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MORNING 
 
 AND 
 
 EVENING : 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH E. DAWLEY, 
 
 FALL RIVER, MASS. 
 
 ALMY & MILNE 
 1887. 
 
^'K% 
 
 
 
WITH KIND WISHES, 
 
 THIS 
 
 LITTLE VOLUME OF POEMS 
 
 IS 
 
 LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 
 ^0 Pg Jmnbs. 
 
 Accept the little songs I sing,— 
 Sing in an unpretentious way: 
 
 Accept the sprigs of bloom I bring, 
 They are the heart's bouquet. 
 
G 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 OOD morning, friends, good morning ! 
 The sun is bright, the sky is fair, 
 And there is beauty everywhere 
 In youthful life abounding ; 
 Give laughing Joy a chance to play. 
 The evening is not far away, 
 Good morning ! 
 
MT PBATER. 
 
 [Written on my Eleventh Birthday.] 
 
 NOT to be great, do I aspire, 
 Nor to be rich is my desire, 
 But to do, humbly, all I can 
 For God and for my brother Man ; 
 This is my prayer : God helping me, 
 A child, a man I'll try to be. 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD, 
 
 WITH teeming thouglits and memories, 
 We started on our way, 
 As in the east the rosy light 
 
 Proclaimed the new-born day ; 
 Slow rolled the cumbrous coach along 
 
 O'er road as rough as drear, 
 And brought us to the spot, at last. 
 To memory so dear. 
 
 And there it stood, the Old Homestead, 
 
 Just as it stood of yore. 
 The green vines climbing up its sides, 
 
 And blooming round the door ; 
 The birds sang in the same old trees, — 
 
 Their melody the same 
 As when, at first, beneath their shade, 
 
 Long years ago we came. 
 
10 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 The sloping roof, moss-covered o'er, 
 
 The windows low and small. 
 The modest picket fence, the lawn. 
 
 Our boyhood days recall ; 
 Not far away, among the trees, 
 
 The village church is seen. 
 And further down the winding road, 
 
 Appears the village green. 
 
 We see the distant sleeping hills. 
 
 The forests where we played. 
 The same green tempting meadows where 
 
 Our childish footsteps strayed; 
 And in the vale the little stream 
 
 Runs on in ceaseless flow, 
 And leaps and foams, and laughs and sings 
 
 The same as years ago. 
 
 Behind the church, where yonder elm 
 
 Its lengthened shadow throws 
 Across the old, familiar way. 
 
 The village dead rejDose ; 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 11 
 
 With measured steps we take our way 
 
 Adown the grassy lane, 
 And tread, once more, the sacred spot 
 
 We may not tread again. 
 
 Since last we trod these shady walks, 
 
 Long years have come and fled. 
 And most who gathered with us then 
 
 Are numbered with the dead ; 
 And other footsteps now are heard, 
 
 And stranger faces dwell 
 Within the little cottage home 
 
 In youth we loved so well. 
 
 Deem it not weakness if the eye 
 
 The feeling heart betrays. 
 For here are sleeping those with whom 
 
 We walked in other days ; 
 The good, whose noble virtues blessed 
 
 And beautified their lives ; 
 The loved, whose pure affection still 
 
 The lapse of years survives. 
 
12 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 How like a dream of yesterday 
 
 The whole of life appears, 
 As here we stand upon the steep 
 
 Declivity of years, 
 And trace in each familiar scene 
 
 Some vision of the past, 
 As o'er the present, by-gone years 
 
 Their golden shadows cast! 
 
 Ah ! true it is, our boyhood days 
 
 Are but the prophecy, 
 The sunny cast or shady type 
 
 Of other days to be ; 
 Fulfilled to-day, how sweet the thoughts 
 
 Which mingle with our tears. 
 As rushing o'er the mind there comes 
 
 The meniory of years ! 
 
 As genial skies and warming suns. 
 The dews and gentle showers. 
 
 From winter's cold and icy breast. 
 Bring back the sunny flowers, 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 13 
 
 So, after many years have gone 
 
 Of mingled joys and pain, 
 We seem, our youthful days reviewed, 
 
 To live our life again. 
 
 Time hastens with unfaltering speed. 
 
 Spring, summer, autumn goes ; 
 The parting hour will come at last, 
 
 As come the winter snows. 
 Home of our boyhood, dear old home, 
 
 The spot we loved so well. 
 We part — forever it may be ; 
 
 Yet, ere we go — farewell ! 
 
 Dear Father! hear to-day the prayer 
 
 Of thankfulness we raise. 
 And sweeten memory with love 
 
 The remnant of our days ! 
 And when at last, life's journey done, 
 
 The " shining shore" we see, 
 *' Beyond the river" may we find 
 
 A better home Avith Thee ! 
 
14 THE MEADOW BROOK. 
 
 THE MEAD OW BROOK. 
 
 DOWN through the meadow it runs along, 
 Free as a blessing, sweet as a song, 
 Now with a ripple, now with a dash, 
 Over the pebbles with foaming splash, 
 Merry and happy, I hear it sing, 
 Soft as a bird in early spring. 
 
 As crystal its waters are bright and clear, 
 Singing, singing to heart and ear, 
 Never a moment stopping to think 
 Who is treading its flowery brink, 
 But foaming, laughing, leaping along. 
 To the notes of its own sweet silv'ry song. 
 
 Sweet is the flow of the meadow stream. 
 Like to the something we sometimes dream 
 When the soul is in tune, and the heart aright, 
 And the beautiful River of Life in sight. 
 And there comes to our senses the music of love 
 From the glorified ones in the mansion above. 
 
THE SABBATH. 15 
 
 Busy its waters unceasingly roll, 
 A beautiful type of a dutiful soul, 
 Wearying never, but patient and true, 
 Doing the work it is called to do ; 
 The type of a dutiful soul, we say. 
 Praising the Lord in its own sweet way ! 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 SWEET day ! the soul, on gentle wings. 
 Uprises from its couch of night, 
 And, soaring heavenward, sweetly sings 
 In depths of calmer light. 
 
 O, who would break the pleasant spell. 
 The holy Sabbath day inspires, 
 
 Or who, for filthy lucre, sell 
 His birthright of desires ! 
 
 O, linger yet ! so sweet, so calm. 
 
 Have been to me those Sabbath hours. 
 
 It seems that some diviner psalm 
 Has quickened all my powers ! 
 
16 APPLE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 APPLE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 SOFTLY the sun shines to-day. 
 Warming the garden and lawn, 
 But we miss the fragrance of yesterday, 
 For the apple blossoms are gone. 
 
 But the trees are green and strong, 
 
 And as sweetly the robins sing. 
 And the sturdy branches will bend ere long, 
 
 With the fruit of their blossoming. 
 
 But never the trees will bear, 
 
 Under the warming sun,. 
 And fed by the breath of the life-giving air, 
 
 Till the blossoms their work have done. 
 
 Study the lesson with care 
 
 Which the apple blossoms bring — 
 
 That the fruit our after-lives shall bear. 
 May depend on their blossoming. 
 
LOYE SEED. 17 
 
 LOVE SEED. 
 
 WHO stands beside the way that leads 
 By churches topped with turrets high, 
 Sees where are freely sowm the seeds 
 To bloom and ripen, or to die. 
 
 And he may reason there, and well, 
 
 And think in silence thoughts that may 
 
 Become the living words which tell 
 How he was led aright, astray. 
 
 Who tries to handle as a toy 
 
 The costliness ignored, or most, 
 A simple, noble-hearted boy. 
 
 Had better pause and count the cost. 
 
 Chaff, child, is sown among the seeds, 
 As poison thrives where sweets abound, 
 
 And sounding, empty, barren creeds 
 May live where little love is found. 
 
 Love touches every human need, 
 
 And ripens into fruit of gold. 
 And better far this little seed 
 
 Than all the rubrics, new^ or old. 
 
18 DISCONTENT. 
 
 DISCONTENT, 
 
 AH me !" he sighs, unhappy boy, 
 £\. To see the frowning clouds again ; 
 And, thinking of his play-hour joy, 
 
 Poor fellow! hopes it will not rain; 
 Not thinking that the drooping flowers 
 Are praying for the summer showers. 
 
 " Come, let us get the trees behind," 
 Says Johnnie Jenks to Willie May ; 
 
 " How hot it is ! Oh, I must find 
 A shadier place than this to play ; 
 
 I wish the strong north wind would blow ! 
 
 I should be happier, I know." 
 
 The morrow came ; it was not clear, 
 
 And strong and cold the north wind blew; 
 
 Said Johnny then, " O dear ! O dear ! 
 I wish 'twas yesterday, don't you ? 
 
 How cold it is out here to play ! 
 
 I wish we had the sun to-day." 
 
DISCOJq^TENT. 19 
 
 The boy was human, just the same, 
 And men are boys, and every day, 
 
 And, on the road to wealth or fame, 
 Or in life's playgrounds, sharp at play; 
 
 And Mr. Muddle little thinks 
 
 How much he is like Johnny Jenks. 
 
 Love, gratitude, are most forgot ; 
 
 And, though we may not act it out, 
 Like boys, we murmur at our lot, 
 
 And feel, like them, to fret and pout ; 
 When cold, we wish it hot, and then 
 When hot we wish it cold again. 
 
 We are but older boys at best. 
 
 Though not as frank, may be, as they, 
 
 But, just like them, we cannot rest 
 To have it as it is to-day ; 
 
 Not satisfied with what is sent, 
 
 We show, like boys, our discontent. 
 
20 JOH^ BENSON. 
 
 JOHN BENSON. 
 
 HO was John Benson ?" Let me tell, 
 For I knew the grood man — knew 
 
 w 
 
 him well ; 
 Revered him greatly and loved him much, 
 For his life, and great, kind heart, and such ; 
 He was a man as old as you 
 When I was a boy of twelve and two, 
 And never approached me but he said : 
 
 "God bless you, my boy!" with his hand on 
 my head. 
 
 He lived in a cottage (there was no street) 
 Close by the hill where the two roads meet, 
 And, when united, leading down, 
 In a zigzag way, to the little town, 
 Or village, perhaps, I should have said, 
 With houses painted white and red ; 
 Around which gardens and walks were seen. 
 With patches of vine and bloom between. 
 
 He lived alone, for he lost his wife. 
 He told me, " in early wedded life ;" 
 And well I knew that she was dear, 
 By the trembling lip and falling tear. 
 
JOHN BENSON. 21 
 
 And the faltering way in which he said, 
 As he laid his big hand on my head : 
 *' 'Tis a long, long story, but she has gone. 
 With the babe of love that to us was born." 
 
 " She sleeps out there !" — and he pointed me 
 To two green graves just under the tree 
 But a few rods off from the public way. 
 Where the wife of his love and her new-born 
 The old man wept, and somehow, I [l^Jj 
 
 Felt the moisture welling from heart to eye ; 
 And so, to hide what I felt, I said : 
 "How long, Mr. Benson, have they been dead ?" 
 
 " A long, long time ; the years have flown. 
 The vines have clambered, the trees have 
 
 grown. 
 And my hair, you see, has become quite gray 
 Since wife and baby were laid away ; 
 Some twenty years, I think, or more. 
 Since they left this, for the other shore ; 
 But I see her now, and she looks as fair 
 As she did in our little home up there." 
 
22 JOHN BENSOjST. 
 
 Still went the romping seasons, still - 
 
 The roses blossomed by yonder hill, 
 
 And John was working, in and out, 
 
 On the farms which lay the town about ; 
 
 Contented and calm, but nursing his woe 
 
 As last I saw him years ago ; 
 
 And the two old graves looked just as green 
 
 As when I saw them a boy of fourteen. 
 
 " What more can I tell ?" A Christian indeed 
 Was good John Benson, but not of a creed 
 Old-fashioned or new ; but laid on the shelf 
 Such bones of contention, and thought for 
 
 himself. 
 He loved God supremely — who can do more ? 
 And shared with the needy his humble store; 
 And ate of the manna which comes from above. 
 And practised the GoD-required duties of love. 
 
 The "cup of cold water," in charity given, 
 To him was a far better passport to heaven 
 Than the ticket which so many creed-mongers 
 
 flout 
 In the face of the world, with the other left out. 
 
JOHN" BEJS'SOK 2a 
 
 No hate in his heart, but love was there, 
 And " What can Ida .^" was the soul of his 
 
 pi'ayer ; [cheer 
 
 Not for self, but for others, who most need the 
 We cannot withhold, with the hope to go clear 
 When the summers and winters of life are past, 
 And we meet up yonder, or somewhere, at last, 
 And the all-seeing, man-loving Christos shall 
 
 move [improve ! 
 
 For the treasures he gave us on earth to 
 
 John Benson is dead ! he died years agone ! 
 But his long life of goodness, of purity born. 
 The wedded affection, cemented with tears. 
 He showed for his wife, through the lengthen- 
 ing years. 
 His many rough virtues, his honest intent, 
 AjDpearing the same wheresoever he went, 
 His faith, his religion, his unsullied name. 
 Like so many sweet Benedictions, remain! 
 
24 THE UXKIND WOED. 
 
 THE UNKIND WORD, 
 
 BE careful lest you mar the vase ; 
 Your thoughtless, heedless handling stay; 
 " For should you tear one sprig away, 
 The piece you never can replace. 
 
 The picture hanging on the wall, 
 And looking down upon us now. 
 If you sliould maim the boyish brow, 
 
 The look would never come at all. 
 
 With kindness answer love's appeal, 
 And meet it with affection's kiss; 
 Be loving, and remember this — 
 
 An injured heart you cannot heal. 
 
 And, oh, be careful what yOu say! 
 The unkind icord to injure said. 
 Will, like a poisoned arrow, sped. 
 
 Where it was sent, forever stay. 
 
WILLIE MAY. 25 
 
 WILLIE MA Y. 
 
 OVER the hills, and nestling down 
 In a smiling valley of some renown, 
 On which falls, softly, the morning light. 
 Stands a little village of houses white ; 
 A dozen or two, or three, or more, 
 And a little church and a single store ; 
 And, standing alone, near the old highway, 
 A district school house, cold and gray. 
 
 And, westward stretching, the green hills rise 
 
 As if they wanted to kiss the skies. 
 
 And adown the valley a laughing stream 
 
 Runs on like the flow of a beautiful dream, 
 
 And full of melody, soft and mild 
 
 As the made-up song of a hapjjy child ; 
 
 Cooling the air as it runs away 
 
 To be lost in the deeps of the distant bay. 
 
 On the sleeping hill -sides, grasses grow, 
 By the stream the sweet wild roses blow, 
 And adown the valley and through the dell 
 Rings sweetly the ancient village bell. 
 
26 WILLIE MAT. 
 
 And smiling over the little town 
 The sun comes up and the sun goes down, 
 And the villagers labor in calm content, 
 As though to make most of life they meant. 
 
 A little cottage stands out in the shade 
 Which the beautiful green, spreading trees 
 
 have made. 
 Where lived, and his face I still can see, 
 A lad, who, in youth was dear to me ; 
 The pet of the household, frail and fair, 
 With soft blue eyes, and curly hair, 
 And bright and sunny, happy and gay 
 As the sweetest hours of a summer's day. 
 
 He was kind to all, to all was free. 
 And just as loving as he could be, 
 And you might travel the village round, 
 But just such another could not be found ; 
 He labored that all his love might share, 
 At home, at school, and everywhere. [see 
 
 And the villagers, bless them, were j^roud to 
 What a noble lad he had come to be. 
 
WILLIE MAY. 27 
 
 And every day, as they saw him go 
 
 To school, through the smiling vale below, 
 
 Something told them that Willie May 
 
 Was too good long on this earth to stay ; 
 
 So they, sorrowing, watched him, day by day, 
 
 As the roses fled from his face away, 
 
 And the bright, glad smile he used to wear 
 
 Had gone, and left but a shadow there. 
 
 Smilingly, hopefully Willie would go 
 To the village school in the vale below. 
 With his loving schoolmates, full of glee. 
 And happy as girls and boys can be ; 
 Singing, or dreaming the beautiful dreams 
 
 Which a part of every sweet, child-nature 
 
 seems, 
 Nor thought they once, as they hurried by. 
 That their playmate dear was soon to die. 
 
 Sing, children ! to-day in your happiness sing, 
 For little you know what the morrow may 
 
 bring ! 
 Your playmate is going, be kind as you may. 
 For nothing the death-angel's summons can 
 
 stay. 
 
28 WILLIE MAY. 
 
 No cure for the dear one, no remedy here, 
 And the end of the pride of the village is near ; 
 The boat of the angel is moored by the shore, 
 And the boatman is waiting to carry him o'er. 
 
 When summer came her gifts to bring, 
 And sing farewell to her sister spring. 
 When roses were blossoming, sweet and fair, 
 And filling with delicate j^erfume the air, 
 In the little cottage, beside the hill, 
 Sat many true mourners, and tearfully still, 
 In the sweet little home where peacefully lay 
 All that was mortal of Willie May. 
 
 We ask in our sorrow and blindness, why, 
 Why is it so that the good must die. 
 While those who have only been sources of jDain 
 Are allowed in this beautiful world to remain ? 
 Then fold up our hands, for no answer appears. 
 And wait for the future revealings, in tears ; 
 What the preacher has said I believe to be so : 
 " They are not in tke kind of condition to go." 
 
WILLIE MAY. 29 
 
 Since then, in peace, above the sleeping dead, 
 With little change, swift-footed years have fled, 
 The little village, in the sunset glow, 
 Looks just the same as twenty years ago; 
 The wild rose blossoms by the same old stream 
 Upon whose banks I dreamed, ah! many a 
 
 dream, 
 And, bending down, two weeping willows 
 
 sweep 
 The green-clad grave where Willie's ashes 
 
 sleep. 
 
 The valley flings its kisses to the sun. 
 The boys and girls along the highways run, 
 Love nestles sweetly at the cottage door. 
 And sings the same old song it sang before : 
 And rings the same, the same old village bell, 
 Its echoes sounding through the sleeping dell. 
 And men and women loitering by the way, 
 Still speak their loving words of Willie May. 
 
30 SUMMER MUSINGS BY THE SEA. 
 SUMMER MUSINGS BY THE SEA. 
 
 I look on the face of the sunlit bay 
 And see the waves their gambols play, 
 And the hungry sea-gulls fly, 
 See where the lines of dark blue reach 
 Till they kiss the shores of the sandy beach, 
 
 Where the broken sea-shells lie, 
 While the headland its sombre shadow throws 
 Across the chasm of dark repose. 
 
 A sense of solitude over me creeps 
 As I look below on the craggy steeps, 
 
 And out on the sandy shore. 
 And see the blue waves coming in 
 And hear the murmuring, solemn din 
 
 That ends in a deafening roar, 
 And I think hoAV near to our peacefulness lay 
 The terrors which hurry us into dismay. 
 
 An oak, through which the tempests of heaven, 
 Like demons, have played, but left it unriven. 
 
 Still wooes to its welcome shade. 
 While the rocks below, the symbols of strength. 
 
SUMMER MUSINGS BY THE SEA. 31 
 
 Have lost their fibre and yielded at length 
 To the rents the waves have made ; 
 And, mnsing, I learn, that, after all 
 The weakest are not the first to fall. 
 
 Over the sand-bar, silent and still, 
 A ship is drifting, as drift they will. 
 
 Sailing, sailing, but sailing slow. 
 Sailing, but where we do not know. 
 Sailing, but scarcely seeming to go, 
 
 As they will, when the winds are low, 
 And I ask, as I see it tack and turn. 
 From sailing away, will it ever return ? 
 
 And here, by the seaside, sit I still. 
 
 And look at the white clouds over the hill, 
 
 Sailing away, and east or west, 
 While the sun, as smiling as it can be. 
 Shines down on the tempting, treacherous sea. 
 
 Sublime in its dread unrest; 
 But the ship that was sailing adown the bay. 
 Across the sand bar, has faded away. 
 
32 SUMMER MUSINGS BY THE SEA. 
 
 Faded away ! but the sea flows on, 
 
 Though the sailing ship from our sight has gone, 
 
 Flows on in its majesty ; 
 And the ship that sailed the day before, 
 Is sailing still to an unknown shore, 
 
 And sailing an unknown sea, 
 And as the lights in the lighthouse burn, 
 I am asking again, will it ever return ? 
 
 And then came the lesson, — sailing, are we. 
 Sailing away on an unknown sea, 
 
 With billows and breakers ahead ; 
 Sailing away, under skies of blue, 
 Sailing away, with the port in view. 
 
 The landing we all must tread, 
 For the grave is the goal we all shall reach — 
 Is the lesson the sailing ship should teach. 
 
 We start on the day, with the morning sun, 
 And scarce have the pleasures of life begun 
 
 Ere clouds sweep our summer sky, 
 And our blossoming hopes, like so many joys. 
 
SUMMER MUSINGS BY THE SEA. 33 
 
 Now scattered and broken as gossamer toys, 
 
 Like wrecks on the seashore lie, 
 And the j^romises, all, we from hopefulness 
 
 borrow 
 To-day, are gone on the coming to-morrow. 
 
 Roll sea, roll on ! beneath the blue skies, 
 
 On thy bosom, the spell of uncertainty lies. 
 
 And doubts with our hopefulness blend, 
 
 While the winds for the moment, hav^e folded 
 
 their wings. 
 In tranquil' enjoyment the voyager sings. 
 
 And waits for his journey to end, 
 
 Nor thinks, that, while singing the danger is 
 
 near [fear. 
 
 That shall turn all his beautiful dreaminess to 
 
 The day is departing, good-by to the tree, 
 That has given me shelter a day by. the sea, 
 
 Good-by to the soft blue skies ! 
 I feel that my musings, this sweet summer day, 
 Some of my sorrow have taken away. 
 
 And gently opened my eyes [more, 
 To take in the prospect that lightens, and 
 That brightens the view of eternity's shore. 
 
 3 
 
34 DOGMATISM. 
 
 DOGMATISM. 
 
 NO, no ! 'tis nothing that we need, 
 Its having but engenders strife ; 
 Away with it, from church and creed, 
 Away with it, from faith and life ! 
 
 Let love be sweetest and supreme ! 
 
 Nor sow, broadcast, dogmatic seed; 
 But in your living so demean. 
 
 That help shall come to you in need. 
 
 Throw sounding dictums to the dogs, 
 No cheer to life do they impart. 
 
 Your cherished dogma only clogs 
 Or freezes goodness in the heart. 
 
 Make this the rule of life, to wit, — 
 To do for truth the best you can. 
 
 Love God supremely, and make it 
 Lead to the better love of man. 
 
 For love encompasseth the whole 
 
 Of Christian faith and Christian sense; 
 
 This is its center, this its soul. 
 And its circumference. 
 
CHAKACTER. 35 
 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 BUILD slow, build firm, and build with care, 
 Nor seek to soar on waxen wings ; 
 Of false ambition's lures beware, 
 
 Nor spurn the day of little things; 
 Be sure, that without constant toil, 
 The weeds will grow on every soil. 
 
 Let love of riches never lead 
 
 Your feet in paths of wrong to stray, 
 
 Nor let the temjDting lures of greed 
 Entice you from the better way ; 
 
 Who tempts you, crooked paths to go. 
 
 Be firm, be true, and answer — No ! 
 
 Should poverty your door assail. 
 Wait, wait in hope, a little while, 
 
 And you shall over want prevail ; 
 So meet it with a manly smile. 
 
 And, like a hero work away, — 
 
 For honest industry will pay. 
 
36 CHAKACTEK. 
 
 The vine grows slowly, still it grows 
 In fiber, vigor, beauty, strength, 
 
 And in God's time it buds and blows 
 
 And brings forth ripened fruit at length ; 
 
 So character, full grown, shall be 
 
 A fruitful vine to you and me. 
 
 Behold ! while love of riches, show. 
 And wrong into dishonor leads. 
 
 There is, who moveth still and slow 
 Along the line of human needs, 
 
 The Unseen, who if sought will be 
 
 Than brother more to you and me. 
 
 Poor, brother, poor and weak are we, 
 
 But honest effort is not lost. 
 And God is good, and He can see 
 
 Just where temj^tation hurts us most, 
 And to our rescue come, if we 
 Are striving honest men to be. 
 
 Be sure of this, temptation will, 
 In varied forms of dark and light, 
 
 Waylay and try with subtle skill. 
 To win us from the path of right ; 
 
CHARACTER. 37 
 
 And so keep building, build with care, 
 And of all devil-wiles beware. 
 
 Build slow, build sure, nor fear to fall ; 
 
 Let riches go, nor care for fame ; 
 Better in poverty to toil. 
 
 Than leave behind a blasted name ; 
 Better, a thousand times to die 
 While life is pure, than live a lie. 
 
 The wrong a w^atchful world shall brand 
 As hateful, mean ; bad men shall quail 
 
 And fall ; but character shall stand 
 When riches, fame and glory fail ; 
 
 And be you high, or be you low, 
 
 Shall win respect from friend and foe. 
 
 Strength, durability, belong 
 
 To character ; and, when once made, 
 
 'Twill stand, and like a temple, strong, 
 With walls of granite underlaid ; 
 
 Aye, stand when coming to the shore 
 
 Where creeds and rubrics are no more. 
 
38 BY THE KIYEE. 
 
 B Y THE RIVER, 
 
 DEAR faces are near me, sweet voices I 
 As backward my memories run, [hear, 
 And I stand by the deep, flowing river to-day, 
 In the cool of the December sun. 
 
 I think of the time when a light-hearted boy 
 I fished from the bridge by the mill. 
 
 Or sat on the storm-beaten rock over there. 
 Just under the shade of the hill. 
 
 I think of the dear ones who gathered with me, 
 And dreamed, too, the sweetest of dreams. 
 
 Till the present is lost in the fplds of the past. 
 And the past all the pleasanter seems. 
 
 The fairies which haunted these sylvan retreats, 
 Or peopled my credulous brain, [youth, 
 
 Have vanished and gone like the dreams of my 
 But the scenes of their gambols remain. 
 
 The moon-lighted grotto of beauty and love. 
 Bewitching appears as of yore, [elfs, 
 
 And the rock by the river where gathered the 
 Looms up just the same from the shore. 
 
BY THE RIYER. 39 
 
 And oft, with the boys, have I stolen away, 
 To the bi'idge, as the night was advancing, 
 
 And looked, if the fairies we could see, 
 On the rock in the moonlight dancing. 
 
 As I gaze on these scenes of my young life 
 I scarce can restrain me from weeping, [again, 
 
 For the stories and legends I heard when a boy, 
 Are still kept in holiest keeping. 
 
 Reflection is sweet as I stand here to-day. 
 In the silence of crumbling decay, 
 
 For this was the valley of beauty to me 
 In the morning of Life's blooming May. 
 
 The "Grotto of Beauty" and "Love Side" re- 
 The "Elf Way" and "Lulilla's Cave," [main, 
 
 But the voices which rung through the "Valley 
 of Love," 
 Are hushed in the sleejD of the grave. 
 
 Xl?<5 scene of my sporting, the old mil], remains, 
 Though torn by the storm and the gale. 
 
 And the miller's white cottage looks just as it 
 But its inmates repose in the vale. [did, 
 
40 NOW. 
 
 Dear faces are near me, sweet voices I hear, 
 As backward my memories rmi, 
 
 And I stand by the deep, flowing river to-day, 
 In the cool of the December sun. 
 
 A^OTF. 
 
 A delicate, gossamer thread, 
 
 Too fine for us to see. 
 Is running along the lines of time, 
 
 And into eternity. 
 
 As fall our regretful tears 
 
 Into the soundless sea, 
 Joy may crimson the face of love 
 
 With a blush for you and me. 
 
 The tones of the village bell, 
 Up in the old church tower, 
 
 And the tick, tick, of the mantel clock, 
 Tell of the passing hour. 
 
NOW. 41 
 
 Dimpled with rosy smiles, 
 
 Or sobered by sorrow's tears, 
 Time is, time was, has been the song — 
 
 The sounding song of the years. 
 
 The yesterdays, cloudy or clear. 
 
 Forever from us have fled ; 
 And we catch the breath of the fragrant past, 
 
 Though the blossoming vine be dead. . 
 
 Life's gossamer thread is running 
 The past and the present through. 
 
 And the dot of time, the little now^ 
 Is hanging between the two. 
 
 With promises sweet and fair 
 
 The future may seem to be. 
 But little they matter, the now is all 
 
 That is left for you and me. 
 
 Live not on what you have done. 
 
 Nor plans for the morrow lay, 
 With head and hand, and heart and mind. 
 
 Work GoDward and man ward to-day ! 
 
42 CKEDENDA. 
 
 CBEDENDA. 
 
 Much passes current here for sweet 
 
 That is decided bitter, 
 And much that goes upon the street 
 
 For gold is only glitter ; 
 Be sure it is not what we say, 
 
 So much as how we say it ; 
 Nor is it, neighbor, what we do, 
 
 So much as how we do it. 
 
 The face may wear the rosy hue 
 
 Of honesty and candor. 
 While hid behind it there may be 
 
 A battery of slander; 
 We cannot tell, we do not know. 
 
 While smiles we are receiving. 
 How much unreal there may be 
 
 Put on for our deceiving. 
 
 The fire may in the censer burn, 
 And incense, altar- lighted ; 
 
 The prayer from temple gates ascend, 
 By lips profane indited. 
 
CREDEOT)A. 43 
 
 Nor this, nor that; the creed that lives, 
 
 The heavenly fragrance giving, 
 Is that which buds, and blooms, and bears 
 
 The fruit of honest living. 
 
 Pretenders still are in the world, 
 
 And knaves are not ideal; 
 And hypocrites may pass awhile, 
 
 Like gilded coin , for real. 
 Despise them all, and act yourself 
 
 In doing and in saying ; 
 Be honest both to God and man. 
 
 And honest in your praying. 
 
 The life is better than the creed, 
 
 No matter what its merit ; 
 And to be living Christ-like is 
 
 To have a Christ-like spirit. 
 Be sure, then, 'tis not lohat we say, 
 
 So much as hoio we say it ; 
 Nor is it, neighbor, what we do. 
 
 So much as hov:> we do it. 
 
•^5 
 
 44 BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 BE A TITIFUL. 
 
 A beautiful planet is this indeed 
 This beautiful world of ours, 
 Teeming with everything we need, 
 
 With its crown of beautiful flowers ; 
 Beautiful mountains and beautiful seas. 
 
 Landscapes, soft and fair. 
 Beautiful birds and beautiful trees, 
 Beautiful everywhere. 
 
 Beautiful rivers, rolling away ; 
 
 Oceans with hidden springs. 
 On which are sailing, night and day. 
 
 Ships with their snow-white wings ; 
 Beautiful valleys, and beautiful streams, 
 
 Flowing through meadow and glade. 
 Where dreamy lovers dream beautiful dreams, 
 
 And beautiful words are said . . 
 
 Beautiful stars on the brow of nio-ht 
 Which sparkle, and glow and sing; 
 
 And oceans on oceans of beautiful light, 
 Beautiful, everything ; 
 
BEAUTIFUL. 45 
 
 A beautiful Faith, that stronger strives, 
 As the skies of adversity frown. 
 
 Beautiful characters, beautiful lives. 
 Which with glory humanity crown. 
 
 Beautiful children, God be praised! 
 
 To comfort, and bless and cheer ; 
 Beautiful hopes, from love-seed raised, 
 
 Blossoming through the year ; 
 Beautiful blossoms falling away, 
 
 At the touch of Diviner will. 
 The silent graves, where our blossoms lay, 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful still. 
 
 Beautiful visions, beautiful love, 
 
 As our dear ones drop away. 
 Beautiful thoughts of the home above, 
 
 The land of eternal day ; 
 Beautiful hopes that we shall meet 
 
 Where the beautiful never die, 
 And walk, together, the golden street, 
 
 In the beautiful by and by. 
 
46 MEMORY. 
 
 MEMOR Y. 
 
 THE day is rainy ; and I go 
 Where often I have been before, 
 And, all alone, I close the door. 
 And let the tide of memory flow, — 
 
 Flow on through channels dee23 and wide. 
 Flow on through meadows green and fair, 
 With blossoms 23erfuming the air, 
 
 And fillino' me with love beside, — 
 
 'C? 
 
 Flow on with life's young morning flow, 
 Flow on with summer's rosy tide. 
 And kissing sweetly either side 
 
 Of every vale where blossoms blow. 
 
 O Life ! your record I can read 
 
 As though 'twere written yesterday ; 
 And I can trace along the way 
 
 The fruit which grew from every seed. 
 
MEMOEY. 47 
 
 Now, plains of waving bloom appear ; 
 
 Now clouds obscure the sunny skies; 
 
 Now sorrows and now joys arise — 
 Bright day and darkest night are near. 
 
 From pleasure's golden cup I sip, 
 And let the nectar through me steal, 
 Until the cup of grief I feel. 
 
 Close pressing my reluctant lip. 
 
 I revel in the summer bloom 
 
 As thoughtless as a child at play, 
 And, turning, look the other way. 
 
 To see but sorrow iii my room. 
 
 O faculty of mighty powers, 
 
 GoD-given me for weal or woe ! 
 
 It touches everywhere I go, 
 To bless or curse the fleeting hours. 
 
 It stretches on and I can see 
 
 And read the record lines of years. 
 Now writ in joy, and now in tears. 
 
 Back, back, to laughing infancy. 
 
48 MEMORY. 
 
 On land, on sea, it follows still ; 
 
 Now seeming dead, to life it springs, 
 And stronger sense of feeling brings, 
 
 To lash or comfort us at will. 
 
 I see where shady valleys lay ; 
 
 I see the pictures made for me ; 
 
 And in the nearing distance see 
 A daisy blooming by the way. 
 
 Now, like a laughing stream it flows, 
 And sings the gladdened lieart to sleep; 
 Now ploughs the soul with furrows deep, 
 
 And blasts and withers as it goes. 
 
 We close our eyes ; we shut the door, 
 And seek to drive it from the mind, 
 And sleep ; and only wake to find 
 
 It still pursuing as before. 
 
 It from our life we cannot shake ; 
 It follows us with steady tread 
 Among the living and the dead, 
 
 By day, by night, asleep, awake. 
 
MEMORY. 49 
 
 We wish it were not so ; and then 
 Sweet glimpses of our hapjDy home 
 Appear, and bright ; and then we come 
 
 To think of what it might have been, 
 
 Had those who made it all a smile — 
 A sunny smile, so bright and dear. 
 It glowed and lasted all the year — 
 
 Dear ones, been spared to us awhile. 
 
 The sun may shine, or it may not ; 
 'No shadow on the present cast 
 Can dim the brightness of the past, 
 
 The love that cannot be forgot. 
 
 O Memory ! I live in thee ; 
 How dear you are I cannot say, 
 But thank the Father when I pray, 
 
 For giving! such a gift to me. 
 
50 JACOBUS. 
 
 JACOBUS. 
 
 WITH a crimson blush on its rounded face 
 The apple was temptingly ripe and fair ; 
 Not a speck of rot or decay could you trace, 
 While, in kind, it was noted as choice and 
 rare ; 
 But was found, on cutting it through, you see, 
 As rotten as rottenest aj^ple could be. 
 
 Jacobus was pretty, with plenty of dare. 
 His features were comely, and rosy and sleek ; 
 
 He planned all his movements with consum- 
 mate care, ^ [and meek ; 
 And when they were needed was humble 
 
 Of surface material sufficient his store, 
 
 Still was, like the apple, unsound at the core. 
 
 As nothing, or worse, are our rubrics and creeds. 
 Our sounding professions, our preaching, our 
 prayer. 
 
 Unless they lead to the doing of deeds, [bear; 
 And sweet, loving harvest of sympathies 
 
JACOBUS. 51' 
 
 *' By their fruits you shall know them," you 
 
 know we are told, [gold. 
 
 And the words are as precious as pictures of 
 
 Unlike this, Jacobus ! a lover of self : 
 
 'Twas selfishness all of his actions controlled; 
 
 Unlike this, Jacobus! a lover of pelf : [gold; 
 His heart was like ice, and his god was of 
 
 His cup of self-seeking was filled to the brim ; 
 
 The world is no better for all such as him. 
 
 Who looks through the circles of life any day. 
 In make-up and habit, in measure and kind, 
 
 Very much to his sorrow and disliking may 
 A plenty of just such Jacobuses find; [clear 
 
 Though "humble" as Haliday's "Heep," it is 
 
 They are anything other than what they appear. 
 
 How measureless better the man who bestows 
 Some morsels of comfort his life-way along. 
 
 Who scatters his blessings wherever he goes, 
 
 And blends with life's grieving the gladness 
 
 of song; [can, 
 
 While praying who does all the good that he 
 
 GoD-fearing, still working and doing for man. 
 
52 DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 
 
 DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 
 
 o 
 
 NE day as I was walking down the street, 
 with Mr. Goodman B., 
 A little, dirty, squalid waif came running 
 
 up to me, 
 And walking by my side he asked, with 
 
 quivering lip and voice,. 
 And with the deepest earnestness, if I was 
 
 Master Joice. 
 I told the anxious lad I was, and when I 
 
 asked him why, 
 I saw adown his face the tears fall from his 
 
 sorrowing eye. 
 Which, with his sleeve, he wiped away, and 
 
 looking up, he said, 
 "Has anybody told you, sir, that Jack was 
 
 sick abed ?" 
 
DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 53 
 
 What, little Jack who blacks our boots, and 
 
 lives with mother May ! 
 He sick ? and I not know it ? he, and sick 
 
 abed, you say ? 
 " Yes, Master Joice, I sleep with him, and 
 
 last night heard him say, 
 He wished that you (and said it twice) would 
 
 come to him and j^ray. 
 And in the morning, when he woke, I told 
 
 him what he said, 
 And then he whispered in my ear, ' Tell 
 
 him I'm sick abed. 
 And ask him, Johnny, to come down a little 
 
 while to-day. 
 And bring with him his testament, and read 
 
 to me, and pray.' " 
 
 Ah ! never in my life before, since I could 
 
 think, or feel. 
 Had my proud heart been melted down as 
 
 by that boy's appeal ! 
 
54 DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 
 
 I'll go ; and Johnny took my hand, and led 
 
 me down the way, 
 Through crooked streets along, to where 
 
 poor Jack, the bootblack, lay, 
 And Johnny's hand held fast to mine, as 
 
 rapidly we si3ed 
 To mother May's, where little Jack lay 
 
 waiting, sick abed. 
 And when we reached the humble house, 
 
 the poor boy unawares. 
 Withdrew his dirty hand from mine, and 
 
 bounded up the stairs. 
 
 I followed Johnny, on and on, he leading 
 
 all the way. 
 And when we reached the chamber door, 
 
 softly I heard him say, 
 " Don't make a noise, wait right there, until 
 
 I get a peejj. 
 For Jack, you know, since I went out, may 
 
 be, has gone to sleep." 
 
DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 55 
 
 And so I waited for the boy to tell me what 
 to do, 
 
 Spell-bound to see the careful lad the key- 
 hole peeping through. 
 
 " All right," he whispered, " come along," 
 and entering the door, 
 
 There lay the poor, sick, pale-faced boy, up- 
 on the chamber floor. 
 
 The face I saw, two weeks before, so well, 
 
 was sad to me, 
 And when I offered him my hand, I found 
 
 he could not see. 
 I spoke to him, and quick as thought, he 
 
 turned his weary head, 
 And whispered through his pale, white 
 
 lips, "I'm sick, I'm sick abed!" 
 And still, poor boy, he did not seem to me 
 
 like one in pain. 
 Though often he would lift his hand and 
 
 let it fall again. 
 
56 DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 
 
 And once he turned his sightless eyes, as 
 
 though to look on me, 
 Then reaching out his shrunken hand, he 
 
 said, " I cannot see !" 
 
 023pressed, I held his hand in mine, and 
 
 kneeling by the chair, 
 I prayed from my poor, doubting heart, a 
 
 short and broken prayer ; 
 Amen! and all was silent, when the poor 
 
 boy raised his head, 
 And looked, as if my face to see, then 
 
 " Amen !" softly said, 
 Then " Shine your boots," he faltered out, 
 
 with a bewildered air, . 
 Then lifted up his folded hands, as if engaged 
 
 in prayer. 
 And as the poor and dying boy was praying 
 
 all the while. 
 There played across his pale, white face, a 
 
 sweet and peaceful smile. 
 
DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 57 
 
 Just then a stream of golden light through 
 
 the low window came, 
 And for a moment seemed to set the little 
 
 room aflame, 
 It played in wavy, gleaming lines, across 
 
 the cold, bare floor. 
 Then faded, and the room became just as it 
 
 was before, 
 And kneeling by the dying boy, I breathed 
 
 a silent prayer. 
 And looking in his face, I saw the same 
 
 sweet smile was there. 
 The eyes were closed, the heart was still, as 
 
 marble cold the head, 
 No folded hands, no answering touch, poor 
 
 little Jack was dead ! 
 
 I felt the presence of the Power that holds 
 us in control, 
 
 As from its tenement of clay there went an- 
 other soul. 
 
68 DEATH OF LITTLE JACK. 
 
 And though the signet seal of death was on 
 
 the poor boy's brow, 
 He never looked in life to me so beautiful as 
 
 now; 
 And never from the homes of wealth and 
 
 grandeur went away, 
 A whiter soul than that which left poor little 
 
 Jack that day ; 
 And when, to give him entrance, wide the 
 
 gates of heaven were swung, 
 A sweeter song than welcomed him by saints 
 
 was never sung. 
 
 And as the angels welcomed him from these 
 abodes of night. 
 
 Into the calmer, grander sphere of ever- 
 lasting light, 
 
 I can but think that little Jack, redeemed 
 . from bondage, then, 
 
 Repeated with a stronger voice his prayer 
 and amen ! 
 
59 FAITH AND REASON. 
 
 FAITH AND REASON. 
 
 FAITH, vinelike, climbs and clings, 
 She stops not to explore, 
 But climbs to sunny heights, and sings 
 Where Reason cannot soar. 
 
 Reason, to revelation steeled. 
 
 Insists upon its way. 
 While Faith accepts what is revealed, 
 
 And lives but to obey. 
 
 Where Reason cries for light, 
 
 In haughtiness and pride. 
 Faith, confident that all is right. 
 
 Seeks nothing more beside. 
 
 Obedient, trusting, mild. 
 
 Faith takes what is GoD-given, 
 
 While Reason, like a stubborn child. 
 Lives on, rejecting Heaven. 
 
60 MEDITATIOK 
 
 MEDITATION'. 
 
 FATHER, as sinks the suu to rest, 
 I love in solitude to be, 
 And, as the evening shadows fall, 
 Hold converse sweet with Thee. 
 
 I welcome the departing day, 
 And bid life's vanities be gone. 
 
 And revel in the rest of soul, 
 Of meditation born. 
 
 Thy presence all my senses fills, 
 And gives my fainting heart relief ; 
 
 Thy goodness silences comjjlaint. 
 And helps me bear my grief. 
 
 Thy love my selfishness disarms. 
 Takes all unhallowed 23 ride away, 
 
 And shows me where and when to find 
 My needed help and stay. 
 
THEN AND NOW. 61 
 
 O Father, when I come to die, 
 
 ^) 
 
 Support me by Thy gracious power, 
 And let, oh ! let my going be . 
 
 Calm as this evening hour ! 
 
 THEN AND NO W. 
 
 A sloping hill, a deep defile, 
 A grassy lawn, a little chair, 
 A wee, sweet child with happy smile, 
 
 And golden head of hair ; 
 She tossed her head and seemed to me 
 As happy as a child could be. 
 
 A wave of joy, a wave of gloom, 
 A smiling vale, a shady nook, 
 
 A meadow full of clover bloom, 
 A woman reading from a book ; 
 
 A woodman hid among the trees, 
 
 Delighted with the sight he sees. 
 
62 THEN Am) NOW. 
 
 A sunny spot, a gloomy tomb, 
 
 A clump of trees, a patch of green, 
 
 A garden full of vines and bloo;n, 
 With many grassy graves between ; 
 
 A spot by thoughtless mortals sought, 
 
 And still the place for deepest thought. 
 
 The noise of busy life without, 
 A silence deep as death within, 
 
 A long procession going out, 
 A long procession coming in ; 
 
 A sigh, a grief so hard to bear, 
 
 A lonely home, an empty chair. 
 
 So life is pictured ; day and night 
 Make up the circle of its hours. 
 
 Its years of darkness and of light. 
 Its hopes, its weeds and flowers ; 
 
 The child at play upon the lawn. 
 
 The woman with the book, are gone ! 
 
APPEARANCES DECEITFUL. 63 
 
 AFPEARANGES DECEITFUL. 
 
 TO-DAY, I took up an apple to eat, 
 Of a kind that is said to be rare. 
 Not very sour, not very sweet, 
 
 But an apple, that certainly, looked very fair ; 
 But when, with my knife, I cut it apart, 
 
 I found it was terribly rotten at heart. 
 How deceitful appearances are, to be sure ! 
 
 Silk, satin and broadcloth make a good show. 
 And well-polished metals, though surely im- 
 
 Sometimes for the genuine article go ; [pure. 
 But when you examine them close, and with 
 
 * 
 
 care. 
 You find that the clear golden ring is not there. 
 
 He's a splendid fellow, says Dinah to Prue, 
 A gentleman, polished, refined and polite ; 
 
 And his eyes, Oh ! such eyes ! are a beautiful 
 
 blue, [sight; 
 
 And he wins your regard at -the very first 
 
64 APPEARANCES DECEITFUL. 
 
 He dresses superbly, is just in his prime, 
 And always is ready to have a good time. 
 
 To the eye of Miss Dinah, he was nothing less 
 Than what she had said, a gentleman true, 
 But could she have seen him hours later, I 
 guess [ence of Prue, 
 
 Her cheeks, would have blanched in the pres- 
 For with other low chaps in a gilded saloon, 
 The fellow was reeling, as drunk as a coon. 
 
 The knave may the part of a gentleman bear : 
 The villain, conceal by his seeming, his 
 crimes. 
 The devil the mask of an angel may wear, 
 
 The hypocrite pray like a Christian at times, 
 
 But of care and inspection, a little bit more, 
 
 Will reveal that there's rottenness down at the 
 core. 
 
 So, the apple I found in the market to-day. 
 
 And just for one penny so readily bought. 
 
 Somehow, w^ho can tell how it came into my 
 way? 
 Has another prime lesson of wisdom taught. 
 
 Turn men into apples, and the apples you see, 
 
 May the type of deceitful appearances be. 
 
TO MY WIFE. 65 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 [Written in 1866.] 
 
 LONG years have flown since you and I 
 Our mutual life-love plighted, 
 And stood before the man of God, 
 
 With destinies united. 
 Our sky was clear, the sun of hope 
 
 The future fringed so brightly, 
 That on our hearts hymenial bonds 
 Were gently borne, and lightly. 
 
 The sun shines still, the same old sun 
 
 That shone so clearly o'er us, 
 When in the blush of wedded hopes, 
 
 (The bright world all before us,) 
 In truest love and trusting faith, — 
 
 Forgetting and forgiving. 
 To each, and how confidingly, 
 
 We pledged our all of living. 
 
 How sweet the blossoming of flowers, 
 
 The bird-song, flowing river; 
 They raise to heaven the song of praise. 
 
 And bless, alike, the giver, 
 
 5 
 
66 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 But sweeter still, and dearer, too, 
 
 The music rush of tears 
 Which come, unbidden, now, to join 
 
 The melody of years. 
 
 How dear the memories to us 
 
 We tell in humble rhyme ; 
 They make, upon the scroll of years. 
 
 The epitaph of Time. 
 We bless the angel and the pen, 
 
 The record by the way, 
 As, line by line, and word by word. 
 
 We read it all to-day. 
 
 The life-notes of the distant past 
 
 Come sweetly o'er us stealing. 
 As softly falling music stirs 
 
 The harmonies of feeling. 
 We silent bow, and bless, alike, 
 
 The Taker and the Giver — 
 For two are left and two have gone 
 
 Across the rolling river. 
 
TO MY WIFE. 67 
 
 Still flows the tidal wave of Time, 
 
 ISTow parting, and now meeting, 
 And voices from the far-off shore 
 
 With gladness hail our greeting. 
 We hear the music from afar. 
 
 The past is all before us; 
 We catch the softly- whispered notes, 
 
 And join the swelling chorus. 
 
 In days of blooming, fragrant health , 
 
 Of life, the richest treasure, 
 Thy presence is the breath of love, 
 
 Thy touch the spring of pleasure. 
 When sickness on my aching head 
 
 The hand of pain is pressing, 
 Then sweet, aye, doubly dear to me 
 
 The voice of thy caressing. 
 
 When in the shady vale of tears, 
 
 Or in the sunlight basking. 
 Thine have the kindly offerings been. 
 
 Which come without the asking, 
 
68 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 In light, in dark, through thick and thin. 
 In earnest life, and dreaming. 
 
 Thy love has been the shining light 
 Upon my pathway streaming. 
 
 As up the hill of life we climb, 
 
 The path looks dark and dreary, 
 And, sometimes faltering on the way, 
 
 We tired grow, and weary ; 
 But twilight deepens into night, 
 
 The darkness into morning, 
 So, from our hill-side night of rest, 
 
 We greet a brighter dawning. 
 
 Dear are the years of wedded life, 
 
 Though sprinkled, oft, with sorrow ; 
 To-day has sometimes darkened been. 
 
 But clear the sky to-morrow ; 
 Bright be our hope, and strong our faith, 
 
 And gentle our repining. 
 And clear as life's ascending sun, 
 
 Dear wife, be its declining. 
 
IF THEY WERE ONLY HERE. 69 
 
 IF THEY WERE ONE Y HERE. 
 
 TO-DAY, if they were only here 
 Who used to sing so sweet to me, 
 If I could feel that they were near. 
 
 It would my consolation be ; 
 The bloom that all around me rests 
 
 Would into sweeter fragrance grow, 
 And I should feel supremely blest. 
 That they were here again, to know. 
 
 To-day, O God, if they were here 
 
 To bring again the old delight. 
 Whose faces, as our lives, were dear. 
 
 Whose presence filled our home with light, 
 Our hearts the old-time song would sing, 
 
 And with a freshness all anew. 
 And summer's rosy blossoming 
 
 Would wear, for us, a brighter hue. 
 
70 IF THEY WERE OKLT HERE. 
 
 The winds which through the forest sigh, 
 
 The love that blossoms into grief, 
 The clouds which fi-inge our summer sky, 
 
 The dew that glistens on the leaf. 
 The shadows resting on our home. 
 
 The doubts which linger when we pray, 
 A blessing would to us become, 
 
 If they were only here to-day. 
 
 From out our hearts we try to sing. 
 
 But cannot stay the surging tide, 
 Which, with its waves of sorrowing. 
 
 Will break our buried hopes beside. 
 Across the bloom of faded years — 
 
 ^o matter if it be in vain^- 
 We throw the burden of our tears. 
 
 And wish that they were here again. 
 
 As sinks the summer sun to rest 
 
 The far-off western hills behind, 
 As waves of sorrow flood the breast. 
 
 And whelm with memories the mind. 
 As children's voices reach my ear, 
 
 As roses blossom by the way, 
 I blend with hopefulness a tear. 
 
 And wish that they were here to-day. 
 
IF THEY WEKE ONLY HERE. 71 
 
 When treading dear, familiar ways, 
 
 Upheld by what of strength they give. 
 Back come the hopes of other days, 
 
 And faded blossoms seem to live ; 
 And, almost lost to things around, 
 
 Out on the past I look away, 
 And standing here on hallowed ground, 
 
 I wish that they were here to-day. 
 
 In vain the wish ; and so I grope 
 
 Unsatisfied life's weary way, 
 Still clinging, childlike, to the hope 
 
 That I shall go to them some day : 
 So hope begirt, sometimes the heart 
 
 Breaks from its anchorage away, 
 And as it sees the night depart, 
 
 Sighs, " O, that they were here to-day !" 
 
 " Why should it be ?" I ask and wait, 
 
 No answer comes to stay my grief ; 
 And while I tarry at the gate 
 
 No God or angel brings relief ; 
 And still there is in me that gives 
 
 The hope that is of heaven born ; 
 And so my faith, unwavering, lives, 
 
 When wishes, dry as dust, are gone. 
 
72 HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 HOME of my childhood ! once again 
 I greet thy hills and mountain streams, 
 And tread once more the sweeping plain 
 
 That haunted all my dreams ; 
 For here with loving ones I strayed 
 
 And, boy-like, dallied with the flowers. 
 And sung my song, and laughed and played. 
 As flew youth's golden hours. 
 
 Behind yon sleeping hills, away. 
 
 In glowing majesty sublime, 
 I see go down the god of day 
 
 Just as in olden time ; 
 While as I look the busy thought 
 
 Is working — working on the heart. 
 And, ere its task is fully wrought 
 
 The feeling tear wall start. 
 
HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 73 
 
 And thought will work, and come the tears, 
 
 And all the wealth of memory, 
 As backward through the faded years 
 
 The mind runs riot, like the sea ; 
 I see the same familiar skies, 
 
 Broad, arching, and cloud-tipped with gold, 
 And all the dreamy visions rise 
 
 And rush upon me as of old. 
 
 Around the little cottage door. 
 
 Trimmed careful and with tasteful care, 
 The green vine clambers as of yore, 
 
 And fragrant blossoms scent the air; 
 And in the hollow apple-tree. 
 
 Whose fruit in childhood was the best. 
 The bluebird comes in spring to see. 
 
 And as of old to build her nest. 
 
 The brook, far as the eye can see, 
 
 Goes sweetly murmuring along. 
 With music in its melody 
 
 Just like some old familiar song ; 
 I stand beside the cottage door. 
 
 So dear in childhood's years to me, 
 And listen to its gentle roar 
 
 As on it rushes to the sea. 
 
74 HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The past more like the p7^esent seems, 
 
 For I am on enchanted ground, 
 And come again my boyish dreams, 
 
 Beguiled by everything around ; 
 I yield me to the magic power 
 
 Which on me like a mantle falls, 
 For well the cottage, mead, and flower. 
 
 Some pleasant memory recalls. 
 
 They form of childood's dream a part. 
 
 And this is all ; for those who gave 
 The charm of home to life and heart 
 
 Rest in the unforgotten grave ; 
 And though but few of them to-day 
 
 The change and lapse of years survive. 
 Still warmly near my heart they lay, 
 
 Kept dearly, lovingly alive. 
 
 My rush of feeling, broad and deep, 
 
 I cannot stifle, never can, 
 Nor still the griefs which through me sweep, 
 
 Nor hide the loeakness of the man ; 
 
HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 75 
 
 Though other scenes my manhood greet, 
 And living, loving ones are dear, 
 
 God help me ! if I turn to meet 
 The sleepers to ray heart so dear. 
 
 While moves life's panorama by 
 
 I hear the village chapel bell, 
 And some good angel, how or why, 
 
 Has bound me in his spell ; 
 Hope blesses with the kindest cheer. 
 
 Faith, sturdy champion, clears the way, 
 The living and the dead so dear 
 
 Seem doubly dear to-day. 
 
 What though my sky be overcast ! 
 
 I see above the spanning bow, 
 And blend the present with the past, 
 
 And, better than I come, I go — 
 Go from the pleasant past which seems 
 
 More to my present pleasures give, 
 Content to feel and know my dreams 
 
 And days of childhood live. 
 
*76 I SIGH SOMETIMES. 
 
 I SIGH SOMETIMES. 
 
 I sigh sometimes, when near are brought 
 The hap23y scenes of by-gone days, 
 And I am by some angel taught 
 
 The vanity of earthly ways ; 
 The ho23es, which seem but born to j^lease. 
 
 Like flitting shadows round me play. 
 But soon I find that even these 
 
 Have faded, like my dreams, away. 
 
 The form that was to me so dear, 
 
 The smiles of loving nature born, 
 The laugh, that sounded rountl and clear. 
 
 Have, now, like morning fragrance gone ; 
 I try to catch the faintest ray 
 
 Of light that gleams from out the sky. 
 But, somehow, darkness shrouds the way. 
 
 And I am left alone to sio-h. 
 
 I sit beside the open door. 
 
 And think to see him sitting there, 
 I look where I have looked before, 
 
 But only see his vacant chair ; 
 
I SIGH SOMETIMES. 77 
 
 Sometimes the thought is on my mind 
 That I must see him come and go, 
 
 I look, but only look to find 
 It was, because I wished it so. 
 
 And, sometimes, over me will steal 
 
 Sweet thoughts which 1 could not repress, 
 And then it is I sense and feel 
 
 The more my utter loneliness ; 
 The hopes which tinged with rosy light, 
 
 And gave my summer life its bloom. 
 Have dimmed, with grief, my autumn light, 
 
 And left me groping in the gloom. 
 
 Oh, no, not groping ! gently led 
 
 By one whose sweetest name is Love, 
 I know that I shall meet the dead. 
 
 In rest, sometime, somewhere above. 
 Sometimes I sigh, but then, beside 
 
 My grief there lies the promised joy. 
 And so I take the better guide, 
 
 And go on — thinking of my hoy. 
 
78 KOBIN m THE CHEEKY TEEE. 
 
 ROBIJSr IJST THE CHERRY TREE, 
 
 SITTING am I by the open door ! 
 Robin is up in the cherry-tree 
 Singing away right merrily, 
 And singing his song for me ; 
 And while I listen, to me it seems, 
 Robin must have been dreaming the dreams 
 I dreamed the night before. 
 
 Sitting am I by the open door ! 
 Robin is up in the cherry-tree 
 Happy as ever a bird can be. 
 And singing his song for me ; 
 And his notes are soft, and sweet, and clear. 
 And he seems my sorrowing heart to cheer. 
 As never did Robin before. 
 
 Another has come to the open door — 
 Robin is singing right merrily. 
 Singing for her and singing for me, 
 Singing as happy as he can be ; 
 
KOBIN m THE CHEEKY TKEE. 79 
 
 But the tide of feeling comes rushing on 
 As we think of the days forever gone, 
 And our dear ones here no more. 
 
 Sweet Robin up in the cherry tree 
 You will not sing so merrily 
 When all your children are taken away, 
 As they are from us this summer day ; 
 When your home is lonely as ours to-day. 
 Plaintive and sad will be your lay, 
 Robin up in the cherry tree ! 
 
 Robin up in the cherry tree. 
 
 Sing on, sing on, and merrily. 
 While we sit by the door and seem to hear 
 Songs from afar, and songs of cheer ; 
 Sweeter than all the songs of spring. 
 And sweeter than anything you can sing, 
 Robin up in the cherry tree ! 
 
 The blossoms will fall from the cherry tree. 
 And silent, Robin, your song shall be. 
 For the morning will come when nevermore 
 We shall sit, as now, by the open door, 
 And hear you sing ; so warble away 
 For you make us cheerfully thoughtful to-day, 
 Robin up in the cherry tree. 
 
80 THE SPIEIT OF MUSIC. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF MUSIC. 
 
 IT rides on the tempest, and follows the 
 storm, 
 And sweetly it sings in the stillness of night, 
 From the pressure of darkness it mounts wdth 
 the lark, [light. 
 
 And soars on the wings of the incoming 
 It sweetens our pleasure, it softens our sigh, 
 
 It glows in the sunbeam, and breathes in 
 the air, 
 
 Its numbers are heard on the land, in the sky, 
 
 The spirit of Music is everywhere. 
 
 It rings from the hights of the Judean hills. 
 And grandly it rolls from the " ancient of 
 days," 
 
 When sweetly and gladly the morning stars 
 In unison chanted their psalm of praise ; 
 
 Adown, through the ages, it sweeps on its 
 course. 
 And nations and peoples its harmonies greet. 
 All join in applauding the spirit of song, 
 Whose far-sounding echoes still linger so 
 sweet. 
 
THE SPIKIT OF MUSIC. 81 
 
 Where warbles the streamlet through mead- 
 ows along, 
 Where breezes, in forests, their melodies 
 wake. 
 Where ocean beats time, as its billowy waves 
 On the shore, in the distance, resoundingly 
 break. 
 Where the> landscape stretches in beauty 
 away, 
 In the hum of the bee, in the bloom of the 
 flower. 
 On the fall of the leaf, in the evening bells— 
 The Spirit of Music dispenses its power. 
 
 It lives in the heart and it works in the life, 
 
 'Tis the patriot's dower, the Christian's 
 delight, 
 'Tis the handmaid of truth, of error the bane, 
 
 It crushes the wrong and it strengthens the 
 right. 
 It shines in the stars and it lightens the heart, 
 
 It blesses our sorrows and banishes care ; 
 On the bush, in the tree, on the land, in the air, 
 
 The Spirit of Music is everywhere. 
 
82 THE DAISY. 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 EYE of day, or Day's eye daisy, 
 Blooming in the meadow mazy, 
 Looking up to catch the sunbeams, 
 
 Seeming full of pretty dreams, 
 Shall I pluck you, beauty, say, 
 For my little white bouquet ? 
 
 There, I've done it ; pretty, too. 
 
 It is just because of you ; 
 One, two, three ; I've gathered four. 
 
 And will add, say, twenty more ; 
 Now how handsome ! fit to lay 
 On our dear ones' graves to-day ! 
 
 Eye of day, or Day's eye daisy. 
 Blooming in the meadow mazy, 
 
 How I love you, you, God given ; 
 How you lift my heart to Heaven, 
 
 And make me think of other flowers 
 
 Blooming in immortal bowers ! 
 
LOVING. 83, 
 
 LOVING. 
 
 I look away, down the river, 
 The prospect sweeps on to the sea, 
 And my heart, like a leaf, is on quiver, 
 So pleasing the outlook to me. 
 
 New beauties forever are dawning. 
 Which serve all the past to recall ; 
 
 And sweet as the breath of the morning 
 On our senses they lovingly fall. 
 
 Some angel our life-throbs are twining : 
 
 Our moments are flying away ; 
 And the vine which the homestead is climbing 
 
 Has lost all its blossoms to-day. 
 
 So all of our warmest caressing 
 
 Is lost, and I cannot tell why ; 
 So perish the hopes which are pressing, 
 
 So languish our longings and die ! 
 
84 LOVING. 
 
 As the vows, which to lovers are binding, 
 When spoken, bring blood to the face, 
 
 So the loves which the living are finding 
 Are blending in sweetest embrace. 
 
 And out from the midnight of sadness 
 The sweetest of promises spring ; 
 
 And brighten the future with gladneSs, 
 And joy to the sorrowing bring. 
 
 While hate from our manhood is thieving. 
 
 Its purpose concealed by a smile, 
 Love sits in the chamber of grieving. 
 And sings like a seraj^h, the while. 
 
 And nature her comforting renders. 
 And, standing like sentinels old, 
 
 The trees in their verdureless splendors 
 Sing, lovingly, out in the cold. 
 
 I look on the vision of beauty 
 
 Which from a kind Providence springs, 
 And think it should lead me to duty. 
 
 As life to eternity springs. 
 
LOYING. 85 
 
 Grief sings in its chamber of sorrow, 
 Still the roses of hopefulness bloom; 
 
 And love comes again on the morrow, 
 The darkness again to illume. 
 
 All gone that was in me of scorning, 
 I woo the dream-angel once more ; 
 
 And hear, when I wake in the morning. 
 Love knocking again at the door. 
 
 While the fruits in the orchard are dying 
 The trees are untouched by decay. 
 
 And the vines which in ruin are lying 
 Will blossom again in the May. 
 
 So our friends shall not leave us forever 
 When, causelessly, driven apart; 
 
 For the loves which we thoughtlessly sever 
 Shall nestle again in the heart. 
 
 And, taught by the past, and forgiving, 
 When the conflict of passion is o'er. 
 
 Shall sweetly expand in the giving, 
 And stronger become than before. 
 
86 DAISY'S VALENTINE. 
 
 And so, while the sun is declining, 
 1 follow the track of his light ; 
 
 Until the last rays of his shining 
 Is lost on the bsom of night. 
 
 DAISY'S VALENTINE. 
 
 MAMMA, said little Daisy Down, 
 Wont it be very fine, 
 I want to send to dear papa 
 A little valentine ! 
 
 The mother scanned her thoughtful child. 
 
 With tear-beclouded eyes, 
 Then said, you know your dear papa 
 
 Beneath the white snow lies. 
 
 But then, mamma, the child replied, 
 To whom sweet words were given, 
 
 You told me when dear papa died 
 He was with God in Heaven. 
 
DAISY'S YALENTII^E. 87 
 
 And, if he is, the child went on, 
 
 My father still is mine, 
 And so, mamma, I want to send 
 
 To him my valentine. 
 
 Touched by her words, the mother said, 
 Whose heart with grief was riven. 
 
 What is it that my child would send 
 To papa up in Heaven ? 
 
 A kiss, and quick the answer came. 
 
 Won't it be very fine. 
 To send, through God, to dear papa 
 
 My little valentine ! 
 
 Then Daisy knelt her chair beside, 
 
 Her arms round dear mamma, 
 And kissed, in love, her little hand. 
 
 And sent it to papa. 
 
 O ! mother, look Avith loving eyes 
 
 On the dear child of thine, 
 And feel the better every day 
 
 For Daisy's valentine. 
 
H 
 
 88 IN THE HAEBOE. 
 
 IN THE HARBOR. 
 
 OW clear the night, 
 How full of light 
 And love the arching skies ! 
 Upon the deep 
 The bloom of sleep 
 In dreamy softness lies. 
 
 The stars look down 
 
 U23on the town 
 With gaily twinkling eyes ; 
 
 And off the shore 
 
 I hear the oar 
 The sturdy boatman plies. 
 
 And I can hear 
 
 The notes of cheer 
 Which from the darkness spring, 
 
 As when some crew, 
 
 In bonny blue, 
 Their simple ditties sing. 
 
 Alone! above 
 
 I look in love 
 Where rolling systems shine, 
 
 And as I stand, 
 
 I know the Hand 
 That made them is divine ! 
 
Y 
 
 TIMELY WORDS. 89 
 
 On such a night, 
 
 So full of light 
 On ocean and on shore, 
 
 How good to raise 
 
 The heart in praise, 
 And worship and adore ! 
 
 The harbor here 
 
 Has pleasant cheer, 
 With shades of dark and light, 
 
 But just afar 
 
 From where we are 
 The other is in sight. 
 
 TIMELY WORDS. 
 
 ES, they are cheap, and yet we live 
 Too much like thousfhtless children, while 
 
 We know that nothing we can give 
 Is sweeter than a smile. 
 
 Should the dear Father treat us so. 
 
 Sure we should deem it most unkind, 
 As, wearily, our ways we go. 
 Undisciplined of mind. 
 
90 TIMELY WOKDS. 
 
 But, no ! He sends the sun and rain 
 
 Upon the unjust and the just, 
 To quicken and revive again, 
 When life is dry as dust. 
 
 O, brother, we may give and jDray, 
 
 And deem our mornings well begun. 
 But who from kindness turns away 
 Leaves duty most undone ! 
 
 Like golden apples, silver set, 
 
 Are timely words; they soothe and cheer. 
 And blossom out, and then beget 
 Blessings as rich as dear. 
 
 Be cheerful as the morning birds 
 
 That fill with melody the air, 
 And voice your love in timely words. 
 And everywhere. 
 
 Aye, be more human, more divine. 
 
 Though words are cheap, if timely said, 
 Than burnished gold shall brighter shine 
 Around your head. 
 
THE CHILD'S PEAYER. 91 
 
 Beyond the sweep of feeble sight, 
 
 There, there is One who leads us on, 
 And he may clothe our words in light 
 When we are dead and gone. 
 
 THE CHILD'S PRA YER. 
 
 I saw her kneel beside the bed 
 On which her mother died, 
 A little child, whose glowing face 
 Looked most beatified. 
 
 Her little heart seemed all aglow 
 
 With bright, seraphic fire, 
 And from her lips, devout, came words 
 
 An angel might inspire. 
 
 No careless phrase, no studied speech, 
 
 No touch of icy art. 
 Her every simple word of prayer 
 
 Came from her loving heart. 
 
92 THE CHILD'S PEAYER. 
 
 I listened to that sainted child, 
 
 There kneeling on the floor, 
 And never prayer so humbled me 
 
 In all my life before. 
 
 'Twas laden with experience, 
 
 Rich in humility, 
 And fragrant with the breath of love 
 
 And sweetest piety. 
 
 "Amen !" she said, then rose and let 
 
 Her hands, uplifted, 'fall, 
 Then kissed her mother's pictured face 
 
 That hung upon the wall. . 
 
 God gave, God took ! That child now rests 
 
 Where vernal blossoms smile, 
 But her sweet prayer is to me 
 
 A blessing all the while. 
 
 And, sometimes, when I try to I3ray, 
 
 I feel so sin defiled, 
 I ask the Father to make me 
 
 Just like that little child ! 
 
OCTOBER m THE COUNTRY. 93 
 
 OCTOBER IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 DRIVE North and South, the traveled road 
 Runs by the sleeping meadows, 
 And half denuded cedar-trees. 
 Are casting somber shadows 
 Across the lane where children play, 
 
 And scarlet vines are creeping. 
 And faded roses in their turn, 
 Beneath the walls are sleeping. 
 
 The bluebird, first to welcome Spring, 
 
 And latest in its going. 
 The notes of its October song 
 
 Is on the silence throwing. 
 And all along the lines of wood 
 
 The ripened leaves are falling, 
 And ivy vines, up birchen trees 
 
 In scarlet trim are crawling. 
 
 The bluejay in the hardy oak, 
 
 Like frightened child is screaming, 
 
 A boy and girl, uj^on the fence. 
 Seem to be kindly dreaming; 
 
94 OCTOBER IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Spring-life is theirs, no autumn pang 
 Of grief they feel, or sorrow. 
 
 And as this sunny day has been 
 They dream will be the morrow. 
 
 Beneath the skies of deepest blue 
 
 No grasses are upspringing. 
 No welcome songs of summer birds 
 
 Are through the forests singing, 
 But as we tread familiar ways 
 
 Our heart, GoD-ward, uprises. 
 And what has been and what is not. 
 
 Fills us with sad surprises. 
 
 The arching skies of winning blue. 
 
 The sweep of summer splendor, 
 Earth's garniture of green and bloom 
 
 To Autumn's touch surrender ; 
 The hill sides of their verdure bare, 
 
 The gloom on valley lying, 
 Aye, everything we see to-day 
 
 Of death is prophesying. 
 
SUNSET IN THE COUNTRY. 95 
 
 As down the lane I go to-day, 
 
 Now here, now there delaying, 
 My heart is sad, for memory 
 
 Is with my feelings playing. 
 This Autumn's morning ramble seems 
 
 My thoughtfulness to sober, 
 As life has gone, so mine will go 
 
 Some day in God's October. 
 
 SUJ^SET IN' THE COUNTRY. 
 
 A drowsy stillness rests upon the scene, 
 The shadows deepen in the silent vale. 
 And the last blush of rosy light 
 
 Has faded from the hilltops, far away ; 
 The birds have sought their covert for the night. 
 
 In wood, and tree and blooming bush. 
 And sluggish flows the stream in silence on. 
 Its music welcome, cheering to the heart, 
 So weary with its weight of daily cares ; 
 
 Love nestles sweetly by the cottage door, 
 And in the valley, on the mountain tops 
 Deep silence rests. 
 'Tis sunset now ! 
 
96 FAITH AND WOEKS, 
 
 FAITH AND WORKS. 
 
 " By their fruits ye shall know them." 
 
 OUR faith may be as firm, as strong, 
 We still shall find and to our cost, 
 As through the world we go along, 
 
 That without works 'tis worse than lost. 
 
 We pray, but praying is but small ; 
 
 Our breathings may be cold and bare ; 
 He is the Christian over all 
 
 Whose doing is the fruit of prayer. 
 
 And idle words fall cold and dead, 
 Though loudly on the ear they ring; 
 
 And be ye warmed and be ye fed ! 
 No blessing to the needy bring. 
 
 And boasting faith and sounding prayer, 
 No matter how the heart they move. 
 
 Are idle as the empty air 
 
 Unless they lead to worhs of love. 
 
DANDELIONS. 97 
 
 DANDELIONS. 
 
 " If dandelions only grew in greenhouses, we should think 
 them the prettiest flowers imaginable."— il/iss Muloch, in 
 "Tivo Little Tinkers." 
 
 QUITE true, fair authoress, quite true, 
 If dandelions in greenhouses grew 
 They would be thought as beautiful and fair 
 As any flowers which scent the summer air ; 
 And so, if stones were few as diamonds are. 
 They would as costly be, because as rare. 
 
 Reversing things a little, let me say. 
 If greenhouse flowers blossomed by the way? 
 In field and meadow, in the open air, 
 They would be passed as dandelions are ; 
 And we should think no better of the rose. 
 And seldom i^luck and hold it to our nose. 
 
 If this were that, or that were this, why then 
 A hen might be a hawk, a hawk a hen ; 
 The little wren, with song so sweet and low, 
 Might have been made, instead, an ugly crow, 
 And many things which common people wear 
 We all might covet if they were but rare. 
 
 7 
 
98 DANDELIOIS^S. 
 
 If " Jean," the " Tinker," had been born, you 
 
 know, 
 Where sweetest love and sweetest virtues grow, 
 
 In some grand palace, or in grander cot, 
 
 Hers might have been, indeed, a happier lot ; 
 
 But then (be sure this only is inferred) 
 
 Of dear " Miss Kirk" we never should have 
 heard. 
 
 So then, be sure, it is as trite as true. 
 If dandelions in greenhouses grew. 
 Or in my lady's favorite garden bowers, [ers ; 
 They would be thought the prettiest of flow- 
 But God, whose planning richest blessing- 
 yields. 
 Intended they should blossom in the fields. 
 
 Wherever in the universe we turn 
 
 This grand and timely lesson we may learn, 
 
 (Doubt as we may, or reason as we will). 
 
 That God is God in boundless nature still ; 
 
 Were wandering gypsies greenhouse blossoms, 
 
 then 
 "Two Little Scottish Tinkers" had not been, 
 
 And " Miss Kirk's" kindness, pure as j^urest 
 
 gold. 
 Perhaps had never been so sweetly told. 
 
SOWING AND REAPING, 99 
 
 Ah, good it is to know that common things, 
 GoD-made, to man the sweetest duty brings ; 
 That "Little Tinkers," born in want, to rove 
 Find loving shelter in a woman's love ; 
 That in creation all the law can trace 
 That fits the dandelion to its place. 
 
 ^OWIJVG AND REAPING. 
 
 BROTHER of mine, do you ever think. 
 As along Life's road you go, 
 As the beautiful summers come and depart. 
 That the fruit that comes from the soil of the 
 Depends on the seed you sow ? [heart 
 
 If never, my brother, pause to-day, 
 
 Nor longer yourself abuse, [kind. 
 
 For the seed you are sowing, no matter the 
 
 Of love or hate, of heart or mind, 
 Will fruit of the same produce. 
 
100 SOWING AND REAPING. 
 
 From seeds of hatred, hate will grow, 
 
 From love seeds, love will spring, 
 Beautiful blossoms of love, and fair 
 As any that ever had mortal care. 
 And sweet in their blossoming. 
 
 Nothing, my brother, is truer than this, 
 
 No matter what seed you sow, [sure, 
 
 That from thorns, and briars, and thistles, be 
 Nor from any seed-sowing that is impure. 
 Will virtue and goodness grow. 
 
 The love that sweetens the flow of life. 
 
 And the springs of being feed. 
 That blesses the home of sorrow, and more, 
 That scatters its blessings from door to door, 
 
 Is the fruit of precious seed. 
 
 Sow, brother, you must ; then sow with care, 
 
 Plant wherever you go. 
 Sow in love, with heart and with will, 
 For a harvest, a harvest of good or ill, 
 
 Will come from the seed you sow. 
 
BROWN ANB SMITH. IQl 
 
 BROWN AND SMITH. 
 
 WITH a hearty good-mornirig and smil- 
 ing face, 
 Brown met Smith on 'change, one day, 
 And, grasping his hand in warm embrace, 
 
 Led him a little out of the way, 
 And with feelings religious, beyond control, 
 Questioned him as to the state of his soul. 
 
 His questions were timely as questions could be, 
 For Brown was a burning and shining light. 
 
 And wanted, no doubt, that Smith should see 
 The thing as he did, and become all right 
 
 On the question of questions to all below, f go. 
 
 As to where we shall land, when from here we 
 
 Smith listened attentively, just as he should. 
 
 And seemed in no hurry to vacate the place. 
 
 While Brown pressed the subject the best he 
 could. 
 
 Commending his friend to the offers of grace 
 
 So kindly extended to all below, [know. 
 
 Who their sinful and wretched condition would 
 
102 BROWN AND SMITH. 
 
 Smith listened attentively, made no complaint, 
 Nor played o'er his features a smile or frown, 
 
 For, while he knew he was no saint, 
 He held no exalted opinion of Brown ; 
 
 And he just then recalled a nice little trade 
 
 That Brown but the day-before-yesterday 
 made. 
 
 'Twas a little transaction, the blossom of greed, 
 Whose fruitage is rottenness down to the 
 core. 
 
 And opens a way which, if followed, will lead 
 And end in dismay on no far-distant shore : 
 
 A piece of finesse neither honest nor true. 
 
 And too mean for a Christian or man to do. 
 
 Recalling this little transaction of greed, 
 "Have, a care !" said Smith; "neighbor 
 Brown, have a care ; 
 For the life we are living is better than creed, 
 And purity better than preaching and 
 prayer ; 
 For preaching and praying no merit impart 
 Unless there he honesty down in the heart P 
 
SMITH AND BROWN. 103 
 
 Brown thought for a moment ; Smith, know- 
 ing his man, 
 Grasped closer and closer his hand than 
 before. 
 For the moment of business to talk he began 
 (Which lasted, say five or six minutes or 
 more,) 
 Brown felt that of grace nothing more he 
 
 could say. 
 And seemed in a sweat to get out of the way. 
 
 When Brown knelt in prayer the following 
 night. 
 He had reached this conclusion, as all men 
 must. 
 That the timely reproof of Smith was right. 
 
 And that to be Christ-like is to be just ; 
 And that our religion should always be made 
 A part of our daily transactions and trade. 
 
104 SKIPPER BEK 
 
 SKIPPER BEN. 
 
 THAT'S what they called him—" Skipper 
 A man of low degree, [Ben !" 
 
 But just as good a fisherman 
 As ever fished the sea. 
 
 His home, an humble cottage, stood 
 
 A little from the shore, 
 And seaward he could look for miles, 
 
 When standing at the door. 
 
 Blue was his shirt in summer time. 
 
 In cold, his jacket blue, 
 And underneath them beat a heart 
 
 As large as it was true. 
 
 His stock of common-sense was good; 
 
 With care his plans were laid ; 
 And " Skipper Ben" knew passing well 
 
 Just how to drive a trade. 
 
 Of knowledge, too, such as it was. 
 
 He had a goodly store ; 
 And had the confidence of men, 
 
 And that, to him, was more. 
 
SKIPPER BEK 105 
 
 Unquestioned was his honesty, 
 
 His piety sincere ; 
 And with these virtues all in bloom 
 
 Pray what had he to fear ? 
 
 His fish were always fresh and sweet ; 
 
 His dealings fair and straight ; 
 And all who bought their fish of him, 
 Were sure to get good weight. 
 
 His fishing boat, a comely craft, 
 
 Was with his own hands made ; 
 And this, with hooks and lines, and such, 
 
 Was all his stock in trade. 
 
 He named it " Alice ;" why this name? 
 
 'Tis proper to infer 
 That, loving well his loving wife. 
 
 He named it after her. 
 
 Quite long, with sharply pointed ends, 
 
 And always painted green. 
 The bonny boat was known to all 
 
 Wherever it was seen. 
 
106 SKIPPER BEK 
 
 With wife and children, home and boat, 
 
 And king of fishermen, 
 'Twas hard a happier man to find 
 
 Than honest Skipper Ben. 
 
 And well he knew in every life 
 
 Must come a needy day, 
 So, like a thoughtful, prudent man, 
 
 He laid the scrip away. 
 
 No debts, no duns, enough and more. 
 His wants, his cares, were few. 
 
 And like the trees his cottage round 
 His girls and boys upgj-ew. 
 
 XfOve nestled like an angel in 
 
 That cottage by the sea ; 
 And, though his was a lowly lot. 
 
 No king could prouder be. 
 
 As brave as good, out on the deep 
 
 He went in storm and calm, 
 " For the good God," he used to say, 
 
 " Will shelter me from harm." 
 
ON THE BEACH. 107 
 
 So well the fisherman was known, 
 
 So honored among men, 
 That everybody used to say — 
 
 " God bless ' Old Skipper Ben !' " 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 [Written on Wells' Beach, Maine, Aug. 25, 1873.] 
 
 I stand where other feet have been. 
 And look, far as the eye can reach, 
 And see the waves come rolling in 
 And break upon the beach. 
 
 The sun has left the quiet dell, 
 And all his light on upland flung. 
 
 And something, what I cannot teli, 
 Gives Memory a tongue. 
 
 As dash the waves on headland drear, 
 Then seaward roll, too sweet to last, 
 
 There falls upon my listening ear. 
 The voices of the past. 
 
 k 
 
108 O^ THE BEACH. 
 
 I yield me to the sootliing power 
 Which all my faculties enchain, 
 
 And live, in one brief, dreamy hour, 
 The whole of life again. 
 
 I listen — listen as of old. 
 To loving voices, dear to me. 
 
 And, charmed, with the departed, hold 
 Sweet converse bi/ the sea. 
 
 Roll on, Old Ocean, grand and wild ! 
 
 Roll on ! I love thy waves and roar. 
 And see thee now as when a child 
 
 I trod, alone, thy shore. 
 
 Roll on ! the winds shall sweep the sky, 
 The Beach thy wildest fury brave. 
 
 And stay thy waves, as now, Avhen I 
 Am sleeping in the grave. 
 
 And other men shall hither hie, 
 And look, far as the eye can rcHch, 
 
 And see the waves -go rolling by 
 And break upon the beach. 
 
BY THE SEA. 109 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 I stand upon the headland, looking out 
 Upon the sea, this bright autumnal day, 
 And see the ships, to far-off regions bound. 
 Sail down the sunlit bay. 
 
 And far away, her masts and yards all bending 
 To the breeze, beneath the vault of blue, 
 
 A lonely bark, and bearing precious burden, 
 Is fading from ray view. 
 
 I strain my eyes, and look in silence on. 
 Till on the waves it seems a speck of light, 
 
 Nor turn my gaze until the last faint gleam 
 Has faded from my sight. 
 
 Then all my latent love becomes aflame. 
 And lights the chambers of my memory ; 
 
 And so I sit and muse, entranced the while, 
 Alone beside the sea. 
 
110 BY THE SEA. 
 
 Nor mindful am I of aught else beside 
 
 The thoughts which link the present with 
 the past, 
 And which, like dreams, are beautiful to-day, 
 
 And all too pure to last. 
 
 Deep answers unto deep, and being, soul. 
 Are revelling in memories so dear, 
 
 So sweet, that I could dream my life away 
 As I am dreaming here. 
 
 Roll on, dividing and uniting worlds ! 
 
 Roll on. Old Ocean ! roll, majestic sea ! 
 Your varying music, be it loud or soft, 
 
 Has untold charms for me I 
 
 Now wears your face a smile, and now a frown ; 
 Now sunbeams dally with your crested 
 waves ; 
 Now lightnings play, and fierce storms sweep 
 
 Above your caverned graves. 
 
 The golden sunlight on your frosty main 
 Reveals new beauties in your every smile. 
 
 And, still, like hidden treachery, thou hast 
 What lures to death the while. 
 
PICTURES. Ill 
 
 Alone ? No, not alone ; for every wave 
 Seems vocal with the voices of the dead ; 
 
 And as they dash upon the rocky shore 
 Fill me with awe and dread. 
 
 Father, to-day, beside the sounding sea, 
 Help me to love and reverence Thy name, 
 
 And see Thy hand, along the lines of life. 
 In calm and storm the same ! 
 
 PICTURES. 
 I. 
 
 OUT on the grass a laughing boy ; 
 A little girl among the flowers ; 
 Above, a clear, blue summer sky, 
 And pleasure crowning all the hours. 
 
 II. 
 
 A manly youth beside the stream. 
 
 And on the lawn a maiden fair ; 
 The youth seems in a pleasant dream, 
 The girl is looking over there. 
 
 III. 
 
 A little home beside the hill. 
 
 Within, wife, husband, little boy. 
 And by the door a little rill 
 Goes singing out a song of joy. 
 
112 THINKING. 
 
 THINKING. 
 
 IT may not be that I shall see 
 Again this little river, 
 It may not be that I shall see 
 The summer foliage quiver ; 
 And so I look, across the brook. 
 
 And see the cattle drinking, 
 And so I look adown the brook, 
 And all the time am thinking 
 
 to" 
 
 I linger still, as up the hill 
 
 I see the children going ; 
 I linger still, as round the hill 
 
 I see the grasses growing ; 
 It may not be that I shall see 
 
 Again these beauties ever. 
 But I can see that I may be 
 
 Beneath the grass forever. 
 
 I cannot tell, 'tis just as well, 
 I will no trouble borrow ; 
 
 I cannot tell, 'tis just as well. 
 What may befall the morrow ; 
 
THINKING. 113 
 
 It may not be that I shall see 
 
 Again this little river, 
 It may not be that I shall see 
 
 The summer foliage quiver. 
 
 'Tis present bliss that I can kiss 
 
 The faces which are nearest ; 
 'Tis present bliss that I can kiss 
 
 The nearest and the dearest ; 
 And so I stand and press the hand 
 
 So lovingly caressing, 
 And so I stand and press the hand , 
 
 So long to me a blessing. 
 
 And though I may feel strong to -day, 
 
 The " muffled drum" is beating, 
 And though I may feel strong to-day, 
 
 I know that life is fleeting ; 
 It may not be that I shall see 
 
 Again the roses growing, 
 But I can see that I may be 
 
 Where all of us are going. 
 
114 lesso:n^s from nature. 
 
 This stream will flow, the children go, 
 
 But I may see them never ; 
 This stream will flow, the children go, 
 
 When I am gone forever ; 
 And so I look adown the brook, 
 
 And see the cattle drinking; 
 And so I look across the brook 
 
 And still continue thinking. 
 
 LESSON'S FB OM NA TUBJE. 
 
 AMONG the bloom I heard a fluttering, 
 Among the deep white blossoms grow 
 ing there. 
 And nearing the spot with prudent care, 
 A little bird arose on glittering wing, 
 
 And flew across the j^ath, and then alighted 
 UlDon a blooming rose-bush by the way ; 
 But seemed uneasy on the bending sj)ray, 
 And acted as she were a bit affrighted. 
 
LESSONS FROM NATURE. 115 
 
 I drew the twigs aside, then most repented, 
 For there a little, tiny nest I found [bound, 
 Most shapely, and with threads of grape-vines 
 Low in the bush of blossoms, sweetly scented. 
 
 The mother-bird returned, as I departed. 
 And folded with her wings her children three, 
 And seemed as happy as a bird can be, 
 As nestling there, and quite as merry-hearted. 
 
 How carefully, I thought, while homeward 
 wending, 
 
 With what devotion, and what loving care, 
 
 Within her little lowly home down there, 
 
 That mother-bird her little ones is tending ! 
 
 I thought again, how tenderly that mother. 
 Within her tidy home of bloom and beauty. 
 How anxiously she tries to do her duty. 
 To rear her young, nor leave it to another. 
 
 God asks his children but to be discerning. 
 And open to our eyes is Nature's book, 
 And, if within its pages we will look. 
 Some timely lesson may be always learning. 
 
116 UNCERTAIJn^TY. 
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 
 
 THE good ship with its canvas spread. 
 Sails in the morning light away, 
 But, torn and rent, a dismal wreck, 
 
 May float the sea another day ; 
 The beauty of the other morn — 
 How strange ! — to-morrow may be gone. 
 
 The mother may her babe caress 
 To-day, and fold it to her heart. 
 
 And on the morrow, weeping, wake 
 To see the life she loved depart ; 
 
 The bursting bud, the promised flower. 
 
 Lies dead when comes the evening hour. 
 
 Who starts so confident and strong,, 
 
 So manly, his hope-lighted way. 
 May pause ajopalled, his hopes to see' 
 Melt like the morning mist away ; 
 So all that cheers and gladdens sight- 
 May turn to ashes in a night. 
 
UIS^CERTAINTY. Ill 
 
 Who, nobly striving, lowest falls, 
 
 May rise to place above us all ; 
 Who proudly climbs so high to-day. 
 
 May, on the morrow, lowest fall ; 
 Two boys may start alike, but then 
 They may not, both alike, be men. 
 
 So, master, with your ship to sea ! 
 
 And sailing slow, or sailing fast. 
 Steer clear of shore, steer clear of rocks. 
 
 And dare the tempest and the blast. 
 Do all your duty ; leave the rest 
 For God to do what he thinks best. 
 
 His lines are drawn ; His watchfulness 
 From birth, and on to death, endures ; 
 
 So, mother fond, caress your babe. 
 And press its dimpled face to yours ; 
 
 Uncertain what its life may be, 
 
 He'll care for it, and care for thee. 
 
 Climb, climber, climb ! and if you fall. 
 Rise up and humbly start again ; 
 
 For efforts in the upward line, 
 Be sure, are never made in vain ; 
 
 Climb up, climb on, for, fall or rise. 
 
 You cannot, climbing, lose the prize ! 
 
118 MY MOTHER. 
 
 I know not where God's lines are drawn, 
 I cannot fathom His decrees, 
 
 I know not what may folded be 
 In all of life's uncertainties ; 
 
 I know not God ; I only know 
 
 Beyond His reach I cannot go. 
 
 MT MOTHER. 
 
 THERE is sweetness in these hallowed 
 words. 
 So full of meaning, so beloved, revered, 
 That vibrates on the soul like Nature's music, 
 Thrilling the senses by its magic power, 
 As o'er the mind it steals in cadences 
 Harmonious — full. 
 
 My Mother ! 
 How oft, when I would stray 
 From virtue's path, has her advice. 
 Still living in my heart, undimm'd by age, 
 
MY MOTHER. 119 
 
 Recalled my wandering footsteps back, 
 And taught me better things. 
 
 In solitude, 
 When wandering back to other days 
 Of childish glee, or youthful pride. 
 My mind, still clinging to the past. 
 Blends with it lone communings, [years 
 
 Thoughts of my mother. She who o'er my early 
 Watched with the solicitude a mother only feels. 
 As in the opening bud she sees 
 The flower of promise springing, that oft again 
 Her tears have watered. 
 
 My Mother ! 
 While thou'rt a pilgrim here, 
 Oh, may affection's amaranthine wreath 
 Be twined about thy brow ; 
 And may no sorrow for thy wayward child, 
 Make rough thy exit from the world ; 
 And while a sojourner on earth. 
 My prayer, my constant prayer shall be, 
 That thy advice, instructive, good and sound. 
 My heart may govern, and direct my ways. 
 
120 SONGS OF THE HOLIDAYS. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Fi^THER, 
 We thank thee for the bounteous year, 
 For length of days, for kindly cheer, 
 For needed blessings, daily given. 
 For joys of earth, for hojDes of heaven ; 
 For thoughts of other days, unsaid. 
 For sweet communings with the dead, 
 For mercies new, for mercies old. 
 And for what must remain untold : 
 
 For evening mists, for morning dew, 
 For blossoms, sweet as ever grew. 
 For gifts of sun, for gifts of rain. 
 For ripened fields of golden grain ; 
 For absent ones, for those a-near. 
 For smiling faces, loved and dear. 
 For what is, and for what is not, 
 For what remain eth unforgot. 
 
THANKSGIYING. 121 
 
 For Life's serener moments, which 
 Are with divinest comforts rich, 
 And for the hand that led us on 
 When all our home supports were gone ; 
 For every flower Life's thorns among, 
 For every bird, for every song, 
 For what of bliss before us lies, 
 In calmer, higher, holier skies : 
 
 For what is most, for what is less, 
 For calm content and blessedness. 
 For freedom from unhallowed lusts. 
 For Thine uplifting from the dust, 
 For what, by faith, the soul can see. 
 For what is, and what is to be. 
 For Nebo's heights, for Baca's wells. 
 For pleasant songs, for Sabbath bells ! 
 
 How life would tire, and heart be riven. 
 But for the strength divinely given ! 
 For what of earth is here to-day. 
 To-morrow in the grave may lay. 
 At will, death enters every door. 
 And all we love are here no more ; 
 Are here no more I but we again 
 Shall meet them on the heavenly plain. 
 
122 CHEISTMAS-TIDE. 
 
 So, Father, for Thy kindly gifts, 
 Which every sorrowing heart uplifts, 
 We thank thee ! still from above 
 Send down thy messages of love ; 
 We thank Thee for the " better part" 
 That brings rejoicing to the heart. 
 For loving friends, for sweetest living, 
 For autumn's wealth — Thanksgiving ! 
 
 CHRISTMAS- TIDE. 
 
 ITS music on the senses steals 
 (A subtle charm) asleep, awake. 
 Until in louder tones it break, 
 And bells ring out their merriest peals, 
 
 Ho ! Star of Bethlehem ! thy rays 
 Across the darkness of the night 
 Have broadened into deeper light, 
 
 And led us into i3leasant ways. 
 
 Flow on, oh ! Christmas-tide, divine. 
 And keep my nature undefiled. 
 And keep me spotless as a child, 
 
 And blend your carolings with mine. 
 
DECEMBEK BELLS. 123 
 
 DECEMBER BELLS. 
 
 ON, on we go, the low, the high. 
 Our varied life-ways wending. 
 And swift the flying years go by 
 Which bring us to the ending. 
 
 We little heed the fleeting hours, 
 'Mid scenes of love and beauty, 
 
 But think, while bloom the summer flowers, 
 Oi pleasure more than duty. 
 
 We give to life our hearty cheers, 
 
 Unmindful of the giving, 
 And shed upon the grave of years 
 
 The tears of thoughtless living. 
 
 And, unsuspected, comes at last, 
 Some dark, mysterious sorrow. 
 
 Which, gloomily, its shadows cast 
 Upon the coming morrow. 
 
124 THE OLD AND KEW TEAE. 
 
 The glowing memories of years 
 Are hard upon us pressing, 
 
 And hope, and love, and flowing tears, 
 Blend in one chastened blessing. 
 
 The minutes come, and go the hours, 
 Our hopes, our loves, our treasures, 
 
 Time bears away the choicest flowers. 
 And crowns with grief our j^leasures. 
 
 So disappear the fairy spells 
 Along the years upspringing. 
 
 While far and near December Bells 
 Their sweetest notes are ringing. 
 
 THE OLD AND NEW YEAR. 
 
 THERE came unto our door, one night. 
 An old man, bent with age and care, 
 And asked, in gentle, trembhng voice, 
 To be admitted there. 
 
 Adown his back his Avhite locks hung ; 
 His long beard half concealed his face, 
 And on his furrowed brow we could 
 The marks of sorrow trace. 
 
THE OLD AISTD NEW YEAK. 125 
 
 He looked, and acted, too, like one, 
 Who might have seen more prosperous days, 
 And, yet, it puzzled us to tell. 
 So sadly strange his ways. 
 
 He mused awhile, — and all the time 
 His eyes were fixed upon the floor. 
 At length he spoke — "A few more hours 
 And I shall be no more." 
 
 And then he slowly raised his eyes — 
 And then he started from his chair, 
 And standing, — lifted up his hand 
 As if in silent prayer. 
 
 So strange a sight we had not seen — 
 His reverent mien our feelings stirred — 
 We looked — and asked him whence he came? 
 He answered not a word, — 
 
 But turned his withered face away, 
 Which seemed a brighter glow to wear, 
 And, letting fall his trembling hand. 
 Fell back into the chair. 
 
126 THE OLD AND NEW YEAE. 
 
 He did not move, he did not speak ; — 
 His arms were folded on his breast ; 
 We looked and thought — he seemed so like 
 A pilgrim nearing rest. 
 
 The clock struck twelve ! — he started up, 
 We turned, by some strange sense beguiled, 
 But he was gone — and in his place 
 We saw a neio horn child. 
 
 So life runs on — the years go by — 
 Earth's weary pilgrims sink to rest ; 
 And in their j^lace the new born come 
 And 7iestle on the hreasf. 
 
 Ere long the young year will be old, 
 Time flies away on restless wings. 
 And from his ashes beauty grows, 
 From death the new life springs. 
 
 We part as friends. Old Pilgrim Year, 
 ISTo blame, no fault to find with you ; 
 Farewell ! with joy we welcome now 
 Thy romping child — the New ! 
 
CHRISTMAS MORNING. 127 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORNING, 
 
 THE wind which had been blowing hard, 
 As if upon a bender, 
 Had lulled ; and, lo ! the winter sun 
 
 Went down in golden splendor. 
 The stars came out with shining eyes. 
 
 The moon in all her glory, 
 While happy boys and happy girls 
 Were musing coii amore. 
 
 The evening bells struck nine, their notes 
 
 Through all the village ringing. 
 While, in the hearts of children, hope 
 
 To sweetest bloom was springing ; 
 He comes, the dear old Santa Claus, 
 
 Old Boreas defying ; 
 He comes, and in his tandem team. 
 
 O'er crispy snow-banks flying ! 
 
128 CHRISTMAS MORNING. 
 
 The children listen with delight; 
 
 Hark! hear the sleigh-bells humming! 
 And now they look, and seem to see 
 
 The northern monarch coming ; 
 Anticipation, like a dream, 
 
 Is full of pictured beauties, 
 While busy hands and loving hearts 
 
 Are doing loving duties. 
 
 The night wears on ; still soft and clear 
 
 The moon and stars are beaming, 
 And in their warm, soft beds, the while. 
 
 The children now are dreaming ; 
 One, two, tliree, four — the clock went on, 
 
 (For Time his course was winging), 
 And nearer, nearer every tick. 
 
 The happy morn was bringing. 
 
 At length along the eastern sky 
 The golden day-gleams started. 
 
 And broader grew the belt of light — 
 The long night had departed ! 
 
CHRISTMAS MORNING. 129 
 
 Sweet carols welcome in the day, 
 
 The merry bells are ringing, 
 And up and down the little town 
 
 The merry singers singing. 
 
 Slowly God's great, grand sun uprose 
 
 In His deep sky of blue. 
 And kindly on the waiting eartli 
 
 His warming splendor threw ; 
 Then merry Christmas wishes rung 
 
 Through cot and palace home, 
 The glory of the Lord was here. 
 
 The Christmas morning come ! 
 
 Roll on, O Christmas tides, roll on, 
 
 And bring your gifts of cheer ! 
 Roll on, O Christmas tides, roll on, 
 
 And help us year by year ! 
 Roll on, O Christmas tides, roll on ! 
 
 O Star of Bethlehem, rise ! 
 And guide us to the morning, where 
 
 God's Christmas never dies ! 
 
130 AUNT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 
 
 ATINT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS 
 PARTY, 
 
 AUNT Hannah, (Heaven bless her name !) 
 Lived with our cousin Sallie, 
 Just where the highway took a turn 
 .Adown in " Pleasant Valley." 
 
 'Twas neat and pretty, where she lived, 
 
 Tall maple trees abounded, 
 And her small cottage, jDainted red, 
 
 With beauty was surrounded. 
 
 A happy little sparkling stream 
 Went through the valley singing, 
 
 And 'round her cot, in summer time. 
 The roses were upspringing. 
 
 In winter time, the Northern winds 
 
 Went down the valley flying, 
 And drift on drift of whitest snow 
 
 Were 'round her cottage lying. 
 
AUNT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 131 
 
 Aunt Hannah had a look of love 
 
 In every phase and feature, 
 And, bless her soul, be sure she was 
 
 A dear good-natured creature. 
 
 She was not beautiful, be sure, 
 
 But there with cousin Sallie, 
 She was, for all that makes life pure, 
 
 The queen of "Pleasant Valley." 
 
 Most heartily Aunt Hannah loved 
 
 The children of the valley, 
 And scores of them would make their calls 
 
 On her and cousin Sallie. 
 
 And so, to please the children, she 
 
 (And what she did was hearty) 
 Determined, slyly, she would have 
 
 A Merry Christmas party. 
 
 She went to work, unselfish heart ! 
 
 Her rooms and windows dressing, 
 But to the neighbors what it meant 
 
 Was all beyond their guessing. 
 
132 AUNT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 
 
 Two smiling schoolmarms daily came, 
 
 In spite of wind or weather, 
 To help Aunt Hannah in her j)lans, 
 
 A week or two together. 
 
 Adown the valley came the winds, 
 
 And then, again, retreated, 
 Until our dear Aunt Hannah had 
 
 Her Christmas plans completed. 
 
 God's benediction rest on those, 
 And crown with Love's caressing. 
 
 Who make the work of doing good 
 A duty and a blessing ! 
 
 Their precious work shall live, when they 
 
 Beneath the grass are sleeping. 
 And children's children shall preserve 
 
 Their names in sacred keeping. 
 
 Kind Santa Claus had come and gone ; — 
 
 His saddle-bags were swelling 
 With presents, when he made his call 
 
 At dear Aunt Hannah's dwelling. 
 
AUNT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 133 
 
 And when he left, the watchman told 
 The young folks, whom he greeted, 
 That the old fellow's saddle-ba^s 
 
 o 
 
 Were pretty well depleted. 
 
 The invitations were sent out, 
 
 The children, full of dreaming. 
 Read, and re-read the cards, and still 
 
 Could not divine their meanino-, 
 
 Nor guess why dear Aunt Hannah should, 
 
 Who lived with cousin Sallie, 
 Ask them to spend the Christmas eve 
 
 With her in "Pleasant Valley." 
 
 Hark ! now beyond the wintry hills 
 
 The village bells are ringing, 
 And up and down, the valley through. 
 
 Are merry singers singing. 
 
 'Twas Christmas eve : and though the skies 
 In threatening clouds were shrouded. 
 
 They came, the children came, and soon 
 Aunt Hannah's rooms were crowded. 
 
134 AUNT HANNAH'S CHKISTMAS PAKTY. 
 
 What presents they were to receive 
 
 The children were debating, 
 As 'round the Christmas tree they stood, 
 
 Aunt Hannah'^s call awaiting. 
 
 At length it came, a silvery bell 
 
 Was rung by little Eddie, 
 And welcome was it, for it said 
 
 Aunt Hannah is now ready. 
 
 She quickly stripped the fruitful tree, 
 
 Her kindly gifts bestowing. 
 And with her little presents, was 
 
 Her richest love-seeds sowing. 
 
 O sisters, in Life's garden walks. 
 
 Be careful of your sowing, 
 That you may see, in after life, 
 
 A harvest worth the growing ! 
 
 The gifts were all distributed. 
 
 Then kneeling by her chair. 
 From out Aunt Hannah's loving heart 
 
 An angel breathed a prayer. 
 
AUNT HANNAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 135 
 
 Amen ! with hand on Carrie's head, 
 
 The silence still unbroken, 
 The mantel-clock struck ten, and then 
 
 The sweet good night was spoken. 
 
 " Good night, good night, a sweet goodnight," 
 
 We sung as we were going, 
 While at Aunt Hannah, with both hands. 
 
 Our kisses we were throwing. 
 
 And now among the things of life 
 
 Upon our memory pressing. 
 Aunt Hannah's Christmas Party lives 
 
 An oasis of blessing. 
 
 And as the Christmas tides run on, 
 Their wealth of blessing bringing, 
 
 The love that nestles in the heart 
 Is softly, sweetly singing. 
 
 O, blessed memories, indeed. 
 
 Are round our natures twining. 
 And shedding blessings on the life. 
 
 Strong, healthful and refining! 
 
136 THE HANGING OF THE STOCKINGS. 
 
 THE BARGING OF THE 
 STOCKIJSTGS. 
 
 SLOW on the earth the shades of night, 
 And silently, were creeping. 
 While, in their room, the children were 
 A secret session keeping. 
 
 While just as though on mischief bent, 
 
 They to and fro were going, 
 We could not understand them, quite. 
 
 They looked so wise and knowing. 
 
 Sly glances all around were cast, 
 
 We could not tell the reason. 
 And clear it was more eyes than one 
 
 Were looking out for treason. 
 
 For when one little laughing elf 
 
 Went through the doorway streaking, 
 
 A dozen ear's were wide-awake. 
 To hear what she was speaking. 
 
THE HANGING OF THE STOCKINGS. 13^ 
 
 The lights were burning, bright and clear, 
 Their mellow radiance throwing 
 
 On "creeping-jenny," holly-boughs 
 And plants of beauty growing. 
 
 A Christmas song, or two, were sung, 
 
 With tenderness of feeling. 
 And then the curtains were withdrawn, 
 
 The loaded tree revealing. 
 
 The children screamed with rare delimit. 
 And clapped their hands for pleasure, 
 
 And planted on Aunt Hannah's face 
 Their kisses without measure. 
 
 And dear Aunt Hannah did her part 
 
 Most handily and neatly, 
 And never happier seemed to be, 
 
 Nor looked so good and sweetly. 
 
 Her features wore a rosy bloom. 
 Her calm, blue eyes were glowing. 
 
 And her great, kind and Christian heart 
 With love was overflo wins'. 
 
138 THE HAISTGING OF THE STOCKINGS. 
 
 In whispers all their words were said, 
 And fast their tongues were flying, 
 
 But what the fuss was all about, 
 We could not guess by trying. 
 
 A gentle knock upon the door 
 
 The children all affrighted, 
 But loving, kindly words were said, 
 
 And then the lights were lighted. 
 
 But not an indication there 
 Of what they had been doing. 
 
 And not a sign of anything 
 To tell what was a-brewing. 
 
 The rose upon their dimpled cheeks 
 Bloomed into fresher beauty — 
 
 The mother smiled — her willing hands 
 Still doing loving duty. 
 
 The good time coming, now had come, 
 
 The spell of silence broken. 
 And then, from little, loving hearts. 
 
 The sweet good night was spoken. 
 
THE HANGING OF THE STOCKINGS. 139 
 
 And then, how dear, their rosy lips 
 The mother's cheeks were pressing. 
 
 And then upon their precious heads 
 There fell a father's blessing. 
 
 Soon, wearied by the broken thoughts 
 
 Their hopefulness was testing. 
 Upon their heavy, weary eyes 
 
 The bloom of sleep was resting. 
 
 And soon within their little room 
 
 Were silent footsteps stealing. 
 And there were found the stockings hung, 
 
 The children's plans revealing. 
 
 Six chairs they placed so they could hear 
 
 Old Santa Claus's knocking. 
 And on each chair was, careless, hung 
 
 A more than childish stocking. 
 
 The night went silently along, 
 The stars their watches keeping, 
 
 While all within that home of love. 
 Were softly, sweetly sleeping. 
 
140 THE HANGING OF THE STOCKINGS. 
 
 The morning came — from far and near 
 The merry bells were ringing, 
 
 And sweet and gentle voices were 
 Their Christmas carols singing. 
 
 Throughout the happy home was heard 
 The merry Christmas greeting, 
 
 And loving hearts and willing hands 
 Were better for the meeting. 
 
 With early dawn the children woke, 
 
 And to their stockings going. 
 Found them all hanging just the same. 
 
 But filled to overflowing. 
 
 No more — to us that Christmas morn 
 Was just as sweet as pleasant. 
 
 And, somehow, memory revives 
 And links \\\q past and present. 
 
 O cruel Death ! the aching heart 
 Abides your bitter mockings. 
 
 For life and love have sanctified 
 The hanging of the stochings. 
 
ONE-BY-ONE. 141 
 
 ONE-BY-ONE. 
 
 ONE-by-one the moonbeams quiver ; 
 Lighting up the sleeping river ; 
 One-by-one the waves are flowing, 
 One-by-one we see them going ; 
 One-by-one, in rapid motion, 
 One-by-one they reach the ocean ; 
 One-by-one, returning never 
 From the vast unknown forever. 
 
 One-by-one we sail away 
 Out into the 023en day ; 
 One-by-one enjoy the sight. 
 One-by-one return at night : 
 One-by-one lay down to sleejD, 
 One-by-one awake to weep. 
 And return to joy again 
 When the mind is free from pain. 
 
 One-by-one, like birds upspringing, 
 In the heart our hopes are singing. 
 One-by-one upon us pressing, 
 One.by-one in sweet caressing; 
 
142 ONE-BY-ONE. 
 
 One-by-one they come and go, 
 One-by-one they shine and glow. 
 Till they all like ashes seem — 
 Ashes of some faded dream. 
 
 One-by-one in silence all, 
 One-by-one the snow-flakes fall ; 
 One-by-one the drops of rain 
 Fall upon the earth again ; 
 One-by-one, to bless and cheer. 
 One-by-one the flowers appear ; 
 One-by-one our blessings fall, 
 Blessings silently on all. 
 
 One-by-one, in constant flow, 
 One-by-one the moments go ; 
 One-by-one the minutes fly. 
 One-by-one the hours go by ; 
 Soon the day, the month, is done. 
 Ever going, one-by-one; 
 One-by-one, the years grow old 
 Till the sum of life is told. 
 
 One-by-one our thoughts are straying. 
 One-by-one our fancies playing ; 
 One-by-one depart our treasures. 
 One-by-one our cherished j^leasures ; 
 
ONLY. 143 
 
 One-by-one the loves we cherish, 
 One-by-one droop, fade and perish ; 
 One-by-one we reach the shore 
 From which we return no more. 
 
 ONLY. 
 
 ONLY a room, but clean and fair. 
 Only a child in her rocking-chair, 
 Only a child of charming grace. 
 Waiting to kiss its mother's face. 
 
 Only a sweet young life amazed. 
 Only a little arm upraised. 
 Only a soft and laughing eye. 
 Only a child's delighted cry. 
 
 Only a little heart at ease. 
 Only a spell of love and peace. 
 Only a winsome bunch of charms, 
 Only a child in its mother's arms. 
 
144 OKLY. 
 
 Only a closing of the eye, 
 Only a shadow jiassing by 
 Over the floor and over the bed, 
 Only a little weary head. 
 
 Only a hope, and that is all. 
 Only a hope it may not fall, 
 Only a mother kneeling there. 
 Only a soul in earnest prayer. 
 
 Only a sunset, soft and mild, 
 Only the white face of a child. 
 Only the fall of the boatman's oar, 
 Only the crape upon the door. 
 
 Only the fall of a tender spray. 
 Only a blossom fallen away. 
 Only a waif on the crystal sea. 
 Bound for the shore of eternity. 
 
 Only the blowing out of a light, 
 Only a mother alone to-night, 
 Only a little soul at rest, 
 Only another heavenly guest. 
 
HEAYEN. 145 
 
 Only an ending of mortal strife, 
 Only a bud from the tree of life, 
 Only a little waiting grave, 
 Only the Christ who came to save. 
 
 Only a room, but clean and fair, 
 Only a little vacant chair, 
 Only a child has gone to sleep. 
 Only a mother is left to weep. 
 
 God be with her, to lift her uj:) ; 
 
 God be with her, to sweeten the cup ; 
 
 God be with her, to help her say, 
 
 It is well, it is well with my cliild to-day ! 
 
 u 
 
 HJEA VEW, 
 
 P there, no tears are shed ; 
 
 Up there, no sighing; 
 
 No weary ones, no dead, 
 
 No dying; 
 
 No trembling, sorrowing ones, no broken- 
 hearted, 
 
 But sweet communion with the long-departed* 
 
 10 
 
146 . heaye:n^. 
 
 No blasted blossoms there, 
 
 No cheerless dreaming ; 
 No fig-trees, dry and bare, 
 
 No seeming ; 
 But precious fruits, from seeds of earthly 
 
 sowing, 
 Transplanted there, are riper, sweeter 
 growing. 
 
 Up there, no cankering strife, 
 
 No sad entombing ; 
 Up there, the tree of life. 
 
 Is ever blooming. 
 And love and light immortally are beaming. 
 And glory through the many mansions 
 
 streaming. 
 
 Down here, we go astray. 
 
 But up there, never ; 
 Down here, we live a day, 
 
 Up there, forever ; 
 Down here, our hopes are going through 
 
 tuition, 
 Up there, we shall enjoy their full fruition. 
 
HEAYEK 147 
 
 How sweet the home of love 
 
 To whom 'tis given 
 To calmly look above, 
 
 And into heaven, 
 
 And see by faith and the dear Father's kindness. 
 
 What else we could not compass in our blind- 
 ness. 
 
 Down here, our hearts would break, 
 
 If not for this, — 
 That we shall sleep, and wake. 
 
 Dear ones to kiss ; 
 
 And drear and dark were life, without our 
 knowing 
 
 Where they have gone and whither we are 
 
 going. 
 
 Oh, child, put off your fear ! 
 
 The skies are fair ; 
 Who live the longest here. 
 
 Live shortest there ; 
 Who longest live, to know may not be given 
 What they shall gain who earliest enter heaven. 
 
148 ABIGAIL BKOW:Nr. 
 
 ABIGAIL BROWN. 
 
 HER grave, they said, is just up there, 
 Up on the hill-side, cold and bare, 
 Nigh to the footpath leading down 
 To the old gray church in the little town. 
 So through the meadow we took our way, 
 And up the hill-side where she lay. 
 
 By whom befriended, by whom forgot. 
 No matter now — 'tis a desolate spot ; 
 Oh, God ! we said, how cold and drear ! 
 Why was she buried away out here. 
 While out in yonder beautiful ground, 
 Many, no better than she, are found ? 
 
 An old, rough headstone, mossy and brown, 
 Marked the spot ; and, stooping down. 
 We turned the tall, rank grasses away, 
 To see what the record had to say ; 
 
ABIGAIL BEOWN. 149 
 
 Her name and ao-e — and then we read— 
 " She died of a broken heart" — it said. 
 
 No mark of affection could we trace, 
 
 And nothing of friendship, 'round the place ; 
 
 Not a shrub or flower, but grasses wave 
 
 In silence above the maiden's grave ; 
 
 And the spirit of solitude haunts the spot 
 
 Where the mother and child rest — most forgot. 
 
 The game old story of love and fears, 
 Born in sunshine and nurtured in tears ; 
 Of vows dishonored and broken plight, 
 Villainy dark as the darkest night ; 
 An innocent life lost past recall, 
 A mother untimely, and then — that's all. 
 
 Fair and gentle was Abigail Brown 
 As any of all the girls in town 
 (So it was told us by one who knew, 
 And as it was told us we tell it you ;) 
 But cruelly wronged — by whom or why 
 God knows better than you or I. 
 
150 A PICTURE. 
 
 A PICTVRE. 
 
 A beautiful spot it was ; a stream, 
 On which the sun, in dancing glint 
 and gleam, 
 Shone through the bright green of the trees, 
 Now shaken by the summer breeze, 
 Beneath which, in the cooling shade, 
 Reclined a thoughtful, rosy maid ; 
 Whose eyes wore such a look, or seeming. 
 One could but think she must be dreaming. 
 
 Her face a smile, half mischievous, discloses, 
 As, stooping down, she gathered up the roses 
 Which blossomed at her feet in wild profusion, 
 And thinking she was free from all intrusion ; 
 And while within her heart the love was sway- 
 
 Which m a maiden is so hard assuaging. 
 
 She raised her hand, as quick as thought 
 
 would let her, 
 And from her bosom drew a well-worn letter. 
 
A PICTUKE. 151 
 
 i 
 
 And from her lover, too, else how accounting 
 For the red blood that to her face was mounting, 
 And crimsoning her features with the blushes 
 Which from a happy heart in beauty gushes 
 Up to the cheek, when one like her is reading 
 That upon which love ever is a-feeding, 
 The words which, comingfrom a love-sick lover, 
 A multitude of faults and follies cover. 
 
 The letter finished, still the maiden lingers, 
 Holding the missive close between her fingers ; 
 
 Lingers and smiles, and still prolongs her stay- 
 ing. 
 While on her face a sober shade is playing ; 
 A darker shade, or something like the shadow 
 That flits and plays across the sun-lit meadow ; 
 And she who was, a moment since, all gladness, 
 Seems to be troubled with a touch of sadness. 
 
 So is it ever ; for, beyond the seeming, 
 
 There is that gives a shadow to our dreaming, 
 
 And with the hope that makes our life so 
 pleasant 
 
 Some brooding fear of ill is always present. 
 
152 EHYTHMIC BRIC-A-BEAC. 
 
 RHYTHMIC BRIC-A-BRAC. 
 
 DON'T take what other people say- 
 As law and gospel, friend, 
 Nor try to make a thinking world 
 To your opinions bend. 
 
 Religion, reason, sense, combine 
 
 (So keep this fact in view) 
 To teach you there are others who 
 
 Are just as good as you. 
 
 Nor judge by what you see and hear ; 
 
 False standards lay aside; 
 And, in determining the right. 
 
 Make common-sense your guide. 
 
 Beneath the show of silks, and such. 
 Which court ambition's bid. 
 
 And win applause from em.pty heads. 
 Deception maybe hid. 
 
KHYTHMIC BRIC-A-BEAC. 153 
 
 The copper-boiler on the stove 
 
 May be a leaky kettle, 
 And nice and highly-polished coin 
 
 May be of basest metal. 
 
 Sometimes, perhaps, you may have seen — 
 
 Recall it if you can — 
 A forty-dollar rig upon ' 
 
 A seven-dollar man ; 
 
 Or passed upon the street, some day, 
 
 A creature finely dressed, 
 Who wore a costly jewel on 
 
 A coarse and vulgar breast. 
 
 Be sure that things around us here 
 
 Are mightily uncertain, 
 Nor know we what is going on 
 
 My friend, behind the curtain. 
 
 Be not too fast in making friends ; 
 
 False lights abound, you know ; 
 The crow may prove a turtle-dove, 
 
 The turtle-dove a crow. 
 
154 EHYTHMIC BEIC-A-BRAC. 
 
 You think an angel's by your side, 
 He seems so in your eyes ; 
 
 Beware, for he may only be 
 A devil in disguise ! 
 
 Don't give your hand and confidence 
 
 To every one you meet. 
 For, covered by a Christian cloak. 
 
 May be a lurking cheat — 
 
 As yonder goblet, seeming filled 
 
 With water from the rill, 
 And tempting to the thirsty lij^s. 
 
 May hold but poison still. 
 
 Be sober, honest, frank and kind. 
 
 Be manly and discreet. 
 For rankly here the weeds and tares 
 
 Are growing with the wheat. 
 
 And which is which 'tis hard to tell. 
 Or which the false or true, 
 
 So leave we for diviner hands 
 The winnowing to do. 
 
RHYTHMIC BRIC-A-BRAC. 155 
 
 With rich and poor, with great and small, 
 
 False colors are unfurled ; 
 So, brother, mind your P's and Q's 
 
 In going through the world. 
 
 The devil give no resting place. 
 
 Within your heart or brain, 
 If he invade, up, like a man, 
 
 And drive him back again. 
 
 Deep waters calm and stillest run. 
 
 While shallow streamlets flow. 
 Forever babbling o'er the rocks. 
 
 The noisiest as they go. 
 
 Who lacks in brains will deal in brass. 
 Their tongues like clappers run. 
 
 And if you give them half a chance. 
 They'll chatter by the ton. 
 
 Give noisy babblers widest berth. 
 
 Send gadders on their way ; 
 And give to better feelings scope, 
 
 And goodness room to play. 
 
156 EHYTHMIC BRIC-A-BRAC. 
 
 Ignore the pride that seeks displaj^, 
 
 As if on dress parade, 
 Nor try to make a taking show 
 
 Until your debts are paid. 
 
 The world is wide, and through its vales 
 
 Affliction's waters flow, 
 And be it yours to hold the cup 
 
 Of joy to lips of woe. 
 
 Plant, plant the precious seeds of love 
 
 Life's highways all along, 
 And you shall reap the fi-uit, in time, 
 
 With melody and song. 
 
 For, sure, no matter what the faith, 
 
 No matter what the creed, 
 Thrice blessed shall the iiarvest be 
 
 That Cometh from such seed ! 
 
 So ends my song ; and if of love 
 
 Or sweetness it may lack. 
 Remember, ^tis but hroTxen shells^ 
 
 A poet's bric-a-brac. 
 
THE LITTLE EED PETTICOAT, 157 
 
 THE LITTLE RED PETTICOAT. 
 
 SHE was young and very fair, 
 With cheeks as red as a rose, 
 With beautiful eyes and auburn hair, 
 
 And a dear little Grecian nose ; 
 Like a parted cherry her lips, 
 Tempting as they could be. 
 And her hand was nice and small and soft. 
 Her boot was number three. 
 
 And she Avore a little red petticoat ! 
 
 With ribbons to match, the hat she wore 
 
 Was as taking as it could be. 
 And her dress was jauntily, prettily made. 
 
 And fitted her form to a T ; 
 And ever, when going or coming from school, 
 
 To keep it from dragging, I guess, 
 Of course it was that, what else could it be ? 
 
 She would tastefully hold up her dress, 
 Exposing her little red petticoat. 
 
158 THE LITTLE KED PETTICOAT. 
 
 She was pure as snow, and pretty, too, 
 
 And free from untimely cares ; 
 She was not haughty, nor was she tame. 
 
 But hated unlady-like airs : 
 She tripped along with a sprightly step 
 
 Without making much of a stir, [man 
 
 Nor thought, for a moment, that any young 
 
 Was stealthily looking at her, » 
 
 Or her little red petticoat. 
 
 But over the way was a nice young man, 
 
 And a right good chap was he, 
 Who, when the maiden was passing by. 
 
 Would always a-looking be ;- 
 Looking, as young men will, you know, 
 
 At a young girl's dress supplies. 
 Looking, looking adown the street. 
 
 Looking, with both his eyes. 
 
 At the girl in the little red petticoat. 
 
 [went, 
 The moons they came, and the moons they 
 
 And the roses bloomed by the stream, 
 
 And our nice young man across the way 
 
 Was dreaming a beautiful dream ; 
 
THE LITTLE RED PETTICOAT. 159 
 
 Was dreaming by clay and dreaming by night, 
 
 Dreaming in light and shade, 
 That he was sitting, and wished it so. 
 
 By the side of the little maid. 
 
 Who wore the little red petticoat. 
 
 But nothing she knew of the thum23ing heart 
 
 That lay in his aching breast, 
 l!^Y dreamed that a sweet love-look from her 
 
 Would set it forever at rest ; 
 So she went her way, day in, day out, 
 
 The blossoming summer through. 
 While our nice young man across the way 
 
 Was getting decidedly blue 
 Over the little red petticoat. 
 
 But never a road that had no turn 
 
 Was seen in this world of ours. 
 And never a fellow was long alone 
 
 Who would pluckily use his powers 
 Of tact and skill, but more, of love, 
 
 To win the girl for whom he sighed ; 
 And so our hero, the nice young man, 
 
 To win to his heart, like true lover tried, 
 The girl in the little red petticoat. 
 
160 THE LITTLE KED PETTICOAT. 
 
 The summers came, the summers went, 
 
 Three rounded years had passed, 
 And, bless his stars ! our nice young man 
 
 Had won the girl at last. 
 And to-day her cheeks wear a rosy bloom, 
 
 And, what is more, and best. 
 Our nice young man across the way 
 
 Is folding the girl and wife to his breast # 
 Who wore the little red petticoat. 
 
 I took tea with them the other eve — 
 
 On the sly I tell you this — 
 When tea was over, "God bless her !" he said, 
 
 And sealed the prayer with a kiss. 
 And, somehow, when I came away, 
 
 I could not help it, to save my life, 
 I felt like praying the same sweet prayer — 
 
 "God bless her!" the loved and loving wife 
 Who wore the little red petticoat ! 
 
LAME BILLY. 161 
 
 LAME BILLY. 
 
 OH, do not laugh at him ! his look 
 Should win you, rather than repel^ 
 And it may be you have mistook 
 
 The sober face, — you cannot tell; 
 Nor do you know what sorrow may 
 Have taken all his smiles away. 
 
 " Lame Billy" was the name he bore ; 
 
 A tall and slender lad, whose face, 
 With all the soberness it wore. 
 
 Attracted by its winning grace ; 
 And when you met him by the way, 
 
 He always had kind words to say. 
 
 So do not laugh at his appeal, 
 
 But try to have him share your joys, 
 
 And do your best to have him feel 
 That he's as good as other boys ; 
 11 
 
162 LAME BILLY. 
 
 And show to him, and everywhere, 
 The sweetest, tenderest of care. 
 
 He is not strong of limb as you, 
 And his misfortune all deplore ; 
 
 And so be kind to him, and true. 
 And try to love him all the more. 
 
 No fault of his that he is lame ; 
 ISTor is there any one to blame. 
 
 God's providences none can stay ; 
 
 He smites and chastens as He will, 
 And from us tears our props away 
 
 Or grinds us in His crushing-mill. 
 Strong now, to-morrow you may be 
 
 Just like "Lame Billy," whom you see. 
 
 Go where his mother lives and he, 
 Away from splendid homes apart, 
 
 And see how kind and tenderly. 
 
 How close she folds him to her heart, 
 
 And, kneeling by the altar there. 
 Bears him to heaven in her prayer ! 
 
LAME BILLY, 163 
 
 Oh, love " Lame Billy," love him well, 
 And be your friendship kind and true, 
 
 And some good angel, then, shall tell 
 A story that shall comfort you 
 
 When, some day, on the golden street 
 Up yonder you and he shall meet ! 
 
 Sow seeds of kindness, broad and deep, 
 The humblest vales of life along, 
 
 And you the ripened fruit shall reap 
 With sweetest melody and song ; 
 
 No matter what the sowing cost. 
 The good we do is never lost. 
 
164 THE MONTHS. 
 
 O 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 LD Time is ever on the wing, 
 
 Swift as an arrow's flight, 
 And life from out its ashes spring. 
 As morning from the night. 
 
 As from the clouds tlie lightning leaps 
 
 In flashes, quick as thought, 
 So from Time's hidden, soundless deeps 
 
 The days and months are brought. 
 
 Succession is the law of life. 
 
 The morrows come and go 
 Just as the tides, in calm and strife, 
 
 Flow in, and outward flow. 
 
 In steady course the months run on. 
 Heat follows cold, and darkness, light, 
 
 As from our hopes dread doubt is born, 
 And joy from sorrow's night. 
 
JANUARY. 165 
 
 Change meets us everywhere we go 
 
 On Life's uncertain shore ; 
 Though firm our step, we little know 
 
 The pits which lie before. 
 
 Empires and men, before God's power, 
 
 From sordid greed and lust, 
 In all their pride have fallen down. 
 
 And mouldered back to dust. 
 
 But God remains ! He shapes at will 
 The charms which 'round us lie, 
 
 And builds, with His diviner skill, 
 Our mansions in the sky. 
 
 He wreathes new beauties 'round our homes 
 
 Ere yet the old ones die. 
 There is no day, no month that comes, 
 
 He does not glorify. 
 
 So January, in its place. 
 
 Comes with its gifts of cheer. 
 And fair Aurora hastes, with grace. 
 
 To crown the new born year. 
 
166 FEBKUAKY. 
 
 And, so, though death as dark as night, 
 
 On dell and meadow lie, 
 And angry clouds move left and right. 
 
 Along a frowning sky, 
 
 Let us be glad ! the season's mirth 
 
 And merry cheer are ours. 
 Though clad in snow may be the earth. 
 
 Or garlanded with flowers. 
 
 FEBRTIARY. 
 
 ONCE more your face I'm glad to see ! 
 But, hold a moment, let me see. 
 And let me peer into your eyes 
 And read you through your wild disguise. 
 
 There, you are looking natural now, 
 With winter's chaplet on your brow, 
 And still a ruddy glow I trace 
 Upon your cold, half -hidden face. 
 
FEBRUARY. l&l 
 
 Welcome again ^ shortest of all, 
 Still, not indeed, so very small. 
 Full five feet six, with ready tongue, 
 But kindly heart, and ample lung. 
 
 Your chest is rounded, and you breathe 
 The northern air with healthful ease, 
 And with your coming, too, you bring 
 Sweet prophesyings of the spring. 
 
 I seem to hear the soft bird-song, 
 And hear the brook as it flows along. 
 And catch the fragrance of the flowers, 
 From meadows wild and woody bowers. 
 
 Your measure of the year you fill. 
 Obedient to Almighty will; 
 And when you go, and not in vain, 
 We hope to see you back again. 
 
168 MAECH. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 Ho, ho ! blustering March, you' are with us 
 
 once more, 
 
 And blowing your bellows the same as of yore ! 
 
 We knew you were coming, and welcome you 
 here. 
 
 The wildest and jolliest month of the year! 
 
 You come with the rush of the brave moun- 
 taineer, 
 
 And the notes of your trumpet are thrillingly 
 clear. 
 
 And your breath has a warming and mellow- 
 ing glow. 
 
 As it falls on the earth, as it melts off the snow. 
 
 Now, now like a giant, defiant and strong, 
 Down the deep, dark ravines you go blowing 
 
 along, 
 And down through the meadows, and down 
 
 through the vale, 
 You ride on the wings of the galloping gale ! 
 
APKIL. 169 
 
 With Borean blasts of the trumpet you blow, 
 As you sweep down the mountains and scatter 
 
 the snow, 
 The ice melts away at the touch of your breath, 
 And the loosened streams sing through the 
 
 valley of death. 
 
 Sweep on, Mr. March, your blowing prolong, 
 'Till the last sign of winter is faded and gone ! 
 Your coming to this lovely planet of ours, 
 Leads on the time of the blossoming flowers. 
 
 O, Father of Mercies, O, Father of Love, 
 Look down from Thy dwelling of beauty above, 
 Bid the storms and the troubles which plague 
 
 us, to cease, 
 And lead on to the heights of perennial peace ! 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 THE south wind tarries, still the hours 
 Advancing steadily along. 
 Presage the cheerful robin's song. 
 And nearer bring the summer flowers. 
 
170 APEIL 
 
 Although the skies are wintry, still 
 There's beauty in their softened glow, 
 Despite the chilly winds which blow, 
 
 And music in the murmuring rill. 
 
 Though doubt ui3on the present lies, . 
 
 It slowly fades as time runs on. 
 
 Until, at last, it all is gone — 
 The months are full of prophecies. 
 
 So give to April room for play. 
 Her promises of what shall be. 
 Of flowery vale and blooming lea, 
 
 Shall have fulfillment in the May. 
 
 And rosy faces shall uprise, 
 
 And love shall smile her sweetest smile, 
 And sing her song of joy the while, 
 
 And lips of beauty kiss the skies. 
 
 God's love is tempering the blast. 
 Revealing, brother, what may be 
 The better home for you and me, 
 
 When April's fickle life is past. 
 
MAY. 171 
 
 MAY. 
 
 THE green wood lifts its bearded peaks 
 Against a friendly sky, 
 And lo! the sunlight plays its freaks 
 
 Where creeping blossoms lie ; 
 The brown thrush flies on sportive wings, 
 
 From bending sprig and spray, 
 And from her perch the robin sings 
 Her carol to the May. 
 
 Alike, my song of joy I sing 
 
 In notes devoid of art, 
 As Memory's clustering blossoms cling. 
 
 Undying, to my heart ; 
 While, willing, in Thy hand I lie. 
 
 Dear Father let me pray, 
 As I was born, that I may die 
 
 Some morrow in the May. 
 
172 ju:n^e. 
 
 , JUNE. 
 
 CLIMBING over the terraced wall. 
 Clasping the trellis in loving embrace, 
 Creeping along where the dew-drops fall, 
 Are blossoming roses, white and red. 
 Shaking their petals over my head. 
 
 Sauntering, leisurely, over the way, 
 
 Happy as Hebe, while tripping the street, 
 
 Out where the rollicking children play. 
 Robed in blossoms which trail at her feet. 
 
 Comes a beautiful, gay, young maiden along. 
 
 Singing, with sweetness, her summerly song. 
 
 Never a maiden of statelier grace [crowned. 
 Trod the green earth, or more prettily 
 
JUNE. 173 
 
 JSTever a maiden with rosier face, 
 
 Begirt with buds and blossoms around, 
 Threw from her eyes such glances and gleams 
 Of love, as the one I can see in my dreams. 
 
 The nearest and dearest sister of May, # 
 
 Coming so soon, when the Spring has gone, 
 
 Coming, so glad, with earth's children to play, 
 Bathed in the light of the dewy morn, 
 
 Throwing her kisses, while 23assing along. 
 
 And making us glad with her music and song. 
 
 Over the swee23 of the capering years 
 
 Have I played with her, and many a time. 
 On the mountain of joy, in the valley of tears. 
 In the buddings of youth, in my blossoming 
 prime. 
 And never my heart was in sweeter attune. 
 Then when dreaming my dreams on the bosom 
 of June. 
 
174 JULY. 
 
 JULY 
 
 JOY, joy ! so sings the earth 
 In cheerful song this July morn, 
 " As when the heart, to newer birth 
 Of happiness is born ! 
 
 Where'er we look, beneath, above. 
 On sleeping dell, or fretted wood. 
 In all, we see a Father's love, 
 A Father's gifts of good. 
 
 And mother Nature bares her breast 
 
 Of nourishment, to every child. 
 And giyes to all her sweet bequest 
 ^ Of blossoms undefiled. 
 
 The Father, with minutest care, 
 Respreads the waiting earth anew, 
 
 And everything we see is fair 
 Beneath His skies of blue. 
 
JULY. 175 
 
 His heart of goodness never tires, 
 
 His love, no diminution knows, 
 He gives, alike, our winter fires, 
 
 Alike, the summer rose. 
 
 He gives and takes, it is His right. 
 He sits, a sovereign, on His throne, 
 
 And all, the darkness and the light, 
 And seasons, are His own ! 
 
 Within a circle, spreading far 
 To left and right, and all around. 
 
 There are no frescoed walls to bar 
 His melody of sound. 
 
 This moment, O, how grand, sublime ! 
 
 And we are of His works a part. 
 And we may have, and all the time. 
 
 His summer in the heart. 
 
176 AUGUST. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 THE tides run out, and the tides run in, 
 Nor, for a moment, stay their flowing; 
 So from creation it has been, 
 Forever coming, ever going. 
 
 And, one by one, wave follows wave 
 Landward, forever on the motion, 
 
 And, one by one, go down the brave 
 Upon the land, upon the ocean. 
 
 The morning brings its skies of blue, 
 The sun gives out his golden glory, 
 
 But ere the day is half way through 
 The heavens tell another story. 
 
 We start with heart-hopes all abloom. 
 
 And feed upon imagination, 
 And travel into thickest gloom 
 
 Before we reach Life's half-way station. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 17t 
 
 The months have well-nigh rounded up, — 
 For good or ill their changes bringing, 
 
 And some have drank the bitter cup 
 
 Of grief, since I commenced my singing. 
 
 To me, this sultry August day 
 
 With kindly thoughts my mind is filling, 
 And while it preaches of decay, 
 
 What matters it, if I am willing? 
 
 The bloom of sleep must come and will, 
 And, silent, fall upon the meadow. 
 
 Why should I care ? I would be still, 
 Nor fear the falling of its shadow. 
 
 F 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 IRST of the three. 
 
 We welcome thee 
 
 With songs of hearty greeting ; 
 So glad are we 
 Again to be 
 
 At this delightful meeting. 
 
 12 
 
178 SEPTEMBEK. 
 
 Why should we weep ? 
 
 The bloom of sleep, 
 Is gently on us falling, 
 
 And all around 
 
 We hear the sound 
 Of Nature's voices calling. 
 
 The golden rod, 
 With graceful nod. 
 
 Bows out the weary summer. 
 And from the sod 
 The bloom of God 
 
 Re-crowns the princely comer. 
 
 O, child of joy, 
 O, blooming boy. 
 
 So young, so pure, so clever, 
 We kiss thy face 
 Of charming grace 
 
 With more of love than ever ! 
 
OCTOBER. 179 
 
 H 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 O, thou of modest mien and brow, 
 Autumn's divinity ! 
 The golden seal is on thee now, 
 Child of the Trinity ! 
 
 Ceres her kindly hand uplifts 
 To bless her second child, 
 
 And fills her lap with gathered gifts 
 From garden and the wild. 
 
 Aurora's skillful hand, with grace 
 Your modest robes has made. 
 
 And still we see upon your face 
 A melancholy shade. 
 
 O, child, by unseen fingers fed 
 
 On manna from above, 
 Come, let us place upon your head 
 
 Our coronet of love ! 
 
180 XOVEMBEK. 
 
 Too soon your garlands shall depart, 
 Too soon your beauty perish, 
 
 But nouo;ht shall banish from the heart 
 The love for thee we cherish. 
 
 J^O VEMBEE. 
 
 HALLO ! what, here again, old fellow, 
 In robes of red, and green and yellow, 
 And looks defiant ? 
 With full, cold eyes upon us staring. 
 Bold and imi^erious in bearing, 
 A frowning giant ? 
 
 Well, sir, who cares ? looking on.you, 
 I, all your masks and moods eschew. 
 
 Your flare and fluster ; 
 I meet you with an open palm. 
 And sing to you my simple jDsalm, 
 
 To calm your bluster ! 
 
N^OYEMBER. 181 
 
 Hood wrote in strains of bitter sweet, 
 
 And threw his missive at your feet, 
 If I remember, 
 
 And while his lyric throbs and thrills. 
 
 His summing-up of all your ills, 
 
 Is this — " November !" 
 
 I will not maul you as did he. 
 But meet and greet you pleasantly. 
 
 With hand extended ; 
 For, more than once, with humble pen, 
 I have, from the attacks of men, 
 
 Your cause defended. 
 
 No, no, why should we you so hate ? 
 You are of other months the mate; 
 If not as even, 
 
 You make a twelfth of all our lives, 
 And love upon your bosom thrives. 
 The gift of heaven ! 
 
 Rough you may seem, and rough you are, 
 But why should this our pleasure mar, 
 
 Month of disguises ? 
 You come to cheer, and why should we 
 Turn grumblers and find fault with thee 
 
 And thy surprises? 
 
182 NOVEMBEK. 
 
 What though you are a little breezy, 
 A little phthisicky and sneezy, 
 
 And make us gloomy, 
 We know your heart is large and kind, 
 In spite of all your moods of mind. 
 
 And warm and roomy ! 
 
 Along the march of hoary Time 
 Your tread has been as grand, sublime, 
 
 As any other ; 
 So here's our hand ! blow, blow away. 
 And have your calm and stormy day. 
 
 My windy brother ! 
 
 You help to make the passing year, 
 And, in your turn, bring rest and cheer, 
 
 And sweet refreshing ; 
 A twelfth of all our love you share, 
 So on your head we breathe our prayer 
 
 Of peace and blessing ! 
 
DECEMBER. 183 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 THE North wind blows, the frowning skies 
 In sable curtains drape the earth, 
 Still, patient Love to cheer us tries, 
 And Pleasure nestles near our hearth. 
 
 Without, but dreariness appears, 
 No scene of beauty meets the eye; 
 
 Within, how much there is that cheers, 
 As fast the dancing hours go by. 
 
 And still, the earth hath wealth apart, 
 And beauty hid from our beholding. 
 
 As there are flowers in every heart 
 Which wait for their unfolding. 
 
 We ask for life, it will not stay, 
 
 Our treasures in the ashes lie ; 
 Death reigns ! his icy fingers play 
 
 Among our joys until they die. 
 
184 DECEMBEE. 
 
 And yet, God's love is just the same, 
 And sweetly brightens winter's gloom ; 
 
 It sets our hearts with joy aflame, 
 
 And wreathes life's dreariness in bloom. 
 
 Sorrow may come our hopes to blast, 
 Home's blossoms fall, its garlands die, 
 
 And grief pursue us to the last. 
 But rest shall follow by and by. 
 
 Then let December tempests blow. 
 For they forebode no dreaded ill, 
 
 Because, behind the clouds, we know 
 God's clear, warm sun is shining still. 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. J 85 
 
 I]^ MEMOIUAM. 
 
 [Written on tlie death of Col. Richard Borden.] 
 
 PAUSE, busy workers,pause in your career ; 
 The public heart with lionest sorrow swells ; 
 Life feels the surge of grief, for death is here, 
 A gloom is on the city, toll the bells ! 
 
 Rest, rest awhile, ye men of busy life ! 
 
 The waves of time break on the eternal shore ; 
 Rest, rest awhile, from daily toil and strife, 
 
 The MAN OF MEN amoug you is no more ! 
 
 To loving hearts the earth had given glow, 
 
 And blent with them were many hopes and 
 fears ; 
 And he had seen the proudest of them go 
 
 And shed their blossoms on the grave of 
 years. 
 
 And he had seen the fleeting years go by. 
 As in the distance, floating down the stream, 
 
 We watch the objects dearest to the eye. 
 Until like specks of fading joy they seem. 
 
186 INT MEMOEIAM. 
 
 These sun-clad hills, and yonder flowing 
 streams, 
 From earliest boyhood to his heart were dear ; 
 
 Amid these scenes he dreamed his life-long 
 dreams, 
 And passed his days in honest, pleasant cheer. 
 
 No meteor-flashes in his life appear, 
 
 No transient gleams of fitful purj^ose glow, 
 
 But honor shines, and duty, bright and clear, 
 And on his years their steady lustre throw. 
 
 So pure his motives, and so free from guile. 
 So calmly flowed the active years along, 
 
 So even-poised his daily life, the while. 
 His latter days were genial as a song. 
 
 His life was earnest, as his heart w as kind, 
 We sa^w, in him, the Man and Christian meet. 
 
 And, gone, he leaves a memory behind, 
 Embalmed in love, dear, loving, lasting 
 sw^eet. 
 
 Pause, busy workers, pause in your career ! 
 
 The public heart with honest sorrow swells ; 
 Life feels the surge of grief, for death is here, 
 
 A gloom is on the city, toll the bells ! 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. 187 
 
 Rest, rest awhile, ye men of busy life ! 
 
 The waves of time beat on the eternal shore ; 
 Rest, rest awhile, from daily toil and strife. 
 
 The MAN OF MEN among you is no more ! 
 
 AT BEST. 
 
 [Written on the death of Rev. P. B. Haughwout.] 
 
 M 
 
 AY the earth lie softly on thy grave 
 O, thou of gentle mien. 
 And fairest flowers sweetly bloom 
 Ul3on thy bed of green ! 
 
 But yesterday thy manly form 
 With life was all aglow. 
 
 To-day, we lay thee down to rest, 
 Where summer roses grow. 
 
188 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 So silently thy work was done, 
 
 So wrought in faith and prayer, 
 
 That all thy precious sowing here 
 Shall bless thee "over there." 
 
 Rest, gentle spirit, sweetly rest ! 
 
 Removed from eai-thly strife. 
 Eternity alone can tell 
 
 The value of thy life. 
 
 Thy works of faith and love, well- done. 
 The paths thy footsteps trod. 
 
 Shall all, like beckoning angel hands, 
 Lead on and np to God. 
 
 Farewell, dear one ! in active life 
 Though from us rudely riven. 
 
 In death, thy words shall come to us 
 Like messa2:es from Heaven. 
 
 •& 
 
 Farewell ! for loving duties done. 
 Faith-linked, shall come to be 
 
 The more than golden chain, to bind 
 Our hearts to God and thee ! 
 
IlSr MEMORIAM. 189 
 
 SLEEPING. 
 
 [Written on the death of Miss Nellie N. Davis.] 
 
 DEAR one, so early called away, 
 To rest in holy keeping. 
 We stand beside thy form to-day. 
 And think of thee as sleeping. 
 
 The seal of death is on thy brow, 
 The ties of love are riven. 
 
 But, as we look upon thee now. 
 We see the peace of heaven. 
 
 No sign of pain, that tries us so. 
 Thy peaceful looks disclose, 
 
190 IN MEMOEIAM. 
 
 But rest, sucli as God's children know, 
 The calmness of repose. 
 
 A life so good, so pu7*e as thine, 
 
 And so devoid of art, 
 Shall bring thee nearer the divine, 
 
 The Father's loving heart. 
 
 Peace, weary sleeper ! thine the rest, 
 The rest divinely given ; 
 
 The blossoms lying on thy breast 
 Are types of thee and heaven. 
 
 While looking on thy peaceful face. 
 Our grief we may not tell, 
 
 But whisper with a tempered grace. 
 Our good-bye, and farewell. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 191 
 
 LINES 
 
 » [Suggested on hearing of the death of Mrs. James T. Milne.] 
 
 NO idle wishes form a part 
 Of what my better thoughts inspire, 
 Nor vain ambition stirs my heart, 
 
 Or moves the hand to sweep the lyre; 
 I feel, nor can I well suppress 
 
 The feelings, which, begirt with light, 
 Now come my weary soul to bless. 
 While thinking of my boy to-night. 
 
 I see, or seem to see, just now, 
 
 A creeping shadow on the wall, 
 The cold sweat starts upon my brow, 
 
 Lest I should see that shadow fall ; 
 And so I think of you and sing. 
 
 Sing, brother, though my notes be drear, 
 And with my song to you I bring 
 
 My gift of grief — an honest tear. 
 
 We sail upon uncertain seas, 
 
 Nor can we tell what may befall 
 
 Our life-bark driven by the breeze — 
 We hope, enjoy, and this is all ; 
 
192 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Oh, no, not all ; beyond the strife. 
 Beyond the fleeting things of time. 
 
 There is, we know, a better life — 
 A life eternal and sublime. 
 
 'Tis hard to sever earthly ties. 
 
 And hard from those we love to part. 
 And strange, complaining thoughts will rise, 
 
 Unbidden from the stricken heart ; 
 But Christian fortitude dispels 
 
 The all of wrong that sweeps the breast, 
 And living faith all doubt re23els, 
 
 And stills the surging heart to rest. 
 
 Dark clouds may shroud the sky of life, 
 
 And all a dreary aspect wear. 
 But love shall scatter inner strife,*^ 
 
 And hope its fruit of comfort bear. 
 Death may our hearts and homes despoil, 
 
 Our hopes be scattered to the breeze, 
 But death, nor sorrow, grief, nor all. 
 
 Can rob us of our memories. 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. 193; 
 
 What though thy home be desolate, 
 
 What though thy hopes be all adrift, 
 Look up and see the golden gate, 
 
 The sunlight streaming through the rift. 
 A little while and you shall see 
 
 The darkened sky of sorrow riven. 
 And with the lost you soon shall be 
 
 At home, with her, in heaven. 
 
 No more ; I could rot well suppress 
 
 The feelings which, begirt with light, 
 So sweetly came my heart to bless 
 
 While thinking of my boy to-night ; 
 And as I thought, I could but sing. 
 
 Sing, brother, though my notes be drear, 
 And with my song to you I bring 
 
 My gift of grief — an honest tear. 
 
 ^jbwaud buffinton, 
 
 ANOTHER silver cord is loosed. 
 Another call is given, 
 Another pure and gentle soul 
 
 Has winged its flight to heaven ! 
 
 13 
 
194 IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 Firm as a rock, his faith in God, 
 His hope as bright as day, 
 
 And nothing in this changing world, 
 Could tear these props away. 
 
 Sweet sympathies were in him born, 
 And gave him manly power, 
 
 And from his heart spontaneous came, 
 As fragrance from the flower. 
 
 He felt the grief that others felt, 
 When desolate and drear, 
 
 And had for every sorrowing one 
 A word of needed cheer. 
 
 Just like an ever-flowing stream, 
 His generous feelings flowed. 
 
 As from the stricken, bleeding heart, 
 He tried to lift its load. 
 
 In homes where wan affliction sat. 
 And weary mourners bent, 
 
 His gently soothing, kindly words, 
 Like cheerful music went. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 1^5 
 
 'No wonder ! copious draughts he drew, 
 
 Of inspiration, from above, 
 And sent it, singing, here and there, 
 
 In rivulets of love. 
 
 Peace, brother mine! peace, child of God ! 
 
 Tired, thou hast found repose. 
 And, from thy living, ffood shall come. 
 
 As sweetness from the rose. 
 
 To many hearts thy songs of cheer 
 
 Shall be a precious boon, 
 And those who knew and loved thee best, 
 
 Will not forget thee soon ! 
 
 WHEN THE CLOUDS HAVE 
 MELTED AWAY. 
 
 [Kindly inscribed to Franklin L. Almy on the death of his 
 
 wife.] 
 
 I SIT in the chamber of sorrow. 
 As the daylight is fading away. 
 And ask if the grief of to-morrow 
 Will be like the grief of to-day ? 
 
196 m MEMORIAM. 
 
 While the rays of the solar reflection 
 Illumine the mountainous towers, 
 
 i sit in the vale of dejection, 
 
 Alone with the night-drifting hours. 
 
 And while the sweet dream of love lingers, 
 
 To silence the discord of strife. 
 It seems that some angelic fingers 
 
 Are writing the story of life. 
 
 I turn to the page that is written. 
 And read, half bewildered with pain, 
 
 "O, child, though the Father has smitten, 
 He will heal in the morning again." 
 
 Though the mountains are shorn of their splen- 
 There is peace in the valleys below ; [dor, 
 
 So be still, for the Father will render 
 What is best for an agonized woe. 
 
 The sorrow that drifts into sadness. 
 And darkens the sun-lighted day. 
 
 Shall blossom again into gladness 
 
 When the clouds have all melted away. 
 
i:Nr MEMOEIAM. 19T 
 
 For I know that on some to-morrow, 
 The Father will answer my prayer ; 
 
 So, brother, I come in your sorrow 
 This sprig of affection to bear. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 [Written on the death of Mrs. Velona W. Haughwout.] 
 
 FAREWELL ! Since God, we know^ not 
 Has taken back the life He gave, [why, 
 And scarcely yet the tears are dry, 
 So lately shed upon her grave ; 
 
 And since upon her fair, young brow. 
 The signet-seal of death is prest. 
 
 And all that is immortal, now 
 Lives in unbroken rest. 
 
 Farewell ! The clouds their dewy tears 
 Shall shed upon the verdant sod, 
 
 And weeping hearts, through future years. 
 Shall sigh their vain regrets to God. 
 
198 m MEMOEIAM. 
 
 The birds their morning songs shall sing, 
 And sorrow drape the bending skies, 
 
 And Love her sweetest gifts shall bring, 
 To deck the spot where goodness lies. 
 
 Love shall her memory entwine — 
 
 And hold it sacred evermore, 
 And the calm stars as sweetly shine, 
 
 And soft as they have shone before. 
 
 And days shall come, and days shall go. 
 And years their widening circles run. 
 
 And vines shall climb, and blossoms blow, 
 'Till loving, grieving shall be done. 
 
 But changing years, nor crushing care. 
 Nor thoughtless words, unkindly said. 
 
 Shall ever from our bosoms tear. 
 The love we cherish for the dead. 
 
 Farewell ! Beyond the drift of years, 
 Beyond the hurt or touch of jiain. 
 
 Beyond the weeping and the tears, 
 Loved ones shall meet again. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 199 
 
 Meet, and where parting is no more, 
 Where love and joy perj^etual dwell; 
 
 Upon the brighter, fairer shore ; 
 'Till then, a sweet farewell ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 [Written on the death of Miss Lizzie D. Carr.] 
 
 This faltering verse, which thou 
 Shalt not o'erlook, is all I have 
 To offer at thy gv^YQ.— Bryant. 
 
 SING, oh my Miise,your sweetest mnsic sing. 
 In notes of tender sympathy and cheer ! 
 Oh, Grief ! a sprig of pure affection bring, 
 
 And lay it softly on the sleeper's bier. 
 The heart beats quicker, and the thoughts 
 
 come fast. 
 And throw their shadows on the mournful past. 
 
200 IK MEMOKIAM. 
 
 * 
 
 Another form has disappeared from life, 
 Another blossom fallen by the way, 
 
 Another soul has closed its mortal strife, 
 And gone, serenely, up the shining way ; 
 
 How true : — our thoughts are of affection born, 
 
 And love grows stronger when the child is gone. 
 
 And she has gone, as comes the blooming 
 spring, 
 
 In all her young life's freshness, to the grave ; 
 O Love ! from out your night of sorrow sing. 
 
 The Father has but taken what He gave ; 
 The soul uplifted to a higher sphere. 
 
 Shall revel sweetly in its clearer light. 
 And every good that crowned her living here. 
 
 To her freed spirit shall imj^art delight. 
 
 We know it all, for we have felt the sting, 
 We would not have the grief of love de23art. 
 
 Tears from the soul will all unbidden spring. 
 For still the arrow rankles in the heart ; 
 
 We look away as our dear, loved ones go. 
 
 And ask, but cannot answer, why 'tis so ? 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 201 
 
 To her, home, friends, were given but to bless, 
 For her a rosy future seemed in store ; 
 
 Her girlhood days were one endeared caress 
 Of sweetest love ; she could not wish for 
 more ; 
 
 We cannot tell, (we leave it all unsung,) 
 
 How sweet life must have been to one so young. 
 
 When the heart's blossoms all are gone, and 
 when 
 
 The light has faded from the once glad eye. 
 If for the pilgrim of threescore and ten 
 
 It is so hard, so passing hard to die. 
 How harder still for those their lives to give 
 Who in their hopes have but begun to live. 
 
 They look beyond the present, fleeting day, 
 And think to see the riper blossoms fall, 
 
 Not much they think of dying, why should they ? 
 The youngest vines cling strongest to the 
 
 Anticipation dissipates their fears, [wall; 
 
 And gilds with golden light the coming years. 
 
 Why wonder that unreconciled they seem 
 As blooming hope gives place to dreaded 
 fears. 
 And shadows rest upon their fondest dream, 
 And in their thoughts they live the life of 
 years ! 
 Why wonder that in helplessness they sigh, 
 As fast the fount of life is running dry! 
 
202 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 We saw her last, if we remember, when 
 Upon her brow there was no shade of gloom ; 
 
 We see her now just as we saw her then, 
 In all the sweetness of her girlhood bloom ; 
 
 That Death should cajDture one so young and 
 fair 
 
 'Tis hard to think, and harder still to bear. 
 
 Possessed of grace and discii^line of mind, 
 
 She was as pleasant as her life was fair, 
 Her heart was warm, and generous, and kind, 
 
 By storm unruffled and untouched by care ; 
 Hope all its radiance on her pathw^ay flung. 
 
 And with its tints and many colored dyes, 
 Bright draperies before her vision hung, 
 
 And ijainted promise on her summer skies. 
 
 But little know we here, while sailing o'er 
 
 The sea of life, our skies with clouds o'ercast. 
 On what unknown, unseen, untravelled shore 
 Our frail and w^ave-tossed barque shall land at 
 Disease shall weaken, silently, but sure, [last ; 
 Shall give to flattering,cheatingHope,the lie, 
 And when we deem ourselves the most secure, 
 Shall say the time has come for us to die. 
 
IN MEMOKIAM. 203 
 
 The week had gone, and gone the hours of night, 
 
 The mornnig blushes lay upon the earth, 
 From out the darkness came the rosy light, 
 
 And from the Avreck of death, immortal birth; 
 Softly and still, as pass the hours away. 
 
 The shadows lifted from her weary breast, 
 And, sweet the thought,that sunlit Sabbath day 
 
 Became to her a day of joyful rest. 
 
 The leaves must fall, the blossoms disappear. 
 The loved and loving leave us by the way. 
 
 But every bud that withers with the year. 
 Be sure, shall bloom in everlasting day; 
 
 And we shall meet them in the land of rest, 
 
 And fold, again, the dear ones to our breast. 
 
 O dear young sleepers, give your sister place. 
 She comes to you in all her girlhood bloom ; 
 
 O Earth, receive her to thy warm embrace. 
 And on thy bosom give her loving room ; 
 
 " Affection's semblance weeps not at her tomb. 
 
 Affection's self deplores her youthful doom." 
 
204 I?^ MEMORIAM. 
 
 LINES 
 
 [Written on the death of Miss Clara F. Davol.] 
 
 GONE, patient sufferer, and still 
 Thy loving grace the heart retains, 
 For, like the perfume of the rose, 
 The fragrance of thy life remains. 
 
 Thy gentle sj^irit, like a bird 
 
 Let loose from its imjDrisonment, 
 
 Soared upward on its lighter wings 
 To realms of calm and sweet content. 
 
 Gone from thy bed of weariness, 
 
 Gone from these scenes of storm and strife, 
 Be thine, dear child, the loving hand 
 
 To lead on to a higher life ! 
 
 Not, not alone, thy loosened feet 
 Tread the immortHl world of bliss. 
 
 For others, dear, that bright land share, 
 Who walked, with thee, awhile in this. 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. 205 
 
 The bending skies look sunnier now, 
 That rest, to thee, sweet rest is given, 
 
 And dearer seems the rugged way 
 That leads to thee and heaven ! 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 [Kindly inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. George H. Monroe on the 
 death of their little daughter.] 
 
 WEEP not, the dear child of your love 
 Is only sleeping ! [and care 
 
 She rests, and in a world more fair, 
 In holy keeping. 
 
 'Twas meet that she should go, else she had not, 
 
 She was but given, 
 And her's is now that sweeter, better part. 
 
 The jDeace of heaven ! 
 
206 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 The child of your affection, still is thine, 
 
 No longer sorrow. 
 You may receive her, and from hands divine. 
 
 On some to-morrow ! 
 
 A little while shall she be out of sight, 
 
 And she is waiting 
 To welcome you to realms of softer light. 
 
 Is waiting, waiting! 
 
 Weep not ! the child of your devoted care. 
 
 Is only sleeping. 
 And in a land, more beautiful and fair, 
 
 In holy keeping ! 
 
m MEMORIAM. 207 
 
 SHEAF OF GRAIN. 
 
 Read at the St. Paul's Methodist Sunday School memo- 
 rial service, on the death of the late Iram Smith. 
 
 AMID the joy of these festivities, [ories, 
 Where love is twined with sacred mem- 
 Where sorrowing hearts, with loving thoughts 
 
 are full, 
 And blossoms vie with blossoms beautiful, 
 Where aged pilgrims to communion come, 
 And children gather in their Sahbath home, 
 I look — but miss from its accustomed place. 
 One kind, benevolent, familiar face. 
 
 It seems but yesterday, that he was here, 
 Was with us, w^ith his words of kindly cheer, 
 Calm in his generous imj)ulses of mind, 
 True, honest, strong and i3eacefully inclined ; 
 
208 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 An honest teacher, with an honest heart, 
 Who, Hke an honest worker, did his part ; 
 To-day he rests--his lengthened life-work done, 
 The cross endured, the glorious victory won ! 
 
 Death, friend or foe, in his imperiousness. 
 Has crossed our path, and made our numbers 
 No tender blossom from its fragile stay, [less, 
 Have his rude fingers, ruthless, torn away. 
 No other break have his intrusions made, 
 No other dear one have his arrows slayed. 
 But one ripe sheaf of grain, we ask not why, 
 Has been transplanted to the world on high. 
 
 Gone ! over the river our brother has gone, 
 
 A soul, into sweeter surroundings born, 
 
 And the earthly ties, which death has riven. 
 
 Bind us the closer to him and heaven ; 
 
 But still it is true, as it ever has been. 
 
 That there must be grief in this world of sin, 
 
 But we know, thank God, that the sheaf of 
 grain, 
 
 We shall find in the other world again ! 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 209 
 
 O, better than this, is the life to come, 
 Better than this, is onr heavenly home, 
 For there, no sorrow shall darken the way 
 Of life, in the beautiful land of day ! 
 And I have thought in my pilgrimage here, 
 Where life is so transient and love so dear, 
 That when I depart from this life below, 
 Like a sheaf of grain I should like to go 1 
 
 OVER THERE. 
 
 [Written on the death of Nathan Munroe.] 
 
 HOPE fled as autumn leaves were falling, 
 And still the hours w^ere full of cheer, 
 And voices which to him were dear 
 Were from beyond the river calling. 
 
 Each day but brought the day the nearer — 
 
 The ending of a life of beauty. 
 
 The ending of a life of duty — 
 And stronger grew his sight, and clearer. 
 
 14 
 
210 IK MEMORIAM. 
 
 Pain could not dry the well of feeling ; 
 And when he whispered in his prayer 
 The words of comfort, " Over there," 
 
 Was God the life beyond revealing ? 
 
 Above the reach of human cunning, 
 Thank God ! and whither we are going, 
 Beyond the reach of present knowledge. 
 
 There are communications runnino;. 
 
 o 
 
 We pray in confidence, believing 
 That what we ask in faith of Thee, 
 Shall, Father, in Thy good time, be 
 
 The measure of the soul's receivins;. 
 
 'O' 
 
 And so, while death the end was bringing, 
 Joy was the burden of his prayer ; 
 And " over there " and " over there " 
 
 The soul and measure of his singing. 
 
 And as he felt that he was going. 
 Was going to a life so fair. 
 The passage to the " over there " 
 
 S eemed to him radiant and glowing. 
 
m MEMORIAM. 211 
 
 His was a life of godly living ; 
 
 This life to him was dear and fair ; 
 
 But there was in the " over there," 
 To him, a life more worth the having. 
 
 Wliat came within his ransre of hearinsj 
 We may not know ; but it was clear 
 That it was growing sweetly dear — 
 
 The " over there " which he was nearing. 
 
 When fading is this world of beauty. 
 Death has no terrors by the way 
 For him whose life through every day 
 
 Has been a life of loving duty. 
 
 And so the good man, patient lying 
 In something sweeter than a dream. 
 Heard music from beyond the stream — 
 
 The " over there " — when he was dying. 
 
 So death to him was but the portal 
 
 Through which he reached the " over there," 
 The land celestial, sunny, fair — 
 
 And entered on the life immortal. 
 
212 m MEMORIAM. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 STAND with me by another grave, 
 New, green, and tear bedewed, 
 Where loving ones have laid aw^ay 
 Their honored dead ! One, whose life 
 Was pure, and good, and sweet as 
 Summer blossoms ; with gifts so rich 
 That they shall sweeter, richer grow, 
 As time runs on. Our Poet Laureate! 
 Melody was born in him, 
 As song is native to the bird, , 
 Aud music to the stream 
 That through the valley runs. 
 He touched his lyre, and from it, 
 Rich and full, came strains of melody. 
 Which through the soul sent resignation, 
 Calming it to rest, as the sweet 
 Words of Jesus, " peace be still !" 
 Calmed, to repose, the Galilean sea. 
 Longfellow is no more ! Yet lives he still, 
 And will, while genius, into music wrought, 
 Shall cheer, uplift and bless the w^orld. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 2J3 
 
 Crowned by the gods was he when but a child, 
 And none could tear the laurel from his brow, 
 Through all the years he wore it, wore it to 
 
 the last, 
 And fresh and green. His life bore blossoms. 
 Such as children love, and all — 
 Uplifting was his song, as faith uplifts. 
 But one " Evangeline " there is, 
 Sweet creature she, and beautiful as sweet. 
 The " Hiawathas " now, must go unsung. 
 For the harp is still, and silent, too. 
 The lyre. The master hand that swept 
 Their strings, shall touch them nevermore ! 
 " Into each life some rain must fall. 
 Some days must be dark and dreary." 
 " The Rainy Day " has come and dark it is ; 
 " The Building of the Ship," is going on, 
 J3ut the master workman is no more ! 
 The singer of the " Psalm of Life " 
 Has gone away, but made his life " sublime," 
 And left his " footprints on the sands of time 
 The which, some brother seeing. 
 Shall take heart ao;ain. 
 
 5> 
 5 
 
214 m MEMOEIAM. 
 
 And try once more, uprising from the ground 
 To climb Fame's waiting ladder round by 
 
 round. 
 Oh man, oh child, oh poet of the heart 
 We give thee place, place in our humble 
 Song of memories ! Thee, friend, in Avhose 
 Great, warm heart, and nature strong. 
 Sweet Freedom nestled like a loving child, 
 And made thee true to Country as to God ; 
 We give thee place in our poor song. 
 Commemorative of our honored dead ! 
 Earth has one singer less to-day 
 And heaven one seraph more. 
 Rest, rest, sweet singer ; brother, rest ! 
 Long shall it be ere the immortal Nine 
 Shall garland such another brow as thine. 
 Farewell ! farewell ! Illustrious Bard ! 
 Farewell, until, our life work done. 
 In the heaven of our faith and hopes. 
 Our dear ones we shall meet again, [still." 
 
 And love and friendship blossom sweeter 
 
m MEMORIAM. 215 
 
 BURN SIDE, 
 
 THE grasses grow upon a grave 
 Where sleeps a hero, true and brave, 
 Around whose talismanic name. 
 Are twined the fadeless wreaths of fame ; 
 Whose life bore blossoms which shall give 
 Out fragrance while his virtues live ; 
 Who earned his fame, his laurels loon,, 
 Rhode Island's loved and honored son ! 
 
 A man who never shrunk nor swerved 
 From fealty to the land he served, 
 Whose grave the veteran boys in blue 
 Will deck with green, with tears bedew, 
 And weeping Sorrow bow her head 
 In silence by the gallant dead ; 
 For oh, to-day, a nation weeps 
 Around the grave where Burnside sleeps ! 
 
 No false ambition could allure 
 From right, a soul like his so pure ; 
 Enough for him that he could stand, 
 A guardian of his native land, 
 
216 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 And breast the storm, that shook the State, 
 And well-nigh laid it desolate ; 
 Enough for him, that he could be 
 The brave defender of the free ! 
 
 In war, to his command endeared. 
 In peace, a man beloved, revered ; 
 And when they laid him in the ground. 
 With martial, civic honors crowned, 
 A nation wept ! The night of gloom. 
 Fell, softly, on the patriot's tomb. 
 And weeping thousands, tearful, said 
 Their farewells o'er the sleeping dead ! 
 
 Rest, rest, defender of the free ! 
 Peace, peace, brave soldier, peace to thee ! 
 Thy fame secure, no hand shall dare 
 One laurel from thy brow to tear ! 
 Rest, soldier ! thou thy country's art 
 In every beating of its heart, 
 And well Rhode Island's sons shall see 
 No harm befall thy memory ! 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 217 
 
 GABBISOJV. 
 
 A PRINCE has fallen — aye, a more than 
 prince ! 
 A master — aye, than master more ! 
 A king — aye, greater than a king! 
 A man ! — a full-orbed man ! 
 A man so full of truth, of love. 
 Of right, that every heart-throb 
 Bore mercy to some other heart. 
 His manhood began young, and grew in strength 
 And firm resolve, as grows the oak 
 In fiber, gathering strength 
 Until it bids defiance to the storm. 
 A boy in years, in strength he was a man, 
 With more of moral grandeur in his soul 
 Than any man the age produced ; 
 And more of moral daring in his heart. 
 So young a hero, he pressed right on. 
 Untouched by fear and unawed by threat, 
 Toward the mark of his high calling ; 
 
218 m MEMORIAM. 
 
 Steady and true, unfaltering as well, 
 Sj)eaking as man had never spoke before. 
 With heart and hand to fight " Oppression's 
 Brutalizing sway, till Afric's chains 
 Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land, 
 Trampling Oppression and his iron rod — 
 Such is the vow I take, so help me God !" 
 And fight he did, and with a tact and skill. 
 And with a courage, too, that would not yield 
 One inch of ground, no matter who the foeman, 
 But in grand keeping with what he had said, 
 Dealt his brave blows upon oppression's head, 
 Thicker and faster, and with every breath, 
 Threw grand defiance in the face of death. 
 In all the walks of life no purer man than he. 
 No firmer friend to right,no firmer foe to wrong; 
 So true himself, he championed truth from 
 
 love of it, 
 And made integrity the purpose of his life ; 
 And looked upon the liar and his lie 
 With cold contempt, and lashed them both 
 
 to death. 
 A man he was in soul, in heart, in deeds. 
 
 Seeing, with prophet eye, what was to be. 
 
 He took his stand, resolved to win or die ; 
 
IN MEMOKIAM. 219 
 
 And lived to win ; to see his heart's desire 
 
 Accomplished, his country free, 
 
 And millions basking in the light of liberty ! 
 
 Great man ! as goodness makes one great, 
 
 Posterity shall honor him, so great ; 
 
 And in the coming generations 
 
 Good men shall tell the story of his life. 
 
 And telling, reverence him the more. 
 
 No work was nobler, better done than his; 
 
 No sweeter life than his, no calmer death — 
 
 Dead ! no, he is not dead, but gone away 
 
 Like a dear friend, to come again 
 
 To cheer and bless us on the way. 
 
 When most we need his presence! 
 
 His words, his noble struggle for the right. 
 
 His vow, his firm resolve, his toils, 
 
 His sufferings, his pleasant face, his life. 
 
 His faith, his hope, his all, shall grander make 
 
 His manly conflict and his victory. 
 
 Be sure the name of Garrison shall be 
 
 Among the proudest in our history, 
 
 In all the years to come; and time shall write 
 
 It high among the champions of right. 
 
220 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 GARFIELD. 
 
 OUR dead, no matter where they lie, 
 On Southern slope, or Northern hill, 
 In memory are with us still. 
 And will be as the years go by ! 
 
 Stand with me, by a new-made grave. 
 Where one we honored is at rest, 
 The heart within whose manly breast. 
 
 Was pure, as it was true and brave. 
 
 Of all our good and worthy dead. 
 Who served us well, and are at rest. 
 Among the truest, and the best. 
 
 The name of Garfield shall be read! 
 
 His bright example, noble powers, 
 His character, so iron wrought. 
 The sturdy lessons, which he taught. 
 
 His life, his death, his fame, are ours. 
 
 Upon the historic page, and bright, 
 Shall shine, immortally, his name. 
 Crowned with the chaplets of his fame, 
 
 And belted by a zone of light. 
 
m MEMORIAM. 221 
 
 The bending skies shall smile serene 
 Upon the spot of his repose, 
 And every vine and flower that grows 
 
 Shall deck the Patriot's grave of green. 
 
 And pilgrims young, and pilgrims gray, 
 From hamlets of the brave and free, 
 And from across the swelling sea, 
 
 Shall weep where Garfield's ashes lay. 
 
 Sleep, soldier, deaf to war's alarms ! 
 A nation folds thee to her breast, 
 Calm be thy sleep, and sweet thy rest, 
 
 Encircled by thy country's arms ! 
 
 THE BURIAL OF GEN. GBANT. 
 
 AUGUST 8th, 1885. 
 
 " *S'ic itur ad astra." 
 Mournfully, tenderly, bear him away 
 To his rest, with the sepulchered dead to-day, 
 The Patriot Chieftain, the Hero, whose name 
 Is immortally writ on the tablets of fame; 
 Tenderly, tenderly bear him away 
 With the great and good of the earth to-day! 
 
222 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 While the bells are tolling their solemn good- 
 bye, 
 While the flag, he so honored, is waving on 
 
 high, 
 While the minute-o;uii tells us our Hero is dead 
 And the tears of a sorrowing j^eople are shed, 
 Tenderly, tenderly lay him away 
 To rest in the grave of his glory to day. 
 
 From ocean to ocean, from river to sea. 
 
 His name, through all time, shall the talisman 
 
 be 
 To rouse us to action, and help us prevail. 
 When foes from within or without shall assail, 
 And the sun of his glory shall never go down 
 From the place he now holds in his sky of 
 
 renown. 
 
 A people united, to their trusts shall be true 
 As blend they together, the gray and the blue. 
 The North and the South, the East and the 
 
 West, 
 United, are bearing his form to its rest» 
 And shall vow at his grave, forever to be 
 The guardians, alike, of the land of the free ! 
 
m MEMORIAM. 223 
 
 Tenderly, mournfully, bear him away 
 
 To his place with the sepulchered dead to-day. 
 
 Forever, forever that grave shall be ours ! 
 
 Cover it, cover over it with flowers ! 
 
 Mournfully, tenderly lay him away 
 
 To rest with the great and the brave to-day ! 
 
 SUMNER. 
 
 " His name and fame are ,his country's." 
 
 FOR right he stood as stands the rock 
 That calmly waits the coming. blast 
 Of wind and waves against it cast, 
 Nor moves, nor trembles at the shock. 
 But seems, in conscious strength, to mock 
 The fierce attack, the dash, the roar, 
 Then, backward, hurls them from the shore; 
 His sturdy blows, knock after knock, 
 Fell heavy, wrong was made to fly. 
 And slavery at his feet lay low. 
 Sumner ! his words, his deeds, his fame, 
 Bequeathed to us, shall never die. 
 But brighter, purer, dearer grow, 
 And live immortal as his name ! 
 
224 m MEMORIAM. 
 
 T 
 
 AFTER- THO UGHT. 
 
 [Written on the death of Charles O. Shove.] 
 
 O life, and all there is or seems 
 Of life, by truth or fancy wrought, 
 No matter how inlaid with dreams, 
 There is an after-thought. 
 
 The vine may blossom in the spring, 
 And hap23y by-gone days recall. 
 
 And birds may from its branches sing. 
 And then the leaves must fall. 
 
 And never rose or blossom did 
 
 From winter spring to summer day, 
 
 But had not, somewhere in it hid, 
 The canker of decay. 
 
 No matter how we watch and tend 
 
 With pure, and sweet, and loving care, 
 
 Nor how the rains and sun descend, 
 The germ of death is there ; 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. ^ 225 
 
 And only waits the hour to show 
 How all that lives beneath the sky, 
 
 All, all that blesses here below. 
 Is only born to die. 
 
 After the storm, the sun ; and when 
 We see the life of beauty wrought. 
 
 We joy, and then comes death, and then, 
 Then comes the after-thought. 
 
 All, all, we cannot, should not know, 
 
 God mercifully veils His will, 
 And when He deals the hardest blow 
 
 As kindly blesses still. 
 
 And when the lesson I can read 
 
 In Nature's ever open book, 
 I look to Heaven in my need, 
 
 Nor ever vainly look. 
 
 As glowed the sky with starry light, 
 
 What could be asked of blessing more ? — 
 
 But I am thinking thoughts to-night' 
 I never thought before. 
 
 1^ 
 
226 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 I did not see it then as now, 
 
 When Hope was crowning Joy with light, 
 And love encircled every brow, 
 
 That calm December night. 
 
 For five and twenty years had gone. 
 And peace within the household dwells. 
 
 And joy, of happy marriage born, 
 Rings out like silver bells. 
 
 Sweet as the breath of summer flowers 
 
 The incense of affection rose. 
 And lingered through the fleeting hours, 
 
 And tarried at their close. 
 
 The singer, thinking, humbly sought 
 To give his thoughts expression there. 
 
 And ended, what he would have taught. 
 With this one, honest prayer. 
 
 " God bless your home ! May no rude hand 
 
 Your chain of jewels sever ! 
 And in this prayer all unite — 
 
 God bless your home forever !" 
 
 " 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 227 
 
 That night there were no yawning chinks 
 Through which life-cherished hopes might 
 
 N"o warning sign of broken links, [fall, 
 
 No shadow on the wall. 
 
 I did not see it as the day 
 
 I saw the broken column lie, 
 And read — " So shall they j)ass away. 
 
 So shall the strongest die !" 
 
 No, brother, little thought I, when 
 I saw thee standing, strong and true. 
 
 Thy days were numbered ; no, not then, 
 Not then, but now I do. 
 
 Grief sits the stricken home beside, 
 The harp lies broken on the floor. 
 
 No voice is heard at eventide. 
 No footfall at the door. 
 
 Though gone, his love so firm and strong. 
 
 Is fragrant, with the living still. 
 And precious as the sweetest song. 
 
 Lives, and forever will. 
 
228 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 As through the rifted cloud I peer, 
 The house not made with hands I see, 
 
 And think that I can clearly hear 
 The shout of victory. 
 
 And so, while that December night^ 
 Is in my memory inwrought, 
 
 There is that gives me more delight — 
 The sweeter after-thought. 
 
 *Annlversary of silver wedding. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 229 
 
 OUR DEAD HEROES, 
 
 WE honor the brave who their country 
 defended, 
 Who went to the conflict to do and to die^ 
 We honor the brave,, now their battles are 
 ended, [sky. 
 
 Wherever they shimber beneath the blue 
 
 Where roll the deep rivers in silence away. 
 There are sleeping our heroes, who fought 
 for the right. 
 And far, in his risings, the great god of day 
 Shall mantle their graves with his blossoms 
 of light. 
 
 Though our glorious banner again may be 
 
 shattered, [again, 
 
 Though the conflict of armies confront us 
 
 Though our dearly loved country again may 
 
 be battered, [main. 
 
 The fame of our heroes, undimm'd, shall re- 
 
 For, be sure, what is ours of honor and glory, 
 
 Shall be cherished, with gratitude, ever and 
 
 long, [story, 
 
 And the deeds of our heroes shall blossom in 
 
 And live in the measures of reverent song. 
 
230 IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 From the grasp of Oppression our country was 
 broken, [her, 
 
 All honor to those who went forth to defend 
 
 On their graves, and for aye, as a beautiful 
 
 token, [of splendor. 
 
 Sweet Peace shall descend with her garlands 
 
 They sleep, but their deeds and their daring 
 
 we cherish, [hand, 
 
 Their legacy, nothing shall tear from our 
 
 And never their laurels shall wither or perish, 
 
 While Freedom and Liberty bless our fair 
 
 land. 
 
 In strength and proportion, and beauty, as 
 well. 
 And up from their seeds of glorious sowing, 
 
 In fullness of measure and beauty shall swell 
 The fruitage of Liberty, steadily growing. 
 
 Tread gently, then, soldier, the hallowed 
 ground through, [rose, 
 
 And bind with your garlands the laurel and 
 Be true to the dead, to your country be true. 
 And guard well the graves where your com- 
 rades repose. 
 
m MEMOKIAM. 331 
 
 FLOWERS FOR THEIR GRAVES, 
 
 THE dying spring its sweetest breath 
 Breathes on the path of life and death, 
 And green-clad fields and grassy sod 
 Lift up their eyes of bloom to God, 
 And benedictions, sweet, descend 
 Where joy and sorrow meet and blend. 
 
 Amid this bloom, with no alarms 
 Of war, no call to arms, to arms, 
 From North or South, and no affright, 
 No looking forward to the fight, 
 No arm to strike the deadly blow, 
 No severed States, no hostile foe ; 
 
 But with one banner floating free 
 ^s ever, over land and sea. 
 And full of prophecies, as high 
 As when, at first, it kissed the sky, 
 A nation comes to crown its grief 
 With timely gifts of bloom and leaf ! 
 
232 m MEMOEIAM. 
 
 Where sleep the gray, where sleep the blue, 
 The sod is moistened with the dew; 
 And over Northern, Southern graves 
 The flag of Freedom proudly waves, 
 And shields and guards the altar fires 
 
 Bequeathed us by our patriot sires. 
 
 • 
 
 Tread lightly, soldier, softly tread 
 
 The hallowed ground where rest our dead ! 
 
 And, true to duty, kindly bring. 
 
 In love, the sweetest flowers of spring ; 
 
 And Freedom's garlands, trustful lay 
 
 Upon your comrades' graves to-day. 
 
 Peace to the sleepers ! Our behest 
 Is, watch and guard their place of rest ! 
 And may the faith and love increase 
 Which bind us in the bonds of peace ! 
 Peace to the sleepers ! blue or gray, 
 N'o matter where their ashes lay! 
 
 Peace to the sleepers ! Softly tread 
 
 The hallowed ground where rest our dead ! 
 
 And, true to duty, kindly bring. 
 
 In love, the sweetest bloom of spring. 
 
 And Freedom's garlands, trustful, lay 
 
 Upon your comrades' graves to-day. 
 
FKOM DAKKNESS TO LIGHT. 233 
 
 T 
 
 FBOM DARKN-ESS TO LIGHT, 
 
 HE clock strikes twelve! 'Tis midnight 
 
 now, 
 
 And all the jewels on night's brow 
 Are hid from sight ; one sky of cloud 
 Conceals them like a sable shroud ; 
 One rayless void of darkness lies 
 Between me and the starlit skies ; 
 I look for light, now here, now there, 
 But blackness meets me everywhere. 
 
 I sleep awhile. The clock strikes three! 
 
 I look to see what I can see. 
 
 And lo ! the skies are clear and fair, 
 
 And stars are shining everywhere ; 
 
 The silvery moon sails on her way, 
 
 To pale before the coming day ; 
 
 The storm is passed, the gloom is gone. 
 
 And light is out of darkness born. 
 
234 KESIGNATION. 
 
 I did not dream, last night, how soon 
 Again it would be sunny noon; 
 For, looking, all that I could see 
 Was gloom and darkness shrouding me. 
 And so when troubles banish light, 
 And my poor soul is dark as night, 
 I would be still, for it may be 
 God's day of joy is nearest me ! 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 IN countless homes where death has been. 
 Life's brightest hopes in ruin lie ; 
 And while we grieve, our sympathies 
 
 Go, world-wide, where the mourners sigh. 
 
EESIGNATION. 235 
 
 We know not what the dear God means ; 
 
 Maybe by grief our souls He's fitting 
 (As diamonds are ground and made) 
 
 All ready for their costly setting. 
 
 Though all are gone when needed most. 
 Still are we tliankful for the giTing ; 
 
 Deal' ones are dead, but God is good ; 
 So let us think of them as living. 
 
 The grave were but the dreaded goal, 
 The end of all our hopes and planning. 
 
 If, looking out, we could not see 
 
 God's bow its gloomy outlines spanning. 
 
 And as we look our hopes return, [stronger ; 
 
 Our wavering faith grows strong and 
 And when we know 'twill not be long, 
 
 We only wait a little longer. 
 
 So yield we to the Father's will. 
 
 Our all to His strong hand resigning; 
 
 Convinced how foolish our attempts 
 To alter aught of His designing. 
 
236 UNCLE JIM. 
 
 UNCLE JIM. 
 
 YOU may talk, Ned, as much as you please, 
 Say everything biting you can, 
 But, surely, in this we agree — 
 Uncle Jim was a love of a man. 
 
 Of limited meams, still, he had 
 
 Enough, and a little to spare, 
 And he loved with the sorrowing poor 
 
 The hread of his table to share. 
 
 His clothing was simple and neat, 
 
 Though a little old-fashioned in style, 
 
 And the leather that covered his feet, 
 Provocative was of a smile. 
 
 Uncle Jim cared little for that. 
 
 For, in spite of his looks or his name. 
 
 His coat, his boots or his hat, 
 His manhood was ever the same. 
 
UNCLE JIM 237 
 
 Not partial to fashion or show, 
 Unselfish , 'unmarried^ as well, 
 He had no words to bestow, 
 Of hate on the shreio or the swell. 
 
 Unlike most of bachelors, he 
 Was of thoughtful and generous mind, 
 From the follies of life he was free. 
 And Q\ev forgiving and kind. 
 
 To the poor he never would say, 
 " I have nothmg for you, so depart," [pray — 
 But would talk with them, laugh with them. 
 And give from his greatness of heart. 
 
 Yes, prayed with the children of need. 
 And all their infirmities shared ; 
 A Christian in heart and in deed, 
 Whose life with hi^ piety squared. 
 
 Of charity, ample his stock. 
 
 In works, with the best, not behind ; 
 
 H\^ faith was as firm as a rock. 
 
 And he labored for God and mankind. 
 
238 GOD'S WILL, NOT OUES. 
 
 The record eternity keeps, 
 
 The range of his life-service bounds ; 
 Love hallows the spot where he sleeps, 
 
 And goodness his memory crowns. 
 
 GOD'S WILL, NOT OURS, 
 
 WHERE grows the grain the workmen go 
 And reap and bind the ripened sheaves, 
 While hard or soft the north winds blow, 
 
 And play, among the leaves; 
 The garden in its faded bloom. 
 
 O'er which autumnal shadows play. 
 Is preaching, in its waste and gloom, 
 Of beauty and decay. 
 
 So Death, the reaper, comes at will. 
 
 And takes away the good and j^ure; — 
 Dead flower ! Complaining heart, be still. 
 
 And patiently endure ! — 
 Endure, nor murmur at the God, 
 
 Nor question, child. His loving sway, 
 Who wills the blessing and the rod. 
 
 The darkness and the dav. 
 
FRAGMENTS 239 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 BEST. 
 
 C"^ O north, go south, go east, go west, 
 T Go everywhere in search of rest, 
 'Tis all in vain ; the rest will be. 
 If found at all, the nearest thee ! 
 
 JOY. 
 In vain the singers all may sing 
 3^heir songs, the sweetest and the best, 
 The joy that you would have them bring, 
 Must bud and blossom in your breast ! 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Why seek for happiness abroad ! 
 Why other seas and lands explore. 
 When what you seek, this gift of God, 
 In all its wealth, is at your door ? 
 
 CUEIOSITY. 
 
 First, in the eye, desire to see, 
 Next, in the heart, desire to know ; 
 To see and know, and then to be — 
 And ending in our overthrow. 
 
240 FKAGMENTS. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Below the far horizon's rim 
 The sun has disappeared; 
 Gone, too, the twilight shadows. 
 And the dreams they half evoked ; 
 Silent the marts of busy industries, 
 The stir and whirl of life ; 
 Slowly the curtains fall, and 
 Darkness, silent as the falling snow, 
 Mantles the earth. 'Tis night! 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Refreshing to the heart 
 
 The new-born morning brings, 
 And over all the waiting earth 
 
 The flush of beauty flings; 
 Light streams afar o'er hill and dale, 
 
 And blushes sweetiv in the vale. 
 
FEAGMENTS. 241 
 
 CANDOB. 
 
 Not silver-tongued is candor, 
 
 Like those who talk but to be heard, 
 
 And, for the moment, but to win applause ; 
 
 But is of speech both plain and honest; 
 
 To some severe, but not unkind ; 
 
 To all, firm, plain and true, 
 
 Well-meaning ever, ever thoughtful, too ; 
 
 No empiric, impostor, knave or cheat, 
 
 But open-handed, honest, just and brave. 
 
 And never wounding for the wounding's sake, 
 
 Nor ever healing where it is not best ; 
 
 Of good intent, it criticises fair, 
 
 And of the critic's many weapons is 
 
 The highest, sharpest arrow of them all. 
 
 You cannot buy it, for 'tis not for sale. 
 
 And holds its worth when other jewels fail. 
 
 16 
 
242 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 HONESTY. 
 
 To be honest, Christian we must be ; 
 
 So to be Christian, it is plain to see, 
 
 One must be honest as the flowers are sweet, 
 
 At home, in store, at church, and on the street. 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Pure as the blush of rosy morn, 
 Never suspecting, undefiled, 
 
 A something that is heaven born. 
 And stainless as a child. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 Work on, and wait; work slow ; dig deep ; 
 
 The spring lies hidden far below ; 
 Plough, sow, and wait, and you shall reap 
 
 A harvest greater than you know ! 
 
 Work hard ! Who works the hardest, will. 
 No matter what the world may preach, 
 
 Find riches, honor, on the hill 
 
 Which scheming idlers never reach. 
 
FKAGMENTS. 243 
 
 THE IN GRATE, 
 
 Dispense your benedictions as you may 
 Upon the ingrate, they are thrown away ; 
 Your love, your gifts, the kindnesses you do, 
 But serve the more to bring his heart to view ; 
 When filled with blessings, given at your door, 
 He goes away, to hate you all the more ; 
 And not one virtue w^hich the world admires, 
 The ingrate's dark and frigid heart inspires ; 
 Warmed into life by you, the viper brings 
 To bear upon your character his stings ; 
 And having stung you, turns, and looks again, 
 And laughs to see you writhing in your pain. 
 
244 FKAGMENTS. 
 
 TRUSTFULNESS. 
 
 It is the giving iij) of all to God, 
 
 Obedient, as well, to His commands ; 
 
 The banishing of self from all our thoughts, 
 
 A yielding uj) of life into His hands ; 
 
 And with a sense of sweet security. 
 
 To lay the head upon the Father's breast. 
 
 And, free from doubt, as well from danger free, 
 
 Find, near His heart, and on His bosom, rest ! 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love sweetens life. 
 And lifts the shadows from the heart, 
 
 And lightens every care. 
 And in a world of death, lives on ! 
 
T 
 
 INFLUENCE. 245 
 
 INFLUENCE, 
 
 HE little stone, at random thrown, 
 
 Falls in the stream, is seen no more; 
 The waves it makes, go, landward borne, 
 And reach the distant shore. 
 
 A word once said, an act once done, 
 Are past recall, are past control; 
 
 But they may live, when we are gone. 
 To mar or make the soul. 
 
 For, sure, in life, the smallest act 
 Becomes what none of us can see. 
 
 For good or bad a telling fact 
 In Heaven's registry. 
 
 The word — its course we may not see. 
 But, spoken, lives and grows, until. 
 
 Beyond our guessing, it shall be 
 A force for good or ill. 
 
246 TO - MOEROW. 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 WHEN will it end, (so long it seemed) 
 This spell of wearing sorrow ? 
 An angel touched me, so I dreamed, 
 And, whispering, said to-morrow! 
 
 In patience bear your strain of grief, 
 Though hope seem almost banished. 
 
 For then, my child, shall come relief, 
 Soon as the night has vanished ! 
 
EYENING. 247 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 THE morning has departed, and the day; 
 The glow of twilight fades ; the flower 
 Is hid from sight ; the shadows flit away, 
 As, like a dream , comes on the evening hour. 
 
 Friends, my good evening^ is but what I feel, 
 As my good morning was, so it shall be 
 
 An honest prayer for your highest weal, 
 A benediction on both you and me : 
 Good Bye ! 
 
CONTENTS. 249 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Old Homestead, 9 
 
 To My Wife, 65 
 
 Thinking, 112 
 
 By the Sea, 109 
 
 Pictures, Ill 
 
 On the Beach, 107 
 
 The Meadow Brook, 14 
 
 Tlie Sahhath, 15 
 
 Uncertainty, 116 
 
 Apple Blossoms, 16 
 
 Skipper Ben, 104 
 
 Dandelions, 97 
 
 Brown and Smith 101 
 
 Sowing and Reaping, 99 
 
 If They Were Only Here, 69 
 
 Home of My Childhood, 72 
 
 Lessons From Nature, 114 
 
 Lines Written on the Death of Col. Richard Borden, 185 
 
 Li the Harbor, 88 
 
 The Spirit of Music, 80 
 
 Beautiful, 44 
 
250 conte:n'ts. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Memory, 46 
 
 Written on tlie Death of Mrs. Jas. T. Milne,. 191 
 
 Loving, 83 
 
 Only, 143 
 
 Morning, 5 
 
 June, 172 
 
 Willie May, 25 
 
 The Daisy, 82 
 
 Fragments, 239 
 
 One-By-One, Ml 
 
 Now, 40 
 
 Timely Words, 89 
 
 Lame Billy, 161 
 
 Daisy's Valentine, 86 
 
 Christmas Tide , 122 
 
 Dogmatism, 34 
 
 Over There, 209 
 
 December Bells .^ 123 
 
 Edward Buffinton, 193 
 
 Jacobus, 50 
 
 The Old and New Year, 124 
 
 Abigail Brown, 148 
 
 Credenda, 42 
 
 April, 169 
 
 Aunt Hannah's Christmas Party, 130 
 
 Garfield, 220 
 
 March, 168 
 
 The Child's Prayer, 91 
 
 Written on the Death of Miss Clara F. Davol, 204 
 
 July, 174 
 
CONTENTS. 251 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I Sigli Sometimes, 76 
 
 At Rest, 187 
 
 The Little Red Petticoat, 157 
 
 Burnside, 215 
 
 November, 180 
 
 Rhythmic Bric-a-Brac, 152 
 
 Sleeping, 189 
 
 Longfellow, 212 
 
 December, 183 
 
 The Hanging of the Stockings, 136 
 
 August, , 176 
 
 Death of Little Jack, 52 
 
 Heaven, 145 
 
 Christmas Morning, 127 
 
 A Picture, 150 
 
 Written on the Death of Miss Lizzie D. Carr, 199 
 
 By the River, 38 
 
 Thanksgiving, • 120 
 
 Character, 35 
 
 Sunset In the Country, 95 
 
 Our Dead Heroes, 229 
 
 Faith and Works, 96 
 
 Influence, , 215 
 
 To-Morrow, 246 
 
 Appearances Deceitful, 63 
 
 Faith and Reason, 59 
 
 May, 171 
 
 Then and Now, 61 
 
 Meditation, 60 
 
252 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Farewell, 197 
 
 October In the Country, 93 
 
 January, 164 
 
 Flowers For Their Graves, 231 
 
 October, 179 
 
 The Burial of Gen. Grant, 221 
 
 Written on the Death of Little Mabel Munroe, 205 
 
 September, 177 
 
 Sheaf of Grain, 207 
 
 February, 166 
 
 "When the Clouds Have Melted Away, 195 
 
 After-Thought, 224 
 
 Sumner, 223 
 
 Garrison, 217 
 
 My Mother, 118 
 
 Robin In the Cherry-Tree, 78 
 
 Summer Musings By the Sea,~ 30 
 
 Love Seed, 17 
 
 My Prayer, 6 
 
 The Unkind Word, 24 
 
 John Benson, 20 
 
 Discontent, 18 
 
 From Darkness to Light, 233 
 
 Besignation, 234 
 
 Uncle Jim, 236 
 
 God's Will, Not Ours, 238 
 
 Evening, 247 
 
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