1 
 
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 HUGH A. McGARA 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 HUCxH A. McCARA 
 
 FIRST EDITION 
 
 T H f, POWELL PRESS 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 
 I 903 
 

 Copyriglited, iqo,? 
 by H. A. McCARA 
 
 ^ ra 
 
 r 
 
To the memory of my dear departed mother, as well as 
 my father, who is still living, I most respectfull}- dedicate 
 this volume, as a slight expression of my gratefulness for 
 their kind trainine; and counsel. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Beautiful Night 26 
 
 A Beautiful View 36 
 
 A Dog's Tail 43 
 
 A Doughnut 49 
 
 A Drunkard's Fate 95 
 
 A Fool and His Money Soon Parts 21 
 
 A Free and Mighty Land ... 7 
 
 A Hundred Years to Come . . . 107 
 
 A Leaf 19 
 
 An Evening Spent in Cambridge 
 
 Park 15 
 
 An Old Maid 48 
 
 An Old T D 50 
 
 A Parting Farewell 1 16 
 
 A Rousing Time 74 
 
 A Social Glass 98 
 
 A Strike in the Barnyard ... 65 
 
 Beautiful Flowers 8 
 
 Blow On, Thou Giant Gale ... 37 
 
 Burly Joe 57 
 
 Cheese It, Won't You Cheese It, 
 
 There's a Cop 54 
 
 Dear Land of Varied Culture . . 113 
 
 Death 151 
 
 Death's Sad Refrain 100 
 
 Expression 80 
 
 Fair Talent 5 
 
 Farewell 154 
 
 First Sight Sometimes Best . . 70 
 
 Fleeting Time loi 
 
 Friendship's Glass 94 
 
 Gall 51 
 
 Gently Speak, O Coming Future , 9 
 
 Godspeed 2 
 
 Greeting and Farewell .... 125 
 
 Hell 44 
 
 Her Temper 75 
 
 His Good Wife Had It in Her 
 
 Name 61 
 
 Human Lumber 51 
 
 I Cannot Help but Love Her . . 80 
 
 I Dreamed She was with Me Again 104 
 I Felt Certain You Would Guard 
 
 Me 119 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In Memoriam 142 
 
 " " 144 
 
 " " 146 
 
 148 
 
 .149 
 
 I See, I Understand 24 
 
 Is Not This True 2S 
 
 It Certainly Did 91 
 
 It is Up toMe Now 69 
 
 It's What They are To-day ... 64 
 
 Jack the Slugger 33 
 
 June 14, 1902 89 
 
 Just a Kiss before You Go ... 73 
 
 Let Every One Be Happy, O . . 31 
 
 Life's Dream 112 
 
 Lines on a Fly 39 
 
 Live and Let Live 10 
 
 l>"ve 53 
 
 Meditations of the Past .... 11 
 
 Mr. Rabbit 17 
 
 My Childhood Home 3 
 
 My Decision in Quest of a Kiss . 49 
 
 My Dream by the Assinoboine . 137 
 
 My First Pair of Knee Boots . . 41 
 
 My Mother's Grave 102 
 
 Norway's Beach 12 
 
 O Chicken, Chicken, Chicken . . 67 
 
 Of Such I've Had Enough ... 55 
 
 (), How Foolish It Must Be . . 66 
 
 O Icy-hearted Ice-man .... 6i 
 O Josephine Sarah, Come Back if 
 
 You Please , 60 
 
 One of Many Things You Have to 
 
 Notice 35 
 
 O Pickled Pigs' Feet ..... 47 
 
 Our Noble, Honored Queen . . 11 
 
 Our Odd-fashioned Play .... 40 
 
 O Woodbine, How I Miss Thee . 14 
 
 Root, Hog, or Die 79 
 
 Said I to Myself, Said I . . . . 71 
 She Died a Drunkard's Broken- 
 hearted Wife 96 
 
 She Must Be a Jolly One ... 81 
 
 Simple Bliss 134 
 
So Take M\ Advice When Vou Go 
 
 to Cut'lce 82 
 
 Such a Dip Has Double Gain . . 29 
 
 Such is Life 84 
 
 Sweet Bird of Song 16 
 
 Sweet Summer is Here .... 6 
 
 That Fatal Monkey-wrench ... 38 
 
 The Cherished Stream . . . . 117 
 
 The Deacon's Party 128 
 
 The Deep-running Stream ... 30 
 
 The Doctors' Fame . . . . 25 
 
 The Egg He Didn't Get ... . 63 
 
 The Floating Island 34 
 
 The FoHowing Lines, etc. ... 92 
 The Greeting and Farewell of the 
 
 Author to His Native Land . 115 
 
 The Home of the Trout .... 13 
 
 The (ourney of Life 141 
 
 The Mouse 18 
 
 The Old Man's Dream .... 136 
 
 The Past 109 
 
 The Philosophy of Time . . . . 11 1 
 
 The Poet Savs Good-by . . . . I14 
 
 The Red, White and Blue ... 76 
 
 There was Born to Me a Sweetheart 20 
 The Rich anc Poor Alike Shall Die, 
 and in the Ground Forgotten 
 
 Lie 103 
 
 The Setting Sun 153 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Squirrel 46 
 
 Time 139 
 
 Time Lost in Eternity .... 108 
 
 To a Friend 86 
 
 To the Horseshoe in Mv Room . 42 
 True Happiness Alone Shall Dwell 
 
 Where Virtue's Feet Have 
 
 Trod 120 
 
 Vain Self 52 
 
 Verses Written Extemporaneous!} , 
 
 etc '. 93 
 
 Verses Written Extemporaneously 
 
 to a Young Lady, etc. ... 77 
 
 Verses Written to a Lady Friend . 78 
 Verses W ritlen to t'ambridge Friends 88 
 
 Verses Written to Miss and 
 
 Her Friends 83 
 
 Verses Written to Miss of 
 
 Cambridge 87 
 
 What Shall T Write 105 
 
 What Shall the Answer Be . . . 99 
 When the Dear Land of Evangeline 
 
 1 See 118 
 
 When the Fair Sex Get Their Equal 
 
 Rights 74 
 
 " Wild Tingley " 131 
 
 You Must Get a Mark on Your Arm 23 
 
 You're Lucky if You Do. . . . 70 
 
Softly, as if borne upon the wings of the morning, 
 When winds are hushed and quiet rules supreme. 
 Came to my soul, as if by magic kindled, 
 A spark poetical which grew into a flame. 
 
GODSPEED. 
 
 My little book, my childhood's dream, 
 
 Godspeed thee on thy way; 
 Unto the world I trust thee now 
 
 To greet thee many a day. 
 
 Yes, little book, I bid thee fair, 
 
 Your author's newborn gift; 
 Be comfort to the weary heart. 
 
 And help its burdens lift. 
 
 Fear not, though critics sore attack. 
 
 Just meet them with a smile; 
 Perhaps you for centuries may live. 
 
 And they a fleeting while. 
 
 In thee may there be solace found; 
 
 My hand of friendship give ; 
 1 : peak through thee, thou bachelor's babe. 
 
 That you in rhyme may live. 
 
 May mirth attend while some one reads 
 
 Around the old fireside; 
 And when on solemn thoughts you dwell 
 
 May there be none to chide. 
 
 May brightness dwell in every home, 
 
 May wealth and truth abound, 
 May kindness, love and peace abide 
 
 Where'er you may be found. 
 
MY CHILDHOOD HOME. 
 
 Far away, far away, yes, thousands of miles, 
 Where my childhood passed swiftly away, 
 
 To this day I recall its surroundings so dear. 
 And a voice in my silence will say : 
 
 Father Time, O rebound with a lightning-like speed 
 
 To the days of ni)- mirthful career, 
 Give me back just a day to the memory of all 
 
 That with luster and virtue can cheer ! 
 
 Very often I played by the low winding stream 
 Which the beech and the willow o'er spread. 
 
 And the tall, stately fir where my name had been carved, 
 By the path where my feet used to tread. 
 
 And how dear to my heart were the charms I could find 
 'Neath the shade of that far-reaching balm 
 
 That had stood at the west of the garden so still 
 When the wind had been hushed to a calm. 
 
 And again, when the trees in their blossom appeared 
 Sending forth the sweet scent of their bloom, 
 
 How the myriads of bumble-bees eagerly worked 
 With a diligent pause in their hum. 
 
 Every joy was complete in the meadow and vale 
 
 Where the floral so thickly was cast; 
 And the odor so sweet of the clover and hay 
 
 Is a charm that is linked to the past. 
 
What a sacred delight was the mellow fruit hung 
 On the branches that stooped very low; 
 
 How the red rosy cheek of the apple did tempt, 
 And the cherries that sparkled with dew. 
 
 As the days hurried on we had winter in turn, 
 
 With a store of enjoyment for me; 
 Ah ! that spacious old parlor I loved to frequent 
 
 When from labor we all had been free. 
 
 How I looked with delight at the high soaring flames 
 And the sparks in the chimney so wide; 
 
 What a comfort to sit on my kind father's knee, 
 Or while reading to stand by his side. 
 
 Oh! the memories I cherish, that cling to my heart. 
 Of that mother who long since has gone, 
 
 And how tenderly she in her womanly love 
 Cheered the days of my dear boyhood home. 
 
 But the hand of Grey Time has wrought a vast change, 
 
 I am out on the great sea of time, 
 Single-handed I fight all the battles of life 
 
 In a strange and a far foreign clime. 
 
 Still affection entwines the sweet fancy of thought 
 
 As I look down the vista and say : 
 Father Time, O return on the wings of your speed, 
 
 And abide with the poet a day ! 
 
PAIR TALENT. 
 
 Sweet nymph, my charm in every sohtary hour, 
 Abide with me, to cheer by that inspiring power 
 Which lifts the soul beyond the transient ways 
 To which a seeming countless host give up their days. 
 
 Dear guide, which oft intoxicates the pensive mind 
 With wine of thought to study out mankind. 
 Alluring joy, which swells my heart with sacred fire. 
 Teach every thought to bless true nature's lyre. 
 
 Fond muse, still guide my pen earth's beauties to portray. 
 And bless the good of earth till time's immortal day. 
 
SWEET SUMMER IS HERE. 
 
 Oh! sweet summer, it is here, 
 
 Tra, la, la! tra, la, la! 
 It has brought with it good cheer, 
 
 Tra, la, la! 
 How the little birds are singing 
 'Neath the ivy that is clinging, 
 Many thoughts to p^ie they're bringing 
 
 From afar, from afar. 
 
 How we love the balmy breeze! 
 
 Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! 
 As it rustles 'mongst the trees. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha! 
 There is joy in every sound 
 In the country all around. 
 And to share it we are bound ; 
 
 Yes, we are ; yes, we are. 
 
 Though our cheeks are flushed and glowing, 
 
 We will go, we will go ; 
 To the crystal stream that's flowing 
 
 We will go. 
 Oh ! we'll sing sweet summer's here. 
 And the sun we do not fear. 
 For we're all in jolly cheer, 
 
 That we know, that we know. 
 
Through the meadows we will go. 
 Oh, what fun ! oh, what fun ! 
 
 And out on the lake we'll row, 
 Oh, what fun ! 
 
 We will make the woodland ring 
 
 With our chorus as we sing : 
 
 Summer sweet, your pleasures bring ; 
 Till its done, till its done. 
 
 A FREE AND MIGHTY LAND. 
 
 From the stately heights of Arlington 
 
 I look on every side. 
 Upon the low descending land 
 
 Now clothed in summer's pride. 
 
 The busy hub, with domes and spires, 
 
 Looks quiet, as if in sleep ; 
 It's guarded fort seems now to say: 
 
 " I will your vigil keep." 
 
 Each suburb decked with foliage, 
 Like spokes, spread almost round ; 
 
 A park or common here and there 
 Ry Nature's hand is crowned. 
 
 Out farther still, more cherished far. 
 
 From city life I see 
 The hand of industry repaid : 
 
 The country broad and free. 
 
 7 
 
The briny deep, with flag and sail, 
 
 A busy commerce shows ; 
 The iron horse in flight with time, 
 
 A growing traffic shows. 
 
 Thus Boston I have seen from here, 
 
 Her fortresses and strength; 
 And back to when the Pilgrims came (1620) 
 
 My mind is turned at length. 
 
 And so I said: " Brave Uncle Sam, 
 
 I grasp your brawny hand ; 
 You've made this nation what it is: 
 
 A free and mighty land." 
 
 BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. 
 
 Precious are those little flowers 
 That in coldest weather bloom, 
 
 What a sweet refreshing virtue 
 They diffuse in every room ! 
 
 Oh, how tender are the memories 
 That around such beauties cling ! 
 
 And how dear the peaceful whispers 
 To the lonely heart they bring. 
 
 What a joy and what a comfort. 
 What a theme of love they tell ; 
 
 In the soul they strike the keynote 
 Where the charms of nature dwell. 
 8 
 
GENTLY SPEAK, O COMING EUTURE ! 
 
 Gently speak, O coming future! 
 
 Do not let your voice be stern, 
 Let my soul be filled with gladness 
 
 As each new event I learn. 
 
 Darkened veil that hides the future, 
 Blessed comfort thou hast been; 
 
 I in courage would hav^e faltered 
 Had I my misfortunes seen. 
 
 Lonely in life I have wandered. 
 Judging each acquaintance true ; 
 
 But at times I've sat and pondered, 
 And my judgment sadly rue. 
 
 What is there to gain by piercing 
 
 In another's flesh a thorn.'' 
 What is there to gain by scheming 
 
 How to point a hand of scorn.'' 
 
 World of sin, O world of envy! 
 
 Let dark elements decay. 
 Let the powers of false indictment 
 
 Vanish like the close of day. 
 
 Then speak out, O world of virtue ! 
 
 Bands which curtailed fall in twain, 
 Hope and justice, joy and gladness. 
 
 Rule this planet once again! 
 
 9 
 
LIVE AND LET LIVE. 
 
 Excluded from the outside world and gay pursuits of men, 
 In comfort in my room alone this night I'll wield my pen; 
 And what I'll write took place to-night, as I from work 
 
 returned, 
 From what might seem a trifle small a lesson I had learned. 
 
 A boy in shabby clothes stood on a corner of the street ; 
 And one in better dress, like this, his little friend did greet: 
 "Is that the best suit that you have to wear from day to day? 
 Look out or you may lose yourself when the ragman conies 
 this way." 
 
 His answer it was plain and short, and from an honest heart. 
 He said God placed him in this world to play a poor boy's 
 
 part. 
 Right there I paused in wonder deep and viewed that honest 
 
 face ; 
 His poverty full well he knew to him was no disgrace. 
 
 As true a heart as ever beats may perhaps go to the grave 
 Because of sorrow hurled by those whose words should be to 
 
 save. 
 Let not the gloss of paltry wealth, nor station, rank nor 
 
 power 
 Allow the carnal mind of man o'er humbler ones to tower. 
 
 One word of sympathy might lift a soul that groans in pain ; 
 A friendly smile, or e'en a look, might echo o'er again. 
 On equal basis we have come, life's story just to learn. 
 And in death's withering grip we shall to mother earth 
 return. 
 
 TO 
 
OUR NOBLE, HONORED QUEEN. 
 
 Let all who live on British soil, 
 Ruled by a power serene. 
 
 Rejoice to know that as we toil 
 We serve our noble Queen. 
 
 " F'rom victory unto victory," 
 
 Her motto has been ; 
 The purest name in history : 
 
 Our noble, honored Queen. 
 
 From ocean unto ocean 
 Let every flag be seen, 
 
 To celebrate the blessings 
 Of our noble, honored Queen. 
 
 From every hill and mountain, 
 From valley, plain and stream, 
 
 Send forth an acclamation 
 In honor of our Queen. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah, for freedom ! 
 
 Come, praise the worthy name 
 That won renown for Britain : 
 
 Our noble, honored Queen. 
 
 We are the subjects of her care. 
 Which by her reign is seen; 
 
 So let it be our humble prayer: 
 " God save our noble Oueen." 
 
NORWAY'S BEACH. 
 
 On Norway's beach, not far from town, 
 
 My student chum and I sat down; 
 
 We heard the coming billows roar, 
 
 And watched them till they lashed the shore. 
 
 We viewed the land across the sea. 
 Which filled our minds with ecstacy ; 
 The clear blue sky, the rustling leaves. 
 Lent virtue to the balmy breeze. 
 
 The brilliant -sunbeams of the west 
 Gave every wave a silvery crest; 
 The swallow sang its chorus sweet ; 
 The sea-gull soared above the deep. 
 
 The sportive flocks, let loose once more. 
 Inhaled the breeze along the shore; 
 The flowery vale of many a hue 
 Reaped grandeur from a sky so blue. 
 
 Sweet birds of song, hold not your peace, 
 
 But let your melodies increase; 
 
 O sacred music, swell the gale 
 
 On which the charms of music sail! 
 
 Oh ! living flowers of many a hue 
 
 Sip virtue from the morning dew ; 
 
 Ye rippling brooks on mountain side. 
 
 Ye streams that through the meadow glide, 
 
Ye cataracts and torrents wild, 
 Ye glens where ne'er the sun hath smiled, 
 Ye caverns, crags and lofty peaks. 
 Give utterance with a voice that speaks. 
 
 O seas and lakes, disturb your sands, 
 And giant forests clap your hands; 
 O rainbow of the eastern sky. 
 And glittering stars that dwell on high, 
 O sun and moon, shine day and night 
 Upon a world of pure delight ! 
 
 THE HOME OF THE TROUT. 
 
 In that beautiful stream 
 Is the home of the trout ; 
 
 In those waters so pure 
 They are sporting about. 
 
 Here and there is the foam 
 By each sudden descent. 
 
 And the low wending turn 
 
 Where its course has been bent. 
 
 In the basins of rock 
 
 Where the water flows out, — 
 And where all is so pure, — 
 
 Is the home of the trout. 
 
 '3 
 
O WOODBINE, HOW I MISS THEE! 
 
 O woodbine, how I miss thee every day ! 
 Can I forgive the hands that tore those vines away, 
 As on the ground I see them prostrate He, — - 
 A sight that pains me when it meets my eye? 
 How oft at early morn or even-tide 
 Those creeping clusters gave a simple pride 
 That brought contentment to my wondering mind 
 When only such a sweet relief could find. 
 Dear bower of shade, in rich profusion spread. 
 Where is that charm that has so quickly fled ? 
 Where is that charm of beauty and of health 
 That makes the poor forget his needed wealth ? 
 Cut down, as if a cumbering, noxious foe 
 That would in time a hostile visage show; 
 Or like some pungent pest of foreign birth 
 That came to mar the charms of mother earth. 
 Rest gently, rest in withering grim decay! 
 In gorgeous splendor fate forbade your stay. 
 And brought destructive powers its force to blend. 
 And to your sacred beauties put an end ! 
 Farewell, loved species of dear lonicera ; 
 Though in a dormant state I still revere thee. 
 And still recall each tender, drooping vine 
 That did so gracefully my room entwine. 
 
AN EVENING SPENT IN CAMBRIDGE PARK. 
 
 Remote from many a sound of busy life, 
 
 And from the struggling mass in worldly strife, 
 
 I sit alone, beneath the spreading shade 
 
 Of Cambridge Park, which was for comfort made. 
 
 Those trees of shade and ornament so grand, 
 
 Clothed in a massive foliage they stand ; 
 
 The winds, as if by magic, toss the leaves, 
 
 Which lend a virtue to the balmy breeze ; 
 
 In crimson folds the florid sweets abound 
 
 And spread a lavished fragrance all around ; 
 
 The charms of spring hav^e slipped and vanished — 
 
 where ? 
 They simply lost themselves in summer here. 
 In varied plume the feathered tribe carol forth 
 Their rich, melodious songs of simple mirth ; 
 The butterfly, still fluttering in the sun, 
 Floats idly forth, as with no work begun. 
 The voice, the touch, the breath of Gad is there ; 
 'Tis mingled with the sunshine and the air. 
 Those vernal tresses, by the zephyrs blown. 
 Into ethereal mildness now have grown ; 
 . The sacred charms that crown earth's beauties fair 
 Are found in heaven-born virtues resting here; 
 Tired nature seems to find a soothing balm 
 From resting 'neath the splendor of this calm ; 
 Life's stir to perfect stillness now gives way 
 As far beyond the ocean sinks the king of day. 
 
 '5 
 
SWEET BIRD OF SONG. 
 
 While wand' ring in a rugged glen 
 Where seldom man frequents, 
 
 I saw a bird of plumage fair 
 Fly o'er the rockbound rents. 
 
 It lit upon a tender twig 
 
 That grew on scanty soil, 
 And all around were rock and crag, — 
 
 A place unknown to toil. 
 
 But here this creature loved to dwell 
 
 And raise her tiny young; 
 Yes, here she spent each charming morn 
 
 In caroling her song. 
 
 Though all alone, I spoke aloud 
 And said : " Sweet bird of song. 
 
 Why spend your life so desolate 
 Where no sweet flowers belong.'" 
 
 Just then the bird began to sing 
 With voice so rich and clear. 
 
 That I remembered not I stood 
 Where nature looked so drear. 
 
 Again I said : " Can it be true 
 
 That God has sent you here 
 To meet me on this rugged path. 
 
 My pensive mind to cheer ? " 
 16 
 
" Dear bird of song, I prize your worth, 
 
 I love your little song, 
 I love the form you dwell within, 
 
 And wish- you ne'er a wrong." 
 
 Ah, what a dreary world we'd have 
 
 If birds were never seen ! 
 And what a lonesome life we'd live 
 
 Without those birds of song. 
 
 MR. RABBIT. 
 
 Bleak Minnesota plains we crossed, 
 Till noon we had to stay. 
 
 But North Dakota we were bound 
 To reach at close of day. 
 
 We drove with steady speed across 
 The prairie smooth and wide; 
 
 Our faithful dog still bounded on 
 Nearby the sorel's side. 
 
 When coming near another road, 
 
 I saw a rabbit leap ; 
 But when he saw the dog approach, 
 
 He huddled in a heap. 
 
 I thought at first I'd trouble him 
 
 And have a little fun, 
 Just watching how our collie would 
 
 Make Mr. Rabbit run. 
 
 17 
 
But then a second thought had flashed 
 
 Across my sportive mind ; 
 I felt it cruel to risk a life 
 
 So timid and so kind. 
 
 Those eyes just looked, as if to say 
 " My life depends on you ; 
 
 Oh ! pass me by, and you will find 
 This act you'll never rue." 
 
 And so we passed the creature by, 
 
 So innocent and mild ; 
 We left him to himself again, 
 
 Upon the prairie wild. 
 
 THE MOUSE. 
 
 Just after tea I sat me back 
 To think, and nothing more, 
 
 When from a corner crept a mouse, 
 And capered o'er the floor. 
 
 It looked at me as if to say: 
 " You're sound asleep, I see ; 
 
 • So take your rest and don't molest 
 A little mouse like me." 
 
 It then began to nibble up 
 
 A crumb now here, now there ; 
 
 It heard no sound, yet moved around, 
 Then sat with cunnins' stare. 
 
With my consent, to his content 
 
 He ate and did survey, 
 That he would know before he'd go 
 
 Just when to come this way. 
 
 With parting look his tail he shook, 
 
 Then gently to his nest ; 
 As if for fun he took a run 
 
 Before he'd go to rest. 
 
 A LEAF. 
 
 There's a leaf, a lonely leaf, I see it now 
 As it hangs, a lifeless form, upon the bough; 
 All but it were shed and fallen long ago, 
 And are buried now beneath the beaten snow. 
 
 Still this lonely leaf is tossing to and fro ; 
 
 It has stood the winter's wind and falling snow 
 
 All alone, — a sad reminder of the days 
 
 When the sun in dazzling splendor shed his rays. 
 
 Yes, this lonely leaf is tossing, tossing still. 
 As the wintry winds are raging, cold and chill ; 
 There, in memory of its verdant bloom, it clings, 
 Though no bird around a song of sweetness sings. 
 
 Lonely leaf, all sapped and withering in decay. 
 All your beauty, all your life, has ebbed away ; 
 Just a monument you are to all the leaves 
 That have fallen, long since fallen, from the trees. 
 
 19 
 
THERE WAS BORN TO ME A SWEETHEART. 
 
 Sir, you have asked me to-night 
 
 Why I lived a single life, 
 And you've pictured out the value 
 
 Of a kind and loving wife. 
 
 You also painted plainly 
 
 How a bachelor lives when old ; 
 
 Still I cannot heed the warning 
 Which you have so kindly told. 
 
 There was born to me a sweetheart 
 Which I've courted night and day, 
 
 And in sweet and quiet communion 
 Many an hour we passed away. 
 
 She is with me at this moment ; 
 
 She's the charmer of my heart; 
 Fairest, sweetest 'mongst a million, 
 
 Lovely nymph — poetic art. 
 
 She is with me, blessed guidance. 
 May our paths from thorns be free ; 
 
 Lead me, guide me, fairy creature, 
 And abide, abide with me. 
 
 Now I've told you, yes, I've told you. 
 
 Why I live a single life ; 
 All my love, my heart, is given 
 
 To my rhyming, not a wife. 
 
A FOOL AND HIS MONEY SOON PARTS. 
 
 When a great big-hearted fellow with the boys, 
 
 Jolly boys, 
 
 Shares his friendship and expects a little fun. 
 
 Simple fun. 
 
 He don't judge them not at all by their noise, 
 
 Empty noise, 
 
 For he thinks a lasting friendship has begun, 
 
 Just begun! 
 
 Soon his pocket they are weighing on a scale, 
 
 A private scale. 
 
 And if it is full of greenbacks — what a snap ! 
 
 Lucky snap. 
 
 They'll decoy him by some sympathetic tale, 
 
 Fairy tale, 
 
 As upon his honest shoulders they will tap. 
 
 Gently tap. 
 
 Now they're winking, yes, they're winking to each 
 
 other. 
 
 To each other ; 
 
 They have got him on the string for good and fare, 
 
 For to snare ; 
 
 Each leg-puller shares the pulling with another, 
 
 And another. 
 
 And the spender is in luck to get his share, 
 
 Just a share. 
 
 Oh ! how often they will grasp him by the hand. 
 
 Foolish hand. 
 
That is counting out his earnings one by one, 
 And anon. 
 He's a hero he is made to understand, 
 
 Underhand, 
 And to equal him in company there is none — 
 What a bun ! 
 But our hero his employment he has lost, 
 
 Quickly lost. 
 And his pay-day it stopped coming" any more — 
 What a bore ! 
 So he thought of his good friends and what they cost, 
 
 Dearly cost, 
 And the pledges they so often to him swore, 
 Falsely swore ; 
 So he started for his friends to get some aid. 
 
 Simple jade. 
 And to learn that he was done up good and brown. 
 Simple clown ; 
 All he got was what he heard in laughter said, 
 
 Grimly said: 
 We have troubles, lots of troubles, of our own. 
 Get thee gone ! 
 
YOU MUST GET A MARK ON YOUR ARM! 
 
 Leaning back on my chair, with my feet in the air, 
 
 I repose in a half-dreamy mood ; 
 
 From care I am free as the lark you may see, 
 
 With no thought of doing evdl or good. 
 
 There I rested awhile, in my bachelor style, 
 
 Thinking not of Old Time in his flight. 
 
 Till at last by surprise I made use of my eyes. 
 
 For I felt a mosquito's keen bite. 
 
 I aimed at him a blow that would bring his form low^ 
 
 But it landed alone on my arm ! 
 
 Then he struck up a tune that was common in June : 
 " Oh, you must get a mark on your arm ; 
 Oh, you must get a mark on your arm to-day, 
 As the law thus compels you to do ; 
 Oh, you must get a mark on your arm, I say, 
 For the smallpox is raging anew ! " 
 
 So now we are carrying a mark on the arm. 
 
 While the panic of smallpox is o'er ; 
 
 Many doctors grew rich by effect of alarm ; 
 
 When in need will they scare us some more .'' 
 
 Still here in my chair, with my feet in the air, 
 
 I am not judging doctors, oh, no ! 
 
 Their purse they can swell ; but 'tis real hard to tell 
 
 The measles from smallpox, you know ! 
 
 So don't look or frown at your swollen-up arm 
 
 Should the smallpox refuse to come back ; 
 
 Some doctor perhaps prospered by probing your arm. 
 
 And the dollar you paid you sha'n't lack. 
 
 23 
 
I SEE, I UNDERSTAND. 
 
 Sitting in a doctor's parlor, rich and grand, 
 Why it is ? I see, I understand. 
 In the race to capture health we pay a guide; 
 On he leads us and accepts our cash with pride. 
 
 Soon we're hustled far beyond the foolish move, 
 And the health we put to usage false doth prove ; 
 So another guide is counseled, who makes known 
 That in such a case he has in wisdom grown. 
 
 Now, as guide and chief adviser, what a chance, 
 Some experiment, its merits to advance; 
 And still, if life and cash remains we make a change, 
 With some new life-preserver we arrange. 
 
 To bring us back the health that we so dearly lost; 
 And we most humbly agree to pay the cost. 
 And thus you see the ball is kept in constant motion 
 Until the spark of life is quenched by some rank lotion. 
 
 So this may tell the story of his house so grand. 
 And why I said, I see, I understand. 
 
 24 
 
THE DOCTORS' FAME. 
 
 O ! the doctors, precious doctors, 
 
 They are gettmg very smart. 
 Every day some startling wonder 
 
 To the world they do impart. 
 When you're out of gear and nature 
 
 Seems to slip a cog or stop. 
 They will wind you up and listen 
 
 To the ticking of your clock. 
 If your heart is not just pumping 
 
 Quite enough of precious fluid, 
 They will take it out, repair it. 
 
 Or replace one just as good. 
 They have got an antitoxine 
 
 Which will give you perfect ease ; 
 They are loaded for the microbes 
 
 And the germs of all disease. 
 Pain is bound to flee and vanish. 
 
 Like the devil to the swine ; 
 And into a mighty hercules 
 
 Grows the man long in decline. 
 When your brain is clothed in cobwebs 
 
 And the balance pivot worn. 
 They'll replace it with some animal's 
 
 That of wool is yearly shorn. 
 O ! the doctors, precious doctors, 
 
 May they never, never die ! 
 
 25 
 
For the vitals of the nations 
 
 On their handiwork rely. 
 Hip, hurrah, God bless the doctors ! 
 
 May their dreams ne'er be disturbed 
 By the groans of dying patients, 
 
 Or what may be seen or heard. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT. 
 
 Let sages sing of beauty rare, 
 Of flowers and trees and balmy air, 
 Of days in June, with fragrance sweet. 
 When earth and sky in grandeur meet. 
 
 Let painters daub and poets rhyme 
 Of distant hills and foreign clime, 
 Of setting sun, with colors bright, 
 But I'll extol the wondrous night. 
 
 When Wondrous Night her mantle spreads, 
 And gathers up the tangled threads 
 Of tired nature in quiet sleep. 
 While moping owls their vigil keep. 
 
 The fields are quiet, no life is seen, 
 No children play upon the green ; 
 They with the birds have gone to rest, 
 And sleep upon their mothers' breast. 
 
 26 
 
When all is quiet I wend my way 
 Far from the haunts of men so gay, 
 And hie away to distant hills, 
 To rest beside the babbling rills. 
 
 And as upon the grass I lie. 
 The moon lights up the evening sky, 
 And pours abroad a stream of light. 
 To beautify the silent night. 
 
 The shadows of the trees around 
 Cast ghostly pictures on the ground ; 
 Yet in my dreams I fear no ill. 
 Though shadows play upon the hill. 
 
 And when the midnight hour draws near, 
 I leave my grassy couch so dear. 
 And homeward wend my weary way. 
 To rest until the break of day. 
 
 And as upon my couch I lie 
 And think of hills and moonlit sky, 
 P^ven in my dreams I picture bright 
 The beauties of the silent night. 
 
 27 
 
IS NOT THIS TRUE? 
 
 Did you ever ask this question 
 
 To yourself while all alone : 
 "Have not I a large collection 
 
 Of mistakes already shown? 
 
 "Have not I a small percentage 
 
 Of the acts of life subdued 
 From the carnal ways of nature 
 
 To the noble and the good? 
 
 "Is not every day connected 
 Like a long, unbroken chain, 
 
 Every link a thought or action 
 Which entails a nameless pain? 
 
 "Did not I wield, braze or solder 
 Every link half thoughtfully? 
 
 Did not I until the present 
 
 Practice wrongs unconsciously? 
 
 "Did not I, when good should vanquish, 
 Dally with the thief of time ? 
 
 Did not I, with good intentions. 
 
 Fail to reach some mark sublime?" 
 
 If you didn't, you're a wonder, 
 
 And in aerial heights should dwell! 
 
 Be you priest or guide or preacher. 
 Just the same to you I'll tell. 
 
 28 
 
SUCH A DIP HAS DOUBLE GAIN. 
 
 On a chilly winter's morning, 
 
 Did you ever leave your bed 
 Just because you took a notion, 
 
 Took a notion in your head, 
 To go bathing in the bathtub 
 
 In some water icy cold. 
 And in going did you fancy 
 
 That your will was strong and bold? 
 
 If you did I think I see you: 
 
 In you go, I hear boo! oo! 
 Uh! huh! uh ! You squirm and gasp. 
 
 What a laugh I have at you ! 
 Out you jump and grasp a towel 
 
 As you draw a quivering breath ; 
 You are trembling, yes, you're shivering, 
 
 Just as if it meant your death. 
 
 All is over; a good rubbing- 
 Brings you to yourself again ; 
 
 Off to breakfast; you are hungry; 
 Such a dip has double gain. 
 
 29 
 
THE DEEP-RUNNING STREAM. 
 
 Far away, in that land of my childhood and birth, 
 Where the days of my boyhood were spent, 
 
 How dear to my heart is the deep-running stream, 
 From whose bridge o'er its railing we bent. 
 
 Many evenings we loitered, my sweetheart and I, 
 
 While the sun slowly sank in the west. 
 On the bank and the bridge of that crystal-like stream, 
 
 'Neath the foliage forming a crest. 
 
 How often we gazed on its surface so glib. 
 Till it reached the deep gulches below; 
 
 Then it gracefully rose, with the foam on its brow, 
 As it joined the smooth current so slow. 
 
 On the fertile spots, gathered on granite so hard. 
 Grew the shrub and the far-reaching vine 
 
 That ascended in search of a staff of support. 
 Each long, shooting branch to c.iCwine. 
 
 Quite plain, as in vision, those giant rocks stand, 
 
 Like bulwarks projecting so bold, 
 On each side of the stream now furrowed so deep 
 
 By. the hand of Grey Time, we are told. 
 
 And the wild flowers that grew very dear had become 
 
 To my heart as the years rolled away; 
 But of all that is dear to its memory I know, 
 
 'Tis the words that my sweetheart did say. 
 
 3° 
 
LET EVERY ONE BE HAPPY, O! 
 
 Just once through life a man can go, 
 So let him then be happy, O ! 
 If clouds must come, just let them go, 
 For we must all be happy, O! 
 
 We toil all day to earn our bread. 
 But still we should be happy, O ! 
 For those who don't are worse than dead 
 When they see us so happy, O ! 
 
 We sleep all night to get our rest; 
 
 For that we should be happy, O ! 
 
 And toil gives sleep that's sweet and best, 
 
 Which makes the toiler happy, O! 
 
 We talk and chat with every friend, 
 Which keeps us always happy, O! 
 And thus unto each other lend 
 The words that make us happy, O ! 
 
 The stormy winter's winds may blow, 
 But we should still be happy, O! 
 Without the frost there is no snow, 
 So let us all be happy, O ! 
 
 In summer blooms the rose so sweet. 
 For which we should be happy, O ! 
 The wild-flower blushes at our feet. 
 And makes us still more happy, O! 
 
 31 
 
The little songster on the tree 
 Should help to make us happy, O! 
 It sings for us its song so free, 
 So let us all be happy, O ! 
 
 At times should we perhaps hungry go, 
 I say we should be happy, O! 
 For those who don't may never know 
 What makes the poor man happy, O ! 
 
 Each time we eat a humble meal. 
 For such we should be happy, O ! 
 How thankful it should make us feel 
 To know we should be happy, O ! 
 
 And when we are so happy, O ! 
 Just let us keep that way, you know ; 
 Let fortune come or fortune go, 
 .Let every one be happy, O! 
 
 32 
 
JACK THE SLUGGER. 
 
 Cruel wretch and coward thou has been, 
 
 O Jack the Slugger, without cause ! 
 In death and agony your crimes we've seen. 
 
 Which for some time has baffled all our laws. 
 
 Degraded monster of the human race. 
 
 With conscience seared and mind on murder bent, 
 You have aroused a vengeance in this place, 
 
 And by the hand of justice you'll repent. 
 
 Low, brutal sneak, had we our will with thee, 
 No more a bloody weapon you could wield, 
 
 No more you'd prowl through cities free. 
 Or to your insane passion darkly yield. 
 
 Those awful crimes which by your hands were done 
 Have caused a gloom of horror to prevail, 
 
 And roused an indignation which shall run 
 Till grim revenge shall clear the hiding veil. 
 
 Foul, brutal slugger, what had you in view 
 To use your deadly weapon and to kill 
 
 Those poor defenseless girls.'' How sad, but true. 
 In death's cold sleep, by thee, they slumber still! 
 
 Think not, though justice is some time delayed. 
 That God has not a record of your crime. 
 
 And by His law demands that you be paid 
 In equal justice to your heinous crime. 
 
 33 
 
Blood-curdling crimes, — the worst that ever stained 
 
 A page of Boston's criminal history. 
 Why should such vengeance without cause arise, 
 
 Is yet, and perhaps will be, a lasting mystery. 
 
 THE FLOATING ISLAND. 
 
 In the lake of Vermont, it is known for a fact, 
 That of land that is floating there is a' large tract; 
 One hundred and fifty acres, they say, 
 All covered with cranberries, rosy and gay. 
 
 Here and there, it is said, can be seen a few trees, 
 But not to a height to be rocked by the breeze; 
 When the water is lowered or raised by the tide, 
 Then the land is uplifted or sinks with the tide. 
 
 It affords a fine shelter for fish to seclude 
 From the sight of the fisher, their foeman so rude; 
 But a large number are caught by a skillful device: 
 They bore a hole through, as if it were ice. 
 
 34 
 
ONE OF MANY THINGS YOU HAVE TO NOTICE. 
 
 There are things you have to notice, 
 
 Even if )'0u never try : 
 One is when an old acquaintance 
 
 Like a stranger passes by. 
 
 You will look and then you'll wonder 
 
 If your face he has forgot, 
 Or is life too short to greet you .'' 
 
 Let me answer: No, it's not! 
 
 Perhaps prosperity has favored 
 
 Such a one on every hand. 
 And a favor, if he vvants it, 
 
 By his cash he can command. 
 
 But the wheel of fortune backwards 
 May revolve, with double speed. 
 
 And the one who shakes true friendship. 
 Perhaps your humble help may need. 
 
 Perhaps that look of great importance. 
 
 To a humbler one may turn; 
 Perhaps your clothes or situation 
 
 He some day may cease to spurn. 
 
 So, my friend, if you should happen 
 
 To feel slighted in this way. 
 Just reflect and pause a moment, — 
 
 Pride proceeds a fall, they say. 
 
 35 
 
A BEAUTIFUL VIEW. 
 
 It was the Seventeenth of June, 
 
 In the year of '99, 
 When Foreman Tingley and myself 
 
 To Tower's high dome did cHmb. 
 
 And there, before the gentle breeze. 
 
 We set "Old Glory" free, 
 The spangled emblem of the brave. 
 
 That floats o'er land and sea. 
 
 There, on that lofty pinnacle, 
 
 Gigantic in its height, 
 With calm composure Tingley stood. 
 
 But Hughie's head felt light. 
 
 For far beneath that soaring peak. 
 Men moved on to and fro ; 
 
 The clattering sounds of horses' feet 
 Came from the depths below. 
 
 The Charles River, smooth and c^uiet. 
 
 In silver luster lay; 
 A green, reflecting margin grew 
 
 Before each sunny ray. 
 
 And all around, like scattered pine 
 That grow amongst harder wood. 
 
 Magnificent in stately form. 
 Projecting structures stood. 
 
 36 
 
Each distant hill and vale were clothed 
 
 In earth's most verdant hue, 
 The foliage in grandeur shone, 
 
 Fresh by the morning dew. 
 
 The briny waters, heaving in 
 With sparkling crests of spray. 
 
 Crowned nature's beauties with a charm 
 On that immortal day. 
 
 BLOW ON, THOU GIANT GALE! 
 
 Blow on, thou giant gale, across the prairie wide. 
 Pile up your blinding drifts, you cannot long abide ! 
 
 Blow hard, thou western king, ring out your voice so shrill. 
 Sweep boldly o'er these plains that lie so wide and still ! 
 
 And when you disappear to let the calm abide, 
 
 We know where you dwell, or we would seek your side. 
 
 Then with a mighty bit we'd guide your shapeless form, 
 We'd hold thee o'er the deep and curb the raging storm. 
 
 But thou art shapeless and unseen, we bid thee go in peace. 
 And when returning back again may friendship more increase. 
 
THAT FATAL MONKEY-WRENCH. 
 
 My father had a monkey-wrench 
 
 When I was yet a boy, 
 And that confounded monkey-wrench 
 
 Robbed me of many a joy. 
 
 If it had been a golden wrench, 
 
 No more it could have cost; 
 And when no one was using it. 
 
 It certainly was lost. 
 
 For many an hour I searched in vain 
 
 In every place but one, 
 And that mysterious place each time 
 
 Bewitched me of my fun. 
 
 "Say, Hughie, get the monkey-wrench," 
 Meant hours of fruitless toil ; 
 
 Sometimes I think that monkey-wrench 
 Did help my growth to spoil. 
 
 Week in, week out, I searched in vain. 
 Till eyes and feet were sore ; 
 
 Sometimes I looked, to tell the truth, 
 Till I could look no more. 
 
 And thus the summer passed away. 
 
 So did the old wrench, too, 
 A thousand times 'twas lost and found, 
 
 But how, I never knew. 
 
 38 
 
And now each one I chance to see, 
 
 Or hear itself its name, 
 The memories of lost energy 
 
 Come tingling through my frame. 
 
 LINES ON A FLY. 
 
 O fly, fly, tormenting fly. 
 
 With neither grace nor beauty, 
 
 Your evil deeds cause me to think 
 To kill thee 'tis my duty. 
 
 Your voice is neither sweet nor has 
 
 It music in its strain ; 
 You go when you're compelled to go, 
 
 But, ah, you come again ! 
 
 Conspicuous pest, no earthly good, 
 
 A useless, ugly creature. 
 No pardon for your deeds are found. 
 
 Not one redeeming feature. 
 
 You life is now within my hands, 
 So go, you patience tester! 
 
 You're guilty in the first degree 
 Of being a peace molester. 
 
 39 
 
OUR ODD-FASHIONED PLAY. 
 
 Last night as I lay in a slumber, 
 
 When an odd-fashioned vision returned, 
 
 I was once more a boy playing gaily 
 
 To the light of the great logs that burned. 
 
 Shall I tell you that odd-fashioned vision 
 That had won such a share of my time? 
 
 You may think 'twas a strange freak of nature, 
 But in truth it is stronger than rhyme. 
 
 On the floor, in the midst of my kitties, 
 With perhaps half a dozen or more, 
 
 Such a jolly good time always followed 
 Our meeting to play on the floor. 
 
 And old pussy she never objected, 
 She knew that her kitties were free, 
 
 For never those loved little creatures 
 Had ever been punished by me. 
 
 When those dear little kittens grew weary 
 Of hanging in play to my clothes. 
 
 We would all huddle up in a corner 
 And go gently away in repose. 
 
 Oh, the pride I did take in the company 
 Of those sweet little tricksters so gay ! 
 
 And yet I can't look at a kitten 
 
 But I think of our odd-fashioned play. 
 
 40 
 
MY FIRST PAIR OF KNEE BOOTS. 
 
 In the country, in the winter, 
 
 In the winter, when a boy, 
 On a snowy winter evening. 
 
 There my heart was filled with joy. 
 
 I was waiting, calmly waiting, 
 For those boots I longed to see ; 
 
 I was wondering, strangely wondering. 
 How they'd look when first on me. 
 
 Soon I heard the sleigh-bells jingle. 
 Soon I saw the big grey mare. 
 
 There were icicles upon her. 
 She was prancing in the air. 
 
 Then a loud "Whoa" roused old Rover 
 From his sleep upon the hearth. 
 
 From his bark the word "Boots" echoed 
 To my ear in anxious mirth. 
 
 Then the door was quickly opened. 
 And the first thing met my gaze 
 
 Was a pair of long-legged red tops. 
 Which my mind did much amaze. 
 
 Then upon my feet I pulled them, 
 Winks and nods were passed around. 
 
 Seemed just like a coronation, 
 
 I with brass-toed boots was crowned. 
 
 41 
 
TO THE HORSESHOE IN MY ROOM. 
 
 There's a horseshoe, yes, a horseshoe. 
 Neatly tacked above my door, 
 
 And of luck it is an emblem, 
 'Tis an emblem I adore. 
 
 By whose hands it has been placed there, 
 
 I at present do not know. 
 Was it for luck or just for fancy ? 
 
 Nothing now remains to show. 
 
 Slightly twisted, some horse wrenched it 
 With a struggle from his hoof; 
 
 SHghtly worn by a roadster ; 
 'But for this I have no proof. 
 
 High above the sounding anvil, 
 
 Some stout, brawny arm was raised, 
 
 When the sparks dashed almost back to 
 Where the red-hot forge still blazed. 
 
 Little did that blacksmith reckon, 
 As he shaped that shoe so neat. 
 
 That that horseshoe made for service 
 Should such tender usage meet. 
 
 There it hangs, now brightly gilded, 
 
 Rows of silk on either side; 
 In its silence there's a language. 
 
 There's a superstitious pride. 
 
 42 
 
There that horseshoe still is hanging, 
 And I prize it more and more. 
 
 Did that blacksmith think he shaped it 
 Just to grace the poet's door? 
 
 A DOG'S TAIL. 
 
 I see it wag, it wags again, 
 It speaks in silent language plain ; 
 There's friendship in that wag, I know, 
 And by that wag he does it show. 
 
 That tail has for a purpose grown. 
 Which every day is plainly shown; 
 It has a wag which shows delight. 
 And wags that mean determined fight; 
 
 It has a wag to welcome you, 
 
 And one that says, "I will be true" ; 
 
 It has a wag that says, " Good-by," 
 
 And one that says, " My friendship try" ; 
 
 And still there's one that means distress, 
 
 And one that truant acts confess; 
 
 It has a wag that asks for food. 
 
 And one that says, "I'm always good." 
 
 And in that silent language dumb. 
 No lies from it are known to come. 
 No false expressions e'er prevail; 
 You can believe the poor dog's tail. 
 
 43 
 
HELL. 
 
 If there is such a place as hell, 
 
 That hell I do believe 
 Exists upon this earth, where sin 
 
 Comes tempting to deceive. 
 
 If in the next world there's a hell, 
 Why should we fear it here? 
 
 If true repentance saves by faith, 
 Of hell no one should fear. 
 
 Could a just God for sin afflict 
 Poor suffering man on earth, 
 
 Then cast him in another hell, 
 As if damned by his birth.'' 
 
 For every sin we do commit 
 
 We feel God's chastening hand; 
 
 And that is why such misery floats 
 Broadcast upon our land. 
 
 For every sin which I this day 
 Stand guilty in God's sight. 
 
 In some mysterious way I've felt 
 The wages of its plight. 
 
 There is a God, I do believe. 
 
 And He distinctly says 
 The sin of parents shall go down 
 
 To curse their offspring's days. 
 
 44 
 
And then again, in silent pain, 
 What grief may gnaw within 
 The human breast of fallen man 
 In anguish for his sin. 
 
 That act, that deed, that word; 'tis done: 
 
 Remorse now keenly bites; 
 O! had I not been guilty of 
 
 Such words the conscience smites. 
 
 A smile may hide the burning grief 
 
 Which to sin's door is laid, 
 And there remain till every jot 
 
 My title has been paid. 
 
 Remorse of conscience is the hell, 
 
 And in that hell we've been, 
 With fire and brimstone in its wake, 
 
 What greater hell was seen ? 
 
 You talk of hell, perhaps there's a spark 
 
 Your bosom burning now; 
 If it has not, in time 'twill bring 
 
 Those furrows in your brow. 
 
 And when this earth shall pass away. 
 When Gabriel's trump shall blow, 
 
 Can a just God His image cast 
 In hell.' I answer: NO. 
 
 45 
 
( IVritlen by request of Mr. James Half penny of Drayton, A. D. ) 
 
 THE SQUIRREL. 
 
 I have been asked to write about 
 
 A squirrel of wondrous skill; 
 We watched him spring" from tree to tree 
 
 Down by the sloping hill. 
 
 Some wouldn't think it worth their while 
 
 To spend a moment's time 
 In writing what they thought of it 
 
 In either prose or rh3'me. 
 
 But study close this creature small, 
 Its wondrous strength and beauty, 
 
 It braves the sharpest frost for food, 
 And shrinks no task or duty. 
 
 In summer months it stores away 
 
 What winter buries deeply. 
 It digs to secure a cosy nest 
 
 Wherein to dwell and sleep. 
 
 Its fur is soft as glossy silk, 
 
 Its carol sweet as song. 
 It lives among the innocent, 
 
 Where freedom's gifts belong. 
 
 Much more I'd like to write about 
 This squirrel in running rhyme. 
 
 But trust these verses I have wrote 
 May suit the present time. 
 46 
 
O PICKLED PIGS' FEET! 
 
 O pickled pigs' feet, 
 Submissive members of the filthy swine, 
 Did not the devil enter thee by law divine 
 And cause a herd to plunge down into the sea, 
 And let the man tormented in the tombs go free? 
 And when those feet thus used by king of hell, 
 Did he not make the hog think all was well 
 To rush down in those waters, just to cool 
 The fever of some freak, like many a fool ? 
 Did Satan to your hoggish mind portray 
 A sea of husks, a regular feasting day ? 
 Or did the devil think that you possessed 
 A soul which in eternity should be oppressed? 
 Was he not satisfied with man's most grievous fall, 
 But also tried brute nature to enthrall? 
 And did the king of that damned region down below 
 Upon the brute his vengeance try to show ? 
 Or did the thought of fire and brimstone drive 
 You o'er precipitous heights to take a dive. 
 That you your porky form might deep immerse. 
 As if protection from sin's deadly curse? 
 Or is it all a myth, — an oft-told tale 
 To emphasize that man must weep and wail, — 
 Or in reality has it been so? 
 I know not, nor do I pretend to know. 
 
 47 
 
AN OLD MAID. 
 
 Lives of old maids oft remind us 
 That their happy days have fled ; 
 
 Ever and anon they bore us 
 With the offers they have had. 
 
 Offers that might sometimes jar us 
 Sailing down life's rapid stream; 
 
 From her company she will bar us, 
 Should we doubt her fairy dream. 
 
 She is skilled and can discover 
 Why a match to make or break; 
 
 She can read a truant lover 
 And advise you for your sake. 
 
 She can lead the world in fashion, 
 With a style that's all her own, 
 
 And to see her in a passion : 
 
 Tell her she in years has grown. 
 
 Life is real, full of pity, 
 
 Young folks should have better sense; 
 They shall rue it ere they're fifty. 
 
 Thus she builds the boundary fence. 
 
 Many footprints she is leaving, • 
 Not upon the sands of time; 
 
 For such help the world is grieving. 
 Of an old maid so sublime. 
 
 48 
 
A DOUGHNUT. 
 
 A friend to me you've often been, 
 Delicious little doughnut, - 
 
 When first your circling" form I seen, 
 I do confess I know not. 
 
 At ten o'clock, and oft at four, 
 
 A welcome treat you were; 
 Than wealth their luxuries I far more 
 
 Such food as thee prefer. 
 
 A look would make the wise presume 
 
 You had no end at all ; 
 Your circling form meets to make room 
 
 To cheat us with the hole. 
 
 MY DECISION IN QUEST OF A KISS. 
 
 Her eyes said yes in a winning way, 
 But her lips they voted no; 
 
 Not a word to me she had to say. 
 So I halted which way to go. 
 
 Just then a thought presented itself, 
 I've the casting vote I guess, 
 
 And to decide the question, miss, 
 My decision is certainly yes. 
 
 49 
 
AN OLD T D. 
 
 On the old Boston bridge we stood one day, 
 
 My friend Mr. Wylie and I, 
 At the low ebb of tide on the Charles bed 
 
 An old clay pipe we did spy. 
 
 And I thought, as I looked at that old T D, 
 Could it speak, what a yarn it would tell ; 
 
 It would say how it reached its watery grave, 
 Whether thrown, or by accident fell. 
 
 Perhaps some weary Irishman leaned on the rail 
 To support what had climbed to his brain, 
 
 And then in his happiest moments of life, 
 On "home rule" tried to speak once again. 
 
 And then, as a thought in his chamber above 
 Threw his talking-machine into gear. 
 
 To forget that his teeth were holding his pipe, 
 Might not for a moment seem queer. 
 
 So we left it alone, that old T D, 
 
 For the fish to swim around and to smell ; 
 
 We have left it alone, that old piece of clay. 
 Since its history it never can tell. 
 
 50 
 
HUMAN LUMBER. 
 
 There's a lot of blooming people who are Uving in this world, 
 And to some unknown planet 'twould be better were they 
 hurled. 
 
 I am not ajudging harshl)' their good qualities with scorn, 
 For I fear such traits of character to them were never born. 
 
 O, their pocket's never empty, though they never need to 
 
 work ; 
 But what comes to them quite easy, they would think it sin 
 
 to shirk. 
 
 They don't need to get up early, they have nothing they can 
 
 lose. 
 They are looking, only looking, for the things they like to use. 
 
 O, they never, never figure how to pay their board each 
 
 week. 
 They are living, simply living, on a little gall and cheek. 
 
 Life's too short and not worth living, had they once to think 
 
 of toil ; 
 Human lumber, nicely polished, is the easiest to soil. 
 
 GALL. 
 
 Did you ever just think what a wonder it is 
 That the press speaks so little of gall ? 
 
 Half the world get their living by it, well we know. 
 Since the time of poor old Adam's fall. 
 
 51 
 
From the dawn of creation till Adam ate fruit 
 
 By advice from his loving wife Kve, 
 Not till then do I think such surplus exist, 
 
 But since then it looms up to deceive. 
 
 To fathom its depths is beyond human skill, 
 
 'Tis a monster in many a form; 
 And again I might say it is only a bluff, 
 
 Or a screen, perhaps, to hide a deform. 
 
 VAIN SELF. 
 
 Some do themselves alone admire. 
 
 And check their thoughts from soaring higher 
 
 Than self, vain self, O loitering fool ! 
 
 When I such mortals chance to see, 
 
 I'm tempted to cry out : Break free ! 
 
 Cut every band that binds the soul 
 
 And keeps it compassed in a clod 
 
 Of wasting earth, which is your god. 
 
 Purge every germ of self-conceit 
 
 That weaves its web round hands and feet. 
 
 And drops a curtain 'twixt the eye, 
 
 And things which raise the mind, yes high 
 
 Above the current whims which self may choose. 
 
 And grasping such, earth's greatness lose. 
 
 52 
 
LOVE. 
 
 They say love from a little spark 
 
 Grows to a mighty flame, 
 And that our language never can 
 
 Its greatness half explain. 
 
 The bow is bent, the arrow then 
 From Cupid's hand doth fly; 
 
 But many a time he fails to hit 
 The target or bull's-eye. 
 
 If love exists where two mismate, 
 On wings Dan Cupid flies; 
 
 Uninjured by the wrath of those 
 Who for divorce implies. 
 
 In love's black book of fate there must 
 
 Be found recorded there 
 The broken vows which sent both man 
 
 And woman to despair. 
 
 Poor foolish man, for woman's love. 
 Through fire did swear to go ; 
 
 And how to prove he kept his word. 
 The devil perhaps does know. 
 
 53 
 
CHEESE IT, WON'T YOU CHEESE IT, THERE'S A COP! 
 
 Of all the common phrases used among a certain class, 
 There is one I don't expect they'll ever drop, 
 
 You can hear it used quite freely on most every street you 
 pass, 
 It is "Cheese it, won't you cheese it, there's a cop!" 
 
 Chorus. 
 It is "Cheese it, won't you cheese it," in the morning, 
 
 And it's "Cheese it, won't you cheese it," all day long; 
 I am nervous with that "Cheese it, cheese it," warning. 
 
 For that "Cheese it" means that something must be wrong. 
 
 Sometimes a bunch are standing on a corner chewing wind. 
 But their conversation they're obliged to stop. 
 
 For a signal it is given by some near approaching friend. 
 Who says, "Cheese it, won't you cheese it, there's a cop!" 
 
 In the doorway perhaps your standing with your sweetheart, 
 meaning well. 
 
 When some rubberneck at you will stretch his crop; 
 You may take it yes for granted that no falsehood he does tell. 
 
 Saying, "Cheese it, won't you cheese it, there's a cop!" 
 
 Perhaps a man is sometimes cumbered with a harmless 
 "Emmons jag," 
 
 And for trouble he don't even think or stop, 
 But there's always some one ready to just say a word for brag; 
 
 It is, "Cheese it, won't you cheese it, there's a cop!" 
 
 54 
 
If a crowd should stop to listen to aii argument or such, 
 To your ears these words are always sure to drop; 
 
 And if you still unheed it, on your arm some one will touch 
 And say, "Cheese it, won't you cheese it, there's a cop!" 
 
 OF SUCH I'VE HAD ENOUGH. 
 
 To-day our waitress, O ! so nice, 
 
 To me said: "Hughie boy, 
 I've saved some chicken soup for you ; 
 
 'Twill fill your heart with joy." 
 Then with a platter in she tripped, 
 
 And left me there to fish ; 
 Some watery soup and one long neck 
 
 Made up the promised dish. 
 
 I fished around with fork and spoon 
 
 To find a leg or wing, 
 But, by the powers of what we eat, 
 
 I couldn't find a thing. 
 So in despair I seized the neck 
 
 And waived it up on high, 
 Then said: "Fair maid, by all that's good. 
 Do you my patience try ; 
 
 "This rooster's neck, with many a joint. 
 
 A beggar might accept, 
 But I, who've always paid my board, 
 
 Such treatment don't expect." 
 
 55 
 
And as my anger rose, I seized 
 
 More firm that rainbow neck 
 And said: "Of grain, that passage small 
 
 Has swallowed many a peck. 
 
 "Perhaps some lone farmer down in Maine, 
 
 Who long lies in his grave, 
 Did carry food in wintertime. 
 
 This tough old bird to save. 
 And many a morn his loud shrill crow 
 
 Disturbed the farmer's dreams ; 
 And if by age I judge this neck, 
 
 'Tis far beyond its teens. 
 
 "So take it now from here, I say. 
 Or thrice it goes in twain ; • 
 
 And woe be unto you if e'er 
 You serve me thus again." 
 
 Not until I was through eating did I remember 
 that I should be thankful for small mercies, so I 
 said : 
 
 "A rooster's neck this day I've seen, it was 
 both lean and tough; I thank thee. Lord, most 
 truthfully, of such I've had enough." 
 
 56 
 
BURLY JOE. 
 
 There was once a great big bully 
 Who was known as burly Joe, 
 And in that new western city 
 He had landed many a blow. 
 
 But strange it seems for any man 
 Such deviltry to plot and plan, 
 To land a blow, 
 His strength to show. 
 Then think himself a wonder, O. 
 Yet burly Joe, with fistic skill, 
 
 Was ever seeking bother. 
 And many a man did nearly kill, 
 Then blame it on the other. 
 It goes to show as plain as day 
 How he his manhood passed away. 
 In silly broils 
 Devoid of spoils. 
 In injuring his brother. 
 
 But burly Joe would talk all day 
 
 Of moves and pointers fistic ; 
 And said to him 'twas only play, 
 That science pugilistic! 
 
 Now I am sure that such a play 
 Is most degrading in its way. 
 To fight is wrong ; 
 It brings a scorn 
 To feel too pugilistic. 
 
 57 ^ 
 
But burly Joe to trouble came, 
 When he did least expect it, 
 He lost what he considered fame, 
 Which left him sore dejected. 
 
 Now it may seem a blessing that 
 He was relieved of brainy fat; 
 It was no good. 
 And never could 
 Bring fame that is respected. 
 
 One day a stranger came to town, 
 
 Joe heard the news with pleasure. 
 And said that he would on the ground 
 Soon take the stranger's measure. 
 But here I'd quietly state 
 How he in error very great, 
 In rude desire 
 To cool his ire. 
 To take the stranger's measure. 
 
 Joe met the stranger on the street 
 
 And challenged him to stand and fight. 
 For he was boss of every street 
 
 And feared no man by day or night ! 
 Now that was quite a risk to take, 
 A statement few would like to make, 
 And then to swear. 
 In brutish air, 
 That he would any stranger fight. 
 58 
 
The stranger was a skillful lad, 
 
 The challenge he accepted; 
 And in the first round gave to Joe 
 More than he had expected! 
 But wasn't it a dreadful sight 
 To see two men like cattle fight, 
 Without a cause; 
 They break the laws, 
 And get what's not expected. 
 
 Big Joe had found his match and more, 
 
 He found a well-trained fighter; 
 He soon regretted what he swore, 
 And wished some blows were lighter. 
 Now you will all agree with me. 
 The stranger soaked him hard and free 
 Before he rued 
 The mischief brewed, 
 To try to lick the fighter. 
 
 The stranger banged him right and left 
 
 Until he said: "O stranger! 
 I am a 'has been' in this craft; 
 Please stop, my life's in danger!" 
 Now you will say he got his pay; 
 'Twas what he dealt in many a way. 
 It served him well, 
 As all can tell, 
 When he said: "Stop, O stranger!" 
 59 
 
O JOSEPHINE SARAH, COME BACK IF YOU PLEASE. 
 
 My wife she has gone with her people to live, 
 And the charge of the cooking to me she did give ; 
 Since then I am boss of the kitchen myself, 
 But the board it don't seem to agree with my health. 
 
 At first I sat down to four meals every day, 
 And considered the cooking a pleasure and play; 
 Next week it was three, and the next it was one. 
 And at present I feel that it soon will be none. 
 
 Corned beef and green cabbage, potatoes and beans. 
 Fresh eggs, pickled onions, tomatoes and greens. 
 Oatmeal and bread pudding, with sausage and fish, 
 Some oysters and chicken, all in the one dish. 
 
 This dish I had flavored with spices and salt, 
 And added a half-pint of Duffy's old malt; 
 I boiled it, then roasted a day and a night. 
 And I ate till I foundered my old appetite. 
 
 Dear Josephine Sarah, I wish you were back. 
 For the art of good cooking in some way I lack; 
 My neighbors all say that I holler at night 
 And complain of a pain in my lost appetite. 
 
 O Josephine Sarah, come back if you please; 
 Come, Josephine Sarah, and live at your ease; 
 I'll never once mention my mother's good bread; 
 Come, Josephine Sarah, or soon I'll be dead. 
 
 60 
 
O ICY-HEARTED ICE-MAN'! 
 
 Oh! did you see the ice-man 
 
 That stole my Mary Ann? 
 
 He left the ice-team standing, 
 
 And off with her he ran. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Oh! icy-hearted ice-man, you're certainly a nice man, 
 ikit I tell you there is trouble brewing now; 
 You will call for ice to cool you, but the devil he will fool you, 
 When you reach the place that wife-kidnappers go. 
 
 For the ice-man I am searching. 
 
 And I'll find him if I can ; 
 He has no right nor license 
 
 To be with my Mar}^ Ann. 
 
 HIS GOOD WIFE HAD IT IN HER NAME. 
 
 Brown, the deacon, said bis business did not pay. 
 So to his wife at supper he did say : 
 "My property, my merchandise, my all 
 I give to thee, lest death should call 
 Your husband and support. I freely give, 
 That on my earnings you may quietly live, 
 And at my death, should I before you go, 
 Have documents your legal rights to show." 
 The deed was written, signed by hand and seal, 
 But cautioned her his kindness to conceal. 
 
 6t 
 
Six months had elapsed when creditors came around, 
 
 And as they searched a tangled maise they found; 
 
 To garnishee or seize they tried in vain, 
 
 His deaconship had proved their loss his gain. 
 
 And thus he carried on a business small ; 
 
 He sold for cash or did not sell at all. 
 
 Soon a revival sprung up in the town, 
 
 And who was first to go but Deacon Brown. 
 
 Things went on quietly for a week or two, 
 
 Till murmurings of Brown's conduct filled each pew. 
 
 The preacher, too, got wind of Brown's affairs. 
 
 And said that he must undergo repairs; 
 
 But put it off some greater work to do. 
 
 And then attend to Brown when he was through. 
 
 But in the midst of prayer and godly work, 
 
 He asked all Christians just a word to speak. 
 
 When up the shiny pate of Brown did pop ; 
 
 But ere he spoke the preacher hollered: "Stop!" 
 
 Then said: "Before your voice in truth shall raise, 
 
 Do you religion practice business days.''" 
 
 The audience placed on Brown a waiting eye, 
 
 For it was up to him to flinch or lie. 
 
 His brain, now chagrined, took a nervous freak, 
 
 So one old creditor rose up to speak. 
 
 He said: "Religion ne'er unto him came 
 
 Unless his good wife had it in her name." 
 
 62 
 
THE EGG HE DIDN'T GET. 
 
 A Hebrew went to market 
 
 A good fat hen to buy, 
 And as it cost no more, 
 
 A live one he did buy. 
 
 He took her home, rejoicing, 
 And said: "I'm in an egg; 
 
 It takes this good old Hebrew 
 To pull the Yankee's leg." 
 
 He kept her until morning. 
 And then he took her life; 
 
 And then they plucked her feathers. 
 Old Levi and his wife. 
 
 So then old Levi started 
 In search to find the egg. 
 
 But found instead the Yankee 
 Had pulled his Jewish leg. 
 
 The hen in )'ears was growing, 
 And thus her fate she met; 
 
 She proved as tough a creature 
 As he that did her get. 
 
 When Levi wants a fresh egg 
 Since then he asks for one; 
 
 The other way the chances are : 
 He only gets the hen. 
 
 63 
 
IT'S WHAT THEY ARE TO-DAY. 
 
 I went into a restaurant and quietl)' took a chair, 
 And when the waiter came I said: "What is the bill-of-fare?" 
 He said: "There's chicken, veal and lamb, spare ribs and ox- 
 tail soup." 
 And so I said: "I'll take it all, and don't forget the soup." 
 In less time than it takes to tell, each dish before me sat; 
 And staring at the chicken, said : " He's neither young nor fat, 
 He might have fought some noble fights and done good in his 
 
 time. 
 But let me say this chicken, sir, is far beyond his prime. 
 His noble deeds, his prize fights, sir, no recompense can pay; 
 It makes no difference what he was; 'tis what he is to-day." 
 And then the veal I tackled next, the chicken I gave up. 
 And now and then, between the acts, of soup I took a sup. 
 Then turning to the waiter, I with vengeance did explain 
 How every bite I tried to take the parting gave me pain. 
 He might have been a faithful steer and ploughed hard in his 
 
 day. 
 But it makes no difference what he was; 'tis what he is to-day. 
 And now the lamb, the lamb, the lamb that skipped from 
 
 many a hill. 
 Has he not borne the summer's heat and many a winter's chill ? 
 Was he not shorn of cheviot wool worth twenty-five a pound, 
 And in the pastures green perhaps some twenty years was 
 
 found .'' 
 Your rooster, steer, this critter, too, might cut ice in their day. 
 But it makes no difference what they were; 'tis what they are 
 to-day. 
 
 64 
 
A STRIKE IN THE BARNYARD. 
 
 " Good morning ! " said tlie rooster 
 
 To his wives, in stern refrain ; 
 " Our labors all for many a day 
 
 Have simply been in vain. 
 ' Fresh eggs,' they shout, till up they go 
 
 To forty cents a dozen ; 
 And then they turn around and feast 
 
 On our poor turkey cousin. 
 
 "There's some of you, I know, have laid 
 
 Two hundred eggs a year ; 
 And crystal nest-eggs they replace, 
 
 Our wounded hearts to cheer. 
 Incubators take sleep and rest 
 
 From our downtrodden race. 
 And egg consumers dare not look 
 
 A poor hen in the face. 
 
 " The time has come when we must stand 
 
 In battle, wing to wing ; 
 The mother hen is not allowed 
 
 Her fledgelings forth to bring. 
 'Twill be a strike, an eggless strike, 
 
 Beneath red, white and blue ; 
 Each working hen shall labor quit, 
 
 Likewise all roosters, too. 
 
 65 
 
"And when the strike is ending, 
 
 This compromise we'll make : 
 From every egg-producing hen 
 
 The law one-half can take ; 
 The other half shall be her own. 
 
 Incubators can't stay, 
 Our chickens shall be brought to life 
 
 In the good old-fashioned way. 
 
 "Then each small chick may know for sure 
 
 Who are its pa and ma ; 
 No more shall they be lulled to rest 
 
 By man's rude tra ! la ! la ! " 
 
 O, HOW FOOLISH IT MUST BE! 
 
 They were walking out together 
 On a brilliant moonlight night, 
 
 And the stars in beauty glittered 
 In their ceaseless, onward flight. 
 
 As he viewed the moon so brilliant, 
 He remarked: "Does it remind 
 
 You of anything particular.'" 
 
 (On their courtship dwelt his mind.) 
 
 "O, 'tis full," she gently answered ; 
 
 "Your conundrum now I see; 
 Just the same as you on club nights ; 
 
 O, how foolish it must be !" 
 66 
 
CHICKEN, CHICKEK", CHICKEN! 
 
 Just listen to this darkey, 
 
 Fo' he's surely goin' to sing, 
 And with all de latest music 
 
 He will make de banjo ring. 
 But de song ob chief importance 
 
 Is when chicken we can hab ; 
 For der's nothing in dis world 
 
 Dat de darkey more can lub. 
 
 chicken, chicken, chicken ! 
 
 Give me more and more and more ; 
 May your numbers be unknown, 
 Like de sands upon de shore. 
 
 1 want chicken in de morning:, 
 
 And I want de same at noon ; 
 
 And when chicken am fo' supper. 
 
 Supper cannot come too soon. 
 
 In de night you'll see me stealing 
 
 From my old log-cabin home. 
 And perhaps into your hencoop 
 
 Dis here darkey's goin' to come. 
 I'se sure to get de fattest one, — 
 
 De pullet am my choice ; 
 Dey say fish am fo' intellect. 
 
 But chicken am fo' de voice. 
 
 67 
 
And when dat dar ole Gabriel 
 
 On de resurrection day 
 Blows loud upon his trumpet, 
 
 I will hear St. Peter say : 
 " Go back to earth, ole darkey. 
 
 Neither place hab chicken here ; 
 Should you die fo' sake ob chicken, 
 
 Dar's no place to plant you here." 
 
 Den I'll answer : " Mr. Peter," 
 
 And I'll say : " Is it not true 
 Dat dey nebber eat in heaven, 
 
 And dar's nothing dar to do .-* 
 Heaven am good enough fo' me 
 
 When de chicken am all gone." 
 And den St. Peter he will say : 
 
 " You're welcome ; walk right in." 
 And when de gate am closed again, 
 
 These words dey' 11 hear me sing : 
 " If you had only chicken here 
 
 I wouldn't do a thing." 
 
 68 
 
IT IS UP TO ME NOW. 
 
 By the whistle's shrill toot at a quarter of seven, 
 
 This morning I awoke and did say : 
 " For the sake of a few sleepy moments in bed, 
 
 I will bet that the devil's to pay." 
 
 So it's up to me now, yes, it's up to me now, 
 
 No breakfast to cheer me this morn; 
 And my liver, which does business seven days a week, 
 
 Shall go off on a time of its own. 
 
 And at eight I was sure it was up to me then. 
 
 For that craving I felt starting in; 
 My stomach thought sure that my jaws were on strike, 
 
 So it patiently battled to win. 
 
 Many times I had looked at my watch before nine, 
 As the time seemed to halt on its way. 
 
 Grim hunger on water I could not appease ; 
 It had come, like Irish, to stay. 
 
 Weary ten moved around with a still slower pace. 
 Bringing with it new pangs of distress ; 
 
 My last two weeks' pay I would willingly give 
 For most any old kind of a mess. 
 
 And from ten till eleven I was languid and faint, 
 Happy dreams of the future took flight; 
 
 All ambition and hopes of the day spring of life 
 Faded into the shades of cold night. 
 
 69 
 
Then the next long decade of my fasting moved on. 
 
 "Shall it ever be over?" I groaned. 
 "Too much food is the cause of dyspepsia, they say; 
 
 But it's better than starving," I moaned. 
 
 So it's now twelve o'clock! May the gods all be praised ! 
 
 But, by thunder, my board is not paid, 
 And a new boarding mistress just moved into the house ; 
 
 And these words unto me she just said: 
 
 " It is up to you now, yes, it's up to you now ; 
 
 'When you've money you can call around. 
 So your hard-working liver, in business so long, 
 In the pleasures of rest can abound." 
 
 FIRST SIGHT SOMETIMES BEST. 
 
 "It is a case of love at first sight," 
 So every person says; 
 And that his second may not come, 
 Expectantly she prays. 
 
 YOU'RE LUCKY IP YOU DO. 
 
 "Some day, they say, I'll lose my looks ; 
 O, say, can it be true.-*" 
 But this is what he said to her: 
 "You're lucky if you do." 
 
 70 
 
SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I. 
 
 When I was a boy a-courting I went 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I) ; 
 To marry that girl is my earnest intent 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 My life she will make it so happy and gay 
 That toil I'll consider a pleasure and play, 
 Because there'll be joy in my heart all the day 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 How quickly will speed what is now lingering hours 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I) ! 
 Our path will be strewn with the richest of flowers 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 I pictured her out in mind day and night, 
 And she never, no never, was out of my sight ; 
 To me she was truly a dream of delight 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 Of course it was love, and true love at the least 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I), 
 And on all its sweets I was hungering to feast 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 I did not have credit nor cash, to my sorrow; 
 Had I but a chance I would willingly borrow. 
 And when we were married I would pay on the morrow 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 71 
 
But her love it had never been kindled for me 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I) ; 
 One night, after meeting, I got the "G. B." 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 My life seemed a farce, with the cruelest of blunders, 
 And my thoughts were expressed in low verbal thunders, 
 And my future was dark as the darkest of wonders 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 I'll bury my sorrow, I'll bury my woe 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I) ; 
 I am either a fool or I'm desperately slow 
 
 (Said 1 to myself, said I). 
 A few months rolled on, when a second love came; 
 It came, and it grew from a spark to a flame ; 
 Once more I was anxious' to change a girl's name 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 A third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I) 
 Have won my affections and left me half mixed 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 The first one I lost, O, I thought all the light 
 Of my life had gone out, leaving nothing but night ; 
 But to strike a new match is a cheerful delight 
 
 (Said I to myself, said I). 
 
 72 
 
JUST A KISS BEFORE YOU GO. 
 
 It was last night, yes, 'twas last night, 
 That I made a sad mistake ; 
 
 I'm ashamed of my behavior, 
 
 All was free to give and take. 
 
 We were sitting close together. 
 All alone, except the light, 
 
 And 'twould only take a moment 
 To put its bright flames to flight. 
 
 Anyway, the time was flying, 
 
 As we sat there all alone ; 
 To say something I was trying. 
 
 As the girl had weary grown. . 
 
 Twice I almost tried to kiss her. 
 But my courage waned away ; 
 
 Then I said : '♦ E.xcuse me, won't you, 
 For I can no longer stay." 
 
 Then she looked at me so cunningly 
 As she said in accents low : 
 
 " If you're really in a hurry. 
 Just a kiss before you go." 
 
 In the act I sore repented ; 
 
 I must break my word or o-o • 
 Grim remorse of conscience smote me 
 
 That I was so horrid slow. 
 
 73 
 
WHEN THE PAIR SEX GET THEIR EQUAL RIGHTS. 
 
 When the fair sex get their equal wrongs and rights, 
 Then some pretty girl with burglars will have fights. 
 
 She will take her hourly rounds, with revolver in her hand, 
 And she'll press electric buttons with an air to beat the 
 band. 
 
 But a mouse will come to visit, as it did to me to-day, 
 Holy Moses and the angels ! how am I to get away } 
 
 Murder ! Heaven ! St. Patrick, save me ! And she'll ring the 
 
 fire alarm ; 
 There will be confusion raging, but it won't amount to harm. 
 
 Smash ! The gate is burst open, and the fireman look 
 
 around, 
 But no smoke, nor flame, nor element of fury can be found. 
 
 Then a voice is heard distinctly, half between a scream and 
 
 shout, 
 " Turn your hose upon this monster ; it will surely put him 
 
 out!" 
 
 A ROUSING TIME. 
 
 There is a rousing time, my friends. 
 
 Though long it cannot last ; 
 You'd better then be all prepared : 
 
 JTis followed by breakfast. 
 
 74 
 
HEK TEMPER. 
 
 She was pretty, she was handsome, 
 Such an ideal form and face ; 
 
 She was learned and well accomplished 
 She could talk with ease and grace. 
 
 I admired her for her beauty ; 
 
 In my eyes she had no fault, 
 Till to-day I chanced to see her ; 
 
 Then my foolish love did halt. 
 
 She was in a dreadful passion, 
 Every trace of beauty fled ; 
 
 As I always speak when passing, 
 I these words in laughter said : 
 
 " Miss, I see you lost your temper ; 
 
 It don't suit a girl like you." 
 And as I was moving onward. 
 
 After me these words she threw : 
 
 " Lost my temper ? No, I didn't ; 
 
 I am using it just now. 
 Perhaps some think I am an angel ; 
 
 But I'm not, I'd have you know." 
 
 All her beauty, all her talent, 
 All her charms, are mud to me. 
 
 Just because she keeps her temper ; 
 But from it, thank God, I'm free. 
 
 75 
 
THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE. 
 
 'Twas on Rampshire Street, on my wheel one day, 
 
 That I started for pleasure to ride. 
 And this being a country which used me quite well. 
 
 In its colors so sacred I pride. 
 
 So I at a dry-goods store had stopped 
 Just to get the red, white and the blue, 
 
 So that they from my wheel should proudly stream, 
 That dear emblem so honored and true. 
 
 But, in truth, on the curbstone in vain I tried 
 
 To tie just to please me a bow ; 
 But there was one watching me, handsome to see, 
 
 On whose cheeks health and beauty did glow. 
 
 Perhaps it was for the sake of the pride she took 
 In those colors, the red, white and blue. 
 
 But for reasons unknown these words she said : 
 " May I render assistance to you .'' " 
 
 I said : " I am sorry I am weak in this art " ; 
 
 So she said : " Perhaps it's out of your line ; 
 It takes many trades to accomplish all work. 
 
 And I hope you are glad this is mine." 
 
 And she tied the bow-knot so graceful and neat, 
 
 I was sorry I did not have more ; 
 Had she tied it a dozen times over again, 
 
 I still would have patience in store. 
 
 76 
 
I thanked her as much as was manly to do, 
 And as well as I really knew how, 
 
 But she said it was only a pleasure for her. 
 Then walked off with a sweet little bow. 
 
 The red, white and blue is still on my wheel. 
 And the bow which she tied there so neat ; 
 
 And I trust and I hope that no color may fade 
 Till again that dear girl I may meet. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN EXTEMPORANEOUSLY TO 
 
 A YOUNG LADY WHO SHARED WITH 
 
 ME A PICKLE SHE WAS EATING. 
 
 While coming from dinner one day to my work, 
 A sweet little lassie I chanced to o'ertake; 
 She was eating her lunch as we walked on our way, 
 When "sample my pickle" to me she did say. 
 
 Chorus. 
 I sampled her pickle, tra, la, la, la, la ! 
 I sampled it over and over, ha, ha! 
 She knew that her pickle my palate did tickle, 
 Which started me singing tra, la, la, la, la! 
 
 Since then I have met her, ho, ho, and ho, ho! 
 We are both fond of pickles, we know, yes we know! 
 It was natural for us to both feel inclined 
 To sample a pickle just after we dined. 
 
 77 
 
VERSES WRITTEN TO A LADY FRIEND. 
 
 There's a little thought that often 
 Comes to cheer me every clay ; 
 
 It is this, O let me tell you, 
 And excuse what I may say : 
 
 I can fancy I can see her ; 
 
 I can almost hear her voice ; 
 'Mongst a hundred she's the fairiest ; 
 
 Of them all, she is my choice. 
 
 In her eyes I often fancy 
 She is speaking love to me ; 
 
 There's a world of beauty in them ; 
 There's a friendship kind and free. 
 
 She's the same where'er I meet her, 
 Always friendly, kind and true ; 
 
 And as time goes on I'll tell you 
 Just exactly what I'll do. 
 
 I will say to her: "My darling, 
 
 I'm alone in my canoe ; 
 Why should we not sail together ? 
 
 There is room enough for two." 
 
 78 
 
ROOT, HOG, OR DIE. 
 
 Should you on your own resources 
 
 Find that you have to rely, 
 Do not feel the least discouraged ; 
 
 Life is but root, hog, or die. 
 
 In the morning should you falter, 
 
 And on labor heave a sigh. 
 Throw your breast to full expansion 
 
 And exclaim, " Root, hog, or die ! " 
 
 Greet the dawn with resolution ; 
 
 There's reward for those who try. 
 If the task seems great before you. 
 
 It is root, root, hog, or die. 
 
 Should you meet with disappointment, 
 And your courage seem to fly, 
 
 O that power, determination, 
 Based on go, root, hog, or die. 
 
 And as step by step you're climbing 
 To those heights which looked so high, 
 
 Onward, upward, persevering. 
 It is still root, hog, or die. 
 
 When at last you've scaled the climax, 
 Which there's none can you deny, 
 
 Happy thought that once you struggled 
 In the strife root, hog, or die. 
 
 79 
 
EXPRESSION. 
 
 True art of expression, in thy glory alone 
 Thou hast moved, yes, and molded all time that is gone ; 
 Who has not by the power of thy greatness been blessed, 
 As thy sweet breath of fragrance the weary caressed. 
 
 Keen talent is scaling those heights so divine, 
 Just to enfer thy haven and say thou art mine ; 
 Then stand like a hero, the earth at thy will. 
 To quaff from expression's deep fount to its fill. 
 
 From the lisp of the babe to the triumph of speech, 
 Standing forth in thy grandeur to lift and to teach ; 
 To portray on the tablets which God did design. 
 Living truth, living thought, sacred beauty sublime. 
 
 Dear expression, thou ruler with magic in hand, 
 
 Thou hast nourished bless'd virtue with skill at command, 
 
 To transmit from the soul to the soul on its way 
 
 Just a ray that proceeds heaven's new-coming day. 
 
 I CANNOT HELP BUT LOVE HER. 
 
 I know a pretty lassie. 
 And she always smiles at me ; 
 I cannot help but love her, 
 And this is the reason why ; 
 
 I can't say that I love her 
 As some lovers do. 
 So I'll call it just a friendship 
 'Neath the red, the white and blue. 
 80 
 
Still I prize that friendship better 
 Than that passion some call love. 
 
 So I'll call that passion something, 
 And let friendship equal love. 
 
 And when adieu I'm saying 
 
 To old Cambridgeport in rh3iiie, 
 
 To insert a verse about her 
 
 There'll be plenty space and time. 
 
 SHE MUST BE A JOLLY ONE. 
 
 If e'er I get a wife, I say 
 
 That she must be a jolly one ; 
 
 Dark clouds will never come our way 
 If she is but a jolly one. 
 
 I'll pledge my love, I'll drink good health, 
 
 To no one but a jolly one ; 
 I do not care for wealth nor fame 
 
 If she will be a jolly one. 
 
 Good looks may cut a power of ice, 
 
 But O give me a jolly one ; 
 For she alone can me entice, 
 
 The winsome lass, the jolly one. 
 
so TAKE MY ADVICE WHEN YOU GO TO CUT ICE. 
 
 When I was quite young a-courting I went, 
 And all of my wages I carelessly spent 
 On dress and amusement and pleasing that girl, 
 Who delighted in keeping my brain in a whirl. 
 
 Chorus. 
 So take my advice when you go to cut ice. 
 
 For there's certainly water below ; 
 If you cut all around you'll go down and you'll drown, 
 
 And the ice will freeze over, you know. 
 
 My leg it was literally awfully pulled ; 
 
 My mind by derision was recklessly fooled ; 
 
 I fancied an angel awaiting my care ; 
 
 Bad luck to the dream that ends up in despair. 
 
 A hook in the mouth of a fish I have seen ; 
 
 I was caught just the same, and was kept on the string. 
 
 At last at her pleasure she let me go free, 
 
 And laughed as she said : " I am weary of thee ! " 
 
 So now I am courting away to keep clear 
 
 From the charms of the winsome around me right here ; 
 
 I ward off those arrows which Cupid may sling. 
 
 As I try to forget how the last one did sting. 
 
 82 
 
VERSES WRITTEN TO MISS AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 Your note I received, so loving and kind, 
 
 And with pleasure I'll read it again ; 
 But there's one little sentence, if it had been true, 
 
 Might have given me worry and pain. 
 
 You said that it seemed Hke the days that are gone 
 
 To be writing a letter to me. 
 And that once I thought more of your friendship than now, 
 
 When my verses were looked for by thee. 
 
 But, dear girls, do not think for a moment that I 
 
 Have forgotten your friendship so true ; 
 It is pleasing to know that you cherish the past, 
 
 So we'll stir that old friendship anew. 
 
 Just a smile and a bow and a cheerful " Hullo" 
 
 Makes life happy and easier to live ; 
 There is none I am sure but do prize it far more 
 
 Than the pleasures that riches may give. 
 
 Had I known that you missed what was pleasure to give, 
 
 I would not have been lazy nor slow ; 
 Every week you would have something new from my pen, 
 
 For I'm always a-scribbling, you know. 
 
 So I'll write you a toast, for the present and past, 
 
 And the future, whate'er it may be ; 
 The past was all right, the present the same. 
 
 And the future I hope you may see. 
 
 83 
 
Dear girls, there is nothing too good at this time 
 That for you I could wish from my heart ; 
 
 May the joys of all pleasure attend you through life, 
 And the poet, to play his small part. 
 
 SUCH IS LIFE. 
 
 Last night I thought I had a date 
 
 That worth was of keeping, 
 But it would have been better far 
 
 Had I in bed been sleeping. 
 
 At half-past eight we promised sure 
 
 To meet at Harvard Square; 
 And as in many a past event. 
 
 Results I pictured fair. 
 
 I was on time ; so was the moon ; 
 
 And there we viewed each other. 
 Until at last I thought it best 
 
 To pull myself together. 
 
 And as I was about to leave 
 
 The post I braced so long. 
 My heart gave one great jump — for there ! 
 
 Fair Dora tripped along. 
 
 I raised my hat to greet her bow, 
 And then said : " Gracious me ! 
 
 For one long hour I've waited here. 
 What can the matter be .-^ " 
 
She laughed a laugh of bitter gall, 
 It pierced me through and through ; 
 
 Then said : " I've more to think about 
 Than easy folks like you." 
 
 I said : "Why did you promise me 
 
 To meet at half-past eight 
 If you did not intend to keep 
 
 With me your word and date ? " 
 
 She said : "I'm going to see a friend ; 
 
 If you will kindly wait, 
 I sha'n't be more than half an hour, — 
 
 That won't be very late." 
 
 So I agreed to wait on her, 
 
 Bad luck that e'er I did; 
 For when she did come back again. 
 
 Another lad she had. 
 
 Said I to her : " I stood right here 
 
 Because you asked me to ; 
 And from this night, forever more, 
 
 With you, I say, I'm through." 
 
 So then she rolled a sentence forth 
 Which did me more than brown ; 
 
 She said she thought I knew enough 
 To go away back and sit down. 
 
Now by the powers of Cambridgeport, 
 
 In sunshine, rain or snow, 
 The next one says just stand and wait, 
 
 My mind she'll surel)^ know. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Yes, dear, pretty Annie Barbour, 
 
 I'll my promise now fulfill ; 
 I will write to you some verses, 
 
 When my room is quiet and still. 
 
 In your smile there is a friendship 
 That is dearer far than wealth. 
 
 And 'tis sweetened by those dimples 
 That have crowned the pride of health. 
 
 But 'tis not alone your beauty 
 
 That has won me for your friend ; 
 
 'Tis the charms that grace true girlhood : 
 Virtues pure and beauty blend. 
 
 In some snug and cozy cottage 
 
 May you spend a happy life, 
 With a true and loving" husband ; 
 
 You his cherished little wife. 
 
 86 
 
VERSES WRITTEN TO MISS OF CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 While other poets sing of fame, 
 
 In stern, heroic measure, 
 I'll tune my harp and sing of thee. 
 
 You priceless little treasure. 
 
 But language formed by mortal man 
 
 Your charms can never tell, 
 No poet's pen can picture out 
 
 The girl I love so well. ■ 
 
 You're dearer far than all the wealth 
 
 This planet doth contain ; 
 So let the friendship we have formed 
 
 Forever more remain. 
 
 Sweet the morning birds do utter 
 
 Notes so pleasing to the ear ; 
 Sweet your loving words do echo, 
 
 Speak them oft my way to cheer. 
 
 But, my friend, the art of writing 
 Fails to show what friendship gives ; 
 
 'Tis the truest type of heaven. 
 
 Cheering man while here he lives. 
 
 In this world it has no equal ; 
 
 Could I paint its worth so true. 
 It would be the hand of friendship 
 
 Stretching forth from one like you. 
 
 87 
 
'Tis our God whose touch is shedding 
 Light in life's most pleasant rays ; 
 
 Tho' it somecimes seem'th voiceless, 
 'Tis the sunshine of our days. 
 
 In its gentle lulling whisper 
 
 Dreams of trouble pass away 
 Like the dew of early morning 
 
 When the sun brings in the day. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN TO CAMBRIDGE FRIENDS. 
 
 Now and then I take a walk, 
 
 Perhaps sometimes twice a day ; 
 
 And every time I do there's words. 
 There's words I'd like to say. 
 
 Chorus. 
 There's words I'd like to say, dear girls, 
 
 There's words I'd like to say ; 
 You're such a dear, sweet bunch of girls, 
 
 There's words I'd like to say. 
 
 Upon the walk out in the yard 
 
 I look, and there I see 
 Such pretty faces looking out 
 
 From the windows, yes, at me. 
 
 One charming face at first I see. 
 Her laughing eyes catch mine. 
 
 And then her roguish, cunning smile, 
 A picture, O sublime ! 
 88 
 
She must have said : "Look, there is Hughie," 
 
 For half a dozen more 
 In beauty's pride so sweetly smile ; 
 
 Such friendship I adore. 
 
 And as I send each greeting back 
 
 To those dear little girls 
 With dimpled cheeks half hidden by 
 
 A wealth of pretty curls, 
 
 I pause and say within my heart : 
 
 Had I but wealth in store, 
 I'd say to them : " Come, share my gold, 
 
 And let us work no more." 
 
 JUNE 14, 1902. 
 
 I ne'er shall forget till the day that I die 
 
 June fourteenth, nineteen hundred and two. 
 When Eunice, a lassie so young and so fair, 
 
 Said: " To eat I'll get something for you." 
 It was just ten o'clock when the tea she did steep; 
 
 Every motion I watched with delight. 
 So winsome and handsome, a model of fun ; 
 
 And of girlhood, a genuine type. 
 
The moments they fled with a lightning-Ukc speed ; 
 
 For us two, soon the table was spread. 
 How I wished, as I watched her dear womanly form, 
 
 That a million of cash I did have. 
 Two cups and two saucers, with sugar and cake, 
 
 And a pitcher of choicest of cream ; 
 The tea-pot so neat made the table complete, 
 
 As we talked of the fun we had seen. 
 
 The tea was the best I had tasted since long ; 
 
 Of a home it compelled me to think; 
 For the boarding-house " tea," if a name it deserves, 
 
 Is a substitute which I must drink. 
 Then just before going she pinned on my breast 
 
 A rose, which I'll cherish and keep ; 
 From a book in my library just now and again 
 
 At its withered dear petals I'll peep. 
 
 And then at the door she bade me good-by 
 
 In the same jolly, good-natured way ; 
 But my heart it was sad, for to meet we just said 
 
 We might not for many a day. 
 Now how can you blame me for cherishing dear 
 
 That night I have mentioned to you .'' 
 In my heart I shall keep a sweet memory of all 
 
 That have shared me their friendship so true. 
 
 90 
 
IT CERTAINLY DID. 
 
 One night on my wheel, with no trouble to feel, 
 
 I started a-spinning for pleasure and fun; 
 But whom did I meet but a lassie so neat, 
 
 And this was the way that our courtship begun. 
 
 We met with a clash and our wheels we did smash, 
 
 So over the handle-bars both of us went ; 
 When we first struck the street it was not on our feet, 
 
 But in a position to rise and repent. 
 
 I said : "What a shame ! and I hope 3^ou won't blame 
 
 Me for all of this accident, if it is bad." 
 With a smile then she said : " There's no pardon to beg. 
 
 And if you're not hurt I am happy and glad." 
 
 Both our wheels were shook up, so we started to walk. 
 And 'twas off to a bicycle .shop we did go ; 
 
 We were laughing and talking, enjoying our walking. 
 
 When it flashed to my mind that her name I must know. 
 
 So she told me her name, and she asked me the same ; 
 
 Then said: " I am glad I have met you to-night." 
 I said I was pleased to get my mind eased. 
 
 And to once more be free from results of a fright. 
 
 So now we are courting, oh, yes, we are courting, 
 Though from the old man our secrets we hide ; 
 
 And should any one say : " Did that accident pay .-* " 
 I am .sure both will answer : " It certainly did." 
 
 9' 
 
THE FOLLOWING LINES WERE WRITTEN CHRIST- 
 MAS DAY BY THE AUTHOR WHILE ON DUTY AS 
 WATCHMAN, AND LEFT FOR A YOUNG LADY 
 WHOSE TABLE HE HAPPENED TO BE SITT- 
 ING TO WHILE EATING HIS LUNCH. 
 
 Perhaps by chance on life's short journey 
 
 We've met to gently pause ; 
 And as Xmas bells are chiming, 
 
 Times are brisk for Santa Claus. 
 
 Perhaps you at this very moment 
 
 Sit before a grand repast, 
 While the poet at his lunch-bag 
 
 Thoughtful looks does quietly cast. 
 
 Still his heart is light and happy, 
 
 As he sits there all alone ; 
 'Tis my luck, if luck you call it, 
 
 After all the girls are g3ne. 
 
 But to you I wish this Xmas 
 
 Pleasanter than all before ; 
 As as wishing costs me nothing, 
 
 I will wish a little more. 
 
 It is lots of fun to suit you, 
 
 As the old year rolls away. 
 And a brighter world to greet you 
 
 On the coming New Year's Day. 
 
 92 
 
Now I'll wish you something better : 
 'Tis a husband true and kind ; 
 
 One whose heart is always with you, 
 And whose love none else can find. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN EXTEMPORANEOUSLY ON BEING 
 PRESENTED WITH A FLOWER BY A YOUNG 
 LADY FRIEND, THE COLOR BEING PINK, 
 WHICH IS THE EMBLEM OF 
 AFFECTION. 
 
 Thou emblem of affection pure, 
 
 Bloom in thy splendor fair, 
 And may it in my heart endure 
 
 And live and flourish there. 
 
 I prize thee for thy fragrance sweet 
 
 And for thy beauty rare. 
 But greater still I prize thee, for 
 
 I know the love you bear. 
 
 Rich gems I prize but for the worth 
 
 They to my pocket bring ; 
 I scorn to set a price upon 
 
 This pretty little thing. 
 
 And as it lies and dries between 
 
 My Bible leaves unused, 
 I know no hand, no, there is none. 
 
 My pink shall e'er abuse. 
 
 93 
 
And when dark days encompass me, 
 And night seems long and drear, 
 
 My solace then will be to know 
 That you are always near. 
 
 And when this mortal coil I cast 
 
 And leave for Gloryland, 
 My last and only wish shall be 
 
 To hold thee in my hand. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S GLASS. 
 
 In friendship's glass you may see no harm 
 As you drink to the health of your friend ; 
 
 He returns the same without alarm. 
 
 But there's danger and dread in the end. 
 
 As the serpent wreathes and coils around 
 
 To deceive and decoy his prey, 
 So in friendship's glass the gall is found, 
 
 With more deadly effect in its sway. 
 
 In friendship's glass there is misery begun: 
 Its a step to the drunkard's grave; 
 
 It leads its host, its banner is rum. 
 And the drinker thereof is a slave. 
 
 The drunkard who begs for one more drink 
 Never thought that his first would do this, 
 
 But now he stands on a slippery brink, 
 On the verge of a fearful abyss. 
 
 94 
 
The coils of a demon hold him fast, 
 
 And he staggers beneath the strain ; 
 His nerves are wrecked by the awful blast 
 
 That has reeled both the mind and the brain, 
 Yes, there are thousands who struggle in vain, 
 
 Fighting hard v/ith the dregs of the glass 
 Which is causing both misery and pain 
 
 O'er the face of our country to pass. 
 
 Strong drink is the devil's cornerstone. 
 
 Oh! take warning, young man, and beware; 
 Just make up your mind to leave it alone, 
 
 And you'll never be caught in its snare. 
 
 A DRUNKARD'S FATE. 
 
 I'm a weary, weary wanderer, 
 
 No home to call my own ; 
 And since I've wandered, never had 
 
 A real kindness shown. 
 
 This world is cold and dreary ; 
 
 Cash is my only friend. 
 And seldom it to me does come. 
 
 Or on my wants attend. 
 
 I've said good-by to fortune 
 
 That once looked bright to me ; 
 
 I've said adieu to comforts. 
 For such I never see. 
 
 95 
 
Once I had a home and plenty, 
 
 A true and loving wife ; 
 Ah ! boys, I shared at one time 
 
 A prosperous, happy life. 
 
 But drink, that demon, cursed me. 
 All hopes are crushed and torn ; 
 
 I'm only a poor old outcast, 
 Forsaken and forlorn. 
 
 Repent, reform, I cannot, 
 
 Such thirst makes it too late ; 
 
 Take warning, boys, you see me. 
 This is a drunkard's fate. 
 
 SHE DIED A DRUNKARD'S BROKEN-HEARTED WIPE. 
 
 In a cottage lived a maiden. 
 
 With a wealth of beauty laden, 
 
 And as tender and as harmless as a fawn. 
 
 There she grew in sacred beauty, 
 
 Minding every day her duty. 
 
 Till the joys of heavenly bliss began to dawn. 
 
 Thus her life was doomed to sadness, 
 Every ray of hope and gladness 
 Were extinguished, as in terror, from her life : 
 She was won, deceived and married 
 By a man who at drink tarried, 
 And she died a drunkard's broken-hearted wife. 
 96 
 
In his heart there was no other, 
 
 He was truer than a brother, 
 
 Till the demon grew a monster in his breast. 
 
 In its clutch he was demented. 
 
 In his senses he repented. 
 
 And a wail of grief and anguish tells the rest. 
 
 On he went till all love perished ; 
 
 Now he hates the wife he cherished. 
 
 And caresses they have turned to bitter blows. 
 
 In despair she cries to heaven 
 
 That God's mercy might be given 
 
 To protect her from the curse of liquor's woes. 
 
 But her cries for mercy weakened, 
 
 As with blows her life he threatened, 
 
 Till by one she lay a corpse upon the floor ; 
 
 In his mad and raging fever 
 
 There he drank his glass beside her. 
 
 As she lay a ghastly sight upon the floor. 
 
 Thus her young life quickly perished. 
 
 All the hopes she fondly cherished. 
 
 Sank in anguish every charm so dear to life. 
 
 There the curse of strong drink claimed her. 
 
 Oh, what pangs of grief had pained her 
 
 As she died a drunkard's broken-hearted wife ! 
 
 97 
 
A SOCIAL GLASS. 
 
 A young man lay in anguish all alone 
 In an attic that with age had dismal grown ; 
 From a sport of style and fashion there he lay, 
 And just hearken to the words he did say. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I am dying, yes, I'm dying ; to the paupers' field I'll go ; 
 I have spent my money freely in the race of style and show ; 
 They refused to live without me till my health and cash were 
 
 gone; 
 Now they leave me here in misery and a-dying all alone. 
 
 Just a message I am leaving, — not a will ; 
 You will find it when^I'm lying cold and still ; 
 Kindly read it, as a dying man's request, 
 When this wrecked and ruined body lies at rest. 
 
 There's a glass, a social glass ; of it beware : 
 'Tis an entrance to the devil's favored snare ; 
 It will lead you on to share my solemn fate, 
 When advice and friendly counsel are too late. 
 
 98 
 
WHAT SHALL THE ANSWER BE? 
 
 (I'/ie /ollmvhig lines 7siere luritten front a painting.) 
 
 A maiden sat in an old armchair, 
 
 In a parlor rich and grand ; 
 Her elbow rested on the chair, 
 
 And her cheek upon her hand ; 
 A distant look was in her eyes. 
 
 And her head leaned partly back ; 
 Her auburn hair in beauty hung 
 
 In tresses down her back. 
 
 " Wliat shall the answer be ? " she said. 
 
 With a tender look so kind, 
 For a strange conflicting struggle seemed 
 
 To dwell within her mind. 
 She held the letter in her hand 
 
 That told love's story through : 
 Till death shall part, in black and white. 
 
 He promised to be true. 
 
 " What shall the answer be .'' O, could 
 
 I lift the veil and see 
 The future, good or bad, or what 
 
 It has in store for me ! 
 He's handsome, young, but O ! one fault : 
 
 ' He drinks,' I heard them say; 
 I asked him oft if it were true. 
 
 But this is what he'd say : " 
 
 L.ofC. ' 99 
 
" Believe me, love, I do not drink; 
 
 My heart I give to thee ; 
 Pay no attention to the words 
 
 You hear concerning me." 
 *' What shall the answer be ? O, could 
 
 I now at once decide ! 
 Am I to shun an honest man, 
 
 Or be a drunkard's bride ? 
 
 "Despairing misery it may bring. 
 
 The cost I do not know ; 
 But should it cost a broken heart, 
 
 My answer shall be : No." 
 
 DEATH'S SAD REFRAIN. 
 
 In a cottage by the river. 
 
 Where the wild flowers bloom and die, 
 It was there true love had blended 
 
 Hearts of two, 'twas Nell and I. 
 
 Chorus, 
 But alas ! that happy blending 
 Feels the chill of death's cruel rending, 
 And my heart, that beat so true, is filled with pain 
 Every joy of life has vanished, 
 P^very hope forever banished. 
 As the knell of death rine:s out its sad refrain. 
 
Many hours we spent together 
 
 Picturing out our future fair, 
 But the past, so bright and happy, 
 
 Sinks my heart in deep despair. 
 
 All my hopes now wreathe in anguish ; 
 
 At her grave I sadly weep ; 
 Oft it seems my heart is breaking 
 
 For my love in death's cold sleep. 
 
 Hard the prairie winds are blowing 
 O'er her grave, where now I kneel, 
 
 And the chill of death is stinging, 
 All its bitter pains I feel. 
 
 FLEETING TIME. 
 
 How light we look upon the fleeting hours, 
 
 Our days so bright, our pathway strewed with flowers ; 
 
 No graver thoughts upon the time bestowed 
 
 Than if the present place were our abode. 
 
 But Rampant Time is bounding on his way, 
 He has no time to lose, he will not stay ; 
 We have no choice, but bow to his decree ; 
 We are like helpless ships tossed by the sea. 
 
 Our fate is written by the winds that blow. 
 And by the sails we spread, the tides that flow ; 
 We feign would weigh our anchors here and stay. 
 Far from the raging seas, safe in the bay. 
 
With friends we've met we feign would tarry long, 
 They cheer us by their smile, their jest and song ; 
 But time and tide, they tarry not nor stay, 
 The boy of yesterday is man to-day. 
 
 MY MOTHER'S GRA.VE. 
 
 Ne'er have I looked on yonder grassy mound. 
 Within the churchyard on that lonely hill, 
 
 But what a strange and solitary thrill 
 
 Traverses through each nerve and leaves a chill. 
 
 To me it is most sacred of all earth ; 
 
 I tread with reverence, as on holy ground, 
 And bid my very heart and breath be still. 
 
 As if an angel's voice should there abound. 
 
 Oh, how our thoughts around such places dwell, 
 And travel back across a continent wide ! 
 
 To pause once more beside the cherished earth 
 Wherein that angel form must still abide. 
 
 The light of love that filled those radiant eyes. 
 The sweet and tender voice so full of love, 
 
 Awoke new charms of beauty to my mind, 
 
 And raised my thoughts from earth to heaven above. 
 
 How oft my aching heart had found relief. 
 
 When only mother's kiss could sooth the brow ! 
 
 How oft at eventide, or close of day, 
 I nestled in that bosom silent now ! 
 
Long years of weariness have rolled away 
 Since they have laid her in that silent bed ; 
 
 Though then a child, a prey to many a wrong, 
 I still have cherished long the words she said. 
 
 How fresh they ring with virtue to the mind, 
 
 And oft usurp the space that doubt would claim; 
 
 How binding are those words : " Be good, my boy; 
 Do as I've taught, and earn yourself a name." 
 
 THE RICH AND POOR ALIKE SHALL DIE, AND IN 
 THE GROUND FORGOTTEN LIE. 
 
 It was a chill November morn, no work I had that day. 
 And so I walked the street — for what .-' just now I cannot say ; 
 But anyway I had not gone much more than half a mile. 
 When from a house a hearse had left, with hundreds all in file. 
 I asked a man who watched that long and black procession 
 
 move : 
 "To whose remains do such a host pay their respect and 
 
 love .'' ' ' 
 He said : " He was a millionaire whose name was widely 
 
 known, 
 And that is why to him this day such high respect is shown." 
 On my return, from that same block I saw a casket borne ; 
 'Twas plain, and not a soul had come the parted life to 
 
 mourn. 
 I asked a man who slowed his pace : " Whose lonely corpse 
 
 goes by .'' " 
 He said : " He was a friendless man who entered there to die." 
 
 103 
 
I stopped a moment to reflect upon the former scene, 
 
 And then looked on, with dimmed eyes, the boards that closed 
 
 him in ; 
 Then to the place where thousands lie my wandering steps 
 
 were turned, 
 And where they laid my fellow-men I very soon had learned. 
 
 I stood, with pensive thoughts, between the mounds of earth 
 
 that shroud 
 The pauper and the millionaire, the humble and the proud. 
 The great inevitable came ; beneath the turf they lie. 
 The world has paid its last respect, their Judge is now on 
 
 high . 
 Frail mortal man, a few short years and all your pomp is fled. 
 Earth's glory vanishes, and lo ! you're numbered with the 
 
 dead. 
 
 I DREAMED SHE WAS WITH ME AGAIN. 
 
 ( Written by rcijucst.) 
 
 Last night as I lay on my pillow, 
 
 Such a beautiful vision I had ; 
 In dreamland, where lovers oft marry, 
 
 My sweetheart and I we did wed. 
 
 The present shone brightly upon us, 
 And the future 'mid roses was cast ; 
 
 Oh, the pride of my highest ambition 
 Was proudly accomplished at last ! 
 
 104 
 
How gaily we walked down the valley, 
 Where garlands of beauty were spread 
 
 How sweetly the birds were all singing, 
 In the foliage spreading o'erhead. 
 
 We stood by the brook for a moment. 
 And fancied our joys would remain 
 
 Like the stream, as it rippled. so freely, 
 A stranger to sorrow or pain. 
 
 Again we were meeting with loved ones. 
 Making life like an Eden above ; 
 
 The joy of our union so happy 
 Was bound by a circle of love. 
 
 But ah ! how I pondered so sadly. 
 
 When I woke at the breaking of morn, 
 
 My love, by the hand of an angel, 
 
 To the realms of bliss had been borne. 
 
 WHAT SHALL I WRITE? 
 
 What shall I write ? the poet said. 
 
 One hour I have at leisure ; 
 Can I not clothe some thought in words, 
 
 Reveal some hidden treasure ? 
 Is there no good that I can do, 
 
 Though sitting here alone ? 
 Cannot my pen some brother help, 
 
 Whose heart has weary grown ? 
 
 'o5 
 
Ah, yes, the poet grasped his pen, 
 A thought flashed through his mind, 
 
 I'll write a poem to all the world. 
 Its subject is : " Be Kind." 
 
 And this is what he wrote : 
 Be kind to those who need a friend, 
 
 No matter who they be. 
 Perhaps some poor and sin-sick soul 
 
 Is looking now to thee. 
 A friendly word of sympathy, 
 
 A tender look of love, 
 A generous act might help some one 
 
 To seek a home above. 
 How many sore afflicted hearts. 
 
 That throb with grief and pain. 
 Could by your kindness find relief. 
 
 And feel at rest again ? 
 If you would only stop to think 
 
 How grand your work would be, 
 And in that place not made with hands, 
 
 A rich reward shall be. 
 
 ]o6 
 
A HUNDEED YEARS TO COME. 
 
 We see great changes wrought by time, 
 As each new year comes in ; 
 But who can tell what is to be 
 A hundred years to come ? 
 
 The fleeting scenes we now behold 
 Shall soon be past and gone, 
 Or like a tale that will be told 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 No creature that is on the earth, 
 Man, beast or^creeping thing, 
 Can still retain the life it has 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 The men who rule the world to-day 
 By regal honors won. 
 Must leave their rank to those who'll live 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 All those who strive for wealth or fame 
 
 Shall to the dust return, 
 
 And in the ground forgotten lie 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 The children that are yet unborn 
 In hoary age shall sum 
 Their children's children long before 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 107 
 
The lives of some complete their work 
 When they are dead and gone ; 
 The seed they sow may ripen fruit 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 How is it, then, with you and I ? 
 Think when you read this poem : 
 Shall seed we sow bear ripened fruit 
 A hundred years to come ? 
 
 TIME LOST IN ETERNITY. 
 
 Our lives are passing, passing fast away ; 
 Each day we live subtracts just one' more day 
 From that uncertain time when God will say : 
 "Your hour has come." 
 
 When that shall be, alone to Him remains. 
 Who guides eternal vengeance when it reigns. 
 And pardons guilty souls of all their stains. 
 Trust God and live. 
 
 And when the heavens and the earth shall madly roll 
 And pass away as judgment's knell shall toll, 
 It shall be well with your immortal soul 
 In heaven above. 
 
 io8 
 
THE PAST. 
 
 Why grieve o'er years that have v^anished, 
 Or a hope that has met with defeat, 
 
 For many a pleasure is banished 
 On account of a heartless retreat. 
 
 The past is the past, and can never 
 For a moment return in its flight 
 
 To polish a deed, or to sever 
 
 A mistake of the past from the right. 
 
 The past had its pleasures or sorrows, 
 They are marked on the pages of yore, 
 
 But not to return to or borrow. 
 
 For the present has treasures in store. 
 
 'Tis useless to spend time to ponder 
 
 O'er the scenes or the dreams of the past, 
 
 For each day brings with it a wonder 
 More important than that of the past. 
 
 Our lives are so short and uncertain 
 That each hour has a value unseen. 
 
 Too precious to drop down the curtain 
 To live over the past in a dream. 
 
 The present demands our attention ; 
 
 It appeals to the young and the old 
 To achieve, in spite of contention. 
 
 From the hours that are better than gold. 
 
 109 
 
Lay hold of the present in earnest, 
 
 With a firm and a steadfast grasp, 
 For the mill will ever stand idle 
 
 If it waits for the water that's past. 
 
 MEDITATIONS OP THE PAST. 
 
 Many a night, from yonder casement hidden by the creeping 
 
 vine, 
 I have viewed the starry region in its many a curve and line ; 
 Many a night I sat, forgetful that I ought to be at rest, 
 As I viewed the last reflections of the sunbeams in the west ; 
 Then the calm moon, rising slowly, shed his rays of silvery 
 
 light. 
 As to guide celestial planets in the orbit of their flight. 
 O, the beauty of those bodies, like a million sparks of li.^ht. 
 Filled my very soul with wonder in the silence of the night. 
 There I paused in grave emotion o'er the ages that are passed. 
 Men of science, mighty sages, who have deep impression cast. 
 Thus in dreamy revocation ancient visions came and fled : 
 Those who held the royal scepter or in coliseum bled. 
 All the centuries behind me like a giant mill-chain lay , 
 Linking firm untrampled freedom to the time of Caesar's 
 
 sway. 
 How I tried to court the present for a promise long foretold ' 
 How I tried to grasp a moment from momentum as it rolled ! 
 Then I looked into the future, far beyond prophetic gleam. 
 Saw that life with all its splendor is a transitory dream. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF TIME. 
 
 I've been thinking, often thinking, 
 
 In my moments while alone. 
 Would those rhymes I've spun so freely 
 
 Help me when I'm older grown, 
 Or are all the people waiting 
 
 Till my locks are white as snow ? 
 Are they waiting till I'm buried 
 
 Their kind laurels to bestow ? 
 When I'm dead one year I fancy 
 
 They will say : " McCara's gone ; 
 He has written some good verses 
 
 And was never justice shown." 
 Perhaps ten years may glide on smoothly, 
 
 O, what changes they will bring ! 
 They will say :' " Where is he lying .-' " 
 
 As they start my praise to sing. 
 Perhaps some twenty years may vanish, 
 
 When some other bard like me 
 May sit down unseen, unthought of, 
 
 O, he's living yet, you see! 
 Words of praise to him that sleepeth, 
 
 For past troubles can't atone ; 
 Burns when living oft went hungry. 
 
 But when dead he sfot a stone. 
 
LIFE'S DREAM. 
 
 I stood at my home at daybreak, 
 And I looked all around and afar ; 
 
 The moon to the sun bade a welcome, 
 And adieu to the last morning star. 
 
 I felt in the silence that hovered 
 On the wings of the glory of morn 
 
 A thrill from the God of fair nature, 
 
 Who had clothed in such splendor the dawn. 
 
 I looked at the hills and the valleys, 
 
 And I looked at the low winding stream, 
 
 Then back o'er the days of my boyhood. 
 
 And the hopes I had placed in life's dream. 
 
 But adieu, yes, adieu, I was bidding 
 
 To my country, my home and my friends ; 
 
 One last look at the scenes of my childhood. 
 And the freedom of youth quickly ends. 
 
 All is past, yes, is past now forever ; 
 
 One by one have the years rolled away. 
 One by one new adventures have arisen, 
 
 Since I stood at the breaking of day. 
 
 Still in silence its memory oft lingers. 
 
 As in quiet recollections I see 
 How the course of my life has been guided 
 
 By what then had been hidden from me. 
 
DEAR LAND OF VARIED CULTURE. 
 
 In that land of hills and valleys, when the summer lingers 
 
 long, 
 And the coldest frost of winter seldom lulls the birds of song ; 
 When the zephyrs blow so gently 'mongst the leaves of all the 
 
 trees. 
 And with grace the grass of autumn bends before the gentle 
 
 breeze. 
 
 Sparkling brightly through the meadow flows the stream with 
 
 peaceful curve, 
 Till its waters reach the ocean and the finny millions serve ; 
 Where the bright and golden plumage of the numerous 
 
 feathered tribe 
 Carols forth in blended sweetness cherished notes of simple 
 
 pride ; 
 
 Where the wild flowers bloom abundant, clothing earth in 
 richest hue ; 
 
 Where the humming-b'.rd and wild bee sip the crystal morn- 
 ing dew ; 
 
 And the water-lily, spreading fragrance o'er the rippling 
 stream, 
 
 Sheds a world of beauty, often making life a fairy dream. 
 
 Then again, the fruit so plenty, clustering round most every 
 
 shade, 
 Man and beast and bird rejoicing o'er the luxuries God hath 
 
 made. 
 
 Charming land of varied culture, where the flocks in freedom 
 run. 
 
 Where all nature blooms in grandeur from the dawn till rest 
 of sun. 
 
 "3 
 
THE POET SAYS GOOD-BY. 
 
 'Twas on the eve of that great day, 
 . Looked to in history's name, 
 When Edward VII the British world 
 Their crowned king should proclaim. 
 
 'Twas on that eve near Harvard Square 
 
 I went to say good-by 
 To those dear girls who seemed to bind 
 
 My heart in friendship's tie. 
 
 That friendship tie was formed by what 
 
 Gives life a radiant smile ; 
 Each time I shared their friendship true 
 
 Heaven's joys o'er life did smile. 
 
 Although I stayed beyond my time. 
 
 The moments quickly sped, 
 Until at last compulsion urged, 
 
 So good-by we had said. 
 
 A tear bedimmed my eye, though they 
 
 No trace of grief did see ; 
 I shook each warm and fervent hand, 
 
 As one from sorrow free. 
 
 But in my heart that parting sting 
 
 Its fangs gave bitter pain ; 
 It meant long weary months before 
 
 I'd see those girls again. 
 114 
 
May fortune fair attend them all, 
 
 As we divide and part ; 
 To them I wish life's sweetest charms, 
 
 With all a poet's heart. 
 
 THE GREETING AND FAREWELL OF THE AUTHOR 
 TO HIS NATIVE LAND. 
 
 I greet thee, dear old Pictoii, 
 
 Where I was born and bred ; 
 I greet thee, dear old Pictou, 
 
 As on thy soil I tread. 
 
 Remote your sons have scattered, 
 
 Where foreign customs reign. 
 But cherished thoughts unspoken 
 
 Oft bring them back again. 
 
 Familiar hills and valleys, 
 
 And arching woodlands, too. 
 Rich soil of fertile culture, 
 
 Your value now I view. 
 
 Those undulating features 
 
 That mark your fair domain. 
 Those streams that utter 
 
 A rippling sweet refrain. 
 
 And streams of gentle volume. 
 
 That surge and wend along, 
 How gleefully in boyhood 
 
 Your waters I looked on. 
 
 115 
 
The bloom of summer's beauty 
 Is chilled by winter's hand ; 
 
 Still charms of hidden grandeur 
 Smile from the snow-clad land. 
 
 The silvery ice that clusters 
 Now from every fern and tree 
 
 Recalls the sights of winter 
 Which oft I used to see. 
 
 Though robed in winter's garment, 
 And fanned by winds that chill, 
 
 Your atmospheric virtue 
 With charms abideth still. 
 
 Farewell to hill and valley, 
 Farewell to land and sea ; 
 
 And the many friends I'm leaving, 
 Again I wish to see. 
 
 A PARTING FAREWELL. 
 
 Good-by, my friends of Drayton, 
 
 I can no longer stay. 
 The train shall soon be waiting 
 
 To bear me far away. 
 I did intend to tarry 
 
 Another year or more. 
 But I must reach that sunny clime 
 
 On yonder distant shore. 
 
 ii6 
 
My sojourn in Dakota 
 
 Woke charms that cloud my brow ; 
 The retrospective scenes present 
 
 The hopes that fail me now. 
 There are kind friends among you, 
 
 To part with gives me pain ; 
 For on life's wondrous journey 
 
 We may not meet again. 
 The friendship you extended 
 
 To me, a stranger here. 
 Reveals life's sacred beauty 
 
 In words and thoughts that cheer. 
 So now, kind friends, I bid you 
 
 A parting sad adieu ; 
 Yet, in my future home, my thoughts 
 
 Shall oft return to you. 
 
 THE CHERISHED STREAM. 
 
 Beside yon sparkling current, what a joy 
 I experienced on its banks while a boy ! 
 Up and down I wandered, hook and line, 
 Till by hunger I was urged to value time. 
 
 What a joy it was to see the speckled trout ; 
 Greater still to pull the little fellow out ! 
 And if he had proved to be a goodly size. 
 What a beam of luster filled my watching eyes 
 
 117 
 
How the hours had swiftly passed away 
 
 As the earth upon its axis closed the day ! 
 
 And when gloom had chased the twilight as before, 
 
 Sleepy thoughts were mine, and nothing more. 
 
 Then to that land where silent dreamers dwell,. 
 Were met the strange adventures hard to tell. 
 Still to that place I'm carried as in a dream ; 
 Forever dear shall be the cherished stream. 
 
 WHEN THE DEAR LAND OF EVANGELINE I SEE. 
 
 (The following verses were written while the author was wi'hout money or employ iiie7it 
 in the frozen North.) 
 
 Down to dear old Nova Scotia, 
 Where the gentle zephyrs blow, 
 
 To the dear land of Evangeline 
 I am longing now to go. 
 
 Chorus. 
 I've been roaming, roaming, roaming, 
 Till the land and sea seem moaning, 
 And a voice within is groaning now to me ; 
 It is saying : " Stop your roaming." 
 And the earth will stop her moaning 
 When the dear land of Evangeline I see. 
 
 All my boyish hopes were centered 
 
 To go out the world to see ; 
 Now my longing heart is aching 
 
 Once again that land to see. 
 1.8 
 
All the beauties that are pictured 
 Now present themselves so grand,. 
 
 And the ones I left behind me, 
 As they warmly grasp my hand. 
 
 I am going, yes, I'm going, 
 
 To my native land so dear ; 
 But within my heart I reckon 
 
 There is many a thought to fear. 
 
 O, the changes that may meet me 
 
 As I wander there alone ; 
 It is : Who are there to greet me. 
 
 Or have some forever gone .'' 
 
 Shall it be a sad returning ? 
 
 God Himself alone can tell. 
 Still I trust once more to meet with 
 
 Those to whom I said farewell. 
 
 I PELT CERTAIN YOU WOULD GUARD ME. 
 
 Two lovers they were walking on the seashore all alone. 
 They were speaking of the beauties crested on the ocean's 
 
 foam. 
 When a coming wave unnoticed o'er their clothing cast its 
 
 spray. 
 And these words unto her sweetheart without thinking she 
 
 did say : 
 
 119 
 
Chorus. 
 
 *' I felt certain you would guard me from the dangers on the 
 
 way, 
 I feared not that I should tremble 'neath a splash ,of ocean 
 
 spray, 
 In your care I felt in safety, trusting you I had no fear, 
 You hav'e always been so mindful, calling me your Mamie 
 
 dear." 
 
 Now they're old and gray and feeble, and they seldom leave 
 
 their home. 
 Still the seashore they do picture, where in youth they used 
 
 to roam ; 
 Many hours they pass recalling joys and sorrows of the 
 
 past. 
 And she says: " My dear old husband, I must tell you now 
 
 at last : 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS ALONE SHALL DWELL WHERE 
 VIRTUE'S FEET HAVE TROD. 
 
 In Franklin Park, July the Fourth, 
 
 Beneath a spreading tree, 
 I courted comfort, for my mind 
 
 From every care was free. 
 
 The balmy breeze its virtue gave. 
 
 The earth was clothed in green. 
 The distant view of hill and vale 
 
 Recalled where once I've been. 
 
How sweetly nature's psalm of life 
 The birds and stream did chime ! 
 
 Spring's beauties, lost in summer's charms, 
 In splendor reigned sublime. 
 
 Calm twilight, like a gay romance, 
 
 With lingering feet drew near, 
 To gild that wide and flowery path 
 
 That freedom loves so dear. 
 
 There, like an audience to my thoughts, 
 
 I grasped the tangled maze 
 And tried to trace the silken thread 
 
 Of love's most tender phase : 
 
 That tender thread that blends young hearts 
 
 And lures love's joys to swell ; 
 Intoxicating wine of love, 
 
 I would your mystery tell ! 
 
 For there I saw, 'neath yonder tree, 
 
 Love's passion waxing warm ; 
 So with observant eye I mused, 
 
 Not meaning any harm. 
 
 Two jolly girls were seated there; 
 
 One fair as fair could be, 
 Like rising Venus' spreading rays 
 
 Upon the Cyprian Sea. 
 
Three youthful lads, in beauty's prime, 
 
 Made up the circle neat, 
 And never failed, with nuts and sweets, 
 
 Repeated times to treat. 
 
 Hut ah ! two victims there I saw, 
 
 Their brains were in a whirl, 
 Their blood went dancing through their veins 
 
 Like an electric thrill. 
 
 "She has them hypnotized," said I, 
 
 "By beauty's magic wand." 
 Though seemingly careless, I read well 
 
 The captives of that blond ; 
 
 The skill of art they exercised 
 
 To win a smile of praise. 
 New freaks of fancy played aloof, 
 
 That would some folks amaze. 
 
 Ambition's inner soul was roused, 
 
 Love's spark grew to a flame ; 
 That subtle passion led them forth, 
 
 Like greyhounds on the trail. 
 
 Right there as in a dream I sat. 
 And solved life through each turn : 
 
 A lesson age should ne'er forget. 
 The first that youth should learn. 
 
But all ! the scene was quietly changed, 
 The third man played his part ; 
 
 With calm, discerning tactics he 
 Had won the charmer's heart. 
 
 And now, with hopes nipped in the bud. 
 The aspiring " would-bes " frowned ; 
 
 Their lavished wooing gone for naught. 
 As they no favors found. 
 
 The third man coolly owned the prize 
 
 Which he so easily won. 
 But well he knew his fellow-men 
 
 A mischief had begun. 
 
 Said one : " 'Tis time for us to go, 
 
 Jack's wife is all alone ; 
 We must not leave him here to flirt ; 
 
 Jack, to your wife go home ! " 
 
 And so poor Jack, by false report. 
 Had lost what he had gained ; 
 
 'Twas but a pause in life's career. 
 
 Where treacherous falsehood reigned. 
 
 And as I sat absorbed in thought. 
 
 Youth's folly glided by; 
 I saw the poisoned tongue let loose 
 
 That speaks the horrid lie. 
 
 123 
 
Gay, frivolous youth and simple age, 
 
 How long shall folly reign ? 
 How long shall jealous enmity 
 
 Upon this earth remain ? 
 
 It makes no difference, fair or foul, 
 
 In sunshine or in rain. 
 They'd mortgage conscience, name and soul 
 
 Some paltry whim to gain. 
 
 Let true heart beat, let false deceive, 
 
 Let love grow warm or cold. 
 Let maidens timid wedlock seek. 
 
 Let gallants young and bold ; 
 
 But mark these words : down through all time 
 
 Foul deeds return and smite ; 
 The horse that tries to kick a fly. 
 
 Alone himself doth fight. 
 
 The simple truth alone shall stand, 
 
 With either man or God ; 
 And happiness alone shall dwell 
 Where virtue's feet have trod. 
 
 124 
 
GREETING AND FAREWELL. 
 
 Out on the bounding prairie 
 That stretches far and wide, 
 
 I chanced to see at daybreak 
 What I would fain abide. 
 
 October's sun was rising, 
 The western mirage waned, 
 
 The charms of nature glittered 
 In gay theatric pride. 
 
 Out from Rosa country 
 There came a little band 
 
 To settle in Dakota 
 
 And till the fertile land. 
 
 Upon a harvest wagon, 
 A sail-cloth tent enclosed 
 
 Provisions for the journey, 
 
 Where they at night reposed. 
 
 I stopped for conversation, 
 It being the custom there 
 
 To greet most every stranger 
 And guide him here or there. 
 
 The little group were seated 
 At breakfast on the ground, 
 
 While on the grass nearby them 
 Their horses moved around. 
 
 125 
 
How plain that prairie schooner 
 Looked moving on so quaint ! 
 
 But O, such beauty graced it, 
 No poet's pen can paint. 
 
 Nor can I ever banish 
 
 What I beheld that morn ; 
 
 It seemed as if cruel fortune 
 
 From me that charm had borne. 
 
 I would that I could picture 
 That lass so wondrous fair ; 
 
 Such charms of simple beauty 
 Are far beyond compare. 
 
 With hair of wavy auburn, 
 
 That hung in sumptuous grace. 
 
 The sweetest charms of nature 
 Adorned that beauteous face. 
 
 Those eyes so blue and tender. 
 In brilliant virtue shone. 
 
 Still rays of roguish laughter 
 
 In those bright orbs were borne. 
 
 Her cheeks were like the roses 
 Of some fair sunny clime, 
 
 Where only health and beauty 
 Awake new charms sublime. 
 
 126 
 
And O, her lips so ruby, 
 
 Like cherries wet with dew, 
 
 Revealed a world of fancy 
 Beyond the real and true ! 
 
 Her features, form and beauty 
 Excelled all Grecian art ; 
 
 Romance so gay alluring 
 
 Had seemed to play its part. 
 
 The palm tree and the cypress 
 In stately grandeur stand, 
 
 And calmly sleeps the ocean 
 Upon a coral strand. 
 
 The icy clasp of winter 
 
 The rippling stream may paint 
 With flowers beyond description, 
 
 All of silvery taint. 
 
 And sweetly autumn's fingers 
 May taint the gorgeous leaves 
 
 With rainbow dyes, that softly 
 Wave in the morning breeze. 
 
 But nature's rarest beauty, 
 That gilds in richest hue. 
 
 Should stand in shady vision 
 Could I picture her to you. 
 
 1 27 
 
And now, fair nymph, so perfect, 
 You've moved poetic art ; 
 
 The path of Cupid's arrow 
 Has almost reached my heart. 
 
 But thou art gone, fair lassie, 
 Just where I cannot tell ; 
 
 'Twas " ave atgue vale," 
 Just greeting and farewell. 
 
 THE DEACON'S PARTY. 
 
 The night was clear and starry, 
 The moon gave brilliant light, 
 
 The sleigh-bells jingled gaily 
 For hours that charming night. 
 
 But good old Deacon Johnnie 
 Within his home remained ; 
 
 He said no earthly blessing 
 From driving could be gained. 
 
 Around his parlor table 
 
 Sat elders and their wives ; 
 
 They blessed the goose and turkey 
 And game that still survives. 
 
 Then asking special favor 
 
 To rest upon the wine, 
 In memory of old Christmas, 
 
 When such as they should dine. 
 
 128 
 
They quaffed the wine so freely 
 That carving came in turn ; 
 
 Old Johnnie's hand did tremble, 
 And hot his face did burn. 
 
 The goose moved o'er the table, 
 With Johnnie in pursuit ; 
 
 Then on his laundered bosom 
 The tough old gander lit. 
 
 And down his vest and trousers 
 The lavished gravy shone ; 
 
 His wife sat in amazement, 
 Then crying : " Mercy, John ! 
 
 " Give me the knife, I'll carve it. 
 You'll spoil your Sunday clothes. 
 
 You struck your friend o'er yonder 
 With elbow on the nose." 
 
 His wife took up the carver, 
 But Deacon Bill said : " Please 
 
 Give me the knife a moment, 
 I'll carve with grace and ease." 
 
 Then seizing Mr. Gander 
 
 With firmness by the neck — 
 
 But O, the slippery creature 
 Bounced in his lady's lap ! 
 
 129 
 
Just at that very moment 
 
 The parson's knock was heard, 
 
 And then, advancing slowly, 
 The door he opened wide. 
 
 The elders eyed the parson, 
 Then their greasy clothes. 
 
 And then they glanced at Murphy, 
 Who wore the greasy nose. 
 
 " Good-evening," said the parson, 
 "I'm late, an hour or more ; 
 
 I went to see a sick man ; 
 Your pardon I implore. 
 
 " But what have you been playing ? 
 
 A game of ' peck at store ' .'' 
 I see your clothes are oily. 
 
 And plates are on the floor." 
 
 So Johnnie told the parson 
 The old goose came alive 
 
 Just when he went to carve it, 
 And made a dreadful dive. 
 
 Said he : "It struck my bosom, 
 Then flew at Murphy's nose, 
 
 It dabbled in the gravy, 
 
 And ruined all our clothes." 
 
 130 
 
He listened to their tuffers, 
 
 Then quietly took a chair ; 
 He carved the goose and turkey — 
 
 But O, what filled the air ? 
 
 It was the smell of whiskey, 
 
 The parson knew too well ; 
 But as it was on Christmas, 
 
 The preacher didn't tell. 
 
 "WILD TINGLEY." 
 (C. E. Tingley.) 
 In Cambridgeport there lives a man 
 
 Who's envied and admired, 
 A dauntless hero in the strife, 
 With skill that's never tired. 
 
 Oft I have seen him in the morn. 
 
 With stalwart form, come in ; 
 How nimbly he'd change his clothes, 
 
 And cheerfully work begin. 
 
 How plainly I could hear his voice 
 
 Above the buzzing roar 
 Of planers, saws and all machines 
 
 Run by the engine's power. 
 
 " Wild Tingley ! " I have named him well ; 
 
 That piercing eagle's eye 
 Takes more in at a single glance 
 
 Than some for weeks might try. 
 131 
 
" Get into line!" I've heard him shout ; 
 
 No doubt we did obey, 
 For brawn and tact made us respect 
 
 Most every word he'd say. 
 
 Before a tip had time to spread, 
 Stern vengeance was at hand ; 
 
 That dreadful form was on the scene. 
 Some thoughtless being to brand. 
 
 Then, " by the mighty," came these words 
 
 " Get out, or work, or die ; 
 I'll make the very devil shake, 
 
 Or know the reason why." 
 
 Sometimes, when stern necessity 
 
 Heaped work on every side, 
 I've seen him stand with pensive brow, 
 
 Then move with agile stride. 
 
 Well-guided thought, in active pace, 
 
 Makes many a burden light ; 
 And many a man, though sometimes tired, 
 
 With good-will leaves at night. 
 
 Acute, conceptive powers control 
 
 The routine of the day. 
 And disposition fair and square 
 
 Makes time pass on its way. 
 
 132 
 
But O, beware, don't cross his path, 
 Or try low tricks with him ; 
 
 For if you do come out at all, 
 It's on the end that's slim. 
 
 If e'er a Bengal tiger sprang 
 To guard her sleeping young, 
 
 If e'er the lion's tail is curled. 
 The mischief is begun. 
 
 Hydraulic strength and lightning speed 
 Seals vengeance in its path ; 
 
 And woe to him who rightly stirs 
 "Wild Tingley" into wrath. 
 
 Ambition's hopes may proudly rise. 
 
 And talent lead the way ; 
 But, like the rose that blooms at morn. 
 
 At eve shall fade away. 
 
 In England Wolsey served his king, 
 
 And dying did exclaim : 
 " My grey hairs now my God would save 
 
 Had I served Him the same ! " 
 
 I've seen the bloom on manhood's cheek, 
 
 The hercules in his prime. 
 The fertile brain I've seen to rule ; 
 
 But all must fade with time. 
 
 ^33 
 
So shall it be with " Wild Tingley " ; 
 
 His talent, strength and skill 
 Must wane, bow down to heaven's decree, 
 
 Thus prophecy fulfill. 
 
 SIMPLE BLISS. 
 
 Before that mighty orb of light 
 
 Had cleared the misty sky, 
 Before the moon his service quit, 
 
 A town we journeyed by. 
 
 The quiet Red River we had crossed, 
 
 Dakota lay behind ; 
 And now, on Minnesota's plains, 
 
 A thought flashed to my mind. 
 
 Can it be true, — I ne'er had seen, 
 
 But oft I heard them say, — 
 Our rude forefathers lived in huts 
 
 Composed of sticks and clay .'' 
 
 Before me stood a building low. 
 
 Its roof a gentle curve; 
 Said I : " Do former customs live 
 
 My brother man to serve .-• " 
 
 Luscurance on its earthen roof 
 
 Before the breeze did blow ; 
 The cock, to greet the break of morn. 
 
 Repeated times did crow. 
 
 134 
 
The watchdog, faithful on his guard, 
 His husky voice had raised ; 
 
 And as I viewed that simple home, 
 My mind grew more amazed. 
 
 How pure and innocent each life 
 Must be that dwells within ! 
 
 How free from every influence 
 That taints the heart with sin ! 
 
 True happiness must surely reign 
 Where pride has never trod. 
 
 True virtue dwells a sacred charm 
 'Neath yonder shielding sod. 
 
 The dazzling pomp of cultured art. 
 The crown of fancy's skill, 
 
 Nor wealth, nor ease, nor luxury. 
 No heart with peace can fill. 
 
 Far from the busy haunts of men. 
 
 Where arts do not excel. 
 Where nature's wants alone command. 
 
 True bliss must reign and dwell. 
 
 135 
 
THE OLD MAN'S DREAM. 
 
 I dreamt I stood once more a boy, 
 
 My parents by my side ; 
 Again I was my mother's joy, 
 
 My father's only pride. 
 
 And as we walked across the green 
 And homeward turned again, 
 
 A jolly little crew I saw 
 
 Come running through the rain. 
 
 They came to me and said : " Grandpa, 
 We came to take thee home ; 
 
 The tea is ready, and mama 
 Says you with us must come." 
 
 I tried to speak, but all in vain ; 
 
 I knew the children well ; 
 I knew I was a child again. 
 
 And grandpa just as well. 
 
 I looked about in wonder wild. 
 And said : " How can this be ? 
 
 I am my parents' only child, 
 And grandpa you call me." 
 
 I said to father : " Can this be .-' 
 Can time its course renew .'' 
 
 Can threescore years return to me 
 My boyhood days anew .'' 
 
 136 
 
" These golden locks that hide my brow- 
 Were white as driven snow. 
 
 father, father, what doth mean 
 This retrospective show ? " 
 
 Just as I spoke there came a sound 
 That woke me from my sleep ; 
 
 1 rubbed my eyes and looked around. 
 
 In wonder grave and deep. 
 
 'Twas but a dream ; I'm grandpa still, 
 
 No more my parents' joy ; 
 The place of grandpa still I fill, 
 
 And not a bright-haired boy. 
 
 MY DREAM BY THE ASSINOBOINE. 
 
 It was a bright September morn, 
 
 The zephyr gently blew 
 As down the crowded street I passed. 
 
 And ne'er a soul I knew. 
 
 For miles I walked the pavement hard, 
 
 To shun the busy hum 
 Of that long-mingled mass of life, 
 
 From mansion, cot and slum. 
 
 At length I reached a level space, 
 With buildings neat and clean, 
 
 Through which the great Assinoboine 
 Ran quietly on between. 
 
 137 
 
And there I paused to rest myself, 
 
 Beneath a stately tree ; 
 The fresh, cool breeze a virtue gave 
 
 To all that I could see. 
 
 How beautiful those gentle slopes 
 
 On either side the stream ! 
 How charming are those cultured groves 
 
 With foliage so green ! 
 
 Around where now that cottage stands 
 I dreamt I saw a savage tribe 
 
 Of Indians, partly clothed, pursue 
 The wild deer to the tide. 
 
 I heard the wild warwhoop ring out 
 From wigwam, tent and shade ; 
 
 I saw them gallop o'er the plain 
 With tomahawk and blade. 
 
 I heard a mingled murmur rise, 
 And then the war-dance starts, 
 
 The bloody scalping-knife is raised. 
 The poisoned arrow darts. 
 
 Each painted form in wild grimace 
 
 Moved madly to and fro, 
 And louder yet the warwhoop pealed. 
 
 As hot their passions grew. 
 
 ^38 
 
But hark ! the scene was changing fast 
 Ten thousand horsemen dash 
 
 From every side, and encompass them 
 With swords that gleam and flash. 
 
 The air was rent one piercing cry, 
 
 Their mad career is o'er, 
 They'll never use their scalping-knife 
 
 On man ; no, never more. 
 
 One hour had passed. I woke again 
 From slumber and my dream. 
 
 And found myself where I sat down. 
 Beside that giant stream. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 'Tis evening now, the day has fled, 
 
 'Tis gone, forever gone ; 
 The sun's last ray has disappeared ; 
 
 The ^arth is clothed in gloom. 
 Last night I looked with anxious thought 
 
 To this now bygone day. 
 And in my mind I pictured out 
 
 What went a different way. 
 On time's eternal pages now 
 
 That day on record stands ; 
 'Twas but a day of thoughts and deeds. 
 
 Of struggles and commands. 
 
 139 
 
'Twas seen, 'twas felt, 'twas lived, 'tis gone ; 
 
 No power on earth can stay 
 One moment from the wheels of time, 
 
 Of what we call a day. 
 Another day is held in view ; 
 
 Shall we be spared to see 
 The sun's last rays as it sinks down 
 
 Beyond the distant sea, 
 And once again behold in gloom 
 
 That space of night and rest 
 To which the moon and twinkling stars 
 
 May add a silvery crest ? 
 O time ! in your perpetual speed 
 
 I feel you bear me on 
 Unto that end which we call death. 
 
 And from which none return. 
 O shapeless time ! O sacred time ! 
 
 O time ! memorial time ! 
 Teach heart and thought, teach feeble man, 
 
 To value life sublime. * 
 
 140 
 
THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. 
 
 As we hasten along in this journey called life, 
 We are met by new changes each day ; 
 
 New scenes of adventure, unlooked, for appear 
 As we sojourn along on our way. 
 
 As the stream that ripples from the side of the mount 
 And grows larger the farther, the farther it goes, 
 
 'Twas small in itself, when it first left the fount. 
 But swells greater as onward it flows. 
 
 So in childhood's day, when this life is begun. 
 
 Sweet youth swiftly passes away ; 
 Greater burdens and cares join as time rolls along, 
 
 With a current that leads in its sway. 
 
 Sweet pleasures of fancy are strewn on each side 
 
 Of gay youth as it ripples along. 
 Never thinking how soon it is borne to the tide. 
 
 Where an ocean of troubles belong. 
 
 In manhood the stream becomes stronger each day 
 
 As it rushes o'er chasm and plain, 
 Bearing with it no chance of return or delay. 
 
 For to stop or turn backward again. 
 
 In old age the river still faster has grown, 
 Strong hands have grown weak at the oar 
 
 As they hurry along to reap seed they have sown, 
 When they enter eternity's shore. 
 
 141 
 
Thus life in three stages we often divide, 
 Gay youth, blooming prime and old age, 
 
 Each leads to a beauty of virtue and pride 
 If enrolled on the bright, golden page. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 (L:>it-s :ipo7i the death of the three sons of Mr. John Brown, mho were droiuned in Pictou 
 Harbor, July 31, i8i)6.) 
 
 Sad, how sad, the solemn tidings 
 
 That were carried through the town ; 
 
 Out upon the harbor's bosom 
 
 Three bright Pictou boys went down. 
 
 Such a shock of sad bereavement 
 
 Casts a shadow far and wide ; 
 Down, without a moment's warning, 
 
 Sank the parents' joy and pride. 
 
 Little did they think while sailing, 
 
 With their father by their side, 
 That a cruel storm was rising 
 
 That would throw them in the tide. 
 
 Little did they think while parting 
 
 With the loved ones left behind, 
 That their home, then bright and cheerful. 
 
 Would such grief and sorrow find. 
 
 They were true and upright fellows, 
 
 Kind and loving every way, 
 Always friendly when you'd meet them. 
 
 Cheerful at their work or play. 
 142 
 
Life's bright morning was but dawning 
 On their lives so free from care, 
 
 On life's journey they were starting, 
 They but breathed the morning air. 
 
 As they verged from youth to manhood, 
 Brightest hopes were held in view, 
 
 Future's, veil with pride, was lifting 
 To those brothers all so true. 
 
 Proud I was of their acquaintance 
 When I learned to know their ways. 
 
 Thinking not of any sorrow 
 
 That would cloud those happy days. 
 
 But the hand of death respecteth 
 Not the charms of life's gay morn ; 
 
 Like a flash of driv^en lightning, 
 
 From their loved ones they were torn. 
 
 Hard it is to bear the parting; 
 
 Could we span the stream of time; 
 Could we hear those gentle voices. 
 
 That have cheered us many a time. 
 
 Weeping friends, we share your sorrow, 
 
 Father, mother, sisters, all, 
 We extend our deepest feeling 
 
 To the home where death did call. 
 
 143 
 
But at last there is a comfort : 
 
 We can join them all again, 
 In that realm of endless blessing 
 
 Where there is no grief or pain. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 (Lines upon the death of Mrs. Attgus McKay, I'lbufield, 2vho died Jamiary 28, iSgy.) 
 
 Hark ! the voice of death still echoes 
 
 Through the silence of the night, 
 Answering just a voice up yonder, 
 
 One dear soul has taken flight. 
 
 True ! she lived a life of virtue. 
 
 Blessed to see the ripened seed 
 Of a rich, abundant harvest 
 
 Springing forth from word and deed. 
 
 From this world death's withering fingers 
 
 Bore a triumph to the grave ; 
 Yet our God, though great, hath mercy, 
 
 He doth take but what He gave. 
 
 Long she wore the wreath of honor. 
 From youth's morn till close of life ; 
 
 Long she lived a godly mother, 
 Long her partner's loving wife. 
 
 How we miss our friend so loving ! 
 
 How we yearn for her in vain ! 
 How we cherish words once spoken ! 
 
 O, to hear her voice again ! 
 144 
 
To the hearts that blend in anguish, 
 To the sons and daughters all, 
 
 To the sorrow-stricken husband, 
 Deepest grief we share with all. 
 
 God His word is but fulfilling ; 
 
 Through the glass we darkly see ; 
 Soon He'll send to us a message : 
 
 Lo ! I've come to call on thee. 
 
 Though the veil of death still hides us 
 From the loved ones gone before, 
 
 On that grand and glorious morning 
 God our loved ones will restore. 
 
 Then the Savior, King of Glory, 
 Sitting on His great white throne, 
 
 Shall proclaim the blessed tidings 
 
 By His promised words : "Well done ! " 
 
 There will be a great reunion 
 'Mongst the chosen race of men. 
 
 When the heavens and earth shall tremble, 
 Mother dear, we'll meet again. 
 
 145 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 (Lines written upon the death of Mr. George; .^hiiiroe Eider, luho died March ir, l^<)7.) 
 
 Ah ! it is with deepest feeling 
 
 I record in solemn rhyme 
 The demise of one whose footprints 
 
 Decorate the sands of time. 
 
 In the church of God how faithful 
 
 To his duties he remained, 
 Firm and steadfast, never flinching, 
 
 Till life's conquest he had gained. 
 
 All his daily words and actions 
 
 Like a stream of virtue flowed, 
 Bearing from its source a blessing, 
 
 Which undaunted ardor showed. 
 
 Weary years, with godly patience. 
 
 Were his trials calmly borne ; 
 Well he knew the darkest shadow 
 
 Close precedes the break of morn. 
 
 In the grave there is no triumph ! 
 
 In grim death no sting is found ! 
 For in Him who sealed our pardon 
 
 Grace and mercy doth abound. 
 
 146 
 
Truly man is like the grass-blade, 
 Springing forth at break of day, 
 
 And at eve a blighting frostbite 
 Leaves it withering in decay ; 
 
 Or like clay unto the potter, 
 
 Shaped, then hardened in the urn, 
 
 Sharing life's brief space a moment. 
 Dust to dust must then return. 
 
 Oh ! the cords that bind together 
 Hearts though severed by the grave, 
 
 Lifts frail man from earth to heaven. 
 As a helping grace to save. 
 
 Could we speak a word of comfort. 
 It would be : " Weep not in vain ; 
 
 Though the shades of sorrow deepen, 
 'Tis your loved ones' richest gain. 
 
 " Dearer far than pearls or rubies. 
 Or the charm that gold oft gives, 
 
 Is the last assuring sentence 
 That his soul in glory lives. 
 
 " Now adieu, your work is ended. 
 Earthly combats all are o'er; 
 
 Yet we trust to meet up yonder. 
 With the God whom we adore." 
 
 147 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 {Lines upon ike death of John H. McKay, SteUar'on. By a fellow-student.) 
 
 Oh ! how sad to lose our comrade, 
 
 And to see him here no more, 
 But we trust some day to meet him 
 
 On that bright and happy shore. 
 
 Oh! how sad to thinlc we've parted; 
 
 Could we grasp one hour that's fled ; 
 Could we reach out in the future, 
 
 When the earth gives up her dead. 
 
 Little did we think our schoolmate, 
 Who was loved by one and all. 
 
 Would be first to cross death's valley; 
 But it was the Master's call. 
 
 Little did we think the last day. 
 
 As we changed from room to room. 
 
 That our hearts, then free from trouble, 
 Should so soon be filled with gloom. 
 
 Many hearts were filled with sorrow. 
 
 Many loving tears were shed. 
 Many hopes were fondly cherished. 
 
 As he lay upon his bed. 
 
 148 
 
To the home now sad and lonely, 
 
 To the home where he did live, 
 To the home that lost its loved one, 
 
 All our sympathy we give. 
 
 'Twas our Heavenly Father called him, 
 
 And he could no longer stay; 
 He has gone to join the ransomed 
 
 In that land of endless day. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Lines upon the death of Mrs. James Wi/lis, Mi. Dalhousie, Pictou County, JV.S.} 
 
 How sweet and gentle was her voice, 
 
 Her ways were full of love; 
 But God has called that mother home, 
 
 To dwell with Him above. 
 
 The purest gems of Christian work 
 Were cherished through her life; 
 
 She proved a faithful mother here, 
 A kind and loving wife. 
 
 No human tongue can ever tell 
 
 That calm and peaceful way 
 In which she bore her suffering great 
 
 In peace, till called away. 
 
 [49 
 
'Tis now we miss her virtuous life, 
 That oft has given repose, 
 
 Though still it leaves a sacred path 
 For those who've seen to choose. 
 
 'Tis sad to lose a friend so true. 
 
 That has familiar grown ; 
 'Tis hard to lift a drooping head 
 
 That feels a cause to mourn. 
 
 We weep for our departed friend ; 
 
 We mourn the broken tie 
 That bound the circle while on earth, 
 
 United still on high. 
 
 We now extend our sympathy; 
 
 Our hearts go out to all 
 On whom death's sad afflicting hand 
 
 Hath now seen fit to fall. 
 
 Our Heavenly Father, in His word. 
 Says: "Drive away each fear; 
 
 ril send the Blessed Comforter 
 The troubled heart to cheer." 
 
 We know that all is well with her; 
 
 To glory she has gone. 
 To join the ransomed saints above, 
 
 Around the great white throne. 
 
DEATH. 
 
 No one is spared; we all must die, 
 And in the ground forgotten lie. 
 Both rich and poor its measure shares, 
 For its cold hand no station spares. 
 
 It comes in equal turns to all, 
 And makes us equal by its call. 
 Thus ends the life of every class, 
 As to the hands of death we pass. 
 
 Methinks I see a hero stand, 
 His wafted glory fills the land ; 
 But hark ! the news is spreading fast, 
 From life to death this hero passed. 
 
 His intercourse with man is done, 
 His race on earth was bravely run ; 
 Those who would seek, or for him crave. 
 Must surely find him in the grave. 
 
 There, cold and lifeless, is that heart 
 That many a friendship did impart ; 
 There, dim and sightless, are those eyes 
 Whose radiant luster all did prize. 
 
 Forever closed those lips must lie. 
 Whose accents raised the soul on high. 
 In yonder churchyard he is laid. 
 Where tribute to his life is paid. 
 
 151 
 
Could we but see ten thousand forms 
 All decomposed by time and worms, 
 Ten thousand breathless bosoms still, 
 Exposed on yonder churchyard hill. 
 
 There was a time when none records, 
 When fire flashed from those v^acant orbs, 
 When warm ambition's hopes did gush, 
 And gave the cheek a crimson flush. 
 
 By dreams of fame those bosoms moved, 
 And loyal deeds their passions proved ; 
 Those empty skulls have sheltered thought 
 That would the blood of empires bought. 
 
 Those separate piles of bones went forth 
 To greet the world with joy and mirth. 
 
 Our friends will bury us, and raise 
 
 A stone of memory to our praise ; 
 
 In course of time that stone will fall. 
 
 The mound, too, will get smooth and small. 
 
 And none will stop or e'en inquire 
 Which of the millions slumbers here ; 
 No one will stop or shed a tear : 
 He lived ; he died ; was buried here. 
 
 52 
 
THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 Oft have I looked at thee, O setting sun ! 
 
 As slowly down behind the ocean far you'd still 
 Reflect those parting gems of light, 
 
 Which does my heart with many a memory fill. 
 
 Thou mighty orb ! Thou precious light of God ! 
 
 That has down from creation's dawn shed forth 
 The glorious light of day to all that dwelt 
 
 In either East or West or North or South. 
 
 I see thee slowly sink, once more to leave 
 This portion of the globe in dreary night ; 
 
 I see and feel a stilhiess gathering round, 
 As if all life, like light, were taking flight. 
 
 I hear an echo, as it vibrates on through space, 
 As if it broke a silence which should reign 
 
 And hold the darkness spellbound by a calm, 
 To rest tired nature till you rise again. 
 
 Dear setting sun. Good-night ! Good-night ! 
 
 Your last ray vanishes, and now the sky 
 Shows a crimson where it meets the earth. 
 
 Good-by, dear setting sun ! Good-by ! 
 
 '53 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 Perhaps now you've read this book, my friend, 
 You've read it all, from end to end ; 
 'Tis like the life, the life of man, 
 Enthused and moved by nature's plan. 
 
 The newborn babe, in swaddling" clothes. 
 From infancy to manhood grows; 
 Then withering age and death's sad call 
 Sums up the end, the end of all. 
 
 The preface first is like the dawn. 
 From which the contents all are drawn; 
 A newborn life, a new-lit spark, 
 A summons to the world says, " Hark!" 
 
 Behold ! I forge life's trend along, 
 I've come to make the burdened strong, 
 I've come to lift and equalize, 
 And not to scorn or criticise. 
 
 As page to page each year reveals 
 Which life within itself conceals. 
 Frail mortal life, instilled by power 
 To cope with actions of the hour. 
 
 154 
 
We turn life's pages, one by one, 
 We see the good or wrong that's done, 
 And thus from page to page we find 
 A hnk or step more left behind. 
 
 Still on we read life's story through, 
 We see and hear words kind and true, 
 We grasp the outstretched hand of love. 
 Which bears a friendship from above. 
 
 On, on we go, the hanging veil 
 Which hides the future can't prevail. 
 The curtain lifts just to reveal 
 To us what it did long conceal. 
 
 Life's story, like a book, must end. 
 Words, thoughts and deeds in history blend, 
 Life's taper by the hand of time 
 Is measured out by rule sublime. 
 
 The last page comes, the closing scene, 
 Promethean myths desert what's been. 
 The book is closed, the author's name 
 Is given no thought, or reaches fame. 
 
 155 
 
So 'tis with us: our eyes are closed, 
 Earth's mortal coil in death reposed ; 
 But on through time some deeds may live, 
 Likewise these words to you I give. 
 
 So now farewell, my readers all. 
 May we prepare to meet that call 
 That shall divide the soul and man, 
 And in the end complete God's plan. 
 
 Finis. 
 
DEC 19 1903