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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
PANSIES 
 
 Poems of Thought and Feeling 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH S. LEONARD 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 
 
 J,' ■. K 5. ' 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Martin B. Brown Company, Printers 
 
 49- 57 park place 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 OCT. 2 1902 
 
 Copyright Entry 
 CLASS ^-', XXc. NO 
 
 ^'toPY B/ 
 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 ONE WHO HAS CROSSED "THE RAINBOW BRIDGE." 
 WHOSE WORDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT AND APPRECIA- 
 TION HAVE PERSUADED ME TO OFFER THESE FEW 
 FLOWERS TO THE WORLD 
 
 E. S. LEONARD 
 
 
St^oXMi (£. 
 
 UTVLOyrdL^ 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Invocation -.__ ^ 
 
 Pansies .--- g 
 
 My Mother _ 7 
 
 The Old Bureau g, 
 
 Rain Drops u 
 
 Why 13 
 
 Our Bark Canoe 15 
 
 The Soul's Call 18 
 
 Do Your Best 20 
 
 Marti .-- 21 
 
 My Treasure 23 
 
 The Frost Spirits - - 25 
 
 Twilight Musings 28 
 
 The Song of the Zephyr -----... 31 
 
 33 
 
 Mysteries 
 
 Dreams 3^ 
 
 EuLALIE ----.-.-_.. 37 
 
 The Palace of Youth - - - 40 
 
 Pussy Willows 43 
 
 Sometime 44 
 
 Step by Step 46 
 
 His Colors .-.---_. ...47 
 
 Hope for All - . - . _ 49 
 
 The Sweet Pea - - 52 
 
 Ten Years Ago 54 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Justice 56 
 
 Coastin' Down in Maine 58 
 
 Stella .-.- ---61 
 
 The Old Mill 62 
 
 Chateau Laurina - - 64 
 
 When the Mask Drops Off 67 
 
 What the Moon Saw - - - 68 
 
 The Soldier's Grave 72 
 
 To a Dear Friend Upon Her Birthday ----- 74 
 
 Ashtabula 76 
 
 Lake George 78 
 
 Reaching Upward 81 
 
 The Unseen Choir - - - - 84 
 
 Little Things - - 86 
 
 Rest 87 
 
 Autumn 88 
 
 The Fishers of the Dead 91 
 
 *'It Will be Morning Soon" - 93 
 
 Aunt Esther 95 
 
 We Three _ . . _ . 97 
 
 The Daisy's Life 100 
 
 The Light Ahead 102 
 
 Angel Whispers 104 
 
 Broken Wings 106 
 
 Elise .--- - 108 
 
 Lovers Still - - 109 
 
 Cuba - - - - - -iii 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Oh, mighty heart of Nature! 
 
 Thou all creative force, 
 That pulsates through our being. 
 
 Of every life, the source. 
 
 We feel thee all around us, 
 In earth and sea and air, 
 
 Each bird and flower and leaflet. 
 Are in thy tender care. 
 
 Through white cups of the lily, 
 The pink cheek of the rose. 
 
 Through green of waving grasses. 
 Thy quickening essence flows. 
 
 The blue sky bending o'er us. 
 The stars that 'bove us shine. 
 
 The sun — the moon — the planets 
 Move by thy power divine. 
 
 In the flow of rippling water. 
 The ocean's mighty swell. 
 
 The brooklet's gentle murmur, 
 Or music of sea-shell; 
 
 In the thunder and the tempest. 
 The fierce winds rushing by. 
 
 The softly swelling breezes. 
 Or sad heart's faintest sigh 
 
 We hear and feel thy presence; 
 
 In our joy or in our pain; 
 Thy life force throbs and pulses 
 
 Through Nature's endless chain. 
 
The mountain tops whose summits 
 Are crowned with stainless snow, 
 
 The golden grain that waveth 
 In the smiling vales below; 
 
 In the rocks and gloomy forests 
 With all their grandeur wald, 
 
 In the wisdom of the sages — 
 In the heart of a little child, 
 
 Thy all-pervading power 
 
 Is felt and heard and seen, 
 
 And on its strength and goodness 
 Our souls confiding, lean — 
 
 For every link that stretches 
 To us, through space above, 
 
 Is welded — stamped — surrounded 
 By thy eternal love ! 
 
 Oh, mighty heart of Nature, 
 
 Thou all creative force, 
 Thou power divine that guides us 
 
 Through all life's devious course ! 
 
 Although our feet may stumble, 
 Caught in sin's wary snare, 
 
 " We know we cannot wander 
 Beyond thy love and care." 
 
PANSIES. 
 
 Little flower faces 
 
 In your lowly bed, 
 Nodding in the sunshine 
 
 Every golden head, 
 As the summer breezes 
 
 Softly sweeping by, 
 Presses on you kisses 
 
 Very sweet and shy. 
 
 Cuddling up together, 
 
 Little fragile forms, 
 Heeding not the weather, 
 
 Sunshine or the storms. 
 Always your bright faces 
 
 Turning towards the light, 
 Velvet wings a-waving. 
 
 Yet ne'er taking flight. 
 
 Mother Earth's fair children, 
 
 Nestling to her breast. 
 In gold and purple raiment 
 
 So daintily dressed; 
 Your perfumed leaves are written 
 
 With many a tender word, 
 That as I read, my spirit 
 
 By memories sad, is stirred. 
 
 For one you bring before me 
 Who vanished from my sight. 
 
 Her soul-wings fluttering upward 
 In their Heavenly flight, 
 
 To whom a little nosegay 
 
 Of pansies I once brought, 
 
 And laid them softly at her feet, 
 Saying — " For one thought!" 
 
With loving glances, gently 
 
 Her hand she placed in mine, 
 With smiles and blushes, saying — 
 
 " All my thoughts are thine!" 
 And 'round us, like a blessing 
 
 There floated sweet perfume, 
 And pansy faces smiled on us 
 
 In all their fresh, young bloom. 
 
 When joy-bell softly ringing, 
 
 Proclaimed our marriage day, 
 And the star of love was lighting 
 
 With golden beams, our way, 
 She wore upon her bosom 
 
 This simple little flower. 
 Emblem of thought and feeling. 
 
 Crowning life's happiest hour. 
 
 And then once more, when sadly 
 
 We laid her down to rest, 
 W^e placed these fragrant blossoms 
 
 Upon her pulseless breast. 
 And o'er the green mound waving. 
 
 Guarding her peaceful sleep. 
 Their faces bright, through day and night 
 
 Their tender love-watch keep. 
 
 Little dark-eyed blossoms! 
 
 On you I fondly gaze, 
 For other flowers bring not to me 
 
 The dreams of vanished days. 
 Your links of thought stretch upward 
 
 To Heavenly heights above. 
 And blend in one, two faces — 
 
 Sweet pansy — and lost love. 
 
nV MOTHER. 
 
 Warm, loving heart, now pulseless and still, 
 Cherished form, lying so rigid and chill; 
 Throw off the cold fetters, with bitterness rife. 
 Which the death angel placed on the foimtain of life! 
 
 Snowy lids, veil not the dear, smiling eyes, 
 Sweet lips, respond to love's passionate cries. 
 Return the fond kisses, and hold me once more 
 Tenderly pressed to your heart, as of yore. 
 
 Pure, peaceful brow, free from sorrow or care, 
 Crowned with white lilies, twined 'mid thy fair hair. 
 From thy marble-like calm — from thy deep, dreamless sleep 
 Wilt thou never more waken, to smile or to weep? 
 
 Pale, waxen hands, from thy " white stillness " move. 
 With fond caresses my deep anguish soothe; 
 Wipe away fondly the fast falling tears. 
 Leave me not desolate through the long years ! 
 
 Through the long years that may come and may go. 
 
 On the river of Time in its ebb and its flow; 
 
 If the star of thy love does not guide and direct 
 
 My life barque, on sorrow's rocks dashing, will wreck. 
 
 From the motionless form — from the lips sealed for aye, 
 No answer comes back, though I earnestly pray 
 For one word or one sound, the dread silence to break, 
 To soothe my wild woe, and my weary heart's ache. 
 
 And I bow 'mid the darkness, the gloom and despair, 
 'Mid the death-shadows resting so heavily there. 
 When suddenly, gleaming through sorrow's black night. 
 There falleth around me a soft, trembling light. 
 
Angel wings gently seem fanning my brow, 
 And angel hands tenderly pressing it now, 
 And a dear, loving voice, the sweetest e'er heard, 
 To my soul inner life, whispers softly these words : 
 
 " Oh, Child of my heart! lift up thy sad eyes 
 From the dark, dismal grave, to the glorious skies 
 Of the bright Summer land, where my spirit has flown, 
 Dropping of¥ the rude shell of its former earth home. 
 
 'Tis the casket lies there that will fade and decay, 
 But the soul liveth on free forever and aye, 
 Its white wings unfettered, from earth-chains unbound. 
 Soaring upward and onward, with love's glory crowned. 
 
 Could you know all the rapture, the joy and the peace, 
 That flow through my being, thy weeping would cease. 
 And thy poor, stricken heart to hope's music would thrill 
 For you'd know that thy mother w^atched over thee still. 
 
 Watched over to guide thee in life's devious ways. 
 To comfort and bless thee in sorrowful days. 
 To care for thee ever — to lead thee aright, 
 From out of the darkness, up into the light. 
 
 Then droop not thy head, though the shadows are round 
 
 thee, 
 Let not thy feet falter, though sharp rocks may wound 
 
 thee. 
 And thy hands, let them fail not in doing life's duty. 
 For each victory o'er self, to the soul giveth beauty. 
 
 And when the hard lesson of earth-life is ending, 
 And the angel called Death above thee is bending, 
 From out the bright throng that will over thee hover, 
 ril come first to greet thee, thy still loving mother." 
 
THE OLD BUREAU. 
 
 It stands in the attic, close under the eaves, 
 Around the closed drawers the swift spider weaves 
 Its delicate web; the gray dust lies deep, 
 And the shadows of age o'er the polished wood creep ; 
 While the circling years, as they come and they go. 
 Leave their mark and their stain on the old bureau. 
 
 The quaint mirror, checkered and mottled with age — 
 What tales it might tell, turning memory's page 
 Of fair, happy faces — of sorrow and tears — 
 Of manhood's proud glances, and childhood's sweet years. 
 Those shadowy faces, swept on by Time's flow 
 The dimmed glass reflected, long, long years ago. 
 
 The deep drawers hold treasures, once precious as gold 
 When placed there by hands that are now still and cold; 
 A bridal veil folded, of yellow stained lace, 
 Once floated its silvery sheen 'round a fair face, 
 Whose life, gay or sad — its joy or its woe. 
 Are secrets kept well by the time-worn bureau. 
 
 A little shoe wrinkled with creases and worn — 
 
 A boy's tiny jacket — all faded and torn — 
 
 A top and a knife without any blade — 
 
 A toy violin with strings broken and frayed. 
 
 And away in one corner the moth-eaten bow. 
 Are some of the treasures within the bureau. 
 
 A silken curl cut from a fair golden head. 
 By a mother who wept, o'er her baby boy, dead — 
 Gleams bright in the sunlight — undimmed by those tears 
 Though 'twixtThen and Now, lies the long bridge of years. 
 Shine on, sunny tresses! time fades not your glow, 
 While safe in the drawer of the ancient bureau. 
 
Old letters are there, with their writings defaced — 
 Of words sad or gay, there is scarcely a trace; 
 Though once they brought gladness, perhaps bitter pain, 
 But their mission fulfilled, they can never again 
 
 Thrill hearts that no pleasure or sadness can know 
 From these letters within the old-fashioned bureau. 
 
 Farewell, old bureau! the cold hand of pride 
 In the garret has carelessly thrown you aside, 
 In the darkness and gloom where the faint light of day 
 Through the small dusty pane shines on ruin — decay. 
 You stand 'mid the shadows that flit to and fro. 
 Like ghosts of past joys, that you've seen, old bureau! 
 
 Farewell, old bureau! we honor you still, 
 For each duty that daily you strove to fulfil — 
 For the memories — the secrets — the treasures you hold 
 Stretching back through the Past, that the dead years infold. 
 Could each life its record as clear as yours show, 
 There'd be naught to regret at the end, old bureau! 
 
RAIN DROPS. 
 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! 'Gainst the window pane, 
 Hear the patter and the clatter 
 
 Of the f aUing rain ! 
 Ding dong! Ding dong! List to music sweet, 
 And the dancing— merry prancing 
 
 Of the rain-drops' feet. 
 
 Spit spat! Spit spat! On the high tree tops, 
 Oh, what rusthng and what busthng 
 
 Of the noisy drops — 
 Splash dash! Splash dash! Down the sloping eaves, 
 Hear the rattling— Elfin's battling 
 
 'Mong the dripping leaves. 
 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! Little hands, forsooth! 
 Gently rapping— softly tapping, 
 
 On the old tin roof. 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! Lone and dark's the night, 
 Life is dreary — I am weary 
 
 Seeking for the light. 
 
 Whist, list! Whist, Hst! Whispers low, I hear. 
 Sad winds sighing, as if trying 
 
 Lost ones to bring near. 
 Swish, swash! Swish, swash! Hark! the ghostly sound! 
 Garments traihng— my heart quailing 
 
 As I gaze around. 
 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! On the grassy bed 
 Where she's sleeping — while I'm weeping 
 
 For the young life fled — 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! Who knows but the tears 
 That are falling may be calling 
 
 Souls from hush of years. 
 
Sing low! Sing slow! a sweet lullaby — 
 My heart thrilling, with your trilling 
 
 Songs of days gone by. 
 Drip drop! Drip drop! Rain voice soft and low, 
 Like bells ringing, to me bringing 
 
 Hours of long ago. 
 
 Hum, drum! Hum, drum! Rain-drops in retreat, 
 Hear the hurry and the scurr>' 
 
 Of their tiny feet. 
 Hist, list! Hist, Hst! All is calm and still, 
 Stars are gleaming, moon-beams streaming 
 
 Over dale and hill. 
 
WHY? 
 
 I walked in the quiet twilight 
 
 And communed with my sorrowing soul, 
 And I said, '' Why has my lambkin strayed 
 
 Away from the dear home fold? " 
 
 Was the staff of love too fragile 
 
 To guide its steps aright, 
 Did wisdom's torch burn dimly 
 
 With a pale, uncertain light? 
 
 Was the sheltering care thrown 'round it 
 
 Not strong enough to hold, 
 Were earth-life's winds of sorrow, 
 
 Too bitter and too cold? 
 
 And I heard from out the silence, 
 
 Of my soul's recesses dim, 
 A voice float down, on the waves of sound 
 
 Like the sweet refrain of a hymn. 
 
 Like the murmur of gentle water. 
 Like the far-away notes of a bird. 
 
 And the quivering chords of my spirit 
 By the rippling music stirred. 
 
 And the winged words fell 'round me 
 
 Saying — Oh! wounded heart, 
 Never one strand of human love, 
 
 By death has been torn apart! 
 
 They stretch beyond this earth-life, 
 
 Each link so firm and strong; 
 They lead and guide you safely 
 
 Life's crooked paths along. 
 
Your spirit eyes must be darkened 
 
 If they cannot see the light 
 That shines out through Heaven's portals, 
 
 Changing to day, death's night. 
 
 The veil must be thick and heavy, 
 If your darling's love-lit eyes 
 
 Cannot pierce it, their tender glances 
 Gazing down from Paradise! 
 
 These words, with their soft, sweet music 
 And the peace that harmony brings. 
 
 Made the hush of my soul seem as holy 
 As if sheltered beneath angel wings. 
 
 And the evening shades fell softly 
 While my spirit breathed a prayer, 
 
 Knowing my precious lamb was safe 
 In the loving Shepherd's care. 
 
 So I folded my hands in patience. 
 And sweet peace around me stole ; 
 
 I felt that the light of God's wisdom, 
 Illumined my quiet soul. 
 
 All the darkness — doubt and sorrow 
 From my heart were swept away, 
 
 Leaving only the glorious sunshine 
 That floats 'round a perfect day. 
 
OUR BARK CANOE. 
 
 On the screen of the Past, in fancy I view 
 
 A deHcate phantom form, 
 Fashioned to glide o'er the waters blue 
 
 Or outride the mighty storm. 
 Graceful and light every swelling curve, 
 
 With the braces firm and true, 
 An ideal boat — like an artist's dream 
 
 Was our little bark canoe. 
 
 Child of the woods — its life began 
 
 On the lofty mountain's side. 
 Where birches stand, white-robed and grand 
 
 In their stately regal pride. 
 Their silvery bark with its satin sheen 
 
 And linings of golden hue, 
 Gave birth to the beautiful sylph-like form, 
 
 Of our little birch canoe. 
 
 Oh, those Summer days! on the placid lake 
 
 Where scarcely a ripple stirred. 
 And no sound the sweetness of silence broke 
 
 Save the music of wave, or bird. 
 The quiet waters in sunshine slept, 
 
 While the winged hours quickly flew 
 As we floated and rocked on the sparkling waves 
 
 In our little bark canoe. 
 
 In sunny coves, where the lily pads 
 
 On the waters rose and fell. 
 And the tall, rank grasses bowed and bent 
 
 'Neath the wavelets' gentle swell. 
 And the swaying alders, thick and strong, 
 
 Hung down o'er the very brink. 
 Where the timid deer from the forest glades 
 
 At eve stole down to drink. 
 
'Tvvas there we cast the gaudy fly 
 
 And heard the hne's soft swish, 
 The chck of the reel on the bending rod, 
 
 And the rush of the captured fish. 
 The paddle flashed 'mid the diamond spray, 
 
 As homeward we swiftly flew, 
 Proud of the silvery scales that shone 
 
 Through the net, in our birch canoe. 
 
 In shady nooks, where evergreens leaned 
 
 O'er a dark and quiet pool, 
 Where the spotted trout, their bright sides flashed 
 
 In the waters deep and cool, 
 We'd softly glide, like a fairy boat 
 
 The crystal waters through. 
 And many a '' beauty " safely land 
 
 In our little bark canoe. 
 
 And when the angry billows roared 
 
 And wild winds shrilly blew. 
 We rode on the crest of the foaming waves 
 
 In our tempest-tossed canoe. 
 Defiance we'd fling to the old Storm King, 
 
 For a steady hand, we knew 
 At the paddle, would bring us safe to land 
 
 In our staunch, birch bark canoe. 
 
 Oh, those Summer eves! when the woodlands breathed 
 
 The sweetest songs e'er heard — 
 The rustlings — buzzings — twitterings low 
 
 Of leaf, insect and bird. 
 And through — above — below these songs 
 
 That soothed the soul to rest. 
 The grand anthem of Life rolled on 
 
 Throbbing in Nature's breast. 
 
If but one pearl, from youth's bright hours 
 
 I could grasp, that was real and true, 
 It would be to float in our little boat 
 
 On a fair lake's waters blue. 
 Oh, for those happy, fearless days, 
 
 And the joys our young hearts knew, 
 And the free, glad life, on the dancing waves 
 
 In our little bark canoe! 
 
THE SOUL'S CALL. 
 
 Darling, I hear thy soul's call, 
 I sweep aside Death's heavy pall, 
 Or rather the thin veil that falls 
 
 Between thee and me; 
 I'm standing so close by thy side — 
 Oh ! think not I ever have died, 
 When my soul to thine own hath replied, 
 
 And I come back to thee. 
 
 From thy forehead I smooth back the hair, 
 I see the deep lines wTitten there, 
 By the hand of pale sorrow and care, 
 
 My precious! mine own! 
 Oh! can'st thou not feel I am near. 
 To comfort, to bless and to cheer. 
 To whisper these w^ords in thine ear, 
 
 " Thou art never alone!" 
 
 I hear every pitiful sigh, 
 
 I note every tear in thine eye, 
 
 I list to thy lone heart's sad cry. 
 
 My darling! my wife! 
 As a harp with mute broken strings. 
 Around which sw^eet music still clings, 
 Awaiting the skilled hand that brings 
 
 The melody to life. 
 
 So leaving the pure joys of Heaven, 
 With soft, loving touch I have striven, 
 Thy heart-chords to join that were riven, 
 
 Their melody hushed, 
 And bring into tune every harsh tone, 
 To change into song every sad moan. 
 To bring back the music that has flown 
 
 From heart-strings all tangled and crushed. 
 
 r8 
 
When you bowed o'er my still, quiet face, 
 Where death, with a sweet, tender grace, 
 A smile on my pale lips had placed. 
 
 Thou could'st not believe 
 That the form lying calmly at rest, 
 That the hands meekly crossed on the breast. 
 That the white brow, thou oft hadst caressed. 
 
 Were only the sheaves. 
 
 From which had been shaken the g-rain ; 
 That the soul germs that in them had lain 
 Had wakened to glad life again, 
 
 And blossomed anew, 
 In a perfect, more beautiful form, 
 In a land free from tempest or storm. 
 In the light of a radiant morn, 
 
 Where all life is true. 
 
 Then wait for me patiently, dear, 
 From Time's roll slips year after year. 
 And soon I will come for thee here. 
 
 And we never shall part! 
 United and joined by love's bands, 
 Souls welded by sympathy's strands. 
 No power — no destiny's hands 
 
 Can tear heart from heart. 
 
 19 
 
DO YOUR BEST. 
 
 Wherever your pathways He, 
 
 In Hfe's tumioii and unrest, 
 In sorrow's vale, or joy's mountain high, 
 
 Just strive to do your best! 
 
 When the arrows of slander, hurled 
 
 By en^y, pierce your breast, 
 Turn a brave front to the sneering world 
 
 And strive to do your best I 
 
 When searching for the right. 
 
 Not vain will be your quest 
 If you follow Truth's bright and guiding light, 
 
 And strive to do your best. 
 
 Set up love's standard high, 
 
 Like a flag on a mountain's crest; 
 
 Press onward towards the sunlit sky-. 
 And strive to do jour best! 
 
 ^^'henever you find a soul 
 
 Sin-sick and sore distressed, 
 Point upward to a higher goal, 
 
 Teach it to live its best. 
 
 When fears and doubt prevail, 
 
 And your heart's with sin oppressed, 
 
 Look up to the love that cannot fail, 
 And strive to do your best. 
 
 In the shadowy vale of Age. 
 
 If you wish for peace and rest. 
 And a record clear — on life's written page. 
 
 Then strive to do your best! 
 
 And then when the angels call 
 
 From the fair home of the blest. 
 
 You'll pass through Death's m.ystic hall, 
 Knowing you've done your best 
 
MARTI. 
 
 From the Past through the mists and the shadows, 
 
 Far up the swift river of Time, 
 A flag flashes out 'mid the darkness, 
 
 That shines with a radiance divine. 
 'Tis Liberty's flag proudly waving 
 
 And tossing its bright folds on high. 
 Though stained with the blood of the heroes 
 
 Who counted it glory to die 
 For liberty, home and their country, 
 
 In the sternly fought battle for right. 
 While this banner of freedom waved o'er them 
 
 Illumined with victory's light. 
 Thus, in the fair isle of the ocean. 
 
 Unfurled is this flag of the free; 
 And rallying around the white standard, 
 
 With the name on their lips of Marti, 
 Are thousands of patriots — true men. 
 
 Striving to sever the chain 
 That Tyranny's hand has thrown round them. 
 
 And break down proud Monarchy's reign. 
 And he — the loved leader and hero! 
 
 Who early went down in the strife. 
 Who laid upon Liberty's altar 
 
 Most precious of all gifts — his life — 
 Whose heart, brave and true, gave its life-blood, 
 
 Whose eye, dimmed and glazed, saw afar 
 Gleaming out through the musts of the Future 
 
 The radiant liberty star. 
 And knew that forever and ever 
 
 That star still more brightly would shine 
 O'er the green, sunny isle of his childhood 
 
 Like a gem in the cycles of time. 
 
Not vainly — not vainly he's striven, 
 
 Tho' the death angel stood by his side, 
 For the shackle of bondage he's riven, 
 
 For freedom and country he died. 
 Not dead! for adown the long ages 
 
 In letters of fire we can see, 
 Flashing out from fair history's pages. 
 
 The glory-wreathed name of Marti. 
 Not dead — while a heart throbs for freedom, 
 
 Or an arm groweth strong in the fight — 
 While his spirit inspires the down-trodden 
 
 To gird on the armor of right. 
 He lives in the hearts of his comrades. 
 
 His name their proud watch-word shall be, 
 While they strike one fell blow for their country, 
 
 Another they strike for Marti. 
 Weep not for the patriot — the brave man — 
 
 No tears for the soul that is free, 
 Though he's marched on to glory before us. 
 
 He still is our hero — Marti. 
 
MY TREASURE. 
 
 Under the sea my treasure lies — 
 
 Only a pair of starry eyes, 
 
 That looked out of their azure skies 
 
 With innocent wonder, sweet surprise, 
 
 That they should have strayed from Paradise. 
 
 Under the sea lies my treasure low — 
 Little white hands like flakes of snow. 
 Once soft and warm; and I loved them so! 
 Ah! the tide will come and the tide will go. 
 But their tender touch I shall never know. 
 
 Under the sea — oh, wealth most rare! 
 Are silken tresses of golden hair, 
 Each amber thread, each lock so fair, 
 Gleaming out from the darkness there, 
 With the same soft light they used to wear. 
 
 Under the sea — oh, treasure sweet! 
 Lies a curl-crowned head and tiny feet 
 That in days gone by, when the shadows fleet 
 Were growing long in the darkening street. 
 Came bounding forth their love to meet. 
 
 And I sometimes think, as dow^n by the sea 
 I sit and dream, that there comes to me 
 From my darling a message, that none can see 
 Save those who can read love's mystery 
 By nature written on leaf and tree. 
 
 Strange things to my spirit eyes lie bare; 
 In the azure depths of the summer air; 
 Through the snovv^y leaves of the lily fair 
 Gleams her pure white soul, and I compare 
 Its golden heart to her sunny hair. 
 
The perfume nestling among the leaves 
 
 Or blown by the wind from the Autumn sheaves, 
 
 Is her spirit of love, my soul believes; 
 
 And while my stricken heart still grieves 
 
 That gentle presence its pang relieves. 
 
 A shell is cast by the waves at my feet, 
 
 With its wondrous music, low and sweet; 
 
 And in its murmuring tones I greet 
 
 The voice of my love, while its crimson flush 
 
 From her fair young cheek has stolen the blush. 
 
 'Mid white foam, tossed on the pebbly strand, 
 I catch a glimpse of a waving hand; 
 'Tis a greeting that well I understand; 
 But to those who see not the soul of things 
 'Tis only the spray which the wild wave flings. 
 
 The pearl's rare whiteness, the coral it's red 
 
 From the brow and the lip of my beautiful dead 
 
 Their soft tints stole when her spirit fled; 
 
 And it seems to me that sweet words, unsaid 
 
 By my darling, gleam through the light that they shed. 
 
 Thus down by the sea in the glad sunshine. 
 While the wind and the waves their sighs combine, 
 I sit, and wait from my love a sign; 
 And the message comes to my waiting eyes. 
 From under the sea where mv treasure lies. 
 
THE FROST SPIRITS. 
 
 From the misty air they flew, 
 Such a merry, fragile crew 
 Living mortals never knew, 
 
 As they swung, 
 
 As they hung 
 From every bough and leaf. 
 Twigs and branches all aglow 
 With tiny lamps that to and fro 
 Sparkling, glittered high and low 
 
 On each tree 
 
 On the lea 
 Brilliant — joyous — brief! 
 
 What a skillful busy band! 
 Each Frost Goblin's tiny hand. 
 Dainty etchings quickly planned. 
 
 Which they drew 
 
 With frozen dew 
 On the window pane's clear light. 
 Gauzy flowers, star-crowned and fair. 
 Jewels, glittering everywhere. 
 Landscapes — rainbow-hued and rare. 
 
 Golden beams, 
 
 Silvery gleams, 
 Radiant — glowing — bright ! 
 
 When through the gates of morn, Fm told, 
 The sun swiftly heavenward rolled, 
 Brilliant rays of red and gold 
 Softly kissed 
 The frozen mist 
 Which in thin vapor fled away, 
 
 25 
 
Forming white clouds that rose high, 
 Floating through the golden sky; 
 Elfins' hands waved a good-bye, 
 As they fled 
 Vanished — dead ! 
 Going whither? Who can say — 
 
 Thus when the Frost Angel, Death 
 Freezing up the mortal breath 
 Leaves the form, of life bereft. 
 
 Cold and chill — 
 
 White and still. 
 In a quiet, sweet repose. 
 On the spirit's mirror clear 
 Lines transparent may appear; 
 Records from the mundane sphere; 
 
 Just and true ; 
 
 Each their due, 
 Will receive, at Earth-life's close. 
 
 Every loving word or deed 
 Given to others in their need 
 Under any name or creed. 
 Will be found 
 Floating round 
 The spirit form, like garments white; 
 Star-gemmed — from each duty done. 
 Luminous — from victories won, 
 Brilliant — from life's race well run. 
 While like dew 
 Gleaming through 
 The trailing robes, shines the soul's light. 
 
Thus in the sunshine of God's love 
 The spirit's aura floats above 
 Like a swift-winged, snow-white dove 
 That upward flies 
 "^Through heavenly skies 
 To worlds and realms unknown, 
 Finding there each heart's desire, 
 Cleansed by love — the purifier. 
 Reaching ever, higher and higher. 
 Quo vadis? 
 We answer this. 
 Each soul shall receive its own. 
 
TWILIGHT nUSINGS. 
 
 The fire-light danceth on the wall, 
 With playful, changing gleams. 
 
 And by-gone days come drifting back, 
 Like half-forgotten dreams. 
 
 Dim, shadowy forms go flitting by, 
 
 In noiseless, rapid flight, 
 While through the Past, sad memory sheds 
 
 Her mellow, chastened light. 
 
 Amid the gloom, dark, starry eyes 
 
 The light of love impart. 
 Again thrills back the music 
 
 To my crushed and bleeding heart. 
 
 Within my soul there rings a voice, 
 
 A tender, loving tone, 
 A lingering echo, that aw^oke 
 
 To these fond words — " mine own " ! 
 
 Again a flushed and happy face. 
 
 Lit with love's magic glow, 
 Is bending o'er me, bringing back 
 
 The joyous — long ago. 
 
 Encircling arms, with warm caress 
 Are gently round me thrown; 
 
 I wake once more to love and hope, 
 I am not now alone! 
 
 But hush, oh heart! a spectre dark 
 
 Goes hurr)'ing by thee now% 
 The Angel Death! his shadow falls 
 
 Upon my loved one's brow. 
 
 28 
 
It paleth — fading suddenly 
 
 Before that icy chill — 
 The soul's rich melody is hushed. 
 
 The warm heart's throbbing still — 
 
 The tolling bell rings out a knell 
 
 That echoes through my brain, 
 Before me glides with muffled sound 
 
 A phantom funeral train. 
 
 The lonely hours — the dreary days — 
 
 The deep but stifled moan, 
 Come back and whisper mockingly, 
 
 " For aye thou art alone!" 
 
 " Alone! " His sweet voice murmurs low, 
 
 Your prayers are not in vain. 
 For in yon Heaven, with joy 'tis given 
 
 To join love's broken chain. 
 
 And o'er the rainbow bridge that spans 
 
 Death's darkly flowing stream, 
 I come to tell thee — Heaven is real — 
 
 Earth life is but the dream. 
 
 Nor time — nor space — nor height — nor depth 
 
 True hearts can ever sever. 
 Love-links that bind our souls on earth 
 
 Encircle us forever! 
 
 Then out amid the fading light. 
 My lost one's face is gleaming. 
 
 His fond lips smile a sweet good-night! 
 And changed is all my dreaming. 
 
 29 
 
For as oblivion's veil sweeps down 
 In darkling folds o'er all, 
 
 The dim Past fades, amid its shades, 
 As the fire-light on the wall. 
 
 And as the last ray, flickering, dies, 
 
 My visions all depart, 
 And naught disturbs the silence 
 
 Save the throbbing of my heart. 
 
THE SONG OF THE ZEPHYR. 
 
 r come on my light and noiseless wing, 
 
 From out of my home above, 
 I gently bend o'er the lily pale. 
 
 And murmur a tale of love. 
 
 I steal to many a sunny bower 
 
 And sing an idle lay; 
 I breathe sweet words to the blushing rose, 
 
 Then softly float away. 
 
 And o'er the hill — the sloping vale 
 
 And the meadow fair I fly. 
 Making the green leaves merrily dance 
 As I around them sigh. 
 
 Then with a gentle breeze I fan 
 
 The brow of some fair girl, 
 Twining my arms round her snowy neck. 
 
 Nestling amid each curl. 
 
 Kissing her cheek till it's rosy red 
 With a beautiful, glowing blush, 
 
 Like the innermost heart of a fair sea-shell, 
 With its delicate, crimson flush. 
 
 Then out in the fields where the reapers toil 
 In the heat of the noonday glow, 
 
 On their foreheads hot and parched and dry 
 My cooling breath I blow. 
 
 The stately grain nods its golden head, 
 
 The grasses quiver and sigh, 
 And the violets blue, play " peek-a-boo " 
 
 As I go floating by. 
 
I catch the souls of the dying flowers, 
 
 With the swift wings of love, 
 I waft them on to the heavenly bowers, 
 
 In the spirit realms above. 
 
 On the battle-field, where the rigid forms 
 
 In silent rows are lying, 
 I lift the damp hair from white brows 
 
 Of the dead — and of the dying. 
 
 Through the prison bars I softly creep, 
 Where the sin-sick weary brain 
 
 Greets me with joy, for to it I bring 
 Free air of Heaven again. 
 
 In poverty's home — in places of sin, 
 In the close and narrow street. 
 
 Pale faces flush and the sick revive, 
 As round them I softly sweep. 
 
 When night's dark mantle shrouds the earth 
 
 In that still and silent hour, 
 I gently play with the dewy leaves, 
 
 And awake each sleeping flower. 
 
 Tenderly waving their fragile forms 
 
 I scatter their jewels bright. 
 Then breathe a wild, sweet melody, 
 
 And furl my pinions light. 
 
 3a 
 
MYSTERIES. 
 
 Far down in the depths — in the darkness of nig'ht, 
 
 Strange forces are strugghng to reach the sunUght, 
 
 Combining — repelling — and mingling their powers, 
 
 They push through the damp ground in grasses and flowers. 
 
 The pearl in its shell that is slowly evolved, 
 
 Like imprisoned moonbeams, has secrets unsolved. 
 
 In the heart of the coal, the diamond is found 
 
 In its black cell confined, far under the ground. 
 
 From microbe and Qgg, come insect and bird. 
 
 By the currents and forces that in them are stirred, 
 
 And the young babe whose startled eyes open on earth, 
 
 All form the great secret — The Mystery of Birth — 
 
 The wherefore — the whence — and the infinite why? 
 
 Can you answer these questions? No! Neither can I. 
 
 The butterfly sports in the fresh morning breeze. 
 The brilliant winged warbler flits 'mid the green trees. 
 And the flowers' sweet faces of every hue. 
 Turn upward, all sparkling with glittering dew, 
 Their perfumes like sweet blessings, reaching afar. 
 Fulfilling their missions, wherever they are. 
 The innocent child in its glad happy play. 
 Knowing only the joy of each sunny day — 
 The man struggling on in his wearisome toil. 
 Whether seeking grave truths or delving the soil — 
 All the great, mighty world — with energy rife, 
 Help make the great secret — The Mystery of Life. 
 
 The wherefore — the whence — and the infinite why? 
 
 Can you answer these questions? No! Neither can I. 
 
 When flowers are sleeping and song birds have flown, 
 When through the bare trees, winds drearily moan 
 As they whirl the dead leaves through the cold, frosty air 
 And the hand of decay is seen everywhere. 
 
 33 
 
Or when from the North, the white falHng snow 
 Drifts silently down, covering all things below 
 With purity's shroud; and Nature's at rest, 
 With her streams and her brooks frozen up in her breast; 
 When the child and the man, a dread silence keep, 
 While over their still forms the sad mourners weep, 
 Hushed, each quivering sigh — each faintly drawn breath; 
 All these hold the secret — The Mystery of Death. 
 
 The wherefore — the whence — and the infinite why? 
 
 Can you answer these questions? No! Neither can I. 
 
 34 
 
DREAMS. 
 
 The beautiful dreams of my childhood 
 
 Come back with their hopes and their fears, 
 Their sunshine and mists form the rainbow 
 
 That bridges the chasm of years; 
 And over the bright, shining archway 
 
 My winged thoughts go fluttering back 
 To the home of my youth, where fair visions 
 
 Illumine the flower-strewn track. 
 
 The vine-covered cot on the hillside 
 
 I see through the soft, golden haze, 
 As the torch-light of memory gleaming. 
 
 Shines down on those sweet, bygone days. 
 The bloom of the old-fashioned garden, 
 
 With hollyhocks — roses so red — 
 The marigolds — bachelor buttons, 
 
 With a border of pinks round each bed. 
 
 The hop vine that clung to the lattice, 
 
 The sunflowers, stately and prim. 
 Are glowing in all their old sweetness, 
 
 Their beauty can never grow dim. 
 The well, with its cool, sparkling w^ater 
 
 And arm pointing up to the sky. 
 On the bank of the brook that ran crooning 
 
 In ripples of melody, by. 
 
 And the barn that was filled to the rafters 
 
 With the fragrant, newly-mown hay, 
 Where we hunted for hens' nests, or tumbled 
 
 In summersaults — rude, boyish play! 
 And then, when the twilight was creeping 
 
 Over the hill and the field 
 And the mists of the valley came drifting 
 
 Like white, phantom forms, half revealed. 
 
And the cow-bells, with soft, tinkling music 
 
 Were heard in the distance afar. 
 As the herds their way homeward were wending 
 
 'Xeath the light of the fair evening star, 
 Then, whistling and singing and shouting, 
 
 With feet that seemed almost to fly. 
 We raced down the hillside together, 
 
 My sister, my brother and I. 
 
 These loved scenes before me come floating 
 
 If I just close my eyes for awhile; 
 The beautiful face of my mother. 
 
 Beaming with love's tender smile 
 I can see. as she stood in the doorway, 
 
 Gazing out in the gathering night 
 Like a fair picture framed in a halo 
 
 Of brightness, from gleaming fire-light. 
 
 Her white hands that rested so lightly 
 
 On tangled curls — 'bove my flushed brow! 
 Oh, would that their soft touch might banish 
 
 The anguish and pain that's there now! 
 Would those fond arms might enfold me 
 
 And lull me to childhood's sweet rest, 
 With the heaven of her eyes bending o'er me, 
 
 Falling to sleep on her breast! 
 
 Oh, dreams of my youth ! to my vision 
 
 No others were ever so fair 
 As thine — shining out from my childhood, 
 
 From the halo of love glowing there. 
 Oh ! oft on thy white wings fly backward, 
 
 In the sunlight of memor\''s rays. 
 And bring to my soul all the gladness 
 
 And Peace of those innocent davs! 
 
 36 
 
EULALIE. 
 
 Eulalie, 1 call to thee, 
 
 Throug-h blue, ethereal space, 
 Let thy dear, vanished face 
 In all its beauteous grace, 
 
 Shine down on me. 
 
 Eulalie — lost Eulalie ! 
 
 Sweetheart! Come back to me! 
 
 The world is dark and drear, 
 
 Since thou hast left me here, 
 
 I toil on lonely, dear, 
 Bereft of thee — 
 
 Eulalie — my Eulalie! 
 
 Darling — Hear thou my plea. 
 The seasons come and go. 
 Spring's flowers and Winter's snow, 
 And Autumn's golden glow. 
 
 Are sad to me — 
 
 Eulalie, sweet Eulalie! 
 
 Dear heart — I weep for thee! 
 My tears, like Winter rain 
 Beat down hope's flowers, that fain 
 Would lift their heads again. 
 
 And blossom out for me, 
 Eulalie — fair Eulalie! 
 
 Pure soul — pity thou me! 
 
 List to my heart's sad cry, 
 
 Ed hear thy faintest sigh, 
 
 And time and death defy. 
 Reaching to thee, 
 
 Eulalie — dear Eulalie! 
 
Lost love — return to me! 
 
 The way I cannot see; 
 
 Stretch thy white hand to me, 
 
 And lead me tenderly, 
 Up unto thee, 
 
 Eulalie — mv Eulalie ! 
 
 The crimson tipped fingers of Twilight, 
 
 With golden rings flashing and bright, 
 Drew back the thin veil of dark purple, 
 
 And out through the sl^adowy light 
 Gleamed the face of Eulalie, my darling. 
 
 With a smile that the angels must wear; 
 The young moon hung low o'er her forehead, 
 
 The evening star shone in her hair, 
 As it floated around her fair shoulders, 
 
 Dark tresses with dew-drops bedecked. 
 Like the glittering spray of the ocean, 
 
 When dark waves with white foam are flecked. 
 Her sweet, tender eyes, gazing earthward. 
 
 Their love-light flashed down into mine. 
 And my soul-life uplifted — exalted — 
 
 Reached up towards those regions sublime. 
 Then 'bove the night wind sadly moaning. 
 
 Or musical pines' low, sweet sigh. 
 Like faint, distant bells softly ringing, 
 
 Her voice floated down from on high. 
 Saying, dear, through all of life's changes. 
 
 Its sorrow — its joy — gain or loss. 
 When the crown of success wreathes thy forehead 
 
 Or thy shoulders are bowed 'neath the cross, 
 Fm with thee, to help and to aid thee. 
 
 Weaving closer the strong links of love 
 That bind our twin souls to each other 
 
 Till they're joined in the regions above. 
 
 38 
 
Look upward, sweetheart! then look upward! 
 
 Let purity's star be thy goal; 
 Sweep out every dark, hidden chamber 
 
 That's buried down deep in thy soul. 
 Attune thy life chords to soft music. 
 
 Let harmonies sweet o'er them swell, 
 And this anthem shall float up to Heaven — 
 
 " It is well with thy soul — it is well." 
 These words, softly breathed to my spirit 
 
 Brought comfort, joy, peace and sweet rest, 
 They stilled every passionate murmur. 
 
 That surged through my sorrow-worn breast. 
 So, waiting, I v/atch for the dawning 
 
 Of that glorious, heaven-born day 
 When my angel shall call and I answer, 
 
 And am borne in her dear arms aw^ay 
 'Bove the clouds and the shadows of earth-life, 
 
 Floating out on Eternity's sea, 
 To the home of our souls, free from parting. 
 That waits for Eulalie and me. 
 
 39 
 
THE PALACE OF YOUTH, 
 
 There are many closed doors in the dim, winding halls 
 
 Of the Palace of Youth, dazzling white, 
 That stands on the banks of the Lake, Long Ago, 
 
 And shines through Time's mists with clear light. 
 We enter the corridors, shaded and still. 
 
 And the worn drapery on the wall sways. 
 As the winds of the Past blow the curtains aside, 
 
 Showing treasures of fair By-gone Days. 
 
 A golden cup filled with the lilies of love. 
 
 On a glittering pedestal stands, 
 Raised high 'bove all jewels of memory, or hope 
 
 By the union of hearts and of hands. 
 Undimmed is its lustre — untarnished by years 
 
 That have silently floated away, 
 It gleams 'mid the ruins of many fond hopes. 
 
 Not losing e'en one shining ray. 
 
 We softly unlock Memory's door, and look in. 
 
 And out from the dim checkered wall 
 Pictured faces and scenes, in rich colorings gleam, 
 
 Through Time's shadowy veil, draping all. 
 We are lost in rapt dreaming, as with noiseless step, 
 
 Around us loved forms softly glide. 
 With the bloom on their cheek and the gold in their hair, 
 
 They stand as of old, by our side. 
 
 We know that o'er many, the hour-glass of time 
 
 Has sifted its powder so gray, 
 And frosted the brown hair and dimmed the eyes blue, 
 
 And faded the roses away — 
 And others, their brows with eternal youth crowned. 
 
 O'er the frail bridge that Death's waters spanned, 
 With swift footsteps glided, leaving naught but the gleam 
 
 " And the wave of a vanishing hand." 
 
But in Memory's hall every smile — every glance 
 
 Are living, as real and as true, 
 As when in old days — in the Palace of Youth 
 
 The winged hours so joyously flew. 
 We open another door, hidden by clouds 
 
 Formed from the thick mist of our tears, 
 A casket, dust covered, we find 'mid the gloom 
 
 And unlock with the key of Past Years. 
 
 Within it are promises broken — resolves 
 
 That we made, but alas! did not keep; 
 There are sighs and regrets — worn garments of pride, 
 
 And the dust of dead hopes buried deep. 
 A closet is filled with rare treasures of art, 
 
 Crystal vases with flowers of truth, 
 A string of white pearls, made of glad, happy days 
 
 That were woven within our life's woof; 
 
 Gems of friendship are there, and tresses of gold 
 
 Around which faint perfumes still cling, 
 Old letters and trinkets of value untold, 
 
 And love's circlet — a plain wedding ring; 
 There are musical echoes — sweet lingering strains 
 
 Of voices whose cadences fall 
 In ripples of melody, floating for aye 
 
 Through the Palace of Youth's haunted hall. 
 
 The white dove of prayer is still hovering there, 
 
 That lifted the soul toward the skies. 
 As childish lips whispered — " Now I lay me to sleep," 
 
 Or, " Our Father " with faith's earnest eyes. 
 
 There cool winds are blowing, like the rush of swift wings, 
 
 As thoughts beat and surge through the brain — 
 Old feelings — old friendships — old loves sweeping back 
 
 With their smiles and their tears — joy and pain. 
 
So, looking adown the long vista of Years, 
 
 We walk through the valley of Truth 
 With quiet feet treading the cool, shaded paths 
 
 That lead to the Palace of Youth — 
 The Palace eternal, whose white turrets gleam 
 
 Far over Death's dark flowing tide; 
 O'er the "rainbow bridge" crossing with firm, fearless step, 
 
 The Angel of Peace by our side. 
 
PUSSY WILLOWS. 
 
 Shy pussy willows! by the stream 
 
 Your buds are now unfolding, 
 Sweet promises of youth and hope 
 
 Within your hearts you're holding. 
 
 Dressed in your Quaker suits of drab, 
 
 With silken, silvery sheen. 
 Fair messengers ! to me your forms 
 
 Are daintiest ever seen. 
 
 Dear pussy willows! first to come 
 
 In humble, modest guise. 
 Through you I catch the gleaming 
 
 Of the Spring-time's radiant skies. 
 
 I hold you to my listening ear 
 
 And joy my bosom thrills, 
 I hear old Winter's fetters break — 
 
 I hear the gushing rills — 
 
 The springing grass — the blue-bird's song. 
 
 The nestling, surging life, 
 That courses through all Nature's veins 
 
 With new born beauty rife. 
 
 You little furry, mousey sprites! 
 
 Gray as the morning mist — 
 I press you fondly to my heart. 
 
 And to your sweet words list. 
 
 You tell me of my childhood's hours, 
 You whisper of life's Spring — 
 
 Of budding hopes — of visions fair 
 That round those past days cling. 
 
 And so I love your dainty forms, 
 
 As to my eager sight 
 Youth's joys you bring and bloom of Spring, 
 
 Dispelling Winter's night. 
 
SOMETIHE. 
 
 Sometime, both you and I 
 Will know the reason why 
 We walk in lonely ways, 
 Through life's long, weary days, 
 
 The sunshine faded — gone — 
 We cannot understand 
 Why from our dear home band 
 Our little loving child, 
 Our pure one — undefiled — 
 Clasping an angel's hand, 
 Loosened each earthly strand. 
 
 And left us so forlorn. 
 
 W^e know not whence or where 
 Her spirit, white and fair, 
 Has winged its happy way; 
 We only know^ to stay 
 
 In this drear world of ours 
 Would bring her sorrow — tears — 
 E'en at the best, life's years. 
 Try as we will to shield 
 Our darlings — still will yield 
 
 More thorns than flowers. 
 
 Yet, in some region blest, 
 We're sure our baby's prest 
 Close to some mother breast. 
 And soothed to quiet rest 
 
 Though empty are our arms. 
 Her blue eyes gaze on scenes 
 Lovely, beyond all dreams, 
 More real, more true, more fair. 
 While watched by angel's care 
 
 She's safe from earthlv harms. 
 
Sometimes when shadows creep 
 
 Across the sky and sweep 
 
 In misty clouds along, 
 
 And htished's the night-bird's song, 
 
 Our souls bow down in prayer; 
 Then rustling wings we hear 
 And feel our darling near, 
 For, light as thistle-down, 
 Blown from its starry crown, 
 
 Her touch falls on us there. 
 
 And though we may not know 
 The way we stumbling go. 
 Yet baby's tiny hand 
 Will lead us to that land 
 
 More fair than tongue can tell! 
 And There all will be clear 
 That's dim and cloudy Here, 
 And our glad spirit eyes. 
 Opening in Heavenly skies 
 
 Will know that ** all was well!" 
 
STEP BY STEP. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 To climb to a lofty height, 
 To trample down the wrong, 
 
 And raise aloft the right. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 To walk in the narrow way. 
 Though rough is the path and long, 
 
 Yet from it to never stray. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 To stand in the battle of life. 
 Beating down sin's hordes that throng 
 
 In the conflict and the strife. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 The swift race of Time to run, 
 Singing a glad, triumphant song 
 
 When the goal sought for, is won. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 Life's burdens to bravely bear. 
 To help some poor brother along. 
 
 His sorrows and pains to share. 
 
 Let the legs of your soul be strong! 
 
 When traveling to that land, 
 Where every deed, be it right or wrong, 
 
 As before Heaven's bar you stand, 
 
 Will be judged by your own soul's light 
 And the sins that to you belong 
 
 You cannot escape — so strive to do right, 
 And the legs of your soul will be strong. 
 
 46 
 
HIS COLORS. 
 
 Through the casement the soft winds were blowing, 
 
 And hfting the silken, brown hair, 
 From the brow that was calm past our knowing. 
 
 With the mystery of death resting there. 
 The little fair hands on her bosom 
 
 Were folded so sweetly to rest, 
 As she slept, in white garments infolded. 
 
 His colors above her still breast. 
 A smile that the angel in passing, 
 
 On her pale lips had softly impressed. 
 Whispered peace — and a knowledge surpassing 
 
 All earth-life could give — at its best. 
 The snowy fringed lids, like white petals, 
 
 Were over the tender eyes closed, 
 Wliile above the quiet heart — still forever! 
 
 His colors, unmoving, reposed. 
 
 Around her were sweet scented flowers. 
 
 White lilies her waxen hands clasped, 
 Not fairer or purer or sweeter. 
 
 Than the maidenly purity cast 
 Around the dear form, clad in raiments 
 
 Like snow, from her feet to her head, 
 While out through the silvery whiteness 
 
 Gleamed his colors, the black and the red. 
 
 When twilight, her purple robes trailing 
 
 Across the soft blue of the sky. 
 With a train of dusky dim shadows. 
 
 Came gliding with swift footsteps by, 
 Then, 'mid the green leaves and white roses 
 
 We laid down our darling to rest, 
 In her flower-wreathed grave— in " God's Acre," 
 
 His colors above her cold breast. 
 
Oh beautiful Love! Love immortal! 
 
 Thy golden chain cannot be riven; 
 It reaches low down into earth-life, 
 
 And stretches far up into Heaven. 
 When waiting, she stands at the portals 
 
 Of the glorious home of the blest, 
 He will know her from all the bright angels 
 
 Bv his colors she wears on her breast. 
 
 48 
 
HOPE FOR ALL. 
 
 Pitilessly beat the storms of life 
 With hatred, scorn and malice rife, 
 In all their wild, discordant strife. 
 
 Upon a human soul — 
 A woman's soul, with shame's foul blot, 
 With sin's mildew and passion's rot. 
 So tarnished that there seemed no spot 
 
 Where good might gain control. 
 
 Ashes were there of hopes once bright, 
 Before the dark and chilling night 
 Of virtue lost, shut out the light 
 
 Of childhood's happier days — 
 Graves, too, were there, dark and forlorn, 
 Peopled with shadowy, phantom forms 
 Of guilty crimes, that shunned the dawn 
 
 And hid from the world's gaze. 
 
 The sneering world, that passed it by 
 With scornful look and cold, stern eye. 
 That, Pharisaical, would not try 
 
 To save that sin-stained soul; 
 Whose wings beneath the cutting hail, 
 Low in the dust abjectly trailed. 
 They could not fly — they would but fail 
 
 To reach the wished for goal. 
 
 Was there no hope? Adrift and lost. 
 Upon Life's sea, aye, madly tost 
 By every blast that swept acrost 
 
 The cloudy, starless heaven; 
 Was there no help, no outstretched hands 
 Strong in their love to break the bands 
 Of sin, against whose iron strands 
 
 The soul had madly striven? 
 
 49 
 
Yes! There was hope and help and love, 
 Sweet faces bending from above, 
 Looked down upon this poor, lost dove 
 
 With tender, pitying eyes. 
 They sought beneath the shame and lust — 
 Beneath the mildew and the rust — 
 Beneath the ashes and the dust 
 
 To find a hidden prize. 
 
 A jewel that, though worn and dim, 
 Though stained and blackened o'er with sin, 
 Yet still lay buried deep within, 
 
 For God had placed it there. 
 A spark of his own life divine, 
 That would burn on throughout all time, 
 Though now within a sullied shrine, 
 
 Yet in a father's care. 
 
 This tiny germ of heavenly birth 
 
 They sought and found, amid the dearth 
 
 Of hope and faith, yet of rare worth 
 
 When quickened into life. 
 They warmed it with their loving care. 
 They drove away the black despair, 
 That, like a ghoul, was feasting there, 
 
 'Mid sorrow, shame and strife. 
 
 They bade depart all doubt and fear. 
 They wiped away the falling tear. 
 They whispered words of loftiest cheer. 
 
 The spirit upward drew 
 From out the filth — from out the mire. 
 From out sin's scorching, withering fire. 
 Their watchword ever, " Come up higher! 
 
 Among the good and true ! " 
 
Thus tenderly they onward led 
 The weary soul, while from it fled 
 The sorrow and the shrinking dread, 
 
 The passion, shame and crime. 
 And Peace spread out its white wings there, 
 And Love shone forth with radiance rare. 
 And Wisdom bloomed, divinely fair — 
 
 And all in God's good time. 
 
 There's none so vile — so weak, so low. 
 So bowed beneath the weight of woe. 
 So sorrowful that may not know 
 
 The sunshine of God's love. 
 When the casket, shattered, drops away, 
 And slowly crumbles back to clay. 
 Earth's fetters then no more can stay 
 
 The soul's progress above. 
 
 SI 
 
THE SWEET PEA. 
 
 Under the dark mould, buried from sight, 
 
 In the heart of a Uttle seed, 
 A flower spirit up towards the Hght 
 
 Was struggHng to be freed 
 From the darkness and gloom of its narrow home, 
 
 From the chains that held it bound. 
 So it burst the walls of its prison cell, 
 
 And up through the cool, damp ground 
 It pushed its way, to the light of day, 
 
 And its tiny leaves were seen 
 Unfurled to the breeze and the w^arm sunshine, 
 
 In their beautiful dress of green. 
 It stretched its tendril fingers out. 
 
 Clinging and holding tight 
 To bush and twig by which to climb 
 
 Still higher to the light. 
 And through each root and vine and leaf. 
 
 Obeying Nature's will, 
 A subtle essence coursed and surged, 
 
 A mission to fulfill — 
 And soon a white-robed form appeared, 
 
 With pink wings soft and fair; 
 It turned its sweet face to the sun. 
 
 While perfume, rich and rare 
 Floated upon the Summer breeze 
 
 Out in the radiant air 
 A fragrance pure to bless — it breathed 
 
 The sweet pea's grateful prayer — 
 Thankful that this small germ of life 
 
 Up through the silent earth 
 Had found the w^ay — in God's good time 
 
 And given the sweet pea birth. 
 
Thankful to live its sunny life, 
 
 So brief, yet full of beauty. 
 Scattering odors — winning smiles, 
 
 Performing thus its duty — 
 Beautiful mission! Simple life, 
 
 We thank God for thy living; 
 From thee we know how blest the soul 
 
 That takes naught, only giving 
 Sweet words — kind deeds and loving thought, 
 
 Soul-fragrance pure and free! 
 And thus we learn the lesson taught 
 
 By thy brief life. Sweet Pea! 
 
 S3 
 
TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 Fade away, ye dreams! that have mocked my soul, 
 
 For your 'wildering power is o'er; 
 Though my heart has chimed with your music wild, 
 
 Ye'll awake to its chords no more. 
 
 Though oft they've thrilled to your whispers false, 
 
 With a soft and swelling tone, 
 They now^ are hushed — or a low, sad wail 
 
 Sweeps over them alone. 
 
 For ye are false as the sunbeam bright 
 
 That creepeth o'er the floor, 
 And when I spring to grasp the prize — 
 
 'Tis mockery — no more! 
 
 Pictured ye not the future fair, 
 
 Gemmed with a star-lit heaven. 
 While the golden links of love and trust 
 
 Were never to be riven? 
 
 Painted ye not in colorings rich 
 
 Scenes heaven-tinted, bright, 
 Shedding o'er all at your magic will 
 
 A mellow, trembling light? 
 
 The future gleamed from its shadowy veil, 
 
 With a soft and sunny glow, 
 But all has passed, too bright to last 
 
 As it was ten years ago. 
 
 There was a hand with a pressure warm, 
 
 That fondly clasped mine own, 
 And a pure, young heart in innocence, 
 
 Whose love was mine alone. 
 
There were soft, dark eyes with shadowy depths, 
 
 And an ever changing glow, 
 Snowy Hds with their silken fringe. 
 
 Sweeping the cheek below. 
 
 A smile as bright as the rippling light 
 
 That playeth on the sea; 
 A voice whose tones were ever tuned 
 
 To gentlest words for me. 
 
 Ten years have passed in their rapid flight, 
 
 With noiseless wing and swift, 
 While I o'er the stormy sea of life, 
 
 Alone must ever drift. 
 
 Ye dreams ! that dazzled my youthful sight, 
 
 And lingering round me play, 
 Your siren voices heed I not — 
 
 Say, wherefore do ye stay? 
 
 The bud of hope lies withered now, 
 
 Its flower will never blow. 
 Vain dreams! ye cannot charm as once, 
 
 And that — ten years ago. 
 
 55 
 
A poor orphan girl became an inmate of a Children's 
 Home " when a babe. She grew to womanhood under 
 its sheltering roof; then, finding some relatives in humble 
 circumstances, she went tp them to help them in their 
 need, but consumption, that fell disease, had marked her 
 for its victim, and she returned to the Asylum, the only 
 home she had, in the last stages of the disease. Some of 
 the so-called Christian managers wished to send her to 
 the poor-house, but a noble few defeated their purpose. 
 
 This incident called forth the following poem. The 
 shrivelled souls referred to are these managers. 
 
 JUSTICE. 
 
 Down from the hill, to the poor-house, 
 
 Though hard and rough is the way , 
 No matter — 'tis only a poor, worn frame 
 
 Made from the common clay, 
 That is hurried out from the lofty hall, 
 
 In the Winter, cold and chill, 
 Through the high, wide door, o'er the granite steps 
 
 To the poor-house — down from the hill! 
 
 Hark to the cough! 'tis the tally ho! 
 
 Of the horseman pale and chill; 
 Which will get there first, Death, or the frame 
 
 To the poor-house — down from the hill! 
 A soul? I suppose so, within that frame 
 
 *' A soul Christ died to save " ; 
 He'll look after that — get rid of the bones, 
 
 Toss them into a pauper's grave! 
 
 No chance to live — no chance to die! 
 
 I wonder now if it's true, 
 That the golden gates will be left ajar 
 
 For this tired soul to go through — 
 
 56 
 
Is there room up there — are the tickets free? 
 
 Ah, what did I hear you say? 
 That the weary rest, and the weak grow strong 
 
 And there's no price to pay! 
 
 That the naked soul, be it white or black, 
 
 Be it fat or lean, must stand 
 And be judged by its works — its faith — its deeds 
 
 In the light of that better land. 
 It may be so — I've a strange conceit 
 
 That goes rushing through my mind; 
 Whenever I gaze on a shrunken soul. 
 
 And they're not hard to find! 
 
 I can but think that these shrivelled souls 
 
 When they take the upward track, 
 Stand a good chance, they're so very lean, 
 
 To crawl into Heaven through a crack; 
 And when once there, they're so very small 
 
 That a thousand in one, I ween 
 Would have to grow a million years 
 
 Ere big enough to be seen. 
 
 But if you're right — it makes no odds 
 
 Whether pauper or millionaire, 
 If the couch be down, or the bed be straw, 
 
 When the shivering soul stands bare, 
 If go it must, through the mill of God 
 
 Whose wheels are never still, 
 What matter, if it goes from a marble hall 
 
 Or the poor-house — down from the hill! 
 
 57 
 
C0A5TIN' DOWN IN HAINE. 
 
 Of all the twisted threads of thought 
 
 That's woven in my brain, 
 The one I like best to pick out 
 
 From memory's tangled skein, 
 Is jist about them good old days 
 
 When me and Xancy Jane, 
 With lots of Yankee gals and boys, 
 
 Went coastin' down in Maine. 
 
 When the man in the moon some gorgeous night 
 
 Was full as he could be. 
 And the stars were winking with delight, 
 
 And dancing m^errily. 
 And the sparkling snow, with its silvery sheen 
 
 Covered hill and plain, 
 'Twas then we'd calculate to go 
 
 A-coastin' down in Maine, 
 
 The gals bundled in shawls and hoods. 
 
 Drawn 'round their rosy faces. 
 Beside their sweethearts on the sled 
 
 Would quickly get their places, 
 And then right down those icy glades 
 
 Faster than railroad train. 
 That old bob-sled would h'ist itself 
 
 When coastin' down in Maine. 
 
 And then the traveling back agin 
 
 I dew declare — 'twas bliss — 
 Old Boreas, reddening dimpled cheeks 
 
 Not always got the kiss. 
 Sometimes, I guess I oughtn't tell, 
 
 So jist forget 'twas written! 
 Although 'twas true — sometimes two hands 
 
 Were covered with one mitten ! 
 
 53 
 
T tell ye, if ye want pure fun, 
 
 Where there's no loss, but gain, 
 Skedaddle to the old Pine State 
 
 When Winter there does reign. 
 And on some shiny moonlight night, 
 
 With stars smiling above. 
 And crispy snow, all glittering bright, 
 
 A sled — and gal you luv. 
 
 Then go ahead and let 'er whiz! 
 
 So swiftly you will glide 
 For fear she'll fall, you closely hug 
 
 Your partner to your side. 
 And if the question you've not popped, 
 
 Then surely don't refrain. 
 For Yankee gals always say yes 1 
 
 When coastin' down in Maine. 
 
 When I have slid out of my form 
 
 And left its aches and pain, 
 And reached the t'other side of life 
 
 And found my Nancy Jane, 
 In that celestial city, now 
 
 Don't think I'm profane! 
 I'd take my putty angel gal 
 
 That used to live in Maine, 
 
 And climbin' up some crystal mount 
 
 Above a jasper plain, 
 We'd slide and make the diamonds fly 
 
 Like icicles in Maine. 
 Sartin! I'd wish no better Heaven, 
 
 Contented to remain, 
 Coastin' along them golden streets 
 
 With my dear Nancy Jane. 
 
 59 
 
Perhaps you think I'm gittin' old 
 
 And talk in foolish strain, 
 But I dew luv the old Pine State 
 
 And all the gals in Maine! 
 Dear to my heart's the snow-crowned hills, 
 
 Each vale and icy plain ; 
 Hurrah! then for the good old State, 
 
 And coastin' down in Maine! 
 
STELLA. 
 
 The rosy winged angel of morning 
 
 Sweeps back the dark curtain of night, 
 
 And the stars fade away at the dawning 
 Of the golden and bright crimson light. 
 
 But the stars in the heavens are still shining, 
 Though veiled from our weak mortal eyes, 
 
 They only grow dim to our vision 
 
 From the glow of the bright, sunny skies. 
 
 So, when in the regions immortal 
 
 The white, pearly gate stood ajar. 
 And the glory and light through its portal 
 
 Shone down on our beautiful star, 
 
 She seemed to be lost in the splendor. 
 
 So bright that the soft, gentle rays 
 That shed golden light o'er our pathway. 
 
 Seemed faded, for aye, from our gaze. 
 
 But the star of our love is still shining. 
 More pure, more holy, more bright — 
 
 Through the dark night of death she will guide us, 
 Up into the fair realms of light. 
 
 6z 
 
THE OLD MILL. 
 
 The old mill stands on the river's bank, 
 
 And the fingers of decay 
 Have colored and blackened the moss-stained plank, 
 
 And rotted the sills away. 
 
 The rafters show through the open roof, 
 As through skeleton frame — the bones; 
 
 The shattered windows rattle and creak, 
 The battered door swings and groans; 
 
 And the busy wheel that from morn till eve 
 
 Went whirling noisily round. 
 All covered with rust and damp and mould, 
 
 Lies broken upon the ground. 
 
 The ivy clings to the crumbling wall 
 
 With its shining veil of green. 
 The dark leaves, creeping over all 
 
 Each crevice and crack between. 
 
 Striving to shield from curious eyes 
 
 The old mill, fallen and gray. 
 Weaving its beautiful, tender life 
 
 'Bove the ruin and decay. 
 
 The river flows by with as merry a whirl. 
 
 Tossing its glittering spray, 
 The bird, atilt on the hawthorne bough, 
 
 Warbles a roundelay. 
 
 As gay and blithe as in years gone by. 
 
 When above the foaming tide. 
 The old mill turned its ponderous wheel 
 
 In its glory and its pride. 
 
The marks on the time-worn boards remain 
 
 Of restless feet, now still, 
 And echoes of voices hushed and gone. 
 
 Still linger around the mill. 
 
 But the ruddy face of the miller boy 
 That shone through the dusty veil 
 
 Of sifting grain, at the call of death 
 Long years ago, grew pale. 
 
 When his form was bowed and his hair was gray 
 
 With the frosty touch of age. 
 The angel shut and clasped Life's book 
 
 Over each written page. 
 
 And the fair young bride, with laughing eyes, 
 
 With free and fawn-like grace. 
 Bounding adown the old mill path 
 
 With happy, love-lit face — 
 
 She too, beneath the daisies white, 
 And under the church-yard mould 
 
 Folded her tired hands to rest. 
 
 O'er the heart — pulseless and cold. 
 
 And the childish faces that at eve. 
 
 Looked out through the window pane, 
 
 Aglow with the light of the blazing fire, 
 No more will come again, 
 
 To the old mill, standing in its ruins. 
 
 Neglected and alone; 
 But their thoughts, like birds, oft-times go back 
 
 To the nest from whence they've flown; 
 
 And memories of those happy hours 
 
 Return, go where they will. 
 When the dear home band, unbroken, dwelt 
 
 Within the old grist mill. 
 
 63 
 
CHATEAU LAURINA. 
 
 'Neath the forest trees 
 Where the perfumed breeze 
 
 Sweeps over the hills afar, 
 On the fair lake's side 
 'Bove the flowing tide, 
 
 Stands the Chateau Laurina. 
 
 A snow-white dove, 
 An emblem of love, 
 
 With wings outstretched in flight. 
 Shall a symbol be 
 Of this home of the free 
 
 As it soars toward the heavenly height; 
 
 Its wings cleave the skies, 
 And still upward it flies; 
 
 So these loved ones, who dwell 'neath this roof 
 With their freedom of thought 
 From the spirit outwrought 
 
 Reach up for the immortal truth. 
 
 And this " Beautiful rest," 
 Like the home of the blest. 
 
 Shall be filled wath sweet peace and love. 
 And a heavenly band, 
 From the glad summer land 
 
 Shall brood o'er it, like the white dove. 
 
 They will whisper sweet words, 
 That can only be heard. 
 
 By the pure and lowly in heart. 
 And to them, their soul's ear 
 Shall be opened to hear 
 
 Sweet music — the angels impart. 
 
 64 
 
Oh, soft eyes of brown., 
 And silvery crown 
 
 Of white hair, in waves loosely flowing 
 Around the sweet face 
 Full of beauty and grace 
 
 Through which the soul's light is glowing! 
 
 Oh, fair little hands, 
 Full many's the strands 
 
 Of sorrow and trouble you've riven, 
 And pointed the way 
 To poor souls astray 
 
 To reach the bright portals of heaven. 
 
 Oh, long may you live, 
 Wise counsel to give. 
 
 To guide weary hearts that are seeking 
 To find holy peace — 
 And from sorrow — release. 
 
 And turn into smiles the sad weeping. 
 
 Oh, spirit refined. 
 
 With the proud, tender mind, 
 
 Like a pearl in the shell closely hiden, 
 Sweet thoughts welling up 
 To thy life's crystal cup. 
 
 From a fountain that gushes unbidden. 
 
 May you drink long and deep. 
 And the waters pure keep. 
 
 While Life's twilight her mantle is folding, 
 And close to your breast 
 May more fondly be prest 
 
 The faith that your spirit's now holding. 
 
 6s 
 
When earth work is done 
 And your setting sun 
 
 Is sinking 'mid dark shadows, low, 
 It will leave behind 
 On the fair skies of Time 
 
 A beautiful bright after-glow. 
 
 Shining out on the wave, 
 Some soul to make brave, 
 
 Who is struggling alone — temptest-tost, 
 'Mid sorrow and sin 
 In the world's maddening din. 
 
 Vainly seeking the peace it has lost. 
 
 The light of good deeds 
 Shall reach some heart's needs 
 
 And the bright star of Hope shall arise. 
 Giving strength to do right, 
 In the conflict and fight. 
 
 Guiding up to the glory-lit skies. 
 
 And as swift gliding years 
 With their smiles and their tears 
 
 On Time's rapid river shall flow, 
 A soft rainbow light 
 From the loved — gone from sight, 
 
 Still shall shine o'er Laurina Chateau. 
 
WHEN THE MASK DROPS OFF. 
 
 Some day at Heaven's door 
 
 Our souls will waiting stand, 
 For the pearly gates to swing ajar 
 By the touch of an angel's hand, 
 And we'll pass through the portals wide 
 
 And think every sin to doff, 
 But there they'll meet us face to face, 
 
 When the mask we have worn drops off. 
 
 Wrongs that we fancied hidden 
 
 Under the weight of years. 
 Will come to the light unbidden 
 
 And be seen through their mist of tears. 
 Unkindness in words or deeds, 
 
 Every sneer and every scoff. 
 Will be growing there, like noxious weeds 
 
 When the mask we have worn drops off. 
 
 Our w^ondering souls will gaze 
 
 Into the mirror of Truth, 
 And be filled with sad amaze, 
 
 Beholding the pictured proof 
 Of our misdeeds — mistakes — 
 
 Which gladly we would doff, 
 But the record written, no soul escapes 
 
 When the mask we have worn drops off. 
 
 67 
 
WHAT THE nOON SAW. 
 
 'Twas a fair Summer's eve 
 In the rose-month of June, 
 
 When the queen of the night — 
 The proud, stately moon — 
 
 Drew her veil of white clouds 
 From her beautiful face, 
 
 And gazed on the worlds 
 
 In her wide realm of space. 
 
 She threw her bright glances 
 
 From planet to star, 
 Wherever they lingered, 
 
 On orbs near, or far, 
 
 They glowed, sparkling softly 
 Beneath her warm gaze. 
 Lighting up Heaven's archway 
 With glittering rays. 
 
 Serenely then earthward 
 
 She turned her clear sight, 
 
 And the star-bedecked canopy 
 Flooded with light. 
 
 Her piercing glance sweeping 
 
 O'er ocean and plain. 
 From the South's flowery gardens, 
 
 To North's frozen main. 
 
 One glowing and perfumed 
 With roses' sweet breath. 
 
 In the other, the coldness 
 And silence of death. 
 
 68 
 
Then over a city, 
 
 Her fair, silvery light 
 Streamed downward, investing 
 
 With radiance bright 
 
 Each turret and tower. 
 
 Cathedral and dome, 
 From loftiest palace 
 
 To humblest home. 
 
 In brightly-lit mansions, 
 
 She stole a sly glance. 
 In gaiety's halls, 
 
 With their song and their dance. 
 
 Where happy lips smile. 
 
 And bright eyes softly beam. 
 
 And life — joyous life! 
 
 Is as sweet as a dream. 
 
 She kissed the young bride 
 On her forehead so white. 
 
 And crowned her fair head 
 With a halo of light. 
 
 She saw the dear babe 
 
 On its mother's breast sleeping. 
 With angels above them 
 
 Their holy watch keeping. 
 
 In death's darkened room 
 
 Where a form, chill and white 
 
 Lay at rest, in sweet peace, 
 A ray of soft light 
 
 Through the lattice crept in, 
 Streaming over the floor 
 
 And 'round the still sleeper 
 Whose conflict was o'er. 
 69 
 
Then out on the sea 
 
 Where the breeze lightly stirred, 
 And the sail flitted by, 
 
 Like a swift, white-winged bird: 
 
 And the waves with soft music 
 Tossed sparkling spray, 
 
 And billow chased billow 
 In frolicsome play. 
 
 She threw on the waters 
 
 Her silvery sheen, 
 And the glittering wavelets 
 
 Bowed low to Night's Queen. 
 
 Their jeweled hands flashing — 
 With diamond foam flecked, 
 
 With star-light and moon-light 
 So brightly bedecked. 
 
 Then over dark forests. 
 
 Where hemlock and pines, 
 
 Shake out their green tassels, 
 'Mid clustering vines, 
 
 The silver rays darted 
 
 Through quivering shades. 
 
 In the dim, solemn aisles. 
 
 Through green, mossy glades, 
 
 Where the wild flowers breathe 
 
 A low, trembUng sigh. 
 And the nested birds rock 
 
 In their cradle on high — 
 
 Where the voice of the woods 
 With lonely winds chime. 
 
 And the anthem of Nature 
 Rolls grand and sublime — 
 
 70 
 
When lo! from the East 
 The King of the Day, 
 
 In his rosy-winged chariot 
 Rushed on his way, 
 
 And the fair moon grew pale 
 And faded from sight, 
 
 And closed her bright eyes 
 'Till the coming of night. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 
 
 The battle was over — the cannon's loud roar, 
 
 The hissing of shot and of shell 
 Had died into silence, and night's starry veil 
 
 In darkling folds, over all, fell. 
 
 Sometimes in the gloaming, a white hand was raised, 
 
 Sometimes a faint cry, or a moan 
 Was borne on the breeze from the wounded who lay 
 
 On the battle-field, dying alone. 
 
 On the heights, where the conflict the fiercest had raged, 
 
 With pale face upturned to the sky. 
 With white hand still clasping the battered, stained flag, 
 
 A soldier sank downward to die. 
 
 His thoughts wandered back to his green, native hills, 
 
 To the cot nestling down in the glen, 
 To Mother's dear face, and the dearer one still — 
 
 Whose fond arms would never again 
 
 Around him be thrown in a loving embrace, 
 
 For over their hearts and their home 
 The death shadow falls, and in vain they will wait 
 
 For the footsteps that never will come. 
 
 The pale moon arose and her beams coldly fell 
 And glistened and played round him there. 
 
 The dew-drops, like diamonds, with fitful gleams shone 
 'Mid the waves of his damp, golden hair. 
 
 And a tear that welled up from sorrow's deep fount 
 
 On his lashes hung trembling, unshed. 
 For the Angel of Battles the death roll had called. 
 
 And the answering soldier lay dead. 
 
 ********* 
 72 
 
Where the tall trees rise and gently sway 
 
 And far their shadows fling, 
 And the warbling soft of the forest birds 
 
 Make the wildwood merrily ring, 
 
 Where the brook's low murmur sweetly falls, 
 
 As ripples each swelling wave, 
 Far away from all, in that quiet spot, 
 
 They made the soldier's grave. 
 
 The first tiny buds in the gay Spring-time, 
 
 Unfold their leaves so fair. 
 And the first white flake of the drifting snow, 
 
 Falls gently on him there. 
 
 The violets ope' their bright blue eyes 
 And peep from their mossy bed, 
 
 And the sighing winds of summer breathe 
 Sweet music round his head. 
 
 The flowerets weep their tears of dew. 
 
 And gently o'er him wave; 
 The star's cold light and the moonbeams shine 
 
 Above the soldier's grave. 
 
 7 3 
 
TO A DEAR FRIEND UPON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Old friends and new, we gather here 
 
 On this, your natal day. 
 To place in friendship's fragrant wTeath 
 
 Full many a tender spray 
 Of loving thoughts, and kindly words 
 
 And wishes fond and true; 
 Hoping old Time, as he speeds on. 
 
 May gently deal with you. 
 
 We bring you loyal, earnest hearts 
 
 And prayers sincere and deep. 
 That on the harvest field of life 
 
 Sweet blessings you may reap; 
 That your life's skies, blue as your eyes. 
 
 May cloudless be and clear; 
 And friends and loved ones dearer grow 
 
 With every fleeting year. 
 
 We bring, dear heart, a priceless gem. 
 
 Brighter than stars above. 
 Shining undimmed through clouds and storms^ — 
 
 A mother's deathless love! 
 O, blessed light! through all these years 
 
 Its gentle, guiding rays 
 On you haA^e shone, from childhood's hours 
 
 To womanhood's fair days. 
 
 We bring a golden chain of love. 
 
 Each link like iron strands. 
 Woven so firm and close and true 
 
 By a fond husband's hands. 
 Encircling all your pathway 'round 
 
 With tender, watchful care, 
 Oh! hold it in your heart of hearts 
 
 This jewel — rich and rare! 
 
We bring sweet childhood's pure white souls, 
 
 Whose eyes gaze in your own 
 And catch the music of Hfe's chords 
 
 And echo back each tone; 
 Your jewels! that within love's ring 
 
 Gleam softly — two fair pearls 
 With lovelit eyes and dimpled cheeks — 
 
 Your little fair-haired girls! 
 
 Oh, Mother-heart! one more we bring, 
 
 To make complete your joy, 
 With smiling, happy face he comes — 
 
 Your little angel boy. 
 He places on your soft brown hair 
 
 A crown of fadeless flowers, 
 A token of undying love 
 
 Shining through all life's hours. 
 
 We, too, bring flowers; the emblems fair 
 
 Of all that's good and true ; 
 Their perfume, like our blessing, falls 
 
 And floats in love around you. 
 And though decay their forms may blight 
 
 And fade their leaves so pure, 
 The love that brought them to your home 
 
 Forever will endure. 
 
 And as the years drop, one by one, 
 
 Into life's crystal sea. 
 Gleaming like gems beneath the waves 
 
 Because lived truthfully. 
 We're sure that your kind words and deeds 
 
 Of love will all combine, 
 And make each birthday brighter glow 
 
 Than this — fair thirty-nine! 
 
 75 
 
ASHTABULA. 
 
 With a mighty rush — a snort and a scream 
 
 The iron horse is bounding, 
 Over the hill — the vale — the stream 
 
 His high, shrill cry is sounding. 
 Through the night and the storm, his red eye gleams, 
 
 And above the howling blast, 
 The clang of his steel-clad hoofs ring out 
 
 As he goes dashing past 
 Bright, cheerful homes, where the soft fire-light 
 
 From out the windows gleaming. 
 By the darkened cot, where the tired brain 
 
 Is lost in happy dreaming. 
 
 Through village and town, past station and turn, 
 
 Belching forth his fiery breath. 
 He rushes by and no one can see 
 
 That the rider grim is Death; 
 That his skeleton hand moves the driving wheel. 
 
 While the storm fiends round him jeer. 
 Oh, hapless travelers! Lost, doomed train! 
 
 With Death for the engineer — 
 Within that train all is life and light. 
 
 Without, is the driving snow; 
 While the pitiless arms of the cruel night 
 
 Are pressing them on to their woe. 
 
 Some are dreaming of home and Mother's dear face, 
 
 As she whispered " Good-bye " with a tear, 
 Ah, little she knew 'twas a last embrace — 
 
 That Death was the engineer — 
 With hearts beating high — with youth's fearless eye 
 
 Some, gazing adown the long years 
 That seem stretching before them, weave beautiful dreams, 
 
 Full of sunshine — all smiles and no tears. 
 
The lover recalls her last, tender words, 
 
 The husband, the wife's gentle face, 
 And the dear little child, whose white dimpled arms 
 
 Clasped his neck, in a loving embrace. 
 
 And high 'bove the turmoil, the clash and the din, 
 
 Of the iron horse, rushing along, 
 'Bove the sad, wailing winds and whistles shrill cry, 
 
 Rise the notes of a heaven inspired song. 
 And comforting words borne on musical waves. 
 
 That peace to sad hearts had oft given. 
 Are caught up and prolonged by the angelic throng 
 
 And the chorus is finished in Heaven,* 
 For faster, still faster, the train rushes on 
 
 'Till it reaches the fatal ravine. 
 And is through the bridge hurled — crushed out of the 
 world. 
 
 And Death draws his veil o'er the scene. 
 
 The storm-fiends still roar — the bitter blasts blow 
 
 In angry tones, piercing and loud; 
 But pity's white mantle — the pure, drifting snow 
 
 Falleth down — covering all like a shroud. 
 Oh, sad hearts that mourn ! bowed under the rod, 
 
 That seek from your sorrow relief. 
 We leave you alone with your soul and your God 
 
 In the dark halls of silence and grief. 
 But some day the Angel of Healing will come. 
 
 And open the closed door so wide, 
 That hope and sweet peace will softly steal in, 
 
 And enter your hearts and abide. 
 
 * P. P. Bliss, the sweet singer and Evangelist, and his wife 
 were on this train that went through the bridge at Ashtabula, 
 Ohio, some years ago. They and many others perished. 
 
LAKE GEORGE. 
 
 Oh, lake of my lay! 
 Where the sun-beams play 
 
 And the waters laugh with glee 
 As they onward sweep, 
 With a merry leap, 
 
 To the outstretched arms of the sea. 
 
 In thy silvery waves 
 The wild bird laves 
 
 Its snowy wings and crest; 
 While the gleaming sail, 
 Borne on by the gale. 
 
 Glides over thy heaving breast. 
 
 From thy waters deep 
 Fair troutlet leap, 
 
 Their silvery sides are tost 
 Like snowflakes white. 
 In a darkening night, 
 
 One moment seen — then lost. 
 
 Far, far below 
 The restless flow 
 
 Of thy ever changing tide, 
 Their bright scales flash 
 As they onward dash, 
 
 The glittering, finny tribe. 
 
 Green isles are there 
 On thy bosom fair, 
 
 With tangled vines grown o'er, 
 And thy billows gay 
 Toss up their spray 
 
 To kiss the pebbly shore. 
 
 73 
 
Fair, sunny glades, 
 Their quivering shades 
 
 Fling out on thy waters blue; 
 And pictures bright, 
 In the trembling light, 
 
 Rise suddenly to view. 
 
 When wild winds roam 
 From their mountain home 
 
 And rush on swift pinions by, 
 Then thy waves foam white 
 'Neath the tempest's might, 
 
 And we hear their sobbing sigh, 
 
 As they break on the shore, 
 With a sullen roar. 
 
 Fierce, writhing to and fro, 
 Like a thing of life, 
 In a deadly strife. 
 
 Battling with its foe. 
 
 But twilight hours 
 With their magic powers 
 
 Through the purple shadows steal, 
 And the white clouds trail 
 Their silvery veil 
 
 And their golden light reveal. 
 
 There's a tender hush, 
 As the Master's brush, 
 
 On the canvas stretched on high; 
 The colors bright, 
 In the radiant light. 
 
 Throws over the blushing sky. 
 
 79 
 
The waves below, 
 Catch the golden glow, 
 
 And the sparkling, glittering sheen 
 Spreads out afar; 
 While the evening star. 
 
 Smiles down on the peaceful scene. 
 
 Then starry night. 
 Her banner of light 
 
 Flings down on the silvered waves; 
 And thy waters surge, 
 With a solemn dirge. 
 
 Far down in thy hidden caves. 
 
 As through our souls. 
 The harmony rolls. 
 
 In an anthem grand, sublime, 
 The voice of the trees. 
 The flowers, the leaves — 
 
 Unite in a pean divine. 
 
 Oh, lake of my lay. 
 With thy dashing spray, 
 
 Thine isles and rocky shore, 
 Thy musical pine. 
 Thy clouds and sunshine, 
 
 I shall love thee, evermore. 
 
 For deep in my heart. 
 And it cannot depart, 
 
 Thine image forever will lodge; 
 Where e'er I may be. 
 On land or on sea. 
 
 Oh, beautiful lake — fair Lake George! 
 
 80 
 
REACHING UPWARD 
 
 No matter how deep 
 The seed may he, 
 
 Buried low under the sward, 
 It win come to the surface 
 By and by, 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 The hly bulb sleeping 
 Beneath the lake, 
 
 By life's subtle essence stirred, 
 Sometime, its chains 
 Will surely break. 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 And out on the waves 
 The blossoms will float, 
 
 Their beauty and grace assured. 
 With their golden freight. 
 In their snow-white boat 
 
 Reaching upward ! 
 
 The coral that under 
 The sea lies deep, * 
 
 Where no sound of toil is heard, 
 Will slowly but surely 
 To sunlight creep. 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 In the chrysalis' cell 
 There's never a sign 
 
 Or hope of a life deferred, 
 Till the butterfly sports 
 In the bright sunshine. 
 Reaching upward! 
 
There are songs unsung 
 In the realms of sound, 
 
 Where never a note is heard, 
 Until from the silence 
 That holds them bound 
 
 Reaching outward, 
 
 Rich harmonies float, 
 To the listening ear, 
 
 Sweeter than notes of a bird. 
 Inspiration's voices, 
 Soft and clear. 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 So deep in the breast 
 Lies many a thought, 
 
 Like gems in a miser's hoard, 
 'Till through great sorrows 
 And conflicts wrought, 
 Reaching upward. 
 
 They burst on the world 
 With a tongue of flame, 
 
 That startles the plodding horde, 
 As the words of Truth 
 They boldly proclaim. 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 There's never a soul 
 In a human breast 
 
 But by holy thoughts is stirred 
 That will strive to lead it 
 From sin's unrest. 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
There's never a spirit 
 So darkened with scars, 
 
 Whose record is stained and bkirred, 
 But its wings will beat 
 'Gainst its prison bars, 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 The Divine within, 
 By the higher light 
 
 On every soul conferred, 
 Will return to its own, 
 To the God of Right, 
 
 Reaching upward! 
 
 83 
 
THE UNSEEN CHOIR. 
 
 We stand in Nature's temple, 
 
 And the palpitating air 
 Throbs with the surging harmonies 
 
 Floating and swelling there. 
 There are low vibrations sweeping 
 
 Over life's mystic lyre, 
 Sweet symphonies — or solemn chants 
 
 Sung by the unseen choir. 
 
 The tender rustling soul life 
 
 That's stirring mid' the leaves, 
 Awakes, and through each blade and flower 
 
 Soft music gently breathes; 
 It ripples all around us, 
 
 In tones now high, now low. 
 With ear attuned to Nature's chords, 
 
 We hear the grasses grow. 
 
 Where pine and graceful maple 
 
 Their banners green are swinging. 
 Soft notes of distant music fall 
 
 Like vesper bells slow ringing; 
 We hear old Boreas murmur 
 
 As his fluttering wings rise higher, 
 And clarion tones roll grandly on, 
 
 Sung by the unseen choir. 
 
 Nature has many voices, 
 
 And those who love her well 
 And press their ear close to her heart, 
 
 Can hear it throb and swell 
 In minor tones, or peans grand, 
 
 Whate'er the soul's desire, 
 'Twill surge and float in harmony — 
 
 Sung by the unseen choir. 
 
 84 
 
And when the eyes are closing 
 
 And dull's the listening ear, 
 And the harp of life is muffled, 
 
 Then angel forms draw near, 
 With songs of joy and gladness 
 
 They strike their heavenly lyre, 
 And the soul floats, on music's notes, 
 
 And joins the unseen choir. 
 
 85 
 
LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 Only a heedless thought 
 
 To the world cast 
 Left many sad memories 
 
 In the dim Past. 
 
 Only a scornful look 
 
 On a fair face, 
 Caused a wound and a scar 
 
 Time could not erase. 
 
 Only a little word, 
 
 Spoken in jest, 
 That pierced like an arrow 
 
 A sensitive breast. 
 
 Only a careless act, 
 Thoughtlessly done. 
 
 Brought shame and defeat 
 To a victory half won. 
 
 Thoughts, words and acts 
 Are life's tiny seeds; 
 
 They yield fruit or thorns. 
 Sweet flowers or weeds. 
 
 Just as we sow them, 
 
 So will we reap; 
 Then over each action 
 
 A careful watch keep, 
 
 That in the great harvest 
 Our souls may not grieve 
 
 When the angel of records 
 Unbinds our life's sheaves. 
 
REST. 
 
 Sad, wailing voice of my trembling soul, 
 
 Oh, hush thee — and be still! 
 What though the river of Death draws near 
 
 And it waters runneth chill, 
 Shrinkest thou from crossing that sullen tide, 
 
 That roUeth so nigh to thee, 
 That the ripples of time are lost in the waves 
 
 Of the ocean — eternity? 
 
 Fear not, O Soul! for beyond that stream 
 
 Is a world all bright and fair, 
 Tears are unknown, for sorrow is not, 
 
 And night comes never there. 
 Hopes that have died will blossom again, 
 
 Dreams that have faded, glow 
 More bright — more real in that beautiful land 
 
 Than they shone in the long ago. 
 
 Loved ones wdio laid life's burdens down, 
 
 On the banks of this chilly stream. 
 Whose white feet crossed through the waters dark 
 
 And were gone like a passing dream, 
 Will meet thee again on the golden shore 
 
 Where the crystal waters flow — 
 Will lead thee, where, 'mid heavenly bowers, 
 
 Love's flowers, immortal, blow. 
 
 And youth and love and peace and joy. 
 
 And the longings, unsatisfied, 
 Shall all be found in that Summer land. 
 
 Just over the restless tide. 
 Then sigh no more, O voice of my soul! 
 
 But sing a glad song of cheer, 
 When the billows of death around thee roll, 
 
 Thy victory is near. 
 
 87 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 This golden Autumn day, 
 
 I sit me down and dream, 
 Beside the brooklet fair; 
 
 The little babbling stream 
 Leaps up with merry laughter, 
 
 Singing on its way. 
 And tossing in the balmy air 
 
 Its glittering diamond spray. 
 
 Rippling o'er the white sand, 
 
 Murmuring low and sweet, 
 The wavelets bright and sparkling. 
 
 Breaking at my feet; 
 Above the gurgling water — 
 
 Above the wild bird's lay, 
 A voice I hear, whose echoes 
 
 In silence died away 
 
 Amid the years that's drifted 
 
 Far back on memory's shore; 
 From out the wrecks of childhood, 
 
 Its sweet tones come once more. 
 The gorgeous foliage tossing, 
 
 And waving in the breeze, 
 The gold and crimson flashing 
 
 From leaf and shrubs and trees. 
 
 The brown leaves floating downward 
 
 With rustlings soft and low. 
 Bring back the joys that vanished 
 
 In an Autumn, long ago. 
 The blue, so clear and cloudless. 
 
 Of the sunny, smiling skies. 
 Match well the azure beauty 
 
 Of my lost one's gentle eyes. 
 
The snowy, fleecy whiteness 
 
 Of clouds that float above, 
 Are emblems of the fair brow 
 
 And bosom of my love. 
 The vivid crimson blushes. 
 
 Sweeping over tree and leaf. 
 So bright — so fair — so beautiful, 
 
 And yet, alas! so brief, 
 
 Are like the hectic flushes 
 
 Upon my darling's cheek. 
 That faded into darkness 
 
 Before death's Winter, bleak; 
 In memory's silent chambers 
 
 I hear her footsteps fall; 
 Within my soul's recesses. 
 
 Her sweet voice gently calls; 
 
 Ring out, oh, swift winged warblers! 
 
 Your tender farewell lay, 
 Dance gaily on, fair brooklet! 
 
 Upon your happy way! 
 Fling out, oh tree and leaflet! 
 
 Your colors rich and bright, 
 For soon decay's cold fingers 
 
 Will chill and freeze and blight. 
 
 And so, while all around me 
 
 Is fair and glad and gay, 
 And Nature's decked in beauty 
 
 This glorious Autumn day. 
 Still, o'er my soul there falleth 
 
 A dark and heavy gloom, 
 For all love's flowers are faded 
 
 And nevermore will bloom, 
 
 89 
 
Until beyond life's portals, 
 
 Where Winter cannot come, 
 I find each cherished blossom 
 
 Safe in its heavenly home; 
 Each leaf and bud and flower. 
 
 That know no change or blight, 
 Where all is radiant sunshine — 
 
 No tempest — death, or night. 
 
THE FI5HER5 OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Oh men of the town! What seek ye? 
 
 With your grappUng hooks and Hnes 
 From early morn, till the setting sun 
 Behind the hill declines, 
 
 Ye restless go 
 
 To and fro, 
 Circling 'round and 'round 
 
 In your little boats 
 
 That idly float— 
 With scarcely a word or sound. 
 
 Oh men of the town! What seek ye? 
 
 With faces stern and pale. 
 For treasures rare, in the dark depths there 
 Are you searching to find the trail? 
 
 As sad and slow, 
 
 To and fro, 
 You ply the silent oar, 
 
 And far down peer 
 
 In the waters drear, 
 That ebb and flow from the shore. 
 
 Oh men of the town! What seek ye? 
 
 The night comes on apace 
 The wings of the wind, the waters fan, 
 'Till the white-caps seaward race, 
 
 Slowly ye go 
 
 To and fro 
 With downcast piercing eyes. 
 
 As though to save 
 
 From the angry wave, 
 Some precious, hidden prize. 
 
 91 
 
Oh men of the town! What seek ye? 
 
 Your hnes are stiff and taut, 
 Some heavy weight, some precious freight 
 In your grapphng hooks is caught 
 
 Silent ye row 
 
 To and fro: 
 With steady nerve and hand 
 
 You slowly rise 
 
 The sought for prize. 
 And pull for the distant land. 
 
 Oh men of the town! No longer 
 You'll search with anxious care 
 For the dripping form of a fair, young girl 
 You tenderly homeward bear. 
 
 Solemn and slow, 
 
 Sadly you go, 
 With quiet, measured tread; 
 
 Love's labor o'er, 
 
 Ye seek no more 
 The lake's given up its dead. 
 
 9« 
 
*MT WILL BE nORNINQ SOON. 
 
 DEDICATED TO VIOLET. 
 
 Golden bars of light 
 
 Flashed 'cross the western skies, 
 Like arrows in swift flight, 
 
 'Mid rose-hued canopies 
 Of fleecy clouds, whose blush 
 
 The clear lake's waters blue 
 Reflected, 'till the crimson flush 
 
 With soft lights shining through 
 Shone out from shore to shore. 
 
 Blending with magic power 
 Lake and sky: Then Heaven's door 
 
 Ajar at sunset-hour. 
 
 Let through those portals grand 
 
 A white robed angel form 
 Waving a beckoning hand 
 
 To Him whose heavenly dawn 
 Was breaking, and he smiled 
 
 Gazing with glad, rapt eyes 
 Like a fond, trusting child 
 
 Upon the glowing skies 
 And said, " Dear Heart, with me 
 
 'Twill soon be morning light, 
 But gathering dark 'round thee 
 
 Are shadows of the night." 
 
 With me, the mountain tops 
 Are gained, above the mist 
 
 And clouds, no sad rain-drops 
 Fall on the summits kissed 
 
 93 
 
By love's golden sunshine. 
 
 Only a calm sweet peace 
 And joy, I wish were thine! 
 
 Then would thy weeping cease, 
 Knowing that I was blest 
 
 Free from all care or fear — 
 A quiet, happy rest! 
 
 And yet I will be near, 
 
 To ever help and guide. 
 
 And in thy greatest need 
 I will be by thy side 
 
 And strive thy steps to lead; 
 " Farewell!" He closed his eyes 
 
 And calmly fell asleep 
 To wake in Paradise. 
 
 Ah! why then should we weep? 
 Although from out our life 
 
 A star's faded away, 
 A flower with beauty rife, 
 
 A sunbeam from our day. 
 
 The sweet song of a bird 
 
 That swiftly heavenward flies, 
 Whose notes are faintly heard, 
 
 'Till, lost in radiant skies; 
 So, from our home and heart, 
 
 Something as fair has fled. 
 Love-links are rent apart — 
 
 But we'll not call him dead, 
 For while with us, 'tis night. 
 
 With shadows dark and dim, 
 In Heaven's eternal light 
 
 'Tis fairest morn with him. 
 
AUNT ESTHER. 
 
 The white hds closed softly, 
 
 Above the tired eyes, 
 Shutting out the soft light 
 
 Of the fair sun-set skies, 
 And over the still form 
 
 From head to the feet, 
 The calm of Death's peace settled, 
 
 Holy and sweet. 
 
 The thin toil worn hands. 
 
 That early and late 
 On the needy and sad 
 Ever ready to wait. 
 Were folded to rest, 
 
 Their Earth work was o'er. 
 They'd opened and closed 
 Life's mystical door. 
 
 But the patience unwavering 
 
 Through pain and distress. 
 The love that grew brighter 
 
 As Time's days grew less. 
 Shone out like a star 
 
 In the western sky low, 
 Trailing halos of light 
 
 In the soft after glow. 
 
 But the soul — the glad soul 
 
 In its glorious flight. 
 Sped onward and upward 
 
 To infinite light. 
 No sorrow — no anguish — 
 
 No keen, bitter pain 
 Could fetter its pinions 
 
 Or bind it again. 
 
The darkness was over, 
 
 The tears were all shed, 
 Earth's woes and earth's troubles, 
 
 Forever had fled — 
 The toiling — the striving — 
 
 The dark weary way 
 Of life's journey had ended 
 
 In radiant day. 
 
 Weep not for the spirit, 
 
 Rejoicing and bright, 
 On golden deeds climbing 
 
 To loftiest height. 
 No tears for the soul 
 
 Whose white wings have flown, 
 To the land of sweet rest. 
 
 Where tears are unknown. 
 
 But smile and be glad 
 
 That Peace's snow-white flower, 
 For her blossomed out 
 In death's darkest hour. 
 
 96 
 
WE THREE. 
 
 The bells of time are ringing, 
 
 On childhood's far off shore, 
 Their sweet chimes to us bringing. 
 
 The happy days of yore: 
 When skies of youth were bending. 
 
 Above us clear and free — 
 Their rainbow colors blending 
 
 In bright tints round us three. 
 
 We three, who walked together 
 
 Along life's untrod ways. 
 In fair or cloudy weather, 
 
 In sad or joyous days; 
 United and unfearing 
 
 Gazing with dauntless eyes — 
 Unheeding dark clouds nearing 
 
 And drifting 'cross life's skies. 
 
 Firm in the love that bound us, 
 
 No partings could we see. 
 With hope and youth around us 
 
 No shadows reached us three. 
 Only the glad, sweet present — 
 
 Only the joy of life — 
 Only the fleeting moment, 
 
 With love and pleasure rife. 
 
 Until from Southern borders 
 
 Uplifted, shackled hands 
 Were raised in supplication 
 
 For help to break their bands. 
 The wail of weeping mothers. 
 
 The cries of the opprest, 
 Swept like a dirge, throughout the land 
 
 And reached each loyal breast. 
 
 97 
 
Then one from out our number — 
 
 Our Hero, true and brave. 
 Went forth to break the bondmen's chains 
 
 Or find a sojdier's grave. 
 And comrades rallying 'round him, 
 
 Their life-blood freely shed, 
 And through the very gates of death, 
 
 They followed where he led. 
 
 And where the fight raged fiercest, 
 
 'Mid hissing shot and shell, 
 The Stars and Stripes above him. 
 
 Our noble Hero fell. 
 And on that snow-white banner — 
 
 The deathless roll of fame, 
 In golden letters gleaming, 
 
 Shines out our loved one's name. 
 
 And though long years have drifted, 
 
 Back, 'mid Time's silvery haze. 
 The halo of his brave, young life 
 
 Still lights those by-gone days, 
 And brings before us visions, 
 
 Some bright — some dim with tears, 
 Of hopes and dreams we buried 
 
 In the casket of dead years. 
 
 And now in the dim twilight, 
 
 On life's swift river's flow, 
 We two draw near the valley, 
 
 Where the shadows darker grow. 
 Where the mists and clouds that hide him 
 
 From our longing mortal sight. 
 Soon will fade away and vanish 
 
 In a flood of heavenly light. 
 
 98 
 
And we'll see him and he'll greet us 
 
 In the old, familiar way, 
 And the years we've lived and suffered 
 
 Will seem as but a day. 
 We will know, no tie was severed, 
 
 Though real it seemed to be. 
 For we never had been parted, 
 
 Only veiled from sight — we three. 
 
 LofC: 
 
THE DAISY'S LIFE. 
 
 A daisy by the wayside grew, 
 
 Its snowy petals wet with dew, 
 
 Its crown of gold, in the morning light, 
 
 Shining out with radiance bright; 
 
 Swinging in the ambient air, 
 
 A flower life, with beauty rare. 
 
 A roving bee, with gauzy wings 
 
 And dainty dress — with velvet rings 
 
 Of brown and gold, went flitting by 
 
 And kissed the daisy tenderly. 
 
 A humming bird — that floating flower — 
 
 With rainbow tints, from rosy bower, 
 
 Flew down and from the daisy's breast 
 
 Sought nectar sweet, in eager quest ; 
 
 A maiden passing gaily by. 
 
 This lowly flower chanced to espy, 
 
 And plucked it from its grassy bed 
 
 And smilingly these words she said, 
 
 As one by one the petals fell, 
 
 '* He loves me not — he loves me well!" 
 
 And on her cheek the blushes grew. 
 And quicker still her white hand flew, 
 As murmuring low — so sweet to tell, 
 The last leaf said, " He loves me well!" 
 The golden crown she gently pressed 
 Close to her warm and throbbing breast, 
 And whispered many a tender word. 
 The last the dying blossom heard. 
 Like distant music's rhythmic swell. 
 Sweet, low and clear — " He loves me well." 
 
Think you the daisy Hved for naught 
 And its frail Hfe no lesson taught? 
 Its beauty caught the tired eye 
 Of restless throngs that hurried by, 
 God's letter, springing from the earth. 
 Telling of him who gave it birth. 
 Its sweetness gave to bird and bee, 
 In modest guise — unselfishly, ' 
 
 And died, a message to impart 
 Of hope — to cheer a maiden's heart. 
 
THE LIGHT AHEAD. 
 
 'Though dark and drear is To-day, 
 
 There will come a glad To-morrow, 
 The clouds will drift away, 
 And joy dispel the sorrow. 
 
 Then drive away fear and dread, 
 Press on to the Light ahead! 
 
 After the Winter's snow, 
 
 Come the sunny Springtime hours, 
 And the prisoned seeds below, 
 
 Will burst into beauteous flowers. 
 
 Though rough is the path you tread, 
 Press on to the Light ahead ! 
 
 After the stormy night 
 
 Comes the glow of a radiant morn, 
 Darkness that veils our sight 
 
 Flies away at the break of dawn. 
 
 Though the joy of your life has fled. 
 Press on to the Light ahead! 
 
 After life's fleeting days, 
 
 With their strife — their loss and pain, 
 The soul through death's misty haze, 
 Will find its own again. 
 And gently will be led 
 To the bright Light, just ahead. 
 
 No shadows — tears — nor night, 
 
 Cloud the brows of the angel band. 
 For love is the shining light 
 
 That illumines the Spirit land. 
 
 Golden rays on your soul's path shed 
 Lead on to the Light ahead. 
 
Ever on, throughout all time, 
 While countless ages roll, 
 Oh destiny! grand — sublime! 
 That awaits a new-born soul, 
 By angel hands upward led, 
 'Till it reaches the Light ahead. 
 
 103 
 
ANGEL WHISPERS. 
 
 When night unfolds her dusky wings, 
 
 And sweeps away the mist that cHngs 
 'Round her shadowy form — lets down the bars 
 
 And through Heaven's gateway of shining stars 
 The fair young moon, with her silver zone. 
 
 Moves stately and grand to her lofty throne; 
 And the zephyrs whisper to the trees. 
 
 And tender flowers fold up their leaves 
 And sleep, while pearly dew-drops bear 
 
 Their odorous dreams, through fragrant air; 
 Then I hear soft breathings — happy sighs 
 
 From flowers and grasses faintly rise. 
 Or joy-bells ringing 'mid the pines, 
 
 Whose tassel green makes merry chimes 
 Or lonely wailings — as it swings, 
 
 Touching the harp of Nature's strings; 
 Or mother-bird's soft lullaby, 
 
 Who, as her little nestlings cry 
 In restless sleep — the sweetest note 
 
 That waiting echoes ever woke, 
 Thrills softly, as her downy breast 
 
 Broods o'er them in their swinging nest. 
 The gurgling brook that through green mosses, 
 
 Its foaming waters gaily tosses. 
 And laughs and chatters on its way. 
 
 Sleeping nor resting night or day; 
 Singing of quiet nooks and dells. 
 
 Of meadows green — of cowslip bells. 
 Whose golden petals bend and lave 
 
 Their faces in the cooling wave. 
 All these melodious sounds I hear. 
 
 But sweeter to my spirit ear 
 
Come angel whispers, that combine 
 
 The soul of harmonies divine. 
 And 'mid the rippling music's flow 
 
 I hear loved accents — tender — low, 
 And mother love breathes through the strain. 
 
 And ever this, the glad refrain — 
 " I love you still, I love you now. 
 
 Fondly as when on lip and brow 
 The snow-white seal of silence fell, 
 
 And stricken hearts cried, ' Fare thee well!' ' 
 No tie that loving hearts unite 
 
 Can ever break — no sacred right 
 'Twixt soul and soul can severed be. 
 
 Through time, or in eternity — 
 But purer — truer — stronger grown, 
 
 Each soul shall know and claim^its own! 
 Oh, angel whispers! would that all 
 
 Might hear as I, thy loving call, 
 Might know not death but life is given. 
 
 When earth scenes fade in light of Heaven. 
 
 los 
 
BROKEN WINGS. 
 
 Broken wings trailing low in the dust, 
 Once pure and spotlessly white, 
 
 Whose pinions unfettered and free 
 
 Mounted upward in glorious flight. 
 
 As a lark through ethereal space. 
 
 Cleaves the blue of the fair summer skies, 
 Gushing out his glad heart in sweet song, 
 
 As higher and higher he flies, 
 
 Till lost 'mid the clouds, as he soars 
 
 Towards the sun, his bright shining goal, 
 
 So rising on youth's buoyant hopes. 
 
 Fluttered upward the wings of my soul. 
 
 Wafted on by soft zephyrs of love. 
 
 Drifting idly 'mid pleasure and song. 
 
 Borne aloft by ambition's cool breeze, 
 Floating heedless and reckless along. 
 
 Towards the glittering tower of Fame 
 
 High up, 'bove the clouds, near the stars; 
 
 Unrestrained in their free, onward flight 
 As they rose o'er the barriers and bars; 
 
 Until the fierce tempest of Pride, 
 
 That from Power and Greed had its birth, 
 The cyclone of passion's sharp hail, 
 
 Beat down the white wings to the earth. 
 
 Their plumage all soiled and torn. 
 
 Its soft, glossy whiteness grown dim, 
 
 Crushed down by the wrath of the storm, 
 Crippled and broken and grim; 
 
 io6 
 
Weighed down by sin's better blast, 
 They struggled no more to attain 
 
 The lost height — but wounded they sank 
 To the earth — to rise not again. 
 
 Broken wings — broken hopes — broken hearts! 
 
 There is help and there's strength for you all, 
 When forsaken and helpless you lie, 
 
 If you list to the angels' soft call. 
 
 They will aid you to rise once again, 
 At first not as brave or as strong, 
 
 But by love, wafted on through the clouds. 
 Spirit hands will guide you along. 
 
 'Till soaring again on new wings, 
 
 Your soul on swift pinions will rise, 
 
 In musical rhythm floating on, 
 
 Till lost in the blue of Heaven's skies. 
 
 107 
 
ELI5E. 
 
 Who is it that with roguish eyes, 
 In which a world of laughter lies, 
 With soft dark skin and rosy cheek. 
 Where dimples play at hide and seek, 
 Before whose smile all sadness flees? 
 'Tis little Meme — sweet Elise. 
 
 Who is it that with dancing feet, 
 
 And graceful motions — quick and fleet, 
 
 Goes skipping 'round from morn 'till night, 
 
 A vision fair of pure delight, 
 
 A little sprite who loves to tease? 
 
 'Tis little Meme — sweet Elise. 
 
 Who is it that we call " Queen Bee," 
 Who rules her kingdom royally. 
 Whose little hands love's sceptre hold. 
 Of kisses made — more pure than gold. 
 Who governs with the greatest ease? 
 Tis little Meme — sweet Elise. 
 
 And when the hour has come to rest. 
 Whose brown head nestles on our breast. 
 Whose sleepy lids droop o'er tired eyes 
 As in our sheltering arms she lies. 
 Whose baby form we fondly squeeze? 
 'Tis little Meme — sw^eet Elise. 
 
 io8 
 
LOVERS STILL. 
 
 Over the crest of life's hill, my man, 
 
 We've traveled hand in hand, 
 'Till almost in sight is the " covered bridge " 
 
 That leads to the Silent Land. 
 We can almost hear the moaning voice 
 
 Of the waters dark and chill, 
 But we have no fear as we journey on, 
 
 For we are lovers still. 
 
 Our feet are not as firm, my man, 
 
 As when in those far of¥ days 
 We started out on youth's smooth path, 
 
 Along life's unknown ways. 
 But our heart's are just as warm and true. 
 
 Love's joys our bosoms thrill, 
 Calmly we walk on the downward track. 
 
 For we are lovers still. 
 
 The storms of life on our heads, my man. 
 
 Have beaten, through changing years 
 Have drifted their snows, and wrinkled our cheeks 
 
 With their cruel rain of tears. 
 But we fondly gaze in each other's eyes 
 
 And know through joy or ill, 
 We'll walk together in tender trust. 
 
 For we are lovers still. 
 
 We've stood by open graves, my man. 
 
 And seen our loved and best. 
 Youth's golden head — Age's frosted crown, 
 
 Laid down to their quiet rest. 
 And the anguish to our hearts returns. 
 
 And our eyes with tear-drops fill, 
 But now, as then, our grief we share, 
 
 For we are lovers still. 
 109 
 
And though the world may smile, my man, 
 
 At our old-fashioned ways — 
 At love that lives — at faith as strong 
 
 As in life's youthful days. 
 Yet well zve know, when o'er that bridge, 
 
 Called by the Master's will, 
 We pass, and enter into rest, 
 
 We shall be lovers still. 
 
CUBA. 
 
 The storm-swept ocean was dark — forlorn — 
 Through the heavy clouds no gleam of morn, 
 
 And the Isle of the Sea was sleeping; 
 Her shackled hands helplessly bound, 
 Her bare feet scarred by many a wound, 
 
 Her fair face pale with weeping. 
 
 Fierce savage warriors — Tyranny's horde — 
 With cruel hands held the dripping sword 
 
 'Bove the head of Cuba sleeping; 
 Sad dreams disturbed her tired brain, 
 Distorted her brow with lines of pain, 
 
 While visions of hope were fleeting. 
 
 In America's home — land of the free — 
 A daughter was born to fair Liberty, 
 
 In a little village sleeping 
 'Mid lofty hills, whose proud heads rise 
 With verdure crowned towards sunny skies, 
 
 And silent watch seem keeping 
 
 Over the vale that cradled the child — 
 Over the hearts — pure — undefiled — 
 
 Where freedom's fires were burning, 
 Until they burst into glowing flame, 
 And the babe was christened in Liberty's name, 
 
 And every fetter spurning 
 
 O'er the ocean wide was carried far, 
 
 And there flashed on the world a shining star, 
 
 Yet Cuba still was sleeping, 
 'Till the child awoke her, with thrilling cry 
 That reached to the God of Right on high — 
 
 The harvest was ripe for reaping! 
 
And the little sister stretched her hand 
 Across the sea, to the glorious land 
 
 Of her birth, her sweet voice calling 
 For help to rend the galling chain, 
 To break the proud Oppressors reign, 
 
 Her white flag to save from falling. 
 
 Columbia heard — in answer gave 
 Her jewels choice — her soldiers brave, 
 
 Who death and danger daring. 
 Strove nobly for the cause of right, 
 And lived and died in Freedom's fight, 
 
 The crown of heroes wearing. 
 
 They bowed the haughty head of Spain, 
 And broke the Tyrant's iron chain, 
 
 And had the joy of knowing 
 That in the Island of the Sea 
 The youngest child of liberty 
 
 With Cuba free, is growing. 
 
 And guiding Cuba's barque along 
 Stands at the helm a Hero strong; 
 
 No winds or waves can harm her; 
 A patriot's heart — loyal and true, 
 All storms will bring her safely through, 
 
 Our brave Estrada Palma! 
 
 Then cheer for our Land — our hope and our pride- 
 And tears for our soldier-boys who died, 
 
 Their life blood freely giving 
 To right the wrong — the enslaved to free — 
 To raise the standard of liberty — 
 
 To bless and help all living. 
 
OCT 
 
 2 1902 
 
OCT 2 1902 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 020 994 472 8