IlIBHARY OF CONGRESS.! 
 
 I^S&Hf— — ; — t 
 
 ! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 
 
DREAMINGS 
 
 or THE 
 
 WAKING HEART 
 
 WITH OTHER POEMS. 
 
 REV JOEL SWARTZ, D. D. 
 
 
 HARIII8BUIIG, PA. 
 
 W. p. e^WATlTZ & BRO., PKINTEE8. 
 
 1877. 
 

 Enterpa according to Act of Congress, in Ihe year 1877, by 
 
 
 JOEL SWAHTZ, 
 
 
 in tha Office of the Librarian of Congres?, at Washington, D. C. 
 
 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To her, who always seeks to share 
 
 Each load of toil or pam I bear; 
 
 WTio never fails my heart to cheer, 
 
 When, sad and faint, I struggle on, 
 
 Or when my work is nobly done. 
 
 To say, "Well done — Gcd bless you, dear 
 
 To her, whose smile is my best praise, 
 
 I dedicate these humble lays: 
 
 Some thouglits and themes in "Love at Home, 
 
 Were liinted by her for my pen. 
 
 And as I give them back again, 
 
 I simply send them whence they've come. 
 
PKOLOGUE. 
 
 My lledgeling muse seeks not to soar 
 
 Where gifted bsirds have flown before; 
 
 It aims not at the Milky-way, 
 
 Or flight "above^the iEonian Mount;' 
 
 But hajDpy shall itself account, 
 
 If, when it quits its trembling stay, 
 
 It fiiil not of the nearest spray. 
 
THE 
 
 ^^ 
 
 .?5 '^^^ i^//?^^ 
 
 EAMIHllS OF i^HS W A K • N f? E A R 
 
DREAMINdS OF THE WAKINd HEART. 
 
 " / sfrt'/>, hilt nil/ Jx'arf urih'fJi.'^ Soixj of Sofonion; 5; 2. 
 — <,'ie<!*:X;i^v^<^^ 
 
 Dream-land liew inward from tlie beaten shore 
 Of this our coarse and sensuous earthly life, 
 And touches on a vague and mystic realm. 
 Where meet ui constant, shifting, spectral play, 
 The shadows of these gross, material forms, 
 And dawnings of the life that is to l^e. 
 What though our dreams seem but a fancy play — 
 The shreds and renniants of our waking thoughts, 
 Which unsupported by the waking will, 
 Drop helpless on our sleep-enchanted realm, 
 
DREAl\nNGS OF THE WAKES'G HEART. 
 
 And break into n thousand shapes grotesque, 
 And smk away in some lethean stream, 
 Or tioat in shadows to the waking- morn; 
 Yet are these very shadows cast by hght, 
 As smi-beams cast in cameras dark 
 True photographs of objects far away. 
 How, when this coarse, material frame of ours 
 Drops wearied, senseless in the swoon of sleep, 
 Does this uni'esting, tireless self of thought 
 Take wings and sport itself on land and sea, — 
 Plunge deep in earth and traverse sunless caves, 
 Or mount the upper air and hide in clouds, 
 Or climb, with easy wing, the Milky way, 
 Leave tardy sun-beams lingering in the rear. 
 And back return, like Noah's wandering dove, 
 But not like that, of weary, drooping wing. 
 But fresh with strength and rested by its Higlit, 
 To rouse, with gentle tappings of its wing 
 Against the windows of the sleeping sense, 
 Its dull companion from the rest of sleep. 
 O what a fearful power it is to dream! 
 How does the soul attest itself in sleej)! 
 
DEEAMINGS OF THE WxVKING HEART. 
 
 How oft alont^' this dreaiii-enclianted land, 
 
 Come woiiderous visions of the yet to be! 
 
 The unborn Future often wanders here; 
 
 As if the very pre- existent souls 
 
 Of great events — sometimes long after born — 
 
 Came Hitting through this embryonic realm 
 
 Where holy seers and strangely dreaming bards 
 
 Have often seen it grandly walking fortli 
 
 In visions of the night, towards earth and time. 
 
 Were those mere fancies of the shepherds lad, 
 
 AVho, as he lav upon the grassy slope. 
 
 And slept beneath his southern skv. 
 
 Lulled into dreams by softly tinkling l^ells, 
 
 While moon-beams nestled in his flowing hair. 
 
 Beheld the sun, the moon, eleven stars, 
 
 Dance in a bright, celestial diadem, 
 
 As if they burned to rest upon his hrowV 
 
 No, they were dreamings of a Avaking heart. 
 
 They were the ghosts of honors yet unborn, 
 
 Which came to haunt him in his dreams. 
 
 They were the lamps upon his dream-land sky, 
 
 Where slumbering virgins mid-night vigils kept, 
 
DEEAMINGS OF THE WAKING HEART. 
 
 Waiting the herald ciy of coming- years, 
 
 To rise' and trim their lamps, and meet their king, 
 
 And gii'd the royal shepherd with their Hame. 
 
 What were those nodding, well tilled sheaves of corn, 
 
 But first-fruits, sickled in the land of dreams — 
 
 A mystic pledge of those abundant years 
 
 Which filled with plenty all the land of Nile? 
 
 And were those only dreams which Jacob saw, 
 
 As from his stony couch, against the sky, 
 
 A glorious ladder leaned, where angels clomb? 
 
 That other dreamer of the waking heart — 
 
 Daniel, whose dreams were pulsed with sobs, 
 
 Whose patriotic prayers were steeped in mid-night tears, 
 
 Saw flitting through his dream-land sky. 
 
 As in auroral splendor, " Shining ones" 
 
 Of heavenly glory and immoi'tal mould. 
 
 And over all, the long expected Prince, 
 
 The veiy Messiah — Ancient of days. 
 
 And only less than these great bards and seers — 
 
 The tinker's son of Bedford Jail, Bunyan, 
 
 Dreamed dreams no mortal ever dreamed before. 
 
 What tho' his dreams were but a waking trance, 
 
 12 
 
DREAMINGS OF THE WAKING HEART. 
 
 Like Baalim's visions, seen with open eyes; 
 Yet were thej^ dreainings of a waking heart. 
 'Tis said, all prophets, poets, bards and seers, 
 See rather w^th the heart than with the eye. 
 Their 's, ''The vision and faculty divine," 
 Which catch the subtle, evanescent forms 
 Of Beaut}', trace the hidden lines of Truth; 
 The}' feel the virgin touch of Purity, 
 And hear the latent notes of Harmony. 
 Thus, Angelo imprisoned angels saw 
 In unhewn marble blocks and shapeless stones. 
 And as his hand the sculptor's chisel seized, 
 And struck with measured force, the ai-tist's blow. 
 He failed not to perceive that finest line 
 Which lies between the angel's fettered limbs, 
 And those rude gyves of stone that on them lay; 
 So, while he smote the fetters from its form, 
 He wounded not a feature or a line. 
 The painter on his untouched canvas sees, 
 A thousand trooping shapes of beauty play. 
 Beethoven heard the organ's mighty tones 
 In roUing thunder and the rushing storm. 
 
DREAMINGS OF THE WAKING HEART. 
 
 And nought so thrilled his great, majestic soul, 
 As when some strong and furious equinox 
 AVould sweep the key-board of the wooded hills, 
 Or tramp the foaming pedals of the sea. 
 What soul is there so uniformly dull? 
 "W^iat heart so lumj^ish and so steeped in sleep, 
 As not sometimes to have a glorious dream V 
 Who has not had, at least in youthful dreams, 
 Some grand ideals of a better life? 
 Who has not seen essential Beauty's form, 
 Or heard the music which the angels smg? 
 Who has not seen Endeavor grandly chmb 
 The abi-upt steeps and rugged cliffs to Fame? 
 Or Enterprise, with ample honors crowned? 
 Or Philanthropy, pleading for the poor? 
 Who has not seen the restful face of Faith, 
 In darkest storms still clinging to the cross? 
 Or Hope, reposing on an anchor sure, 
 AVitli telescope descrying worlds afar? 
 Or Charity, with down-cast looks of love. 
 Enfolding childhood in her sheltering arms? 
 Who has not seen, in visions of the night, 
 
 14 
 
DEEAMINGS OF THE WAKING HEART. 
 
 Some Macedonian phantom bowed in prayer, 
 
 As if it pleaded with his inmost soul, 
 
 To come and help, while Dut}^ by it stood, 
 
 And with a pointing finger, showed the way? 
 
 O, if the Genius of our better life 
 
 Has found us slumbering in the chains of sense. 
 
 Like Peter bound in Herod's cruel jail. 
 
 And smitten us with some great, high-born thought. 
 
 And bid us rise and follow where it led, 
 
 Have not our dreaming, half bewildered hearts, 
 
 New paths of duty and of glory seen? 
 
 How rapturous were the visions of the soul! 
 
 'Twas then the heart, elated and inspired, 
 
 Formed high resolves and purposes t' achieve. 
 
 The open future like a ladder seemed, 
 
 ^\liereon our guardian angels went^and came 
 
 And ever beckoned us with snowy hands 
 
 To rise and climb the glorious path they trod. 
 
 And no one ever heeds this upward call, 
 
 And tries to follow where his angel leads. 
 
 But, if his hand groAV feeble in its clasp. 
 
 And trembles as it holds the ladder's round, 
 
 15 
 
A DREAM AND ITS INTERPRETATION. 
 
 Shall feel upon his own a hand imposed, 
 Imparting strength and making sure his clasp. 
 Then let us be assui-ed that whilst our road 
 Lies upward over many a nigged step, — 
 Our every stej) shall open towards a fairer sky, 
 And spread an ampler prospect at our feet ; — 
 That on the ever rising, brightening hills 
 Our guards and guides shall never lose their way 
 In those pure heights, beyond the fogs of scaise 
 Beyond the fondest dreaiiiings of the heart, 
 The visions of the night shall end in day. 
 And dreams grow solid as eternal truth. 
 
 A DKEAM AND ITS INTERPRETATION. 
 
 TO MISS L. A. K. 
 
 "I'll write in the Album, my day's work is done, 
 My friends have retired and left me alone;" 
 So said I last night — the clock was at ten; 
 I sank in my chair and took up my pen. 
 But puzzled my brain just how to begin. 
 
 16 
 
A DEEAM AND ITS INTERPRETATION. 
 
 I tliouglit till I sank in a slumberous dream, 
 And fancied I ferried a swift-flowino- stream; 
 Its margin was fringed with fi'uitage and tlowers, 
 And up the long slopes ran beautiful bowers, 
 Still dripping with warm and plentiful showers. 
 
 Away from the stream broad avenues lav, 
 And hid in bright hills that rolled far away; 
 Along them I wandered, admiring each scene 
 CI' Howlers, and fountains, and foliage green — 
 Of tall forest trees with lawns in between. 
 
 Wherever I wandered, however I strayed. 
 In glen or on hill, in forest or glade, 
 I met at each turn some sweet smiling face 
 Of fairy, or w^ood-njanph ; of dryad, or grace, 
 With arms inter-twined, or locked in embrace. 
 
 I wandered in dream if fhif^ were a dream; 
 Perhaps the swift river is Jordan's cold stream. 
 This garden of beauty, this sunshine, these showers, 
 This fragrance, these bright and l)eautiful bowers. 
 Are Eden's — the home of the saints and of oui's. 
 
 17 
 
A DREAM AND ITS INTERPRETATION. 
 
 In laughter and tears some sentence I s23oke: 
 
 It startled my mind I quickly awoke; 
 
 The beU of the clock was ringing at ten, 
 
 As when I first nodded, I was sitting still then, 
 
 "With my hand on the book and the ink in my j^en. 
 
 pardon, Miss Lou, if stupid I seem — 
 AVhen sitting to write I sank in a dream: 
 My dream, since now I am fu% awake. 
 Perhaps this meaning may reasonably take — 
 
 1 dreamed it, no doubt, for Lucy's own sake. 
 
 The land that I saw is the scene of your life. 
 Whether maiden, as now, or blissful as wife; 
 The walks that were green, the fountains that play, 
 The bowers that arched the long shining way, 
 Are tokens, I trust, of the path that you stra}'. 
 
 Or should it be wanting this side of the Eiver, 
 And only be tiTie in the coming Forever; 
 Oh then, far beyond the visions of dreaming. 
 Beyond the delusive, the false and the seeming, 
 May the skies that are bright o'er you ever be beaming. 
 
 18 
 
THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 On a mountain, 
 
 By a fountain, 
 In a deej^ ravine; 
 
 Once a taper. 
 
 In a vapor, 
 Nightly could be -seen. 
 
 Here once, 'twas said. 
 
 There dAvelt a maid — 
 A fairy, maiden queen, 
 
 Who, up the rocks, 
 
 Drove snowy flocks, 
 When only stars were seen. 
 
 When flushed the morn 
 
 She blew a horn 
 Of purest silver made. 
 
 And swift as night 
 
 Escapes the light 
 Her bounding goats obeyed; 
 
 And down the rocks 
 The frisking flocks 
 Fled to a cave's retreat, 
 
 10 
 
THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 And silent lay, 
 The live-lono- day 
 Secure from noon-day heat. 
 
 For daily food, 
 
 Both rich and good 
 And ever at command; 
 
 The udder's cream 
 
 In many a stream, 
 Ruslied through her snowy hand. 
 
 When in the morn, 
 
 The hunter's horn 
 Among the hills is played; 
 
 The dying strain 
 
 Is caught again, 
 In answer from the maid. 
 
 A woodsman, young, 
 
 Woo'd by her song, 
 Once sought her lone retreat; 
 
 He followed back 
 
 The wild goats track 
 To where the high hills meet. 
 
 20 
 
THE MAID OF THE IMOUNTAIN. 
 
 The Imiiter, brave, 
 
 Saw in the cave 
 A dim hght leading on; 
 
 Far back, alone, 
 
 The taper shone 
 And glanced from stone to stone. 
 
 The hght's faint glow 
 
 He followed slow. 
 Through hollow caverns chill; 
 
 O'er many a steep 
 
 "Wliere cascades leap, 
 The woodsman wandered still. 
 
 At last, forlorn. 
 
 He grasped his horn, 
 He blew a ringing blast; 
 
 Wild echoes rolled 
 
 Through depths untold, 
 ^Vnd hollow ^vindings vast: 
 
 But soon aii'ain 
 Was heard a strain, 
 Far dowai the ^ast profound; 
 
 21 
 
THE MAID OF THE IMOUNTAIN. 
 
 An answeriiii^' tone 
 
 Eepeated, " come; 
 
 Follow the maiden's sound. 
 
 Follow the light 
 To chambers bright. 
 
 Come to my mansions, come," 
 xVnd as she sung, 
 The soft light swung 
 
 Down in a Hashing dome. 
 
 Two pillars grand 
 
 Clasped hand in hand 
 Stand in that cave to day; 
 
 The twain are one, 
 
 Of flashing stone, 
 AVedded for aye and aye. 
 
 The lamp is dark, 
 
 Its feeble spark 
 
 For evermore has flown; 
 
 . And on the lioor, 
 
 These forms before, 
 Lie flocks of fleecy stone. 
 
 22 
 
BLO^^^NG BUBBLES. 
 
 BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 "Weary, on my conch reclining, 
 
 Full of pain and discontent. 
 Musing sore, I sat repining 
 
 At a host of troubles sent. 
 
 Gilded hopes, and fondly cherished. 
 
 Doted on for many years, 
 In a moment rudely perished. 
 
 And I scarce could stay my tears. 
 
 Meanwhile, at an open window. 
 All unconscious of my troubles. 
 
 Stood a group of merry children, 
 Tossing out some shining bubbles. 
 
 From then* dripping pipes they threw them 
 
 On the bright and buoyant an-, 
 Upward oft the current di'ew them, 
 
 And they looked exceeduig faii^; 
 But I saw each globe was broken. 
 
 Often when it seemed most bright, 
 Leaving not a trace or token 
 
 In its fan- and transient flight. 
 
 23 
 
BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 But I felt cLich burstiiij^- Inibble, 
 Sailing from the pipe of clay, 
 
 Carried from my heart a trouble, 
 Till the burden passed away. 
 
 For I saw the hap23y children, 
 
 Wept not when the bubbles burst, 
 
 But threw others just as lii'aily, 
 As they threw them at the first. 
 
 AVhat, said I, are all my schemings, 
 Fancied hopes and gilded joys, 
 
 But the veriest noonday dreaniings, 
 Light and triiling as these toys? 
 
 When a child, I too, made bubbles. 
 Then I used a pipe of clay; 
 
 Now I make them of my troubles. 
 Only ill a weaker way. 
 
 24 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 A DREAM OF YOUTH. 
 
 My father tiU'cl the southern soil, 
 
 But ichite hands reap'd his yeUow fields; 
 
 He taught his boys, that hardj^ toil 
 A vigorous, virtuous, manhood }delds. 
 
 At early dawn, we spiightly sprang 
 From sleep's refreshing, husky bed, 
 
 When Chanticleer the summons rang 
 From out the barn, or stooping shed. 
 
 With blushing morn we climbed the hills, 
 And brush'd from flowers the glitt'ring dcAv; 
 
 We drank the purling mountain rills, 
 
 Which wandered down our meadows through. 
 
 Our eyes were bright, the ruddy glow 
 Of health sat blooming on our cheek; 
 
 We fear'd not winter's driving snow. 
 Nor summer's rays of scorching heat. 
 
 A brimmino- bowl of mush and milk 
 
 25 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 Supplied our evening's frugal board; 
 Whilst "speck," and eggs, and beans, and tisli, 
 With what the farmer's fields afford; 
 
 Oft swell'd the steaming dinner plate 
 With dainty viands tow'ring high; 
 
 And as we chaps our dinner ate 
 Dyspeptic souls might fear we'd die. 
 
 But plow, and hoe, and ringing ax 
 
 Supplied the need of bitter pills, 
 No levy of the glutton's tax 
 
 In shape of various doctor bills, 
 
 Oppress'd the sturdy homestead low 
 Beneath a weight of ciTishing debt: 
 
 But work, pure air, a healthy How 
 Of spirits, made the dinner "set." 
 
 We boys and girls, a rustic band, 
 To school were also taught to go. 
 
 That 'neatli the teacher's training hand 
 We countiy chaps might wisdom know. 
 
 The Old-Field school-house, stooping low% 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 Stood 'iieath some ancient, slielt'ring trees, 
 Whose long, green branches, sweepmg, flow 
 Like tresses in the summer's breeze. 
 
 These switchy Hmbs, howe'er, alas! 
 
 The master's hand would sometimes seize; 
 And woe the naughty lad or lass 
 
 Who chanced the master to displease. 
 
 Down whistling o'er the urchin rude 
 
 The splinter'd scourge would rattling fly, 
 
 Till naughty boy or girl, subdued. 
 Back to the seat would beilow^ing hie. 
 
 For masters in those classic days 
 Enforced their lessons with the rod; 
 
 And scarce believed that wisdom's ways 
 Without its vengence could be trod. 
 
 In course of time, I grew a man; 
 
 My furzy beard some longer grew: 
 'Twas time I now should form some plan. 
 
 And choose the course I sho.ild pursue. 
 
 Revolving o'er the various schemes 
 
 27 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 W^hicli honest men to live devise, 
 I oft built liio'li my brilliant dreams, 
 Like airy castles, to the skies. 
 
 I learninj;*' chose: and, lo! before 
 My eyes the visioned speaker stood; 
 
 His magic power assemblies sway'd, 
 Lilve mighty storms the rocking wood. 
 
 My home a future palace grew: 
 
 Its stately pillars charmed my eyes; 
 
 Its halls and parlors through and through. 
 Were hung wdth richest tapestries. 
 
 My wife ! — oh how my heart did glow ! 
 
 My breast a mid tumult of bliss: 
 Her form upon my vision rose 
 
 Like some sweet dream of lovliness. 
 
 Her eyes were bright as gems of dew 
 AMiicli sparkle in the orient beam; 
 
 Her checks were like the roses hue; 
 Her form did like an angel's seem. 
 
 Her lofty mind, with learning stored, 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 With wit and humor sparkled rare; 
 Or, <^Tave and earnest, sweetlv pourVl 
 Her conversation on my ear. 
 
 My numerous urcliins on the green 
 
 Went bounding, laughing, free from care; 
 
 Those sunny locks — bright eyes between — 
 Streamed gaily in the summer's air. 
 
 I thus resolved away from home 
 
 To college classic halls I'd go; 
 A bright new suit, — the borrow 'd sum 
 
 Of forty dollars, burried low 
 
 In leathern pockets, strong and sure, 
 Lest plund'ring thief or robber bold, 
 
 A brilliant fortune to secure, 
 
 Should steal my purse of shining gold. 
 
 A few new books — my highest bliss — 
 Made my filled trunk a treasure rare: 
 
 I sought a mother's parting kiss, 
 A christian father's farewell prayer. 
 
 In college halls I studied Greek, 
 
AUTOBIOGEAPHICAL. 
 
 And turn VI the classic Latin jiage; 
 In Clio hall I learned to speak 
 In declamation from the stac'e. 
 
 "ti' 
 
 The mathematic problem too, 
 
 With much ado, I learn'd to solve; 
 
 And diagrams on black boards drew, 
 The deep conclusions to evolve. 
 
 The chemist, with much learned phrase. 
 Of agents, acids salts declaim'd, 
 
 And show'd the class, in various ways, 
 Their mutual action, wondrous strange. 
 
 He lectured too' in learned strains, 
 Upon tlie human form divine; 
 
 H(nv bones and muscks nerves and veins. 
 In one grand system aU combine. 
 
 We heard about the stars also, 
 
 How they in wondrous systems roll, 
 
 How central suns in aether glow, 
 To poise, illume, and warm the whole. 
 
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE. 
 
 We learn'd the structure of the earth, 
 How slow deposits strata laid; 
 
 How wondrous creatures, ere the birth 
 Of Adam, o'er its surface stray'd 
 
 With college wisdom loaded down. 
 We touched at last the senior goal, 
 
 And were with Bachelor honors crowned 
 In a huge sheep-skin Latin scroll. 
 
 My Bachelor honors, thus bestowed, 
 I foimd I could not bear alone; 
 
 To share my load, another vowed. 
 But then my Bachelor-hood was gone. 
 
 WHAT IS YOUE LIFE? 
 
 It k even a vapor that appeaveth for a tittle wliiJeand then rnni.^hetti 
 mm}/. James 4; 14. 
 
 I asked the hooded clouds that monk lilie sat, 
 
 Upon the benches of the distant hills, 
 
 And dropt their constant beads in falling rain. 
 
 3; 
 
LITTLE BROWN JUG. 
 
 Say ye, before ye cliange and pass away; 
 What is our mortal life? 
 Just then the Moon, Virgin Innnaciilate, 
 Hearing then* prayers, from out a parted cloud, 
 Broke forth and shed upon their sombre heads 
 A soft and radiant benediction. 
 They bowed and parted as a crowd dismissed, 
 But seemed to speak as if from cloven tongues 
 These words — I heard them in the siglimg wind 
 "Your life is like a vapor or a cloud, 
 Ajipearing for a little while, and then. 
 As we do now, it vanisheth away." 
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MONEY JUG. 
 
 Of Jugs you have heard no little about, 
 Some things very sad and some very fmmy; 
 Of rum jugs and jail jugs and others, no doubt. 
 But have you ere heard of a jug full of money? 
 
 A little brown jug — 
 
 A jug full of money? 
 
 32 
 
THE IN^^SIBLE BEYOND. 
 
 The former have made the heart very sad, 
 But this will make it both gladsome and sunny 
 The notion, we take it, is not very bad, 
 To pour out the nun and put in the money, 
 
 And have a brown jug — 
 
 A jug full of money. 
 
 The little brown jug has a musical ring, 
 
 And heavy it feels as a hive full of honey; 
 
 Tho' pity it seems, we will break the quaint thing; 
 
 And count, as we sing, the musical money, 
 
 And count, as we sing, 
 
 The musical money. 
 
 THE INVISIBLE BEYOND. 
 
 In the twilight of the west, 
 
 Far beyond earth s rugged rim. 
 
 Fancy saw a land of rest. 
 
 Where the vapory forms were drest 
 
 In the sunset's golden vest — 
 
 A realm of shadows dim. 
 
THY INVISIBLE BEYON. 
 
 Down through g-orges hned with gold. 
 
 On the cloudy cliffs above, 
 
 And where crimsoned rivers rolled 
 
 Many cloud-robed spirits strolled — 
 
 Children of a happy fold — 
 
 And all seemed leagued in love; 
 
 Farther down tho distant skies, 
 Where the .i^lory seemed to be. 
 Fancy saw with tearful eyes 
 Golden towers and temples rise; 
 And, through trees of Paradise, 
 A far-off* silent sea. 
 
 Up and down the golden shore. 
 
 Anchored in a radient bay, 
 
 Ships, whose masts bright pennants bore, 
 
 Kested on the crimson floor, 
 
 Till the winds came wafting o'er 
 
 And bore them all away. 
 
 On them angel forms were seen 
 Drifting toward the sunset's glow, 
 Manv, anxious seemed to lean 
 
WITTENBURG COLLEGE SONG. 
 
 Towards the sunset's dazzling slieen, 
 O'er the silent waves between, 
 As if they sailed too slow. 
 
 Thus my faith through regions clear 
 Sometimes sweeps its march away, 
 Till the bright world seems so near, 
 And the forms once cherished here 
 Almost touch my lower sphere, 
 iVnd Hood my path with day. 
 
 wittenburCt college song. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE CLASS OF '76. 
 
 Ye Academic Halls, adieu; 
 
 Ye quiet walks, ye sylvan shades, 
 
 With saddened hearts we turn from you. 
 
 Life's battle call our ears invades. 
 
 Ye teachers of ovu' youtliful years; 
 Patient and faithful, kind and true, 
 With grateful and regretful tears 
 
 33 
 
WITTENBURG COLLEGE SONG. 
 
 And filial hearts, we say, adieu ! 
 
 Ye comrades, classmates, students, all ! 
 Sharers in Learning's toil and drill ! 
 We turn from you at Duty's call; 
 But claim you comrades, classmates, still. 
 
 Ye citizens, the student's friends ! 
 O warm has been your love and true ; 
 Where e'er our future path-way wends, 
 Our hearts will fondly turn to you. 
 
 One hundred years, this year, ago, 
 Thii'teen new states this side the sea, 
 In God's great name, come weal or woe, 
 Resolved to perish or be free. 
 
 The old is past, we hail the new ; 
 The second cycle of the free : 
 As were our fathers, we'll l)e true 
 To God, our Land, and Lil^erty. 
 
 36 
 
^^^t SECo/v^ 
 
 LOVE AT HOME 
 
TO MY HOME. 
 
 Were there a tuneful note unsung, 
 A fitting word of love unspoken, 
 A long suspended harp unstrung. 
 An alabastar box unbroken, 
 Which might of praise an offering be 
 To home, sweet home, I'd give it thee. 
 
MY BABY'S HAND. 
 
 Precious, little, new-born lingers; 
 
 As I hold you in my hand, 
 Round my heart a strange spell lingers 
 
 Which I scarce can understand. 
 
 Mine is a commingled feeling; 
 
 Sweet, but not without alloy; 
 For there comes a sadness stealing 
 
 From the fingers of my boy. 
 
 Who shall guide this active wonder V 
 AMio shall train this busy hand V 
 
 Hold its many movements under 
 Reason's firm and just command. 
 
 40 
 
MY BABYS HAND. 
 
 Will it prove a myriad blessmg. 
 Scattering from an ample store, 
 
 Lift the load of care oppressing 
 God's despised and humble poor'? 
 
 Will it Avijoe the tear of sorrow. 
 Bind the heart and soothe its pain, 
 
 Pointing to some bright to-morrow. 
 Bid the sad heart hope again ? 
 
 Or with Ishmaelitish mahce. 
 
 Armed against its neighbor's hand 
 
 Will it press a bitter chalice 
 To the lips of all the land ? 
 
 Will the traitor's bribe pollute it; 
 
 Will it wear the murderers stain; 
 Will it grasp the drunkard's wiiu cup. 
 
 Pouring madness through the brain 
 
 While I feel the witching beauty, 
 In each dimple, curve and swell, 
 
 Still an awful sense of duty 
 Mingles with the joy I feel. 
 
 41 
 
FAITH IN PAPA MAKES ME JUMP. 
 
 And I pray; Dear Lord defend it, 
 Take in thine this httle hand; 
 
 Wisdom, skill and guidance lend it 
 Lead it to the better land. 
 
 FAITH IN PAPA MAKES ME JUMP. 
 
 On the mantle over head 
 
 Stands my little curly head; 
 
 High above the stove he stands, 
 
 Swinging back and forth his hands — 
 
 'Fraid of falling? Not a speck, 
 
 But the kisses on his neck, 
 
 On his sunny neck of pearl, 
 
 One for every sunny curl. 
 
 I below, not more afraid, 
 
 Watch each motion that is made. 
 
 Ask the joUy little elf, 
 
 He will answer for himself; 
 
 "Darhng, are you not afraid?" 
 
 "No," will shake the saucy head, 
 
 42 
 
FAITH IN PAPA MAKES ME JUMP. 
 
 And he'll tell you quick and plumi:), 
 "Faith in papa makes me jump." 
 Now he's leaning from the wall , 
 Now my boy begins to fall, 
 Half a fall and half a jump, 
 Tumbling comes my baby lump. 
 When he conies he shuts his eyes, 
 Isn't that exceeding wiseV 
 For the jump is one of faith, 
 One, perhaj^s, of life or death, 
 But the urchin has no fear, 
 For he knows his papa's near, 
 Fully trusts his out-stretched arm, 
 Never dreams of hurt or harm. 
 Father, when I'm growing old, 
 iVnd my hands are weak and cold: 
 When I'm leaning from the wall, 
 Feeling too that I must faU; 
 May I close my eyes in faith. 
 Drop into thy arms at death, 
 Caught upon thy faithful breast 
 I shall safely, sweetly rest. 
 
WHAT IS AN OLD MAID 
 
 What is an Old Maid? said Johnnie to Kate: 
 
 It is an old girl that's married too late, 
 
 A crotchety creature, unsocial, sedate: 
 
 Said Kate, with a curl of scorn on her hp. 
 
 With a glance in the glass and a toss of her head, 
 
 The beautiful maid emphatically said. 
 
 As over the carpet she swept with a skip; 
 
 I know of a maid that is siu^e to be wed. 
 
 Are you an Old Maid? said Johnoie to Aunt; 
 A lady I am, unmarried, I grant, 
 But not an old girl, all haggard and gaunt; 
 Said Aunt, with a tear-drop moist'ning her eye; 
 Your Auntie, dear Johnnie,, once might have been wed 
 To a handsome young man, as every one said; 
 But twixt an Old Maid and a bottle of "Old Eye," 
 I solemnly chose to be an Old Maid. 
 
 44 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 I'M GEO WING OLD. 
 
 All yes; I count it in my years, * 
 I feel it in my very bones, 
 I mark it in my dulling ears, 
 And hear it in my feeble tones. 
 
 And hide it as I slyly may, 
 By using every shrewd disguise; 
 I have it in the tell-tale gray. 
 And in the cloud upon my eyes. 
 
 Kind fiiends wiU often say, 'tis true, 
 
 "How young you look; how hale and strong!" 
 
 But thus they did not use to do, 
 
 When I was sure that I was young. 
 
 OUK CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 Let not the philosophic deem 
 
 The nurseiy an ignoble theme; 
 
 'Tis here oui* hfe is made, 
 
 45 
 
OUR CHILDHOOD S HOME. 
 
 And we are but the adult forms 
 Of that which in the nursery warms 
 Or shivers in the shade. 
 
 " The child's the father of the man, " 
 And each in nursery scenes began 
 
 His father then to be; 
 'Tis education forms the mind, 
 And as the twig is first inclined 
 
 So grows the adult tree. 
 
 The man who numbers every star, 
 Who mounts the commet's flaming car 
 
 And sweeps the realms of space, 
 Once at his mamma's eyebrows gazed, 
 And saw, with wonder much amazed, 
 
 A nose upon her face. 
 
 He who the fate of Kingdoms sways, 
 And whom admiring millions praise. 
 
 Or tremble at his nod ; 
 Once clapped his hands in childish glee. 
 The monarch of his mother's knee, 
 
 And thouG'ht it nothino- odd. 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 The man wlio list'ning senates charms, 
 Whose logic all his foes disarms; 
 
 Whose words like music swell; 
 Once all his baby witts combined, 
 To tell his smiling mother kind. 
 
 What A and B would spell. 
 
 Nor let the merr}' fingered maid, 
 Whose voice, with organ sweetly plaj^ed. 
 
 Sweeps through the vocal hall; 
 Forbear to hear how mach is due 
 To nurser}^ screams, ere jet she knew 
 
 Wli}" she did scream at all. 
 
 Here grow, who knows what future men, 
 At least to partial parents ken. 
 
 Bound for some high estate; 
 What woman here, exceeding fair, 
 Shall shine with wit and graces rare 
 
 Among the wise and great. 
 
 Here sleeps the nascent preacher boy, 
 His tii'ed hands have droped the toy, 
 ^^Tiich busied him the day; 
 
 47 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 How sweetly rests the little head 
 Upon his couch or trundle bed, 
 When wearied with his pla}^ ! 
 
 No half begotten sermons strain 
 The feeble fibers of his brain, 
 
 In feverish, restless dreams; 
 While Fanc}^ with her fairy pranks 
 Fills up the long unfinished blanks 
 
 With wild and tangled themes. 
 
 No want of books, no empty pews, 
 No tardy deacons with the blues 
 
 Oppress his quiet breast; 
 No debts from sheer compulsion made ; 
 No promised sal'iy half unpaid 
 
 Disturbs his nightly rest. 
 
 Or there prehaps the " Doctor '" snores, 
 His hand not yet fi'esh vigor pours 
 
 Along the tides of life; 
 Or with his leeches, powders, pills, 
 The pain or patient shrewdly kills, 
 
 And thus concludes the strife. 
 
 48 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 Or there the candidate for law, 
 
 His wits have not yet learned to draw 
 
 The cobweb fibre fine; 
 Or split the hairs which plainly show 
 Which way the cHent's case must go 
 
 To shift the "thine" to "mine. " 
 
 Do not our adult bosoms swell, 
 
 Where e'er we roam where e'er we dwell, 
 
 Our childhood's life to trace V 
 Does not the sage relax his brow, 
 His faded cheek with gladness glow 
 
 And soft his care-worn faco. 
 
 As back he rolls the tide of life 
 Away from manhood's weary strife, 
 
 To childhood's sunny scenes: 
 While memory mirrors all the past. 
 And fi'om the view, with smiles o'er cast, 
 
 A thousand comforts gleans ? 
 
 Behold the man of four-score j^ears — 
 ITe scarcely feels, or sees, or hears 
 His life is but a dream; 
 
 49 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 He dozes in liis old arm chair, 
 Without a thought or conscious care — 
 So vacant does he seem. 
 
 If converse turn on current news, 
 Such matters but his thoughts confuse, 
 
 He feels on other themes: 
 The names of men, of parties, all. 
 On his oblivious senses fall 
 
 As if they were but dreams. 
 
 But ask him of the days of yore — 
 Of times and things these days before 
 
 When he w^as but a bo}- 
 And now behold his wrinkled face 
 Lit up again with youthful grace — 
 
 His soul is filled with jo}^ 
 
 The memory which could scarcely trace 
 The lines of a familiar face — 
 
 His children's names forgot. 
 And vagTiely stared, with half blind eyes, 
 And mutely stood, in blank suqDrise 
 
 When they to him were brought; 
 
 50 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 With rapid pinions backward Hies 
 To sweeter scenes and fairer skies 
 
 In childhood's sunny chme, 
 And hke a mirror holds to view 
 The forms of things most strictl}^ true, 
 
 Unchanged by flight of time. 
 
 His father's cottage on the hill — 
 
 The stream below that turned the mill- 
 
 The orchard and the road — 
 The luscious pear the apple rare — 
 The forest green, the lawns between. 
 
 And all the neighbor-hood. 
 
 The distant hills that rise around -^- 
 The mountains which the vision bound, 
 
 All rush upon his sight: 
 And now, as in his youth before, 
 He rambles o'er his hills once more — 
 
 His fields and meadows bright. 
 
 But fancy to the home-stead wends, 
 He climbs the hill, the ste\)S ascends — 
 The old man is at home; 
 
OUR CHILDHOODS HOME. 
 
 The very cliairs, the ancient stove, 
 The winding stair, the loft above 
 Like visions o'er him come. 
 
 The knife and fork with which he ate, 
 His tiny spoon and figured plate. 
 
 His pudding and his pie. 
 Seem all like things of yesterday. 
 As fresh and fair they glomng play 
 
 Before his mental eye. 
 
 Thus dozing, " Narrative old age " 
 Goes on a pleasing pilgrimage 
 
 Through youth's elysian fields; 
 And as it dreams of years gone by, 
 Calm grows the heart and bright the eye; 
 
 Each scene a pleasure jdelds. 
 
 Youth always for the future burns — 
 Old age to childliood back returns. 
 
 Thus twice we shift the scene. 
 Yea thrice we pass the period through, 
 In //opp, in fact and in rrview, 
 
 Our life and death between. 
 
 52 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 The nurs ry is our childliood's home 
 Where romping boys and girls become 
 
 A nation's flower and pride; 
 ' Tis here the mother's forming hand 
 Must raise the virtues of the land 
 
 And its true men provide. 
 
 AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 O who can recount all the toils of the day, 
 When evening comes on to caU from their play, 
 
 The weary and tu-ed little throng? 
 And who coidd retrace, when their labor is o'er, 
 The myriad gay steps which have pattered the floor, 
 ' And chased the bright moments along '? 
 
 The bachelor might think no labor was done. 
 That all was but play and juvinal fun, 
 
 And might from our memories be hm-led; 
 But stop, ye vain dreamers, reflect for awhile, 
 And learn that those children whom idlers ye style, 
 
 In the nursery are making a world. 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 They're drilling- each day for the l)attle of hfe, 
 
 And forming brave hearts for the fray and the strife, 
 
 They're miniture women and men; 
 Their 2:>rattle is shai^ing the thoughts of the age, 
 Their swift Uttle feet convulsing hfe's stage. 
 
 Though hidden as yet from its ken. 
 
 No, children are icnti'cr.^ more busy than baes, 
 They toil when suns glow, when winter wdnds freeze 
 
 They go not unwearied to bed; 
 They're building strong bodies by labor compacted, 
 Unbribed by rewards, by no master exacted, 
 
 The drops of their faces are shed. 
 
 I love, when the father, with labor oppressed, 
 Keturns to his home at evening to rest, 
 And solace the cares of the day, 
 To see, when are heard the sounds of his feet, 
 The children rush forward their papa to greet, 
 And prattle his troubles away. 
 
 I love, when the w^ork of the nursery has ended, 
 And evening calls in from then- labor suspended. 
 The children all wearied with i^lay. 
 
AN EVENING WIIH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 To think of a home where relUjioii presides, 
 Where every fond heart in Jesus confides, 
 And parents teach loved ones to pray. 
 
 And when all the children, ere slumbers require. 
 That weary, worn feet to their couches retire, 
 
 And nature exhausted repair; 
 Are gathered around their dear papa to stand, 
 Where all the deeds of the nursery are scann'd, 
 
 O then I should lilie to be there. 
 
 And witness, though sad the childish transgression, 
 If followed by candid, ingenuous confession, 
 
 And the tear-drop starts from the eye; 
 Let me witness the father to mercy inclined. 
 Forgive the offender and solace his mind, 
 
 And soften the penitent sigh. 
 
 But if the transgressor indilferent appear, 
 And heave not a sigh and shed not a tear, 
 
 His error apparent deny; 
 Let kindness, let terror his conscience awaken, 
 And show him the ills of the course he has taken, 
 
 Till penitence drops from his eye. 
 
 55 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 And O when the error confessed is forgiven, 
 Let not the 701111,^- heart in sadness be driven, 
 
 To bed with its spirits depressed; 
 But let the sweet kiss of affection sincere 
 Remove from each cheek the j)enitent's tear, 
 
 And let him be kindly caressed. 
 
 And when all the faults of the day are disclosed. 
 And every vain word and deed is exposed 
 
 And fully and freely forgiven, 
 Forget not the right and the good to approve, 
 But praise every deed and feehng of love. 
 
 And show them its likeness to heaven. 
 
 I love when the children are nestled in bed, 
 And up through the cover peers each little head, 
 
 Ask mamma some story to tell: 
 And oft have I seen a row of bright faces, 
 As mamma some scene or character traces, 
 
 All held as if bound by a spell. 
 
 They hsten, whilst wonder then- breathing most hushes. 
 How Moses was found in a basket of rushes, 
 And away to a palace was taken; 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 How graciouH was God, when a matron was sought, 
 That Moses' own mother to the princess was brought, 
 To care for the baby forsaken. 
 
 It may be the story of Joseph is told, 
 
 How once, when his father was hoary and old, 
 
 His brethren most cruel did sell him; 
 How his coat of colors was crimsoned in blood. 
 How Jacob in pale astonishment stood, 
 
 As the brothers their falsehood did tell hmi. 
 
 Perhaps she relates how once the dear Savioui', 
 Disi^leased with Apostles' mistaken behavior, 
 
 Took children and fondly caressed them; 
 He placed his soft hands on each little head, 
 " Suffer the children to approach me, " he said, 
 
 Then fondly and kindly he blest them. 
 
 Perhaps the fond mother the story expands, 
 And hastens her children to far distant lands, 
 
 And bids them the picture behold, 
 And as the true story her roemoTy relates. 
 Her heart and her mind her scenery creates. 
 
 Whilst thus her sweet storv is told. 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHILDREN. 
 
 Deal not, gentle mother, in falsehood and fiction, 
 Wild tales of adventure and base contradiction, 
 
 To startle thy children's attention; 
 Remember that childhood undoubting' believes, 
 Each word each story implicit receives, 
 
 Which parents may carelessly mention. 
 
 Remember these lies, for amusement designed, 
 Sink down through the chambers of each little mind, 
 
 And poison the fountains of feelmg; 
 Remember that backward the stream shall return, 
 And press to thy lips a draught that shall burn 
 
 Thy tongue for its treacherous deahng. 
 
 Away with the trash, the falsehood, the fiction, 
 The tales of adventure and base cantradiction, 
 
 Where fairies and ghosts are seen raviUg; 
 Away with aU volumes of silly narration, 
 All pictm*es grotesque, unnatural, misshapen. 
 
 The tastes of thy children depraving. 
 
 But mother, let truth, pure, simple, sublime. 
 Whether uttered in prose, or warbled in rhyme, 
 Be pictm-ed all living to view; 
 
 S8 
 
AN EVENING WITH THE CHELDEEN. 
 
 Its beauty intrinsic, its lustre so mild, 
 Will smite the warm heart of thy innocent child 
 With a love of the qood and the fr}ic. 
 
 Let the birds of the aii* which sow not, nor reap, 
 Which God, our Father, dotli watchiidly keep, 
 
 Their food and shelter provide; 
 Teach thy little ones, as they list the soft lays, 
 Which the feathery tribes pour forth in his praise, 
 
 Lilie them in God to confide. 
 
 Let the ant, forcasting the storms that shall blow. 
 O'er her house long burried in deep drifted snow, 
 
 Concealing the soft summer grain; 
 Instruct, that though God for his creatares provide. 
 Their labor and prudence nuist not bo denied 
 
 The boiinty bestowed to obtain. 
 
 And even the worm, as he feeds on the leaves, 
 
 And from then- coarse texture most wondrously weaves 
 
 A cerement of siUi for his bed: 
 When winter is o'er, aU glorious with wings, 
 From out his soft grave a butterfly springs. 
 
 As if he were raised fi-om the dead. 
 
TO A MAID AT SEVEN. 
 
 May tell how tlie dead, when coffined and laid 
 
 Deep in the cold ground, 'neath the myrtle tree shade, 
 
 To sleep in their cerement of clay, 
 ShaU spring from their beds, aU glorious with wings, 
 When through the rent sky the last trumpet rings, 
 
 And the heavens arc rolling away. 
 
 TO A MAID AT SEVEN. 
 
 This day thy seventh year is ended, 
 
 Its moments with the past are blended — 
 
 A week of infant years; 
 How like a sweet and pleasant dream. 
 Does thy lirst week of summers seem, 
 
 How fresh thy life appears ! 
 
 But e'en for thee, life's sunny scene 
 
 Hath had some darkening shades between, 
 
 'Twas not all merry May: 
 I've seen true sorrow dim thine eyes, 
 I've pitying hushed thy infant cries 
 
 And wiped thy tears away. 
 
to'a^maid at seven. 
 
 With patient smiles and much ado, 
 Thy mother taught thy hands to sew 
 
 Some patches in a seam, 
 Till last, a j)ictured quilt was made, 
 Of almost ever}' hue and shade — 
 
 From black to white between. 
 
 To us, depraved with sin and guilt, 
 Life, like thy parti-colored quilt. 
 
 Is made of light and shade; 
 'Twould not be well if all were bright, 
 Nor well if all were dark as night, 
 
 Of both our life is made. 
 
 Let God the varied pattern plan. 
 Seek thou his love and grace to scan 
 
 In every changing hue; 
 When Judgment shall thy life unroll, 
 Then shalt thou, glancing at the whole. 
 
 Pronounce it good and true. 
 
 61 
 
SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 If my fond heart, ere I'm aware, 
 Incline the judgment of my head, 
 So when I thee, sweet one, compare 
 With other daughters also fair. 
 In spite of all my watchful care, 
 My judgment be misled; 
 
 I beg of thee, and others too, 
 My more impartial friends, 
 Ye will not too severely view 
 The picture partial lingers drew, 
 And ask if every tint be true 
 Where light with shadow blends. 
 
 I wish that I could truly paint, 
 Not color, form, or face, 
 But life — thy Hfe — not of a saint, 
 Nor yet grotesquely queer or quaint. 
 But where the colors fair or faint, 
 Thy subtle self should trace. 
 
 62 
 
SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 That thou in face and form art fail', 
 
 Hast love-bewitching eyes, 
 
 What color are thy lips and hair, 
 
 I will not say, I do not care, 
 
 But what thy thoughts and feelmgs are 
 
 Above all else I prize. 
 
 I greatly love thy glowing cheek, 
 But more thy honest heart; 
 Thy gentle spirit, chaste and meek, 
 To me more sweetly far can speak 
 Than all the ti-illing tones that break, 
 Where goodness has no part. 
 Sometimes thou seem est rather gay, 
 Too thoughtless I opine, 
 Too fond of miiih and girlish play, 
 That this is wrong I will not say; 
 I know mth thee 'tis merry May, 
 And fields and flowers are fine. 
 
 I would not wreath thy girlish l)row 
 With sober Autumn's hue; 
 Go be a happ}" maiden now, 
 
 63 
 
SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 Too soon the cold, rough whids will blow, 
 Too soon will come the winter's ^ncw. 
 And change this golden view. 
 
 I only wish the flowers of spring, 
 When leaves and blossoms fall, 
 AVhen merry birds no longer sing, 
 Or beat the air with wanton wing, 
 May leave for thee some better thing 
 Than song and beauty, all. 
 
 If thou wilt cast some golden grain 
 Upon the blooming sod; 
 It will return to thee again, 
 Kewarding all thy care and pain 
 When birds and flowers cannot remain, 
 A harvest gift of God. 
 
 Let study store thy youthful mind 
 With gems more bright than gold; 
 Let wisdom on thy temj)les bind 
 The fairest jewels of the mind; 
 With these around thy forehead tmned, 
 Thy face shall ne'er grow old 
 
 «4 
 
SOBER TWENTY. • 
 
 What though thy youthful strenght may fail, 
 Thy eye grow dim with years; 
 Thy rosy cheek sink wan and pale, 
 And life seem like a thrice-told tale; 
 Though walking through the shadowy^ vale 
 Thy heart shall know no fears. 
 
 SOBER TWENTY. 
 
 Onward still the stream is flowing — 
 Onward still the years are going — 
 Deeper, stronger grows Life's river, 
 Hasting towards the great Forever. 
 
 Round the slope of twenty summers 
 Sings the stream its meriy murmurs; 
 Swifter, stronger in its flowing 
 For each slope that marks its going. 
 
 In a cloud-like skitf, my daughter 
 Floats upon the magic water; 
 Wafted by the softest gales, 
 Hiding in the lifted sails. 
 
 G5 
 
SOBER TWENTY. 
 
 Half in smiles and half in tears — 
 Hoping strong, with mingled fears, 
 Sweeps my eye the changeful river, 
 Bearing towards the great Forever. 
 
 How I mark the light craft wander 
 Towards the distant, unknown yonder, 
 Where the skies and waters blue 
 Meet and close tlie distant view. 
 
 Here, the open sun-beams shimmer. 
 There the sun and shadows glimmer. 
 Now, she glides thro' flowerj^ meadows, 
 Now, beneath the dense grove's shadows. 
 
 Onward sweeps the meriy sailor, 
 Sliouting back to all who hail her; 
 O how bright is Life's glad river — 
 Might it thus How on forever. 
 
 When the stream was but a rill. 
 Singing down Life's sunny hill, 
 Wlien the baby hands were tender, 
 And the oars were weak and slender. 
 
SOBER T^VENTY. 
 
 Tlieu I rowed the infant sleeper 
 Till she woke in waters deeper — 
 Till the tiny arm grew stronger, 
 And the keel itself seemed longer. 
 
 When the arm and heai-t grew bolder, 
 When the head and hand were older, 
 Then I slow, my hand withdrew 
 And let her guide the light canoe. 
 
 But my heaii still rows beside her, 
 And my hands are stretched to guide her; 
 Never shall my fond care falter 
 Till I sink beneath the water. 
 
 Tender loves she father, mother, 
 Tender toward each cherished brother; 
 Makes each heavy burden lighter 
 And each dismal hour grow brighter. 
 
 Often when mj- heart is weary, 
 And the days are sad and dreary, 
 And ni}" soul is sore oppress'd, 
 And the pillow jields no rest. 
 
SOBER TWENTY. 
 
 Then some kind and thoughtful token, 
 Or some fittmg promise spoken, 
 Oft has ralHed hope declining, 
 Silenced grief and vain repining. 
 
 Oftener still my soul was strengthened, 
 And its shrunken vision lengthened. 
 And the curtained clouds uplifted, 
 Or with golden sun-beams rifted. 
 
 When I heard her sweet voice render, 
 Some forgotten promise, tender. 
 Sing some hope-inspiring psalm 
 Has my soul grown strong and calm. 
 
 Thus we close one score of years — 
 Thus the pa^t to day appears — 
 Thus between thy natal day, 
 And the present, seems the way. 
 
 What shall be thy future years, 
 To no mortal eye appears; 
 Eyes alone which all things scan. 
 See the fickle Hfe of man. 
 
 G8 
 
OUR LITTLE ONES. 
 
 God who leads the winding flood, 
 Buoys thy bark and bears its load, 
 Points its path from fount to sea, 
 Whatsoe'er its windings be. 
 
 Watch thy craft as if no one 
 Guided it but thee alone. 
 Pray thy God thy guide to be, 
 As none guided it but he. 
 
 QUE LITTLE ONES. 
 
 Five httle faces in a row, 
 
 Five curly heads as white as snow, 
 A flight of steps, from crown to crown, 
 
 O'er which my heart bounds up and down. 
 
 But O, too large a step is seen 
 
 The first and second heads between ! 
 
 One little, snowy head is gone, 
 It sleeps beneath a distant stone. 
 
TO EDDIE. 
 
 Before ine yet the row shall stand, 
 Clasped each alternate hand in hand; 
 
 The broken steps shall yet grow even, 
 The lost one takes its place in heaven. 
 
 TO EDDIE. 
 
 OUR LITTLE TWO YEAR OLD. 
 
 Where, darling, may thy mansion be, 
 Where is thy realm of rest ? 
 So dim are all my thoughts of thee, 
 That when my holden eyes would see 
 Thy spirit from thy body free. 
 They all seem dreams, at best. 
 
 I only saw thy bosom heave, 
 
 And shorter grow thy breath; 
 
 I only saw the sweet light leave 
 
 Those eyes wliich never more shall grieve, 
 
 And felt thy j)ulseless heart receive 
 
 The fatal stroke of death. 
 
TO EDDIE. 
 
 Then all I had of thee, dear cliild ! 
 In dreamless slumbers laid, 
 Was thy sweet face, so pure and mild, 
 But O, it neither wept nor smiled ! 
 And when I called in anguish wild, 
 Thy Ups no answer made. 
 
 Thou art not here, I have not thee, 
 My once dear, smUing boy, 
 But this is all my eyes can see. 
 What e'er thy other self may be, 
 Is not, as 3^et, revealed to me, 
 Thy sphere, nor thy employ. 
 
 Art thou some unsubstantial dream, 
 Some light and fleeting breath, 
 More swift, in flight, than solar beam. 
 When thro' the cloud, or on the stream 
 It gilds its shinning path ? 
 
 ' Tis thus my fancy strains its wing 
 
 Thy viewless path to trace; 
 
 ' Tis thu3 my stricken heart wovUd bring 
 
 n 
 
TO EDDIE. 
 
 Some iniage of that heavenly thmg, 
 Which wanders vvliere the angels sing, 
 To metes of time and space. 
 
 I cover with my lifted hand, 
 These tearful eyes of sense ; 
 Nor will I ask to understand 
 The mysteries of the spmt land ; 
 No light or skill can I command 
 To pierce those shadows dense. 
 
 I only ask what Jesus saith, — 
 The Light, the Truth, the Way;— 
 Here will I rest my trembling faith; 
 He gilds for me the darkest path 
 With hope that full assurance hath 
 Of immortahty. 
 
SHALL WE HAVE A CHKISTMAS TREE? 
 
 Shall we Jiave a Chiistmas tree 
 
 Hung with candies, fruit and toys ? 
 
 Shall we merry, merry be, 
 
 With our darling girls and boys? 
 
 Shall we say old Santa Claus, 
 
 Or the merry myth, Kriss Kringle, 
 
 Comes with bells, and sleighs, and toys, 
 With a Cliristmas jingle, jingle ? 
 
 Yes, let's have the Cliristmas tree. 
 Full of candies, fruits and toys; 
 
 Let us merry, merry be 
 
 With our httle girls and boys. 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year — 
 And the years, O, how they fly ! 
 
 Let us greet it with good cheer, 
 Greet it as it hastens by. 
 
SHALL WE HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE.'' 
 
 Stretch the line fi'om chair to chaii-, 
 Range the stockings in a row; 
 
 You will note each Httle pair 
 Longer than a year ago. 
 
 Many households, here and there, 
 When the tender work is done, 
 
 Shall observe some little pair 
 From the family row is gone. 
 
 Still, set up the Christmas tree, 
 Let not home be left forlorn : 
 
 Death may now no terror be. 
 Since the infant Christ is born. 
 
 E'en the fragrant evergreen 
 May inspii'e the joy of faith; 
 
 As a type of life unseen, 
 Tell of triumph over death. 
 
 If the home is glad and bright, 
 And the gifts, an ample store, 
 
 Fill each heart with sweet dehglit, 
 Let us not forget the poor. 
 
 74 
 
MY MOTHERS PICTURE. 
 
 Ah ! the poor, in whose sad homes 
 All is cold and bare and chill, 
 
 Where no ja^ladsome Christmas comes, 
 Where no gifts the stockings fill. 
 
 Christ may still be in the stall, 
 In some cot or lowly shed, 
 
 Where the sick for succor call, 
 Where the hungry cry for bread. 
 
 Succoj- them this Cluistmas day; 
 
 When the judgment time shall be, 
 You will hear the Master say, 
 
 "■ Ye have done it unto me." 
 
 MY MOTHEE'S PICTUEE. 
 
 My mother was old when she sat for her pictm-e, 
 Her body was bowed, her tresses were grey, 
 She wore a white kerchief and ii'on rimmed glasses — 
 Her costume, though quaint, was the stylo of the day 
 
MY MOTHERS PICTURE. 
 
 And there slie still sits, tho' years have gone by, 
 And borne to the dust her visible clay, 
 But the sheen of her hair, and the light of her eye, 
 And the smile on her hp, pass never away. 
 
 The canvas is old and faded, 'tis true; 
 The pigments are darkened and tarnished by age. 
 But yet from the wall, her spirit breaks through, 
 And hves like a thought on a time honored page. 
 
 Thus stiU the old painting looks down from the waU; 
 Its sweetness and brightness increasing with years; 
 It greets me whenever I enter the hall, 
 And oftei I answer with blessings and tears. 
 
 The dead, like their pictures, do never grow old, 
 We tliink of them still, as when they were here, 
 Though passed from our sight and far from our hold, 
 We say they are ours, and feel they are near. 
 
 76 
 
SILVEK WEDDING. 
 
 TO REV. M. L. KUHNS AND WIFE. 
 
 Cherished pastor, christian brother, 
 Husband, father, faithful friend. 
 Thee we greet with wife and mother, 
 In our greeting both we blend. 
 As together in one prayer. 
 Often do your names ascend. 
 
 On this gladsome day we hail you, 
 Kindred, friends and children, aU, 
 Happy are our hearts to greet you 
 In this silver wedding call, 
 May your silver turn to diamond 
 Ere your evening shadows fall. 
 
 When your trusting hands were phghted, 
 Five and twenty years agone, 
 Thus for sun and stonn united, 
 
 77 
 
 
SILVER WEDDING OF REV. M. L. KUHNS AND WIFE. 
 
 Twas the leafy month of June ; 
 
 Through the changing months and seasons, 
 
 Changeless, ye have journeyed on. 
 
 Many leaves and flowers have withered 
 In the blighting autumn air; 
 Icy fingers some have gathered 
 From your household arbor fair, 
 And your trembling hps have tasted 
 Of the cup so many share. 
 
 Still the June month has its flowers, 
 Still the cap of life is sweet, 
 And to cheer your lingering hours 
 When they tread with tardy feet, 
 You have blooming sons and daughters 
 To adorn the household yet. 
 
 Though no wish or word be spoken 
 Which may tell the love we feel, 
 Let each silent, silver token 
 Something of that love reveal, 
 And though silent, and though absent, 
 Let it plead our memory still. 
 
SILVER WEDDING OF MR. AND MRS. DANIEL EPPLEY. 
 
 Now may he who at the altar 
 Joined your pHghted souls in one, 
 Hold you when your footsteps falter 
 And still gently lead you on — 
 Lead you parents, lead you children, 
 Where the " little ones " are gone. 
 
 SILVEK WEDDING 
 
 OF MR. AND MRS. DANIEL EPPLEY. 
 
 I know not if my humble rhymes 
 Will ring well with the silver chimes 
 
 Which greet your ears to-day — 
 I know not if the lines I sing 
 Will have the true metalic ring : 
 
 I only wish thej^ may. 
 
 I, like those poor apostles old, 
 Have neither silver gifts nor gold, 
 And hence can none impart; 
 
 79 
 
SILVER WEDDING OF MR. AND MR3. DANIEL EPPLEY. 
 
 I draw upon another store, 
 In which I feel I am not poor — 
 The treasures of my heart. 
 
 Anticipating us to-day, 
 
 Some kindly genius passed this way 
 
 Invisibly bright: 
 And through your raven locks of hair 
 She slipt her silvery fingers fair, 
 
 And left them snowy white. 
 
 Above all gifts and treasures rare. 
 Above all silver presents fair, 
 
 I prize the locks of snow; 
 To me no royal diadems, 
 Though burdened with earth's richest gems, 
 
 With half the splendor glow. 
 
 I wish, dear friends, you may behold 
 Your silver wedding turn to gold — 
 
 Your gold to diamond tarn; 
 And when at last Life's sun hangs low, 
 May skies above and hills below 
 
 In golden splendor burn. 
 
AN ALBUM DEDICATION. 
 
 TO lOLE. 
 
 This book is Friendship's dainty hall, 
 Each pearly page a parlor fair, 
 The golden border is the waU, 
 And every line, a vacant chair. 
 
 I, on the threshold, take my stand 
 And open wide the waiting door; 
 To comers, all, I give my hand, 
 And bid them welcome, o'er and o'er. 
 
^KKt THl}^^ 
 
 HEART THOUGHTS, 
 
THE HOLY CHHiD JESUS. 
 
 ^,^L>^y:^:^^=^>^:)' 
 
 Savioiu' thou wast once a child, 
 Holy, harmless, undefiled, 
 Hmnble was thy human bii'th, 
 When thou earnest down to earth, 
 
 Thou didst walk with sinful men, 
 But without a spot or stain; 
 Tempted, thou didst never yield — 
 Be thy grace and strength our shield ! 
 
 Since on tender childhood's head, 
 Once thy holy hands were laid. 
 All the children of the race 
 Occupy a nobler place. 
 
 " Suffer them to come to me, " 
 Draws our parent hearts to thee; 
 With the children Lord we come; 
 For us all, thy arms have room. 
 
 85 
 
FRATERNITy. 
 
 CHARITY INVOKED. 
 
 Charity, visit me, 
 Grace of the noble three; 
 My spii'it welcomes thee — 
 Come, holy love ! 
 
 Faith, Hope, these give us peace: 
 Thy power shall still increase, 
 When these in sight shall cease - 
 Thou reign'st above. 
 
 FEATERNITY. 
 
 ''Behold how good and how pleamnt it is for brethren to dwell 
 .ofjether in Unity. " Ps., cxxiii : 1. 
 
 Earth has few charms so rich and rare, 
 Or scenes so precious and so fair, 
 As brethren who agree; 
 How good, how pleasant thus to dwell, 
 
 86 
 
THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 Where kindred bosoms swell 
 
 With mutual sympathy; 
 
 'Tis like the precious ointment shed 
 
 On Aaron's consecrated head, 
 
 Which ran down o'er his beard; 
 
 And in a sweet and odorous stream, 
 
 Down to liis garments' utmost seam, 
 
 Itself a robe appeared; 
 
 'Tis like the morning's fragrant dew, 
 
 On Hermon's sunht summit, blue, 
 
 Or Zion's sacred hill; 
 
 For there the Lord his blessing sends, 
 
 And heaven in bright effulgence bends, 
 
 With life the scene to fill. 
 
 THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 •JOHN v., 1 — 9. 
 
 Five porches hung around Bethesda's pool, 
 
 Where sick and wan a mass of suff'rers lay, 
 Upon the waveless fountain's bosom cool, 
 
 87 
 
THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 They fixed their haggard eyes from day to day, 
 Naught broke the form of cloud or bending trees, 
 
 As mirrored on the pool they floatmg lay, 
 Save when by chance a soft and thii'sty breeze 
 
 Would curhng o'er its placid surface play. 
 Months passed — and still a thousand bending heads 
 
 Saw imaged fourth their hollow sunken eyes, 
 As down they gazed from overhanging beds, 
 
 To see, j^erchance, the troubled waters rise; 
 For once a year a pitying angel came, 
 
 As round the realm he beat his guardian flight, 
 And moved by cries of blind, and halt, and lame, 
 
 He wept a tear upon its bosom bright. 
 When lo ! a sudden boiling quickly seized 
 
 The sleeping spuit of the conscious wave, 
 And gave the mystic pool a balm that eased 
 
 The first, who stepping in, their hmbs should lave. 
 At once the crawling, halting, suff 'ring tide 
 
 Of waiting wretches, for the water strove ; 
 Some, helpless, for theii' friends most piteous cried; 
 
 Some headlong threw themselves from beds above, 
 The waters touched, and straight the healthful flow 
 
THE POOL or BETHESDA. 
 
 Of life coiu'sed througli their withered Umbs again. 
 The cold dull eye, the pallid cheek would glow. 
 
 And hearts oppressed with grief forgot then pain; 
 But whilst some joyful tcjuched the healing tide, 
 
 And lost amid the waves their heavy chains; 
 Others, alas! forlorn, desponding died, 
 
 And m the Graces Bethesda healed their pains. 
 One sad, retired, and meekly suff'ring form. 
 
 Far back by cold, unfeeling hands was thrown, 
 Where year by year, mid heat, and cold, and storm, 
 
 He friendless, waited, wept, and prayed alone. 
 TJiirf;/ and eif/Jit long years infirm he lay. 
 
 Long sought Bethesda's often troubled tide. 
 And saw the mystic waters wash away 
 
 Some fell disease from sutf'rers by his side; 
 But ere he, crawling to the fountain's shore. 
 
 Could drag inhrm his languid length along. 
 Some other waiting feet would press before, 
 
 And leave him helpless mid the tangled throng. 
 The years passed slow along, and one by one. 
 
 His former friends forsook his loathsome cot, 
 Wearied of cost and care, left him alone, 
 
THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 And e'en at last his very name for^^ot. 
 His mother, in his childhood's helj^less years. 
 
 Had brought and laid him by Bethesda's side, 
 And daily sitting, wiped away his tears, 
 
 And for her charge, her daily task she plied. 
 Then, when at length the longed for day appeared, 
 
 And angel hands Bethesda's waters moved, 
 Grasjiing her child, she quick the fountain neared. 
 
 But others first its healing virtues proved. 
 Again, and still again, from year to year, 
 
 The faithful spirit stirred the lucid wave. 
 And they who quickly touch the waters near, 
 
 Are healed of whatsoe'er disease they have : 
 But still a strangely sad, severe decree. 
 
 Debarred from health the mother's fated child. 
 He seemed alone a lielphss wretch to be. 
 
 Whilst health restored, on otlurs frequent snnkd. 
 Yet God the mother's daily prayers had heard, 
 
 Though long the gracious answer seemed delayed: 
 Another fount, by Calvary's tortures stirred, 
 
 Was destined to afford the suff'rer aid. 
 Yet long before the world's Bethesda streamed 
 
THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 O'er Calvary's steep, a sacred crimson tide, 
 And long before its healing flood had gleamed 
 
 Beside the sheep-gate pool, the mother died. 
 Earth's lirst, and last^ and earth's most constant Mend, 
 
 A mother, fond, untiring, now was gone, 
 And thus, the only stay that heaven would lend, 
 
 Had fled, and he indeed was left alone. 
 The angel came, the waters moved again, 
 
 Again he saw befriended sutr'rcrs healed; 
 But still he wjiited, cried, and wept in vain, 
 
 No heart would feel, no hand assistance yield. 
 Youth passed away, and manhood came and fled. 
 
 And age, inflrni ffom sickness and from years. 
 Stole on, and still upon his squalid bed 
 
 His days w.rj passed in groans, his nights in tears. 
 At parting eve one day, when rosy clouds 
 
 Like ships of gold sailed down the sun-lit west. 
 And changing, seemed like hills of flame, and crowds 
 
 Of men, and giant steeds in crimson drest; 
 When heaven was calm, and Sharon's scented gales 
 
 Played soft upon Bethesda's blushing pool, 
 And from the hill, and down the winding vales 
 
 91 
 
THE POOL or BETHESDA. 
 
 The air stole forth the heated earth to cool; 
 There came from Olive's mount, descending slow, 
 
 A weary, strange, and solitary man. 
 He crossed the brook in Siloa's vale below, 
 
 And up Moriah's steep his laboring march began ; 
 And as he nearer comes, the suff'rer's eye 
 
 Marks a soft radiance on his pensive face, 
 As yet uncertain if the evening sky, 
 
 Or soul ^vithin imparts the heavenly grace. 
 But now beside the friendless cot he stands, 
 
 His eyes, his face with mildest radiance glow — 
 He speaks — the suffrer lifts his wasted hands, 
 
 And prays the stranger's heart an alms l^a.-tow. 
 " Wilt thou be whole ? " the gentle voice demands, 
 
 "Long hast thou lain in this sad case, I see, 
 I mark thy sunken eye, thy withered hands; 
 
 Wilt thou from thine infirmity be free ? ' ' 
 " I have no one, " the weeping sult'rer cries, 
 
 " These limbs of mine in yonder pool to lave, 
 And when I would from this low cot arise. 
 
 Some other touches first the troubled wave." 
 " Arise, take up thy bed and vxdk, for lo ! 
 
 92 
 
THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 
 
 My sovereign word shall make thy members whole, 
 Arise, I am thy soul's Bethesda too, 
 
 All nature owns my absolute control." 
 At once his ankle bones their strength receive, 
 
 He joyful grasi)S the stranger's proffered hands, 
 Withm his soul perplexed emotions heave, 
 
 And leaping up he by his Saviour stands. 
 But whilst with bounding step and joyful heart, 
 
 He moves the wonder of the multitude, 
 Jesus unseen, conveys himself apart, 
 
 ^Vhilst thoasands round the scene of healing stood, 
 Amazed, he to the house of God repairs. 
 
 Bearing, as bid, the burden of his bed. 
 At once to offer lieaven his grateful prayers, 
 
 And learn where his mysterious friend had tied. 
 And as he kneeled upon the temple Hoor, 
 
 Thanked God, and anxious prayed to know his friend, 
 Jesus approached and bade him sin no more. 
 
 Lest heaven on him a direr curse should send ; 
 Weeping with joj, he kissed the Saviour's feet, 
 
 And ask and heard the great Redeemer's name. 
 And going forth his snff 'ring friends to greet, 
 
 93 
 
THE i^OOL OF liET^HESDA. 
 
 He published far and near the Saviour's fame. 
 Jesus, thou art the same forever more, 
 
 Thou art the soul's Bethesda still to-day, 
 Thou canst the wounded heal — our sight restore, 
 
 And drive the broken spirit's grief away. 
 I too was sick, my head, my heart was faint, 
 
 My soul was foul with leprous spots of sin. 
 No troubled pool could ease my soul's complaint, 
 
 The dire disease lay deep ni}^ heart within. 
 I too, for many years had helpless lain. 
 
 And sought, and vainly sought, myself to cure. 
 The more I strove to heal my inward pain. 
 
 The less my heart its evils could endure; 
 Till once, my Saviour, thou didst pass this way, 
 
 And saw'st me helpless, friendless and alone. 
 Thou saw'st my grief as sad I weeping lay. 
 
 And heardst my broken spirit's heavy moan. 
 When thou didst point me to thy wounded side. 
 
 Thy hands, thy feet with crael piercings riven, 
 From whence had flowed thy heart's pure crimsoned tide. 
 
 94 
 
SCARdfiLY SAVED. 
 
 For me, for all mankind so freely given. 
 I looked, and lo, my sin-sick soul was healed, 
 
 M}^ heart its rending anguish felt no more, 
 I felt my health restored, my pardon sealed, 
 
 And Heaven all through my soul its gladness pour. 
 
 SCARCELY SAVED. 
 
 1 PETER rv : 18. 
 
 " Scarcely Saved ! " then almost lost 
 Heaven's pathway nearly missed, 
 From an angry ocean tossed. 
 Saved on fragments of the ship; 
 O, thou Ruler of the wave, 
 Can'st Thou onl}^, scarcely save ? 
 
 Must we, like a burning brand. 
 Snatched by Thine Almighty hand 
 From the ashes of the lost — 
 
 95 
 
f^CARCELY SAVED. 
 
 As was Lot from Sodom's coast — 
 Scarce escape Thy dreadful ire, 
 Only saved, as if "by fire?'' 
 
 Heaven wills the soul to save, 
 
 Christ his blood a ransom gave, 
 Freely is the spirit given. 
 Gently wooing us to heaven; 
 
 Without mone}^, without price, 
 
 May we enter Paradise. 
 
 Are not Wisdom's pleasant waj's, 
 Paved with flowers and trod with ease 
 All our galling fetters broke. 
 Is not Christ's an easy yoke V 
 Is it hard then, life t' achieve. 
 Since 'tis only "Look and live? " 
 
 Yes, poor mortal, blind, depraved. 
 Hardly is the sinner saved; 
 
 Hardly will he lend his car 
 
 E'e]i of life itself to hear. 
 Foes without, and foes within. 
 Make it hard his soul to win. 
 
 90 
 
SCARCELY SAVED. 
 
 If the Spirit softly pleads, 
 
 Scarce the still small voice he heeds — 
 If the rod in judgment burns, — 
 Th' ingrate of a rebel turns — 
 
 Wooes the voice, or falls the rod, 
 
 Still the heart defies its God — 
 
 Gilded forms of pleasing sin 
 
 Spread arouLd, liis heart to win. 
 Sweet and fiowery seems the road, 
 Leading downward fi'om his God — 
 
 Syren voices all along 
 
 Lure him with then- magic song. 
 
 Should some arrow, dipt in blood. 
 
 From the quiver of his God — 
 Break the fascinating spell, 
 Making hard the way to hell, 
 
 Oft some guilty balm is found 
 
 Quick to stanch the flowing wound. 
 
 Is the great Physician near. 
 Dropping on th' awakened ear, 
 
 The welcome; "Come, sick soul to me, 
 
 97 
 
SCARCELY SAVfeD. 
 
 I'll heal thee, make thy spirit free ? " 
 Still 'tis hard, but to believe — 
 Hard to only " Look and live." 
 
 Hard to count the world but dross, — 
 
 Hard to bear the Saviour s cross, 
 Hard to tread the narrow road, 
 Leading upward to his God — ■ 
 
 Hard to bear the world's dread frown, 
 
 Only looking for the crown. 
 
 Where ten thousand wil}' foes 
 
 Every upw^ard step oppose — 
 Foes without and foes within — 
 Hard it is the fight to win; 
 
 O, ye friends of Christ, be brave. 
 
 Hard it is the soul to save. 
 
JOY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 LUKE XV : 7. 
 
 Joy in heaven! what else but jo}^ 
 Could angels' harps and tongues employ 
 
 So near the throne above V 
 Can they who see their Father's face, 
 Whose glory fills the heavenly place, 
 
 Want themes their hearts to move? 
 
 Joy in heaven! since yonder spheres 
 Have measui'ed times revolving years 
 
 A moment has not flown, 
 But angels with their spirit lays, 
 Have lifted high Jehovah's praise. 
 
 And hjanned his glorious throne. 
 
 When bursting from primeval night, 
 Myriads of starry systems bright, 
 
 Their glittering march began, 
 The " Morning Sfars," with measured song, 
 Cheered the bright hosts their paths along, 
 
 As through the heavens they ran. 
 
 99 
 
JOY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 And when on rapid wings tlie}^ lly, 
 Amid the wonders of the sky, 
 
 And hear the chiming spheres 
 As round the throne of God they roll, 
 They catch fi'om heaven's remotest pole 
 
 Sweet echoes on their ears. 
 
 But what upon this atom ball, 
 Obscured, accursed by Adam's fall, 
 
 A den of rebels vile; 
 What here, could win from angels pure. 
 Whose minds no evil can endure, 
 
 A sweet, approving smile? 
 
 Can they from starr}^ homes look down, 
 Where rests Jehovah's angry frown, 
 
 With aught of pure delight ? 
 No doubt, our glittering mountains fair, 
 Our fields, and floods, and ocean-air, 
 
 Might please an angel's sight. 
 
 No doubt, a seraph's flaming eye, 
 Might in our groves or fields espy 
 Some sweet, sequestered bowser, 
 
 100 
 
JOY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Where murmuring brook and vernal lay. 
 Might e'en for angels charm away 
 A calm and pensive hour. 
 
 But when a soul with sin oppressed 
 And hands upon his contrite breast, 
 
 To Heaven for mercy cries; 
 When tears of true repentance flow. 
 And guilty souls their biu-den know. 
 
 When pleading prayers arise, 
 
 And when from clouds of coming wrath, 
 From Sinai's dreaded doom of death, 
 
 The guilty rebel flees; 
 When to the cross his soul repairs, 
 And through the rising storm of fears, 
 
 His bleeding Saviour sees. 
 
 Tis then is heard the joyful sound, 
 " The dead's ahve, the lost is found, " 
 
 Mid heaven's enraptured throng; 
 'Tis then their joyfid harps rebound, — 
 " The dead's alive, the lost is found — " 
 
 Millions the strains prolong. 
 
 101 
 
CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 " And when he, wat< come near, he hehe/d the city, aiul u-^pt 
 0}:er if Luke, xix ; 41. 
 
 See Jesus on Mount Olive s brow ! 
 Applauding thousands round him bow, 
 
 And loud hosannahs sin<^; 
 With garments strewn and waving piilms, 
 With loud acclaim and pealing psalms, 
 
 They hail him Zion's king. 
 
 A gorgeous scene before him lies, 
 
 Of mountains mingling with the skies. 
 
 Of fields and foliage green ; 
 But fairest, sweetest in his sight, 
 Bathed in the mellow morning light, 
 
 Jerusalem is seen. 
 
 On Mount Moriah's peak below. 
 The temple, lilie a hill of snow, — 
 The wonder of all lands, — 
 
 102 
 
CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 With roof of gold and turrets bright, 
 With flashing dome and pillars white, 
 Conspicuously stands. 
 
 Oblivioas of the joyful crowd, 
 
 Of waving palms and praises loud. 
 
 He scans the coming years; 
 The Master's bosom heaves with groans. 
 His lips o'erflow with wailing tones, 
 
 His eyes with pitying tears. 
 
 Alas ! to his prophetic eye, 
 
 Far down the peaceful, morning sky 
 
 A coming cloud is seen: 
 On his omniscient soul it throws 
 A shadow dark of future woes, 
 
 Which blackens all between. 
 
 To him, beyond the mountains green, 
 The serried flash of war is seen, 
 
 The glare of armor bright; 
 He hears the legions' measured tread. 
 The neighing of the warrior's steed, 
 
 The shout, the cry, the fright. 
 
 103 
 
CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 Ai'ound the city's walls below, 
 Tlie close besieging lionians throw 
 
 Embankments strong and high: 
 The taint of death is in the air, 
 And to the carcass, from afar, 
 
 The swift winged eagles fly. 
 
 Through crimson streets and twilight dim, 
 With sunken eyes and visage grim. 
 
 Gaunt Famine daily walks; 
 And rampant Faction, fierce and red. 
 With gory hands and fiery tead, 
 
 O'er bleeding corpses stallvs. 
 
 His captive kindred, led in chains. 
 
 Are dragged, lilie beasts, from smoking plains 
 
 To lands beyond the sea; 
 And there in marts, for sordid gold, 
 The seed of Abraham is sold. 
 
 And doomed to slavery. 
 
 In every land he sees them roam, 
 Without a priest, without a home, 
 Afflicted and accursed. 
 
 104 
 
THE BIBLE AND THE KEFOEMATION. 
 
 Till every breeze from every sky, 
 Is burdened with a groan or sigh, 
 From wanderers dispersed. 
 
 And once again his pity burns, 
 And all within his sad soul yearns 
 
 To change their horrid lot. 
 Now while they hail him Zion's king. 
 His brooding love, with sheltering win^ 
 
 Would shield; but they would not. 
 
 THE BIBLE AND THE KEFOEMATION. 
 
 O Christ, our Sovereign king, 
 To Thee oiu* praise we bring- 
 On this glad day; 
 Thou o'er Thy church dost reign, 
 Thy righteous cause maintain 
 Hear us we pray I 
 
 105 
 
THE BIBLE AND THE KEFOEMATION. 
 
 When once thy people groaned 
 'Neath Anti-christ enthroned, 
 
 Thy courts within; 
 Who, hke a rival God, 
 Thy sacred precincts trod; 
 Ruled nations by his rod, — 
 
 "The man of sin!" 
 
 Great God, thou didst inspire 
 A monk with holy lire 
 
 To plead for thee ! 
 He seized the Spirit's sword, — 
 The hammer of the Word, 
 And in the name of God 
 
 Smote valiantly. 
 
 Great Luther's mighty stroke 
 The papal sceptre broke, 
 
 And made us free. 
 The Reformation day 
 Has rolled the night away — 
 Let happy millions say, 
 ■'Great Jubilee. "' 
 
 106 
 
LUTHER AND VVxVSHINGTON. 
 
 THE KEFOKMATION AND CENTENNIAL, 
 
 Ah when a zone of golden beams 
 
 Fulls li-oiii tlie level sun 
 Acrcjss the sea and gilds its waves, 
 
 Makes skies and waters one; 
 Thrusts golden fingers through the foam 
 
 Of every crested wave. 
 And lays on each a fairer crown 
 
 Than Monarchs ever gave : 
 
 So, from the Sun of Righteousness, 
 
 Across the ages dim, 
 There falls a belt of golden beams 
 
 Uniting earth with Him; 
 And all events and sainted men, 
 
 Which in this blazon lie. 
 Grow great with time and shine afar, 
 . And cannot fade or die. 
 
 107 
 
LUTHER AND WASHINGTON. 
 
 Bald Sinai's peak and Horeb's top, 
 
 iVnd Calvary, fairer far, 
 On jeweled summits catch the light, 
 
 Within this golden bar; 
 And lowly men of rustic garb, 
 
 From field or tent or fold, 
 If in its track, grow bright with light 
 
 More sj^lendid far than gold. 
 
 Tlius Abraham and all the tribes 
 
 Of his illustrous line, 
 Bards, prophets, kings, and humbler names, 
 
 With this effulgence shine: 
 While Genius, Learning, Prowess bold. 
 
 Not gilded by this light, 
 Grow dim with age and fade away. 
 
 And sink in final night. 
 
 As from some tall historic mount, 
 
 In these Centennial days. 
 Let's backward look to other times, 
 
 Through ^Vutumn's golden hiize: 
 
LUTHER AMD WASHINGTON. 
 
 On orand October's final day; 
 
 We reverentlj' will stand, 
 And send oar thoughts adown the past, 
 
 To roam from land to land. 
 
 Our own fair land, a nearer scene, — 
 
 A scene not wholly bright. 
 Shines thro' a hundred ^^ears, sublime 
 
 In Freedom's glorious light; 
 Altho' the battle's stiffling smoke 
 
 Hung o'er it now and then. 
 Yet when 'twas past a fairer sky 
 
 O'er spread it still again. 
 
 We hear our sires in Congress halls, 
 
 Engaged in high debate, 
 They forge the chains in mighty heat, 
 
 Which bind in one the State ; 
 Each untried thought they in the fire 
 
 And on the anvil la}', 
 And smite with giant blows the bars 
 
 To test their strength and stay, 
 
 109 
 
LUTHEE AND WASHINGTON. 
 
 Tiiey guard the Stat(; to make it free 
 
 With equal rij:^'hteous law; 
 Twixt LiceiiBo loose and Freedom strong, 
 
 The nice distinction draw; 
 But tliose precincts the soul within, 
 
 They ne'er presumptuous trod. 
 But left the conscience grandly free. 
 
 Unfettered witli its God. 
 
 The f-tream of light which long ago 
 
 Broke o'er Judean hills, 
 Falls thro' their halls, a golden Hood, 
 
 And exoYj chamber fills; 
 It casts a bright unfading glow 
 
 On every honored brow; 
 For on such legislative men 
 
 It never shone till now. 
 
 But as our thoughts roam down these jeari 
 
 We cross the mighty sea; 
 In other lands strong voices plead 
 
 The cause of Libert}' ; 
 
LUTHER AND WARIIINGTC^N. 
 
 A hammer smites a pareliment scroll 
 
 Against a chapel door; 
 Its echo rolls in tliunder tones 
 
 In Freedom's cannon's roar. 
 
 Great Luther seems a A\\ashington ; 
 
 His hammer's mighty stroke, 
 Which from the necks of millions smote 
 
 The papal tyrant's yoke, 
 Explodes for us each deadl}' shell. 
 
 And fires each loyal gun 
 Which sweeps our land of royal slaves, 
 
 Redeemed by AVashington. 
 
 And in his theses lay the spark, 
 
 Half smothered yet, 'tis true. 
 Which in his hand in after years 
 
 A mighty flambeau grew; 
 This touching- others, spread the flame 
 
 And passed from liand to hand, 
 Till vivid belts of holy fire 
 
 Begirt the sea and land. 
 
LUTHER AND WASHINGTON. 
 
 Those links of Freedom and of Law 
 
 Wers forged in Luther's hand, 
 \A^hich our old patriot fathers snatched. 
 
 Yet glowino- from the sand: 
 He cast them singly from the forge, 
 
 On lands beyond the sea, 
 And other hands have wove of them 
 
 The guards of Liberty. 
 
 Were there no Keformation day. 
 
 The darkened world to cheer, 
 There were no Independence day, 
 
 And no Centennial year: 
 No Luther, then no Washington; 
 
 No theses, then no State 
 Upon these shores, in justice strong, 
 
 Sublimely free and great. 
 
 The cloister where the Bible lay, 
 
 The monastery cell; 
 The ever-famous chapel door 
 
 Where Luther's hammer fell, 
 
AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 And Luther's self, and all the way 
 In which he fearless trod, 
 
 Lay m the blazon's central glow 
 Which marks the path of God, 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 All through the golden, bright, November day. 
 The hearse-lilie wind had been among the leaves; 
 It kissed them as it loosed them from their spray, 
 And laid them on the mossy turf away, 
 Beneath the wind-swayed tops of mourning trees. 
 
 And now beyond the golden sun-set bars, 
 The dying day has calmly sunk to rest; 
 The funeral torches of the distant stars, 
 Led in their march by crimson-visaged Mars, 
 Pass down the tinted high-way of the west. 
 
AUTUMN LEA\'ES. 
 
 I lean my head to catch the cool nio-ht-air, 
 
 The perfume of its forest-scented breath; 
 
 I feel its lingers slipping thro' my hair, 
 
 As if to brush awaj^ the feverish care 
 
 Which comes to me from Nature's realm of death. 
 
 I think of mine, some sweetl}' budding leaves. 
 Untouched by Autumn's icy chill of death, 
 Which faded in the sj^ring-time's balmy breeze. 
 Wrenched from the boughs of bleeding parent-trees, 
 By an inexorable, fell disease. 
 And laid away the tear-bathed sod beneath. 
 
 But far beyond the golden sun-set bars; 
 Beyond the frosts, the fading light of even; 
 Bej^ond the torches of the setting stars, 
 Led in their march by crimson-visaged Mars, 
 They live translated in the light (^f heaven. 
 
SEA GROVE. 
 
 AVliere Jersey opes her sand}^ palm, 
 And lays lier linger in the sea; 
 Where waves collide in storm and calm, 
 And plaj' an endless duet psalm; 
 The basso chimes 
 Are Ocean's rhj^mes: 
 
 The softer airs 
 Are Delaware's; 
 Here Sea Grove City is to be. 
 
 Sea Grove is as a bridal ring, 
 Cape May's the linger in the sea; 
 The snow-white cots wdiicli on it spring, 
 Are facets in Love's offering; 
 The first and best, 
 Among the rest, 
 
 Is pure saphire — 
 The church's spire ^ — 
 This is the fairest far to me. 
 
THE SNOW FLAKE. 
 
 Here % the healthful saline airs 
 On ceaseless wings, from shores unseen; 
 Here Health the wasted form repairs, 
 And here the burden of our cares 
 
 Drops in the spra}^, 
 And floats away, 
 
 Out from the beach, 
 Bej'ond our reach, 
 And seems as if it ne'er had been. 
 
 THE SNOW FLAKE. 
 
 Come, prett}^ snow Hake ! come rest in my hand; 
 I've singled you soaring so long and so high, 
 Wearily watching, I patiently stand, 
 To see you sail down from your home in the sky. 
 
 At last I have caught you — you're gone, x>retty thing ! 
 Your crj^stals are broken, so sorry I am, 
 As soon as I felt the touch of your wing, 
 An icy cold tear was left in my palm. 
 
 116 
 
THE SNOW FLAKE. 
 
 If on the white ground, instead of my pahn, 
 Your wing had ahghted, with others as pure, 
 And rested with kindred ones, quiet and cahn, 
 Your crystals, unbroken, might longer endure : 
 
 Or were you made sad to quit your bright home, 
 To drop on a hand, so sinful and vile; 
 Hence shunned me so long, prefermg to roam 
 Through sky and mid air, disporting awhile? 
 
 One other, still purer and brighter, did come 
 
 From regions still higher and holier far. 
 
 Whose crystals were crushed on the cross and the tomb, 
 
 Were crushed in the fall, but hell felt the jar. 
 
 But often 'tis thus with other bright things, 
 Which gladden and dazzle my eyes for awhile : 
 I scarcely can notice the touch of their wing-s, 
 Till into sad tears has melted each smile. 
 
 ^ lf1 
 
 117 
 
 W^ 
 
SECOND THOUGHT ON, I'M GEO WING OLD. 
 
 And cim I f>Towiiig old, in truth; 
 My sense less keen, my step less free V 
 StiU I retain my real youtli; 
 I am not old and wiU not be. 
 
 'Tis not in years to make me old, 
 Though time may wear my strength away: 
 May make the vital currents cold 
 And turn myjyouthl'ul locks to gray: 
 
 Yet long as Hope in me is strong, 
 And Faith looks on with undim'ed eyes; 
 As long as Love and Zeal press on 
 To reach the mark and win the prize: 
 
 Yea, while to me, from springs unseen, 
 The tide of life Hows piu'e and strong. 
 My leaf, unwithered, shall be green, 
 I must and always shall be young. 
 
 I 
 
 118 
 
ELIJAH AT HOEEB. 
 
 The aged eagle molts his plumes, 
 And from his eyrie upward springs, 
 The strength and speed of youth resumes 
 iVnd bathes in elouds his new-Heged wings; 
 
 So shall the soul that waits on God, 
 AVith freshened strength its path pursue ; 
 Mount up on wings to his abode, 
 And evermore its youth renew. 
 
 ELIJxVH AT HOEEB. 
 
 1 KINGS XIX : 8-18. 
 
 See the tempest rend the mountain; 
 
 Darkness tills the sky; 
 Hear the rumbling earthquake passing, 
 
 Is Jehovah nigh ? 
 
 119 
 
ELIJAH AT HOREB. 
 
 Yes, the wild wind is his herald, 
 
 Making straight his path, 
 And the quaking of the mountain 
 
 Harbingers his wrath. 
 
 Now the heavens glow with tire; 
 
 Horeb is in flame: 
 Sure Jehovah's drawing nigher — 
 
 Awful is his name. 
 
 But not in the storm or thunder. 
 
 Wrapt not in the flame, 
 Conies Elijah's God to Horeb 
 
 Vengeance to proclaim. 
 
 But a soft and gentle whisper, 
 
 Filling earth and air, 
 Tells the awe-struck, trembling prophet 
 
 That the Lord is there. 
 
 And he, folded in his mantle, 
 
 At the open cave, 
 Hears a searching, whispering Spirit 
 
 Bidding him be brave. 
 
 120 
 
THE BIBLE AND LIBEB'JA. 
 
 This is the Reformation day, 
 
 The wide world's Jubilee; 
 The Word, long l^ound, is loosed again 
 
 To make the nations free; 
 It takes the wings of every wind; 
 
 It floats on every Hood; 
 It tells to men of every tongue 
 
 The wondrous works of God. 
 
 It sails a chart in Pilgrini shq^s 
 
 To lands beyond the sea; 
 It is their guide, their polar star, 
 
 The pilot of the free ; 
 It rears their altars, builds the State 
 
 Beyond the tyrant s rod, 
 Where, unalarmed and undismayed, 
 
 Men freely worship God. 
 
MORNING BIRDS. 
 
 The Bible at the lire-side 
 
 And in the closet read; 
 In childhood's ears, at marriage feasts, 
 
 And burials of the dead; 
 In church, in school, in prison cell, 
 
 In legislative hall; 
 Lives in our life, rules in our laws. 
 
 The heart and pulse of all. 
 
 MORNING BIRDS. 
 
 One timid note 
 
 Is sent afloat 
 From yonder hill-top tree, remote : 
 
 The dewy air 
 
 Vibrates afar 
 Beneath the palpitating jar. 
 
 I haste to rise. 
 In glad surprise, 
 As Morning ope's her dewy eyes. 
 
MORNING BIIIDS. 
 
 To sec unrolled, 
 The cloudy gold, 
 Beyond what poets ever told. 
 
 I wheel my chair 
 
 To catch the air 
 Which comes from field and forest faii; 
 
 To hear the strain 
 
 And sweet refrain 
 The birds sing ever and again. 
 
 Some sentry bird 
 
 At first is heard. 
 As if it were a watchman's word; 
 
 A single trill 
 
 Steals from the hill, 
 Then, for a moment, all is still. 
 
 An answering bird, 
 
 Ere long is heard, 
 And he is followed by a third, 
 
 And then ere long. 
 
 The morning song. 
 Swells to a chorus, loud and strong. 
 
MORNING BIRDS. 
 
 From bush and brake, 
 From hill and lake, 
 
 All in the general song- partake; 
 Unhelped by art, 
 Each sings his pai-t. 
 
 And finds his music in his heart. 
 
 Each velvet throat 
 Pours forth its note 
 
 Upon the trembling air to iior.t; 
 It makes no pause — 
 Seeks no applause — 
 
 B\it from its soul its music draws. 
 
 The airs which sway 
 
 Each leafy spray, 
 Seem dancing as the}' float away; 
 
 The joyful June, 
 
 To sultry noon, 
 ('laps all its leafy hands in tune. 
 
 O ma}'^ my heart, 
 Unskilled in art, 
 In tliis glad anthem bear its part ! 
 
THE DAY IS DONE 
 
 Nor silent be, 
 \Mieii bird and tree 
 Can till the air with melody. 
 
 THE DAY LS DONE. 
 
 The day is done — 
 
 Once more the sun 
 Hatli through the sky his journey ran; 
 
 The live-long da}", 
 
 His flaming ray 
 Hath kept primeval Night at bay. 
 
 But looking back, 
 
 The sky is black. 
 And Night comes trailing on liis track: 
 
 And in this chase 
 
 She'll gain the race. 
 And throw her l)lack scarf on ]]is face. 
 
THE DAY IS DONE. 
 
 For sages sa^', 
 
 Some time, some way, 
 The Night shall overtake the day; 
 
 The solar flame 
 
 Sink whence it came, 
 \\"here light and darkness are the same. 
 
 So let it be, — 
 
 If Heaven decree, 
 That time shall bring no night to me : 
 
 Altho' a sleep 
 
 Ere then may steep 
 My sense in shadows, dark and deep. 
 
 Yet from mine eye 
 
 These shades shall fly 
 Beneath a fairer, brighter sky: 
 
 A purer light 
 
 Shall greet my sight 
 Wlien stars and suns are lost in night. 
 
Pago. 
 
 A Dream and its Interpretation . _ _ - 16 
 
 An Album Dedication - - - - - - 81 
 
 An Evening witli the Ckildren _ _ _ _ 53 
 
 Autobiographical - - - - - - -25 
 
 Autumn Leaves .___-- 113 
 
 Blowing Bubbles - - - - - - - 23 
 
 Charity Invoked _.__-- 8G 
 
 Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem - - - - - 102 
 
 Dedication ( Home. )------ 39 
 
 Dreamings of the Waking Heart 
 
 
 
 Elijah at Horeb ...--- 119 
 
 Faith in Papa Makes Me Jump - - - - - 42 
 
 Fraternity - - - - - - - 86 
 
 I'm Growing Old - - - - - - - 45 
 
 Joy in Heaven ___--- 99 
 Luther and Washington ------ 107 
 
 Morning Birds ------- 122 
 
 My Baby's Hand ------- 40 
 
 My Mother's Picture ------ 75 
 
 Our Childhood's Home - - - - - - 45 
 
 Our Little Ones ------ 69 
 
 Scarcely Saved - - - - - - -95 
 
 S^a Grove ------- 115 
 
 Second Thought on, "I'm Growing Old" - - - - 118 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 Shall We Have a Christmas Tree .' - - - - 73 
 
 Silver Wedding of Rev. L. M. Kiihiis - - - - 77 
 
 Silver Wedding of Daniel Epploy - _ _ - 79 
 
 Soher Twenty - - - .._ _ -G5 
 
 Sweet Sixteen ---_-._ (i2 
 
 The Bible and Liberty - - - - - - 121 
 
 The Bible and the Reformation . _ . . 105 
 
 The Day is Done - - - - - - - 125 
 
 The Holy Child Jesus --...- 85 
 
 The Invisible Beyond - - - - - - 33 
 
 The Little Brown Money Jug ----- 32 
 
 The Maid of the Mountain . . . _ - 10 
 
 The Pool of Bethesda ------ 87 
 
 The Snow Flake - - - - - - - IKi 
 
 To a Maid at Seven ------ (50 
 
 To Eddie -------- 7<> 
 
 What is an Old Maid ? - - - - - - 44 
 
 What is Your Life ? - - - - - - 31 
 
 Wittenherg College Sonc,- ----- 35 
 
...yjljjAJJY OF CONGRESS 
 
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