 
 
The brighter by the better born!" 
 The author raised his eyes and said 
 Jocosely, have you lost your head? 
 Oh! no, the poet made reply 
 The difference lies 'twixt you and I 
 Now which the genius do you know? 
 We've neither of us much to show 
 If we were not or if we were 
 We'll leave it to the publisher. 
 
 35 
 
TO LITTLE STANLEY JIM 
 
 Baby mine: behind time's curtain 
 
 I can see thy dear, sweet face 
 
 Nestled softly in love's bosom 
 
 Sleeping in a warm embrace 
 
 O! if all the love I cherish 
 
 In my heart for thee and thine 
 
 Thou couldst know, thou'd know, dear baby 
 
 How love's links around thee entwine : 
 
 And when time shall lift his curtain 
 
 And thy lovely face I see 
 
 Thou wilt know the ties that bind thee 
 
 Ever fondly unto me! 
 
 Grandma. 
 And then another baby came 
 And little Fummy was his name 
 And then! the love we had before 
 Was all we had, we had no more 
 From Stanley then we had to take 
 Some love away, for Fummy's sake 
 But first the mother all the same 
 Had all the love that will remain. 
 
 36 
 
THE LOST THOUGHT 
 
 Why! where is it g;one? 
 
 It has vanished before me 
 
 The drift of my song 
 
 Why didn't I seize it? 
 
 A vision will fade 
 
 Unless the foundation 
 
 Most quickly is laid 
 
 'Twas a bright dream of fancy 
 
 Delusively plaj^ed. 
 
 With the tips of the fingers 
 
 Where genius is laid. 
 
 It has gone beyond vision 
 
 Away and away 
 
 To the plains of forgetfulness 
 
 Forever to stay. 
 
 And I called up my reason 
 
 And searching it o'er 
 
 The chambers of memory 
 
 I vainly explore. 
 
 O, where has it gone? 
 
 I would thread it in song 
 
 To carry the vein of my metre along 
 
 It's just like a link 
 
 That gets out of a chain 
 
 You cannot replace it 
 
 And hold it again 
 
 Good bye to yon thought 
 
 We can gather some more 
 
 In the realm of genius 
 
 We love to explore! 
 
 37 
 
THE RAINBOW OF HOPE 
 
 O! Say! do you see it? 
 
 What beautiful rays 
 
 The Rainbow of Hope, 
 
 In its promise displays. 
 
 It is rich, to enjoy it, 
 
 To feel the bright glow 
 
 If only a moment 
 
 It falls here below: 
 
 No matter how great 
 
 The aspiring may be 
 
 Or how small we may hope 
 
 The fulfillment to see! 
 
 Oh! beautiful hope! — 
 
 If forever you'd stay 
 
 In your many toned colors 
 
 To brighten life's way 
 
 If we could but clasp thee 
 
 And hold thee to see 
 
 Through fathomless ages 
 
 Whate'er is to be 
 
 O! it's easy to catch it 
 
 Hope's rainbow above 
 
 But the world would deprive you 
 
 Of all that you love! 
 
 38 
 
THE LITTLE STREAMLET 
 
 A little streamlet found its way 
 
 Adown the mountain side 
 
 It sparkled in the sun's bright ray 
 
 In all its native pride. 
 
 A mighty ocean rolled along 
 
 In all its majesty 
 
 Unmindful of the little stream 
 
 That wended to the sea! 
 
 But not a verdant spot was seen 
 
 Along old ocean's way, 
 
 While nature spread her mantle green 
 
 Where'er the streamlet lay! 
 
 39 
 
TO THE STARS 
 
 An Extravaganza 
 
 Or How the Poets got after Each Other 
 
 A poet in Portland fell in love with the stars 
 
 And the planets and moon 
 
 With its broad level bars: 
 
 And his soul was so full of the beautiful rays 
 
 That night in its glory 
 
 So richly displays 
 
 That away went his thoughts 
 
 All illumined by light 
 
 To regions above 
 
 Mid the phantoms of night. 
 
 His theme was exalted 
 
 He thought he must reach 
 
 The grandest and highest 
 
 Expressions of speech. 
 
 So he gilded his pen 
 
 On the moon's golden bars 
 
 And wrote 
 
 An extravaganza to the stars! 
 
 And I was afraid that in soaring 
 
 So high, the poet might some day 
 
 Get lost in the sky! 
 
 So checking his speed 
 
 I essayed to say 
 
 Hello! over there, 
 
 You've got out of the way? 
 
 And an echo came back 
 
 From whom, I don't know. 
 
 Not even a postscript 
 
 Had aught that would show 
 
 And I studied it long 
 
 40 
 
And I studied it o'er 
 
 Of this poet who wanted 
 
 In heaven to soar! 
 
 Just listen a moment 
 
 And hear his reply 
 
 Hello! who are you? 
 
 That's sending your arrows 
 
 The universe through? 
 
 Your voice is so faint 
 
 I scarcely can hear. 
 
 It must be you're dwelling 
 
 In some other sphere! 
 
 And I made reply 
 
 O, I am a vision 
 
 That floats in the sky. 
 
 And I sat on a cloud 
 
 When it saw you pass by. 
 
 But I never can show you 
 
 For this reason I fear 
 
 You'd be writing me stanzas 
 
 And calling me dear. 
 
 And the Portland echo made reply, 
 
 Well that is you, and this is I. 
 
 41 
 
AN EXTRAVAGANZA TO * * 
 
 I met you by the merest chance 
 
 Beside an humble cottage door. 
 Thy first fond look and loving glance 
 
 Taught me to love you — yea, adore. 
 
 Is love but fancy — but a dream — 
 
 Or is it some magnetic power 
 Transmitting that which first did seem, 
 
 To real form, from hour to hour? 
 
 My love to me is more than earth. 
 More than all the world beside; 
 
 Without it life hath naught of mirth 
 When love is not, all hope hath died. 
 
 If every sand upon the shore 
 
 Were each a gem or priceless pearl, 
 
 Fde give them all, yea o'er and o'er, 
 To win thy love, my darling girl. 
 
 If every star which gems the throne. 
 And glistens in the crown of night, 
 
 Were each a ruby and my own 
 
 I'de give them thee with sweet delight. 
 
 To wni thy love I'd game with fate ; 
 
 Yea, stake my soul upon the throw. 
 I'd su£fer torture, scorn and hate — 
 
 All joy on earth I would forego. 
 
 My being form a living wire 
 
 To stretch throughout all coming time, 
 And inch by inch I would expire 
 
 So I might claim thy love sublime. 
 
 42 
 
Yea more than this, had I the power, 
 (With fifty years before I died,) 
 
 I'd give a year for every hour 
 
 That fate would grant me at thy side. 
 
 Had I a hundred lives to live, 
 
 Each to be filled with joyous glee, 
 I'd give them all, yes freely give, 
 
 For one sweet hour, my love, with thee. 
 
 R 
 A REPLY 
 
 We met by chance, 'midst stars it seems; 
 Your vision was not one of dreams. 
 You had not sought the cottage door 
 A rambling bard, you seemed no more. 
 To fall in love with one at sight 
 Betrays a foolish heart and light. 
 A love sick wight, me thinks thou art, 
 Without sincerity of heart ; 
 Setting the prize by far too high, 
 That nought on earth beneath the sky 
 Had moved thee, as within the hour 
 You stealthily sought a lady's bower, 
 And half concealed within the door, 
 Too rudely scanned her features o'er, 
 'Till in thy mad, confused brain 
 Awoke thy soft, sweet, honied strain. 
 Come forth from out the misty glen. 
 With better phrase employ thy pen. 
 Leave of? this love-sick melody, 
 And come, acquaint thyself with me. 
 Be not enamored by a glance 
 From maiden eyes, that beam by chance. 
 They may like dazzling sun-beams play 
 And lead thy wildering thoughts astray. 
 But when thou earnestly desire 
 43 
 
To win a maiden's love, aspire 
 
 To nobler thoughts, to higher themes 
 
 Than dimpled smiles or fancied dreams. 
 
 Seek thou in womanhood to find 
 
 The noble graces of the mind, 
 
 And then, if thou should'st worthy be, 
 
 ni freely give my love to thee. 
 
 I ask no golden sands from shores 
 
 Of peerless gems or priceless ores; 
 
 No penance due, no mocking art 
 
 By which to win this youthful heart: 
 
 But this I ask — a pledge as true 
 
 As that I freely pledge to you: 
 
 A moral soul as clear and bright 
 
 As stars that gem the crown of night. 
 
 Then wake thy poet strains to me, 
 
 I'll hail with joy thy roundelay. 
 
 44 
 
MRS. D. McFALLS' ANSWER TO EXTRAV- 
 AGANZA TO * * 
 
 The poem which you criticise 
 
 Hath found small favor in your eyes, 
 This I regret — in truth I own 
 
 My prudence must have quite o'erflown 
 All bonds of reason or romance, 
 
 Though "not enamored by a glance." 
 But to be frank 'tween you and me 
 
 I gave the rein to fancy free — 
 Which on its tireless wing of light 
 
 To realms of dream-land took its flight. 
 Free as a bird it flew away — 
 
 'Twas fancy led my "thoughts astray," 
 I dreamed of one I had not seen 
 
 A thought-created fairy queen, 
 Whose image shall forever stand 
 
 Spotless and pure from God's great hand. 
 Could I but see a human face 
 
 With such angelic, perfect grace, 
 Of queenly form and heavenly mien 
 
 (Who are alone in fancy seen) 
 With grace which rivals every art 
 
 A mind serene and guileless heart — 
 In fact an Angel from above, 
 
 Then I should madly "fall in love." 
 Though I'm a timid youth I own, 
 
 And o'er my head few years have flown 
 Yet girls or women, (all the same) 
 
 Don't often set my heart aflame. 
 But if this perfect one I find, 
 
 With gentle heart and noble mind, 
 (A lovely face too — I prefer) 
 
 I'd bankrupt love, in loving her. 
 For what she gives in love each day, 
 
 45 
 
Ten thousand fold I will repay, 
 For every good and noble thought 
 
 I'll pay in acts which Christ has taught 
 We all should do; and daily bring 
 
 A true heart's noblest offering. 
 'Tis true in vain I e'er have sought 
 
 A being, perfect as my thought; 
 But when I found her not on earth 
 
 In fancy's realm I gave her birth. 
 A maid all pure with naught that mars, 
 
 I sought her home amid the stars 
 I said we met at cottage door — 
 
 (This was a figure nothing more, 
 A license of poetic lore), 
 
 But it was on that perfect shore 
 Where all is purity and bright 
 
 Within the realm of starlit night. 
 I love to think of grander forms 
 
 Who live above all earthly storms — 
 Above the withering blight of wrong — 
 
 (Such maids exist alone in song.) 
 I love on fancy's wings to fly 
 
 Above base earth to that pure sky 
 Where Angels dwell in perfect bliss 
 
 Free from all taint of world like this. 
 Now I'll descend from stars above 
 
 To talk to thee of earthly love, 
 And first of all I will agree 
 
 That my young heart though full of glee, 
 Is from all guile both pure and free, 
 
 I am a saint? or hope to be. 
 If you accept on terms like these 
 
 I'll strive with all my best to please, 
 And you shall have each "priceless pearl" 
 
 I said I'd give the other "girl," 
 And rubies rare and jewels bright 
 
 46 
 
Which deck the crown of starlit night, 
 Provided that each precious stone 
 
 "Were each a ruby and my own." 
 But I'll take back that "wire" so long 
 
 Of which I sung in the former song, 
 As I now prefer when I die some day 
 To do so in a Christian way. 
 
 47 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE 
 
 TO ECHO 
 
 You said you'd really like to know 
 
 How correspondent looked — and so 
 
 I think I'll have to break the spell 
 
 Of beauty, which you picture well. 
 
 I much regret you only care 
 
 For perfect charms and beauty rare; 
 
 Because I feel, and quickly see, 
 
 You ne'er would "bankrupt love" for me, 
 
 I was not formed in beauty's mould, 
 
 And here, my poet friend, you're sold. 
 
 The humble truth I can't disguise, 
 
 Though you my look and mien despise. 
 
 I'm old and ugly — on my face 
 
 The lines of deep drawn care I trace. 
 
 My brow is furrowed, and I feel 
 
 The weight of years around me steal. 
 
 My once elastic step has grown 
 
 To weary pace, unlike my own. 
 
 The flush of youth, the smile I wore 
 
 Have passed away. The day is o'er 
 
 When I can hope to win one thought 
 
 With kindly admiration fraught. 
 
 From hearts that only love the hour; 
 
 They wake and throb at beauty's power. 
 
 And you, my friend, howe'er so fair, 
 
 Will fading beauty's signet wear; 
 
 As you, like me, will come to know 
 
 Life's changes as we onward go. 
 
 Forgive me if I woke one strain 
 
 Through which thy heart would seek in vain 
 
 Aught that could rival near or far 
 
 The beauty of the "rising star," 
 
 48 
 
And yet me thinks I know of worth 
 
 E'en here, in this cold, dismal earth, 
 
 As pure, as spotless, and as free 
 
 From taint, as ever saint could be; 
 
 And tell me not, when you were bound 
 
 In wedlock's chains , you had not found 
 
 An earth-born angel, one as bright 
 
 As ever gemmed the crown of night. 
 
 One who, through life, would ever be 
 
 The guiding star, that guided thee. 
 
 I see 'twas thy poetic lore 
 
 That wafted thee to that fair shore, 
 
 On wings of fancy, not of love, 
 
 To revel mid the stars above ; 
 
 And like all fancied things that reign 
 
 You sought the loves of earth again. 
 
 "Oh, happiness! How far we flee 
 
 Thine own sweet paths in search of thee;" 
 
 Me thinks the earth has maidens fair 
 
 As pure and true as angels are; 
 
 And if there is not moral worth 
 
 In man who dwells upon this earth. 
 
 Then let the tempest roar and hurl 
 
 Destruction o'er this sin-cursed world, 
 
 With all its wealth and pearls and flowers, 
 
 Its shady lawns and lovely bowers. 
 
 Its towering spires, its christian light. 
 
 Hurl every living thing in night. 
 
 I would not live an hour and know 
 
 I could not find in man below 
 
 A soul that did not feel the fire 
 
 Of noble, just and pure desire. 
 
 Worthy all friendship — worthy 
 
 Refined, exalted, perfect love. 
 
 But to return — in sportive glee 
 
 I only sought to rail at thee, 
 
 49 
 
I feared the tortures you'd forego, 
 Your realm of reason might o'erthrow, 
 And would not have you thus expire 
 On that prolonged exhaustless "wire." 
 And pardon me if I should say 
 I see that at some future day, 
 Nor distant time — a day ere long — 
 They'll rank you with the Bards of Song. 
 And now to end this lengthy lay 
 My poet friend, once more I say. 
 Dream not your correspondent fair 
 My eyes are green, and gray my hair. 
 You'd better keep those "priceless pearls" 
 For fairer charms, and lovlier girls. 
 And do not lay them at my shrine; 
 They'd illy deck this brow of mine. 
 These lines, some recompense may be 
 My friend, in undeceiving thee. 
 'Tis strange that you and I were wed 
 Before those "honied words were said ; 
 And stranger still that we should feel. 
 We ne'er would change our present weal ; 
 Our tried, our true, our faithful love. 
 For charms below or charms above, 
 Yet vision, oft unsent, will soar 
 And fields of earth and heaven explore; 
 On tireless wing, it oft has flown. 
 Seeking some semblance of its own. 
 
 50 
 
IN ANSWER TO "MEASURE FOR 
 MEASURE" 
 
 To Mrs. D. McF. Echo 
 
 Now, to my kind, poetic friend 
 These lines of greeting I would send, 
 And beg, as you have owned to me, 
 That you shall my confessor be. 
 To tell the plain, unvarnished truth, 
 Judged by my years, I am no youth, 
 With rosy cheeks and curly hair — 
 For I too, wear the marks of care. 
 Some forty winters now have shed 
 Their snows upon my aging head. 
 And as those years have swiftly flown 
 Times' hand among my locks has strown 
 The silver threads of whitening age 
 Like lines upon life's written page. 
 Though time has kindly dealt by me 
 Still I've not been from sorrow free. 
 Old age strides on at rapid pace, 
 And carves its lines upon my face 
 As if it wrote in life's strange book, 
 Where all may read if they but look. 
 And see how two-score fleeting years 
 Have worn deep channels for my tears. 
 Nor have I e'en a Grecian nose 
 As you undoubtedly suppose — 
 No, its a Roman — (so to speak) 
 Resembling much an eagle's beak. 
 
 *****♦• 
 
 That I am "undeceived" is true — 
 
 I thought your eyes were laughing blue; 
 
 But fate, more kind than I had thought, 
 
 51 
 
Sends one great boon for which I've sought, 
 
 And lavishly my fairy queen 
 
 Adorns, with "eyes" of lovely "green." 
 
 I love diversity so well 
 
 That language lacks all power to tell 
 
 The pleasure which such "eyes" inspire — 
 
 They fill me with ambition's fire 
 
 To win the prize you offer me — 
 
 Because I seek variety. 
 
 I've loved all kinds of every age, 
 
 From simp'ring miss to matron sage — 
 
 And every style, from grave to gay, 
 
 Has o'er my heart held perfect sway. 
 
 But, no ! I will not tell a lie, 
 
 (Although I could if I should try.) 
 
 I must except — (it wounds my pride, 
 
 Therefore I'll whisper it — aside — ) 
 
 Yes — I must own the truth, alack! 
 
 I never loved one with hunch back. 
 
 Nor one whose red hair all a-blaze 
 
 Was her bright-shining, crowning praise — 
 
 Nor one — (I beg you'll not despise 
 
 This woeful lack of enterprise — ) 
 
 I never pined, with heaving sighs 
 
 Before deep "green," or sweet cross-eyes. 
 
 Although for twenty years I've prayed 
 
 That fate would send a hump-backed maid. 
 
 (I do not jest, but speak plain truth — 
 
 One who'd had rickets in her youth — ) 
 
 If only for a little while 
 
 'Till I adored her shape and style. 
 
 I'm sorry that your "hair is gray;" 
 
 Without disguise I'll frankly say: 
 
 I wish — well let the truth be said — 
 
 I wish your silvery locks were red ; 
 
 Because through years of dark despair 
 
 52 
 
I've sought a girl with blazing hair. 
 
 It grieves me that you're tall and slim, 
 
 And that your eyes are growing dim — 
 
 For I had pictured in my mind 
 
 That she for whose love I had pined, 
 
 And longed with sweet, expectant bliss, 
 
 Would be a dumpy, dimpled miss; 
 
 But now, alas, it comes to this — 
 
 That she whose lovely lips I'd kiss 
 
 Is far too tall : also I find 
 
 That like all loves, mine too, is blind. 
 
 No, she is of a different mould. 
 
 Therefore I see, that I am "sold." 
 
 Yes in my love's so ardent strength 
 
 I've sought her long, a.nd find at length, 
 
 The angel whom I saw in song 
 
 Is now, in short, by far too long. 
 
 Ah, now I see when all is past. 
 
 To what queer lengths, love comes at last. 
 
 If nature had my love endowed 
 
 With these four charms, I should be proud. 
 
 Were she humped like Duke of Gloster, 
 
 I'd search Hades if e'er I lost — her. 
 
 Were she cross-eyed like old Ben B. — 
 
 I'd love, if she were a Chinee — 
 
 But if her "windows of the soul" 
 
 Had verdant hues from nature stole, 
 
 And if she, too, had fiery hair. 
 
 Then Heav'n had answered ev'ry prayer. 
 
 Wlien I, at zenith of my pride — 
 
 Could live serene — die satisfied. 
 
 53 
 
FRIENDSHIP 
 
 TO T. J, R. 
 
 I know not why in mem'ry's chain 
 
 One lingering tho't would ere remain 
 
 So thoughtlessly, addressed to thee 
 
 In lightsome mood, all sportively 
 
 To while an idle hour away; 
 
 Thus musingly of ling'ring day 
 
 When tho't on tho't in imagery 
 
 Seemed bound to soar in revery. 
 
 Yet this I own: I friendship find 
 
 In thoughts congenial to my mind. 
 
 "The flash of wit, the beam of song," 
 
 Floating in native grace along, 
 
 Attract mine eye, and pleasantly 
 
 My thoughts flow forth responsively, 
 
 And mingling with those happy themes, 
 
 Am lost in meditative dreams, 
 
 Nor care from whence those gems of thought 
 
 May spring, all lovely and unsought, 
 
 For falling like a rainbow gleam 
 
 Across my path they brightly beam 
 
 And wake betimes, some stirring strain 
 
 To echo back the tho't again. 
 
 Whether of prose, or poet lore. 
 
 Thoughts flow in sweetness ever o'er 
 
 A dreamy hour, and lightly bear 
 
 The mind above its load of care. 
 
 Deep'ning in eloquence, we find 
 
 The brilliancy of other's mind 
 
 Guilding our own, like perfumed flowers, 
 
 Or earth's reviving, copious showers, 
 
 Or friendship thus innately grown 
 
 Speaking in language, all its own. 
 
 54 
 
As woodland murmurs oft prolong 
 The breezy leaflet's ruptling song, 
 Till lost upon some distant shore, 
 They cease to vibrate, evermore. 
 
 TO MRS. D. McF. 
 
 I turn aside from worldly strife, 
 
 To write one page for our book of life 
 
 Whose leaves are opened day by day, 
 
 And to my friends am pleased to say — 
 
 Ah, yes, you guess my heart aright 
 
 When you suppose I could indite. 
 
 Nought but to censure vice and wrong 
 
 In any verse of prose or song. 
 
 Or even for one moment stray 
 
 From rule of right so far away 
 
 As to o'erlook in act or thought 
 
 A deed or word with kindness fraught, 
 
 And if I read our stars aright 
 
 I think we both may truly plight 
 
 An honest heart, that each shall find 
 
 True worth in noble, upright mind. 
 
 I know in many thoughtless ways 
 
 We oft bestow the highest praise 
 
 Of gilded, hollow, empty show, 
 
 While real worth oft sinks too low — 
 
 Beneath the ban of servile cant 
 
 Which often flouts with boisterous rant 
 
 At homely, plain humanity, 
 
 (True ensign of nobility). 
 
 And with irreverence doth inveigh 
 
 'Gainst virtues which would far outweigh 
 
 A thousand worlds of empty fame 
 
 Which doth exist alone in name, 
 
 And yet there is throughout the land 
 
 55 
 
Nobility, sublimely grand, 
 
 As to resist all taint of wrong. 
 
 One heart like this clad with the right, 
 
 Will put a hundred wrongs to flight, 
 
 And rout a legion, base and vile, 
 
 Which courts success through evil's wile. 
 
 To poetic lore 1 lay small claim, 
 
 And can't expect to write my name 
 
 Among the bards of great renown 
 
 High on Parnassus' rounded crown. 
 
 But still I love to scale the heights 
 
 Of noble thoughts in fancy's flights, 
 
 And when my muse has homeward flown 
 
 Ambition's thoughts have been my own. 
 
 But when you say "sometime ere long 
 
 They'll rank me with the bards of song." 
 
 Or that your friend shall stand some day 
 
 Among those names that live alway, 
 
 A praise which I appreciate, 
 
 Though I expect a humbler fate. 
 
 How strange that every earnest mind 
 
 Should range the world hoping to find 
 
 In some true breast, a trusting heart 
 
 Of which his is the counterpart. 
 
 Yet through all space in earth or sky 
 
 On restless pinions it will fly 
 
 To find that heart whose pulsing tone 
 
 Shall beat harmonious with his own. 
 
 I speak not only of love's fires, 
 
 But of like thoughts and great desires 
 
 Which mould true hearts and shape their course, 
 
 Giving to each its vital force. 
 
 Each truly noble, loyal soul. 
 
 Finds its own path, seeks its own goal 
 
 Through that true bond of sympathy 
 
 In which alone two souls agree. 
 
 56 
 
And yet both bears its stamp of fate 
 
 By which each one shall know its mate. 
 
 Such hearts are ever near akin — 
 
 No waste of time friendship to win. 
 
 Each knows its own by instincts sweet 
 
 When by some sign they frankly greet, 
 
 Both recognize the friend long sought 
 
 By some free-masonry of thought. 
 
 Through that queer light which fancy lends 
 
 Two hearts are often joined as friends, 
 
 And cherishing each other's fame 
 
 They are true friends in fact and name — 
 
 (Though they ne'er met for good or ill, 
 
 And perchance they never will.) 
 
 Not friends, as life is understood, 
 
 But in that broader brotherhood 
 
 Which seeing not, feels with delight 
 
 Our pulse-beat, in the thoughts we write. 
 
 Strange riddle this to dwell or wise — 
 
 Yet often doth the tell-tale eyes 
 
 Incautiously a truth reveal 
 
 Which we most gladly would conceal. 
 
 Two strangers passing on the street — 
 
 Their eyes converse when first they meet. 
 
 Though thy lips make no reply 
 
 The truth is spoken by the eye. 
 
 Which scorns restraint — defies control 
 
 As through those "windows of the soul" 
 
 Each one may look and surely find 
 
 The secrets of the heart and mind. 
 
 The friendship you express for me 
 
 Most gladly I accept from thee, 
 
 And in return I pledge to you 
 
 A wajTvard heart, though warm and true, 
 
 And thank the fate which kindly sends 
 
 Life's choicest gift, true hearted friends. 
 
 57 
 
TO A SILENT MUSE 
 To T. J. R. 
 
 Are you lost among the echoes 
 That have floated on the air? 
 
 Tones that swept along thy harp strings 
 In a metre rich and rare. 
 
 Have the bright ideas vanished 
 That filled thy thoughts of yore? 
 
 With their echoes, far receding, 
 Die upon the distant shore? 
 
 Has the earth with all its beauty, 
 
 As beneath the autumn sky, 
 Lost the charm that once could waken 
 
 Beauteous visions in thine eye? 
 
 Though the verdure and the blossoms 
 Droop and fade o'er hill and plain. 
 
 Will not fading nature waken 
 Thy long slumbering muse again? 
 
 Who can speak for their dumb natures? 
 
 Who their grace and beauty tell, 
 When the worshipers of nature 
 
 Cease in musing there to dwell? 
 
 Does the murmuring little streamlet, 
 Winding 'round the pebbly shore 
 
 No more waken brightest fancies 
 In thy vision as of yore? 
 
 Though the air is chill, and robins 
 Plume their wings and fly away. 
 
 Other birds with winter plumage 
 Court thy fond, admiring lay. 
 
 58 
 
Wake, ye silent muse, awaken; 
 
 Nature lists to catch the strain. 
 Fling it forth in varied measure; 
 
 Let thy harp strings wake again. 
 
 Clear and pure and bright and sparkling 
 Does the murmuring streamlet flow; 
 
 Never ceasing, eddying, curling, 
 Whirling, foaming, on they go. 
 
 Wild winds sing and wild birds warble. 
 Though with frost the saplings bow; 
 
 Each their native dirge repeating. 
 Why, O, why, so silent thou. 
 
 Fare thee well, if on life's pages 
 We no more may catch the swell 
 
 Of thy bright, poetic fancies. 
 Then forever, fare thee well. 
 
 59 
 
THE "SILENT MUSE'S" ANSWER TO 
 MRS. D. McFALLS 
 
 BY J. T, REYNOLDS. 
 
 Dec, 1875. 
 
 Were I "lost among the echoes" 
 
 Which float outward on life's plain, 
 
 Words like yours would wake my "harpstrings' 
 
 To new life and hope again. 
 
 Had those "bright ideas vanished" 
 From the mind of th' "silent muse," 
 You would say ray wits "receding" 
 If an answer I refuse. 
 
 Had "the earth's" resplendent "beauty" 
 Faded out from plain and hill 
 My poet friend hath charms "t' waken" 
 "Beauteous visions in" me still. 
 
 "Though the verdure and the blossoms" 
 Fail to wake poetic strain. 
 Still my heart for thy remembrance 
 Would echo back a sweet refrain. 
 
 None "can speak for earth's dumb natures" 
 WTien the poet no more writes. 
 Though to him all earth is vocal 
 Who ascends Parnassus' heights. 
 
 Every "murmuring little streamlet" 
 Would flow in silence to the sea 
 Did not the poet in his "fancies" 
 O'erhear their purling songs of glee. 
 
 60 
 
Though the blue-bird and the "robins" 
 "Plume their wings" for fairer climes, 
 In mem'ry's groves I see their "plumage" 
 And in fancy hear their chimes. 
 
 Th' slumb'ring muse doth now "awaken" 
 T' echo back your kindly words 
 That you may partly know "th' measure" 
 T' which his harp-strings have been stirred. 
 
 6i 
 
GEMS OF THOUGHT BY THE WAYSIDE 
 
 What makes the glittering sand so bright 
 So sparkling and clear, a luminous light 
 In the eventide glow 
 O'er the world here below? 
 
 What makes the light flicker 
 In shadows that play 
 O'er the earth where the moon's 
 Golden I'nes seem to lay? 
 
 What makes all the gems 
 In the pathway that lay 
 All clothed in the garments 
 Of nature's array. 
 
 The beautiful blossoms 
 With fragrance so sweet 
 The soft velvet mosses 
 That lay at our feet? 
 
 The murmurs of waters 
 The sands of the sea 
 The shades of the forest 
 The leaflet and tree? 
 What made them ? 
 The Creator. 
 
 62 
 
LINES 
 
 Dear friends at home, thy kind regards, 
 
 Shall long remembered be, 
 And all the happy hours we've passed. 
 
 So pleasantly with thee. 
 
 Though other scenes may be as fair, 
 And friends as kind and true, 
 
 Yet deep within our hearts will live, 
 Fond memories of you. 
 
 We'll not forget the kindly hands, 
 That smoothed the bed of pain. 
 
 Though w^e, perchance, will never meet 
 With those dear friends again. 
 
 Nor may they know when sorrow's hour 
 
 Assails our lonely cot; 
 But though afflictions often come 
 
 You shall not be forgot. 
 
 Could we forget our early home 
 
 And each familiar spot, 
 Forget the happiest hour of life; 
 
 Then you could be forgot. 
 
 Here in return for kindly thoughts 
 Let kindly thoughts be given, 
 
 That through faith, hope and love 
 May we unite in heaven. 
 
 63 
 
THE FIELD OF CULTURE 
 
 Lines read at the opening of the Gouverneur Free 
 Reading Room, Jan. lU, 1886 
 
 Here let us take our onward way, 
 
 And cull life's sweets as day by day 
 
 We seek to garner up some truth, 
 
 Or stamp upon the mind of youth 
 
 An impress that may lasting be 
 
 For time and for eternity. 
 
 The pleasures of refinement spring 
 
 From every pure and lovely thing, 
 
 As rays of light will softly fall 
 
 With radiant beams o'er one and all; 
 
 For master minds have cleared the way 
 
 Through which our eager thoughts can stray. 
 
 And here's the field of culture where 
 
 We've sown the choicest seeds with care — 
 
 And who would classic fields explore, 
 
 Will find enough of ancient lore; 
 
 Or who'd survey the present age, 
 
 Can find it in historic page, 
 
 Of legends old, or history new. 
 
 Here is a full supply for you; 
 
 And here, for mental rest you'll find 
 
 The lighter reading for the mind ; 
 
 For every age, from young to old. 
 
 These volumes will the truth unfold, 
 
 'Till every impulse of the heart 
 
 Into new life and being start. 
 
 This cultured field will ope to you 
 
 Ideal life, and you'll pursue 
 
 A nobler course, a higher theme, 
 
 To fill the vision of life's dream. 
 
 If mind, with prosy matter rife, 
 
 64 
 
Would catch the sweeter tones of life, 
 
 Here can Parnassus' heights ascend, 
 
 Where rays of beauty softly blend, 
 
 While eventide, in mellow glow, 
 
 Softly pervades the earth below. 
 
 Here, inspiration's whispering tone. 
 
 Speaks in a language all its own, 
 
 From British bards to later days. 
 
 The poet's wand its power displays — 
 
 To roam the starry spheres above. 
 
 And revel in diviner love. 
 
 Here Milton, Dryden, Cowper play 
 
 In thought's sublimest, clearest ray, 
 
 And Young, as by a magic wand, 
 
 Has touched the heart in every land. 
 
 This cultured field will yearly grow 
 
 From seedlings buried long ago ; 
 
 Here Tennyson, in melting strain. 
 
 Has beautified the hill and plain, 
 
 'Till every fibre of our hearts 
 
 Is moved with thoughts his pen imparts 
 
 "As love within his glowing hands. 
 
 Is shaken into golden sands;" 
 
 And Shakespeare will to mind portray 
 
 The highest form of imagery; 
 
 While Longfellow and Whittier's dream 
 
 Will fill you with poetic theme. 
 
 Or Mrs. Heman's, sadly sweet, 
 
 Will bring you kneeling at her feet, 
 
 And turn you from your careless way, 
 
 In paths of cultured fields to stray. 
 
 Here, then, this dedication day 
 
 In kindness I would feel, to say 
 
 It needs no prophet to presage. 
 
 This field of culture will engage 
 
 The leisure hours, and help to stay 
 
 65 
 
The streams of vice that bridge our way, 
 
 And manly influence will aid 
 
 'Till every form of sin is staid. 
 
 And light, and truth, and every grace, 
 
 Shall make this room their dwelling place. 
 
 66 
 
LEAN ON ME 
 
 Mother, thou art growing feeble 
 
 Year by year, a change I see. 
 Can 1 stay life's waning current? 
 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 I am strong, while thou art failing; 
 
 All thy wasting strength I bear. 
 I have been so fondly nourished 
 
 By thy constant, daily care. 
 
 Childhood's scenes are not forgotten, 
 Much — nay all — I owe to thee. 
 
 Now in manhood's strength I pray thee, 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 Life wears on and age seems pressing 
 
 Lines of care upon thy brow. 
 Will thou cast life's burthens on me? 
 
 Wilt thou trust me, mother now? 
 
 I will try the ways of fortune, 
 
 I will labor now for thee, 
 I will strive as thou hast striven. 
 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 Thou hast taught me many a lesson 
 Which my fortune guide will be; 
 
 Filled my mind with grand aspirings, 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 Oh! that time could ever change thee! 
 
 Still thy stately form I see, 
 Graceful, loving, kind and tender. 
 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 67 
 
And when age shall press thy forehead, 
 It shall be my manhood's pride 
 
 To support thy faltering footsteps, 
 Standing firmly by thy side. 
 
 Life is brief, but round it centres 
 
 Many a hallowed memory. 
 Now while shades of evening gather 
 
 Mother, dearest, lean on me. 
 
 68 
 
LINES ADDRESSED TO A NEW 
 CORRESPONDENT 
 
 "There's beauty all around our paths, 
 If but our watchful eyes 
 Could trace it to familiar things, 
 And in its lowly guise." 
 
 There's beauty in a single word 
 That oft th' coldest heart has stirred 
 And even children's thoughts may move 
 The deepest fountains of our love, 
 I caught just now this loving strain 
 And would repeat it once again : 
 A kiss for papa, and good night; 
 From Robbin came in accents light, 
 And glancing on the upturned face, 
 A love for thee I quickly trace 
 Stealing my very heart — away 
 Our lovely child amid her play, 
 I clasp her now in fond embrace, 
 Imprint a kiss upon her face, 
 And check awhile her childish glee, 
 To turn her thoughts away to thee. 
 Then when I speak of one so dear, 
 Her dark eyes glisten with a tear. 
 In trembling voice she asks me then 
 When will papa be home again. 
 I stroke her hair and gently smile. 
 And thus her troubled thoughts beguile, 
 And fondle with her doll and toys. 
 And mingle in her childish joys, 
 Till I, too, in our sportive glee 
 Had almost ceased to think of thee. 
 To think of thee? No! in our home 
 Thy image dwells, where'er thou roam, 
 
 69 
 
And memory with a lengthened chain 
 Of life's events, of joy or pain, 
 Return and thrilling through the heart. 
 Still light, and love, and joy impart. 
 I see the sunshine and the shade 
 That oft in light and shadow played 
 Around our path — yet lightly too, 
 We stemmed life's fickle current through, 
 And as the shadows passed away 
 All brighter seemed the cloudless day. 
 
 70 
 
BIRTH-DAY POEM 
 
 TO AN ONLY DAUGHTER AT THE AGE OF 1 4 
 
 Now fourteen summers round your head 
 
 Dear "Bobbin," thus, have quickly fled 
 
 And all, the world, to you, will seem 
 
 Like one, continuous happy dream. 
 
 To thee dear darling, I impart; 
 
 The love that fills my inmost heart; 
 
 The cherished hopes, the fond desires, 
 
 To which a mother's heart aspires, 
 
 I read within your little face 
 
 The father's likeness I can trace 
 
 All the deep love that heretofore 
 
 Had filled my heart in days of yore; 
 
 And now again returns in thee 
 
 Looks sacred, then in memory; 
 
 Time never changes, youth must glide 
 
 From childhood's hour to Woman's Pride! 
 
 And Love, that presence, must divine! 
 
 Some time, dear child 
 
 Will too be thine! 
 
 Oh! God! I pray! this change 
 
 May be a reign of bliss, dear one to thee. 
 
 71 
 
A PHOTOGRAPH OF LIFE 
 
 "Another day — another day, 
 And yet another wears away;" 
 Another year — another year, 
 How soon the close of life draws near ; 
 On fleeting wings the hours pass by, 
 'Tis but a day, the end is nigh, 
 'Tis but a step from youth to age 
 We glide so swiftly down life's stage. 
 And O! what scenes of joy and strife 
 Are crowded in this one short life. 
 The flashing eye, the dimpled cheek, 
 The joy, the hopes of youth bespeak 
 But all too soon maturer age 
 Will stamp them with her signet sage. 
 Too soon those velvet feet must press 
 O'er rude, rough paths of ruggedness. 
 Too soon that dimpled cheek will bear 
 The furrowed trace of grief and care ; 
 Too soon that stately form will bow, 
 Too soon, will change that youthful brow 
 And the elastic step give place 
 To one more measured, lengthened pace 
 Then let the bright, glad morn of youth 
 Be stored with gems of fadeless truth, 
 Calling each day, what needful be 
 For this life, and eternity. 
 O ! let the early years be fraught 
 With only pure and lofty thought 
 From all base lusts and groveling soar, 
 Then when the scenes of life are o'er 
 Return to God all pure and true. 
 Pure as the snowflake or the dew. 
 Bright as the sun, bright as the star, 
 Without a stain thy life to mar. 
 
 72 
 
RETROSPECTION 
 
 I have stood in the gloom of the evening, 
 
 At close of a jvearisome day, 
 And longed for the dav^^n of the morning. 
 
 When the clouds vv^ould vanish aw^ay. 
 
 I've watched for the glow of the sunshine. 
 That would break through the gloom of the night, 
 
 Till my heart was weary with waiting. 
 To welcome the dawning of light. 
 
 And oft through the mists I have wondered, 
 Why round me deep shadows should fall, 
 
 To cast o'er my spirits the mantle 
 Of doubt, like a darkening pall. 
 
 But the hopes and joys I had fostered. 
 In dream-lands, appeared not to me. 
 
 And the moment I thought I had clasped them 
 The farther their presence would flee. 
 
 While the visions of brightness I cherished, 
 
 Like beacons of light far away, 
 But lured me the farther from pleasures 
 
 That followed my footsteps alway. 
 
 The sunshine of life and its shadows 
 
 So closely are blended in one 
 That mists may obscure from our vision 
 
 The rays of the bright rising sun. 
 
 Then here is the moral of living; 
 
 'Twere better, far better, each day 
 To live in the joys of the present, 
 
 While th' present is passing away. 
 
 73 
 
Yet hopes that live but in the future, 
 Though woven in haloes of light, 
 
 May cheer us till life's span is wasted, 
 Though always more distant their flight. 
 
 74 
 
TO MY BEAUTIFUL FERN 
 
 From the woodland I brought thee 
 
 My beautiful fern! 
 
 To place in my parlor 
 
 Adorning an urn 
 
 From nature's dominion 
 
 So fresh and so fair 
 
 To offer you freedom 
 
 And tenderest care: 
 
 I know you were sheltered 
 
 All nice, in the shade; 
 
 Where the winds of the forests 
 
 And sunset have played, 
 
 And I know that when rooted 
 
 In mosses to grow 
 
 You will droop in the clearing 
 
 Of sunlight below; 
 
 And I know that you sigh 
 
 For the twilight and dew, 
 
 And the moon and the stars 
 
 That night spreads over you, 
 
 So I give you your freedom 
 
 And again I return 
 
 To the shades of the forest 
 
 My beautiful fern. 
 
 75 
 
RESPONSE 
 
 One bright day a stranger came 
 
 Sought my cloistered, cool retreat 
 
 Clasped me warmly as the summer 
 
 Bore me to the noontide heat! 
 
 Now I droop for I am lonely 
 
 Far removed from desert air 
 
 Though 'twere kindly hands that bore me 
 
 To a clime more bright and fair 
 
 I'm not born to joy or sorrow 
 
 I'm not born to wisdom's power 
 
 I that heed not the to-morrow 
 
 Have no need of care to borrow, 
 
 In sequestered green recesses 
 
 Lowly, and content to grow 
 
 Where no sunbeam ever blesses, 
 
 There my feeble breath I drew 
 
 Wreathing on, and wreathing ever 
 
 Why and wherefore? Would I ask 
 
 It was only my endeavor 
 
 Mine, was Nature's lowly task. 
 
 76 
 
"FORGETMENOTS " 
 
 Over the graves where our soldiers are sleeping 
 May flowers of beauty are springing once more, 
 
 Nature's mementoes of kindly remembrance, 
 Opening their petals, now cover them o'er. 
 
 Through the green sward all their blue eyes are 
 peeping, 
 
 Wak'd by the warm, genial rays of the sun, 
 Emblems of early and warm adoration, 
 
 Breathing the freedom our heroes have won. 
 
 Types of the morn, when the glad resurrection 
 Breaks from the winter of long dreamy sleep. 
 
 Crowning the braves with the joy of hereafter. 
 Sealing the fountains where dewy eyes weep. 
 
 Nature unchecked in her warm inspiration, 
 Breathing through odors of beautiful flowers, 
 
 Incense of love with intuitive flowers, 
 
 Over the graves of these martyrs of ours. 
 
 Typical blossoms of tender emotions, 
 
 Springing from hearts where the .braves are 
 enshrined ; 
 
 Love for the heroes, where beautiful garlands 
 Yearly above them are fondly entwined. 
 
 Little "Forgetmenots" tinged with the ether. 
 Wearing the robes of the heavenly blue. 
 
 Kindly enriched in the soil which dear freedom 
 Owes to the valiant, the brave and the true. 
 
 77 
 
Blossom forever when springtime revives thee ; 
 
 Fondly encircle the tomb of the braves, 
 Tear drops shall w^ater, and patriot hands twine 
 them, 
 
 Garlands of beauty for moss-covered graves! 
 
 78 
 
MARIE! 
 
 While the battle was on at Ghancellorsville, 
 near Munson Heights, a splendid battle horse from 
 whom a Union officer had just been shot, galloped 
 frantically into the Rebel lines, when the dashing 
 General Gordon seized him by the rein and sprang 
 instantly into the stirrup from his own o'er wearied 
 horse 
 
 And we would embalm 
 
 You in song, Marie, 
 
 Thou beautiful steed 
 
 So fearless and free! 
 
 I sent a Steed, a hero, too! 
 
 Who faces the front of the battle through ? 
 
 But why Marie, did you leave his side? 
 
 When he loosened your rein 
 
 And fell at your feet 
 
 On the Battle Plain? 
 
 He had stroked your mane 
 
 With his gloved hand; 
 
 Had been loyal, and true 
 
 To his native land! 
 
 And I blush, Marie, 
 
 With shame to say 
 
 You fled to the 
 
 Rebel Lines away; 
 
 From the Union ranks 
 
 On that terrible day! 
 
 Yet we honor the man 
 
 Who is brave, and true 
 
 To the cause he espouses, 
 
 Whether the Gray or the Blue 
 
 And we're glad that Gordon 
 
 79 
 
Seized your rein 
 
 And you passed to the hands 
 
 Of a hero, again! 
 
 And I'm glad that he 
 
 Stroked your silken mane 
 
 To foster your pride 
 
 In the field again! 
 
 80 
 
CUSTER 
 
 "Oh War! thou hast thy fierce delight, 
 
 Thy gleams of joy intensely bright, 
 
 Such gleams, as from thy polished shield 
 
 Fly dazzling o'er the battle field." 
 
 'Tis fierce delight, when warriors feel 
 
 The keen sharp edge of burnished steel 
 
 And see that in their mad career 
 
 There's lurking death and danger near. 
 
 Too daring Custer, hadst thou known 
 
 The danger round thy pathway thrown, 
 
 Thy fearless brow had paled with fear 
 
 Thy clarion voice had failed to cheer, 
 
 Thou wouldst have seen the yawning graves 
 
 That waited for thy coming braves, 
 
 Thy braves who watched thy noble form 
 
 Breast the fierce conflict and the storm, 
 
 And felt secure that thou didst lead 
 
 Their columns on to valorous deed. 
 
 To die on battle field where strife 
 
 In equal force combats for life, 
 
 Were fierce enough, but oh, to be 
 
 The victims of mad butchery. 
 
 Oft man in his ambitious hour 
 
 Sees not where dangers round him lower, 
 
 But dashing on is lost to view 
 
 Where mortal aid may ne'er pursue. 
 
 Into the "jaws of death" they ride 
 
 Reckless of aught that may betide 
 
 "Right onward" where the followers come 
 
 To meet their sure impending doom, 
 
 Where tomahawk and scalping knife 
 
 Are reeking red with human life. 
 
 Where howling demons hold their reign, 
 
 The victors of the bloody plain. 
 
Where mad ambition reckless still 
 Followed the bent of dauntless will ; 
 And rushing on in wild career 
 Heedless of danger, void of fear, 
 Pursued the course of 'wildering track, 
 From whence, alas! they turned not back. 
 But diving deep in forest glen. 
 Became the prey of savage men. 
 Brave to a fault, must Custer lay 
 A mangled corpse of mouldering clay. 
 While his brave followers side by side 
 Oozed out their life's last ebbing tide. 
 Brave Custer! thou wilt strive no more 
 Thy rash ambitious course is o'er! 
 
 82 
 
TRIBUTE TO MAJOR BRENNAN 
 
 The following lines were written by Mrs. D. 
 McFalls, wife of Surgeon Mc Falls of the H2d 
 regiment, in which the late Major Brennan went 
 to the front, as First Lieutenant of D Company, 
 and won enduring and lasting tribute 
 
 "An honest man's the noblest work of God," 
 
 But oh ! how deeply do we feel the rod 
 
 Of sore affliction, when the parting breath 
 
 Shroud's honor's mantle with the pall of death. 
 
 Lamented Brennan ! thus untimely lay 
 
 Thy useful life, thy silent corse away. 
 
 E'en at the post of duty, lay aside 
 
 A nation's honors and a nation's pride. 
 
 By irresistless, fathomless decree 
 
 Of waning forces, all unknown to be. 
 
 As through the realms of a stainless soul 
 
 In misty visions, doubt and darkness roll. 
 
 "Thus are we often on misfortune's shelves. 
 
 Wrecked by some fate so all unlike ourselves." 
 
 Man wants to school himself to harder fate 
 
 Than sunny pastures, where but honors wait ; 
 
 For justice will not always kindly give 
 
 The meed of praise to those who nobly live — 
 
 Nor calumny withhold its slimy breath 
 
 That poisons feeling with the sting of death — 
 
 And worth and merit, aye, and genius, too. 
 
 Must battle for the right to right pursue. 
 
 And gird the mind with strength and will and power 
 
 To face misfortune in misfortune's hour. 
 
 But all the past is o'er, and that to be 
 
 Lies in the future life — Eternity! 
 
 While founts of grief, that ne'er will wash away, 
 
 Bedew with tears thy sacred memory. 
 
 83 
 
The last farewell, the parting and the sighs, 
 
 The broken hearts, the severed earthly ties — 
 
 And yet in deathless fame, thy name will bear 
 
 A nation's honor and its honors share 
 
 Where flowers shall bloom amid the sparkling dew 
 
 And yearly tribute pay its vows to you. 
 
 84 
 
DECORATION DAY 
 
 MEMORIAL POEM 
 
 Forty-five years ago! and yet 
 
 Our heroes live today, 
 
 Endeared by ev'ry tie 
 
 In sacred memory. 
 
 The living and the dead alike 
 
 Who, at the Nation's call, 
 
 Laid every peaceful purpose by 
 
 And rallied, one and all, 
 
 To where this land imperiled seemed- 
 
 This birthright of the free; 
 
 This Union of the many states; 
 
 This land of liberty. 
 
 All radiant vi^ith the dyes of hope, 
 
 All golden w^ith its wealth. 
 
 All powerful when invasion comes 
 
 In boldness or by stealth: 
 
 As when the flash of cannons rent 
 
 Fort Sumter's walls apart 
 
 The lightning flash of Patriot fires 
 
 Woke every loyal heart! 
 
 Waking as winds in forests wake 
 
 When threatening storms arise! 
 
 Waking as boiling oceans wake 
 
 Beneath the threatening skies; 
 
 Waking as slumbering nature wakes 
 
 WTien heaven's distilling shower 
 
 Revives the dormant powers of life, 
 
 And freshens for the hour ; 
 
 So too loyal patriots fired anew. 
 
 Throughout the broad domain. 
 
 Came forth in all of manhood's pride 
 
 To save the land again! 
 
 85 
 
One impulse stirred the loyal heart 
 
 Which loyal hearts must feel 
 
 When challenged by the leaden hail, 
 
 And by the glistn'ng steel. 
 
 Could they allow a ruthless hand 
 
 This lovely land to sever 
 
 While o'er it floats the stars and stripes 
 
 In Union's bonds? No! Never! 
 
 One burst of indignation rose — 
 
 And then in fevered heat; 
 
 The signal for defensive war — 
 
 The rush of many feet — 
 
 Of seventy thousand troops to lead 
 
 Six hundred thousand more ; 
 
 Young men, in all the pride of life. 
 
 Their hurried partings gave; 
 
 Some to return ; and some to fill, 
 
 Alas! the soldier's grave. 
 
 While fathers left their little ones 
 
 Around their hearths at play, 
 
 And hastened, with a tear dim'd eye, 
 
 Rebellion's hand to stay. 
 
 Brave soldiers! On through weary march 
 
 And o'er the dangerous sea. 
 
 Till years of struggle, and of blood, 
 
 Crowned them with victory! 
 
 Oh, Glorious Union ! These have won 
 
 A heritage of fame. 
 
 E'en foreign nations bow to thee. 
 
 And laud the patriot's name ; 
 
 While thou, dear native land, can boast 
 
 Of loyal hearts and true 
 
 For half a million sleeping braves 
 
 Have died, dear land, for you. 
 
 On battle field, in prison pen 
 
 The dying, wounded, half-starved men 
 
 86 
 
Yielding to nature's slow decay 
 
 Had blessed thee to their dying day. 
 
 And shall we not, with lovely flowers, 
 
 This day again renew 
 
 Our tribute of regard for these 
 
 Who nobly died for you ? 
 
 Yes! by the garlands on these graves 
 
 Thou shalt cemented be. 
 
 And memories of the sacred dead 
 
 Restore our unity. 
 
 And long within our hearts shall live, 
 
 Till freedom's reign is o'er, 
 
 The chief commanders of the field 
 
 Enshrined forevermore; 
 
 While he who set the bondsmen free — 
 
 His life the sacrifice to be — 
 
 Living, though dead, shall sweetly sleep 
 
 Endeared in memory. 
 
 So may the soldiers live in peace 
 
 And where our brothers sleep 
 
 May flowers be wreathed by loving hands, 
 
 And kindred yearly weep ; 
 
 And unity forevermore. 
 
 Linked by the golden band 
 
 Of Love, and Hope, and Charity 
 
 Unite us hand in hand — 
 
 That underneath the Stars and Stripes 
 
 This land may ever be united in one glorious 
 
 song, 
 The great asylum of all lands — 
 The Land of Liberty! 
 
 Oh, LTnion! By the kindred ties 
 
 That brotherhood may feel! 
 
 By all the hopes of future years 
 
 That through their pulses steal! 
 
 By all the sacrifice of Life 
 
 87 
 
 -J 
 
So nobly, freely given! 
 By all the cords that held these true 
 While not one star was riven! 
 By all the Treasure lost for thee, 
 Thou PRICELESS GEM of Liberty!! 
 
 Live on! so shall thy future be 
 
 United evermore; 
 
 And peace and harmony pervade 
 
 This land from shore to shore. 
 
 Live on! All freshened by the breeze 
 
 That northern regions bear; 
 
 Live on! All tempered by the warmth 
 
 Of balmy southern air; 
 
 Live on ! Till ev'ry pulse shall beat 
 
 In unison with thee; 
 
 Thou Union of the many States! 
 
 Thou Land of Liberty!! 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW 
 
 A foretaste of winter intensely severe 
 Quick followed the advent of happy New Year, 
 With a keen, cutting breath and sharp, biting sting 
 It fastened its fangs like a venomous thing. 
 
 Unlike the old year, which had balmy crept 
 To its close by the ebbing of time, and then slept 
 Like the hush of a murmur, or parting of breath 
 Till its throbbing was lost in the stillness of death. 
 
 While nature renewed in her genial embrace 
 Brought forth winter blossoms in beauty and grace, 
 And lilacs and roses, pale, lovely and rare, 
 Perfumed with their sweet-scented breath the cool 
 air. 
 
 The moss roses sprang from their frost-covered bed, 
 Then withered and died as the old year had fled; 
 Thus nature and time sweetly blended in one 
 Grew weary and set like the setting sun. 
 
 Then frost king unwilling that summer should reign 
 Adorning the meadow and woodland and plain 
 Brought crystals and frosting, and beautifully wove 
 Fantastic adornment through forest and grove. 
 
 Not a twig but was dipped in the crystalized snow, 
 Nor a dried, withered fern but was frosted below. 
 Nor a Christmas tree during old Santa Claus' night 
 But was clothed for the morrow all sparkling and 
 bright. 
 
 89 
 
Outvieing in beauty majestically grand 
 The festal adornments by art's skillful hand. 
 All hail! then old frost-king, and as you appear 
 We yield you the reign of the coming New Year. 
 
 90 
 
A QUESTION POEM 
 
 Do you think the Creator 
 
 In forming His Plan, 
 
 In showering His favors 
 
 Was partial to Man ? 
 
 Do you think that the tides 
 
 That flow out of the sea 
 
 And wash on the shores 
 
 Are there only for thee? 
 
 Do you think that the coins 
 
 Of invaluable worth 
 
 Were intended for only 
 
 A few upon earth? 
 
 If we turn a deaf ear 
 
 To the pitying cry 
 
 Of the poor in the streets 
 
 As we are passing them by. 
 
 Do you think the Dear Father 
 
 That reigneth on high 
 
 Will ever have pity on you? 
 
 If we try to be selfish and 
 
 Narrow and vain 
 
 To live for self only 
 
 Then what can we gain? 
 
 Do you think that God's 
 
 Mercy forever will sleep 
 
 Unveiled from our eyes 
 
 In the fathomless deep? 
 
 Oh! No! there'll be an awakening 
 
 When the Father will say 
 
 Come higher and show you the 
 
 Life and the Way! 
 
 91 
 
LINES TO MRS. HELEN RICH 
 ST. JOSEPH, MO. 
 
 (On receiving the portrait of her little namesake, 
 Helen Rich Lyon) 
 
 How like to thee, dear absent friend, 
 
 The little face appears, 
 With grandma's specs astride her nose. 
 
 In mimicry of years. 
 
 rd like to hold her in my arms 
 
 And read the baby face. 
 Till I could, in her future years, 
 
 Thy perfect image trace. 
 
 She creeps within my heart to-night 
 
 With magic baby power 
 As moved the fountains of our love 
 
 In childhood's sunny hour. 
 
 The sweet breath of the fragrant rose 
 
 Delightful odors waft, 
 But, I would press the baby's lips 
 
 For nectar's sweetest draft. 
 
 I'd lay the little velvet hand 
 
 Upon my faded cheek 
 And dream of my lost baby love 
 
 Of which, in grief, I speak. 
 
 O, that from thee and thine this life 
 
 May not so soon depart, 
 But live a joy of lengthened years 
 
 All nestled in thy heart. 
 
 92 
 
I turn my eyes from off these lines, 
 
 And scan the portrait o'er, 
 'Till thoughts inspiring impulse thrill 
 
 My heart through every pore. 
 
 So like to thee; nor thou, my friend, 
 
 By beauty won my heart. 
 But by that wealth of cultured thoughts 
 
 Thy genial lips impart. 
 
 I care not for gold that gilds 
 
 The noblesse of power — 
 I only kneel where wealth of thought 
 
 In copious measures shower. 
 
 Thus heart wakes heart's responsive chord 
 
 Which, thrilling with delight, 
 Doth touch the hidden spring within, 
 
 And purest themes invite. 
 
 So, I will graft her in my heart 
 
 Until she grows, to be. 
 As years float on, in face and form, 
 
 A perfect type of thee. 
 
 Then here's a kiss, I waft it thence 
 
 Upon the wings of love 
 And you may plant it on the brow 
 
 With "grandma's specs" above. 
 
 93 
 
WAKE UP! 
 
 Wake up, each loyal man and true, 
 There's earnest work for all to do! 
 Until we have the victory won, 
 Let active, lively work be done. 
 Wake up! 
 
 Bring out your bonny boys in blue 
 And let them have some work to do. 
 Strike out as did the gallant Blaine, 
 'Till shouts of victory rose from Maine 
 Wake up! 
 
 Bring out the torch lights, let them blaz* 
 And clear the track, my boys, for Hayes 
 Vermont with hardy sons and true 
 Found she had earnest work to do. 
 Wake up! 
 
 Let music swell, and shout and sing, 
 And let the grand Republic ring 
 Till cheer on cheer at length will tell 
 We fought the contest long and well. 
 Wake up! 
 
 94 
 
THANKSGIVING ANTHEM 
 
 This day with thankful hearts we bring 
 
 A Nation's laudit to our King, 
 
 This day from toil and labor free 
 
 We dedicate, dear Lord, to Thee. 
 
 We bless Thee for the peace that reigns 
 
 Today, throughout these domains: 
 
 We bless Thee that Thy loving care 
 
 Is manifested everywhere ; 
 
 And every kindred tongue, the same 
 
 May join to-day, to praise Thy name, 
 
 While in accord their voices ring 
 
 Glad hallelujah to our Kinp. 
 
 We bless Thee for the light that shines 
 
 To-day, through dark benighted minds, 
 
 That wretched souls have sought relief 
 
 In gospel truth, from unbelief. 
 
 That far and near, on land and sea 
 
 The weary soul may flee to Thee, 
 
 The poor distressed, the needy, all 
 
 May on Thy mercies daily call. 
 
 And Thou wilt hear, and Thou wilt bless, 
 
 Relieve their woes and heal distress. 
 
 We bless Thee that Thy bounteous hand 
 
 Has strewn such plenty o'er the land. 
 
 Enough for every present need 
 
 The ripe, rich produce of the seed, 
 
 The ripened sheaves of golden grain 
 
 Bedecked the meadows and the plain. 
 
 The frequent showers o'er the mead 
 
 Came ever in the hour of need. 
 
 All nature in her garland dress 
 
 Gives back her look of thankfulness; 
 
 The daisy and the buttercup 
 
 Have drank their fill of dew drops up, 
 
 95 
 
The meadow queen that sinks to rest 
 Upon the evening's dewy breast 
 As though afresh in beauty born 
 Awakes to greet the rising morn. 
 The Robin red-breast folds its wing 
 While Nightingales at even tide sing. 
 Thus varying nature's all unite 
 To praise Thee through the day and night 
 Oh, may we all Thy blessing share 
 And join this day in fervent prayer. 
 The dimpled face, and furrowed cheek 
 May each their gratitude bespeak. 
 The hardened palm and soft and fair 
 May clasp, this day, in earnest prayer 
 And all Thy kindred voices ring 
 In glad Hosannas to our King. 
 
 96 
 
TO MY GENIUS 
 
 "Genius will shine out among the stars of 
 lesu r magnitude surrounding it" 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 
 
 O! Slumber not! I'd wake the spell, 
 
 That thou mine inmost thoughts could tell 
 
 Aim not too high, nor yet too low! 
 
 But know just what you ought to know! 
 
 And try to stand the test of time. 
 
 To meet the foes averse to rhyme 
 
 They cannot sift a thought of thine 
 
 That do to adverse moods incline 
 
 Don't be afraid, for Genius ne'er 
 
 Was born to human hate or fear 
 
 Be firm and resolute to tell 
 
 All that you know; and know it well 
 
 Not all perhaps can easy see 
 
 The drift of thought conveyed by thee 
 
 For leaden structures of the brain 
 
 May search for glowing thoughts in vaint 
 
 In Critic's art we often see 
 
 A vain attempt at rivalry ! 
 
 So be yourself as modestly 
 
 As native genius seems to be 
 
 No borrowed strength, no helping hand 
 
 Can lay the structure where you stand 
 
 You face the world, and to it say 
 
 I'll hold my own, go on your way. 
 
 97 
 
A TRAMP IN CHURCH 
 
 How fickle fortune oft may lead 
 
 To soul remorse in human need 
 
 So unforseen the course we tread 
 
 Till ev'ry hope of life is fled, 
 
 And so the tramp's bright morn at last 
 
 Was by misfortune overcast, 
 
 Success and failure often go 
 
 Through crosses that we hardly know 
 
 And when secure we seem to be 
 
 And would from all reverses flee 
 
 The hand of want we often see. 
 
 And then ! we seek, and seek in vain 
 
 For that which may not come again, 
 
 To me, perhaps, perhaps to you; 
 
 The road is long we are traveling through, 
 
 And know not what will e'er betide 
 
 'Twere best divest ourselves of pride; 
 
 But oh! the world is cold to-day. 
 
 Not one kind word one genial ray 
 
 To help the needy on their way. 
 
 The tramp within the church door stood 
 
 And said the people must be good 
 
 They all looked nice while passing through, 
 
 But no one said, "Have you a pew?" 
 
 So by the Deacon set him down 
 
 Who seemed, at once, to wear a frown 
 
 And hitched along, as if to say 
 
 A tramp within my pew to-day 
 
 With ragged coat and rumpled hair. 
 
 They couldn't see the heart within 
 
 That loathed all kinds of earthly sin 
 
 Whose self-assurance seemed to say 
 
 "Like you I've seen a better day." 
 
 Around the church his eyes he cast 
 
 98 
 
And fixed them on a face at last 
 A saintly woman face as long 
 As is the metre of a song. 
 The pastor's voice rose rich and clear 
 It filled his soul with hope to hear 
 "Come unto me, all ye who are 
 Weary and heavy saddened, 
 And I will give you rest." • 
 A wavering thought his mind oppressed 
 He murmured softly, "Food and rest," 
 A smothered sob, a tear dimmed eye, 
 He wondered if some help were nigh. 
 Some pennies in his vest he found 
 When the collection box came 'round, 
 " 'Tis all I have, I'll drop them in 
 Just to absolve myself from sin." 
 So when the services were o'er 
 Unrecognized he left the door. 
 'Tis thus we little heed or know 
 Our fellowmen their weal or woe 
 God ! help us in the Judgment Day 
 For what we fail to do or say! 
 
 99 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 O Union! Dear Union! how sacred 
 The graves of thy soldiers should be, 
 
 Who are sleeping to-day on the hillsides, 
 In the plains and valleys for thee. 
 
 O Union! Dear Union! the moss-clod 
 
 May hide their loved forms from our vievr 
 
 But know^ there are five hundred thousand 
 Of brave ones now^ sleeping for you. 
 
 And the stripes from thy banners have fallen 
 And their star-spangled emblems shall be 
 
 A union thrice hallow^ed forever, 
 Whose people are happy and free. 
 
 No cloud 'neath the future horizon 
 
 Of hope ever need more appear, 
 For the lines of dissension are banished 
 
 And the daw^n of prosperity's here. 
 
 Then Union! Dear Union! the spring-time 
 
 Reviving once more shall renew 
 In the hearts of thy people devotion 
 
 For the heroes so valiant and true. 
 
 And over the graves where the angels 
 
 Are silently watching by night, 
 And the star spangled heavens above them 
 
 Irradiates beauty and light. 
 
 Let the Grand Army comrades assemble. 
 
 With the friends, on Memorial Day, 
 To strew o'er the graves of our heroes 
 
 The beautiful blossoms of May. 
 
 lOO 
 
'Tis the camp ground where heroes are resting 
 
 While the years of vacuity roll, 
 Till the glad resurrection awakens 
 
 The peace and the joy of the soul. 
 
 Then come with the hands of affection, 
 To strew them with garlands anew, 
 
 Twine the evergreen bough with the blossom 
 And bind with the red, white and blue. 
 
 O Union! Dear Union! how sacred 
 The graves of thy soldiers should be. 
 
 Where five hundred thousand are sleeping, 
 The martyrs of true liberty. 
 
 lOl 
 
IN RESPONSE TO "YOUTHFUL DAYS " 
 
 Thy retrospect, my poet friend, 
 
 Through many hearts, a thrill will send ; 
 
 For as the rapid moments fly 
 
 They dream of joys and loves gone by, 
 
 Of all their lost and broken toys. 
 
 Of childhood scenes and childhood joys 
 
 Which some may feel, 'mid life's stern strife 
 
 Had been the brightest page of life. 
 
 What matters, if in youth or age 
 
 Who occupy this busy stage? 
 
 If all were zealous to be good, 
 
 And live as Christian people should. 
 
 Avoiding webs that snare the feet, 
 
 E'en every stage of life were sweet 
 
 For those who 'mid earth's daily strife 
 
 Bend nobly towards a perfect life. 
 
 And when the clouds the darkest lower, 
 
 Soar grandly higher — higher soar, 
 
 Nor think that all their glory's past. 
 
 Bright joys have fled — their die is cast; 
 
 And they must yield each glit'ring hope 
 
 And 'mid desponding shadows grope; 
 
 And they no more need strive for fame, 
 
 Position, honor, wealth or name. 
 
 But sit and mope, and sigh and say 
 
 "All hopeful days have passed away." 
 
 Oh! sad indeed the man of fear 
 
 To sigh without a danger near, 
 
 To sleep and doze on downy bed 
 
 While God's rich blessings crown his head, 
 
 And when his cup is brimming o'er 
 
 He slumbers on and sleeps the more. 
 
 Awake! Arise! Ye dozy soul. 
 
 Roll off, foreboding agues roll, 
 
 1 02 
 
Bid sloth and lethargy depart, 
 
 Infuse new vigor in thy heart — 
 
 Why in want's dark, grim visage stare? 
 
 Did not God for the sparrow care? 
 
 And who gave to that manly form 
 
 A breast to brave the driving storm, 
 
 A foot, if only turned aright 
 
 Might scale the noblest, grandest height, 
 
 And arms with sinewy, strength which well 
 
 Could forest dense of woodland fell ; 
 
 And wilt thou? Son of man — wilt thou 
 
 Fold them and say, "'tis over nowt" 
 
 Adown the stream I'll listless glide, 
 
 I cannot stem this rushing tide, 
 
 I'll turn aside, and on the shore 
 
 Of buried hopes say life is o'er. 
 
 103 
 
I AM NO RUDE ICONOCLAST 
 
 I am no rude iconoclast, 
 
 Who, with irreverent hand, would break 
 
 One sacred image of the past — 
 
 Just for cold reason's simple sake; 
 
 Yet when no floral beauties bloom, 
 But mud and mire and raw spring gale, 
 With their attendant awful gloom. 
 Pretends the poet's spring to hail — 
 
 With strict regard for homely truth, 
 I hasten straight to undeceive. 
 And tell each spring-enraptured youth 
 That she is but a "make-believe." 
 
 What you call spring, it seems to me. 
 Is some frail maid or fickle miss 
 Wlio promises most royally, 
 But pays alone with frozen kiss. 
 
 She hath her frosts, her mud and "slush," 
 With dismal storming, as a rule ; 
 Her long-hair'd poets in their gush 
 Make us forget her "April fool." 
 
 Her verdant bloom and gentle ways 
 Are faith in things we have not seen ; 
 From what her prattling rhymer says. 
 We fain believe 'tis he that's green. 
 
 Go forth in March on woody path 
 To hear the royal robin sing. 
 And you'll return in awful wrath 
 And "howl" about this gentle spring. 
 
 104 
 
Go, too, tempt the "April showers," 
 Which fall in hail on frozen earth, 
 To wake the silent, sleeping flowers 
 From death to their perennial birth. 
 
 Go seek in May, mid ice-clad nook, 
 In vain for flowers beneath the snow; 
 Sit on the ice by the purling brook, 
 And feel and hear the breezes blow. 
 
 No one can tell when she will wake, 
 With quivering lustre rare and sweet — 
 With wild perfume in fern and brake, 
 And joyous song the flowers to greet. 
 
 But when she does there is no spring — 
 For summer reigns in earth and sky, 
 And this poor fickle, sleepy thing. 
 We soon forget without a sigh. 
 
 105 
 
SPRING 
 
 "Spring, sprang, beautiful sprung!" 
 Gaily the Rochester Democrat sung. 
 With a flash of the pen and a twist of the tongue 
 He wangled his wime in a wing, wang, wung; 
 And thinking he must, at that wonderful rate. 
 Have wimed up his "wimes" in an abnormal state. 
 Don't wonder he cavils at poets who sing 
 Of the time-honored subject of "beautiful spring." 
 But "muchly" we wonder the elegant thought, 
 Expressed in the beautiful poem he wrought ; 
 For surely he soared in the grandest of rhyme. 
 When he strung it in "rhamlets" the thought was 
 
 sublime. 
 And wonder that nature, in "longing" her "ling," 
 Hadn't crowned him the greenest of "beautiful 
 
 spring." 
 And, while courting the muses, she grandly uprose, 
 And decked him the Laureate "in gleefulest gloze" 
 We thought that the first rays of spring time would 
 
 bring 
 From long winter coverts, the bipeds of spring; 
 But e'er the first robins have opened their lays. 
 The croakers and quawkers are shouting in praise, 
 Their envious nature, on waking, it seems 
 From social slumbers of long winter dreams, 
 Had thought that the poets were slumbering still, 
 And wielded in beautiful "reamlets," the quill. 
 If you think, feigned poet, in croaking your praise. 
 You e'er could resemble the robin's sweet lays, 
 Just think of the fable of ^sop, wherein 
 The Ass's ears peered from the old lion's skin. 
 And when in transforming the poets would sling 
 To the manglers of rhyme — let the "beautiful 
 
 spring" 
 
 1 06 
 
Be sung by the muses, with God-given powers, 
 Who revel in spring time 'mid fancies and flowers, 
 While animate natures unitedly sing. 
 Farewells to old winter and welcome to spring. 
 
 ro7 
 
LIFE'S BOIS'TROUS SEA 
 
 I had a friend, who, long estranged. 
 
 In devious paths from me had ranged — 
 
 Some evil one had tried to be 
 
 A barrier 'twixt her love and me ; 
 
 And, jealous of the ties that bind 
 
 Two hearts in one, alike in mind. 
 
 Sought to prevail with evil wile 
 
 'Gainst love that bound our hearts the while 
 
 I knew not why I came to see 
 
 A change came o'er her love for me ; 
 
 She seemed to shun and I could spy 
 
 No more the love-light in her eye — 
 
 No more her kindly voice would cheer, 
 
 No more her presence lingered near ; 
 
 Thus her estrangement came to be 
 
 A canker worm of grief to me ; 
 
 For I had borne with saddened heart 
 
 My friend's cold look, 'till life apart 
 
 Seemed but to me a v, eary day, 
 
 Beneath that cold and cheerless ray. 
 
 Until with pride, which true hearts feel, 
 
 When cold indifiFerence round them steal, 
 
 I ceased to think, and proud disdain 
 
 Brought back my former self again. 
 
 And I despised the friend who e'er 
 
 Would lend distrust a listening ear, 
 
 And sighed no more — our lives should be 
 
 Apart from each, distinct and free. 
 
 Thus had it been; but fate, more kind, 
 
 Revealed the wiles of base design. 
 
 And in an hour, regretfully 
 
 She came and talked again with me ; 
 
 The same kind eye, the same fond smile, 
 
 Which M'ould before my love beguile. 
 
 1 08 
 
Stole through the impulse of my heart 
 
 And bade my cold reserve depart; 
 
 I saw her heart was still the same. 
 
 She fondly breathed again my name. 
 
 As love returned I gently pressed 
 
 Her kindly, warmly to my breast: 
 
 And thoughts again we interchanged, 
 
 1 hough long our hearts had been estranged. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Let those who trifle with the heart 
 Beware! lest they in time may part 
 The silken thread, and rend in twain 
 Bonds which may ne'er unite again, 
 Till severed all, they, too, may be 
 Like lone barks on life's bois'trous sea. 
 
 109 
 
HURRAH FOR HAYES AND WHEELER 
 
 Do you see the banners waving? 
 
 Do you hear the cannons roar? 
 Do you see the bonfires blazing? 
 
 And the rockets flying o'er? 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 And dinna ye hear the slogan ? 
 
 And dinna ye hear the cry? 
 Hurrah for Hayes and Wheeler^ 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! we'll rally by-and-by. 
 
 For we hail the nominations, 
 And with many a hearty cheer 
 
 We will win the victory surely, 
 In this grand centennial year. 
 
 Chi 
 
 We are coming on to conquer, 
 
 We will come with power and might, 
 For they ever fight the bravest 
 
 Wlio are struggling for the right. 
 
 Chi 
 
 We will rally from the hillside. 
 We will rally from the plain ; 
 
 For we saved the land from rebels. 
 And we'll save it once again ! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 no 
 
CONDOLENCE 
 
 I saw thee when hot tears rolled down 
 Thy firm and manly cheek; 
 
 I saw thee when emotions strong 
 Forbade thy lips to speak. 
 
 I saw thy struggle to suppress 
 
 The inward rising grief, 
 And knew that in those tears alone 
 
 Thy heart could find relief. 
 
 One thrill of anguish rent my breast, 
 
 In sympathy with thine; 
 For all the pangs you felt that hour, 
 
 In years gone by were mine. 
 
 And oh, I thought "dear Lord assuage 
 
 The sorrow of that breast. 
 And pour a healing balm upon 
 
 The spirit of unrest." 
 
 No earthly comforter, I knew 
 Could bring relief to thee. 
 
 For I had felt the same deep pang 
 And naught availed with me. 
 
 Time — unheard time, will steal along, 
 
 And 'neath its silent tread 
 The sting of grief may wear away, 
 
 While yet we mourn the dead. 
 
 To thee and her, whose tender hearts 
 Now bleed afresh with grief. 
 
 In sympathy I point thee to 
 The Savior for relief. 
 
 Ill 
 
Who said, "I take these little lambs 
 And fold them to my breast — 
 
 Protection they shall find in me, 
 In me be ever blest." 
 
 Oh beautiful the thought my friends, 
 
 That when this life is o'er 
 Our little ones in Jesus' arms 
 
 May rest forever more; 
 
 Away from all the ills that wait 
 
 Life's pilgrimage below — 
 Away from all the sins that fate 
 
 Could round their pathway throw. 
 
 Friends of my heart, while sorrow weighs 
 
 So heavily on thee, 
 I pray that each by faith sustained 
 
 More reconciled to be. 
 
 fe:-'"" 
 
 112 
 
BURIED IN FLOWERS. 
 
 "Throw them all in; Mazie, dear Mazie shall 
 have them aW^ 
 
 In a casket of flowers, of beautiful flowers, 
 All fragrant with dew drops and tears, 
 
 Lies dear little Mazie, the child of our love, 
 To rest through the int'rim of years. 
 
 To rest while her spirit, no longer entombed 
 From earth's delicate tenement riven, 
 
 Arose like the incense of beautiful flowers 
 And wafted its way unto Heaven. 
 
 How fair is the tomb that encircles her form, 
 And how sweetly the darling must rest. 
 
 Like innocence, sleeping in petals of flowers. 
 Or lulled on some wavelet's fair breast. 
 
 Though deep the affliction that bears from this life 
 
 The forms and the faces we love, 
 Yet kindly the Parent who chastens us here. 
 
 Unites us more firmly above. 
 
 Then sleep, sweetly sleep, in thy casket of flowers, 
 
 Dear Mazie, forever from sorrow. 
 And bright be the waking — so soon unto thee. 
 
 That will be as it were but the morrow! 
 
 Yet know that in silence full many a tear 
 
 And soft sigh to thy memory given, 
 Will be wafted from this, thy childhood's home, 
 
 O'er thy beautiful casket to Heaven. 
 
 113 
 
WHEN THE MISTS HAVE CLEARED 
 AWAY 
 
 When the mists have rolled in splendor 
 
 From the beauty of the hills, 
 And the sunshine, warm and tender, 
 
 Falls in kisses on the rills, 
 We may read Love's shining letter 
 
 In the rainbow of the spray; 
 We shall know each other better, 
 
 When the mists have cleared away. 
 We shall know as we are known, 
 Never more to walk alone. 
 In the dawning of the morning, 
 
 When the mists have cleared away. 
 
 If we err in human blindness, 
 
 And forget that we are dust: 
 If we miss the law of kindness. 
 
 When we struggle to be just; 
 Snowy wings of peace shall cover 
 
 All the pain that clouds our day, 
 When the weary watch is over, 
 
 And the mists have cleared away, 
 We shall know as we are known. 
 Never more to walk alone. 
 In the dawning of the morning. 
 
 When the mists have cleared away. 
 
 When the silver mist has veiled us 
 
 From the faces of our own. 
 Oft we deem their love has failed us, 
 
 And we tread our path alone; 
 We should see them near and truly, 
 
 We should trust them day by day. 
 Neither love nor blame unduly, 
 
 114 
 
If the mists have cleared away, 
 We shall know as we are known, 
 Never more to walk alone, 
 In the dawning of the morning. 
 When the mists have cleared away. 
 
 J15 
 
RE-ECHO TO "WHEN THE MISTS HAVE 
 CLEARED AWAY" 
 
 When the mists that gather round us 
 
 Quite preclude the light of day, 
 And our dearest joys and pleasures 
 
 Dimmed and withering fade away. 
 "We may read" that life uncertain 
 
 Seemeth hardly worth our stay, 
 And we would not care how quickly 
 
 All the earth mists fade away. 
 If we know that we have striven 
 Through the long and weary way 
 
 And have kept our course most nobly 
 
 Till the mists have cleared away. 
 
 But when morning beams all radiant 
 
 Mid effulgent beauties glow 
 We will know from whence the cloud-caps 
 
 And from whom those blessings flow. 
 And our hearts in adoration 
 
 Towards a Father's infinite love, 
 Wakens with a strong pulsation 
 
 For the fairer scenes above. 
 
 If we know that we have striven 
 Through the long and weary way 
 
 And have kept our course most nobly 
 
 Till the mists have cleared away. 
 
 If we only feel securely 
 
 That in sunshine or in shade 
 God is everything and only 
 
 Leaves us as our faith may fade. 
 We will say, to misty mornings 
 
 Dawn upon us for the light. 
 
 ii6 
 
May but lead us from the pathway 
 Ere the coming of the night. 
 If we know that we have striven 
 Through the long and weary way 
 And have kept our course most nobly 
 Till the mists have cleared away. 
 
 117 
 
EDWIN D. CLIFTON 
 
 With a pall of deep mourning our fond hearts are 
 
 shrouded, 
 The hopes and joys of our bosoms are fled, 
 The sunlight that gilded a life's brightest morning 
 Has set e'er its midday, all rayless and dead. 
 
 No longer its light will illumine our dwelling 
 In the brightness and beauty of life's early day. 
 Like the leaves of the autumn now falling around us, 
 The form we loved dearly is wrapped in decay. 
 
 How sad is the parting from those we love fondly, 
 When death bears for ever our loved ones away; 
 No longer their presence can gladden our dwelling; 
 Our nights set in darkness, and cheerless the day. 
 
 And broken the ties of a filial affection 
 
 That held us to earth in a loving embrace. 
 
 Or bonds that were stronger in life's early morning 
 
 With kindly remembrance and sorrow we trace. 
 
 Yet strong is our hope in that life all immortal 
 When borne on the wings of bright angels above. 
 The soul may find rest in that Heavenly Eden 
 And bask in the sunlight of God's blessed love. 
 
 The fire may burn brightly and loved ones may 
 
 gather 
 Within the home circle as in days that are past; 
 But around us the mantle of grief which has fallen, 
 Its weight and its shadow of mourning will cast. 
 
 Yet through the deep shadows our hearts will be 
 lighted 
 
 ii8 
 
When we think of the path that his loved feet have 
 trod, 
 
 And the dear ones who aided in guiding his foot- 
 steps 
 
 And lead his young thoughts from life's follies to 
 God. 
 
 He has gone in the pride and the flush of his man- 
 hood, 
 Gone in the bloom and the beauty of youth, 
 Gone, while his cheek wore the mantle of honor, 
 Gone, an example of honor and truth. 
 
 Gone where the pure and holy are gathered, 
 Gone with the blessed Redeemer to reign. 
 Gone from this world with its sickness and sorrow, 
 Gone from distress and from anguish and pain. 
 
 Gone where the golden grain's ripe for the harvest, 
 When the last rays of summer were lingering still; 
 Gone, as the blossoms that bloom for a season, 
 Fading in autumn o'er meadow and hill. 
 
 Gone with a name and a life all untarnished, 
 Cherished and loved by the pure and the true. 
 Gone, while the grass o'er his grave will yet 
 
 freshen — 
 Moistened by tear drops, by rain and by dew. 
 
 Gone, and may time on its swift flying pinions 
 Lift the dark veil that now shrouds you in gloom, 
 Healing the wound in your sorrowing bosoms, 
 And lighten your pathway adown to the tomb. 
 
 119 
 
THE CLOSING YEAR 
 
 Time rolls its ceaseless course along; 
 
 And, on the distant shore, 
 The wave-beats of the passing year 
 
 Are heard no more. 
 
 But on the dial-plate, perchance, 
 
 Recorded there may be 
 The ever variable shades 
 
 Of mystery. 
 
 For, restless as the foamy tide, 
 
 Unsteady as the sea. 
 The Nation rocks upon the wave. 
 
 Uncertainty. 
 
 And thus the dying year goes out, 
 
 Amid its restless throes; 
 And o'er the finis of its work 
 
 The records close. 
 
 But as the New Year wakes again, 
 
 United still in Thee, 
 Be every bond renewed in love 
 
 And fealty. 
 
 And peace and harmony pervade 
 
 This land from shore to shore, 
 And freedom's soil in richness yield 
 
 Her golden store. 
 
 Thrice happy Nation — wealth and power 
 
 Throughout thy broad domain ; 
 Thy North and South, the East and West. 
 
 A fertile plain. 
 
 1 20 
 
The hum of industry is heard 
 
 On every foreign shore, 
 And immigration's constant tide 
 
 Must yearly pour. 
 
 No more oppression's power is felt 
 
 Upon this free-born soil, 
 Nor stinted treasure unrequites 
 
 The lab'rers toil. 
 
 Hand clasped in hand from North to South 
 
 The chasm closes o'er. 
 Removing hate's dividing lines, 
 
 Forevermore. 
 
 The harmonies of nature blend 
 
 Their influences in one. 
 The cooling breeze, the gentle shower, 
 
 The genial sun. 
 
 A little tributary stream, 
 
 Wound gently to the sea 
 And lost within the rushing tide. 
 
 Identity. 
 
 And yet, amid that vast expanse 
 
 Of waters, formed a part 
 Of the broad channel that conveyed 
 
 To commerce mart. 
 
 So every state, united land, 
 
 Essential seems to be 
 Creative of a nation's wealth. 
 
 In unity. 
 
 121 
 
And as the closing of the year 
 Reminds us of the power 
 
 By which our nation is upheld 
 In every hour. 
 
 O, let us in devotion join 
 
 And gratefully proclaim 
 His loving kindness while we praise 
 
 His loving name. 
 
 122 
 
WOMAN'S SPHERE 
 
 Who tells us soft breezes around her shall blow? 
 Who know of her future or ever can know? 
 The morning dawns cloudless, the sun beaming high, 
 And nature seems lovely beneath the fair sky, 
 And warmed by the sun rays and watered by 
 
 showers 
 Spring forth from the earth bed, the beautiful 
 
 flowers 
 As meek and as peerless, as fair and as true 
 As the clear crystal streamlet, or bright sparkling 
 
 dew. 
 This, this the bright morning, when youth and when 
 
 love 
 Are as pure and as perfect, as angels above 
 When out on the voyage of life's wearisome way 
 Our dear ones betake them, the happy and gay, 
 To enter the bark, and drift out from the shore 
 From whence the fair freightage is borne ever more, 
 O'er wild surging billows, adown the life stream, 
 Away from their home-land, their morning's bright 
 
 dream. 
 The vessel is anchored, the morn bright and clear, 
 The dear ones are happy in this their loved sphere. 
 This is but a figure — the voyage is but life, 
 Her sphere to be trusting, and faithful as wife, 
 Her sphere to be loving and gentle and true. 
 And watchful and patient, life's long journey 
 
 through. 
 To chase away sorrow, to smile through a tear 
 And laugh when her bosom is laden with fear. 
 The joy of her fond heart her eye must bespeak. 
 The blush of the maiden must mantle her cheek. 
 Her heart 'mid its throbbings in silence must beat, 
 Her step softly treading all wary her feet; 
 
 123 
 
Thus onward, aye onward through life fair or drear, 
 Fulfilling the mission assigned to her sphere, 
 And thus on life's pages you'll see to the wife 
 Belong the most arduous duties of life 
 Till oft their bright fancies love's beautiful themes 
 Became the heart's canker of troublesome dreams. 
 Then out of the soft silken thread of her life 
 Let her weave stronger webs to fit her for wife. 
 That matron or maiden, which ever she be, 
 When tost on the waves of life's troublesome sea 
 May feel she's the power when the tide winds shall 
 
 blow, 
 'Mid the changeable currents, her own boat to row 
 With strength and with courage and firmness to 
 
 show 
 To the babbling world and the wild winds that 
 
 blow, 
 And to those who would cant on the sphere of the 
 
 fair, 
 With talk light as bawbles that float on the air, 
 That she knows her true sphere and a proper one 
 
 too. 
 And one that true woman will ever pursue; 
 But she does not believe that her grand life was 
 
 given 
 To dwell in the shade, 'neath the pure light of 
 
 heaven, 
 But to joy in the sunlight around her to steal 
 The bright soul's aspirings — that all mortals feel ; 
 While ever to cherish the ties of this life. 
 The fond loving mother, the daughter and wife. 
 Yet but to feel in return that love pure and true. 
 As nobly attends her life long journey through. 
 That woman, true woman may speak and may 
 
 think, 
 Mav come to the fountain of Knowledge and drink. 
 
 124 
 
There crowning her life in the same sparkling 
 
 stream, 
 The joy and the fullness of life's brightest dream ; 
 The world's full of beauty, and beautiful themes 
 Of beautiful figures, and beautiful dreams. 
 And beautiful fancies, and beautiful lives, 
 And the lovely alliance of husbands and wives; 
 But yet in deep bondage are beautiful lives. 
 Yet are they awaking, as time onward flies 
 And will gird on more strength as trials arise; 
 Like the bark that glides safely in sunshine and calm, 
 But reefs her when entering the virulent storm, 
 Not the pets and the pansie and delicate flowers 
 To be strewn by the wild wind, or drenched by 
 
 the showers, 
 But neutrally, physically, able to share 
 Life's joys and life's sorrows, life's toils and life's 
 
 cares. 
 
 125 
 
STORM KING AND ENGINEER 
 
 The white plumed Storm-kings 
 
 In battle array, 
 Had planned a fierce fight 
 
 On the engines, one day; 
 
 And, with Heaven's artill'ry, 
 
 A volley they pour. 
 And keep up a steady 
 
 And increasing roar. 
 
 While Boreas, the storm god, 
 
 Lead on in the van 
 And challenged the rail-roaders 
 
 Each one to a man. 
 
 And he howled and he hooted 
 
 And whistled amain 
 "As though Lok, the destroyer, 
 
 Had burst from his chain." 
 
 'Till writhing and twisting 
 
 This demon of storm 
 Vied with fiends in the tactics 
 
 They nightly perform. 
 
 But the brave engineers 
 With brave face to the gale, 
 
 'Mid tempest of wind. 
 And of ice, and of hail. 
 
 Rode into the fight 
 
 To give blow for blow 
 And plowed through the trenches 
 
 Of ice, and of snow. 
 
 126 
 
With the speed of the lightning 
 The war-horse of steam 
 
 Fronts the demon of storm 
 While his fiery eyes gleam. 
 
 And onward right onward 
 
 By night and by day 
 With the prowess of warriors 
 
 He battles away. 
 
 But the storm-king unyielding 
 
 Determined to stay 
 For a long winter's siege, 
 
 On the engines to play. 
 
 Till the hoot of the whistle 
 
 All lost in the gale 
 Pealed out on the air 
 
 Like a dismal wail. 
 
 Yet onward right onward 
 
 Still onward they go, 
 Right over the icebanded 
 
 Fetters below. 
 
 In the heat of a contest 
 
 When danger is near. 
 The bravest are often 
 
 Reluctant to steer. 
 
 But the brave engineers 
 
 Are the heroes to-day 
 WTio have faithfully. 
 
 Nobly, battled away. 
 
 127 
 
Now here is the moral 
 If you're striving to do, 
 
 With your might and your main 
 And you fail to pull through. 
 
 We ask in all reason, 
 Of the grumbling crew, 
 
 Was the fault of Boreas 
 
 Or the men of "true blue?" 
 
 And perhaps it were well 
 
 In this age of fast mail 
 To think, through the din 
 
 Of old Boreas' wail. 
 
 How the post-men of yore 
 Would come tugging along 
 
 With the mail bags that greeted 
 The impatient throng. 
 
 128 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 Music, gentle floating music, 
 Filling earth and air and sea; 
 Ever in thy ceaseless murmuring 
 Comes thy deepest tone to me. 
 
 Not alone in harp tones trilling 
 
 Nor the lute's soft melody, 
 
 But the tones that touch the heart chords. 
 
 Love and Truth and Liberty. 
 
 Tones where heart to heart is speaking 
 In a language all its own — 
 'Mid its dim recesses seeking. 
 But an echo of its own. 
 
 Tones that harmonize together. 
 Where emotions steep and strong — 
 Waken to a sense of justice, 
 Deepen with a sense of wrong. 
 
 Music, gentle floating music, 
 Filling earth and air and sea — 
 Warbling songsters, evening zephyrs 
 Thrill my heart with melody. 
 
 129 
 
UNRECOGNIZED, BUT NOT FORGOT 
 
 I had not known thee, when we met, 
 Because long years had flown; 
 Nor would I easily forget — 
 But you had older grown. 
 
 Yet when reproachfully you said, 
 In softened tones to me: 
 "I know that many years have fled. 
 Still I remember thee." 
 
 You touched at once the silent chord 
 Which thrilled to memories chimes, 
 And in the magic of thy word. 
 Awoke the olden times. 
 
 And as we meet, my friend to part, 
 This pledge I make to thee — 
 Unrecognized — yet in my heart 
 Thou 'It live in memory. 
 
 i^O 
 
SYMPATHY 
 
 What! do not want the sympathy 
 
 That kindly hearts bestow — 
 Let cold indif rence steal thine own 
 
 'Gainst warm hearts gentle flow? 
 
 Of feeling pulsing through the breast, 
 
 For you 'mid strife and care, 
 From those whose hands most gladly would 
 
 Thy heavy burdens bear — 
 
 Would 'st lighten all the ills of life 
 
 That round thy pathway teem, 
 And picture fairest scenes to fill 
 
 Thy young life's fondest dream? 
 
 Hearts that but yield unselfish love 
 
 And lavish it on thee. 
 Alone can feel an int'rest in 
 
 Thy future destiny. 
 
 Did'st never feel a chilling thrill. 
 
 In this cold, selfish world. 
 From ice-clad hearts whose envious scorn 
 
 Indif 'rence round thee hurled? 
 
 Want not the sympathy that springs 
 
 Unconscious though it be. 
 In all the fullness of regard, 
 
 Outgushing, and for thee? 
 
 Lik'st not the clasp of kindly hand, 
 
 The love-light of the eye — 
 Feel'st not some throb within thy heart 
 
 When sympathy is nigh? 
 
 131 
 
Would 'st tread the desert waste of life 
 
 All selfish and alone, 
 With no dependence on a friend, 
 
 No friendship 'round thee thrown? 
 
 Would'st steel thy heart nor dare to trust 
 
 To friendship's offer given ? 
 My friend, 'tis loving faith alone 
 
 That ope's the gates of heaven. 
 
 This world is not so bad a world, 
 
 Nor cold as 'twould appear; 
 Oft when we little heed there is 
 
 Some warm heart throbbing near. 
 
 If scenes like these awaken not 
 
 That frigid heart of thine, 
 I ask not one responsive note, 
 
 To vibrate unto mine. 
 
 Ah! sad mistake, for thou may'st feel. 
 Sometime with longing heart, 
 
 Thou'd'st have some sympathetic word 
 Its healing balm impart. 
 
 Unseal that frozen heart of thine. 
 
 And let the fervent glow 
 Of kind and tender sympathies 
 
 On thee their love bestow. 
 
 132 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF DR. S. N. 
 SHERMAN 
 
 They have laid him to rest, the lone spirit has fled, 
 And the last service rendered, entombing the dead ; 
 It has gone on bright wings to the Father who gave, 
 And the corse is lain low in the depths of the grave. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 On the banks of the St. Lawrence, where the clear 
 waters flow. 
 
 Where the hedge in its verdure and beauty, will 
 grow, 
 
 Where the mourners will come, in the swift pass- 
 ing years. 
 
 And bending above them bedew them with tears. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 Where the last rays of sunlight, will lingering beam 
 And the moon in her beauty light up the dark scene ; 
 Where the swells gently rolling the green mound 
 
 will lave. 
 And the first gleam of morning breaks forth o'er 
 
 the grave. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 While the spirit has soared to the Father in bliss, 
 And severed are ties that have bound it to this; 
 And broken are bonds, and the cords are all riven, 
 But there's hope, dearest hope, of reunion in Heaven. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 It is sweet to return, to the Father at length, 
 When life is bereft of its vigor and strength; 
 
 133 
 
Nor lost are high honors, fair virtue and fame, 
 Though dead they will live to encircle his name. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 Though time should steal on, with its noiseless tread, 
 And dry up the tears, that are shed for the dead ; 
 Yet memory ne'er sleeps, and in visions will send 
 Loved thoughts of the scholar, the patriot and friend. 
 
 Let him rest! 
 
 Oh! yes, there is rest for the pilgrims above 
 Where they dwell in the sunlight of God's precious 
 
 love ; 
 Where they wake not to sorrow, to sadness ne'er 
 
 wake; 
 Let them sleep, sweetly sleep, 'till the morning will 
 
 break. Let him rest! 
 
 134 
 
PENCILINGS FROM ONE OF THE 
 THOUSAND ISLANDS 
 
 No wonder Bonnie Castle rears 
 
 Her head above these isles, 
 Or genius loves to yearly come 
 
 Where crystal water wiles. 
 
 No wonder jeweled hands would dip 
 
 Beneath this sparkling wave, 
 Or weary feet would long to come 
 
 And 'neath these waters lave. 
 
 No wonder by this cooling stream 
 
 From summer's fervent heat, 
 That hands clasp hands from other shores. 
 
 And here in friendship meet. 
 
 No wonder whitening sails are seen 
 
 Like phantoms on the tide, 
 And lovers ply the dipping oar, 
 
 And o'er the waters glide. 
 
 No wonder in these lovely isles 
 
 The statesman seeks a rest — 
 And here beguiles the summer hours 
 
 With many a favorite guest. 
 
 Flow on St. Lawrence! Gently roll 
 
 Till time shall be no more; 
 And lightly may the white sails dip 
 
 Thy heaving bosom o'er. 
 
 Flow on, and may the spirits flow 
 That oft oppress the soul 
 
 135 
 
More lightly, as they dip the oar 
 Where glossy waters roll. 
 
 Around this lively isle sweep on, 
 
 And send thy gentle spray 
 With moisture o'er these mossy rocks 
 
 Where velvet carpets lay. 
 
 136 
 
TO OUR SOLDIERS 
 
 {Respectfully dedicated to the soldiers who 
 met at the late re-union in Gouverneur) 
 
 We hail you, soldiers nobly brave, 
 
 With welcome warm and true ; 
 For deep within our hearts there lives 
 
 A reverence, due to you. 
 
 "To you who bear the scar of war, 
 
 Which evermore will be, 
 Iron bands that bind our hearts to yours — 
 
 True friends of liberty. 
 
 To you, brave volunteers, whose fame 
 
 Must live forevermore; 
 And you, who marched to battle front, 
 
 Three hundred thousand more — 
 
 To you our hearts this day respond, 
 
 As they have done before, 
 When with the charging hosts you stood 
 
 Mid cannon's deadly roar. 
 
 To you, this day, again we call 
 In strength, and power, and might, 
 
 To hold the dangerous foe at bay, 
 And rally for the right. 
 
 By all the past our zeal is fired, 
 
 In agony and tears; 
 By all the dangers that awoke 
 
 Our periled nation's fears; 
 
 137 
 
By all the blood and treasure lost, 
 
 By all the wounds and pain 
 Of half a million sleeping now, 
 
 By rebel bullets slain; 
 
 By all the scenes that chill the heart 
 
 As on the bed of death 
 We saw a dying soldier lie, 
 
 And with expiring breath 
 
 He spoke of many a bloody field 
 
 And of the victory there — 
 And as the life pulse ceased to beat 
 
 The mother knelt in prayer — 
 
 And with her upstretched hands she cried; 
 
 "The victory is won — 
 Oh God receive, with open arras, 
 
 My valiant soldier son ! 
 
 He fell, but not as Lincoln fell, 
 Who set the bondsmen free, 
 
 But thou, my soldier boy hast died, 
 My native land, for thee." 
 
 138 
 
TO HELEN McFALLS BURDELL 
 
 Oh death! how quick thine arrow sped — 
 A gentle spirit soon has fled, 
 And friends bewail the silent dead 
 And fond hearts break with sorrow. 
 
 No stronger ties on earth could bind 
 The loving hearts of humankind, 
 Where fond affection's link entwined, 
 Than those now rent with sorrow. 
 
 O, could the tears that parting brings 
 Remove the sad and sorrowing stings 
 Of grief, that through the heart so wrings 
 Its wailing and its sorrow. 
 
 O, unexpected death! thy dart 
 Sends deepest its untimely smart, 
 Thou break 'st the fond and loving heart, 
 And fill'st life's cup with sorrow. 
 
 Thou tak'st the fairest of the best 
 To yon bright shore of peaceful rest; 
 The mother and the child are blest, 
 But fond hearts break with sorrow. 
 
 139 
 
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