3537 ft ^o^ :1§^ "W •• LIGHTS AND SHADOWS J. C. SOLOMON RICHARD G. BADGER ©ij* (gartjam $tta& BOSTON Copyright, 1913, by J. C. Solomon All Rights Reserved 3 \ ft The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. A350737 TO MR. J. W. HARPER THIS VOLUME IS CORDIALLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR PREFACE In sending out this dear child of my brain, I breathe a prayer for a safe journey, and the ac- complishment of its mission of love. The public will kindly remember that the Child is tender and untrained in the ways of the world; will those, therefore, whom it may chance to meet deal with it gently? This little one of simple and unpretentious story has come to sing a song, not with artistic flourish, but out of a loving heart. Its haunts are in the woods, fields and along the murmuring streams. It basks in the sunlight — sometimes walks under the stars. It sings with the birds and revels amongst the flowers; it is a Child of Nature, and so is most at home away from the city and the crowded haunts of man. Much of the time it has a smile upon its face; on occasions it is even mirthful — yet not infre- quently there is a touch of pathos in its voice and a sweet sort of sadness in its messages. If this un- trained young singer, this new messenger to men, shall, with its simple story of love and peace, brush away a tear, provoke a smile, lift a burden, inspire a single life to nobler deeds, I shall be abundantly satisfied. J. C. Solomon FOREWORD These lays are songs from a poet's heart, sung to the hearts of all who love their homes, their state and their fellow-men. May their music float afar, " blessing Him that gives and Him that takes." Jno. F. Purser March 10, 1913. CONTENTS PAGE Honeysuckles n The Dainty Little Darling 12 A Cry for Help 14 They Tell Us It Won't Prohibit 16 The Heart's Sad Lament 17 Ghosts 18 The First Song Bird 20 A Little Child Gathering Roses 21 She Heard the Angels Calling 23 The Miser 26 Ellinor, or the Saving of '49 28 The Boy and the Bar 32 Two Little Mice 35 The Lord My Guide -39 Papa's Little Ruth 40 Life Is What We Make It 41 Good Times in Georgy 43 The Dear Old Girl from the Piedmont ... 44 De Comic 46 I Am Not as Young as I Used to Be . . . .48 With the Pilot 51 Lines on the Death of Margaret Anderson . . 52 Save Tallulah 54 The Great White Plague 57 Newton 59 Easter Morning 61 The Broken-Hearted 65 Ol' Mammy's Lullaby 67 The Old Mill at the Famous Indian Springs in Georgia 69 A Wild Ride for the Train 71 CONTENTS PAGE After Winter — Spring 73 Lines Written on Rev. C. L. Thompson ... 76 Hattie 78 Lucille 78 Kathleen 78 Cleo 79 Sarah Elizabeth 79 Julia 80 Louise 81 Irene 81 When the Violets Bloom Again 82 Out of the Depths 84 The Big Apple Tree 87 His Fiftieth Birthday 89 His Baby's Birthday 94 Doctor Nitch 96 Evangelist Frank Jackson 97 A Plea for the Good and the True 98 Tt Matters not how Dark the Way .... 100 His Cleansing Blood 102 Lines to Prof. M. M. Hargrove 104 The Mist 105 The Bewitching Maid 106 The Evening Zephyr 107 Good Night to Margaret 108 Little Jim 112 Sleep On 114 Lines on Broughton Going to London . . .116 A Mother's Lament 119 To a Young Mother Who Has Lost Her Child . 120 Whosoever Shall Call 122 Lines to Two Indian Streams 124 A Little Bunch of Violets 126 My Pretty Little Girl 127 Just a Little Flower 129 Who! Who! 130 The World's First Yuletide 132 Christ-Given Rest 134 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS HONEYSUCKLES High o'er the wall, O'er bush and all, The honeysuckles grew; Each morning fair They seemed more rare, Fragrant as e'er I knew. At evening hour, Fairest flower, Bathed in softest sunlight, — Not more divine, Both mine and thine, Than honeysuckles white. Each summer breeze, Through vines and trees, Brought a sweet ladened breath: Drove 'way sadness, Filled with gladness My honeysuckle heath. The sparkling dew Of richest hue Shone in the sweet breathed dell, And song birds rare Just filled the air With notes that rose and fell. Oh, these rare days And sweet, soft lays Of birds and lovers, when Sweethearts were true, Soft as the dew, In the honeysuckle glen. THE DAINTY LITTLE DARLING She was a dainty little darling, So bright and chipper, too, That she set every heart a-tingling With gladness bright as dew. Her eyes were bewitching, so bright and true, Her manner debonair; Like sparkling stars in far-off skies of blue She sparkled ev'rywhere. Her pretty cheeks glowed like the roses red, Her voice rang like a chime, And pretty curls like pictures on her head Gave tinge of gold to time. When her happy voice rang out on the breeze — Laughter so sweet and wild, Fair warblers were provoked in leafy trees To join the happy child. 12 Oh, so innocent and so free from care, This prettiest of girls Basked in the sunshine, sported in the air, With dimples and with curls. She waded in the branch, skipped through the rye, Set the world a-singing, Vying with the lark soaring to the sky, Singing and a-swinging. So let the old world just sing a new song, And sing it with the child, Who sang it with the birds the whole day long, Sang it so sweet and wild. 13 A CRY FOR HELP Lord, give me patience with my fellow-man, And do not let me fret or pine. Oh, teach me how to suffer and to wait, Give me patience almost divine. Hold me, Master, close to Thy loving heart, Lest I murmur, lest I complain, And though I feel the stinging of the dart, Give me grace to smile through my pain. I am too weak, dear Lord, to stand alone, I cannot fight this battle through, I'm so human, so unlike Thee, I own, So hold me, Lord, help me anew. Sometimes anger rages within my breast, And sometimes scorn upon my face — Sometimes there oozes out my soul's sweet rest, Lord, give me grace, sustaining grace. My heart's wildest cry in the stormy night, When injustice is heaped upon me, Is help me, Good Master, to do the right, And lean lovingly upon Thee. 14 Do not let the words hot and bitter fall, But hold tight the onrushing tide, For Thou alone can keep me all in all, Oh, walk Thou, Master, by my side. Good Lord, if another should treat me ill, And should provoke my soul to wrath, Then lay Thy peaceful hand upon me till I find again the quiet path. And do not let me, Lord, another hate, But give me softer words to say, And though I suffer let me learn to wait For the coming of the gladder day. So ever hold me, Lord, ever lead me, Till all the wrong shall yield to right, And then my soul shall rise to victory, As the day leaps out of the night. 15 THEY TELL US IT WON'T PROHIBIT They tell us it won't prohibit. Now don't you believe such rot, For we'll exercise the jibbet, Or give them the best we've got. 'Tis the cry of the man of greed, 'Tis the wail of the boozer; The liquor traffic feels its need And well knows it's the loser. Already the lid is on tight, And topers are awful dry, And prohibition looks so bright While the days are going by. John Barleycorn has had his day, And a vile old wretch was he, But his throne, so festive and gay, Is sunk deep down in the sea. The liquor fiend, outlawed at last, Is hunted just like the hare, And if he's caught, oh, my, the blast That'll lift him high in the air. You'd better go mighty slow, Just feel your way through Georgie, For you'll know the " prohi " woe Worse than the midnight orgie. 16 THE HEART'S SAD LAMENT My life, like the rose, opened fair, And smiled at the morning sky, And promised to bloom rich and rare; But alas, was doomed to die. The rose gave out its odor sweet, And fell down at the trav'ler's feet, Living, dying, blessed land and sea, But what blessing has gone from me? My life is like the poor, frail leaf, Severed from its parent stem, Is driven by a gust of wind, And mourned for the absent limb. But earth is richer by its fall, And carpet soft is made for all, But my life's so barren, you see, Nobody's blest nor praises me. My life's like the print on the shore, Stamped there by the foot of man, Washed out by oceans evermore, Made smooth like the untrodden sand. But footprints wet with ocean brine Have their mem'ries of sacred shrine, And the low, sad mourn of the sea; But alas, who'll ever mourn for me? 17 GHOSTS Say, dere, honey, is yer ever seed er ghost, A sho' 'nuf ghost 'way down in de dark grave- yard? Well, Fse seed 'em, an' dey skeered me ter deaf, mos', An' I run till I wuz out of bref, I run so hard. Dey des look skerry — looks at yer kuis like, An' dey's got de longes' arms and big red eyes An' dey walks mos'ly atter midnight, dey do, When it am dark and dere ain't no bright skies. An' dey hand is long and boney and dey's pale, An' dey bodies look lak May poles, dey's so tall, An' dey looks so fierce yer heart is gwinter fail, Ef yo' doan look sharp right dar yer gwinter fall. I tells yer, honey, dem ghosts and sperrits Whut des walks 'ebout in de graveyard down dar Makes de cold chills run all ober yo' body, An' yo' des wonders 'bout de jedgment and whar Yo' gwine when dem ghosts gits dey hands on yer Kase dey sho' is awful and des like a hant, An' dey looks at yer and lif's up dem boney hands An' de reason yer doan fly is kase yer can't. An' sometimes as I goes 'long by de roadside, Walkin' all by mersef in de dark, cold night, I hears de win' whistlin' an' some one tuk an' cried — De way I run, honey, wuz a mighty sight. Den while de cold, drizzlin' rain am comin' down An' de sad win' dey keeps on a-moanin', Den de ghostes and sperrits am walkin' 'roun', An' now an' den yer kin hear 'em groanin'. Yet dar is some folks dat ses dar ain't no hants, Dat doan matter, child, kase some folks can't see ghosts, But de ghosts dress in petticoats or in pants Sometimes run at yer, sometimes stan' like posts. But it doan matter, honey, whar dey's at, Kase, chile, ef yer see one yer ain't gwiner fergit, Fer dey will skeer yer wus dan any black cat Ef yer sees 'em comin' better hit de grit. Look here, chile, see all de bruises on mer face, An' does yer see all dese gray hairs on mer haid? Well, I tells yer, dey corns about from de race Wid de ghosts till dis old nigger is mos' dead. Well, honey, dis las' word 'fore I ses good night, An' ef I's wrong de good Lawd done fergibben ; Dar's ghosts in de dark but no ghosts in de light, An' dar's ghosts on earth but no ghosts in heben. 19 THE FIRST SONG BIRD A little bird sang after the snow was over, The yellow sunshine came down a sea of glory, There was in the air a sweet scent like that of clover Breathing of the Springtime and the lover's story. And still the sweet bird just kept on singing, Till all the air and woods were filled with melody, And ev'ry leafy tree just kept on a-swinging With the rhythm of the storm in glad harmony. The bird knew no other note than that of gladness, Warbled in gratitude its mighty Maker's praise, Sang so merrily and sang away all sadness, How wonderful, how welcome, these midwinter days. So sing on your song, sweet bird, oh, sing it to me, Sing till the world shall wake to thy message of love ; Myriad hearts shall wait on thy sweet minstrelsy And sing again and thrill with glad notes from above. 20 A LITTLE CHILD GATHERING ROSES I saw a beautiful child as the sun went down, With a sweet, sunny face and glossy hair and brown, Pluck the beautiful roses and toss them in the air, And heard her laughter, and her laughter was so rare. Her face was all aglow with the golden sunbeams, And the child was radiant with her sweet day- dreams ; She had such a charm, such abandon, and such grace, The air of sweet innocence and an angel's face. She was all alone with God and nature in tune In the balmiest evening a fine day in June ; The birds were singing softly their sweet rounde- lays, And the sun was casting his mellowest gold rays, And the beautiful old world was now all aglow, Bathed by the softest twilight and kissed by the bow Now fading in the skies with its last ling'ring hues And dying with the day. Oh, what enchanting views! Ah, the face of that child was a beautiful dream, And her laughter and manner and all, they did seem So unearthly and so heavenly and so rare That the angels seemed hov'ring 'round her ev'ry- where. 21 I thought as I gazed on this wonderful child With the sunniest face and with laughter so wild, If only her beauty and her innocence would last, Endure time's decay and the world's withering blast, If only the gold so rich in her heart as now Might remain and the sunshine on her snow-white brow. Oh, happy little girl, may there ne'er come a blight To quench thy sunbeams nor quench thy stars in the night. But the day is done, and the warblers hushed to sleep, And o'er her rosy cheeks the gentle zephyrs sweep — And on the scattered rose leaves she gently reclines, Tired — so still, now dreaming 'neath her own Southern pines. Oh, it was a picture worth a life-time to see; May God keep the painting in His own treasury. Good night, beautiful child; may angels guard thee well, And name thee in that morning, heaven's immor- telle. SHE HEARD THE ANGELS CALLING 'Twas just a little baby, A little baby girl, A dimpled darling baby, With pretty golden curl. She sat in her mother's lap, That stormy winter night, Listened to the howling wind, Looked on the glaring light. Her cheeks were like the peach blooms, Her eyes were like vi'lets blue, And her teeth like rows of pearl, Her heart tender and true. As mother looked in that face, That baby face so fair, There was not the slightest trace Of sorrow or of care. Once or twice the darling child Shivered on mother's breast, For the storm was driving wild, But soon she sank to rest. A sweet smile played o'er her mouth And o'er her dimples deep, As soft as zephyrs from the South — And now she's fast asleep. 23 So calm and so beautiful As baby lay there now, — Like an angel from heaven Had kissed her snow-white brow. The mother's face was beaming With joy almost divine. Wonder if child was dreaming, This sweet cherub o' mine? Dreaming of the better land And the shining river, Where the blessed silver strand Flows right on forever? Dreaming of fadeless flowers And children wondrous fair And golden streets and towers And angels everywhere? Dreaming of the emerald lawn, Of pretty birds and trees; Dreaming of the golden morn, So full of harmonies? Yes, dreaming of a playground, A playground in heaven, Where sorrow is never found And pain never given? 24 Just then shadows as of pain Fell o'er her baby face; And now sunshine's golden reign Had vanished every trace. Then she clinched her chubby fists, And from that low sad moan, There gathered the blinding mist In mother's eyes; her own — Her beautiful, darling child — Was tossing now with fright, And poor mother's heart was wild ■ Wild as the stormy night. Oh, look! see the crimson there, From the throat to the brow; It is the harbinger fair, Of death of life; and now A far-off look in her eye, A smile of wondrous peace, Told of angels in the sky, And baby's near release. Now with ruby lips ajar, She cries: "Hear 'em calling? And went where the angels are, While mother's tears are falling. ^5 THE MISER The Miser! Can anything be more metallic? The very name is hard and cold. Sadder still that he is growing old — The Miser writes his name in a big italic — And watch him hug his yellow gold. The Miser! why all the round world passes him by; For he is so selfish and mean, And he's so angular and lean. The Miser — watch his pinched face and gleaming eye — Himself a sad, foreboding scene. The Miser! he cares neither for man nor his God. All he cares is to sit and dream And gloat upon the gold's rich gleam, The Miser! and so he will while above the sod, — But sink at last in life's black stream. The Miser — he's a menace and a curse on earth, A stagnant and a deadly pool; A driv'ling and a cursed fool. The Miser! a freak and a failure from his birth; A constant blot on God's footstool. 26 The Miser! he is deaf to life's sweet harmonies, Of all the sounds both new and old, The sweetest is the clank of gold. The Miser! he is blind to green earth and smiling skies. All he sees is his idol, gold. The Miser! is he deaf and blind and dead to all? Where's his soul? O, who can tell? Failing on earth, ripening for hell, The Miser on the brink reeling, ready to fall, Deluded wretch, too late, farewell. 27 ELLINOR, OR THE SAVING OF '49 Like the roaring of thunder " 49 " Came dashing down the mountain side; And on she thundered 'long the great Trunk Line, So grand, with throttle open wide. The earth trembled beneath her mighty wheels, And like a mighty demon mad The train went rushing o'er the pond'rous steels, As reckless as a reckless lad. It was dark that night; yes, utterly black, While driving storms fiercely wild Swept and howled 'cross the railroad track, While at the base of mountain piled Pond'rous trees and rocks and bridges heaped in mass, Hurled by the mountain torrent there, While the night yet was rent with deafening blast. But near the bridge a wail, a prayer — The train rocked and reeled, people blanched with fear! The fury of the storm was on. Brave was he, resolute the engineer; But it seemed that on him alone Hung the fate of every precious soul. 28 He wiped his brow that winter night, Trying hard his poor nerves to control, And praying for the morning light. It seemed now that every eye in his train Was burning on him like a flame. And every ashen cheek was shooting pain Into his poor quivering frame. Every tongue a fiery accusation, And every sob and every sigh Swelled into the wildest lamentation, Till it seemed that now he must die. But the iron horse, still belching fire, Thundering over the great steel rails, Coming nigh black doom — horribly nigher — A sick'ning wreck and sobs and wails, Just a half mile onward. Doom comes at last, And women's shrieks and children's screams, Mangled bodies and red blood running fast, In flames of fire, in red hot streams. " My God ! " the engineer cried in dismay. "And shall their blood be on my hands?" The sweat drops poured — he couldn't wipe them away — Worse than walking on blist'ring sands. He clutched at his throat and cried : " This is hell! My heart's on fire and I'm blind." 29 But just then a wild shriek, a cry, a yell Pealed forth above the howling wind. " The bridge is gone! the bridge! O, stop the train ! " And wildly waved his lantern red. And shriek after shriek, again and again, With his eyes burning in his head, He stood on the track and for mercy cried For a hundred passengers or more. But that demon mogul the storm defied, And seemed hungry for human gore. The lad fell on his knees and prayed to God To save the train e'er 'twas too late Else all must soon be sleeping 'neath the sod. Is this the irony of fate? Then suddenly the half-crazed engineer, 'Waking as from a nightmare, Saw lad with lantern, saw that death was near, He too prayed in the cold night air. " O God ! I was late and was afraid lest I should crash 'gainst the west-bound train, So I ran like a demon — did my best — God let not my run be in vain, And save my train from the bridge all broken. O, shut the jaws of yawning death! " But scarce had the frantic words been spoken When he reeled and moaned — gasped for breath. 30 But he rallied quickly as lightning flash, And with strength of a giant brave, Reversed engine, turned on breaks with a dash, And said, "Almighty God, now save!" But O, horrors! the fallen lad was there! Cold with sweat of death on his brow. But he held his lantern and fell at prayer, Saved the train, was a martyr now! Between pulsing engine and black abyss The brave lad stood reeling, falling, Dying like a conqueror — Death like this To thousands will e'er be calling. The mad race was o'er and the train stood still — Just a hundred yards on this side The bridgeless chasm at the foot of the hill, — At the spot where the hero died. And they gave him a funeral so grand, Like of which they'd ne'er seen before. It was the costliest in all the land, A fit tribute to Ellinor. And they laid him down to his long sweet rest And wept grateful tears o'er his grave. Though the sod grows green o'er his peaceful breast, He conquered when his life he gave. But the fame of the lad went far abroad, And they told of his deed of love, 3i And how much mightier than the sword Was martyr blood 'neath skies above. And where'er story of valor is told, Of mighty deeds almost divine, Oh, they tell the fragrant story of old, How the brave lad saved " 49." THE BOY AND THE BAR A boy went out from home one night Innocent and pure and sweet, With mother's kiss on brow so white And prayers for him on the street. She thought of his wee cradle bed, Of his dimple hands and face; Of laughing eyes and curly head, Ruby lips and childish grace. She was kneeling now at his side, Murmuring his name in prayer. If haply on life's rosy tide He might rise to deeds so fair. Visions now of the long ago Come stealing soft before her — Of baby smiling, dreaming so, Her soul is filled with wonder. 32 Jier loving eyes are on him still As his form now fades from view. Away from home, go where he will Her love follows warm and true. Will he e'er break this wondrous spell, And break a mother's heart too, And sound, alas! her own death-knell And blacken the skies of blue? But the tide it turned that first night — First night of the licensed bar. There fell on him an awful blight Like the fading of a star. Men said it was no harm to drink — Just to take a social glass, And it was cowardly to shrink From Freeman's rights, but alas! "Coward," did you say? No, never. And stood at the bar of doom Pouring rum down like a river — Standing 'neath death's own black gloom. Just then wild curses rent the air, And from pistol flash and lead A mother's hope has met despair, For a mother's boy was dead. 33 Who killed him? " Drunken fiend," you cry! Yes, in cold blood, fiendish crime! Who murdered him? Man 'hind the bar Who gave him drink, poison, slime. But other hands are dripping red, They come from pulpit and pew. The man who voted " license " said : " Here's death and hell to you!" O, how long will men preach and pray And vote to damn a brother? And shout out loud: " O, happy day! " And break the heart of mother. Men of the nation lift this shame; Remove the barroom blight, And give the country a clean name — This is manly, this is right. 34 TWO LITTLE MICE As I sat in my class-room one dark day I saw two little mice come out to play. They appeared so timid and were so shy That I hardly dared to lift up my eye. Out of tiny opening in the hearth-stone They thrust themselves and were suddenly gone. But for the little while they were with me I gazed on them and wonderful to see How God's creatures, be they never so small, Cling to life on this terrestrial ball. In their wee small heads were the brightest eyes That looked so cunning, so funny and wise. And their little gray sides rose and they fell, And like a weaver's shuttle, who could tell How quickly they moved o'er the hearthstone there, All the while sniffing the winter's crisp air. O, the slightest movement upon my part Would just make these pretty little rodents start And send them whirling to their cozy bed, Where they oft carried their meat and their bread. And down under the stones how safe they felt From the feline spring and the small boy's " pelt." I know how destructive rodents have proved — But somehow that day my heart was so moved 35 That I had no mind to strike the first blow. These pretty little mice I loved them so. How dear to their hearts must this big world be ; But a far way off they never can see. Only a tiny portion can they roam. " Be it e'er so humble " it's home, their home. Not far do they venture out in the day, For somehow it isn't little mousy's way. But at night she roves the pantry and hall; Roves the kitchen, garret and all. And sometimes venturing out too far, Is spied by kitty, and over the bar And over the pan and over the pail Kitty springs forward ; and O, what a wail ! And under kitty's paw there mousy dies. Weak to confess, but my very soul sighs, For the world full of sunlight and starlight, Flecked with shadows, is a beautiful sight. And God's many creatures, both great and small, Cling closely to life and are loath to fall. But e'er long the Grim Reaper, with his hook, O'er mountain and valley and each small nook, Comes stalking through with ominous tread, And with merciless hand levels the head And heaps them together, the high and low, In the common dust, in a humble row. But my two little friends pop up again, And each little rodent, lifting up his chin, 36 Seems this to say, " this boon we pray you, give Us our freedom and a chance to live; We don't mean to harm any mortal man, But only do, sir, as well as we can. If in the meal tub we sometimes go, Or cupboard, pantry or cellar below, We simply mean to get a good dinner, And don't you think, sir, any poor sinner Is well entitled to his daily bread? If with all his grit and brains in his head, He can with effort and energy too, Make his way forward and cut his way through ? " This speech was clever, the argument sound. Not the tiniest flaw could there be found, For who could deny a fellow his bread, Who labored both with his hand and his head. And the dear little mice just bounded on, As happy as a king upon his throne. So these creatures so tiny and dear Brought straightway my heart such wonderful cheer. And I've thought as I never thought before, And doubtless will think and think evermore. How precious is life to the living, all Clinging so fondly till the last great call, Reluctant to yield to the final blow, Passing under weal or out under woe. So let not a hand ruthlessly strike down 37 And destroy without thought at a single bound, A poor creature that has a right to live, And take from him that which you cannot give. At last each mousy just darted away, But sunshine had come that dark, gloomy day, And I was happier, I do declare, Since my visitors so small and fair Visited me at the old hearthstone; Came close to my heart; I called them my own. So if ever you come this way again, I bid you welcome. Yes, come in ! Come in ! 38 THE LORD MY GUIDE Lord, I know not which way to go. I have come to parting of the ways. O, make me Thy will, dear Lord, to know, Howe'er dark and dismal be the days. One wrong step, dear Lord, would hurt me so, I pray Thee not let me blunder now, But hold me and guide me here below; Make me at Thy feet to humbly bow. Lord, I'm helpless and the way is dark, And Thy face, dear Saviour, I would seek. If thou wouldst touch me, then like the lark, I would mount up on wings — Oh Lord, speak. Just to know Thy will and follow Thee. Then light my path, dear Lord ; make it plain, And whate'er my lot, dear Lord, may be, I'll praise Thee, whether in ease or pain. Master, if Thou dost not point the way; Master, if Thou dost not help Thy child, Then what confusion and what dismay Awaits his heart so lonely and wild. Give me patience. O, teach me to wait. But pity me, Lord, and hear my cry; And precious Saviour, ope wide the gate For me to enter land of the sky. 39 PAPA'S LITTLE RUTH Who has ruby lips and golden hair, And who has manners so debonair, And who has graces so rich and rare, And who has a face so sweet and fair? 'Tis papa's little Ruth. Ah, who can say things bright and witty, And who's so charming and so pretty, And who can hum just such a ditty? She's the finest girl in the City. 'Tis papa's little Ruth. Who brings us sunshine and makes us glad, Who revels in song, but sometimes mad, And who is so good 'cept when she's bad And who'll break his heart some day some lad? 'Tis papa's little Ruth. Who floods the home with sunshine like this, Who's lips so puckered, just made to kiss, What angel has brought such happiness As this pouting, laughing, winsome miss? 'Tis papa's little Ruth. Who beguiles dull hours, drives care away, Who romps through our hearts each blessed day, 40 Who lights our home with a golden ray, But never knows what she'll do or say? 'Tis papa's little Ruth. God only knows how we love the child, Her pouting lips and laughter so wild, Her romping and her manner so mild. Was e'er there so strange and sweet child? 'Tis papa's little Ruth. LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT This old life is what we make it And the world is as we take it. Good or bad, Glad or sad, Pray, then, let us not mistake it. The sunshine's falling on the hill, And sweetest flowers blooming still In the dell, How they tell Of fondest lovers' hearts they thrill. See the thorn, but the rose is there. Night is dark, but morn is fair. O, be bright, See the light, And gather songs now in the air. 41 O, hearts, do things sometimes go wrong? Is it a dirge and not a song? Don't despair! For somewhere Things will go right and 'twon't be long. The stars may fade out of the sky, And phantoms may walk so close by. Never fear, Have good cheer, And thou'lt part with many a sigh. The world sweet smiles will still be bring- ing, Let the joy-bells keep on ringing. Be aglow, Tell life so, And with the birds keep on singing. 42 GOOD TIMES IN GEORGY 'Tis good times in Georgy When de schools done turned out And in de vacashun De chillun laugh an' shout. 'Tis good times in Georgy, And de crops done laid by, And de watermilion shines In dat nigger's eye. 'Tis good times in Georgy. De punkin's on de vine, De boy am whistlin' big And de fish am bitin' fine. 'Tis good times in Georgy. De campmeetin' done cum 'round, And de shoutin' sinners Des all jump up an' down. 'Tis good times in Georgy, Where 'ligion's b'ilin' high, An' folks is mighty peaceful, Lookin' up at de sky. 'Tis good times in Georgy, Wid de sinner, saint and all. Will sinners sing and pray In de next comin' fall? 43 'Tis good times in Georgy, And de crops sho' am fine. And dis nigger's mouf waters Fer de milion on de vine. 'Tis good times in Georgy, I hear de mighty shout. 'Tis rest time in Georgy An' de nigger walk about. THE DEAR OLD GIRL FROM THE PIEDMONT It is so hard to please her, Whether you warm or freeze her; Whether you love or tease her, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. If you will, be sure she won't; If you do, be sure she don't; If you bobble, be sure she'll vaunt, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. Take every possible pain, In sunshine or in rain, To please her, she'll storm again, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. So do whatever you will, You can't please her; for still She's glad, or she's mad at will, This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 44 Times she's timid, times she's bold, Times she's hot and times she's cold, Times she's young, and times she's old,- This dear old girl from the Piedmont. She's so demure and so sweet, And now she smiles on the street. But look sharp for your defeat, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. She can sing a lovely song, But can scold you loud and long. Oh, this awful, mad, ding-dong, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. When lit with smiles, her fine eyes, Color of the soft June skies, Bound to give at last surprise, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. It matters not what comes or goes, In life's blessings or life's woes, She is ever strange. Who knows This dear old girl from Piedmont? Though so hard to understand, Though strangest girl in the land, Tell you, she can beat the band, — This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 43 DE COMIC Yer see dat comic Hf her head So fiery in de sky? An' bruch off de yearth wid her tail An' look savage out her eye? Now yer better git out her way, Fer sh' am comin' down de pike, A mile er minit ain't no whar, Nigger, better git on hike! She bring de snow in de Springtime, An' she bring de hail roun' too. She make yer shiver dound de line. Look, nigger, she's atter you! Dey call her " de tramp in the sky," An' she rise up way fo' day — Tail spread out an' blood in her eye, Des keep on lookin' dis way. Some say dis yearth's g'wine thru her tail, An' de sparks fly ev'ry whar. An' we all gwine ter burn an' burn Case — des lak er fallin' star — I seed her flash her tail one day — 'Way long fo' de sun done riz — Look des lak she comin' dis way, An' I heerd sum'in buzz and siz. 46 Law, man, I sho' got off dat street, Dis nigger wuz runnin' some, 'Case I knowed de jedgment's comin', An' I'se skeered dar wa'n't much room. Say, yer better git religion An' git on yer knees and pray, Fer dat comic'll show fin' you out, Des drap down on yer some day. Better pay up all dem rents, too — Let 'lone dem chickens on roost, Fer if she fin' a fedder Be worse den de calaboose. Run under bed er ter de swamp — Make no diffunce whar yer go, If yer ain't got 'ligion good and fas' De comic will git yer sho'. 47 I AM NOT AS YOUNG AS I USED TO BE I am not as young as I used to be, But young enough to love and live, Young enough to pray and give, Young enough to strive and wait For a better, sweeter state, Though it should come soon or late. And this brings gladness to me, Though I'm not as young as I used to be. I'm not as young as I used to be, But young enough to remember, Young enough in December, Or in the sweet month of May, On a dark or sunny day, In life's smooth or rugged way Words of kindness said to me, And beautiful* deeds of sympathy. I'm not as young as I used to be, But young enough to love my friends, Young enough to make amends, By the loving grace of God, As I walk the lowly sod, And o'er the hills slowly plod, And sing in life's minstrelsy, E'er praising God for His charity. 48 I'm not as young as I used to be, But young enough with children fair, With sunny locks or raven hair, To gambol o'er the green lawn At soft eve or blushing morn, Or stirred by the hunter's horn To chase the deer, wild and free, Listening to the music of hounds you see. I'm not as young as I used to be, But young enough to sing and pray; Young enough on this glad day To see the light in the clouds, The smile of life 'yond the shroud, Hear his voice, though soft or loud. Oh, blessed voice, 'tis for me Calling from far off land 'yond the sea. I'm not as young as I used to be, But young enough to aspire To the noblest, to admire The richest luster in the eye, Fairest painting in the sky, Mother's sweetest lullaby; Glow of cheeks and dimples see. Life's harp is swept by love's minstrelsy. I'm not as young as I used to be, But, Oh, life's purest, whitest snow; Oh, life's wondrous sunset glow, Such charm as in days of old, 49 Richer than great heaps of gold, Like a fragrant tale that's told, So dear to my heart and me. Some day I'll be young like I used to be. 50 WITH THE PILOT Till the Master comes I'll wait, Whether it be soon or late, For I know he'll bring blessings to me, And he'll fill my heart with ecstasy, And thrill me for all eternity, And after earth's poor estate I will go with Him through the Gate. O, sometimes it seems so long, Sometimes hard to sing the song, But time will pass and pass forever, And song burst forth like rushing river, And then our happy hearts shall quiver, O, my soul, it won't be long, When we'll stand in heaven's throng. Now we're standing at the Bar Nearing home and 'tis not far, For yonder across the swelling tide, On the shining shore th' other side, My Pilot shall lead and I'll abide By my Savior and my star, When I have passed o'er the Bar. 51 LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MARGARET ANDERSON WHO WAS KILLED BY AN AUTOMOBILE ON THE STREETS OF ATLANTA. Good-bye, Margaret, dear, Sweet child of fondest love; We are so lonely here, Since thou wentst above. Thy passage was so swift, And the shock like keen darts; We need some hand to lift This burden off our hearts. We had thought to keep thee, Keep thee e'er, precious one. We loved thee, worshipped thee, But, alas, child, thou'rt gone! It was so cruel, child, To have thee snatched away. Our grief is deep and wild, And we sigh for thee to-day. In the early morning, With sunshine on thy face, Angels in the dawning, With smiling not a trace 52 Came, kissed our Margaret, And drove 'way all our fears; Bore her to heaven's gate, But left us bathed in tears. Home's not what it was, dear, With your voice clear and sweet: And silence is more drear, With silence of thy feet. Thy errands all done now, Books, too, are laid aside, And splendor wreathes thy brow, Since our Margaret died. Blood drops still are falling. For baby still we cry, Our hearts still are calling, For Marg'ret still we sigh. We'll try to be brave, dear, And look through mists away, And after night so drear We'll meet on God's sweet day. 53 SAVE TALLULAH Listen to the roaring waters! Save them for the sons and daughters, Thunder the eternal orders, Touch not Tallulah ! God hued her out of solid rock, Good enough for the proudest stock. How dare the cruel vandal mock This grand Tallulah? Afar down on her rugged breast, The maddened stream from crest to crest, Leaps and plunges, and ne'er at rest, Storm-swept Tallulah. Birds sing in the leafy bovvers, Richly bloom the rare wild flowers, And lovers keep these moonlit hours, Along Tallulah. O, mighty river, sing thy song, Wake the nations for centuries long, Curs'd the hand that would do thee wrong, Surging Tallulah. She is made to bless a world like this, Our poor lines into gladness kiss, And for millions we would not miss Our own Tallulah. It's a craven hand that would mar This glory-crowned spot known afar. 54 It's of God, as the angels are, Blessed Tallulah. The human heart is hard like stone, That would tear down this granite throne. Nation's play ground, nation's own, Lovely Tallulah. Let the people a nation wide, Rally around this wild woodside; And love her as a blushing bride, Smiling Tallulah. O, America, North and South, Take her honeyed name in their mouth, And swear for her never a drouth, Dear old Tallulah. Well may they come from lands afar, And glory in this brilliant star, More beauteous than golden bar, Stream of Tallulah. The Red Man in life's crimson glow, Worshipped her, reveled in her flow. Nor will the Pale Face let her go, Laughing Tallulah. For countless ages yet unborn, Down to the last and fadeless morn, Let this be our boast. Yea, our own Priceless Tallulah. God Almighty, with His own hand, 55 Put this crown on our dear Southland; Smiled on it, blessed it, let it stand, Peace crowned Tallulah. Ah, who for the love of gold, Would destroy this rich crown of old, Is blind to glories they unfold, Crags of Tallulah. Shall the soul of avarice dwell On this proud spot we love so well? Feast and fatten, God sounds its knell, At proud Tallulah. Patriots brave and true and all, Awake, now, to the trumpet call. Guard your birthright, the vandal's pall Is o'er Tallulah. Unsheathe your sword, ye freemen brave, Strike for your rights, strike hard and save, Proud inheritance which God gave, In great Tallulah. And may waters through silver throat Pour right onward in Thund'rous note; May her banner in triumph float E'er at Tallulah. And may the nation's sun go down At last upon her proud renown, And leave behind this matchless crown, Sun-kissed Tallulah. 56 THE GREAT WHITE PLAGUE You see the hectic flush on that sad, sweet face, You see those brilliant eyes with unearthly glare, You note the hacking cough, every painful trace, The wasting of a life so good and so fair. Oh, see the hollow chest, hear the breathing fast, See the sweat-drops standing on temple and brow. The tide is ebbing on, the flood'll soon be past. Hush! the bell is tolling; all is quiet now. And so a life slipped by, slowly faded 'way; Just slipped 'fore streaming eyes and heart beats so wild; Quietly sunk to rest at closing of day, Released at last, she sleeps like a little child. And so the Great White Plague, with a tyrant's hand, Is throttling its thousands with merciless grip, And stalks like a demon through a helpless land, His deadly cup at many a pallid lip. This Great White Plague, it is the dread of the world, With muffled tread it enters palace and hut Like conquering army with banner unfurled — Ah. to this ruthless monster what door is shut? 57 At his blighting touch, fairest roses have died, And the sweetest smiles have faded away, And myriads of hearts have sobbed and sighed, When starless night has taken place of the day. More fearful than scourge of fever and war; Deadliest menace to the children of men; Reeking blight and death on the nations afar. Where's the balm? Will healing ever come, and when? Ah, many a lovely life has paid the toll To this greedy and remorseless imp of death, And passed into eternity the poor soul, By the touch and the curse of its poisonous breath. Some sweet day, in the march of the nations grand, Let us hope these dire ravages, bye and bye — Ah, may the wisdom of men yet take its stand Against the White Plague. Oh, may the White Plague die! 5« NEWTON I love the town of Newton well, Nestling down in a shady dell, Embellished by the lordly trees, And kissed by every passing breeze. Bathed and blessed by the rushing Flint, As to the sea, it's ever bent, And with its song this rolling river Sings right on, and sings forever. Free as the wind, so blythe and gay. Here children romp the livelong day, Here children laugh and romp the street, And through halls with pattering feet, And through city and human hearts They shoot their loving golden darts. Here flowers bloom and in the air You inhale their fragrance, rich and rare; And here with their sweet roundelays, Through all the long soft summer days, The feathered songsters throng the town, And scatter sunshine all around. And fair lovers here coo and woo, And lovers' hands and hearts pursue, As they stroll by the river side, In the shady dell, cool and wide, Looking into liquid eyes, 59 Wondrous as the soft June skies; Or into depths of brown so deep, Too sad to laugh, too glad to weep. Smiling welcome awaits thee here, Friend or stranger, far or near, Every home is a sure retreat For throbbing head or weary feet. My days in Newton, by the stream Of the murmuring Flint, all now seem A sweet and a delightful dream, As those mellow scenes o'er me beam. One sweet, one brief, one gentle song, But sung too quickly, passed along, And lives to-day in memory dear, Though far away, yet ever near. And every fondly passing breeze, From fragrant vines and waving trees, Brings back to me the lovely past, That thrills and throbs — too sweet to last. As birdies nestle in their nests, And wait and chirp and go to rest, So the memories of those days, As peaceful as the warblers' lays, Come back and nestle in my breast. Each one a blessed welcome guest. 60 And at last, when the sun goes down, May the softest and the fairest crown, Decked with those blessed smiling stars, Be mine, 'y° n d the heavenly bars. EASTER MORNING It is Easter morning And the world wakes to a strange, sweet gladness, And with this bright dawning Adieu, adieu, every winged sadness. Many doubts and deep gloom Had gathered around each Disciple's head, When they laid Him in the tomb, In His cold and quiet and granite bed. Their light had faded now; With Him their fondest hopes were buried there. With darkness on the brow They'd sunk almost now to sullen despair. Christ was their joy and peace; Christ was their inspiration day and night. He'd brought them sweet release From sin and bondage and eternal blight. Heaven was in His eye, And rapturous music was in His voice; And a glad, sweet surprise 61 Constantly met them and made them rejoice. He was their magnet, too, To hold them and to lift them higher still, He shot them through and through With sunshine, and stirred their hearts with a thrill. So when they saw Him dead, And when they looked upon His cold white face, Their hearts, heavy like lead. So ended life's sweet but feverish race; Nothing to live for since The blessed Savior hung upon the tree; Their chief, only defense, Had failed them; they saw Him die in agony. After the midnight pall And after they had laid Him in the grave, After wormwood and gall, When He was conquered and had failed to save ; After the falling tear After the sobbing, and sore heart-breaking, After their doubts and fears, After the sleeping there came the waking. "He is not here!" they cried. A shout, a glad Hosannah pierced the skies. The conq'ring crucified 62 Has conquered death, met all the prophecies. He broke the Roman Seal, The pond'rous granite slab He overturned On heaven's shining wheel, And mockings of Devils he proudly spurned. Ah, no more dread of death! And before the awful conqueror's tread Let Satan hold his breath; And let hell and the grave yield to the dead, Who in Him fell asleep. For He has conquered and will bind His foes, And down so dark and deep He'll plunge them, afflict them with endless woes. This Easter morning fair, With the reigning King come into His own, Light breaking everywhere, And gladness singing upon her throne, O, let the flowers bloom, And let every song-bird be in tune, For empty is the tomb! And sweeter than the gladdest day in June. O, earth, cease sighing; Lift up thy head and let thy eyes be dry. No time now for crying, For the day of thy crowning draweth nigh. 63 Shout with a risen King, And wreathe garlands of love for His fair head, And let the heavens ring O'er his empty tomb, for there is no dead ! Ah, no discordant note, But hallelujahs and rhapsodies of song Burst forth from every throat, To girt the earth and wake a heavenly throng. Oh, 'tis the gladdest day, The gladdest day the world has ever known ! Oh, shadows, flee away This day of triumph, the resurrection morn! 64 THE BROKEN-HEARTED The world is full of the broken-hearted, Full of their sobs and wails, Full of horrible tales, Full of the sighings of loved ones departed, Ships adrift, broken sails. Oh, many a soul is girt with a sigh Too deep for human aid; For hand was never made That could wipe a tear from the streaming eye. But hark! the Master said: The broken-hearted, for these there's healing, Though a poor broken string, Though a sad, bleeding thing, At His touch there comes so softly stealing, Joy, laughter as in Spring. There is many an empty cradle bed, Many an empty shoe; Arms that are empty, too, And there's many an aching, throbbing head, Many a sad adieu. Oh, we cry for those who have gone away ; We're lonely here below; Our hearts are bleeding so. But He'll come and turn darkness into day, And stop the red blood flow. 65 So it matters not how dark the hour, Nor painfully sore, Jesus suffered before, And with balm and gracious healing power, The heart will bleed no more. Now, blessed Master, with Thy touch divine, To suff'rings put an end, And broken hearts do mend With that all compassionate touch of Thine, The sweetest healing send. 66 OL' MAMMY'S LULLABY " Go ter sleep, HI' baby, An' don't yer cry no more, Cum, now, dry up dem tears, An' mind yer Mammy Joe. " Who hurt yer feelin's, chile, Who scolded yer dat way, Who broke yer tender heart, And made yer cry all day? " Mammy'll rock yer, honey, An' hug yer up so tight, An' sing yer a lil' song, An' yer'll sleep good ternight. " Nobody'll tech my chile, While Mammy's so close by; It gives pain ter my heart Ter hear my po' chile cry. " Des dare any nigger Ter hurt my baby-chile, Fer I gwine er set right here, An' min' yer all de while. " Now dat's right, lay yer head On Mammy's ol' black breas'; Be er good lil' baby, An' den go ter yer res'. 67 " Hear der win' er moanin', An' de owls er hootin' roun'? But baby's. safe ternight, An' soon be sleepin' soun'. " De sperrits done cum out, An' walkin' eb'ry where, Some time dey's on de groun', An' some time in de air. " I hear de varmints too, Er' prowlin' in de branch, An' de cattle dey low So mournful in de ranch. " Don't yer be scared, honey, Don't keer whut gwine rise, Not'in ain't gwine hurt yer — Now den, shet dem 111* eyes." Old Mammy kept rocking, And eyelids kept drooping, Crooning the baby song, Till all was still e'er long. " Dat's nice, yer sweet lil' chile, Yer done gone fas' er-sleep, An' ol' tired Mammy'll give Yer ter de angels ter keep." THE OLD MILL AT THE FAMOUS INDIAN SPRINGS IN GEORGIA The dear old Mill! I love it still, — The dear old Mill I knew years ago, My heart they fill, My heart they thrill, The melodies of the waters flow. The silver sheets, As each completes Its task on the solid granite bed, Shine with splendor, Tall and slender, As they fall from mill-race overhead. The wheel goes round, As waters bound, As the grist in the hopper they pour, And how profound, As round by round, Life's wonderful wheel turns o'er and o'er. The dear soul here, With smile or tear, Is lashed into the softest slumber; And there's no fear — The old Mill near — As one dreams of joys without number. 69 Many a day Has slipped away, Since the good old Mill began to grind; And lovers gay, With tender lay, Have ofttimes sung to a prosperous wind. Old Mill turn on, And grind the corn, And gladden life with thy ceaseless rounds. Shadows have flown, And smiles are born, As waters dash forth with leaps and bounds. The lover's song, Aye, sung so long, Slipped into the sweet forgetful past; It was no wrong, 'Twas the Mill's own song, But these loving notes were too sweet to last. The water's roar, The water's pour, That drives with music this pond'rous wheel, Drives evermore, On other shore Than this, the Mills that grind life's fine meal. 70 Oh, golden beam, Oh, golden gleam, Oh, fair waters that on life's wheel fall! Musical stream, Sweet as a dream, Turn the old Mill wheel, make a song for A WILD RIDE FOR THE TRAIN I stood on the streets one night, Waiting anxiously for a car; But, alas! no car in sight, As I looked away and afar. I grew nervous, anxious now, For the hour was growing late; Troubled was my heart and brow. Was I confronted by stern fate? Ten minutes, time is flying, And a mile away from depot ; Slowly my hopes are dying, And the waiting's painful, you know. While one tiny spark did burn, And on the border of despair, I did slowly, sadly turn, And lo! a prancing charger there. 71 How noble, how grand was she, As she lifted her head in air; Oh, she looked so good to me, This prancing charger, I declare. Slowly, now, she passes by, With very fine, majestic tread; And my deliv'rance 'tis nigh, I'll venture now — the word is said. And my unknown friend speaks out, As so proudly he holds his steed: Mount! be quick, he did shout; And we're off like the wind for speed. Half a mile and five minutes more, But our matchless steed presses on ; " Move on, and we'll make it sure," And like the night wind we're gone. The bright lights come in full view, As they flash from lofty tower, And horse's hoofs thunder loud In this wild and anxious hour. Can we make it? Almost o'er Two minutes and we'll make the train. But time lost, then nevermore, And this wild ride is made in vain. 72 The last minute going fast. Press on noble steed, don't break it. If thy speed will only last! Bravo! my beauty, we make it! AFTER WINTER — SPRING After the Winter is over, After the ice is gone, After birds have come from cover, After the wind's sad moan, After the snow, beautiful snow, After the slush and rain, After violets 'gin to grow, The Spring has come again. After a long and weary night, All thunder-girt and drear, After the blast, after the blight, After the doubt and fear, After waiting, after dreaming, After many a sigh, After sobs and eyes a-streaming, We see Spring in the sky. After the sagging of the trees, After the frozen rose, After the sharp and chilling breeze, After the winter's woes, After the crash of ice and sleet, 73 After the driving storm, After the pauper's aching feet, Spring brings a blessed balm. After hearthstones, cheerless and dark, After embers dying, After little ones, cold and stark, After pain and crying, After the ragged covering, After the cry for bread, After the long-time shivering, The Spring is here instead. After heart-throbs and the longing, After the plaintive song, After the world rush and thronging, After gloom, after wrong, After waking, after sleeping, After the shadows fall, After praying, after weeping, Sunlit Spring comes to all. After the mother's wail so wild, After the light is past, After prayer for the wayward child, After the stormy blast, After suffering, after grief, After the anguish's o'er, After the sear and yellow leaf, Then Spring will bless the poor. 74 After the ghosts and spectres dread, After the goblins' stalk, After a thousand hopes have fled, After grim phantoms walk, After the long and bitter wail, After tear, after fear, After all it will never fail, Then Spring will bring good cheer. So let thy sorrows flee away, And let thy dread be gone, And let thy night burst into day, And mount a peaceful throne. Flowers will bloom for thee once more, And birds for thee will sing, And light will break on ev'ry shore, When God shall wake the Spring. 75 LINES WRITTEN ON REV. C. L. THOMPSON AND READ AT HIS FAREWELL SERVICE AS HE LEFT JACKSON HILL BAPTIST CHURCH, HIS ATLANTA CHARGE, FOR HIS NEW HOME IN NORTH CAROLINA. It was so hard to say the good-bye, As it's always to the friend you love. Ah, there seems a sadness in the sky, And many fine thoughts my heart now move. He came so richly into my life, And formed a fellowship very dear, That his going cuts now like a knife, And my heart is wrung — down rolls a tear. 'Tis so sweet to have a friend like this; So noble, so gentle and so true. In the years to come we still shall miss Dear soul whom to-day we bid adieu. As faithful to his Lord and Master, As faithful as needle to the pole; Serene in safety or disaster, Is his beautiful, his big white soul. He's gentle as a woman always, Brave and noble — just a manly man, 76 And transparent as the honest day, With subterfuge and sham under ban. Sometime he is scathingly severe ; Paints luridly the horrors of hell. Then, moved by pity and love so dear, His thoughts so melting they make hearts swell. He is so ruggedly honest, too, — He strikes from the shoulder hard and fast, That somewhere beyond the shining blue, We know that his blessed work will last. Winsome, courteous is he, ever Courtly, like chivalrous knight of old; Onward, like some life-giving river, Flowing right on to the far-off goal. In the pulpit he is a power, In sick room a benediction there; And like the fragrance of a flower Is his life with the breath of prayer. So I lay this chaplet on thy brow, We'll not wait till asleep 'neath the sod; I give thee, brother, my flowers now, As they may help thee climb up to God. 77 THE FOLLOWING VERSES WERE WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR FOR MEMBERS OF THE SENIOR CLASS, WHOM HE TAUGHT IN COX COLLEGE, SESSION ENDING I