>S 1094 
 B5 B5 
 .900 
 ;opy 1 
 
Class _^v? 7// ^y f- 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
"A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB" 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILY THACHER BENNETT 
 Author of ' ' Son£^ of the Rivers " 
 
 " A little pause in life while daylight lingers, 
 Between the sunset and the pale moonrise. 
 When daily labor slips from weary fingers, 
 And soft gray shadows veil the aching eyes.' 
 
 THE NEELY COMPANY 
 NEW YORK .:• CHICAGO •:. LONDON 
 
72541 
 
 f •- '-'i'ltii K£CtJ»ED 
 
 i ^OV 8 1900 
 
 I jf Cepyrfght entry 
 
 j S£C(^W{> COPY. 
 
 1 0«ifV6r<)rf to 
 
 i OftOt^ D?V<S10N, 
 
Copyright, 1900, 
 
 by 
 
 ARTHUR CHESHIRE NEELY 
 
 in 
 
 the 
 
 United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
Dc&f catf on : 
 
 IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF OUR SISTER. 
 
A BIED IN LINCOLN'S TOMB. 
 
 What name is thine? Art more than voice 
 
 Song-bird thou canst not be! 
 Thou seemest neither to rejoice 
 
 Nor mourn, with tones so free! 
 
 With slow, delaying", pilgrim feet, 
 
 Like one within the vail, 
 I pause to rest, and tones more sweet 
 
 Commingle with thy wail! 
 
 Lo! all the choristers of Spring, 
 
 Around this holy spot. 
 Tender returning strophes sing, 
 
 For Lincoln unforgot! 
 
 Beside Ohio's curving stream, 
 On that death-darkened morn. 
 
 The rush of an appalling dream 
 To my young ears was born. 
 
 Assassination! Ingrate word! 
 
 Millions wept long and sore; 
 My little life was sadly stirred, — 
 
 Time moved it more and more. 
 
 Oh, priceless boon! I've lived to count 
 My country's pulse with mine; 
 
 In love to climb this sacred mount 
 That holds this precious shrine! 
 
 What more is grief, or bliss, or care, 
 The space left one to breathe? — 
 
 Hands that have touched this granite fair 
 No other urn would wreathe. 
 
 The lilacs of that April day 
 
 Drooped when our Martyr fell, 
 
 When his vast land in mourning lay, 
 And none its woe could tell, 
 
" A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOI '' 
 
 Pity the woman's heart that here 
 
 No dew hath left to shed! 
 Condole the man who owns no tear 
 
 For this most noble dead! 
 
 We charge you, guard his ashes well! 
 
 From year to year your guard 
 The pathos of his death shall tell, — 
 
 No more could bay or bard. 
 
 Statesman of his devoted State, 
 
 Where once the lllini 
 Numbered their hordes, a people great 
 
 For j)rogress doomed to die, 
 
 We of the Commonwealth implore. 
 Me charge, aye, we command. 
 
 Watch you his rest forevermore, 
 So long his fame shall stand! 
 
 RENEWAL. 
 
 Deep in the solemn groves of pine, 
 
 Within the sounds of distant mills, 
 
 I saw, between two sister hills, 
 A fringed and golden orchis shine. 
 
 The trees like spires ascended tall. 
 
 Their earthmost branches narrowed low; 
 And oft their singing tones would flow 
 
 To meet a cadenced waterfall. 
 
 My orchis — it was mine and God's — 
 
 Had but a little light i.nd space 
 
 Wherein to grow and say its grace, 
 Where naught else bloomed nor greened the sods. 
 
 The pungent odor of the woods. 
 The yellowed spines that once were leaves, 
 All o'er the ground like shattered sheaves, 
 
 To^u Melancholy's favorite moods. 
 
 One day I had complained and sighed, 
 As many a traveling soul has done. 
 For something never found or won — 
 
 Ideals and hopes ungratified. 
 
BIRD VOICES. 
 
 And now I said, " Love " is not love I 
 Let life the softer word supplant, 
 High heaven the crown unfading grant. 
 
 Nor trusted be earths mask of love! 
 
 Alone I sat in that dun shade 
 
 Beside the glorious orchid flower. 
 One sad, retrieving Autumn hour, 
 
 And culled a thought that shall not fade. 
 
 I dared not break its slender stem, 
 The solitary spike that grew, 
 Denied a bath of nectar dew, 
 
 Bival of Beauty's diadem! 
 
 If stars in the celestial sphere 
 
 Are thoughts of God rom age to age. 
 Flowers, the lovely and the sage, 
 
 Bring angel melitations near. 
 
 Sweet messengers of all that's fair. 
 Blooming below so bright and brief; 
 Stigma, stamen and iris leaf, 
 
 Shall be renewed — the tale's not rare. 
 
 No mystery of love or law 
 
 Is more mysterious than bloom; 
 Cause, germ, result the tomb. 
 
 One Mind forecast, one Eye foresaw. 
 
 My orchis blossomed many a day; 
 It faded never — faith remains 
 To bear the soul from grief and stains 
 
 And all the legions of decay. 
 
 BIRD VOICES. 
 
 We list them in our Northern clime. 
 
 We near to Nature's heart,— 
 More happily than where the lime, 
 And kindred trees impart 
 Perpetual joy of bloom. 
 And fruits of rich perfume. 
 
 More precious when the vrintry snows, 
 
 And tempest cold are gone; 
 When once again unfolds the rose 
 And lily, 'neath the sun. 
 In free, unprisoned air 
 ■Of wayside and parterre. 
 
" A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 To-day I listened — "' Can it be? " 
 
 I said with none to hear; 
 The Eobin's call so clear and free, 
 From city house-top near! 
 Toward an unbuilded nest 
 The bird had paused to rest. 
 
 voice attuned so pure and sweet. 
 By no measured " scale " of art! 
 
 In music God bestowed, complete. 
 Fearless of man or mart! 
 Bird, cleaving atmospheres. 
 What mean these timid tears? 
 
 1 see thee not, and thou art gone. 
 With thy love-panting breast; — 
 
 A memory for me alone. 
 Dear, unexpected guest! 
 
 Thou hast no thought for me 
 But I am glad for thee! 
 
 Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar. 
 It may but thunder and pass o'er." 
 
 —Sir Walter Scott. 
 There's a scent of roses on the air, 
 
 A heaven in the wave; 
 The lilies by the rill have bloomed, 
 
 And green is " Robie's " grave; 
 'Tis spring again — I feel its power. 
 
 Though sadder than before 
 Are all its forms of loveliness. 
 
 On island, sea or shore; 
 But why this more than restless life? 
 
 O why these gloomy hours? 
 Friends love me still; and song is mine. 
 
 And hope still dews its flowers; 
 Alas! my native land, alas! 
 
 Thick clouds obscure its stars. 
 It's flags bright folds do not conceal 
 
 The thunder-bolts of Mars! 
 Columbia! my heart expands 
 
 In hopes wild thrill for thee, 
 Thou gem of ocean's wide expanse 
 
 Elysium of the free! 
 My soul, be not despondent now, 
 
 implore Jehovah's hand — 
 The God of Justice, Love, and Truth, 
 V To save my Fatherland! 
 
LIGHT AND SHADE. 
 
 LIGHT AND SHADE. 
 
 Spring suns have lit the hills, 
 Late frosts congealed the rills. 
 And from the rainbow's wreath 
 Hues of forboding death 
 
 Have painted autumn's leaf; — 
 Spring hath unfolded flowers, 
 Soft summers sat in bowers 
 
 Of bloom and shade and sheaf; — 
 Beauty hath sung her songs 
 To all Earth's moving throngs, 
 Till thou and I, at last, 
 Have met as in the past, — 
 Met once again, to sigh 
 With memory in " good-by." 
 
 O life so sweet and grand! 
 O Friendship clasping hand! 
 Let no unsunned complaint 
 Our graceful feeling taint; 
 
 No rankling fruitlessness 
 Eetard the growing tree 
 Of life's felicity;. 
 
 Nor force to growth's excess 
 A labyrinth of thought. 
 Till damps of ruin wrought 
 With love's unseen decay, 
 Blossom and bud betray. 
 
 Though hands unclasped reach forth 
 Toward West, or East, or North, 
 Through slow and changeful years; 
 Though unillumined tears 
 Wet solitary cheeks, 
 While tides of annual weeks 
 Move down the plains of time; 
 Though bells of sorrow chime, 
 And life's lone labor lays 
 Across the heart's fair ways 
 Obstructions hard and vast, — 
 Stil hope unto the last. 
 
10 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.»» 
 
 A LAMENT. 
 
 There's something in the world 
 
 That I have never found; 
 It hath an ancient name. 
 With a complacent sound; 
 Methinks it blossom'd like old Aaron's rod. 
 In mystic times beneath the smile of God. 
 
 Poets have hymned its rare, 
 
 Unchanging attributes; 
 Philosophers declare 
 
 It once bore golden fruits; 
 God's children seek it o'er the Christian earth 
 Sorrow is loth to credit its pure birth. 
 
 Millions have lived and died. 
 
 Nor left a word or sign 
 Of gratitude for this 
 Sweet ministry divine; 
 And I, alas! not blind, may do the same — 
 1 only know its honest fame and name. 
 
 This treasure so supreme 
 
 Is rarely known to kings; 
 It loves the cots and dells 
 
 Where daisy verdure springs; 
 And never laid its peaceful head upon 
 Imperial pillows made of eider-down. 
 
 Friends do ye ask me why 
 
 My manhood's hasting years 
 Have faided to find this cure 
 For multiplying years? 
 This potent " stone," " elixir," " amulet " — 
 This wealth that never bought a coronet! 
 
 First let me speak its name. 
 
 Then look into your souls. 
 And put the question home. 
 Where thought's vast current rolls; 
 And ye may know the mighty reason why 
 Ye never were content, nor ever I. 
 
EASTERN OFFERINGS. H 
 
 EASTERN OFFERINGS. 
 
 Meek Mary Magdelene! 
 
 In all the ages gone, 
 The sacred story told of thee. 
 
 When rose the Holy One, 
 
 Hath never lost its power. 
 
 And now the Easter dawning, 
 With rose and lily-bloom, 
 
 Commemorates the morning, 
 When " first beside the tomb," 
 Thy heart bemoaned the hour! 
 
 Lo! angels fair and shining, 
 
 Where " the stone was rolled away ' 
 
 And One thy grief divining 
 More glorious than they. 
 Divinely called thee, — " Mary! " 
 
 O woman like no other 
 
 Favored upon the earth. 
 Save her the Saviour's mother; 
 
 His resurrection birth 
 
 First spoke thy name — 'twas Maryl 
 
 TO AN EDITOR ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 O fair as scenes Elysian! 
 O bright as stars that burn 
 In summer's cloudless skies, 
 For thee be Hope's sweet vision 
 Upon thy day's return — 
 Presaging Paradise! 
 
 Serene, with memories tender, 
 
 Look on thy noble past; 
 Some fadeless bloom and splendor 
 
 In its horoscope were cast; 
 
12 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Some shadows from life's mountains 
 
 Fell often on thy ways; 
 While joys like gems o'er fountains, 
 
 Have crowned thy gentle days! 
 
 Light ineffable is near thee, 
 
 While slow thy sun declines; 
 Justice and truth endear thee 
 
 To n^en of taintless minds; 
 And tho' perversion try thee. 
 
 Never thy soul will yield; 
 To sordid schemes — nought buy thee — 
 
 A traitor for a Potter's field! 
 
 EASTER MORNING. 
 
 A morn it was like this; 
 First numbered in the " Christian Years; "- 
 
 Judea's temples shone 
 
 For God: for Christ the Son 
 His sad disciples in their tears. 
 
 Through dreary days and nights 
 
 Saw not the starry lights. 
 
 A shining morn like this; 
 Succeeding one of doleful loss, 
 
 When in their love and gloom 
 
 Early around the tomb, 
 The Marys of the holy Cross 
 
 Dolorous, sighed and stood, 
 
 In mournful atitude. 
 
 A morn of hope like this: — 
 "Mary! " the living Saviour said; — 
 Hearts never thrilled like hers, 
 Lovers or worshippers, — 
 No horoscope of time 
 Forecast that scene sublime! 
 
 A vernal day like this; 
 In that prophetic long ago; — 
 
 New stir of lustrous streams! 
 
 Beauty's enchanting dreams!* — 
 O hallowed season long ago, 
 
 By dual rainbows spanned, 
 
 From gates to Beulah Land. 
 
TESTIMONIES. -jg 
 
 On that fair day like this; 
 In brio-ht and sacred Palestine 
 
 liang- no funeral bell; 
 
 There for the Israel 
 Of God, arose The Prince divine, 
 
 From His so transient grave, 
 
 Believing- souls to save. 
 
 On that spring day like this, 
 Olives anear Jerusalem, 
 
 And precious Calvary, 
 
 In dark green lacery 
 Symboled for peace with silent hymn; 
 
 And lilies smiled more sweet 
 
 Before His noiseless feet. 
 
 That Easter day like this 
 Perfume of Earth's most regal flower. 
 
 From Old Damascus , kissed 
 
 The ascension robes of Christ, 
 And for His coming- triumph hour, 
 
 Low cyclamens were bowed 
 
 In delicate accord. 
 
 In that spring-time like this. 
 Perchance the softly green and wild 
 
 Acacias g-emmed, with dew. 
 
 Tremulously knew 
 Their thorny branches wild, 
 
 For Jesus crucified, 
 
 A cruel crown supplied. 
 
 O joyous morn and day! 
 Easter for all recurring years! 
 
 Alleluia festival ! 
 
 Feast all their own may call; — 
 Symphonious with celestial spheres;^ 
 
 Music and bloom and praise, 
 
 Always for Easter days. 
 
 Passion Week, 1890. 
 
 TESTIMONIES. 
 
 The melancholy murmur 
 
 Of the sea-shell's coral throat; 
 
 The wild-flowers sighing cadenca. 
 When zephyr wakes its notes; 
 
14 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 The song-bird's wandering warble 
 
 That saddens while it cheers; 
 The brooklet's broken story 
 
 To still and stony ears; 
 The rest before the tremor 
 
 Ere pine-boughs toss the air; 
 The tones that leafless forests 
 
 To winter's snows declare ; — 
 Ah! what are these confessions 
 
 Through regnant nature grand, 
 But time's assurance, telling 
 
 Of an eternal land! 
 
 The minister's sigral chiming; 
 
 The roll of battle drum; 
 The mountain passes' echo; 
 
 The summers insect's hum; 
 The lightning's wild concussion; 
 
 The cascade's whispering foam; — 
 The wanderer's mournful chanson, 
 
 Calling for fri'-» 's and home; 
 The chords of love that binds us, 
 
 And sweets of love that thrill; 
 Eegrets, and strifes, and pleasures, 
 
 All woes that heal or kill; 
 The sowing, growth, and harvest. 
 
 Suns, seasons, years and hours; 
 The voices of all things living ; 
 
 The soul's advancing powers; — 
 O what are these expressions 
 
 Of God's creative will 
 But promises eternal, 
 
 His future shall fulfil! 
 
 FLOWEES FOR EASTER. 
 
 Darlings of field and forest, 
 
 Garden, conservatory, 
 
 Bloom for the Easter story ; 
 Damascus roses folden 
 
 In rich and royal splendor, 
 
 Viola's petals tender; 
 Lilies of legands olden; 
 
 Iris of classic name, 
 Dyed heavenly blue and gold; 
 
 Carnation's spicy fold, 
 
EASTER GLADNESS. 15 
 
 With laurel leaves of fame. 
 Lilacs in fragrant masses; 
 
 Sweet waxen hyacinthus; 
 
 Narcissus, asphodelus; 
 The calla's snowy chalice; 
 
 Pensive anemone ; 
 
 Crowns of Magnolia tree; 
 Camelia's sculpture palace; 
 
 Sweet herbs of fragrant breath, 
 Blue-bells of Canterbury; 
 Clusters of plum and cherry, 
 
 Acacia and verdant heath. 
 
 EASTEE GLADNESS. 
 
 Seraphs and saints, and angels, sing 
 The resurrection of the King! 
 Again rejoice with praise and bloom; 
 This is the morn He left the tomb. 
 
 List! O list the melody 
 Of alleluias in the sky; 
 Filling ethereal spaces far, — 
 Eemotest realms of world and star. 
 
 Carols of joy! 'Tis Easter-tide! 
 Echoes o'er Earth dispersing wide, 
 Signal the crowing of the year, — 
 Anthem and chime and chloral clear. 
 
 Lilies of legends pure and sweet. 
 Before the risen Saviour's feet. 
 Bend with no stroke of hand or weight,- 
 Adoring Christ immaculate! 
 
 Eoses for royal beauty grown; 
 VioicLS for the faithful sown; 
 Mimosa, tremulous for love, — 
 These bring your fealty to prove. 
 
 Pairy azalea blossoms white; 
 Primroses opened in the night; 
 Sprays of a gentle symbol vine, — 
 All these and more for Jesus twine, 
 
16 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Gladness with song and full hosannas; 
 Festive, fond hearts and emblem banners 
 Perpetuate for future time 
 Our Christian Festival sublime. 
 
 SEA AND SHORE. 
 
 I stand by one 
 And am w^ith God alone; 
 No heed of thoughtless throngs, 
 Asking no heartless songs, 
 Surges m solemn play, 
 Forvi^ard, break and away, 
 Eager to seek the source 
 Of all their grace and force. 
 
 Dead shells; white shoal of sand, — 
 
 Millions of grains on my hand — 
 
 What years they'd count for thee! 
 
 Fractions of infinity, — 
 
 Periods perihelion, 
 
 Nearing Life's Almighty Sun. 
 
 Hear now, upon this shore, 
 
 Waves chanting, " nevermore " — 
 
 " Ever and evermore " ; — 
 
 Which echo shall I say 
 
 Many and many a day. 
 
 While bloom and fade the flowers. 
 
 On this fair world of ours! 
 
 Thus standing, friend, am I, 
 Enrapt with sea and sky; 
 Exultant that inwrought 
 Is mine with Sovereign thought, 
 Which none can subjugate, 
 Demon, or man, or fate. 
 
 'Tis said we have lived before, 
 On some distant unknown shore; 
 In a happy realm of youth, 
 And never clouded truth. 
 Was love our being then, 
 Sweeter than hearts of men 
 And woman ever knew, — 
 Purer, more certain true? 
 
A SONG ON A SLATE. 17 
 
 Was there no need of hope; 
 Of pride with peace to cope, — 
 Aught in that lucent life, 
 Thorned and armed for strife? 
 No omens in dear eyes ; 
 For sympathy no sighs; 
 For houre expected fair 
 No failure or despair. 
 
 Did blight of bud or bloom 
 Waste any rich perfume? 
 Did syllables of wrong 
 Hush any joyous song. 
 Or tender impulse chide, 
 For love unsatisfied? 
 
 None answers: intervenes 
 Some weird, memorial scenes, 
 Then Palmyrian solitude. 
 Where voiceless spirits brood. 
 
 Priestess or oracle. 
 Shall I your future tell? 
 Harps and organs of the sea 
 Tinkle and intone for thee! 
 Learn their melody — their psalm — 
 Sing true, and thou shalt rest in holy calm 
 and balm. 
 
 A SONG ON A SLATE.* 
 
 Among dropped leaves last autumn dead, 
 
 'Neath newly budding trees, 
 I've seen the small wind-flower shed 
 
 Its snow-flakes for the breeze ; 
 It seemed to say, " Our early bloom 
 Like all that live, must find its tomb." 
 
 I've seen the scentless tulip hold 
 
 Its ruby-mottled vase, 
 To catch some flakes of sunbeam gold, 
 
 In summer's joyous chase; 
 The tulip could not pray, but well 
 Jehovah's love the flower could tell. 
 
 *Written on a boy's slate. 
 
18 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 I've seen the apple-blossoms rain 
 Their pink-white wealth and sweet. 
 
 Upon the grass, as if no pain 
 Could ever sting young feet; 
 
 And while my own walked slowly on, 
 
 I thought of many seasons gone. 
 
 I've seen the orchis in the wood. 
 
 Beneath low boughs of pine, 
 Whose spires were pointing up toward God,- 
 
 Their Maker, yours and mine. 
 Its graceful fringes loved the shade — 
 No price for robes like these is pani, 
 
 I've seen the sumach's Avondrous eyes. 
 
 On many colored leaves. 
 As though the rainbows left the skies, 
 
 And broke, like loose-bound sheaves, 
 To paint them as no brush can paint ; 
 I thought how soon such leaves shall fainti 
 
 I've seen, touched by the soft, new snows 
 Winter's first day was brirnging. 
 
 The petals of an autumn rose, 
 
 While Sabbath bells were ringing. 
 
 Fold close again, refuse to bloom; 
 
 They seemed to say, " We have no room." 
 
 But somewhere there is room for all — 
 
 All beauty, life and love; 
 Christ said the sparrows never fall 
 
 Unseen by God above! 
 Forever shall heaven's roses fair 
 Perfume the never chilling air. 
 
 CEICKET SONG. 
 
 Cricket, Cricket, Cricket, 
 
 Grillo, Grillo, Grillo, 
 Chirping in the thicket. 
 
 Tell me what I wish to know, — 
 Meaning of your voice! 
 
 CricKet, petted by the Greeks, 
 
 When the earth was almost young; 5 
 
 Singing in September weeks, — 
 With your little tuneful tongue. 
 Does your heart rejoice? 
 
TRUE AND UNTRUE. 19 
 
 " Grille. " 'Where few birds in Spain, 
 Sing "mong mountains higli and old ; 
 There in lonely glen and plain, 
 He is cheery, free and bold, 
 With his happy voice. 
 
 Let us just a minute, see, 
 
 Cricket, if you're black or white; — 
 Are you by the lilac tree, 
 
 Where we thought you hid last night 
 With your music voice? 
 
 Naughty Cricket, you will not! 
 
 Do you always live alone? 
 Mayhap fairies know the spot 
 
 Where you sleep when summer's gone, 
 When you make no noise! 
 
 TRUE AND UNTRUE. 
 
 A promise broken is the same, 
 
 Though it be great or small! 
 By " change of mind " great sorrow came 
 
 From Adam to us all! 
 
 Silky Mouse and Moussey Gray 
 Lived in a garret far away 
 
 From the parlor and the cook; 
 But they sometimes crept to look 
 Upon the dainties there. 
 So much there was to spare 
 Of cracker, crumbs, and cake, and cheese , 
 Their little eyes and mouths to please. 
 
 Brother and sister raice were they; 
 Just how^ it was they couldn't say. 
 But a trap had caught their mother, 
 Their father and a Ijrother; 
 And when they did'nt come 
 Back to their secret home, 
 Then wisely each concluded that 
 They both must hunt, if they'd grow fat. 
 
20 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 They ciiddled in their cotton nest, 
 Deep in an ancient oaken chest, 
 Whose cover was fastened close; — 
 "Aha! now, nobody knows 
 How we got in," they said, 
 " Nor who first made our bed; 
 Our open door is hidden well. 
 And neither of us will ever tell! " 
 
 And when they heard, too near theih box, 
 Voices of children, " A cunning- fox 
 
 Couldn't guess that we are here," 
 
 Said Silky to her " dear; " 
 And if a boy jumped on the lid. 
 Still whispered one, "were surely hid! " 
 
 No^sv in a chamber of the house, 
 
 Well known to ISIiss and Mister Mouse, 
 
 A little girl lay ill; 
 
 Better she grew, but still 
 She long upon a sofa there. 
 Must be content, and could not share 
 
 The out-door games, nor run 
 
 About for exercise, or fun. 
 
 So, many a crumb and fruity seed 
 Fell from her velvet-cushioned bed, 
 
 I^rom delicacies brought to her; — 
 
 One day, alone and still, a stir 
 
 List'ning she scarcely heard; 
 
 " It's not, I'm sure, a wandering bird. 
 Nor a cricket slipping out. 
 To rest himself and look about," 
 She thought, and then beside 
 Her satin shoe a mouse she si)ied! 
 
 " I'll be his friend," the sweet girl thought, 
 And when her dinner-tray was brought. 
 
 She saved some bits to ofPer him. 
 And then reclined her head to dream, 
 
 W^hile little niousie flew 
 
 And called his sister too 
 That she might share the dainty feast 
 Which proves him not a selfish beast. 
 But what M-as his chagrin to find 
 That she'd found something to her mind. 
 And was nebbling away as fast as she could 
 You see she was bad while her brother was good. 
 
TO A POET ACROSS THE SEA. 21 
 
 TO A POET ACEOSS THE SEA. 
 
 I dreamed thou g-av'st me gems 
 
 Of wondrovis lustre and cost; 
 And while my still heart I crossed. 
 Like one who has touched the hems 
 Of our High Priest's risen attire, 
 Behold! a censer of fire, 
 Like a lightning flash of storms, 
 Destroyed their rapturing light, 
 Then mantled the ashes in night. 
 
 I thought of their radiant form. 
 Emerald and amethyst. 
 Diamonds all the stars had kissed 
 luby of the rose's heart. 
 
 And the jacinth's splendid ray, 
 J. hen folded my hands to pray. 
 
 I sought no magical art 
 
 My beauteouss things to restore. 
 Nor knew I whom to implore. 
 My eyelids closed in despair. 
 Then ope'd on a scene most fair, 
 
 A glorious vale of flowers! 
 
 Each bloom was inscribed with a name 
 'Twas thine, son of song and of fame ! 
 
 Thy fancies were fruits in the bowers! 
 
 Then whispered a voice, " 'Tis thine. 
 
 This ideal realm, and mine! 
 Memory and hope immortal, 
 
 Reflection and tender thought, 
 
 Its vistas of peace have inwrought; 
 And we will adorn its portal 
 
 With evergreen vine and bough, 
 
 And sybilline mistletoe ! 
 Take heart, then, friend afar! 
 
 Grand waves are singing to me 
 
 Thy memory o'er the sea; 
 There's magic in every star 
 
 That dips its rays in the amber west. 
 
 And summons the winds to rest! 
 As shadows transposing may blend, 
 
 Again shall thy path and mine 
 
 Unite in one, or entwine — • 
 Again will I joy in my friend! 
 
22 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 NOVEMBEE EOSEBUDS. 
 
 'xae frost had chilled and killed the late autumnal violets, 
 And golden-hearted asters, with white or azure coronets; 
 Purple and yellow chrysanthemums in crowding clusters 
 
 bowed — 
 In all the garden not a tree, or shrub, or vine looked 
 
 proud. 
 
 Some boys were " laughing in their sleeve " that winter 
 was at hand; 
 
 Some birds were sailing overhead to find a summer land; 
 
 I, in may heart, was thinking of a distant summer, too, 
 
 Where fruits our eyes have never seen will grow for 
 spirits true: 
 
 And then I had a thought as sweet as any opened rose. 
 
 For through the panes that soon would bar the multi- 
 tude of snows, 
 
 I spied two perfect buds which frolic frost had left un- 
 harmed. 
 
 And hastened out to take them in — as if they should be 
 w^armed! 
 
 I thought their rounded crimson petals would then un- 
 fold for me, 
 
 In God's and Nature's love and fragrant blooming 
 mystery. 
 
 I placed them in a costly vase shaped like a folding leaf; 
 Day after day — they opened not — was mine a sinful 
 
 grief? 
 My buds had grown too late; in cold or heat they could 
 
 not ope! 
 Ah ! it is not so with holy thoughts, life's pleasant buds 
 
 of hope! 
 Springing from pure and prayerful minds, here they 
 
 begin to grow; 
 In heaven their richer bloom God's grace and love to us 
 
 shall show. 
 How sweet 'twill be to gather flowers in sinless Para- 
 dise, 
 And to behold them, soul and soul, seen by the Saviour's 
 
 eyes! 
 Never a bud, and ne're a heart shall there be chilled by 
 
 frost; 
 Never a smile of feeling's bloom shall wither and be lost. 
 
ANNIVERSARY. ^5 
 
 ANNIVERSARY. 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 An aureole purple fringed, 
 
 O'er crowns a rounded year- 
 To-day a heart with mourning tinged 
 Finds solace in the tear, ' 
 
 Which on a flower-clustered grave 
 One white-rayed aster b> may ikve. 
 
 To-day no memories suffice 
 
 To keep her presence here; 
 As ere she entered Paradise, 
 
 She smiled from year to year: 
 
 ^x?u "^"^^^ ] ^""8" ™y mother down, 
 Where Earthly shades must veil her crown. 
 
 On some to-morrow yet to be 
 
 My soul shall speed to her- 
 I know she waits to welcome me. 
 
 Sweet hope of life's transfer- 
 No counting them, of vanished years: 
 No pictures of the « ' Vale of tears. '' 
 
 '^ w^l^ ^'''■'^'^ ^^^^ Reside the sea, 
 
 Withm a Berkshire dell, 
 The birth-spot loved so faithfully 
 
 Regreted long and well — 
 Her spirit-thought may rest to-day, 
 ± ondly as when she went away. 
 
 Upon Earth's dim, dividing « coast " 
 
 Ihe vistas seem so far! 
 ^^A* ^°?,^^^ shines the blissful host. 
 
 And there the glory star' 
 Lo! when these mortal clouds are drawn 
 Life s swet Eternity of dawn' 
 
 THE LITTLE VISITOR. 
 
 " I guess I'm very homesick— 
 I's sorry, aunty Brown; 
 Im sure that I had rather 
 Not stay in your big tovml 
 
24 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 " I cannot wait for mamma 
 And sister Dell to come, 
 And so you'll please to take me 
 To-morrow t'^ my home. 
 
 " I love my little cousins, 
 I'll come, perhaps, again; 
 But I ao feel so homesick — 
 I want to pi " with Jane. 
 
 " I want to see the chickens, 
 And morning-glories blue; 
 I want to climb the hay-mow — 
 Don't want to see things new! 
 
 " Wish I could go this minute. 
 How can I wait all day? 
 I wish pa's buggy wagon 
 Would only come this way. 
 
 " Is forty miles so many 
 
 I could not walk, you think? 
 Just let me try, good aunty, 
 I'll only stop to drink. 
 
 " Where my pa lets his horses, 
 
 Vvhen they're tired and warm 
 Just two miles from the village. 
 On this side of the farm. 
 
 You told me that the city 
 Was bright, and nice, and gay; 
 
 I'm sure it .s not pretty 
 As meadows are to-day! 
 
 *' Don't scold me, auntie never, _ 
 I'm very, very sad; 
 I'm sorry that you brought me, 
 'Cause I seem so naughty bad. 
 
 " Do take me home to-morrow — 
 Your governess, Miss Snell, 
 Can go in your nice carriage — 
 Goody! There's ma— there's Delll '* 
 
 Yes, while the little maiden. 
 The coimtry cousin, Nell, 
 
 Was mourning her first trouble, 
 There came her ma, and Dell. 
 
JUBILANT. 25 
 
 And right before the window 
 
 The farmer's wagon stood; 
 The horses patient as if resting 
 
 In shade of leafy wood. 
 
 Then she was sad no longer, 
 But wanted ma to stay 
 And see the busy city, 
 With Dell, another day. 
 
 So wishes sometimes please us, 
 Like prayers that Jesus hears; 
 
 Answers may come before we 
 Have time to dry our tears. 
 
 JUBILANT. 
 
 Thrilling, filling fervent hearts with spirit sweetness, 
 Responsive to the modulated fleetness 
 
 Of melodious sound; 
 
 With fairy bound. 
 And heavenly eye the new Spring comes! 
 
 W-oh gentle eloquence persuading 
 
 The seasons: with newly-honeyed lading; 
 
 Violets to sow 
 
 Where left the snow 
 Its dewy changes, glad Spring comes! 
 
 Luxuriant as happy youth, contrasting 
 With all decay her bright and everlasting 
 
 Dreams of delight; 
 
 Crowned with her white 
 And azure crocuses, she comes! 
 
 From banks of hyacinthe and sweet narcissus. 
 With chaste and rosy mouth she bends to kiss us. 
 
 Breathing perfume; 
 
 Sibyl of bloom. 
 In ecstacy of life, she comes! 
 
 She will not leave us! Hope says never, never! 
 1 ature and Spring are wedded now forever! 
 
 The bridal maids 
 
 Through everglades 
 Of joy shall sing and dance: she comes I 
 
26 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 A JUNE i^IDNIGHT. 
 
 While solemn stars are sentinels 
 
 Unfolding roses sleep; 
 Silent into their grass-lined wells 
 
 The gathering dew-drops creep. 
 
 The bird sings but in memory ; 
 
 The cricket's chirp is hushed; 
 Lights not the mother's ardent eye 
 
 O'er cradle pillows crushed. 
 
 Solicitude's forgotten task 
 Love's fears need not remove; 
 
 Its wings in dreamland's valley bask, 
 Love trembles not with love. 
 
 No zephyrs stir, the hanging leaves 
 
 Of arbor draperies; 
 No slumbering mate-shorn lily grieves 
 
 For one it no more sees. 
 
 Pale at the feet of regal night, 
 They droop their lovely brows, 
 
 Dreaming in purity's delight 
 Of hueless, distant snows. 
 
 Dispelling mist-clouds lightly hang 
 
 In silver Dian's sheen. 
 As when the youthful astrals sang. 
 
 Creation's pauses 'tween. 
 
 The river's * gentle shimmer, makes 
 
 Reflections shimmer, too, 
 While prescient, sleepless fancy takes 
 
 Joy in the daylight's hue. 
 
 No ivied minster's chime reveals 
 
 The number of the hours; 
 But through the southern lattice steals 
 
 A tale of tropic flowers. 
 
 O, how encouraging and chaste 
 
 Is every object here! 
 Alas! the ceaseless, reckless waste, 
 
 The guilt that thrives so near! 
 
 * " La Belle Eiviere.." 
 
THE DANDELION'S CLOCK. 27 
 
 Yonder a city's towers rise 
 
 Above a circling- plain; 
 Dim o'er it hangs the smoke that tries 
 
 To hide God's sky in vain. 
 
 EESUREECTION. 
 
 Through last year's halcyon days, 
 In ruby tints and gold, 
 Fruits rich and manifold. 
 
 From blossom disk and rays, 
 Eipened as God hath said. 
 
 Within the fruit the seed; 
 Within the seed the germ, 
 All safe from frost and storm;, 
 
 Itself its ample need, 
 For life's renewal fair. 
 
 Never the sun forgets 
 
 The smallest germ's demand. 
 When breaks its embryo band; — 
 
 Acorn or violet, — 
 A future tree or flower. 
 
 Hill-slope and wood and plain, 
 Garden and orchard dell. 
 Limit their mild farewell, 
 
 With ne'er a doubt or pain 
 For leaves in spent perfume. 
 
 Always their joys return. 
 
 Through Love's creative plan, 
 Perennial for man; — 
 
 Surely as asters burn, 
 Life's death is life again. 
 
 THE DANDELION'S CLOCK. 
 
 It never tells the time of day 
 
 Till its golden bloom has passed away;^ 
 
 Tnen if the airy globe of down 
 
 "iou very gently breath upon. 
 
 Some children say it surely shows 
 
 The present hour by downy rows. 
 
28 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 If then you blow, blow-o-o, blow-o-o, 
 With gentlest breath — no one can show 
 You how, if rude and swift you are, 
 Each tiny down is like a star 
 In filmy rays, but not in light. 
 See! as you blow the airy flight! 
 
 Blow all the down of seeds away 
 That does not try to cling and stay; 
 Then " make believe in fun," or " play " 
 You do not know the passing hour, 
 And so this early ripened flower 
 Will tell you in its fairy way. 
 
 'T is thus we show how floAvers speak 
 To those who will their stories seek; 
 For more than beauty are they made, 
 As Solomon the wisest said; 
 Both dandelions and lilies, too. 
 Telling God's work, dear child, to you. 
 
 THE HILL OF LIGHT. 
 
 The Lord dwells in his holy hill. 
 
 His mountain home of light; 
 Many a pure and lustrous rill 
 Flows down to cheer the night. 
 
 Bills of his goodness, love and power, 
 
 That bless us, too, by day, 
 As rains revive a drooping flower. 
 
 As suns sends storms away. 
 
 But God has other homes than this: — i 
 
 His home is everywhere — 
 In mansions of immortal bliss. 
 
 In hearts that warm with prayer. 
 
 From all the worlds that he has made, 
 
 In elements that stir, 
 He says to us, " Be not afraid," 
 
 And soothes each worshiper. 
 
 And from his high and holy hill 
 
 We hear no mighty voice. 
 For Jesus softly speaks to still 
 
 Our fears, and we rejoice. 
 
BIRD HOMES. 29 
 
 This mount from whence the mercies flow 
 
 We faintly may behold, 
 When with sweet trust and faith we bow, 
 
 As good men did of old. 
 
 We see not w^ith our mortal eyes; 
 
 'T is by the Spirit's grace 
 Our souls enraptured seem to rise 
 
 And view the holy place. 
 
 And though the mount be far too high 
 
 For feeble feet to climb, 
 We may in His eternity 
 
 Ascend it heighfsublime. 
 
 BIED HOMES. 
 
 Above a chamber's window, 
 Under a cornice covered 
 With leafless vines enlaced, 
 Sparrows guard well their coverts, 
 Whence up and down they hovered, 
 While the fair swift summer passes. 
 
 Over the winter lattice 
 
 And inside verdure, smiling 
 With promise of new seasons, 
 
 This family of sparrows 
 Ask never who is willing', 
 Nor care for any " reasons." 
 
 And when at dawn they twitter, 
 And waken me from slumber 
 In " winter-time " too early; 
 I almost wish the sparrows 
 
 Killed by the boys who number 
 Their pranks for grumblers surly. 
 
 But in the noon and even. 
 The birds are so endearing, 
 So kind to love the city, 
 Our wintry season cheering 
 I think, it is God's pity 
 That sparrows should be hunted. 
 
30 «A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 LILIES OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 Fragrant, fluted, waxen bells 
 Drooping on their stem; 
 
 Honey in their secret cells — 
 Jesus cares for them. 
 
 Bells just large enough to ring 
 Little dews from dreams; 
 
 Who it is that pulls the string, 
 Ask the meadow streams. 
 
 Who may hear them ringing? 
 
 Butterflies and bees; 
 Birds, when they stop singing, 
 
 Flying from the trees. 
 
 Almost hid 'mong banners green, 
 When the June airs move ; 
 
 Nothing rude can come between 
 Lilybel and its love. 
 
 You must look so very close 
 Sometimes for them there; 
 
 Daisy neighbors say the rose 
 Never visits there. 
 
 You must h ten very low, 
 For such sound as this; — 
 
 Many things you yet may know, 
 In the world of bliss! 
 
 Cousins have they, rich and great, 
 
 Lilies grand and gay; 
 Brocaded lilies dressed in state, 
 
 Dazzling far away. 
 
 Lilies of Japan remote. 
 
 And of Amazon; 
 Callas that on Nilus float; 
 
 Lilies of the sun. 
 
 "VVere the valley lilies mine," 
 
 Sings a little child, 
 *' I wovild have them brighter shine, 
 
 And not grow so wild! * 
 
CAVERTT PALACE. 31 
 
 " Were they mine," an old man says, 
 
 Walking near to God, 
 " I'd not change their simple dress, 
 
 Growing near the sod." 
 
 Made for all by Hand divine — 
 
 Hana that best knew how — 
 Neither are they his nor thine, 
 
 Child of sunny brow! 
 
 CAVERN PALACE. 
 
 Come, listen to my rhyming story! 
 
 A castle, quaint and grand, 
 Was built before the days heroic. 
 
 And by no mortal hand! 
 No ancient, firm and classic columns 
 
 Upheld its architraves; 
 No grace of marble-cut acanthus — 
 
 It secreted waves. 
 
 The sun around it threw no splendor 
 
 When low the base was laid; 
 Pair moons gave no poetic lustre 
 
 To gild what there was made: 
 'Twas deep below earth's forming surface, 
 
 And earth was youthful then! 
 The angels, cherubim and seraphim, 
 Perchance had dreamed of men. 
 
 These silent chambers, halls and stairways, 
 
 All carpetless, are stone; 
 The never-curtained oratory 
 
 Is fragmentary stone; 
 The dark, dark labyrinths are winding, 
 
 Narrow, and still, and weird! 
 No light, save bold explorers' torches. 
 
 That soon look dim and tired. 
 
 No pen has traced the early annals 
 
 Of this deep structure's scars; 
 But here are banquet-rooms deserted 
 
 Before historic wars! 
 The craggy sideboards hold no goblets; 
 
 There's nothing here for use; 
 The rugged seats are cold and stony — 
 
 Sofas that gnomes might choose! 
 
32 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 With waveless tide, as black as midnight 
 
 Unlit by starry glow. 
 Between these cavern-walls a river 
 
 Passes in current slow: 
 Sometimes across it careful paddles 
 
 Impel a shallow skiff, 
 And then the flicker of the lanterns 
 
 Keveals a mural cliff. 
 
 And they who paddle talk in echoes; 
 
 Wild echoes with them sing, 
 Eoli and repeat their merry laughter, 
 
 And whispers almost ring! 
 A pistol fired for fun across it 
 
 Awake the echoes deep. 
 As if a hundred muskets battled 
 
 Grim giants long asleep! 
 
 If I shall tell you what the name is 
 
 Of this old castle grand,* 
 You may aver, " 'T is not a castle, 
 
 For 't is not built by hand! " 
 But if you go to wander through it — 
 
 Suppose you are not too shy — 
 You'll say some Mighty Hand did build it — 
 
 His hand who spread the sky! 
 
 CHILD-VEESES FOE ADVENT. 
 
 Now one more year of Christian time 
 With Advent morning closes; 
 
 The summer vines no longer climb. 
 Nor grow the garden roses. 
 
 The Easter lilies faded soon, 
 And all the blossoms vernal; 
 
 Then come the flowers of fragrant June 
 To picture bloom eternal. 
 
 God has " preserved the fruits of earth " 
 
 For us to use in gladness; 
 Each one foretells our spirit's birth 
 
 From death, and sin, and sadness. 
 
 * Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. Visited by the writer 
 
GOD'S VOICE. 33 
 
 Yes, every seed that in the ground 
 
 Must die before arising, 
 In his own mystery j^rofound 
 
 Is life and love surprising. 
 
 And nowr the joyous birds that made 
 Their nests and sang so brightly, 
 
 In leafy grove and grassy glade, 
 Have flown away so lightly! 
 
 We know they'll come another spring, 
 
 From southern lands of beauty. 
 And tells us how our hearts should sing, 
 
 In gratitude and duty. 
 
 Now, in our happy Advent hours. 
 
 Of Winter and December, 
 As we twine wreaths and give our flowers. 
 
 Our Saviour to remember. 
 
 We'll give to those who are too poor, 
 
 Some Christinas toys and treasures; 
 And pray that every humble door 
 May open for His pleasures. 
 
 GOD'S VOICE. 
 
 We hear His voice in every summer breeze 
 
 Tliat murmers soft, and moves the leafy trees; 
 We hear it in the thunder's solemn sound, 
 
 And when the night wind whispers near the ground. 
 
 'Tis heard upon the ocean's mighty wave, 
 When storms rage high, and only He can save; 
 And when the ripples of the brooklets sing, 
 While flowers are bending o're the banks in spring. 
 
 God speaks when insects brush their wings, or trill 
 On clover fields, or on the grassy hill; 
 In echoes of the waterfalls that tell. 
 In lonely valleys, stories of farewell. 
 
 The music of the morn that sweetly floats 
 Upon the sea or air, from birdling throats. 
 Was never taught by human rule, or art — 
 God leads it, and it gladdens many a heart! 
 
34 " A BIRD IN LINCOLNS TOMB." 
 
 Yes, all the sounds of life and nature are 
 Voices from Him who balanced sun and star; 
 He hath some meaning in them all, and we 
 May learn it in His bright eternity. 
 
 Sea and shore 
 
 BRIERS. 
 
 I know a wide and verdant field 
 Not fenced with cruel barbed wires. 
 Nor any fence at all; 
 But if by chance you fall 
 Your length upon this open field, 
 
 You'll scratch your face with cruel briers. 
 
 A very thorny ground it is; 
 
 One scacely sees that it has use, 
 Not even for solitude; 
 Yet I am sure 'tis good, 
 Although few rambling footsteps choose 
 Its mimic stretch of wilderness. 
 
 Three churches stand not far from it; 
 A city, fair and old, is near — 
 A " village," as some say; 
 Few boys come here to play; 
 'Twas never called a plaj^ground dear — 
 The boyish taste it does not hit. 
 
 " Indeed, why should the boys like briers? *• 
 Some smiling reader questions now. 
 And a boy is laughing loud— 
 I'd know him in a crowd. 
 Much good and beauty could I show 
 Amid these wild-rose thorns and briers. 
 
 The blackberry spines are thick and sharp, 
 But if you stand a little off. 
 
 And see the wild-rose flowers. 
 In the morn or evening hours — 
 Your hat you must not doff — 
 You'll think of some sweet poet's harp. 
 
 How many times they've sung the praises 
 Of roses wild and brief as these. 
 And told us of the thorn; 
 But this we thought forlorn 
 And needless in their harmonies,^ 
 And wish they'd sing again of daisies. 
 
THE SNOW-FLOWER. 35 
 
 We like the cultured roses best, 
 
 And luscious garden berries, too, 
 
 Because their thorns are less, 
 
 And they've a finer dress; 
 Study is culture, boys, for you, 
 And souls are bright in virtue drest. 
 
 THE SNOW-FLOWER. 
 
 [Harper's Magazine, of March, 1874, notes a remarkable 
 discovery by Count Anthoskoff, in the year 1863, in North- 
 ern Siberia. A natural object, called the " Snow-Flower," 
 is minutely described, and represented as springing from 
 the frozen soil on the first day of the year, developing in 
 three days in the form of an icy flower that " shines for a 
 day, then returns to snow."] 
 
 It sprang from frost, 
 In the changeless cold 
 Of an Arctic spot: 
 Like a love-thought lost. 
 Its tale was told, 
 And then forgot! 
 
 Was the story true? 
 Let a sybil tell, 
 
 If this magic flower 
 From snowflakes grew, 
 And cast its spell 
 
 In a wonder ho^ir! 
 
 Siberian gloom. 
 Where desolate 
 
 The earth remains; 
 A living tomb. 
 When cruel fate 
 Holds men in chains! 
 
 There ope'd the flower, 
 Where verdant leaf. 
 Nor fragrant bud. 
 Nor beauty's dower, 
 Has solaced grief 
 
 Or warmed the blood 1 
 
 *' It upward shoots 
 From frozen ground," 
 
36 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 A tall, fair thing. 
 Where blushing fruits 
 Are never found; 
 
 Where smiles no spring. 
 
 Three days and then 
 Its grace is seen, 
 
 A bloom of snow! 
 Scarce known to men, 
 Its fairy sheen 
 Returns to snow. 
 
 Shaped like a star, 
 Lo! 'tis a flower 
 
 With anthers fine — 
 Its seeds they are — 
 
 A wonder-flower. 
 Briefly to shine! 
 
 Its leaves are three. 
 With frost encased, 
 
 Like jewels clear; 
 A trinity, 
 A symbol chaste. 
 
 Who sees it there? 
 
 Immortal eyes, 
 Rapt seraphim. 
 The angelic host, 
 Whom no surprise. 
 Or senses dim, 
 Have stirred or crost. 
 
 TEARS AND SMILES. 
 
 Our human hearts must sometimes weeo; 
 
 Sometimes we laugh and sing; 
 As in this world the seasons change 
 
 ±rom autumn, winter, spring. 
 
 God never chides our mirth and joy 
 
 When innocent they are; 
 He likes to see a face as bright 
 
 As sunshine, flower or star. 
 
 He made our tears to flow as well, 
 
 In some way for our good. 
 As gentle showers may revive 
 
 A violet of the wood. 
 
THE EARLY CROCUS. 
 
 But never should we waste such dews, 
 
 For trifling- things to cry; 
 Weeping- to g-ive our dear ones pain; 
 
 Sighing to make them sigh. 
 
 The Saviour wept when Martha wept, 
 And Mary's tears were shed; 
 
 When Lazarus, their brother, lay 
 Silent, and cold, and dead. 
 
 " Hadst thou been here he had not died," 
 Speaks Mary while she weeps; 
 
 " Only believe," the Master says, 
 " He is not dead, but sleeps." 
 
 And many times before, the Lord, 
 Their loviug friend had come 
 
 To sit with them in Bethany, 
 And cheer their little home. 
 
 And now the brother had been dead 
 
 Four dark and weary days; 
 When, with His sympathy divine. 
 
 He came the dead to raise. 
 
 And when he told them from the grave 
 
 To roll the stone away; 
 He lifted up his eyes to heaven, 
 
 As oft He did, to pray. 
 
 How wonderful it was to friends 
 Who stood around that " cave," 
 
 When J us called the sleeper, bound 
 In grave-clothes, from his grave! 
 
 Often the blessed Saviour sighed 
 
 For human sin and woe ; 
 He wept in love, in pain and grief, 
 
 For sorrows that we know. 
 
 How sweet it is on earth to feel 
 
 The pity of God's Son; 
 If Jesus with his friends would weep. 
 
 Hearts need not weep alone. 
 
 37 
 
 THE EARLY CROCUS. 
 
 Herald of blooming bowers — 
 O white-robed, lovely thing! 
 
 Thy whisper links the flowers 
 With all the joys of Spring? 
 
38 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Lifting the lifeless mould 
 Whence nature's life arises, 
 
 With sisters dressed in gold, 
 How sweet are your surprises! 
 
 Though Winter's heart — it seems — 
 Thy fragrance has defrauded. 
 
 It soothed poetic dreams, 
 
 When all thy grace was plauded. 
 
 We will not say, too soon 
 Thy loveliness retires, 
 
 Before the train of June, 
 
 Which all the world admires. 
 
 'Tis not too soo for thou, 
 God's messenger of light, 
 
 Hast told some mortals how 
 Duty may give delight. 
 
 And so thy snow;- leaves,* 
 Of texture pure as truth. 
 
 In fancy's magic weaves 
 Heaven's drapery of youth. 
 
 And thus meek hearts are shown 
 That somewhere beauty cheers, 
 
 Lit by Love's radiant sun, 
 
 Unchanged by changeful years. 
 
 Then, Crocus fair, retire. 
 And let the rose advance 
 
 In Summer's Avarm desire, — 
 Ye never come by chance! 
 
 PICKING DAISIES. 
 
 A very little lady girl. 
 
 With soft blue eye and flaxen curl, 
 
 With tiny red morocco shoes, 
 
 On feet such as a doll might choose, 
 
 If dolls could ever speak; 
 
 A rose leaf on each cheek; 
 A narrow dress of linen white; 
 A sky-blue sash of satin bright; 
 And there she stands upon a stone 
 Where some gray lichens like to grow; 
 
 * Petals. 
 
THOUGHTS BY THE SEA. 39 
 
 Almost — Oh no! not quite alone, 
 
 Near crowds of daisies crowned like snow, 
 
 With honey-hearts of velvet gold; 
 
 And many buds not yet unrolled. 
 
 That on the naorrow^ days, 
 
 Will spread their modest rays. 
 
 See! all around this little girl, 
 
 Of asking- eyes and blowing curl, 
 
 Stretches a field of waving green. 
 
 Clover and daisy-blooming sheen! 
 
 And mamma sits quite near her child. 
 
 Ready to pick the blossoms wild. 
 
 When Mary's hands reach out to take. 
 
 The stems that they could scarcely break. 
 
 On what a merry happy trill ! 
 
 Yes, call it laughter, if you will. 
 
 But I should say it was a bird, 
 
 That we .lust now in fancy heard! 
 
 So glad she is! for now she sees 
 
 The bright June-daisy companies, 
 
 First time in her three little years — 
 
 She laughs till shining jewel tears 
 
 Sprmg from pretty eyes; 
 
 And Mary seldom cries. 
 
 Now you would think as many growing. 
 
 As if no stems were bent; 
 But if this story is worth knowing. 
 
 The baby is content. 
 
 Because her little hands are full! 
 You must not call her dull. 
 But she is " seepy tired," so soon 
 Weaned of daisies in sweet June! 
 
 THOUGHTS BY THE SEA. 
 
 " Thus far," thou time-defying sea. 
 With all thy offering waves, 
 
 May'st thou invade a realm as free 
 As thine — to number graves! 
 
 By old and unrecorded might. 
 
 By all declared of thee, 
 Thou never yet has conquered quite, 
 
 Nor sealed immensity! 
 
40 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Man must grow old and change witli time, 
 
 Age hath not altered thee; 
 Thy " history " is force sublime, 
 
 But 'tis not history! 
 
 Tradition chants thy restless power; 
 
 Old sagas tell of thee; 
 Chronology's first signal hour 
 
 Looked back upon the sea. 
 1 watched thee, one alone, entranced, 
 
 Forgetting falsity, 
 And life's stern ills; — men say thej^ chanced- 
 They chanced no more than thee! 
 
 Wise Greeks, of mystic figures proud. 
 
 No numbers tried for thee; 
 Their science and their art were bowed 
 
 Before thy mystery! 
 
 Climbing the solid shelves of rocks, 
 
 Gazing on mural heights, 
 We ponder earth's volcanic shocks, 
 
 And wild irruptive nights. 
 
 We see thine ancient traces there, 
 
 The furrows of thy waves — 
 Grand sea! thou hast flowed everywhere. 
 
 O'er mundane plains and caves! 
 
 When all thy close-linked chains are drawn, 
 
 By currents of the deep, 
 In evening silence, or at dawTi 
 
 When lempest terrors sleep. 
 
 We trust thee, riding on thy breast 
 
 Calmly as if the years. 
 And all the stars, in perfect rest. 
 
 Had never witnessed tears. 
 
 God spread two emblems for our eyes. 
 
 Of His eternity; 
 The fair and far transparent skies. 
 
 The vision-boundless sea. 
 
^CHORAL AND CHANT. 41 
 
 CHOEAL AXD CHA^'T. 
 
 Again an autumn's melody 
 Softens, subdues, and thrills 
 Proud hearts and human wills, 
 
 Chanting for all that all must die. 
 
 Now, many voiced, the strains commence 
 
 To blend like varied hues 
 
 When prismed rays infuse 
 Colo.r with color's opulence. 
 
 Time's ancient psalmody of morn — 
 How swift its echoes roll 
 O'er earth and through the soul. 
 
 While nature garners fruit and corn! 
 
 Listening, responsive leaves have sighed 
 
 Since hid the August moon; 
 
 Condoling May and June 
 That all their youthful roses died. 
 
 Translate the cadence, heart of flame, 
 
 Whose unconsuming heat 
 
 Forbids thy hope's "defeat; 
 Music spells oft the poet's name! 
 
 Singer, whose lyre is cased in gold, 
 
 Be thou in love a child. 
 
 But never thou a child 
 Of song, singing in dreams untold. 
 
 Soothe restless thoughts on cradling waves 
 
 Of harmony and grace; 
 
 Aye, in the frowning face 
 Of hostile cares, near griefs and graves. 
 
 Truth knows thy chanson notes are true; 
 
 Pure spirits taught them first. 
 
 Before a lily burst 
 'A calyx bound with jeweled dew. 
 
42 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Thou knowest, from the steadfast stars 
 Earth's vibrant chords were strung. 
 When first the veils were hung 
 
 Tnat soften sunset's splendid bars. 
 
 They trill the tremulos of boughs; 
 
 They move the grasses' viols 
 
 In mystical denials, 
 When fairies would the fays arouse. 
 
 They swell the sovereign organ's throat, 
 And make the cricket sing; 
 They lift the lark's high wing, 
 
 And break the awful thunder's rote. 
 
 TO AN ABSENT HUSBAND. 
 
 When all the world are sleeping, 
 When thought is calm and free; 
 
 In midnight's hush of beauty, 
 My love, I fly to thee! 
 
 When stars and air and waters, 
 tSend forth their angels fair, 
 
 To charm the wandering dreamer, 
 I'm with thee, dearest, there! 
 
 Entranced with spirit music, 
 We ramble through our past — 
 
 Neath shades and hallowed archways- 
 'Mid blooms to fair to last! 
 
 In paths through meadows winding — 
 The emerald plains of bliss — 
 
 And on its rugged mountains. 
 Where snow and sunbeams kiss. 
 
 The morning of our bridal 
 
 Dawns on us, dear, once more! 
 
 We feel its halcyon promise. 
 And live it o'er and o'er! 
 
 But then grim storm clouds gather- 
 Ay, through the passing years. 
 
 Their thunders are repeated, 
 And I awake in tears. 
 
THE DEATH OF DE SOTO. ^ 43 
 
 Tears not of dark repining, 
 
 But joys and griefs o'erflow; 
 Commingling in the fountain, 
 
 'Ere nature bade them go. 
 
 Ah! then life's holiest angels — 
 
 Hope, faith and trusting love, 
 Around me sing their chorals, 
 
 And peace is mine, dear love! 
 
 THE DEATH OF DE SOTO. 
 
 Behold the wasting of a dream — 
 The flickering of life's lamp! — 
 
 The tents are pitched beside the stream. 
 Low murmurs from the camp 
 
 Are whispering that the hand of Death 
 
 Is slowly stealing Soto's breath. 
 
 An Indian maiden fans his brow. 
 Her coal-tinged eyes are deep, 
 
 Her tears as when the south winds blow, 
 Rain as the blossoms weep, 
 
 Falling on the sufferer's cheek, 
 
 Whose eye of pride is strangely meek! 
 
 He speaks: "Moscoso! no return 
 Shall Old me conquer more; — 
 
 Ambition's fires have ceased to burn, — 
 Farewell, my native shore! 
 
 To mortal man I never bowed. 
 
 But now I meet Jehovah's rod. 
 
 " In my own river, folded round 
 
 With Castile's banner wide, — 
 In midnight's hour, and shades profound, 
 
 Entomb me in its tide; 
 Consign me to my wave-walled home 
 With lighted torch and roll of drum. 
 
 " onpaled by man, unknown to fear. 
 
 Alone, O let me sieep! 
 The Conqueror — Discoverer 
 
 Desives no eye to weep 
 That Soto's watery grave was made 
 Far west of Florida<'s everglade! 
 
44 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 "Moscoso! hear, my follower brave, 
 
 My dying words obey; 
 Cross not the wilderness; the wave 
 
 More safely shall convey 
 The remnant of my people back 
 From this illusive, dangerous track." 
 
 See! — Noiseless through the tent 
 
 A savage \varrior strides! 
 His plume is by the curtain bent, 
 
 The wampum girdes his sides; 
 His lineaments with war-paint black, — 
 The shades of death precedes his track! 
 
 A Natchez chief of vengeful laws. 
 
 His tawny neck arrayed 
 In chains, of bear and cougar's claws, 
 
 With human tresses made; — 
 One hand sustains a war-pipe red, 
 The other emblem ever dread, 
 
 A bunch oi poisoned arrows, bound 
 
 With skin of rattle sanke; 
 He broke a silence, deep, profound. 
 
 As noon upon a waveless lake. 
 As on the couch the gift he flung, 
 Whooping in rage his native tongue! 
 
 He then defiant raised the pipe, — 
 
 No calumet of peace, — 
 The stern, complete, embodied type 
 
 Of a relentless race! 
 The smoke he puffed but slowly curled. 
 For Soto lingered in the world! 
 
 The leader watched the fearful scene, — 
 
 With one unear hly tone. 
 With deathly unrelenting mien, 
 
 His arms were i;pward thrown. 
 Clutching the covering of his bed. 
 As though 'twere lance or rapier dread! 
 
 With one fierce bound he forward sprung. 
 
 His features flashing flre: 
 " St. Jago! " " Spain! " " De Soto! " rung 
 
 With stern victorious ire; 
 Then death the struggle made complete, — 
 He fell! beside the Indian's feet. 
 
THE DEATH OF DE SOTO. 45 
 
 A flood or g-ore from mouth and eyes 
 
 Too truly told the tale; 
 " Gone! Gone! " Moscoso cries; 
 
 Tne deep-eyed maiden's wail 
 Rose mournful on the forest air, 
 As o'er him fell her glossy hair. 
 
 Ambition! Eider of the soul! 
 
 When monarch there thou art, 
 To many a strange uncertain g'oal 
 
 Thou leadest mind and heart; — 
 Thou wild inspirer of the breast 
 That ever after feels no rest ! 
 
 The sun had set o'er wave and wild, 
 
 The noou of darkness breathed 
 In tainted damf)s; bright stars were piled 
 
 High up the vault, and wreathed 
 The ebon brow of Night, who bade 
 A silence chill o'er bluff and glade. 
 
 Five hundred torches flaming red 
 
 Illumed the funeral track, 
 Whiie holy priest with censer led 
 
 The train o'er waters black. 
 And high Te Deum anthems rang, 
 And drums sent forth a mufiSed clang. 
 
 With Spain's gay ensign folded round, 
 
 Still ujjright as in life, 
 With sword in hand, by helmet crowned, — 
 
 All powerless for strife, — 
 The dark canoe with silent oar 
 That corse o'er turbid waters bore. 
 
 The shades commingling with the glow 
 
 Sent awe to every man; 
 Midway the dark sepulchral stream, 
 
 A sig'nal from the van 
 Sunk in the flow each lurid light, 
 And all was dark as Stygian night. 
 
 As down the lifeless burden fell. 
 
 No noisy splash was heard; 
 O'er rippling wave or distant dell 
 
 Went forth no echoing word, 
 But slowly turned each fragile bark 
 To face the spectral dangers dark. 
 
 Song of the Rivers." 
 
4:6 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.'* 
 
 The wild beasts roaming- far and near, 
 Awoke their sullen roar; 
 The Indians in their coverts drear 
 Felt Soto was no more! 
 
 btill moved the Mississippi on 
 
 As calmly as in ages gone. 
 
 UPWAED. 
 
 " Look up," though in the misty night 
 Few stars may be discerned; 
 
 Look from obscurity of light; 
 Remember, these have burned 
 
 An eternity unknown to thee! 
 
 Upward! sad heart, and listen long, 
 If long the darkness broods. 
 
 Until the echoes from the song 
 Of holy brotherhoods. 
 
 Sweetly surround and comfort theel 
 
 Look up, 'mid douuts of mortal sense, 
 
 In solitude and fear: 
 Jehovah builds the consequence 
 
 Of good, from year to year; 
 And lie commissions thee! 
 
 Magi rejoiced to see the Star 
 
 Breaking centurial gloom: 
 Deliverance is not so far, 
 
 From the cradle to the tomb, 
 Ofttimes, as sorrow speaks to thee! 
 
 Upward! — the soul that emulates 
 
 i<light of seraphic wings, 
 An atmosphere of joy creates; — 
 
 It drinks from nectar springs! 
 Brother! such life thy own may be! 
 
 Look up then, pilgrim, from the shrine 
 
 Dearest of all on earth: 
 Press on, desiring love divine — 
 
 Twice may all souls have birth. 
 Thus saith the Master, God, to theel 
 
Lo! from the second birth the crown! 
 
 His jewels for the blest! 
 When staffs are laid forever down; 
 
 And weary hearts at rest, 
 Forget the dark, tempestuous sea. 
 
 GOD'S SIGNAL. 
 
 Earth's glory sign: among the stars 
 
 Of night in Palestine, 
 Mild shepherd eyes a new one saw; 
 
 Born was the babe divine. 
 Man's troubled soul to save. 
 
 Its light unveiled in all the past, 
 
 Than Pleiades more bright, 
 With mystical refulgence shone. 
 
 When seraphs in delight 
 Voiced victor glorias. 
 
 Lo! these so near the blazing star 
 
 Might wing, unknown to fear: 
 Its lucent beams no filmy plume 
 
 Could harm, tho' round its sphere 
 Wings mingled manifold. 
 
 In that old morn Judeans asked, 
 
 " Is Christ so humbly born? 
 Jehovah's word to Israel — 
 
 'Twas not the hope forlorn, 
 If the Paraclete has come! " 
 
 In Persia far, behold the sign. 
 
 The promised herald star,* 
 Wise priests of Zoroaster saw : 
 
 Then journeyed they afar. 
 To proud Jerusalem. 
 
 And when before its king they stood. 
 
 In that prophetic hour, 
 Brief royalty grew tremulous 
 
 For the boasted Roman power — 
 The Prince of God was born! 
 
 *NOTE — Some of the Magi were the astronomers of the 
 Persian Empire, laey are supposed to have discovered a 
 new star in the orient skies, weeks or months before the 
 birth at Bethlehem. At least " certain remarkable ap- 
 pearances in the heavens " at that period are historically 
 recorded. 
 
48 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB," 
 
 Star of the East! They found the child; 
 
 No welcome and no feast, 
 Those noble pilgri^ns sought or found; 
 
 Before the Virgin Blest 
 
 Bare gifts they offered Him. 
 
 Ages are flown since first the star 
 O'er the manger wondrous shone; 
 
 God's signal for the Christian year, 
 That Jesus Christ alone 
 Hath peace for human hearts. 
 
 " WANDERING JEW." 
 
 A piirple trinitarian bloom 
 
 Uufolded to mj' view; 
 I asked, " how^ dared a voice presume, 
 
 To name it, ' Wandering Jew ' ? " 
 
 A trailing, seldom blooming plant, 
 
 That almost will not die; 
 It seeks not others to supplant 
 
 In vital sorcery. 
 
 Who made it thus so free to grow? 
 
 Jehovah of the host 
 Of Israel, so long ago; 
 
 Whose prestige wonders cost. 
 
 This royal hue, these triune rays, 
 
 Appeal, pathetic now; 
 That noble race of other days, 
 
 Oppressed, for justice bow. 
 
 Shame on this age and that north-land 
 
 Autocratic, in the East; 
 Where base assiimption of command 
 
 On Hebrew life is cast! 
 
 Remember we — o'er all the Earth, 
 God's loving choice of them; 
 
 And that the Holy Saviour's birth, 
 A " Jew " is not a dream. 
 
 The Decalog in Moses' name — 
 Heaven's statute for all time. 
 
 Before and after Solon came, 
 Insisting rules sublime; 
 
•*» 
 
 These and the books Mohammedan, 
 Hold emphasis most clear, 
 
 That man to brother man 
 Should cause no needless tear. 
 
 And eloquent within a room, 
 Ere yet I thought or knew, 
 
 A small incarnadine of bloom, 
 Sighed for the Slavic Jew! 
 
 CATSKILL PICTURES. 
 
 The fringing vendure, toward the stars 
 
 Outlining solemn heights; 
 Fields sloping far whose harvest bars 
 
 Divide the earth's deligi. .s, 
 In plenty's indices. 
 
 Cloud forms mysteriously fair, 
 When showers depart the dells; 
 
 Dispelled oft'times in rainbows, — where 
 Ko sound love's mucic tells 
 To soulful silences. 
 
 Orchards and groves -hat yearly grow. 
 
 Unhurt by pruning knife; 
 " Old-fashioned flowers " glad to " blow,"' 
 
 A world of weedy life 
 In honied chalices. 
 
 Homes wide enough for happiness. 
 
 By roads and winding ways; 
 Where haste and app- ehensive stress 
 
 Of thought, or envious days, 
 Blight no felicities. 
 
 The " hollyhocks " of Windermere, 
 
 And ^rasmere's poet-home, 
 Cherished by him avIi -se ardent sphere 
 
 Was arched by Nature's dome, 
 No chaster gre^v than these. 
 
 Sunflower, the Nation's bloom of pride; 
 
 Her goldenrod of grace; 
 Arbutus, pearl of mountain side. 
 
 And splendid Zea INIays, 
 Shine here with royal ease. 
 
50 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 The weary soul that would forget 
 That 'tis not always free, 
 
 Should wander here when violet, 
 And pure anemone, 
 Open their vernal eyes. 
 
 The heart that would from self recoil, 
 And love r^'^re deep its kind. 
 
 To rest awhile from Summer toil, 
 Should here new fervor find — 
 Ere all its fervor dies. 
 
 V .Y DO THEY PERISH? 
 
 The following lines are affectionately inscribed to our 
 little friend, Mamie W. Mack, who passed away from her 
 earthly home at Englewood, 111.' July 30th, 1875, aged 
 eleven years and four months. 
 
 " Why do they perish? — the blossoms we cherish — 
 The beautiful are sleeping cold in the clay." 
 
 The beautiful — they brighten 
 
 When soon to pass away; 
 The radiant robe of autumn 
 
 Conceals its own decay; 
 The chrysalis awakens 
 
 With gaily mottled wing 
 To make a brief, 1 ef transit 
 
 Around the tomb of spring. 
 
 Magnificence of fountains. 
 
 Where all the rainbows meet — 
 This sapphire gems and diamonds, 
 
 Alas! they shine so fleet! 
 Flowers most fair and fragile 
 
 Are those we love the best; 
 Sweet lilies of the valley 
 
 Drop early on Earth's breast. 
 
 Too soon our rose has faded. 
 
 Only from our dim sight; 
 Transplanted is the blossom, 
 
 ^..o lOve's immortal light; 
 We thought our darling fairer 
 
 In part ng as she smiled, 
 And now her soft voice calling 
 
 Brings near our angel child. 
 
A riUTUKJi;. 51 
 
 A PICTUKii. 
 
 Gentle Coraline, 
 
 Dressed in amber-green; 
 Tresses tied with coral strings, 
 Coral from the sea's deep things; 
 
 Feet as fair as pearls! 
 
 'Mong the village girls, 
 She, t' ^ sweetest oi them all, 
 Was not very, very small. 
 
 Once these playmates lived beside 
 Rippling waters not so wide 
 As the river Illi oi ; 
 Little brooklet, bright and coy, 
 Indians named it Moccasin; 
 Little fishes gamboled in 
 Moccasin, the streamlet blue, 
 And its name was only Shoe 
 the English tongue. 
 
 O'er its bosom hung 
 
 Mosses from the trees, 
 
 Vinery draperies 
 
 Where the breezes sighed; 
 
 Whip-poor-will could hide 
 In the sycamores — 
 
 Mournful bird is he! 
 
 Did you ever see 
 
 Lonely Whip-poor-will, 
 
 Singing low and ill? 
 On he grassy floors, 
 
 By this purling stream — 
 
 It was just a dream — 
 Coraline was straying 
 With her mates and playing; 
 
 Half a dozen girls. 
 
 With their braids and curls, 
 
 Eed, and w^hite, and gold 
 
 Dresses, tied and rolled, 
 
 Over feet as bare 
 
 As pink apples are! 
 
 Do you wish that you 
 
 By the river Shoe, 
 Playing, need not go to school; 
 Need not ever use a tool! 
 
52 "A BIRD IX LINCOLN'S T03IB." 
 
 We must ^vork, not always play: 
 We must study all the way, 
 Traveling in this %vorld of ours; 
 In the thickets; 'mid the flowers; 
 By the streamlets; on the plains; 
 In the ^vinte^; in the spring; 
 Vvnen the sun shines; when it rains; 
 Singing when the robins sing; 
 Merry when the autumn snows 
 For a season hide the rose; 
 Knowing that the Lord will bring 
 Beauty out of everv thinsr. 
 
 A BKOKEX SOXG. 
 
 " Once I heard a lady singing, 
 
 ' Time is winging, time is winging, 
 
 Flying fast as light: 
 
 Speeding day and night! 
 We can never see his ■wings, 
 But we know he iient brings — 
 
 Knowledge, sorrow, joy.' 
 
 " I am but a little boy. 
 
 And I heard her singing so. 
 Saying things I did not know! 
 
 What is time that hies so fast, 
 That we cannot see him go, 
 
 If he shoots so quickly past 
 
 With a rushing whirring sound, 
 Is he high above the ground? " 
 
 Boy, thinkest thou old Time's a bird. 
 Like the eagle? Hast thou heard 
 
 j-hat he ever trilled r cooed. 
 Like the cuckoo, or the dove, 
 'Eound a nest in tender love. 
 
 In the dell, or in the wood? 
 Never was he made for eyes, 
 Never like a bird that flies. 
 
 But he numbers all our years; 
 With their many hopes and fears; 
 
 Counts the davs that we 
 
 Yet may live to see, 
 As he did for millions dead; 
 Lilve a picture wide outspread, 
 
 Swiftly all things he surveys. 
 
 But he cannot lengthen days: 
 
BESIDE THE SEA. 53 
 
 Things that spread the world around, 
 Never do they m-^ke a sound; 
 Never seen and never heard — 
 What a wondrous spirit bird! 
 
 All things as he counts, are sure 
 Just their season to endure; 
 Seconds, moments, days and years, 
 Clouds and sunshine, skies and spheres! 
 
 All may sometime pass awaj' 
 While he flies 
 With no eyes 
 
 Such as ever you might see! 
 
 What a solemn mystery! 
 
 Many things are strange; 
 
 Many things must change. 
 
 While we all must wait, 
 
 Opening of the gate 
 
 To eternity. 
 'Tis not sad to die 
 
 li our souls may enter in, 
 
 iTeed from every -wrong and sin; 
 
 Pearly gates of Paradise, 
 
 Where " old tin e " no longer L.ies! 
 
 BESIDE THE SEA. 
 
 " Eternity — Eternity — 
 God and Eternity! " 
 Thus ever and forever 
 Singeth the solemn sea. 
 
 " Eternity — Eternity — 
 Man and Eternity — 
 Eemember ever ever! " 
 Singeth the solemn sea. 
 
 " Eternity — Eternity — 
 Hope and Eternity — 
 Hopeless be never! " 
 Chanteth the cheerful sea. 
 
 " Eternit^^ — fraternity — 
 Love for Eternity^ 
 God loveth forever! " 
 Murmurs the patient sea. 
 
54 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.'» 
 
 " Eternity — Eternity — 
 God and Eternity — 
 Worship forever! " 
 Whispers the stormless Bea. 
 
 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 Thrice hail! my steadfast natal hills! 
 
 Fair Berkshire's dignate heights serene. 
 
 Where chestnut, oak and evergreen 
 Tower above earth's brightest rills, 
 Fraternal lakes, and streams that woe the sunny vales. 
 
 Life's dearest feelings, finest, best, 
 When mind is troubled, heart forlorn. 
 Unseen 'round spots where we were born, 
 
 In soft investing fancy rest; 
 
 When thus remembrance to some ears is mute we're 
 blest. 
 
 Though one hath wandered since a child, 
 
 And grown to care's maturest task , 
 
 If stranger voices of him ask 
 What region first upon him smiled, 
 
 His heart beats young; its wakened joy beats new and 
 wild! 
 
 And though a man hath sombre grown 
 Since in the flush of youth he started, 
 With one look backward — earger-hearted — 
 Through contests seen and strifes alone, — 
 Speak of his earliest home you hear his fervent tone! 
 
 Have we not lived as ancients said, 
 
 Somewhere in an existence past. 
 
 Some sphere bj' cloudless skies o'ercast, 
 Kno^%Ti now by chance to dear ones dead, 
 ^Vhence we with memories released shall come at last? 
 
 God tells us not. If so it be. 
 
 This love of " Father-land " and home 
 
 From such seed sprang. Though man may roam 
 
 On earth a troubled century, 
 
 'Tis rooted deep in souls endowed with loyalty. 
 
A MEMORY OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH. 55 
 
 Ye who have lived your years in view 
 
 Of Housatonic's sentinels, 
 
 That guard but never bar its dells, 
 Ye have not thought I envied you! 
 Favored of heaven! know ye that exile joys are few? 
 
 A MEMORY OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH. 
 
 A bride upon a morning fair, 
 To coronate her flowing hair, 
 No wreath above her veil would wear 
 Than snow-drops gathered there. 
 
 White waxen fruit of blossoms small, 
 It grew besinde the old church wall — 
 Named for the brave apostle Paul, — 
 This ornament was all. 
 
 The brother — with no man's consent — 
 Climbed the low fences's battlement, 
 Nor felt afraid that thus he spent 
 Moments which sadness meant. 
 
 Too soon for him that morning sped; 
 He saw his child-like sister wed, 
 Then hid himself, boy tears to shed, 
 By some strange prescience led. 
 
 More years than you may care to know, 
 Those faded buds once fair as snow, 
 I've kept, their little tale to show. — 
 Ay, souls like seeds may grow! 
 
 Dear echoes of the star-set spire. 
 In its dolorous hour of fire. 
 The music of sublime desire 
 Ascension lifted higher! 
 
 Grand walls and aisles, your counted years, 
 Of worship, consolation, tears 
 Repentant, peace, seraphic spheres 
 Have garnered in God's years! 
 
 Your worshippers in Jesu's name, 
 Nev7 consecration from the flame, 
 A " restoration " will proclaim. 
 Exalting holy flame. 
 
56 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.'' 
 
 " FOR THOU WILT LIGHT MY CANDLE." 
 
 If in the dark its I'ay hath ceased, 
 When pains and pantings are increased; 
 
 If colder cramps the air, 
 And earthquakes tremble all the ground, 
 And night is fearfully profound, — 
 
 Thou, Lord, canst make it fair! 
 
 If friends around love's atmosphere 
 Draw clouds that start the burdened tear, 
 
 And harshly faithless prove; 
 If hopes are dashed by adverse winds. 
 And these bend low the singing pines, — 
 
 Thou, Lord, hast light above! 
 
 The feeblest taper, glimmering faint, 
 That flickers like a wild complaint; 
 Then lost like beauty lost, — 
 God can with added flame restore 
 To make it burn forevermore. 
 And ask of thee no cost! 
 
 When in the dungeon of the mind 
 Thou canst no glowing promise find 
 
 Of all-pervading light; 
 Shut close thine eyes; believe and pray, 
 And lo! the soul's effulgent day. 
 
 To shine, forever bright! 
 
 If thou hast blown thy candle out 
 With unpremeditated doubt. 
 
 And wonder if 'twill burn 
 Again iipon thy lonely hill. 
 Barren of all but grief and ill, — 
 There's one can maKe it burn! 
 
 A SONG OF PARTING. 
 
 O, never shone the Evening Star 
 So bright o'er pathway leading far, 
 As on that eve anear the sea. 
 When love unseen flew after thee! 
 
A LITTLE ACCIDENT. 57 
 
 \Vhat sorrows yet to life may come, 
 I know not, and I long- for home 
 Amid the stars; but thee to bless 
 I'd linger in the wilderness! 
 
 Thy pure mimosa heart, I fear, 
 May Suffer trials cliill and drear ; 
 Within this changeful world of ours, — 
 For thee I'd gather all its flowers! 
 
 Thy gift of song- not all may know. 
 
 As I have felt its ^ervent glow; — 
 
 I pray no angel luelodies 
 
 Shall close too soon thy dreamful eyes! 
 
 Thy soul attuned by Nature fine. 
 Fraternal kindred hath to mine; 
 It will not chide this sony to thee, 
 For purest love is always free! 
 
 A LITTLE ACCIDENT. 
 
 Only a little salt. 
 
 Dropped in a shining g-lass 
 That a little water held — 
 
 You ask w^hat came to pass! 
 
 The water was thoughtlessly poured 
 
 Upon a window flower; 
 It withered then and drooped. 
 
 Fading in one short hour. 
 
 I've heard there are salts in the earth 
 That help give plants their food; 
 
 How^ coidd the flowers be killed 
 With that God says is good? " 
 
 O, yes, and, wondering child, 
 
 If carefully you look. 
 Many answers you will find 
 
 In God's most sacred book! 
 
 A little, and not too much 
 Of many things will do; 
 Just to be pleased is pleased; 
 Just to be true is true! 
 
58 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 This is temperance, you see; 
 
 Be always temperate; 
 In some things self deny; 
 
 In all be moderate. 
 
 "Pshaw! that's not poetry! ' ' 
 I think I hear you say; 
 No, 'tis a little truth, 
 Told in a little way. 
 
 TO MY FATHER ON HIS SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Art thou in thy far " mountain home," 
 Numbering thy vanished years to-day? 
 
 Alone do thy slow footsteps roam, 
 Pondering on thy childrens play 
 
 In summer hours departed long, — 
 
 So like a vanished strain of song! 
 
 Or there beneath the cedars grand 
 
 Bends low thy sad and thoughtful head, 
 
 Bestowing on thy native land 
 Sighs for its glory dead! 
 
 The dull-red glimmer of its shield 
 
 Mistaken " glory of the field! " 
 
 Dear father, almost loth am I 
 
 To count the shadows of thy years, 
 
 And, ( I cannot tell thee why 
 A seal is on the fonfc of tears, 
 
 But feeling like the ocean deep, 
 
 A calm exterior may keep! 
 
 Three score! Thy cycles one by one 
 Have left their impress on .xiy face; 
 
 Fancy wings back to childhhod gone. 
 But no forgetting can erase 
 
 Those lines of age, and curves of thought 
 
 By Time's unwonted pencil wrought. 
 
 To-day I'd rove that vale with thee, 
 And breathe its pure elixir air; — 
 
 My heart so bounding when 'tis free 
 
 Nature's wild harmony to share, 
 Would almost back to infancy 
 And rest upon thy parent knee. 
 
IMMORTALITY (?) 59 
 
 O tell me not of radiant bloom 
 
 Beneath the summit's snowy band, 
 
 My soul so longs once there to roam 
 On grass that springs from golden sand 
 
 Where meeting seasons blend their charms 
 
 And summer smiles in winter's arms! 
 
 The future gives no promise yet, 
 And i must leave thee, father, still. 
 
 Almost alone, thy mud eyes wet 
 With vapor from affection's rill, 
 
 But God IS round thee, ever there. 
 
 As safe thou art, by heavenly care! 
 
 IN DURHAM WOODS. 
 
 The voices of the forest, 
 
 Where stately pines, a nl old. 
 Stand firm with oaks whose ages 
 
 No human count has tola; — 
 \vnen breezes of the sunset 
 
 Attune their leaf-strung lyres, 
 Rebuke in solemn cadence. 
 
 Self-thought and self-desires. 
 
 Some peaceful so ' may listen, 
 
 And hear as some may not. 
 Over etherial oceans, 
 
 Miisic almost forgot. 
 Childhood's contented carols 
 
 Of sweet existence here. 
 With soft adoring anthems 
 
 From Love's diviner sphere. 
 
 Say not your heart is lonely! 
 
 List, where all else is still 
 Save voices of the forest. 
 
 And love your soul shall fill; — 
 Your tired or troubled being, 
 
 Truth's harmonies serene. 
 Will calm from every murmur — 
 
 Perchance for what has been. 
 
 IMMORTALITY (?) 
 
 Who of the humblest — man or woman — in a later age. 
 May not impress the thoughts of beauty or divert the 
 sage? 
 
60 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." — 
 
 'Tis accident, not destiny, a thousand times and ways. 
 Which may commemorate a man and twine his name with 
 bays. 
 
 " Memorial sketches; " tales of old romance; historic 
 
 scenes; 
 We note as though no century of shadow intervenes. 
 
 Obscurest names in living, dignate, typographic line. 
 Claim perpetuity while in dim caves no gem may shine. 
 
 Whether endowed with art divine, or soiil-imparting song; 
 W nether a pampered servant in a sovereign's well-paid 
 throng; 
 
 Whate'er your occupation, base or semi-grand, your name 
 Futurity may trace with one who earned the noblest fame. 
 
 V 
 
 A PHEBE-BIED'S NEST. 
 
 October's latest days 
 
 Had strewn the forest's ways 
 
 With leaves that crowned the Summer 
 xu crispy avalanches 
 They slid beneath bare branches, 
 
 And buried insect hummer. 
 
 Mosses green, crimped and gray. 
 And fadeless vines at play. 
 
 Embossed and wreathed the ledges; 
 The chestnut's frost-sprung burr. 
 The oak's interpreter. 
 
 Dropped o'er their serrate edges. 
 
 The acorn might have told. 
 Not of an age of gold, 
 
 But wonderful creations. 
 That in its embryo lay curled 
 Things to enchant the world 
 
 In diverse lauds and nations. 
 
 As through eternal day. 
 Our vision spread away 
 
 Around the Catskills dreamy; 
 Assurance traced their forms 
 Above the plane of storms. 
 
 Cradled like islands creamy. 
 
A SONG FOR CHEERFULNNSS. 61 
 
 Not I a sovereign singer, — 
 O'erawed, I conld not linger 
 
 Upon this mountain lofty; 
 Deep in the rock below 
 Something my friend would show, 
 
 And down we clambered softly. 
 
 It was a wild descent 
 Of verge and oattlement, 
 
 To find the unhewn portal; — 
 A structure old as Time, 
 Arches like truth sublime. 
 
 Finished by no hand mortal! 
 
 'Twas entered where the rays 
 Only in Summer days 
 
 Might penetrate at noonday; 
 There, on a narrow shelf. 
 Some tiny artist elf 
 
 Had built in some past June-dayl 
 
 We spared the lonely nest 
 Lined from the feathered vest 
 
 Of Phebe and her lover; 
 A trophy for a vase. 
 We left it in its place. 
 
 To tempt some future rover. 
 
 What beautiful caprice 
 Sought covert sole as this, 
 
 Unfanned by leaflets swinging! 
 To find a bird's nest there, 
 So strange .u was, and rare — 
 
 To that stern rock-wall clinging. 
 
 Another Spring is born. 
 The branches bare and lorn 
 
 With life's new blood are panting;' 
 What if the same two birds. 
 Wedded by unknown words. 
 
 The olden nest are haunting? 
 
 A bO.sG FOR CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 In hero-halls of solitude. 
 
 Where memories and mj^steries brood, 
 
 I would not linger if I could. 
 
62 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 In deep and dark and voiceless caves, 
 On shoreless, stormy midnight waves. 
 Nor 'mid the mournful peace of graves. 
 
 For trackless forests 'though they're good, 
 Because created by our God, 
 I have not oft a longing mood. 
 
 For desolate and desert plains, 
 Though on their green oasis rains 
 May sometimes fall, I sing no strains. 
 
 Tr rock-hights where the eagle flies, 
 Proudly so near the wondrous skies, 
 I would not lift my envious eyes. 
 
 For thoughts of sorrows nowhere near, 
 Which on my path may not appear, 
 I will not shed a needless tear. 
 
 I love the sunshine and the day. 
 
 Where flitting shades with brightness play. 
 
 And living things may safely stray, 
 
 I love the gentle noonday breeze, 
 Laden with aromas to please. 
 Which mortal vision never sees. 
 
 I love the hour of early morn, 
 
 When Beauty and Joy are newly born. 
 
 And Night conceals her realm forlorn. 
 
 I love not spots unknown to noise. 
 
 But with the birds would blend my voice, 
 
 And with all creatures I'd rejoice. 
 
 Say not by this that I am blind. 
 To Virtue's holy, serious mind, 
 For truth in all things all may find. 
 
 And all the suffering and sad 
 I would, if possible, make glad. 
 Nor ever vainly wisli I had. 
 
 We may be thoughtful as we smile. 
 
 Repentant of all sin and guile, 
 
 Happy and grave and wise, the while. 
 
DISENCHANTMENT. 63 
 
 LOVE'S FANTASY. 
 
 I. 
 
 I dreamed: 
 It was no vision-rose perfumed; 
 I saw no vale where lilies bloomed; — 
 
 It seemed 
 A height in sombre barricade 
 Of sunles pines and rock-facade, 
 
 Star-crowned, 
 In Ether's conquering realm of old; 
 Its base in cloud of filmy fold 
 
 Was bound. 
 
 II. 
 
 Again 
 My lonely sleep's enchantment led 
 Where never human words were said; 
 
 Where pain 
 Had ne'er implored its antidote; 
 Where consciousness was life afloat. 
 
 And free 
 From weight material and death; 
 And there, lost one, a songful breath 
 
 Found thee! 
 
 DISENCHANTMENT. 
 
 Stars of my childhod's sky, 
 
 Immeasurably high, 
 
 Above all Science has to tell; 
 
 Might your enchanting spell 
 
 Eeturn from those ecstatatic years, 
 
 Earth nevermore would chide my tears! 
 
 Flowers in childhood's hand, 
 
 No bloom of any land 
 
 Comparison has now, 
 
 With bloom of long ago; 
 
 Daisies my mother named for me 
 
 \v ere whiter than I yet should see. 
 
64 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Fruits to the child endeared, 
 No apple ever sphered 
 In luscious g-old and red, 
 Hanging- o'er the childish head, 
 Was half so beautiful to me 
 As shone upon grandfather's tree. 
 
 Birds, sweetest friends of mine, 
 
 Whose hariuonies divine 
 
 I love transcendently; — 
 
 They come from God to me, 
 
 Lo! all their joy and soulful breath 
 
 Must end in silence that is death. 
 
 Waters of one pure streaiu. 
 
 Whose luountain birth and gleam 
 
 ^ly infant home carest; 
 
 A heart in eager quest 
 
 Of changelessness, beside 
 
 My bright symbolic tide 
 
 Sighs, " even here to me 
 
 Some grace is gone I once could see! " 
 
 O, other loves than these! 
 
 A woman fond to please 
 
 The breathing idol, man! 
 
 Then weariness began; 
 
 Love's failures, clouds and fears; — 
 
 Eoses not roses of past years! 
 
 MISSIONAEY GRAVES. 
 
 Under the trees. 
 Baobab, mango, palm. 
 
 The grand protecting trees 
 In wildernesses calm, 
 
 in islands of the seas. 
 
 In lands far apart. 
 Has slept each fervent heart. 
 
 Under the sky, 
 Day-dawn, and noon, and night; 
 
 When storms tend currents high, 
 When airs move soft and light. 
 
 Angel serenity, 
 Holds silence pure around, 
 Their mortal rest profound. 
 
MISSIONARY GRAVES. 65 
 
 Lo! where they are, 
 'Mid sands, and vines, and trees, 
 
 O'er all shines many a star, 
 And g"lory that Christ sees! 
 
 Where fell his soldiers far. 
 If not the regal rose, 
 Some gentle blossom grows. 
 
 Meek Coan * lies. 
 Where Mauna Loa's crest, 
 
 Uplifts old mysteries, 
 From gTeen Hawaii's breast; 
 
 Where rhythmic waves devise, 
 Kequiems for Jesus' child. 
 Whom earth nor man defiled. 
 
 Far from the East, 
 Truth's conquering radiance streamed 
 On faith's bajitismal feast, 
 A mission banner blest ! 
 When first on Burmah gleamed 
 All christian creeds and speech 
 Brave Judson's fervor teach. 
 
 And who lie here? 
 In Afric's western sands, 
 
 And fever atmosphere, 
 Interred by mourner's hands, 
 
 With consecrating tear! 
 They who for ]\Iendi sailed. 
 With youthful hearts unquailed. 
 
 No earthly loom 
 Has woven robes like theirs! 
 
 Not folded in the tomb, 
 They shine in glory-spheres; 
 
 Where seraphs gave them room, 
 WHiere pain, disease, and sin, 
 Can never enter in. 
 
 The Saviour spoke 
 The syllables these caught; 
 
 And as the mighty oak 
 Was once an acorn-thoiig'ht. 
 
 All safe from tempest-stroke, 
 What truth has grown from seeds, 
 Of missionary deeds! 
 
 Rev. Titus Coan, recently deceased, at Hilo, Hawaii. 
 
-66 •' A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 TRINITY CHIMES. 
 
 From the past, 
 Through the soul 
 Soft they roll; 
 " Come at last; 
 Gone at last; 
 
 Nevermore. 
 Evermore." 
 Hear their braided symphony; 
 " Ye shall die. All shall die." 
 
 " On the stony floor tread firm; 
 You shall crush no helpless worm. 
 Decay is under 
 And around; 
 Hinging wonder 
 
 Above the ground, 
 We shall ring 
 Many a Spring 
 
 Change surrounds us; 
 Change below us; 
 We shall change 
 When all things strange 
 Congregate 
 And settle fate, 
 Wither, fade, dissolve or crumble, 
 Time when every soul shall humble." 
 
 Eing again! 
 Dividing strain; 
 Mark the voiceless passing 
 
 Of Autumnal hours; 
 Signal truth and love surpassing; 
 Is this moment ours? 
 " All the struggle and the bustle 
 
 Of the counting-room and pave. 
 
 Give our messengers no rustle, — 
 
 We are chiming for the grave." 
 
 Sound again; 
 
 Subdue the clangor; 
 Soften pain, 
 And vanquish anger; 
 " We traveled from the star-crowned past; 
 We cannot stay. 
 We must away 
 While weds the future to the past." 
 
 L.JC. 
 
ONCE IN A HUNDRED YEARS. 67 
 
 Soft as music for the dying; 
 Solemn as tablets fallen, lying; 
 Ringing, pealing, 
 Mystery revealing. 
 Mystery concealing, 
 They're noe weary 
 For they re eternal; _ 
 
 Time's not dreary' 
 To thought supernal, 
 Cadences that chime. 
 Monotones for time, 
 With melody repeated 
 They hold secreted 
 The psalms of Trinity, 
 And echo through the pensive soul, 
 
 ONCE IN A HUNDRED YEARS. 
 
 Once in a hundred years. 
 Once in a hundred years 
 
 For human weal and woe 
 
 Numbers array them so : 
 Once in a hundred years, 
 
 In shadow and light. 
 
 In daytide and night. 
 
 Signs by star measures told. 
 Ere earth hid uep her gold. 
 
 Or Eden's rivei's ran, — 
 
 Before the life of man. 
 Ere history grew old, 
 
 For land and sea 
 
 Waited there for thee. 
 
 Not dreamily between 
 Things seen or unseen. 
 
 Of soul, and breath, and thought, 
 
 Witness of all that's wrought, 
 A form of noble mien, 
 
 Commanus us " pray 
 
 And hope alway! " 
 
 Ask now the stranger year 
 Why numbers thus appear! 
 In measures each the same, 
 In outline one, in name, — 
 A century brought them here ! 
 Mystic to you and me. 
 The future bears their key. 
 
68 *' A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.* 
 
 SUMMEE PEEFUMES. 
 
 Once by a rose, or violet, 
 
 Or lily, ]Dropliecy 
 Some eyes might read, — forget 
 
 The idji myth who may 
 
 Then came deficiencj'; 
 With spring returns of purple bloom, 
 'T was asked, " Where went the sweet perfume? 
 
 We must have lost the way! " 
 
 Who never thoiight, " perpetually 
 
 Blossoms will breathe the same 
 Eich incense, blended from the sky, 
 With sometimes altered name! " 
 Eeject the myth, who may — 
 One flower, the faithful heliotrcpe, 
 Is changeless for the gentle hope 
 Of pilgrim on his way. 
 
 The lilies of the echo vale, 
 
 By " culture " undeformed, 
 Eing never in dolorous wail. 
 
 Though winds have round them stormed; — 
 Believe the myth, who may^ 
 Soft odors of the vine, imseen 
 How linger they our moons between, — 
 From June to winter day! 
 
 Magic of honeysuckle balm, — 
 
 Wealth of the summer air. 
 Potent a grieving soul to calm, 
 Love silent to declare, — 
 Believe the myths, I say — 
 Distil such sweets and wines as these, 
 Man, if you can, from plants or trees, — 
 If your enchantments may. 
 
 Like any luscious fruit of earth. 
 
 Flavored for Ed^n food; — 
 A benison of lesser worth 
 
 Had God not called it good, — 
 
 Labor a long life's day — - 
 
 So give its subtle fragrance; then, 
 
 " * Aggamemnon,' king of men ! " 
 
 Your fellows all shall say. 
 
SONNET. G9 
 
 "AND THERE SHALL BE NO NIGHT THERE." 
 Eev. xxii. 5. 
 
 No nig-ht in Paradise! No night 
 
 Where Jesus lives, and waits 
 For his dear friends to come, Ihroxigli bright, 
 
 Golden and pearly gates! 
 
 No night of wintry storm, or cold, 
 
 Of jjathless, drifting snow; 
 No sunless shadow on the fold 
 
 He loved so well below! 
 
 No night by tempest lightning-s riven 
 
 None such as chill the poor. 
 When summer and its bloom is driven 
 
 Behind the autumn's door. 
 
 No night for hearts to weep, or mourn, 
 
 And wish joy's morn to come; 
 Nor any day that seems forlorn. 
 
 In that immortal home. 
 
 No night for stars to shine afar, 
 
 No i^lace for changing moon. 
 Where Jesus is the noon-day star 
 
 And all the hours are noon! 
 
 No night, because He is the sun 
 
 Of righteousness and grace; 
 The holy and forgiving one, 
 
 Image of God's own face! 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Happy the favored souls who know thy sigh, 
 Maid of imagination's voiceless song. 
 Who smilest on thy lovers in a throng! 
 Happy who feel thy pitying breath a tie 
 Binding theni to thine immortality. 
 While they mey live thy ideal sweets among. 
 And beauty's tender worship thiis prolong, 
 Dreaming of love's forever; 'tis to live 
 
7d "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.'* 
 
 Where prest rose harvests fill the silver urns 
 
 "With otto, where Damascus' vpaters glide; 
 
 Or where vast fields of lilies, crushed, condense 
 
 Nectar, that lit by passion's torches burns 
 
 To thrilling ecstacy, which purified 
 
 Unites the seraph's with the mortal's sense. 
 
 COLUMBIA'S SYMBOLS— TRAILING AEBUTUS. 
 
 Dews, when ye silent gather, 
 In halcyon or windy weather, 
 As light as any feather 
 
 Spangle the Mayflower o'er! 
 
 Stars, down between the branches 
 Send your fair avalanches, 
 And sunshine, when it dances, 
 Soft on this blossom pour! 
 
 Modest, with beauty's yearning. 
 Your coronet unspurning, 
 Its candle will be burning. 
 For liberty and power. 
 
 In all the veiled hereafter. 
 Though fools may scoff in laughter, 
 And Envy scale Truth's rafter, 
 'Twill bloom as heretofore. 
 
 Know this, pretentious ages! 
 Give ear, ye solemn sages. 
 Forbear, storm-ire that rages — 
 
 This bloom prints Freedom's lore! 
 
 Arbutus graceful trailing. 
 Amid brown mosses vailing. 
 Thy pink-wax clusters, hr.iling. 
 Thy fragrance, we adore! 
 
 Unfolding fair and slowly. 
 Hardy, profuse, and lowly. 
 On mountain bosoms holy. 
 Gem of Columbia's shore! 
 
 Adorning spring-time early. 
 
 When young leaves crisp and curly 
 
 Defy the frost king surly, 
 
 'We love thee more and more! 
 
^OLIAN DIALECTS. 71 
 
 Mayflower! Anew ^ve name thee! 
 A nation now we claim thee — 
 No dastard e'er defame thee, 
 Symbol forevermore! 
 
 Kose, thistle and the clover, 
 The fleur de lis, that rover, 
 These of the ensigns over, 
 The sea, we ask no more. 
 
 x4.nd not deny the Donor 
 With all her grace upon her, 
 And not deny the donor 
 
 Who brought the ship to shore? 
 
 Though all the lands have wondered, 
 And all the tyrants thundered, 
 We count our years an hundred, 
 
 And time shall count them more. 
 
 ^OLTAN DIALECTS. 
 
 Man frames no language, own no key 
 
 -lg interpret these; 
 The wide and wild, blue-templed sea, 
 
 The whispering trees, 
 Alone have voice — solemnity 
 
 And ecstasies, 
 To echo and articulate the changeful wind. 
 
 Nature refuses, sovereign young. 
 
 And regent old, 
 Proud mastery of the mystic tongue, — 
 
 Not overbold. 
 For Babylonian willows hung 
 
 With harps were told 
 Silence to keep when thought stirred zephyrs in 
 the mind. 
 
 These strophes never mortal lips 
 
 Wedded to sense; 
 Such music as in sorrow dips 
 
 The consequence 
 Of happiness in pale eclipse 
 
 Of hence and whence, 
 Is wrought when wake the voices of the sibyl wind. 
 
 * Shamrock. 
 
72 " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB.'* 
 
 What meanest thou that listeth oft 
 
 Thyself to praise? 
 Moauing, intoning', murmuring soft, 
 
 " Ancicnt of Days! " 
 Bearing no oriflamme aloft, 
 
 Counting no bays, — 
 Whose elements no i'aracelsus' gift could bind! 
 
 Alas! the soul that never sighed, 
 
 Alone with God, 
 When fierce, unharnessed winds defied 
 
 The sky and sod, 
 The starry universe to guide 
 
 In ways untrod 
 Imagination, venturous, strong-willed and — blind 
 
 Spirits of Airl Why do you speak 
 
 In tempest tones? 
 Philoogy in vain may seek 
 
 Your sighs and moans, 
 Counting its rules and clauses weak, 
 
 Building its thrones 
 Of chance for history and time to leave behind. 
 
 Phantoms of buried loves, forget 
 
 Save in the night. 
 Tell us, if such indeed ye're not! 
 
 Tell us in sig-ht 
 Of truth, the far and storm-loved spot 
 Where in cliaste delight 
 Ye were conceived content and terror to unbind. 
 
 A CHILD'S SONG. 
 
 Spring! spring! 
 'Tis sweet to sing 
 
 Thy praises! 
 Sweet, songful spring, 
 So soon to bring 
 
 Thy daisies! 
 
 Spring! spring! 
 Solt opening 
 
 Thy roses! 
 The breeze's wing 
 Thee welcoming, 
 Keposes! 
 
BABY'S FLOWERS. ^3 
 
 Spring! spring-! 
 
 The glad birds sing, 
 
 And lasses! 
 And up they spring. 
 Almost to sing — 
 
 The grasses! 
 
 Spring! spring! 
 Blue-bells will ring. 
 
 So slender! 
 
 Lambs gamboling, 
 Eejoice in spring, 
 
 So tender! 
 
 Spring! spring! 
 O thon dost bring 
 
 Us beauty! 
 Serenest spring, 
 O help us sing 
 
 Of duty! 
 
 Spring! spring! 
 'Tis bliss to sing 
 
 Forever 
 Of joys that bring 
 "No sinful thing, 
 
 No, never! 
 
 BABY'S FLOWEES. 
 
 Who wonders that the baby 
 Wearies of blossoms sweet? 
 
 What is so sweet as roses? 
 Ah ! baby is as sweet. 
 
 She pulls the fragrant petals, 
 But fails to count them all; 
 
 She tries to place the leaflets. 
 And murmurs that they fall. 
 
 If we, like thoughtless baby, 
 Waste precious Lenten hours. 
 
 Their blessings will return not, 
 To bring us heavenly flowers. 
 
 But if our brightest rose 
 To some tired hand we give; 
 
74 "A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 Denying- self for those 
 Who labor hard to live, 
 
 We will not weary half so soon 
 As baby with her buds of June. 
 
 DANDELIONS AND DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 We gather dandelions in May, 
 And in October's latest day, — 
 Which were the brightest who shall say? 
 
 Wliich longest shown, Ruth, can you tell? 
 The Earth bears all her blossoms well; 
 How pleasant it is on earth to dwell! 
 
 We saw green leaves too, of the May, 
 
 A canopy above our way. 
 
 Nor did we think they'd fade away? 
 
 But when the grand October came. 
 
 And maple leaves grew red as flame, 
 
 Ruth, dear, you asked, " Are they the same? " 
 
 Ah! yes, when autumn paints the sky, 
 And faded leaves drop silently. 
 Let us remember, fair things die! 
 
 But O how oft they come again. 
 
 With spring's soft airs and gentle rain; 
 
 No flower or leaf can die in vain; 
 
 God ripens fruit from blossoms dead; 
 Gives wiser years when youth's are fled; 
 New life from death, as Jesus said. 
 
 So we from Earth shall surely rise. 
 To live with Him beyond the skies, 
 In happy, holy. Paradise. 
 
 NOT TOO SOON. 
 
 Ofttimes "too soon "— 
 (Of some when dead 
 This hath been said) 
 
 Meridian comes;. 
 
A NIGHT THOUGHT. fj^ 
 
 When mortals sail 
 
 Before the gale, 
 At morn, or noon, 
 To far-ofE homes. 
 
 And oft they sail 
 In anxious mind, 
 
 'Tis said perchance, — 
 Lest gales of wind 
 Too soon prevail; 
 And on, and on, 
 When these are gone, 
 Earth storms advance. 
 
 fco on and on, 
 Long cycles flee, 
 
 And tides the same, 
 Of life: — of fame. 
 Of joy and woe, 
 Of night and noon, 
 
 " Come in," out-flow, — 
 A mighty sea 
 Of mystery! — 
 And souls " too soon " 
 Saith love, are gone. 
 
 But ask the flood 
 Of life and Time, 
 If this be true? 
 Answers that come 
 Will be sublime. 
 If you, and you. 
 Have understood; 
 Then not too soon. 
 At morn or noon, — 
 Or ebb-tide low, 
 Or coast-wave flow, — 
 From surf and shore, 
 God's evermore 
 Will bear you home. 
 
 A NIGHT THOUGHT. 
 
 (My sister's last poem.) 
 
 We close our eyes — the mystery is deej) — 
 This unexplained phenomenon of sleep. 
 " Sister of Death! " not so to me it seems; 
 Death never tells to living ears its dreams. 
 
'jTg " A BIRD IN LINCOLN'S TOMB." 
 
 As our companions may. Upon our shore 
 
 Of being-, would He just this little more 
 
 Permit that man might learn, 'mid peace and strife. 
 
 Meaning- of Earth's precarious forms of life; 
 
 The certainty of why, and how and whence, 
 
 Created we are to die, or wander hence! 
 
NOV 8 1900