m^smm- Jt f '^■^<^<^<^<%,f2) Imn LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | t;.-: , >^^-^5*v.: ^^^ c.^ ^i^m p. PKTT'RSON 8c BROTH fc'.K'o t^HiLAD'^ /• V V' THE YOUNG MAGDALEN; AND OTHER POEMS BY FRANCIS S. SMITH NEW YORK WEEKLY, "eVELEEN WILSON," AND AUTHOR OF "MAGGIE, THE CHARITY CHILD BERTHA, THE SEWING-MACHINE GIRL," ETC. WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. PHILADELPHIA: .. T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 5 '^2 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by FRANCIS S. SMITH, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. Printed by Kjng & Baikd, Pli INTERS AND StEREOTYPERS, 607 Sassom Street. CONTENTS THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. THE YOUNG MAGDALEN 1 1 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. TO MY DAUGHTER, ON HER FIFTEENTH BH^TH- ■■■■■■ DAY 21 WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING 24 WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE BREATHE AT EVEN 25 MEMORY -^ THE STEP-DAUGHTER 28 HUMAN LOVE 29 EM SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT 31 HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER 32 KEEP YOUR HEART WARM 34 THE CHIEF MOURNER 35 SEND THE LITTLE ONES HAPPY TO BED 37 WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE 38 KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT, DARLING 39 BE NOT UNKIND 39 HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY 40 A WANDERER'S PRAYER 42 BE KIND TO YOUR MOTPIER 43 TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA 44 (3) 4 CONTENTS. PAGE THE WILLOW 46 ALL BORN IN OCTOBER, 48 LET US CLING TO THOSE WHO LOVE US 49 COME TO ME, DARLING 50 POEMS OF SENTIMENT. BEAUTY 53 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 55 SINNING AND SUFFERING 57 OLD TOWSER 58 TWILIGHT MUSINGS 60 SNOW FLAKES 62 MAN'S INGRATITUDE 63 THE FIENDS OF DISCORD 64 THERE'S SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH 66 TIME...; 67 BEWARE OF HIM 68 STRUGGLING CUBA 69 FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST 71 ODE TO POVERTY 73 MY IDEAL DAY 75 A FEW THOUGHTS 76 " WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT." 78 HAVE CHARITY 80 THE TWO SLEEPERS 82 A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN 84 THE POOR MAN'S SONG 86 THE BOUQUET-GIRL 87 HEART-HUNGER 88 THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, BUT THE SCAR WILL REMAIN 89 TO HATE 90 THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED 91 SPOIL TPIE ROD AND SPARE THE CPIILD 92 THE DIFFERENCE 93 CONTENTS. 5 POEMS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT. PAGE HEAVEN ^7 FAITH 98 TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM 100 THE HUMAN HEART 102 " GOD BLESS OUR HOME ! " 103 A CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE 104 THE BIBLE 105 PEACE, BE STILL! 107 SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO LOVE US? 108 LIFE AND DEATH 109 BE HUMBLE no ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS 112 A WANDERER'S PRAYER 113 WHAT IS LIFE? 114 POEMS OF TRAGEDY. A CHRISTMAS STORY 117 "NOT NOW" 122 LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN HE DIES 124 STARVATION 126 ALONE 129 "PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING." 131 DEATH IN THE TOMB 133 THE DRUNKARD 134 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE 135 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY WHO DIED ONLY FOUR WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE... 138 THE TYRANT KING 139 WORLD-WEARY 142 THE OUTCAST I43 THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM 146 THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT 150 "SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATH." 152 6 CONTENTS, PAGE THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT I55 NEW-YEAR'S EVE I57 POEMS OF COMEDY. THE SURPRISE PARTY i6i PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT i68 THE ROOT OF THE EVIL 170 OURS 171 BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE 175 THE LAW STUDENT 177 THE JOLLY HERMIT 179 THE TINKER'S MISTAKE 182 MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS 185 THE IRISH FRENCHMAN : 188 POEMS FOR MUSIC. THERE'S GOOD IN THE WORLD 193 STAND TO THE RIGHT 194 WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW 195 CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY DARLING 196 BEAUTIFUL BESSIE 197 COME BACK TO ME 199 SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN 200 FRIENDLESS NELLY 201 WOMAN 203 THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG 204 YOU'LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD 206 WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING ? 207 WHY ART TPIOU COLD ? 209 CRAZY ESTELLE 210 THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE 211 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A CAPITAL THEME 215 "I DON'T CARE!" 218 CONTENTS. y PAGE IMPROVE YOUR TIME 220 LOOK AHEAD , 221 THE FIREMAN'S DEATH 222 AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN 223 THE HONEST WORKING GIRL 225 IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGHBOR, DON'T NAME HIM AT ALL 227 THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL 228 "I CAN'T!" AND "I'LL TRY" 230 LINES WRITTEN IN "OUR CARRIE'S ALBUM" 232 A PLEA FOR CUBA 233 TAKE IT EASY! 234 THE KERNEL AND THE NUT 235 FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER 237 THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY 238 WORK 239 HARD LUCK 241 THE HORSE 244 THE POWER OF STEAM 245 WOMAN 247 MEAGHER'S ESCAPE 248 RELIGION 249 THE HERO SAILOR 252 ELSIE'S DEATH 254 BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN 256 HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS 258 WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME? 261 OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME! 262 A CHRISTMAS NIGHT VISION 263 TO THE BABY 265 CUBA 266 RAT, THE NEWSBOY 268 YOU SPEAK AN UNTRUTH 271 WHY NOT FORGIVE HIM? 272 MAGIC... 273 CONTENTS. PAGE MY FATE 274 BURRIEL, THE BUTCHER 276 FAREWELL 277 IN TIME 278 SWEET MEMORIES 279 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. TPIE YOUNG MAGDALEN. A FISHERMAN'S hut stood all alone Down by the sobbing sea, And there all day the fisherman toil'd And whistled merrily, For his heart was as light and free from care As a human heart can be. He had a tidy, goo.d old wife — He loved her as dearly as his life. He had a daughter fair, and she Was brave and pure as she could be — As bright and pure as the sobbing sea, With a face as open and soul as free. "I wonder much," quoth the fisherman, As he stood by the sobbing sea, "How folks can hear a sigh or a sob In the breakers rolling free. I've listen'd to them for many a year. And 'tis music sweet to me — 'Tis pure as the bright sky overhead — By it I earn my daily bread — It has made of my cabin a charmed spot — I have braved its storms — they have harm'd me not- And there's not on all the earth, to me, A sight so grand as the boundless sea, With its snow-capp'd billows rolling free." (II) 12 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. One day a foreign ship was wreck'd Upon the sobbing sea, And her unhicky captain — a youth of high degree- Found in the fisher's cabin sweet hospitahty — 'Twere better he had found a grave Beneath the sobbing sea. Standing upon the ocean's verge. Regardless of the seething surge, The fisher girl his hthe form saw Fighting the sea to reach the shore. Fearless the generous ocean child Stepp'd forth into the breakers wild, And, whispering an earnest prayer, She reach'd and grasp'd his long, dark hair, Just as the struggle he gave o'er, And brought him senseless to the shore. Ah, me, it was an anxious night Beside the sobbing sea. When in the fisher's cot a group Stood watching tearfully. Much dreading that the sailor's soul Had found eternity. But soon their doubts were set at rest — A wave of life swept o'er his breast; And then his dark eyes, soft and mild. Unclosed, and then he sigh'd and smiled, And fix'd a look of glad surprise Upon the fisher-girl, whose eyes In sad confusion sought the floor. The while a pang ne'er felt before — A deep, strange, sweet, delicious pain, Absorbing soul, and heart, and brain — THE YOUNG MAGDALEN-. 13 Caused her to tremble, blush and sigh, And weep sweet tears, she knew not why. There's something in the very air That fans the sobbing sea. Which causes Love to grow apace And ripen rapidly. And fill his youthful votaries With bliss and ecstasy. The great, broad ocean unconfined — The free, uncurb'd, resistless wind — The billows in their wayward course — All type Love's soul-absorbing force. And so it happen'd that the youth, Who knew not faith, who knew not truth, Found favor in the maiden's eyes. It was not prudent — 'twas not wise — But when was ever wisdom known To rule where Love had fix'd his throne.? Her lover, with consummate art. Ensnared the fisher-girl's pure heart. She thought him noble, brave and true — She worshipp'd as few maidens do — No word she to her parents said. But trusted him and with him fled — ■ Better had she been stricken dead. And now the aged couple stand Beside the sobbing sea. And the great waves roll upon the shore In dread monotony — And in its voice so sweet before They hear no melody. 14 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN, It comes to their ears with a mournful sound, Each plash is a pang each breaker a wound, It sounds like the wail of a spirit lost On a phantom vessel tempest tost. And the foam of the waves which lave their feet Reminds them of a winding sheet. Oh, the waves they once loved so much to see Are sobbing now in reality. Months roll'd away, and to that cot Near by the sobbing sea Came to the stricken aged ones The anniversary Of their lost darling's sudden flight To guilt and ignominy. It was a black, tempestuous night Without a single star to light. The hapless mariner scudding by, Tost on the dark waves mountain high, The storm-fiend howl'd till all the air Seem'd filled with shrieks of wild despair. While rattling rain and lightning flash Were mingled with the thunder crash. And, aU in all, it seem'd such weather As heaven and earth might bring together. That night of elemental war Down by the sobbing sea The fisher and his good old wife In sweet humility Were reading in the sacred book A touching history. It was the case of one who fell Like their poor lost one, little Nell — THE YOUNG MAGDALEN, 15 And who frown'd on and threaten'd too, With all her sin to Jesus flew — Jesus, who shielded her from harm, And quieted her great alarm — And with compassion welling o'er. Said, mildly, "Go and sin no more." The aged couple pray'd that night Down by the sobbing sea That Christ would comfort their poor lamb Wherever she might be, And save her from the deeper depths Of sin and misery. And as they raised their tearful eyes, A crash, that seem'd to rend the skies, Broke on their ears — and with a roar The tempest from its hinges tore The frail, worm-eaten cabin door. And there amid the tempest wild Stood one who look'd like their lost child. Bathed in the lurid lightning's glare. With wild eyes and dishevell'd hair. Her garments dripping with the rain. Her ashy face convulsed by pain. It was not strange the aged pair Thought poor lost Nelly's ghost stood there. OJ But soon a cry, sharp, shrill and long Down by the sobbing sea, Awaken'd in those aged hearts A thrill of ecstasy. " It is no ghost ! " the fisher cried, " 'Tis she, old wife ! 'Tis she 1 " 1 6 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. Another instant and that form, Fainting beneath the raging storm, Was wildly caught and madly press'd Close to a loving mother's breast. " Look up, my darling ! Let me view- Once more those eyes so bonny blue, And let me hear you speak again, 'Twill still my doubts and ease the pain Which long has linger'd in my heart 1 " No word. The mother gave a start. *' Her lips are white and cold as death — I feel no pulse — I taste no breath ! Quick, husband ! place her on the bed 1 Too late ! Oh, God ! my darling's dead ! " " No ! See ! She moves ! " the fisher cried, And then the blue eyes open'd wide — And then a sigh burst from that breast, Deceived and tortured by unrest — And then a smile of calm delight Broke o'er that face so ghastly white, And then in accents sadly slow The weary lost one murmur'd low: " Home ! Home ! Sweet home ! Hark, mother, hark I hear the sobbing sea ! But oh, it had another sound In infancy to me ! For I was very happy then And from pollution free. The dear old sea has alter'd not — 'Tis without blemish, speck or spot, Its glad, free waters lave the shore — It sings the song it sang of yore — THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. \y But now to me no joy it brings — It sadly sobs — not gayly sings — For I am alter'd — I have sinn'd — And rolling sea and whistling wind Will never sound the same to me, For they are pure as pure can be." The lost one paused and gasp'd for breath : "Come closer, mother! This is death!" The sweet smile never left her face — One long-drawn sigh — one last embrace — And on the loving mother's breast The tortured bosom sank to rest. And now there is a new-made grave Beside the sobbing sea, And there the wild birds all the day Make sweetest melody. And the great ocean waves pour forth Their solemn monody. The tortured bosom is at rest, The sad soul once by sin oppress'd Has flown to meet the gaze of One Who pities all — who frowns on none — Who felt the subtle tempter's skill, And knows how weak is human will. And can we doubt that He has press'd The lost one to His loving breast. And whisper'd sweetly, *' Trembler, come, Redeem'd, forgiven, to thy home ! " Sing, sweet birds, over Nelly's grave! Roll on, oh, sobbing sea ! B 1 8 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN: For Death, the friend of tortured hearts, Has set the lost one free ! And what remains of her to-day Is pure as pure can be. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. TO MY DAUGHTER, ON HER FIF- TEENTH BIRTHDAY. V I ^IS fifteen years ago to-day JL Since Heaven sent to me A winsome, blue-eyed baby-girl As sweet as she could be. And when I took her in my arms, Her cherub face to view, I felt a strange ecstatic joy That thrill'd me through and through. I watch'd my darling as she grew, So artless, pure, and mild. And sometimes sigh'd to think that she Could not remain a child. But now that fifteen sunny years Have fled since she was born, She seems as much a babe to me As on her natal morn. And thus I think 'twill ever be As on the seasons roll — The babe will still remain a babe While tarries here my soul. (21) 22 TO MY DAUGHTER, Yet, should she live, the time must come When sJie will surely see A woman in her looking-glass, Whate'er my thoughts may be. And when that time does come, I know Her mirror will reveal The face of one whose character Is bright as polish'd steel. She'll be as full of love and faith. And pure as she is now, And virtue's self will sit enthroned Upon my darling's brow. 'Tis true she'll find life's pathway strewn With thorns as well as flowers, And she, when sorely pierced, may sigh For childhood's happy hours. But whether she be fill'd with joy, Or 'neath the chastening rod. She'll have the same dislike for wrong The same sweet trust in God. My darling, O my darling! As time speeds on his way. You'll find another love than mine. To comfort you some day — A deep and thrilling sentiment Which you will think divine — A love that may be more intense, But not more true than mine. TO MY DAUGHTER. 23 Tis right that you should make new friends, As through the world you glide — I cannot hope to keep you, love, Forever at my side; 'Tis right that you should form new ties — 'Tis nature's great behest — . Nor would I clip thy wings, sweet dove, To keep thee in my nest. But this I know — whate'er your lot — Wherever you may rove — You'll still possess, in all its depth, A father's holy love. Whether beneath the parent wing. Or on life's troubled sea, God bless my bonny, blue-eyed girl, Wherever she may be ! 24 WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING, WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING. WE must love something. Nature has decreed That human hearts should not all selfish be — The gloomy wretch who feels no social -need May o'er a brute display love's ecstasy. The woman who hates man may love a flower, Or make an idol of a bright-wing'd bird. The heart will long for something — love's great power, Since Adam's birth, the human heart hath stirr'd. We must love something. Those who are deceived And feel the sting of falsehood and deceit, Are apt to rail, because they are aggrieved. At every tie which makes existence sweet : In vain they hide themselves from human ken, And o'er their bitter recollections brood — Some flower, or bird, or tree they'll love again, E'en in their sombre, gloomy solitude. We must love something — and if this be so. When we're deceived and wounded to the core. Why not our sorrow to the light wind throw, And try that lottery, a heart, once more .-* It is the best and noblest thing to love. If it be true and faithful to the end, And in a second venture we may prove That full fruition will on faith attend. WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE, ETC. 2$ \ WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE BREATHE AT EVEN. WHEN flowers their incense breathe at even, And sweetly soft the zephyrs sigh, A voice speaks to my soul from heaven — A voice of sweetest melody. It whispers of those hours departed — Those hours of love's sweet ecstasy — That fled and left me broken-hearted, And never can come back to me. Oh, darling, as time hurries by. To me thou seemest doubly dear ; And though fond memory wakes a sigh, 'Tis sweet to feel thy presence near. I cannot, if I would, forget Thy radiant smile, thy balmy breath — I cling to them with fervor yet. Though memory brings the sting of death. Would I could cleave the ether blue, And join thee in yon shining star. How gladly would I fly to you And leave this selfish world afar. But all in vain my spirit yearns To cleave the airy realms of space, For until dust to dust returns I cannot reach thy dwelling-place. 26 . MEMORY. MEMORY. OH, memory, in my day-dreams, When a backward view I cast, And in imagination taste The pleasures of the past, Though the present is all shadow, And the past is in its grave, Yet I would not, in my sorrow. Steep my soul in Lethe's wave. I have revell'd in Love's sunshine — I have drank his dulcet tone — I have felt the sting of coldness In the heart I thought my own ; But as the bow of promise Is born of clouds and rain. So memories sweet will rise above The memories of pain. I have felt the death of passion In the kiss of ecstasy — I've clasp'd an idol to my breast Which struggled to get free — I have realized in anguish What it is to love in vain. And yet the memory of my bliss Is greater than my pain. MEMORY. 27 Oh, glorious golden moments Of love, and faith, and trust, I'll hug thee to my bosom Till dust returns to dust, 'Tis painful to relinquish What I deem'd reality. But, oh ! 'twere harder far to lose So sweet a memory. In conning my past record, I find much that gives me pain, And much that I would alter Could I live my life again ; But, oh ! my glad soul revels in Those hours of ecstasy. When Love seem'd mine and this bright world Was Paradise to me. 28 THE STEP-DAUGHTER. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. SHE sits all alone in the church-yard, In the depth of her sorrow and pride — Her mother's a saint in heaven, Her father is with his new bride. No lowly-breathed word of endearment, Or sweet consolation she hears. And she rests her hot brow on the headstone With an anguish too bitter for tears. 'Tis Sunday — the sweet birds are singing, And bright flowers everywhere Are lifting their heads in the sunshine, And giving their breath to the air. But the step-daughter sits in a stupor. As though all her senses were numb, And heeds not the sound of the church-bell With its solemnly utter'd ''Gomel Gomel" And thus she sits hour by hour — No rest, no refreshment, no sleep — "Poor child!" cries a friend of her mother, " I wish we could cause her to weep 1 She sits here all day without speaking, Till the gray of the twilight appears. And the fire which burns in her bosom Can only be quench'd by her tears." HUMAN LOVE. 29 Hark! The sound of the church organ rises And floats on the calm Sabbath air, And a look of sad interest comes over The face of the mourner so fair. And then as the grand choir follows, The eyes of the maiden grow dim. And the bright tears gush forth, as she listens — 'Tis her dead mother's favorite hymn. Oh, wonderful power of music, Thou hast conquer'd the maiden's despair, And I wish for her sake that her father And his newly-made wife had been there. 'Twould have seem'd that a sweet voice from heaven Their negligent ears had beguiled, And have taught them to treat with more favor, That dead mother's sorrowing child. HUMAN LOVE. SEE yonder new-made grave. O'er which the willows wave- No sound is heard there, save The wild bird's song. Sweet flowers fresh and fair. Arranged with nicest care, Speak, in the fragrant air, Of friendship strong. 30 HUMAN LOVE. Those who revered the dead Hang o'er his lowly bed, And sympathetic shed, Uncheck'd, their tears. Will flowers deck that mound — Will loving friends stand 'round- Will tears bedew that ground In coming years? Or will the mourn'd-for dead. When a few months have fled, Sleep in his narrow bed. Forgotten quite? And will the flowers fair, . Blooming so richly there. Perish from want of care, Cut down by blight? Alas, for human kind! How seldom do we find, E'en when in life, a mind To constant prove? Then is it strange that we, . When death the soul sets free, Should soon forgotten be? Such is man's love ! PM SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT^ 3 1 I'M SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT. I'M sitting in the twilight, And I'm thinking of the past, That was so full of fancy tints Too beautiful to last; And as fond memory brings me Half pleasure and half pain, There comes to me upon the air An old, familiar strain. Oh, how it thrills my senses — That well-remember'd lay! 'Twas sung by one who long ago Pass'd from the earth away; And as my glad ears drink it. In the holy hush of even, It seems to me as though the sounds Were wafted here from heaven. Sweet music! Holy music! Immortal as the soul! How dead must be that human heart Which owns not thy control! I have not heard that melody For many, many years, And yet its magic influence Has melted me to tears. . 32 HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER. Oh, mother! darhng mother! It is thy old refrain That in the solemn twilight hour Comes back to me again; And while, entranced, I listen, My fancy is beguiled. And thy sweet voice comes to my ear As when I was a child. And may I not, dear mother. When my soul is call'd away, Fly to thy side and greet thee In the realms of endless day ? And there in sweet reality, Be folded to thy breast, And hear again the angel voice That once luU'd me to rest? HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHEK. HOW little we know of each other As we pass through the journey of life, With its struggles, its fears, and temptations — Its heart-breaking cares and its strife. We can only see things on the surface, For few people glory in sin. And an unruffled face is no index To the tumult which rages within. HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER. How little we know of each other ! The man who to day passes by, Bless'd with fortune, and honor, and titles, And holding his proud head so high, May carry a dread secret with him Which makes of his bosom a hell, And he, sooner or later, a felon. May writhe in a prisoner's cell. How little we know of each other ! That woman of fashion who sneers At the poor girl betray'd and abandon'd. And left to her sighs and her tears, May, ere the sun rises to-morrow. Have the mask rudely torn from her face. And sink from the height of her glory To the dark shades of shame and disgrace. How little we know of each other ! Of ourselves, too, how little we know ! We are all weak when under temptation. All subject to error and woe. Then let blessed charity rule us — Let us put away envy and spite — Or the skeleton grim in our closet May some day be brought to the light. 33 34 KEEP YOUR HEART WARM. KEEP YOUR HEART WARM. KEEP your heart warm — be gentle and forbearing, Whatever trials may your path surround — If slander follow you with tongue unsparing, Retaliation will not heal the wound. Strike back with vigor if a foe assail you — Each man a right to self-protection hath — But, the strife ended, hate will not avail you — *' Let not the sun go down upon your wrath/' Keep your heart warm in spite of all mischances, And cherish love for all of human kind — A morbid soul man's misery enhances — A loving spirit makes a happy mind. In a true heart, crush'd by woe, love ever lingers, And feels more sympathy for others' ills. As the sweet flower, press'd by careless fingers, Its odor rare more plenteously distills. Keep your heart warm if you would taste true pleasure- Crush not the erring — strive their faults to cure — He who his neighbors' acts would strictly measure. Should first take heed that he himself is pure. And if you'd know the secret of contentment. Rebellious mortals, simple is the charm — 'Tis this : Lie down at night without resentment, Feeling no wish a soul on earth to harm. THE CHIEF MOURNER. 35 THE CHIEF MOURNER. ''nr^WAS eve — a glorious eve ! JL The bright stars sparkled in the expanse above, Like jewels in a kingly garb of blue, And the round moon with its soft and holy light, Look'd sadly down upon this giddy world. The zephyr, wafted from the balmy south, Kiss'd the sweet flowers and whisper'd to the leaves, Whose emerald faces bow'd In homage to their unseen king. Who, gayly singing on his wanton way, Call'd forth the ripples from the limpid lake To join him in his gleeful happy song. The whipporwill, sweet minstrel of the twilight gray, Pour'd forth her piteous melancholy plaint. And insect voices mingled with her note. All joining in a vesper hymn Which fell upon the holy hush of night Like sweetest strains from a celestial choir. Bathed in the moon's soft light the village churchyard lay, Its marble tablets standing cold and still Above the swelling mounds, Fit emblems of the frigid, pulseless forms which lay beneath In the calm, quiet sleep of silent death. No more the slaves of avarice, pride, and black revenge — 36 THE CHIEF MOURNER. No more the weary toilers up the hill of fame — No more the zealous serfs of proud ambition, But freed, forever freed, from all the passions wild Which make this life a burden and a curse. Beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree There is a new-made grave : No stone as yet uprears its marble front To tell who sleeps below ; For but a few brief hours have pass'd Since mourning friends stood round the solemn spot. To see the sleeper placed within his narrow bed. They saw him gently laid to rest, and then. With eyelids wet, and heavy hearts departed To eulogize his virtues — and forget him. Not all, however, will so careless prove ; For 'mid his mourners one there was Who did not leave the spot. Motionless he stood till the sad rites were ended, And then, when all were gone. He stretch'd himself upon the piled-up earth. And, with one mighty sigh of grief. Gave up the life which now he did not value. And there he lies prone on the damp, cold clay, True to the last — chief mourner he of all. And yet no stone will ever mark his grave. For he is but a dog — a huge Newfoundland dog — Who loved the dead with so intense a love That the barbed shaft which laid his master low Pierced his great heart as well. And so he fell a martyr to affection. ''AH that a man hath wilt he give for his life." Hero hath freely given his life for love ! SEND THE LITTLE OAES HAPPY TO BED. 37 SEND THE LITTLE ONES HAPPY TO BED. SEND the little ones happy to bed, When closes the troublesome day; Let no harsh invective be said, To ruffle their minds while they pray. Sore trials and troubles full soon The sweet sleep of childhood will ban; Then let them lie joyously down. And cherish bright dreams while they. can. Send the little ones happy to bed. Though they may be mischievous and wild — Nature seldom bestows a wise head On a rosy-cheek'd, light-hearted child. Then let their glad spirits have play. And brighter and stronger they'll grow, Like a stream that runs free on its way, And suffers no check in its flow. Send the little ones happy to bed. You know not what ill may be near; Ere the morning your pets may be dead. Then vain the regret or the tear. So let them lie down with delight, And fail not to give and to take A kiss when they prattle " Good-night ! " And a kiss in the morn when they wake. 38 WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE. WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE. WHEN friends prove false and joys depart, And life seems drear to thee; When grief lies heavy on thy heart, Then fly, love, fly to me. Be thou my only treasured guest. Of all the world the dearest, best ; While pillow'd on this faithful breast, From pain thou shalt be free. A selfish, sordid soul may know The blighting touch of care. But hearts that feel love's genial glow, Are proof against despair. So, when life's storms around us rise, And fate her keenest arrow tries, We'll gaze, love, in each other's eyes, And read our safety there. Let courtiers fawn on royalty, Well pleased a look to get, I'd rather win a smile from thee Than wear a coronet. With thee life's darkest hour is bright. Deprived of thee, life has no light ; My heart thy throne is day and night. My gems thine eyes, my pet. KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT.— BE NOT UNKIND, 39 KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT, DARLING. THE clock has struck ten, Willie, dear, and you know Papa has declared that at ten you must go. Old folks are so queer ! But perhaps he is right. So kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good-night ! I declare 'tis eleven, and you are here still ! You know well enough /'/;/ not keeping you. Will ! If you don't go at once, I must put out the light. So kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good-night ! 'Tis twelve o'clock, now, and papa's out of bed ! Don't you hear his gruff voice and quick step overhead ! Here's your hat ! Go at once ! Oh ! I'm in such affright ! Quick ! Kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good- night BE NOT UNKIND. BE not unkind to the needy and lowly — Charity's mission is lovely and holy — Hard is the heart that feels not for its neighbor, Doom'd by misfortune to groan and to labor. 40 HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. Be not unkind to the aged and weary — Life at its close must be darksome and dreary — Bear their complainings and foibles with meekness, You may grow old and display the same weakness. Be not unkind to the youthful offender — He to the accents of love will surrender — Force, for a time, his wild passions may fetter, But, in the end, will it render him better ? No, his proud heart hates the strong chain that binds it. And chafes, like a stream 'gainst the wall that confines it, 'Till, gathering strength in its spirit abhorrent. It breaks its strons: bonds and shoots forth in a torrent. *& Be not unkind to a soul that comes near you — Harshness and anger may cause one to fear you — But what a recompense waiteth above you. If you can teach the rebellious to love you. HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. LOOK at him as he bounds along! The red-cheek'd, bright-eyed boy ! His well-knit limbs so lithe and strong, His shout so full of joy! School's not in yet — he's full of glee, And ripe for any play; His little heart is full, for he Is ten years old to-day. HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. His roomy pockets plethoric With top, and cord, and ball, And rags, and stones, and bits of stick, And other trifles small. The hour is his, his mind is free, So get not in his way — Is he not rich? besides, you see, He's ten years old to-day. He is a prince among the boys On this his natal morn ; Above them all you hear his voice, Clear as a bugle-horn. He laughs, he screams, he runs "like mad, No colt could wilder play — But prythee do not scold the lad, He's ten years old to-day. O happy boy! so free from care. How sad it is to know That time will mark thy forehead fair With trouble, toil, and woe ! But, haply, you're untrammell'd now, So frolic while you may — Though grief at last may shade thy brow You're only ten to-day. 42 A WANDERER'S PRAYER. A WANDERER'S PRAYER. FATHER in heaven, when my soul Shall take its flight from earth, Grant that my frame may perish on The soil that gave it birth ; Grant that the friends who cherish'd me In sunshine and in gloom, Who sorrow'd and rejoiced with me, May lay me in the tomb. I know that when the spirit flies Its prison-house of clay, The wondrous structure, cold and dead, Soon hastens to decay ; But though the pulseless, mouldering clod No sense of joy may have. My spirit will rejoice when friends Assemble 'round my grave. I wish no monumental pile To mark the solemn spot, No epitaph in fulsome style To tell what I was not ; But I'd have those who knew me here, As o'er my tomb they bend, Say, with a feeling all sincere, " He was a faithful friend I " BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 43 BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. BE kind to your mother! Oh! be not ungrateful When age dims her eye, or disease racks her frame ; No fault in mankind shows more glaring and hateful, Than that which would lead us her foibles to blame. She has borne with our follies in life's early stage. And should we not, then, bear with hers in her age 1 Be kind to your mother! Has she not stood near you When loathsome disease caused all others to fly? To comfort, to solace, to nurse, and to cheer you — Yes, even if call'd on, to suffer and die 1 Then in her decline you should never demur, If you have to labor and suffer for her. Be kind to your mother! Be duteous and grateful— The heart's deepest rev'rence and love are her due ; And if of these natural claims you're neglectful. Look not for respect from your children to you. Each unfilial action against you is scored. And when you grow old, you will reap your reward. Be kind to your mother; for fast she is failing, And soon she will sink 'neath the sad weight of years, And all your regrets will then prove unavailing— Your actions cannot be erased by your tears. Then guard well your passions, be patient and mild— 'Tis the least that a mother expects from her child, 44 TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA. TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA THOU art far away, my sister, And we miss thee when we meet Together, as when thou wert here. To hold communion sweet; We miss thee, and another one — Two seats are vacant now. For. one has had the seal of 'death Stamp'd on her angel brow. Two months ago, two little months. The music of her voice Would make the dullest eye light up, The saddest heart rejoice; But now 'tis hush'd for aye in death, Her frame lies 'neath the sod, And her sweet voice has join'd the choir Around the throne of God. And our dear mother ! oh ! how well She bears the heavy blow: A heavenly, calm serenity Seems mingled with her woe ; She merely says, "■ So pass away My children, one by one ; Still, I must humbly kiss the rod — Father, thy will be done ! " TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA. O darling sister ! how my soul Is melted into tears, As memory takes me back again To those thrice happy years When a/l our flock were gather'd round Our happy, cheerful hearth, And not a care was mino:led with 45 ^iD' Our ever-rising mirth. Now some are dead, and some, like you, Have wander'd far away. And we have only memory's voice To cheer us, day by day; Yet still we hug the darling hope — God grant it be not vain 1 That we shall one day hail the stray'd Around our hearth again. Oh ! well do I remember now Your every word and look When, bow'd in silent agony. Our last farewell we took ; My quivering lip and stammering tongue No solace could impart, For oh ! a fearful storm of grief Was swelling in my heart. Then every loving word of thine. And every action kind. With tenfold force came thronging back Upon my anguish'd mind. 46 THE WILLOW. As memory clings to joys that fly And leave the heart forlorn, So those we love while at our side Seem dearer when they're gone. Best, kindest sister, years may roll Ere we again can meet, But thou art in my heart of hearts, While memory holds her seat! Speed swiftly, time, increase thy pace Till the last hour has flown That keeps my sister's anxious breast From throbbing 'gainst my own. THE WILLOW. I LOVE the lofty poplar And the tall, majestic pine, I love the sturdy oak, round which The creeping ivies twine. I love the generous trees that yield Kind nature's bounteous store. But, though it has a mournful look, I love the willow more. 'Tis not because the cares of life Have steep'd my soul in woe That I dearly love to gaze upon Its branches waving low. THE WILLOW. ' No, 'tis not that ; for while I gaze It calls up to my view The sweetest, brightest, gayest hours My boyhood ever knew. 'Twas underneath a willow tree, Beside a running stream. Where I in childhood, tired out, Had many a sweet day-dream About dear Minnie Morrison, Who often play'd with me. And whose bright face and sunny curls I even now can see. glorious Minnie Morrison ! Full thirty years have fled Since then, and you, perhaps, may now Be sleeping with the dead. But if you still are on the earth, Wherever you may be, 1 know that in your reveries You sometimes think of me. O willow ! dear old willow, Where are the friends who play'd With me in happy childhood Beneath thy cooling shade } Some dead, and some have wander'd, Some remember me no more. But thou hast still the same kind look That greeted me of yore. 47 48 ALL BORN IN OCTOBER. ALL BORN IN OCTOBER. AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO F. S. STREET. FATHER, mother, and children three, All members of one family, A curious thing indeed to see — All born in sad October. No birthday record do they need; If they the year and day but heed, The month is very plain indeed — For each it is October. All came when leaves were brown and sere, And nature's face was dark and drear, The saddest season of the year — The month of brown October. But may no envious autumn come To cast a shadow on their home, And may their lives be sunshine from October to October. Around the white throne may they stand, A still united, happy band. When they have reach'd the "better land," Where there is no October. Father, mother, and children three, All members of one family, A curious thing indeed to see — All born in sad October. LET US CLING TO THOSE WHO LOVE US. 49 LET us CLING TO THOSE WHO LOVE US. LET us cling to those who love us, And pity those who hate — God's smile is still above us, Whatever our estate. If loved ones fly before us, And those who hate betray, God's mercy still is o'er us On sorrow's darkest day. Then let's cling to those who love us, And pity those who hate — God's smile is still above us, Whatever our estate. The love that in an hour Will plume its wings and fly Elsewhere to try its power. Is hardly worth a sigh. The hate that would annoy us Is only worth a smile — It never can destroy us, For Heaven rules the while. Then let's cling to those who love us, And pity those who hate — God's smile is still above us, Whatever our estate. This life is but a bubble — 'Tis ended in a day; Then let us laugh at trouble. And drive our cares away. D 50 COME TO ME, DARLING. The world has many a sorrow, But many a pleasure, too; If sad to-day, to-morrow May bring great joy to you. Then let's cling to those who love us, And pity those who hate — God's smile is still above us. Whatever our estate. COME TO ME, DARLING. WHEN the red sun in the clear west is glowing, And the soft wind from the sweet south is blowing When the day's trials no longer are near me. Come to me, darling, to soothe and to cheer me ! Thou art the sun that dispels my sad hours — Sweeter thy breath than the odor of flowers — Only thy smile can my sombre life brighten; Come to me, darling, my sad heart to lighten. You, when life's bitterness caused me to languish. Rose like a star on the night of my anguish : Nothing in life like thy dear presence blesses; Come to me, darling, and meet my caresses. Come joy or sorrow, I'll part from thee never — Close to my bosom I'll press thee forever — • My heart is love's fountain laid open before thee ; Come to me, darling, and let it flow o'er thee. POEMS OF SENTIMENT. BEAUTY. WHAT is it we call beauty? Who can the word explain ? The learned lexicographer Essays the task in vain. There's beauty underneath the sea, On earth, and in the air, And in the firmament above — There's beauty everywhere. There s beauty in the flowers That decorate the sod. And in the bright-wing'd birds that send Their glad songs up to God; And in the lovely rainbow, And in the stars that shine, And in the crystals and the gems Which glitter in the mine. There's beauty in the murm'ring stream That seaward softly glides, And in the herds who lave therein And quaff its cooling tides ; And in the graceful blue-wing'd fly That sports above the spray. And in the nimble spotted trout Which claims him for its prey. (53) 54 BEAUTY, There's beauty in the human voice, And in the human face, And in the quick, elastic step. And in the form of grace — But these are finite beauties — They are under time's control — The only lasting beauty Is the beauty of the soul. The soul — the grand, mysterious soul — Which cannot taste of death, Because it is a part of God — His breath — His mighty breath! It bears the stamp of paradise ! It's home is in the sky ! It's beauty is eternal, And all other beauties die ! There's not a pauper walks the earth But carries in his soul A spark of the Divinity Which earth cannot control. And in that spark a beauty dwells Which cannot pass away — A beauty which through sorrow's night Shall find eternal day. Remember, 'mid your pomp and show, Ye proud ones of the earth, The grandest of all beauty came To light when man had birth. There's not a wretch, however poor Or faulty he may be. LAUGHTER AND TEARS. But carries in his breast a spark Of the divinity. Then aid your erring fellow-worm ! Be not too prone to blame; But strive to fan this spark divine Into a living flame ! There's not a soul so dark and vile But has some ray of good, Which may be magnified if touch'd By glorious brotherhood. 55 LAUGHTER AND TEARS. HOW sombre is that countenance - Which laughter visits not ! 'Tis like a gloomy, desert waste Without a pleasant spot. It glares like some vile spectre On the sunny face of joy. And haunts the mirthful, social group To poison and annoy. The plainest face if wreathed in smiles Attractive will appear — The laugh which wells up from the heart Is music to the ear. ^6 LAUGHTER AND TEARS. That mirth should light the human face Is part of Heaven's plan. God has denied this boon to brutes — No creature laughs but man. And tears which from the bursting heart Spring to the burning eyes, Are, viewed by calm philosophy, But blessings in disguise. When the corroding ills of life Cause every sense to ache, If it were not for blessed tears The tortured heart would break. Then flow on gently, soothing tears ! ' Ring out, oh, joyous laughter! We cannot live without ye here, Whate'er our fate hereafter. Smiles are the sunbeams of the soul, When earthly cares oppress it, And tears, when anguish comes, the dew To nourish and refresh it, Then let us laugh and weep by turns, As fate may shape our hours. For smiles and tears are to the soul As sun and rain to flowers. Laugh when you can — weep when you must- And you will feel the better — He makes a sad mistake indeed Who nature strives to fetter. SINNING AND SUFFERING, 57 SINNING AND SUFFERING. WHEN you see an erring brother Cursed by some besetting sin, Stifling every better feeling, Making hideous all within. Pause before you frown upon him Or a word of censure say, Recollect that it is written "Hard is the transgressor's way." You would check your rising anger, And you would more patient be With a heart that sins and suffers Could you read its history. Could you know its fierce temptation When assail'd by passions strong, You would pity the offender E'en while you condemn'd the wrong. Heart enthrall'd by sin and sorrow, Sick with doubts and thrill'd by fears- All thy transient, dear-bought pleasures Follow'd fast by bitter tears. Trembling at the wild, weird fancies That encompass thee about, With the dread forever present That " thy sins will find thee out." 58 OLD TOWSER, No kind friend to vsoothe and cheer thee — Loving few and trusting none — Even in thy gayest hours Conscience urging thee to run. Feverish hope, unbless'd, dekisive, Flying ere 'tis half conceived, Want's dread pangs, self-condemnation, The cold world's frown and loved ones grieved. When I see a heart thus writhing In its sin-bought misery, I deplore the faults that rule it, But it moves my charity. No wild, reckless child of passion Can escape the chastening rod — Life to such is only torture — Man's less merciful than God. OLD TOWSER. COME here, old Towser— faithful still, In clear or stormy weather — And lay thy head upon my knee. And let us chat together! Lift up your honest eyes to mine And list to what I'm saying! Sit very still, old dog, for I Am in no mood for playing. OLD TOWSER, 59 You stole a bone the other day! Oh ! you were hungry, were you ? Well, don't repeat the act again And this time I will spare you. But how about the fight you had With Uncle Billy's Rover? I saw you when you ran at him In yonder field of clover. And then, how dared you tear the clothes Hung up by Mrs. Hewitt } Oh ! you were playing then, were you, And didn't mean to do it 1 I fear you're growing naughty, dog — Much trouble you have made me — But, then, with all your faults, old friend, You never have betray'd me. And I can't say as much for some Who boast of human learning, And who have larger brains than thine To aid their keen discerning — Who hide their faces in a mask — Who hate while they're beguiling — : Who fawn and flatter to deceive, And murder while they're smiling. And base ingratitude, old boy, You ne'er was guilty of it — Dog as you are, with all your faults. You have a soul above it. But I've known some of human kind Who'd frown on those that bless'd them, 6o TWILIGHT MUSINGS. And pitilessly sting the hand That nourish'd and caress'd them. Old dog, why do you shake your head, And squirm about, and wink so? You think I'm slandering~"my race? I wish I too could think so. I do not say that all are bad — Indeed, I think that few are — But I reiterate that dogs To friendship always true are. No doubt you're full of passions strong, And when temptation meets you, • You're like the stern self-righteous man Who villifies and beats you. You'll stop to taste forbidden fruits, E'en though it brings disaster; But, unlike man, you'll never prove A traitor to your master. TWILIGHT MUSINGS. '^ I ^WAS twilight — the bright-plumaged birds were at JL rest. And the sun in his glory had sunk in the west. All labor had ceased, and the whippoorwill's song Like a dirge from the forest came wailing along. TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 6 1 A maiden sat watching with wondering eye The many-hued cloudlets that skirted the sky, Which seem'd, as they varied their colors, design'd To furnish a type of the changeable mind. As she gazed, twilight call'd forth the fair stars of even, To light with their lustre the blue vault of heaven. And soon like a host in their silvery sheen. The pure lamps in ether were twinkling seen. They spangled the heavens in dazzling array, And night drove the sober-brow'd twilight away; But still the young maiden in rapture gazed there, " O night ! " she exclaim'd, *' thou art wondrously fair." But e'en as she spoke, a low murmuring plaint Came, mildly at first, as the sigh of a saint ; Then swiftly the storm-king arose on the air, And left but one bright star to radiate there. " Alas ! " cried the maid, " 'tis a picture of life ! How often is happiness turn'd into strife! Bright prospects may light us awhile, but how soon May frowning misfortune make night of our noon ! ''Yet, though grief wring the bosom and tears dim the eye, One bright star at least shall illumine life's sky ; For wretched indeed must that pilgrim be Who cannot one pure ray of blessed hope see ! " 62 SJVOIV FLAKES, SNOW FLAKES. I AM looking from my window At the softly-falling snow, And watching its still passage To the frozen earth below; And I'm thinking of the thousands Who will hail it with delight, And of the tens of thousands Whose comfort it will blight. I mark the flakes descending — How grand to contemplate I A myriad tiny feathers, Each distinctly separate! I single from among them The largest I can see, And in its devious windings I trace it easily. And thus I learn, while musing, A lesson from the sky: The flakes, like human beings. Are born to fall and die; Each takes a common pathway As they to earth descend; They have a common origin. And meet a common end. MAN'S INGRATITUDE. 63 The greatest, though conspicuous While Hving, still must die, And with the least in one low bed At last must surely lie. Be humble then, proud mortal, Nor vaunt your high estate — Death sees no difference between The lowly and the great. MAN'S INGRATITUDE. WHEN at the close of sultry day The wild-flowers on the plain. All heated, cover'd o'er with dust And perishing for rain, Imbibe the gently falling dew Which gems the emerald sod, They meekly bow their pretty heads In gratitude to God. And so the bright-wing'd, joyous birds — Those warblers of the wood — Seem thankful for each blessing That descends from the All-Good. And ever in the early morn Their cheerful notes they raise. And send to Heaven their happy songs Of gratitude and praise. 64 THE FIENDS OF DISCORD. But man — vain, haughty, selfish man Is never quite content, He takes, without a thought of debt, Each daily blessing sent. And as the dew of mercy falls To bless each fond desire, Instead of bowing low his head He raises it the higher. Then pause, proud man, a moment, And raise your eyes above. And ask yourself what you have done To merit God's great love. Then walk abroad with Nature When come your leisure hours. And take a wholesome lesson from The beauteous birds and flowers. THE FIENDS OF DISCORD WHO are the fiends of discord.^ Spleen, envy, malice, hate — • They lurk within the human heart To poison man's estate. With closest circumspection They watch each little thing, And when advantage offers They are ready for a spring. THE FIENDS OF DISCORD, 65 Oh, watch them well, ye thoughtless, Whene'er the heart is stirr'd — Be careful of each motion, Each look, each thought, each word. For, once aroused to action, You'll battle them in vain, And lose, perhaps, that quiet You may never know again. A harsh word when you're speeding To business away May make some heart despondent Throughout the livelong day. A frown — a thoughtless action — A gesture to annoy, May wake the fiends of discord To banish every joy. Be loving, kind and gentle As you journey on through life. And shun the thorny pathway That leads to hate and strife. Misfortune may o'ertake you But you can bear its smart. If you keep the fiends of discord From warring in your heart. 66 THERE S SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH. THERE'S SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH. OH, mourning husband, bending o'er The ashes of thy wife. Who, dying seem'd to take with her A portion of thy Hfe ; It was decreed that tears must flow When first the world began, But bear it hke a Christian, While you feed it as a man. Bewail thy first-born's early flight Thou broken-hearted mother; And sister weep in anguish for Thy darling baby brother ; And father, mourn, when thy dear son Yields up his latest breath, But in thy grief remember still There's something worse than death. It is to live to see the brand Of sorrow and disgrace, Mark'd by the ministers of sin Upon the loved one's face. Our idols may be safe to-day — Their future who can tell } Then let us meekly bow to Him **Who doeth all things well." TIME. 67 TIME. FATHER TIME is sweeping onward, Scythe and hour-glass in hand; Nothing can obstruct his pathway, Nothing can his force withstand. Now he blurs the cheek of beauty — Now he renders weak the strong — And he cuts down all before him As he swiftly glides along. And he seems a grim old tyrant, Stern-brow'd, merciless and cold, Shaking mildew from his pinions On all things of human mold. Making every pleasure short-lived. Touching love with his alloy. Blasting with his sour visage Every bud of human joy. Yet, methinks, if thoughtless mortals Would but read his visage right. They would come to the conclusion That he is not ruled by spite. True, he sides with Death at present. But he loves him none the more, And in the far-distant future He will be Death's conqueror. 68 BEWARE OF HIM. Then give Time the praise that's due him- He his mission must fulfil, And he'll use you very gently If you do not treat him ill. If you're free from dissipation, And with vice no dealings have. He will give you health and comfort From the cradle to the grave. BEWARE OF HIM. BEWARE of the man with a countenance bland And a tongue with a silvery tone, Who freely his counsel will give you off hand, As though your best good were his own. Who though an acquaintance of only a day. In his friendship excels any other. And who in his zeal for your welfare will pray While he sticks to you close as a brother. He will enter your house with an elegant grace And a countenance sweet and benign. And you're almost inclined as you look in his face To think him scarce less than divine. He flatters each one of your home circle dear, From the babe to the grandsire gray, And little you dream when his praises you hear That he's wondering how it will pay. STRUGGLING CUBA. 69 How harmless the snake, in your innocent eyes, As slowly his length he uncoils, Till he strikes, and alas, to your utter surprise, You find yourself fast in his toils ! Then greatly you wonder while writhing with pain From the subtle destroyer's foul blow, How a monster so poisonous, puerile and vain. Could have hoodwink'd and wounded you so. Beware of sweet talkers unless you are sure That their language comes straight from the heart — Praise from a true friend, who is artless and pure. Can have no appearance of art. And better the tone of the blunt and the gruff Whom oft in .life's journey we meet, Than the musical, sweet, hypocritical stuff That comes forth in the tone of deceit. STRUGGLING CUBA. OH, spirits of the brave and just. Ye millions who have died While fighting for sweet liberty 'Gainst arrogance and pride, If ye can aid a patriot band Determined to be free, Then nerve those who are fighting now For Cuba's liberty. yO STRUGGLING CUBA. On servile pens let fall thy power, And paralyze the school That prates of Spain's supremacy, And advocates her rule. Be with the patriots in this strife Till victory is won, And war's dark clouds are chased away By liberty's bright sun. And on the rulers of this land Thy subtle influence pour — Let them remember how we strove To burst the chains we wore When England held us in her grasp And treated us with scorn, Till blood was shed at Lexington And liberty was born. Now Cuba fights as once we fought. To free her native land, And should not fair Columbia Extend a helping hand t Down with ignoble selfishness ! Speak boldly for the right ! At every pore brave Cuba bleeds. Oh, help her in the fight ! Oh, speak for her, Columbia ! — That surely is not much — Proclaim her sons belligerents. And deal with them as such. Then will the monsters whose dark deeds Sathanus might appall. FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST. 71 Cry out with fear as they perceive "The writing on the wall." Then will the ruthless butchers feel The vengeance of the brave — The voice of doom will issue from Each murder'd student's grave, And soon demoralized and lost The miscreants will flee, And hurry back disgraced to Spain, And Cuba will be free ! Oh, glorious hope ! oh, blessed day ! Oh, solace for the brave! A nation sworn to liberty ! A land without a slave! Oh, God of battles speed the day So glorious and so grand, When one more hope shall animate The slaves of every land. FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST. DEDICATED TO THE CUBAN ARMY. PEACE ! Sweet peace ! Thou white-wing'd seraph. We would ever have thee near, For thou art the priest of order To humanity most dear. 72 FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST, But when tyrants clothed with power Crush their fellow-worms to dust, We must raise on high the motto — " Ye are wrong'd ! Fight when ye must ! " Peace is lovely— peace is holy When it dwells 'neath freedom's light, But when wrong uprears her standard Men must battle for the right. Peace must fly and war must flourish When the vile would rule the just — Strife, when waged for human progress. Virtue is — fight when you must. Just resistance is a warrior ' Who goes forth with will uncurb'd Conquering, that Peace may triumph And reign o'er us undisturb'd. But for strife, throughout the ages Dark with ignorance and lust. What would now be man's condition ? Sad, indeed! Fight when ye must! Peace is sweet, when back'd by Justice — Unjust war must bitter be — Peace is bitter under tyrants — War is sweet for Liberty. Then when men groan 'neath oppression, Battle must their wrongs adjust — Peace is sweet when kept with honor — Not without — fight when ye must. ODE TO POVERTY. 73 ODE TO POVERTY. OH, Poverty, twin brother to Despair! Thou source of woe ! Thou summoner of care ! Dreadful task-master ! author of misery ! What tongue can say one word in praise of thee ? Like a grim fiend of diaboHc birth You sit beside the honest toiler's hearth. To mock him with your presence and to see His wife's distress and his deep agony. Ruthless you send your keen, envenom'd dart With cruel aim into the proud man's heart — High-toned, well-bred, retiring and genteel. Too sensitive to beg, too virtuous to steal — Reckless he hides away from human ken And wrestles with you in his wretched den. Till famish'd by your frame-destroying breath He sinks at last and yields himself to death. Your skull and cross-bones banner you unfurl Before the weary, heart crush'd working girl. You throw your icy fetters round her heart, Unmindful of the bitter tears that start — You see temptation near her and you cry: " I have no mercy — you must sin or die ! " And should she follow guilty pleasure's train. All hope is gone — she'll ne'er know peace again. 74 ODE TO POVERTY. A few brief months of dissipation o'er, A prey to thoughts she never knew before, No power to stem sin's swiftly-rushing tide, She ends her sad career by suicide. Such work as this, oh. Poverty is thine, Yet in thy presence man should not repine, For sometimes (all with Shakspeare must agree) " Sweet are the uses of adversity." And ere I send my tired muse away I e'en for Poverty a good word will say: There's many a genius, it must be confess'd. Who at the start by Poverty was bless'd. Who would have idled had he been born rich, Wasted his means and perish'd in a ditch, But who, when want aroused ambition's flame, Strain'd every nerve to capture wealth and fame, And who, while struggling for the foremost place, Developed some new fact to bless his race. Many rich blessings that we daily meet. Many inventions priceless and complete. Both on the land and on the boundless sea. Ne'er had existed but for Poverty. And thus 'tis patent to the truly wise That evils oft are blessings in disguise. MV IDEAL DAY, 75 MY IDEAL DAY. ON flies Time, while joy and sorrow Greet each never-ending morrow — Success and failure, hope and fear, Clouds and sunshine mingle here. Day breaks — we're aglow with pleasure — Night comes — grief we cannot measure ; Now the banquet, now the grave, Each crowds each like wave on wave. Now my soul is sick with sadness — Now my heart is full of gladness — Now would I contented die — Now cling to earth eternally. Such are life's components real, But I have a blest ideal. I am dreaming of the dawning Of a bright and glorious morning. When all passions shall be ended. And all faults shall be amended — When man shall be pure indeed — Love the law and truth the creed. When the phantoms that pursue us, Seeking ever to undo us. Shall forever take their flight To the realms of endless night. 76 A FEW THOUGHTS. When each gross and weak desire Shall be purged by Heavenly fire — When all evil thoughts will fly us, And temptation cannot try us. This the Heavenly sunburst beaming, Touch'd with glory in my dreaming — This my cherish'd ideal day, When earth shall have pass'd away. Oh, poor hearts with sorrow laden, Only in the distant Aiden, With a spirit newly born. Shall ye find my ideal morn. A FEW THOUGHTS. T THINK a disposition that is happy and resign'd Adds greatly to the comfort and the health of human kind. I think a sour temper and a bosom fiU'd with spite Brings trouble, and puts every sign of happiness to flight. I think no individual, however high his station, E'er gain'd the praise of worthy men by vice and dissi- pation. I think no dainty dandy, while for ladies favors sueing, E'er added perfume to his breath by smokirjg or by chewing. A FEW THOUGHTS, 77 I think that wicked cunning never met with much success. I think if swindlers sufFer'd more their number would be less. I think if meddling gossips would cease to spy and talk, That lawyers would be fewer and courts would have less work. I think that many doctors would better blacksmiths make. I think that clerks who gamble have more than gold at stake. I think a man who marries, if he gets a proper mate, Secures a fortune, though the bride may own no real estate. I think if certain folks would let some other folks alone, They'd find more leisure to attend to business of their own. I think when stingy rich men chance from fortune's height to tumble. And meet with little sympathy, they have no right to grumble. I think that many ministers, renown'd for fluent speech, Would more consistent be if they would practice what they preach. I think that true religion, when the tempter tries his art. Throws a shield of triple power around the wavering heart. I think that every soul that sins will meet with suffering. Whether that soul belongeth to a peasant or a king. I think all grades of people, from the monarch to the slave, Are fashion'd from one common clay and equal in the grave. 78 " WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT: 'WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT." DISTURB'D in mind, and rack'd by pain, In solitude I sit, A victim to the sombre thoughts That through my fancy flit ; I'm thinking of the thousand ills That human pleasures blight ; Yet through my musing runs this truth, ** Whatever is, is right." I see the honest toiler steep'd In poverty and woe. While past him struts the guilty wretch, Whose coffers overflow. I see beneath religion cloak'd Foul passions black as night; Yet in my heart I feel the truth, "Whatever is, is right." I've seen the trembling culprit A justice stand before. And heard the doom which foUow'd An infringement of the law ; I knew the stern-brow'd magistrate Was vile in Heaven's sight; And yet I whisper'd to myself, "Whatever is, is right." " WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHTr 79 The Great, All-wise, Omnipotent, Who sends the gentle dew To bless and fructify the earth. Sends hail and tempest too. Behind the lowering, angry clouds The sun is shining bright. And we must take them in their turn — "Whatever is^ is right." I would not be misunderstood — I take no skeptic view, I feel that I'm responsible For all which I may do. But He who fashion'd me in love. Will judge me not in spite. But pity while he punishes — ^* Whatever is, is right." When passions slumbering in my soul, By fate to flame are fann'd, He knows what my temptation is. How much I can withstand. And if I fall while struggling, Or conquer in the fight. He'll deal with me as I deserve — "Whatever is, is right." The world is full of good and ill, And it is better so ; For if we never suffer'd pain. How could we pleasure know.? We should not prize the glorious sun If 'twere not for the night. 80 HAVE CHARITY. And love shows best opposed to hate — "Whatever is, is right." And if the All-wise wills that I Should sorrow's chalice drain — If he should change my hours of bliss To misery and pain — Nay, should he choose to plunge my soul In realms of endless night, I still should trust him, for I know "Whatever is, is right." Then let us take the good and ill, . Contented still to know That greatest blessings often From severest trials flow. And if we sometimes faint and fall Beneath temptation's might, God's mercy still envelopes us — * Whatever is^ is right." HAVE CHARITY. THROUGH the great sin-blasted city Toils a homeless little one, Not a friend to soothe or pity, Not a bed to lie upon; HAVE CHARITY, 8f Ragged, dirty, bruised, and bleeding. Subject still to kick and curse, School'd in sin and sadly needing Aid from Christian tongue and purse. But the rich and gay pass by her, Full of vanity and pride, And a pittance they deny her, As they pull their skirts aside. Then a sullen mood comes o'er her, Reckless she of woe or weal. Death from hunger is before her — She must either starve or steal. She does steal; and who can blame her? Hunger-pangs her vitals gnaw, None endeavors to reclaim her And she violates the law. Then the pamper'd child of fashion, Who refused to give relief. Cries, with well-affected passion, "Out upon the little thief!" Censors full of world-wise schoolins:. Cease to censure and deplore; When the girl transgress'd man's ruling. She obeyed a higher law, Take her place, feel her temptation — Starved, unhoused, no succor nigh — And, though sure of reprobation. Ye would steal ere ye would die! 82 THE TWO SLEEPERS. THE TWO SLEEPERS. AN old man sat in his easy-chair, Where he had sat before, . Day after day, at eventide, For years at least a score. The Bible open on his lap, A smile upon his face — And round his brow a halo shone. Evolved by inward grace. He heeded not the little one Who sported round his knee, And twitch'd the tassel of his gown, And shouted out with glee ** Come, grandpa, put your book away — 'Tis nine o'clock you know. And you must play awhile with me, Before to bed you go. "What! won't you play.^" the child went on With disappointed air; " You said you would at nine o'clock — Grandpa, that isn't fair ! But never mind — you're tired perhaps — And I'm a saucy thing — So sit you still, and I your pipe Will from the mantel bring ! " THE TWO SLEEPERS. 83 And yet the good old man stirr'd not, Nor look'd he at the child, Who laid her head upon his book, Gazed up at him and smiled ; And then she pouted pettishly. And then began to weep, And then, tired out, her eyelids closed, And she fell fast asleep. And thus they slumber'd tranquilly, The grandsire and the child ; And as they slept, it seem'd as if They on each other smiled. But while the red-cheek'd joyous child The sleep of health was taking, The old man was reposing in The sleep that knows no waking. He had pass'd away e'en while he dwelt Upon the sacred story, And left this sin-embitter'd life For one of brightest glory. O picture rare ! O lesson stern ! For heedless man intended — The wee child starting on the voyage The grandsire old had ended. 84 A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. A WORD in anger spoken — How often does it prove The cause of cold indifference In hearts whose rule is love! How oft the swetest pleasures Humanity can know Are by a harsh expression Turn'd into bitter woe ! A word in anger spoken — How many sighs, and tears, And sleepless nights, and cheerless days, And weary, weary years. Have been its mournful product, Though charity essay'd To heal the deadly, festering wound Which thoughtless anger made ! A word in anger spoken — A blot upon life's page Which oft will leave its impress From youth to latest age. Man may forgive an insult; But still it bears its fruit. For memory is a tyrant Whose rule is absolute. A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. 85 A word in anger spoken Has oft engendered strife Between the loving husband And the doting, trusting wife; Has caused a barrier to rise Between the child and mother, And led foul enmity to part The sister and the brother. A word in anger spoken — If you have felt its blight, Resolve henceforth to " know thyself," And train thy spirit right. Keep watch upon thy every thought, Thy every look and word. And thou shalt live from sorrow free, As joyous as a bird. A word in anger spoken — Oh! weigh the sentence well; For it contains a lesson That words are vain to tell. The human heart is faulty, And the wisest of us all May drop a careless word in wrath, That we would fain recall. 86 THE POOR MAN'S SONG, THE POOR MAN'S SONG. I LIVE in a garret, but what do I care ? I'm safer than some of my great neighbors are The loss of my wealth I'm not troubled about, And my diet will certainly keep off the gout. Then a truce to all grumbling, for happen what may, While I've health, I'll be happy by night and by day, There's old Mr. Graball, whose dwelling's hard by. At the loss of a dollar is ready to cry ; And yet I'll be bound that the old fellow's dimes Outnumber, by far, his quintillion of crimes. Then a truce to all grumbling, the morsel I eat Is honestly gotten, and wholesome, and sweet. Then there's Mr. Freeliver, over the way, Who groans with dyspepsia, day after day; If Nature permitted, how quickly would he Be willing to barter conditions with me.^ Then a truce to all grumbling, for champagne, 'tis clear, Is not so conducive to health as small-beer. Give me but the power to labor, and then As happy I'll be as the richest of men; And the evils committed in grasping for gold Can't trouble my conscience when I have grown old. Then a truce to all grumbling, for happen what may. While I've health, I'll be happy by night and by day. THE BOUQUET-GIRL. 8/ THE BOUQUET-GIRL. ^^ "DOUQUETS!" like a mourning spirit's wail jL) Arose on the midnight air, From the lips of a girl whose features pale Were mark'd by grief and care. Her azure eyes were dim with tears, No purchaser she found ; And oh ! it seem'd the woe of years Was in that plaintive sound. Bouquets ! bouquets ! oh ! pray do buy, At home there is no bread; I hear my little brother's cry, And darling mother's dead ! " Bouquets ! " and the poor child's tired feet Touch'd wearily the ground, While the night wind through the lonely street Rush'd by with a moaning sound. " Bouquets ! " in a low, despairing tone. While onward still she crept. And then between a sigh and moan She sought a seat and slept. Bouquets! bouquets! oh! pray do buy, At home there is no bread; I hear my little brother's cry. And darling mother's dead. SS HEART-HUNGER, HEART-HUNGER. '^ I ^IS sweet to feel in this sad world of change, X Where selfishness and pride so much abound, That there is one, however wide we range, To greet us lovingly when home is found. One whom we know will faithful be till death, Whose heart-throbs play in concert with our own, Whose' love will bless us till our latest breath. To whose pure bosom falsehood is unknown. The famish'd wretch who droops his head with shame May be relieved by any passer-by; The ardent youth who hungers after fame Has always hope of feasting presently. But, oh! to feel that we are all alone. That love's sweet cup has vapor'd to the lees. That there is no heart we can call our own — This is a hunger nothing can appease. To wander on without a ray of hope. To find no respite even in our sleep, Life's sun extinguish'd, in the dark to grope, And hopeless through this weary world to creep ; No balm for us, no njedicine can cure — The ailing is beyond the reach of art — All other hunger strong men may eAdure, Except the weary, dreary hunger of the heart. THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, ETC. 89 THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, BUT THE SCAR WILL REMAIN. OH, ye who from crime and pollution are free, Watch well the temptations that throng around thee! A character tarnish'd ne'er loses the stain — The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 'Tis true that the vilest forgiveness may earn — The sorrowing lost to the fold may return ; But sad recollection will bring with it pain — The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. The misty bloom brush'd from the cheek of the plum No more to its delicate surface can come ; And the pure heart polluted ne'er freshens again — The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. The slave of vile appetites touch'd by remorse, May weep o'er his folhes and alter his course ; But still on life's Tablet his record is plain — The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. Then shun ye the tempter, and seek ye the goal, Which promises peace to the world-weary soul. If ye sin ye will strive to forget it in vain — The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 90 TO HATE. TO HATE. THOU baleful, black-brow'd murderous thing Thou bane of human bliss ! Thou vampire fiend of sombre wing, Whose loathsome, lep'rous kiss Blisters the lip it meets, and turns Life's sweets to bitterest gall, And like a hungry fire burns In souls that own thy thrall. Thank God, I ne'er have known thee yet, Vile monster that thou art! Thou ne'er hast had and ne'er can get A lodgment in my heart. Though I were doom'd to feel the sting Of enmity's foul blow, I'd seek no shelter 'neath thy wing, Thou minister of woe. I can afford to pity thee, And all whose guide thou art; For no poor wretch from pain is free While thou dost rule his heart. I'd rather suffer from thy spite Than own thee as my friend ; For love, thy master, will delight When thou hast reach'd thine end. THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED. 91 THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED COME, night, sad night, and let me hide My wretchedness in theel Nurse in thy gloom my woman's pride, My heart's deep agony ! Thy sombre shadows suit me well. My trouble and unrest Are suited to thy darksome spell — 'Tis night within my breast. The flowers that bloom at early morn To some may beauteous be. But those that ope at night's approach Are dearer far to me. The first like sunshine friends may smile In fortune's happy light, The latter will our griefs beguile In sorrow's gloomy night. Though bright the glorious orb of day. It has no charm for me ; I would not have a single ray Shine on my misery. Like the crush'd flower upon the plain, Dust-cover'd from the sight. So would I hide my loathsome stain In everlasting night. 92 SPOIL THE ROD AND SPARE THE CHILD. I love the dark-robed night, for she Shares all my bitter grief; She has a sigh in every breeze, A tear on every leaf; And while the moon looks sadly down, The stars shed, as they glow. A ray of sorrowing light that seems Like sympathetic woe. SPOIL THE ROD AND SPARE THE CHILD. MEN and women, Shakspeare tells us. Are but children larger grown ; This is true as truth can make it — Few are fit to run alone. Not an adult soul among us But some folly has beguiled ; Then when little ones are faulty. Spoil the rod and spare the child. Anger only wakens anger- — Love it is that rules the heart ; Force restrains, but does not conquer, Though the bitter tear may start. If you'd reach an erring bosom, Trust to reason and be mild. Give not way to brutal passion — Spoil the rod and spare the child. THE DIFFERENCE. 93 If, with all his boasted knowledge, Man is changeable and weak, Can he, with a show of reason, Perfectness in childhood seek ? Oh ! then gently deal with children, If they wayward prove and wild, Love will bring them to submission — Spoil the rod and spare the child. Never yet did boy of spirit Feel the sharp lash to his gain ; If by love you cannot rule him You may lacerate in vain. Glorious, bright-eyed romping childhood By each harsh blow is defiled ; Oh ! then treat the darlings gently — Spoil the rod and spare the child. THE DIFFERENCE. A MAIDEN who spent the weary hours In going from house to house with flowers, Stopp'd at a gorgeous mansion, where She spread to view her bouquets rare. Wan was her look and dim her eye, And as she mark'd the passers-by, Her youthful bosom seem'd to be The dwelling-place of misery. A lady from out the mansion came, A richly-costumed, pompous dame, 94 THE DIFFERENCE. Whose look of vain and haughty pride The flower-vender terrified. She view'd the poor girl's bright-hued store, And turn'd the bouquets o'er and o'er, Then ask'd the price, demurr'd, and then In the rich mansion went again. The maiden, footsore, sad, and weak, Wiped oif the tear that gemm'd her cheek, And then again she pass'd along Amid the city's giddy throng. At length a bright-eyed working girl. With ringing laugh and sunny curl, Approach'd her, and in merry sport A bunch of her sweet flowers bought. But as the girl the money took, The buyer mark'd her wretched look, And kindly sought the cause to know Why her young heart was touch'd with woe. The girl replied, with tearful eyes, " At home my aged mother lies ; She's ill, alone, and should be nursed. But I must sell my flowers first." The shop-girl paused and heaved a sigh, A tear was in her clear blue eye ; She'd saved a sum to buy a shawl ; But ''Here!" she cried, 'Til take them all! My mother's dead, and doubtless she Is looking now from heaven at me. And she will smile — I know she will — To see me hug her precepts still." POEMS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT. HEAVEN. THE world is beautiful ; but I Can see in all beneath the sky, Proof that the Great Divinity Design'd that mortals, To taste of perfect bliss, must fly To heaven's portals. If not, why are our natures tried By longings all unsatisfied ? Why do our towers, rear'd with pride, Totter and fall } Why are the sweets on life's wayside Mingled with gall } Music and discord mingle here — The joyous laugh, the bitter tear, The sunshine and the storm-cloud drear, All in an hour, By turns will crush the heart or cheer — Such is earth's dower ! But there's a land beyond the sky Where hope within us cannot die. Where there is neither tear nor sigh, Nor strife, nor terror : Where all is peace and harmony, Unmix'd with error. ^ (97) 98 FAITH. There, bathed in light, we'll stand before The One who human sorrows bore ; Who, houseless, famish'dj sick, and sore. Was yet man's friend; And will be when this life is o'er, Time without end. r O glorious home ! O mansion blest ! Thou recompense for life's unrest ! Close to the Saviour's bosom prest, How sweet to be Loved, pitied, comforted, caress'd, Eternally 1 FAITH. OTHOU ! who boldest in Thy mighty grasp The wide- spread waters of the boundless deep. Whose blessed smile is in the sunshine seen, Whose awful power awakes the fearful storm, Who scattereth o'er the mantle of the night The glittering gems that meet our upward gaze, Whose voice comes to us in the zephyr's breath. And greets us in the wild tornado's roar, Whose glorious handiwork o'er all the earth is seen In every plant that at thy bidding grows To please the eye or furnish needful food — In every bird that skims the ether blue, To charm the ravish'd ear with songs of praise — FAITH. 99 In every beast that roams the forest wild, Or with meek patience toils for thankless man — Thou Infinite ! whose presence in all space is felt, At once mysterious, awful, grand, sublime, and beautiful, If I, a dying, worthless clod of earth. Might dare to lift an humble prayer to Thee, I'd ask that Thou wouldst teach me what I am, And save me from the touch of vanity and pride. Those twin fiends who, since the first angel fell. Have lured weak, yielding man to misery and woe. Save me, O Father ! from the skeptic tempter's power, Who with his specious reasoning would sap my faith — And since I cannot Thy dread essence analyze, And make Thee palpable to touch and sight. Let me adore Thee as a little child, Who cannot reason, but who yet can feel Thy presence when he kneels to Thee in prayer. I pray for faith, O Father ! Faith to feel That Thou art with me in this mortal strife — Faith to believe that if misfortune lays Her heavy hand on my devoted head, 'Tis done for some wise end known but to Thee — Faith to believe if earthly friends desert, If loved and trusted ones fly from my side, That Thou wilt closer draw, and give that peace Which none here can bestow nor take away — Faith to perceive Thy hand in all that may befall. And to exclaim in reverence and love, "It is the Lord, and I am still content ! " O glorious faith ! O sweet and heavenly trust ! . Be with me to the end, and bear my soul. In confidence and peace to its eternal home ! lOO TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. THOU loathsome, grinning, hideous thing, So terrible to view — Reminder of the dread, grim king ! Is't possible that you Once talk'd, and sang, and laugh'd with glee, As I do sometimes now, - With signs of pain and ecstacy By turns upon thy brow ? How didst thou fall ? What caused thy death ? Were thy loved kindred near To see thee draw thy latest breath — Thy dying words to hear ? Or didst thou perish far from home, With not a fond one by. To breathe above thy lonely tomb A sympathetic sigh ? What were thy qualities ? and what Thy station in this life ? Didst dwell within an humble cot, Far from the city's strife ? Or didst thou in the busy mart Day after day appear. Striving by every wile and art To heap up treasure here ? TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. lOI Perchance thou wert a man of law, And practiced at the bar ; Or else, perhaps, a man of war, With many an ugly scar ; Or didst thou sail upon the deep Thy livelihood to gain ? Or didst thou some vile hell-hole keep, Thy base life to maintain ? Or didst thou strut thy weary hour Upon the mimic stage ? Or didst thou lend thy mental power To the historic page ? Or didst thou play a poet's part, And in thy language pure Speak hope to the despairing heart, And comfort to the poor ? I cannot tell what thou hast been, But I know what thou art — A loathsome thing, whose hideous grin Strikes terror to the heart. I also know that when my soul The better land flies to, But a few months will onward roll Ere I will look like you. 102 THE HUMAN HEART. THE HUMAN HEART. THOU knowest the heart, O Father! And only Thou canst know- Its trials and temptations — Its silent, secret woe. No eye can scan its working, Great spirit save Thine own ! Its innermost recesses Are known to Thee alone ! Thou knowest the heart, O Father! The lines of baleful sin Will seldom mark the human face E'en while it lurks within. And there are those who walk the earth From all suspicion free. Who, when Thy jewels are made up. Will have a part in Thee. Thou knowest the heart, O Father! Thou all its faults can see ! And Thou wilt read it truly, And judge it tenderly ; And many a mourning sinner. By man despised and bann'd, May, when his deeds are reconned. Be found at Thy right hand. ''GOD BLESS OUR HOME P' IO3 Thou knowest the heart, O Father ! Thou King all kings above ! And we may safely trust Thee, For Thou art love — all love ! O glorious truth ! O solace ! How vain were human bliss, If only man could judge us, And there were no world but this ! "GOD BLESS OUR HOME!" U GOD bless our home ! " is my orison tender, When the bright sun gilds the east with his splendor. All through the darksome night while we were sleeping. Angels a watch o'er our household were keeping. " God bless our home 1 " As the bright day advances Every new blessing our calm joy enhances. Mercy and goodness still rise up before us — Heaven's dear angels still spread their wings o'er us. "God bless our home I" when approaches the even, And the bright stars gem the blue vault of heaven ; By day and by night on our heads are descending Rich tokens of grace from a love never-ending. " God bless our home ! " O Great Spirit supernal ! Keep alive in our bosoms a passion fraternal ; Let Thy love be the beacon to guard and to guide us, And then only death can annoy or divide us. 104 ^ CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE. A CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE " 33lf ss tfjc 3Lorti, © mg soul ! anli forget not all f\is henttits," AT morning and at eventide Father above, I call on Thee To make me pure, to check my pride, And teach me sweet humility. This is my duty, but I know It is not all my tongue should say ; From Thee all earthly blessings flow, And I should praise as well as pray. Who shields me from the howling storm ? Who watches me in slumber sweet ? Who gives me clothes to keep me warm ? Who furnishes me with food to eat } Who makes my limbs so lithe and free When with my little mates I play ? 'Tis Thee, O gracious God ! 'tis Thee And I must praise as well as pray. For father kind and mother dear, And friends who are so true to me. For all the good I see and hear, I am indebted, Lord, to Thee. For brain to learn, and books to read. And grace to keep bad thoughts away ; For these, O Lord ! I feel, indeed. That I should praise as well as pray. THE BIBLE. 105 And, gift all others prized above, Thy precious word, my hope and light, Which fills my heart with sacred love, And keeps me in the path of right ; Which tells me of a Saviour dear Who watches o'er me night and day; Oh ! is it not, then, very clear That I should praise as well as pray. Yes, while I live I'll praise the Lord, And daily strive in grace to grow; Directed by His precious word, I'll walk where living waters flow. Oh I praise the Lord, my soul, and raise And keep alive the sacred flame, And all that is within me praise My gracious Maker's holy name. THE BIBLE BOOK all other books excelling — Man's best earthly friend and guide. Spring from whose pure source is welling Mercy in a crystal tide 1 Heaven's sweet light shines all about thee, Making plain the way to go ; What were this sad world without thee But a vale of sin and woe.? I06 THE BIBLE. God's own word ! Life-giving treasure ! Solace when all others fly ! Who thy wondrous wealth can measure? Who can set thy price too high ? Grief-dispeller — heart-consoler — Faith-sustainer — sorrow's bane — Death-destroyer — sin-controller — Soul-enlivener — foe to pain ! Spirit-stirrer — vision-brightener — Sin-expeller — sick soul's cure — Strife-allayer — burden-lightener — All-wise teacher — refuge sure ! Heavenly mentor — soul-wealth bringer — Sinner's heart's ease — heaven's chart — All in all — salvation-singer — Balm to every broken heart ! Holy Book ! How all should love it ! How its words refresh the soul ! Nothing earthly is above it — 'Tis God's light from pole to pole. Beauties ever new discerning As I con its pages o'er, Let my soul have but one yearning — How to prize and love i^ more ! PEACE, BE STILL I 107 PEACE, BE STILL! LIKE a vast caldron seem'd the sea ! On sped the gallant bark ! Like a caged ocean bird set free Upon the waters dark. Shrieking the storm-fiend hurried by, Speaking of woe and wreck ; But 'bove 'his voice arose the cry, '* We perish, Lord, awake ! " O wondrous change ! O heavenly balm ! Borne on the storm-fill'd air, A sweet, low voice fell like a charm Upon each ravish'd ear. It was the Master — "Peace, be still!" He said, and the mad sea At once, in answer to his will, Was all tranquillity. How sweet the thought when dangers crowd Around us to appall, That with firm trust we may aloud. Upon the Saviour call ! How sweet the faith that makes all bright And leads us gently home. Where dangers can no more affright. And sorrow cannot come. I08 SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO LOVE US. SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO LOVE US? SHALL we know those who love us, When this transient hfe is o'er And we tread the Golden City That lies on the other shore? When we shall reach the spirit-land, Will they to us appear In all their old familiar guise — Just as we knew them here? When we have cast this mortal off For immortality, And the glad soul with eager flight, Speeds through the ether free, Will it fly to its blissful home Without a taint of earth, And find its friends assembled there To hail the spirit-birth? Shall we forget our misdeeds And our miseries for aye, And only pleasant memories come. Throughout the endless day? And shall our love, refined and pure. Need no chastising rod. But fill our souls with sweet content, And lead us up to God? LIFE AND DEATH. 109 O radiant hope! O solace sweet! How glorious to be From all our earth-born phantasies For evermore set free ! No longer passion's abject slaves, All tribulation o'er — How sweet to gain a refuge sure Where grief can come no more! LIFE AND DEATH. HOW beautiful is life in its bright morning, Ere the heart knoweth aught of care or woe, Or the pure soul has felt the first sad warning That sin envelopeth all things below! How beautiful is life when, crown'd with roses, Fond youth by turns rejoices, sighs, and loves, Or in an ideal bower of bliss reposes. Or through the sunny vales of fancy roves. How beautiful is life, though proud ambition Shuts out the light of childhood's happy years ! Man, striving hard to better his condition, Forgets the while his misery and tears. How beautiful is life, e'en when advances Old age to bend the frame and dim the eye! The tottering pilgrim backward ever glances, And never, never is prepared to die. no BE HUMBLE, But, oh ! to me how vapid seems this yearning To cUng to earth with all its woe and pain. What is there here to quench this inward burning? What is there on this sordid earth to gain? How beautiful is death! How calm and quiet The features are, fix'd in its sweet repose ! The pulseless heart — no sorrow now can try it — 'Tis freed forever from all earthly woes. How beautiful is death! That form so lately Rack'd by sharp pain and agonized by fear, Now wears a look serenely grand and stately While lying silent on its sombre bier. How beautiful is death! All strife is ended. Nor can ambition, pride, nor black despair, Nor any other ill that life attended. Lay its rude, caustic, envious finger there. O life and death ! ye puzzles to vain mortals. And both so fair, view'd by philosophy, Shall we, when past the gloomy grave's dark portals, Rend the thick veil that hides the mystery? BE HUMBLE. WHO glories in power ? Who boasts of his might ? Who worships his gold-heaps by day and by night ? Who makes only vice-gilded pleasure his aim ? Who strives only after the chaplet of fame ? BE HUMBLE. \\\ I Vain mortal ! Thy power and might must decay, Thy riches take wing and fly swiftly away ! Thy dearly-bought pleasure be foUow'd by pain, Thy wreath of renown prove unstable and vain ! What is this existence to which we all cling? It passes away like a bird on the wing. 'Tis a breath, 'tis a vapor, 'tis a song, 'tis a sigh, We weep, we rejoice, we grow weary, we die ! And this ends the story — the babe of to-day Crowds out the grandsire who passes away; And the babe in its turn hurries on to the goal. Where death stands awaiting the flight of the soul. Be humble, then, mortal, thou worm of the sod. And bend thy proud knee in contrition to God, Who only is mighty, who only can save. And whose smile can light up e'en the gloom of the grave. Be humble, and patient, and ready to go Whenever thy mission is finish'd below ; Then rest thee contented, no terror can come When God in his wisdom shall summon thee home. 112 ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS. ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS. I'M alone among the shadows, And I'm waiting for the light, To chase away the visions Of the dreary, weary night. Like a sightless child deserted My uncertain way I grope — I'm alone among the shadows, But my soul is full of hope. I'm alone among the shadows ; But my doubts and fears are past, For I feel the sweet assurance That the light will come at last. A ray from hope's bright beacon Comes through the gloom to me — I'm alone among the shadows, But my heart is light and free. I'm alone among the shadows ; But I hear a sweet voice say, "You would not prize the daylight If it were always day." And so I'll strive in earnest To keep from error free, And he who strengtheneth the weak Will surely comfort me. A WANDERERS PRAYER. A WANDERER'S PRAYER. FATHER in heaven, when my soul Shall take its flight from earth, Grant that my frame may perish on The soil that gave it birth ; Grant that the friends who cherish'd me In sunshine and in gloom. Who sorrow'd and rejoiced with me, May lay me in the tomb. I know that when the spirit flies Its prison-house of clay, The wondrous structure, cold and dead. Soon hastens to decay ; But though the pulseless, mould'ring clod No sense of joy may have. My spirit will rejoice when friends Assemble 'round my grave. I wish no monumental pile To mark the solemn spot, No epitaph in fulsome style To tell what I was not ; But I'd have those who knew me here, As o'er my tomb they bend, Say, with a feeling all sincere, " He was a faithful friend ! " 114 WHAT IS LIFE? WHAT IS LIFE? TO eat, to drink, to strive for fame, To lay up heaps of gold; To pamper self; to toy with shame From youth till we are old ; To tread the humdrum round of trade, With disappointments rife ; Now fiU'd with hope, and now dismay'd, Oh ! tell me, is this life ? Ah ! no ; 'tis but the grosser part — A fraction of the whole ; The life which satisfies the heart Is centred in the soul. There lie the sanctities that chase Away dark error's mist; That fill us with an inward grace, And fit us to exist. Deep in the soul love rears his throne ; There truth and faith abide ; And where they rule, ill is unknown, And life is glorified. The outer world, though fair to see, Is full of hate and strife ; And oh! how wretched must he be Who has no inner life ! POEMS OF TRAGEDY. A CHRISTMAS STORY. J'npWAS winter, and the frost king's breath A Made piercing cold the air, And the rude north wind, fierce and strong, Rushed through the forest bare, Till e'en the gaunt and hungry wolf Sought shelter in his lair. Near the highway, and just within The margin of a wood, Lonely and drear, and frail with age, A time-worn hovel stood ; And there a wretched couple dwelt — Old John and Rachel Hood. The keen blast whistled through the chinks, And shook the crazy door. And pierced the aged pair as they The embers shivr'd o'er. And groan'd in bitterness of soul. To hear the tempest roar. At length the old man with a sigh Upraised his hoary head. And looking at the wrinkled dame, In savage humor said, ** O wife ! I wish with all my soul That you and I were dead. (117) Il8 A CHRISTMAS STORY. "This is a pretty Christmas day, Old dame, for you and I ; All gloom, and poverty, and rags, And abject misery ! 'Twere better we were in our graves And sleeping tranquilly. "The pamper'd rich are feasting now 'Mid revelry and mirth. And singing pretty madrigals About the Saviour's birth. Curse 'em ! I wish the Holy Babe Had never come on earth. - " How has His coming aided us .? What favor have we met? Our only son a wanderer. If he be living yet ; While we are old and poor, and scarce A crust of bread can get. "Religion is a humbug, dame; 'Tis only for the few Who roll about in carriages, And not for me and you. I'd sell myself to Satan, If he'd find me work to do ! " Hark ! Listen, Rachel ! What was that ? I heard it once before ! It sounds like some one knocking For admittance at the door. I heard it very plainly then. Above the tempest's roar!" A CHRISTMAS STORY. The wrinkled dame rose from her seat And open'd wide the door, And standing there, well wrapp'd in furs, A traveller they saw, Whose face was bronzed, and who had lived Of years perhaps two score. " A merry Christmas, friends ! " he cried, As he survey'd the pair, And then he wiped the frozen sleet From off his beard and hair, And then he took a seat upon A rickety old chair. The stranger look'd the cabin o'er, And then continued he, "But you're not over merry here, To judge from what I see; There are few bosoms that rejoice When pinch'd by poverty. **.But cheer up, friends; I have the means To make your old hearts light. And I will pay you well for food And shelter for the night. I'll make you to sing to-morrow morn If you but use me right." And then the stranger merrily From his great pocket took A purse of gold, and holding it Aloft, the metal shook ; The while the aged couple stared With desp'rate, greedy look. iig I20 A CHRISTMAS STORY. Uprose the old man quickly then, And eagerly he said, "We've little food to offer you And but a sorry bed ; But what we have is freely yours, Though we should go unfed." "Enough, enough!" the stranger cried. *' If you give all your store. You do the very best you can — The best could do no more — So set before me what you have, And compliments give o'er." - The meal dispatch'd, the traveller spoke : "Remember what I've said. You'll merry be to-morrow morn, Unless I'm with the dead ; And so a kind good-night, old friends ; Come, show me to my bed!" An hour pass'd on — the stranger slept — And to the aged pair It seem'd as though a thousand fiends Were shrieking in the air. As they with greedy, savage eyes Did at each other stare. At length the old man stealthily His trembling wife drew near, And while his white hair rose on end. He whisper'd in her ear ; And then a groan escaped her^ And she shook with guilty fear. A CHRISTMAS STORY. 121 ''Why should we hesitate," he said, " To strike the fatal blow ? No soul on earth except ourselves The truth will ever know ; I'll do it, though the deed should plunge My soul in endless woe ! " Then crawling to the stranger's couch He raised on high a knife. And struck the blow which took away The hapless victim's life — Then clutch'd the gold and bore it to His half-demented wife. ^ ^ i:j ^ ?^ The wretched pair sat cowering there Till rose the morning sun ; They could not sleep, for only half Their dreadful task was done, And they dared not by candle-light Their victim look upon. But now when rosy morning Had banish'd storm and night, They raised the floor and sought the corpse To put it out of sight ; But, oh ! their guilty souls were fiU'd With horror and affright. With shaking limbs they raised the dead, When suddenly the hair Fell from the temples, and the dame With fix'd and stony glare Gazed on a curious mark, and scream'd, '' Look there, old man, look there ! " 122 ''NOT NOWr Transfix'd they stood in speechless awe, And motion had they none, And freezingly through all their veins Did their weak life-tide run ; " Great God ! " shriek'd out the murderer, ** We've kill'd our only son!" 41? ?'i iU ilf iif Oh! ye who scoff at God's decrees In unrepentant mood, And sacrilegiously ignore A Saviour's precious blood. Think of the fate which fell upon The dame and old John Hood. "NOT NOW." ON his bed of straw in a garret An ag^d German lay, And from a wound in his forehead His life was ebbing away. Tired of this world's troubles. And crazed by the drunkard's bowl, He had rashly sped the bullet Which was letting out his soul. And as his senses wander'd He mutter'd o'er and o'er, ''NOT now:' 123 Of the dear old Fatherland he'd left Full thirty years before. Something he said of Gretchen, Of the air and the bright sunshine, And of his happy childhood In a cottage by the Rhine. The doctor kindly tarried, Though he saw the end was near, " Have you no friend ? " he question'd, " No wife nor children dear. For whom you'd leave a message Or some token ere you die ? Is there no one I can send for?" ^^ Not noWy' was the reply. "They say that since you came here Full thirty years have flown, And that you'd friends and money Ere misfortune struck you down — Now can you think of no one On whom you can rely ? Not one of all your former friends ? " ^^ Not now,'' was the reply. "You murmur of your Fatherland, And of your parents mild. And of the friends who greeted And caress'd you when a child — Are they all dead ? Is there not one To heave for you a sigh ? Not one, e'en there, to mourn your fate ? " ** Not now,'^ was the reply. 124 -^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ NEAR HIM WHEN HE VIES. And now the dread Death Angel Shut out the light of day, And with "not now" upon his lips The old man pass'd away. Oh, who can tell while yet the dew Of death was on his brow, How keen an agony was in That terrible ^^not nowf^ LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN HE DIES. HIS face is fair — he wears a front undaunted — He walks among his fellow men erect — He sweetly smiles as though no memory haunted His waking hours — he challenges respect. His voice is low and sweet when his petition Arises from the altar to the skies — His purest brethren envy his condition. But let me not be near him when he dies! Ever on Sunday, at the sweet bell's calling, Will he devout and meek to church repair — Shudd'ring, perhaps, to see some vile wretch crawling, Rum-crazed and ragged, from his fetid lair. And as he listens to the earnest preacher The bright tears gather in his soft, black eyes. And sympathy seems master of each feature — But let me not be near him when he dies ! LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN HE DIES. 1 25 He is my husband — we have lived together In matrimonial gyves for twenty years — I changed a girl's heart, lightsome as a feather, For a long life of agony and tears. The world knows not what I know — I've kept quiet When I have heard him lauded to the skies, All say he's great and good — I'll not deny it, But let me not be near him when he dies ! I've watch'd him while he slept in silent terror, 'And learn'd the secrets of his guilty soul — Not one who walks the earth is free from error — Not one can every little fault control — But oh, the dark deeds mutter'd in his dreaming — His fitful starts — his moans — his waking cries — These are the products of his wicked scheming — Oh, let me not be near him when he dies! If in his sleep the deeds he has committed Fills his lost soul with black remorse and fear, If in his dreams he feels for Heaven unfitted How will he act when stern-brow'd death draws near ? Oh, Heavenly Father, if in Thy discerning The supplication which I make is wise. Let me die first — for this favor I am yearning — Oh, let me not be near him when he dies ! 126 STARVATION. STARVATION. AT twilight, in a tenement house, In a small, unfurnish'd room, A woman with her baby sat Amid the gath'ring gloom. The darkness seem'd to settle there Like a funereal pall, "The while the flickering street lamps threw Quaint shadows on the wall. The wretched inmate glared around Like a wild beast at bay. As though she fear'd some monster claim'd Her baby for its prey. And then with all a mother's love The infant she caress'd. And drew it close, convulsively, Up to her famislVd breast. And as she hugg'd the little one, A smother'd cry of woe Broke from her lips the while she rock'd Her body to and fro. Then suddenly from her dark eyes Uncheck'd the hot tears rain'd, And in a voice of bitterness The mother thus complain'd : STARVATION. 12/ **Oh, baby, dear, in vain you toil, The wretched fount is dry — The hunger-fiend has done his work At last, and we must die. I've had advice enough, God knows, But words are only breath, And pious talk will never stop The dread advance of death, " They bring me tracts in plenty, And glibly talk to me Of Him who died in torment On the cross at Calvary. Whene'er they come to visit me The lesson they repeat, But I think I'd learn it better If I had enough to eat. "They say I have a sinful soul For which the Saviour bled. But I've a mortal body too, And should not that be fed.? I do not scorn their teachings — I have tried in prayer to kneel — But when the body is unfed The spirit will not feel. *' For food and a physician's aid In vain aloud I cry — My darling babe is sinking fast, I cannot see him die ! He struggles at my bosom Till his little strength is spent, 128 STARVATION, And, oh, it breaks my heart to know He finds no nourishment, " Oh, wealthy mothers of the land, Whose nurslings grow and thrive, Give me a-* single loaf of bread To keep my babe alive. And when I see the tint of health Upon his pale cheek start, I'll read your tracts, and pray that God Will purify my heart. *' But now throughout the livelong day, The spectre of despair Stands at my side and glares at me, And I can say no prayer. And would not you rebellious be And full of wild unrest, If the sweet babe you love so much Were starving on your breast ? *' Your prayer begins, ' Our Father,' So we must sisters be — And should not then a sister feel A sister's misery } Give, give me food, ye proud ones^ And let it not be said That one with store of gold refused A dying sister bread. " But all in vain I supplicate — No succor will they yield. And we, my babe, will shortly be At rest in Potter's Field. ALONE. 129 And oh, I wish the time had come, For death I do not fear, The life beyond must happier be Than that we pass through here." V ALONE. IN a poverty-stricken hovel Stood a man in deep despair, For his wife, his love, his darling. Lay stark and silent there. They had struggled on together — Had pain and hunger known — But he never thought of trouble Till he stood on earth alone. "Speak to me, Mary, darling!" The wretched mourner said, " My love, my life, my dear one ! It can't be that you're dead! Your Dermott's heart is bursting With this bitter, bitter pain ! Oh, open your eyes, mavourneeji, And speak to me once again!" "She's dead enough, I warrant!" A surly neighbor said, "And in my candid thinking It's better that she's dead. 130 ALONE. You've ran yourself in debt, man, Since she's been lying ill, And what you earn while working One mouth will scarcely fill." "Oh, man!" cried the bereaved one, "Sure, you have never known What 'tis in this cold, selfish world To feel yourself alone ! Alone! while the heart is aching, Through the dreary, weary night. Alone! when the birds are singing And the sun is shining bright ! "You don't know what it is, man, When life you're passing through, To feel that there's no heart on earth That beats with love for you. No loving hand to minister When sickness brings you low — No loving voice to cheer you In the midst of gloom and woe. "'Tis true my only darling And myself had toil and care. But still we did not murmur At our labor or our fare. With words of love and comfort Our daily crust we shared, And thank'd the Blessed Giver That heart-hzmger we were spared. ''PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING: 131 "Believe me — oh, believe me — That in this world so cold *Tis better to be rich in love Than rich in lands and gold. If you've true love to comfort you While on the hours fly, You've that which all the wealth on earth Can neither filch nor buy. "Oh, Mary, Mary, darling! I'll sit with you to-night, And I'll fancy you are living Till you're buried out of sight — And my heart will still be with you When you sleep beneath the sod, And I'll see you in my dreaming Till I'm call'd away to God." ^'PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING." [" Please bury my little darling. I am driven by poverty and an intem- perate husband to do that I would not do. I shall soon be with my child." It was the old, old story, pinned on the clothing of an infant found dead yes- terday, and buried in the Potter's Field. — New York Siin^ I AM weary, oh, how weary Of the trials and the fears That have haunted me like spectres So many bitter years. My eyes are sear'd with weeping 'Mid poverty and strife — Please bury my little darling For I have done with life. 132 ''PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING:' In the silence of the midnight, With my baby on my breast, I've pray'd that God might summon us To His eternal rest. He has taken my sweet infant And answer'd half my prayer, Please bury my little darling And I will join him there. Is it strange that I should murmur, And long so much to flee Far from a rum-crazed husband And abject poverty.? I am wild with this great torture. And my head begins to swim, Please bury my little darling For I must go to him. He cannot come to me — ah, no. My babe has gone to rest — His tiny hands are folded Upon his little breast. His soul is with the Saviour, Who has borne it to the sky — Please bury my little darling, And now, cold world, good-by! DEATH IN THE TOMB. 133 DEATH IN THE TOMB. WHO knows him, officer? Has he no friend? No one who'll shudder to think of his end ? No one to pray for him? No one to say for him One gentle word that no ear may offend ? Is there no tender heart, Feeling a brother's part. That his remains to the grave will attend? You found him, did you, while walking your beat, Stupid with liquor, stretch'd prone on the street? In a cart placed him then, Hitherward raced him then, And in the court held him up on his feet. While you the charge preferr'd, Nothing of which he heard, And his committal was render'd complete? He was found dead, was he, after a spell — Died all alone in this horrible cell — No one to hear his cries, No one to close his eyes, Man, if you have a heart, say was it well? How do you know 'twas drink That caused his frame to sink ? Was it not something else? ah, who can tell? 134 THE DRUNKARD. Ah, poor unknown ! while he lies in death here, Somebody's waiting his footsteps to hear — Sad wife and children may Hope on from day to day, That the dear light of their hearts may appear. But they will look in vain Ne'er will he come again With his glad tones their sad bosoms to cheer. THE DRUNKARD. HOPELESSLY wandering through the cold street, His clothes all in tatters, no shoes on his feet ; With countenance bloated, and rum-frenzied eye. Tired of living, yet fearing to die, How the crowd jeers as he shuffles along. No look of pity or love in the throng; How his heart burns as he looks on the scene. Thinking of what is and what might have been ! Once he was youthful, light-hearted, and gay — Life to him then seem'd a long summer's day ; Now he is penniless, friendless, and old, And shakes like a reed in the pitiless cold. Once he had energy, freedom from fear, A bright beaming eye, and an intellect clear; 'Twas seldom that sorrow or trouble would come, Till he gave himself up to the demon of rum. THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 135 Drink was the serpent that wrought his first pain, And fix'd on his record unsulUed, a stain; Drink that he hail'd as a friend in his glee, But oh! what a fiend did that friend prove to be! Slowly, but surely, with devilish art, It palsied his strong frame and ate out his heart. And placed the dark brand of disgrace on his brow. And made him that wreck of a man he is now. O ye who are under the rum-demon's spell. And pour down your throats his vile poison of hell ! Of his subtle arts I beseech you beware. Ere you find yourselves wreck'd on the shoal of despair. Ye may fight him a while, but believe me, at length The strongest will fall and succumb to his strength ; If you court him at all, you will struggle in vain To break the strong links of the rum-demon's chain. I THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. I AM dying, Willie, dying, Death's dew is on my brow; Come closer — let me gaze on you, For you are sober now. Your eyes beam kindly on me — Your voice is soft and low — . And your presence brings to light again The blessed long ago. 136 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE, I'm thinking of the happy time Ere you and I were wed, When daily blessings seem'd to fall Like incense on my head — When great joy fiU'd my bosom, And my step was light and free, And you, a bright-eyed, fearless boy, Were all the world to me. Oh, how I loved you, Willie ! And I love you, darling, yet — Your kindness in that golden time I never can forget. And I do not mean to chide you. When a backward view I cast; And shudder at the gulf between The present and the past. Forgive me, Willie, darling. If my words have caused you pain- I will not call up memories Of the long ago again. But I must speak of the present, For I have that to say Which I would have you think of, When I am snatch'd away. Our little boy, oh, Willie, He is pure and sinless now — There is no shade of crime or vice Upon his baby brow — • His heart is free from bitterness — His soul is pure as snow — k THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 1 37 Oh, Willie, in the years to come See that you keep him so. You have sworn upon the Bible That you ne'er again will taste The poison that has ruin'd us And made our lives a waste. If you keep that solemn covenant As long as life shall last, Our boy is safe, and God will grant Forgiveness for the past. Come closer to me, darling. Let me fold you to my breast. Ere the shadows close around me And I sink to dreamless rest. Oh, the weary, weary hours, And the bitter, bitter pain. Are lifted from my bosom And all is peace again. I am dying, Willie, dying. But for me all pain is o'er; And I'll look for you, my darling, When I reach the golden shore. God will'd that I should perish To save you and our boy, And I go to seek His presence With an eager, eager joy. 138 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY WHO DIED ONLY F O U Pv WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE. PROUDLY stood they at the altar, Loving friends on every side — He a young and joyous bridegroom, She a youthful, blushing bride. Pure her soul as were the flowers . That enwreathed her virgin brow — Pass'd she like a vision from us, . And she is an angel now. Four short weeks a bride was Carrie, Full of wedded happiness. Then we laid her down to slumber In her pure white bridal dress. Brilliant was she in her beauty, As she took her nuptial vow. But she was too pure for earth-life, And she is an angel now. Jesus wept o'er the departed — Even He felt mortal woe — And when loved ones vanish from us, Hearts will ache and tears will flow. Weep then, friends, and stricken husband But in meek submission bow To the will of God — for, surely, Carrie is an ano-el now. THE TYRANT KING. 1 39 I THE TYRANT KING. OH, I am a mighty monarch — No mightier can be — For tens of thousands yearly Lay down their Uves for me. My subjects love me dearly, With all my tyranny. Among earth's mighty rulers No rival do I own — Beneath my vile exactions My meek slaves daily groan, And yet, 'mid feuds and factions, I'm firm upon my throne. No other heartless tyrant Could foster hate and strife, Without the greatest danger Of forfeiting his life, And yet, to fear a stranger, I rove, with malice rife. You'll wonder when I tell you How reckless I can be — What dark deeds I am doing With all impunity — What evil paths pursuing While miUions cling to me. I40 THE TYRANT KING. I urge, when wild with passion, Weak man to kill his brother — I foster bitterness and hate Between the child and mother — I cause the father's heart irate Each spark of love to smother. I touch, with smile seductive, A matron pure and true. And she for me will peril Her soul and body, too — That bosom render'd sterile, Where truth and virtue grew. Yea, she will shame the wild-cat In her rage, at my behest. And slay the babe who cowers On her besotted breast. And curse the wretched hours In her frenzy and unrest. I see a man respected — A husband good and brave — I throw my toils around him And claim him for my slave. He licks the hand that bound him, And finds an early grave. Or he may live to scoff at And violate the law — Perhaps to bathe, when madden'd, His hands in human gore. While fiends in Hades, gladden'd. Will gloat his ruin o'er. THE TYRANT KING, 141 My loyal slaves are legion — They fill our social hells, And groan their brief existence Away in prison cells. In sinning, their persistence My wond'rous power tells. For me men weep and travail In rags and wretchedness, Without a ray of kindness Their tortured lives to bless, And beg me in their blindness. To banish their distress. A man will sell his daughter. Or his wedded wife for me — The son betray his father To basest ignomy — Then hug my shackles, rather Than be innocent and free. There's not a crime prevailing That I do not incite — They may be scored by millions Whose happiness I blight — Indeed I've slain my billions Since first I saw the light. And yet my timid vassals Are safe beneath my thumb — If they complain, a visit From me will make them dumb. You ask my name? What is it.'* My name, oh, man, is rum! 1 4 2 WORLD- WEAR Y, WORLD-WEARY. WEARY, weary, oh! how weary Is she of the cold world's strife ! Dreary, dreary, oh ! how dreary Is the path of her sad life ! Grim the phantoms that pursue her Ever, ever, night and day! Whispering dark words unto her, Chasing hope and faith away. Not a trusted friend is near her, In the world she stands alone ; None to soothe her, none to cheer her, Wrong'd, uncared for, ^nd unknown. Gazes she upon the water, Dazed her brain and wild her eye, Breathes the prayer her mother taught her, And then plunges in to die ! Rash the deed, but judge her kindly Ye who gaze on horrified ! Had she never loved so blindly, She would never thus have died. Raise her form, all bruised and broken. Lay it gently 'neath the sod ; Let not one harsh word be spoken. Leave her failings all with God. THE OUTCAST. 1 43 THE OUTCAST. (an "ow're true tale.") A YOUTH sat weeping silently, And on his woful face, Once innocent, might now be seen The shadow of disgrace. He'd fallen from his high estate, And sought for peace in vain. "My reputation's gone!" he cried, "I ne'er can smile again!" But as he shed in bitterness The penitential tear. His friends approach'd, and soothing words They whisper'd in his ear. They bade him blot from memory's page The past, and keep in view The future only, that he might Commence his life anew. He did so, and a little while His soul was pure and free From evil thoughts, temptation's power, And all unchastity. But soon by guilty pleasure's shaft Again his heart was riven ; Once more he fell, but by his friends He was once more forgiven. 144 '^^^ OUTCAST, And there was one, through all his guilt, Forever at his side, Who strove with more than human love His glaring faults to hide. In every dark and stormy time A sister near him stood, Beseeching him to shun the ill, And learn to choose the good. A year roll'd by, and in that time, Lamentable to tell. The victim of a ruthless fiend That trusting sister fell. VShe loved not wisely, but too well;" And was her fault forgiven.? Had she a friend to counsel herf Not one, except in Heaven. The very brother that her voice Had pleaded most to save, Heap'd curses on her hapless head And wish'd her in the grave. The father who had seen her grow In beauty 'neath his eye, Address'd her as a loathsome wretch, And cast her forth to die. Bleak was the night, and as she walk'd Along the frozen street, The outcast tlrembled as she felt The icy, chilling sleet. She reach'd a lofty edifice. Made the hard porch her bed — I THE OUTCAST, I45 And as she sought the sleep of death, "Forgive him, God," she said. Next morning when the dayUght broke, Her stiffen'd corpse was found. And hurriedly 'twas taken up And put beneath the ground. No prayer was said, no tear was shed When she was laid in earth, And he who wrought her fall is thought A gentleman of worth. Now, why is this,? Should not the wretch Who tramples in the dust A young heart's purest offering, Forever be accursed? Should he not be compell'd to feel The world's severest ban, And meet the undisguised contempt Of every honest man. The wretched one who fell from grace In Galilee of yore. Was told by Him who died for us To go and sin no more. But now, if woman steps aside, Society will cry, " Sin on — there is no hope for thee ! Sin ever till you die!" J 46 THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM, THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. THE drunkard lay on his bed of straw In a poverty-stricken room — And near him his wife and children three Sat shivering in their misery And weeping amid the gloom. And as he slept, the drunkard dream'd Of happy days gone by, When he wooed and won a maiden fair With rosy cheeks and golden hair, And heavenly, soft-blue eye. Again he wander'd near the spot Where Mary used to dwell. And heard the warbling of the birds His darling loved so well, And caught the fragrance of the flowers That blossom'd in the dell. Again he at the altar stood And kiss'd his blushing bride, And gazing on her beauty, felt His bosom swell with pride. And thought no prince could rival him. With Mary at his side. THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 147 The drunkard's wife is brooding o'er The happy long ago — In mute despair she sighs and rocks Her body to and fro. He dreams — she thinks — yet both their thoughts In the same channel flow. But now upon the drunkard's brow A look of horror dwells, And of his fearful agony Each feature plainly tells — Some hideous scene which wakes despair, His dream of bliss dispels. Upon him glares a monster now With visage full of ire. And yelling fiends with ribald songs Replace the feather'd choir, And the pure water of the spring Is turn'd to liquid fire. And as the red flames leap and roar Around the brooklet's brink. The fiends a flaming goblet raise And urge the wretch to drink. While overhead the stars fade out * And all is black as ink. ** Drink, comrade, drink ! " the dei)ions cry. " Come to our banquet — come ! This is the fitting draught for those Who sell their souls for rum ! " No word the drunkard speaks, but stares As he were stricken dumb. 148 THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM, And now they point him to the brook, And cry, " See, drunkard ! see 1 Amid yon flames are struggHng Your wife and children three, And in their terror and despair. They call for help on thee I " He rush'd to aid them, but at once The demons block'd his way. And then he sank upon his knees In agony, to pray ; But palsied was his tongue, and he Could no petition say. The drunkard writhed and from his brow Cold perspiration broke. As round the forms of those he loved Curl'd up the flame and smoke, And, shrieking in his agony. The wretched man awoke. He glared around with frenzied eyes — His wife and children three Sat shivering in their tatter'd rags In abject misery. And wept outright to look upon His waking agony. A pause — a sigh — and reason's light Again did on him beam. And springing to his feet, he cried, ''Thank God, 'twas but a dream. And I, perhaps, may yet regain My fellow-man's esteem!" THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 149 Then reaching forth his trembling hand, He from the table took A mother's gift when he was wed — • The good God's Holy Book; And while his loved ones knelt around, A solemn vow he took. " So help me God, I ne'er again Will touch the poison'd bowl Which ruins health and character, And steeps in guilt the soul, And swells the fearful list of names Affix'd to Satan's scroll! " Help me, O Lord ! to keep this oath — To shun each vicious den Wherein Td feel the tempter's power To make me sin again ! " And from his sobbing wife's white lips Arose a loud " Amen ! " And then on her wan visage beam'd A smile of joy once more. And, clinging to her husband's neck, She kiss'd him o'er and o'er, And wept such happy tears as she Had never wept before. 4J$ iif i.'J v.'J i\i ?,i He kept his oath, and from that time Their home did Heaven seem ; No discord now — sweet peace was theirs. And love their only theme. And daily both gave thanks to God Who sent the Drunkard's Dream. 150 THE BEGGAR-GIRUS COMPLAINT. THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT. ^^ /^^LD Santa Claus has come again!" V^ The rich man's children cry, And health glows in their ruddy cheeks As they run shouting by. I do not envy them their toys, Nor would I check their glee ; But oh! I wish that Santa Claus Would visit Sue and me ! They say he's merry, kind, and free ; But I am very sure. Though this may be his character, He does not like the poor. For if he did, he'd call on them, And give them of his store, Instead of striding coldly on Past every poor man's door. I do not want his pretty toys. His candies or his fruits ; I'd rather have, by far, a frock Or pair of winter boots. Or a nice warm stove to sit by, Or a bonnet for the street, Or a pair of woollen stockings. Or a loaf of bread to eat. THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT. 151 Oh! if / were old Santa Claus, I know what I would do; I'd visit rich men's houses, But I'd visit poor homes too. And if I bless'd the rich man's child With toys and dainties sweet, I'd give the poor warm clothes to wear. And food enough to eat. I'd go to every lonely hut. And every palace grand. And scatter presents everywhere With an unsparing hand. And Christmas morning, when the bells Gave out a joyful sound. Not one sad face or bleeding heart Should in the world be found. Oh ! if I were old Santa Claus, I'd make all sad homes bright ; Boys should not swear, and lie, and steal; Nor parents drink and fight; Nor should poor homeless wanderers Be treated cruelly, While plodding through the bleak, dark streets, Like little Sue and me. But I am not old Santa Claus; I'm but a beggar-girl. Who's buffeted and kick'd about, In the great city's whirl. 152 ''SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATH:' Not one kind voice addresses me, None heed the pangs I feel, And so to keep myself alive I have to beg and steal. O men! who b'lieve that Christ the Lord Was poor while on the earth, Steel not your hearts against us On the morning of His birth; But as your well-clad little ones Throng round you in their glee, Give one kind thought to such poor waifs As little Sue and me. "SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATH." A TRUE INCIDENT. y I ^WAS a fearful night in winter — -A. A night of snow and sleet — When a beggar, worn and weary Crept through the lonely street. To better his condition He had left fair Italy, And thought to find a Heaven in This land of liberty. SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATHS 1 53 He was sick, and sore, and ragged, And penniless, and old. And shiver'd like an aspen In the bitter, biting cold ; And he wonder'd why he hunger'd And went without a bed, For he had heard that strangers here Could always earn their bread. While passing by a lime-kiln, He felt the genial glow Of heat upon the surface From the burning mass below; And he look'd up into Heaven, Where the blessed Saviour dwells. And, muttering a prayer, he sought A bed upon the shells. And, as sleep stole upon him, He saw a vision bright — A grand, majestic figure, Array'd in purest white ; His eyes were full of pity, And his face was free from guile. And on his countenance there play'd A beatific smile. "Poor wanderer!" the stranger said; " Neglected, sick, and lone ! My heart goes out to thee, for I Have want and sorrow known ; I, too, have felt, in all its force, Man's inhumanity; 154 ''SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATHS I, too, have been a man of grief — A wanderer like thee. "But I will gently nurse thee, And lull thy cares to rest ; I'll snatch thee from thy misery, And warm thee in my breast; I'll take thee to my Father's house, And thou shalt happy be. Nor shalt thou know another pang — Say, wilt thou go with me?" Those dulcet tones fell sweetly Upon the beggar's ear; He realized, with joy, that he Beheld the Saviour dear; And ere the glorious sunshine Proclaim'd another day, The beggar's soul had plumed its wings, And sped with Christ away. Next morning, on the lime-kiln The blacken'd corpse was found; And as, with ghastly faces, The workmen gather'd round, They said to one another, As they gazed, with bated breath: " He came in here to look for warmth, And in its stead found death!" THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT 155 THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT. THE felon lay in his gloomy cell, His keeper sat close by; The doom'd wretch knew, alas! too well, That he must surely die Before another sun should set; And yet how strange that he Should all his dread of death forget, And slumber tranquilly 1 He dream'd of childhood's happy hours He heard the robin sing, And cull'd again the sweet wild flowers That blossom'd near the spring; He saw his mother's look of pride. And felt the same sweet joy As when he frolick'd by her side, A sinless, happy boy. Again he linger'd on the green, And cast his eyes about In search of little Eveleen, When irksome school was out ; Again he saw her sunny smile, Her artless, bashful look. And kiss'd her rosy cheek the while They wander'd by the brook. 156 THE FELON'S LAST NLGHT. The sleeper's heart was all aglow With innocent delight, Nor dream'd he that a shade of woe Could mar his vision bright; A sweet smile wreath'd his haggard brow ; A prayer his thin lips moved, "O Father! Thou hast bless'd me now — I love, and I am loved!" Ha! what a sound breaks on his ear! The solemn prison bell Rings out the summons loud and clear- The prisoner's death-knell ! He springs erect! The look of joy Has vanish'd from his brow! His dream is o'er; the sinless boy Is a doom'd felon now! " Back ! back ! " he cried, with eyes agleam ; "Too soon the bell they toll! I cannot die with that sweet dream Yet ling'ring in my soul ! Back ! back ! Ere ye take me away Through yonder prison door, For Christ's sake grant me leave to stay On earth one hour more ! " In vain the felon shrieks aloud, And struggles to get free ; They drag him forth before the crowd Around the gallows-tree. NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 1 57 The fatal noose is round his neck : A priest is standing near, Beseeching him the cross to take, And banish every fear. A moment's pause. The felon stands Like one in dreadful doubt; Then clenching fast his bony hands. Defiantly shrieks out: "Begone, vile priest! I spit at thee! I will not kiss the rod ! I b'lieve not in thy mummery! Away ! there is no God ! '' You say I'm doom'd ! Ha ! ha ! 'tis well ! No other world I fear — I cannot meet a fiercer hell Than I have suffer'd here ! " The cap was drawn, the trap was sprung, And on the gallows-tree The felon's lifeless body swung; His soul from earth was free, NEW-YEAR'S EVE. A T the close of a bitter cold day. When the snow on the frozen ground lay A poor woman's child. With a face wan and mild, 158 NEW-YEAR'S EVE. In a garret was passing away. Gaunt hunger, Dread hunger, Had stolen the bloom from his cheek, And his mother sat there, With a look of despair, To catch what her darling might speak. "Come closer, dear mother," he said, "And lay your soft hand on my head, And tell me once more Of that other bright shore Where we never shall hunger for bread." "Hush, darling! Peace, darling ! " She raised him to lull him to rest. And she brush'd the soft hair From his forehead so fair. But he died as he lay on her breast. The morning broke joyous and clear, 'Twas the first of the opening year; But the shouts of gay boys. And the cannon's rude noise. Fell unheard on that poor mother's ear. Oh ! hear it ! Oh! heed it! Ye wealthy, well clothed, and well fed, In that season of joy A mother and her boy Had perish'd for the want of bread. POEMS OF COMEDY. THE SURPRISE PARTY. JOHN PINCHBECK lived on Murray Hill, The upper-crust among, He had a healthy bank account, His wife was fair and young — He'd earn'd a handsome competence By selling hides and leather — His head was level and his heart As light as any feather. But John's wife, pretty though she was. And sociable and free, Was fond of taking on French airs When in society. To see the lady in her silks And diamonds array'd 'Twas hard to b'lieve she once had been A simple dairy maid. But so it was — and one fine day A couple stout and jolly — Zeke Soper and his wife — came down To see their darling Polly. For Polly was the lady's name When at her spinning-wheel, But now she'd changed it to Pauline, As being more genteel. K (i6i) 1 62 THE SURPRISE PARTY. ** Oh, lawful sakes ! " Zeke's wife cried out, Wlien she the mansion stood in, " I hope I never more may see A bowl of hasty puddin' If this ain't scrumpshious ! Only see The picters on the ceilin' 1 As nat'ral as life ! Why, Zeke, I'm on the p'int o' squealin'! " It's fresco, is it ? Well, I vow I'm drefiful glad you told me ! And see the carpets and the cheers, ■ And sofys ! Zekel, hold me ! I'm nigh a bustin' with amaze! I really am ! Why, Polly, With all these fixins 'round you, gal, You must be awful jolly! "It's mighty fine! But, goodness me! Zeke, see them naked figgers A standin' on the mantel-piece ! They make me blush, by jiggers ! You say they're noble works of art, And great folks come to view 'em ? Well, Polly, dear, if I was you I'd put some clothes onto 'em ! "What's that you say? Pauline's your name? Good gracious me, what folly! Why, wern't I by, you silly thing, When you was christen'd Polly? THE SURPRISE PARTY. 163 And if the name was good enough For your dear, blessed mother, It's good enough for you, and I Sha'n't call you any other ! " But speakin' of your christenin', Poll, To me it is bewilderin' That you've been married seven years And ain't had any children. Your ma had twelve and I've had eight — Now, Polly, dear, confess it, A house, though grand, ain't worth a snap Without a babe to bless it. "What's that you say.? You wish Pd try To speak with more propriety — That havin' babes is frovvn'd upon By folks in good society.? Jerusalem ! But that beats all ! It's contrary to natur' ! Society is dead agin The law of the Creator ! ** I've got a kind of idea. Poll, That you the Lord are grievin* — Depend upon it, you can't take Your fashions up to Heaven. You've kept from havin' babies. But the Lord you cannot cozen, And at the awful judgment day You'll wish you'd had a dozen. 164 THE SURPRISE PARTY. " But, deary me I'm tired out ! My bones are ackin' cruel — Come, Polly, show us to our room — I'd like a bowl of gruel. And can't you get some bone-set tea And mustard for a body. And a warm hand-iron for my feet .^ And Zeke would like some toddy ! " Next evening Mrs. Pinchbeck thus Address'd her lord and master : ** Oh, husband, how can we survive This terrible disaster .? I'll die — I know I shall — if aunt And uncle with us tarry Till they are seen by proud Miss Sharp And jealous Mrs. Barry. " Such a disgrace ! Just think of it ! This morning at the table The servants, though afraid to laugh Aloud, were scarcely able To hide their mirth, when Uncle Zeke, By Aunt Jerusha follow'd, Pick'd up the half-fiU'd finger bowl And all the water swallow'd I " Just then the hall-bell rang aloud, And soon a summons hearty Smote on the lady's startled ear, "Ha, Pinchbeck! Here's a party! THE SURPRISE PARTY. 1 65 We've come to give you a surprise — We know you'll be delighted And welcome us right cordially, Though we were not invited 1 " Poor Mrs. Pinchbeck ! How was she The dreadful blow to parry ? She heard the voices of her friends, Miss Sharp and Mrs. Barry. And many others whom she knew Delighted to perplex her. And who would rummage high and low To scandalize and vex her. ** Friends ! " cried the lady, " welcome all- Pm glad to see you, really! Just pass down to the dining-room And use the closets freely But please don't come up stairs, for we Two friends are entertaining — Distinguish'd persons from abroad — Both nervous and complaining!" Oh, horror! Even as she spoke, A voice that made her shiver Came from above, " Oh, Zeke ! " it cried, ** That sirup for my liver ! I've left it in the room below — I cannot do without it — Besides, there's company down stairs — Let's go and ask about it ! " 1 66 THE SURPRISE PARTY, Ere Mrs. Pinchbeck could prevent The act that her degraded, The aged couple merrily The dining-room invaded. To make the matter worse, old Zeke Had taken too much toddy. And felt that he was just as rich And grand as anybody. " Why, how d' deu, good folks ! " he cried, And then at Mrs. Barry He wink'd and said, facetiously, *' Lord, what a spread you carry ! Well, make yourselves to hum at once ! Away with melancholy! Hurrah ! Let's have a straight-four dance ! Jerushy, where is Polly ? " She needn't keep herself so shy Because she's got a fortin', She was as poor as anyone 'Fore Pinchbeck did his courtin' — But this ril always say for Poll — No other gal, I reckon. Could ekal her at dairy work, At washin' or at bakin'. ** Ah, here she is ! and Pinchbeck, too Come, folks, bring on your fiddle. And let us have an old time dance Up sides and down the middle! THE SURPRISE PARTY. 167 Come, Polly, put your best licks in, Just as you used to do it At all our frolics down to hum — Go on ! I'll see yeou through itl " Thus Uncle Zekel rattled on, And when his tongue had tired, Old Aunt Jerush took up the theme With emulation fired. She told her niece's history From childhood till she married, While Mrs. Pinchbeck helpless stood And not a thrust was parried. Let's close the scene — a week pass'd by- The Pinchbecks, half demented, Were writhing still when they received A note with perfume scented. From Mrs. Barry. Thus it read: *' To Mrs. Pinchbeck greeting : Dear friend — the ladies of our set Are soon to have a meetins:. " Our object is to call upon And speak with Madame Herman About the getting up in style Of our forthcoming German. And if you'll send us the address Of your high-bred relations, ril see that they, as well as you, Are granted invitations ! " l68 PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT. The moral of my story is That pride must have a tumble — That those who in their wealth forget They once were poor and humble — Who think they wear so close a mask That no one can detect it, May come to grief with all their airs, E'en when they least expect it. PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT. OLD Money Grub has piles of wealth, Yet toils like any digger ; Greed steels his heart and saps his health, But larger grows the figure. He says religion is a lie, And men can do without it ; Will this pay when he comes to die } Perhaps so, but I doubt it. And while old Grub hoards up his gold, Young Grub makes fast to spend it, Resolved to sin till he is old — Then change his life and mend it. But when age bids him right the wrong, Do you think he'll set about it ? Will long indulgence make him strong } Perhaps so, but I doubt it. PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT, 1 69 And Mrs. Grub, the miser's wife, Who prates of Mrs. Grundy, And leads a very worldly life On every day but Sunday ; Will riches her the power give To conquer death or flout it.-* Can she, by wishing, longer live ? Perhaps so, but I doubt it. And young Miss Grub, so full of airs, And devoid of candor. So fond of shirking household cares. So very proud to slander ; Will Heaven her petition hear. However loud she shout it 1 Will she rejoice when death draws near? Perhaps so, but I doubt it. Will strife and anger lead to peace .^ Will riches bring contentment .'* Will vice, by free indulgence, cease } Will hard words cure resentment t When Heaven wills that we should be.ar Misfortune, can we rout it ! And is it wisdom to despair } Perhaps so, but I doubt it. I/O THE ROOT OF THE EVIL, THE ROOT OF THE EVIL. OLD Mr. Grump, the millionaire Sat propp'd up in his easy chair, Pretentious, pompous, stern and stout, A martyr to ennui and gout. A table near the old man stood. On which were bits of dainty food ; Nor did the tempting spread-out lack A bottle of old Cogniac. While nibbling some delicious game, The doctor he had summon'd came — And laying back his frame to rest, Grump thus the man of pills address'd : "Now listen to me. Dr. Squill, I wish you'd either cure or kill — • If you would have me use you civil. Strike at the real root of my evil." The doctor paused and thought awhile. Then, with a very pleasant smile. He raised his cane, and with one stroke The well-fill'd brandy bottle broke. OURS, 171 OURS. JOHN HAWTHORNE was a worthy man- A farmer blythe and free ; He own'd two hundred acres, And a widower was he. His hands were hard with honest toil, His intellect was sound ; And he possess'd the finest stock In all the country 'round. But John was discontented, In spite of all his wealth — His fruitful soil, his stock so rare, His never-failing health — The blooming, buxom Widow Green Had set at him her cap, And for his vast possessions now He didn't care a rap. And so it one day happen'd That in his best array'd, He sought the charming widow's cot, And there before her laid His heart, and hand, and fortune — And is it strange to say That she, the fair, bewitching dame. Accepted them straightway ? IJZ OURS. The knot once tied so firmly That there could be no slip, The happy couple started off Upon their bridal trip. They visited Niagara, And Saratoga, too ; And o'er them, like a happy dream, The golden hours flew. Alas, for human pleasure ! The sunshine and the cloud Will throw their light and shade alike On humble and on proud, And even at the moment When love their bosoms stirr'd. Their happiness was shatter'd By a simple little word. " My love," said John, one morning, " Thou sharer of my bliss ! " (And here he gave his partner A sweet) ecstatic kiss) "Now that I'm fairly settled With my darling little wife, I think I'll sell my farm at once. And lead an easy life." " Say otir farm, my darling ! " John's loving spouse replied. John slightly frowned an instant Upon his charming bride. OURS. 173 ''My farm, love," he repeated — ''I will not call it thine; I grant you we are wedded, But still the farm is mine!'' '' Our farm V '' My farm ! " " Our farm ! " ''My farm!" And thus the fight went on, Till Mrs. Hawthorne No. 2 Attacked the luckless John With teeth and nails together, Till he was forced to yield — He said, " Our farm 1 " and his fair bride Was mistress of the field. Now when this tired couple To their rustic home return'd. Was John Hawthorne unmindful Of the lesson he had learn'd } Was he resolved henceforward The lady's boss to be? Well, be not too impatient — Wait awhile and we shall see. "My dear, what are you looking for.?" Asked Mrs. H. one day. "I'm looking for our razor, love!" Her humble spouse did say. "We have mislaid it somehow, And our beard is getting long; I daresay we shall find it Our travelling traps among. 174 OURS. "Another thing, my darling — I'd really like to know- Where our slippers vanish'd to Our bunions hurt us so ! And won't you, please, my own love, Insert a few strong stitches In this bad rent 'a nail made In our best working breeches ? " And thus the lady's dictum Is heeded day by day, And timid Mr. Hawthorne Has not a word to say; Her firm determination His weak will overpowers — She orders all to suit herself And everything is ''ours.'' The moral of my story All men can understand: If a widower is anxious To secure a widow's hand, It should be fairly understood. Before the knot is tied. To whom the property belongs — To him or to his bride. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE. 175 BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE OH, wealthy, toil-worn merchant, With ever busy brain, While poring o'er thy ledger And counting loss and gain, When tradesmen are complaining, And money's very "tight," If ask'd for your endorsement, Be careful what you write. * And you, excited lover. Whose heart wells o'er with sighs, Whose brain is dazed while gazing In a pair of roguish eyes — If you're impell'd by Cupid A missive to indite. When you sit down to pen your thoughts Be careful what you write. And thou, oh, wealthy graybeard — A widower, mayhap — Entranced by some gay widow Who sets at you her cap — Should she send you a letter Which fills you with delight, When you essay an answer, Be careful what you write. 176 BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE. And let me caution thee, too, Thou man of passions strong, When you are writhing under Some real or fancied wrong, And longing to demolish Your adversary quite, By sending him a letter, Be careful what you write. And thou, oh, busybody. Whose never weary eye Gleams greedily whenever A neighbor's fault you spy, Your specious inuendoes May safely speak your spite ; But if you'd 'scape a lawsuit. Be careful what you write. And thou, oh, gifted author, Whose ready, facile pen Developes scenes and incidents Which thrill thy fellow men — Let reason and morality Control thy fancy's flight — Say nothing which may foster sin- Be careful what you write. The memory of idle words Perhaps may pass away — The evil they engender Be forgotten in a day; THE LAW STUDENT. 177 But once in print, they may appear, Some guileless soul to blight, When you have molder'd into dust — Be careful what you write. Oh, ye who wield the mighty pen! Thrice happy is his lot Who, "living, never wrote a line That, dying, he would blot." No terrors of the dread beyond Can such a soul affright — Then ye who furnish mental food, Be careful what you write. THE LAW STUDENT. A FORWARD youth just home from college, Where he was seeking legal knowledge, Anxious his wdsdom to display His father thus address'd one day: "Now, father, here's an apple — see — Which I design to give to thee — But so that none thy claim dispute, And to despoil thee bring a suit, I'll give it thee in legal way. As thus — to wit — that is to say: L 178 THE LklV STUDENT. " I give you all and singular, Without encumbrance, let, or bar. My interest, title and estate — Whether the same be small or great — My present right and claim, and all Advantage, whatsoe'er befall, That apple in, for your own use. With all its seed, skin, pulp and juice — With all advantage and all right, With power to sell, roast, cut. or bite — With power to eat or give away At any hour, night or day, in mouthfuls or in single gulp, With all its seed, skin, juice and pulp. Anything publish'd heretofore Or hereinafter, less or more. Or any instrument, deeds or deed Made in the past or to succeed Of what kind or nature countermanding To the contrary, notwithstanding. No man to cancel this need try — Now, father, how is that for high.?" The puzzled sire scratch'd his head. Then, with a sigh, he slowly said: "I think, my bright son, that the law Is like a pickerel's head, all jaw. Now you may to the cellar go And split wood — how is that for low? THE JOLLY HERMIT, 1 79 THE JOLLY HERMIT. LATE, while wand'ring through a forest, Sad and grave, Suddenly I saw before me A hermit's cave. Wearied out and faint with walking, Full of care, Sick at heart, and needing solace, I enter'd there. On a rude bench, fondly patting A purring cat. All his features beaming welcome. The hermit sat. Very old he was, and hoary, But merrily He laugh'd aloud, and kindly bade me Seated be. "Tell me," I said, ''thou hoary hermit, So old and poor. What dost thou find on earth that worketh Affliction's cure } There's naught around thy hut but telleth Of misery, And yet thy piping voice is cheery And full of glee." l80 THE JOLLY HERMIT, "I'll tell thee, boy," he said, and gayly His beard he twirl'd. "The thing's explain'd in one brief sentence Fve left the ivorld ! When I was in it I had trouble. And felt, I trow, As badly, oft, and as dejected As you do now. "You will not yet essay the cure, boy, Too young are you. And heart-sorrows are but transient When life is new ; But if you'd 'scape the many trials Which me befell. Take from me these brief precepts, And heed them well. "Make love the basis of your actions Invariably ; But let it be self-love — no other Can wholesome be. Trust thou no man, and love no woman- Hard task indeed ! — But, sooth, if you neglect this warning Your heart mzi-st bleed. "Look to it that you favor no one — Be this your boast ; For those who are your greatest debtors Will hate you most. THE JOLLY HERMIT. l8l Live for yourself; be shrewd and wary; Shut up you heart And close your eyes to all that suffer Affliction's smart. "For forty years I loved to practice Sweet charity, But found in everv one I aided An enemy; Now I am old, and wise, and happy, And free from strife — And thus, boy, you may conquer The ills of life." "Avaunt!" I cried, "thou hoary hermit! Thy words appall ! Thou'dst turn the milk of human kindness To bitter gall ! The sweetest jets that issue from life's fountain Are faith and love — In deeds of Heav'nly charity we foretaste The bliss above." "Ha! ha!" then gayly laugh'd the hermit: " My plan is true ! I've proved it to my satisfaction, And so will you ; And all the diff'rence between us Under the sun Is this, that I am over eighty — You're tweitty-one^^ 1 82 THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. ATTENTION, friends, and I will tell What once a luckless wight befell — A travelling tinker, named John Drew, Who daily tramp'd the country through. A shiftless vagabond was John, Who Jittle reck'd how he got on; Enough to eat, a bed when tired, Was all the wealth which he desired. And, then, to give the man his due, He was to friendship firm and true ; His motto was, "Man is my brother, And one good turn deserves another." Alert he was, and wide awake ; But once he made a sad mistake. Which bow'd him down with shame and grief. From which he vainly sought relief. Thus runs the story: John, one day, Had tramp'd a long and weary way. When a neat road-side inn he saw, And panting halted at the door. " Landlord," John cried, *' my worthy friend, Any old pots or pans to mend ? " "Yes," said the host with clouded brow, "But money's rather scarce just now." THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. 183 " I want no cash," the tinker said ; " For supper, breakfast, and a bed, I'll do the work, and think it fun." *' Done !" cried the landlord, " double done !" The tinker labor'd with a will. And back'd by honesty and skill. Ere scarce one toilsome hour had sped, He'd fniish'd, supp'd, and gone to bed. John Drew enjoy'd his night's repose, And in the morning he arose. And having breakfasted, he sped Unto the worthy host, and said, " Landlord, my warmest thanks are due For the great kindness shown by you ; You certainly can keep an inn As well as I can patch up tin. " But still it does not seem to pay. And you should find some other way To help increase your slender store. And keep the gaunt wolf from your door." **The inn pays not," the landlord said, *' But then I have another trade. I am the village glazier here. And all that brings is profit clear." "Well, good luck to you!" utter'd John, As with his budget he trudged on ; " I sha'n't forget, my generous brother. That one good turn deserves another ! " 1 84 THE TINKERS MISTAKE. Deep gratitude felt stout John Drew, The feeling thrill'd him through and through, And as the village church he pass'd A brilliant idea held him fast. He paused awhile in thought profound. Then cast a cautious glance around ; Then mutter'd firmly, *'I will do it, E'en though I'm caught and made to rue it ! " Then picking up a stone, John Drew A window sent it crashing through ; And then stone after stone deliver'd Till every pane of glass was shiver'd. Back to the inn went John once more, And soon the landlord stood before, And striving hard his mirth to smother. Cried, " One good turn deserves another ! " You gave me work my' bread to earn. And I the favor now return ; O generous host ! upon my soul No window in the church is whole. " I've smash'd each one, kind friend, and you, Will soon have work enough to do. For you're a glazier, and you know The work won't from the village go ! The landlord glared at John amazed : Then like one by misfortune crazed. He caught him by the throat and swore Such oaths as ne'er were heard before. MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS, 1 85 "Wretch ! " he exclaim'd, " why did you so ? Your kindness works my overthrow I I am the only glazier here, But keep the cJmrch ivhole by the year ! " MORAL. My moral plainly has this end : Take no wrong means to help a friend. For if from right's clear path you swerve, You'll hurt the cause you fain would serve. MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS ONE day when business was dull, And I had time to spare, In philosophic mood I sought A crowded thoroughfare. And there I idly took my stand And close attention gave To studying the heads of those Who pass'd me on the pave. "Now, there," I whisper'd to myself, "A bull-dog nature goes — His head is small, his neck is thick. His eye with anger glows. His chest is broad, his limbs are strong, His look is full of spite, 'Tis very evident that he. In fighting takes delight." 86 MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS. And now one who reminds me Of a mastiff, passes by, With deep bass voice, square-hanging jaw, And watchful, eager eye. He may be a detective Of energy and skill. Who has the bull-dog's strength and pluck Without his wish to kill. Here comes a human greyhound — A fellow lithe and lank, Lean-ribb'd and sharp of voice — He is a runner for a bank. He keeps the chase up constantly. With never weary feet. Nor does he stop to bother with The "lame ducks" on the street. And now a small man passes by — A nervous little chap — Restless, alert, bold, confident, And sharp as a steel trap. I fancy he's a man of law, Presumptuous and defiant, He's like a terrier who has A fat rat for a client. Here comes a man with large mild eyes, And glossy, curly hair — A figure most symmetrical — A brave and honest air. MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS. 187 He's like the noble Newfoundland — The favorite of all — Willing to peril life itself When roused by duty's call. Then comes a man who carries The visage of an owl, And an oily, pig-faced man who walks With under-hanging jowl. A timid, sheep-faced man, who seems Of everything in awe ; An hirsute man, with lion mane, And fierce, terrific roar: A stubborn, dull, bull-headed man — A man of serpent head — A man who has the tiger's look, With eye-balls fierce and red. In short the lower animals Are met with everywhere, In those we choose to study On a crowded thoroughfare. l88 THE IRISH FRENCHMAN. THE IRISH FRENCHMAN.- AN English ship, by some mischance, Once founder'd on the coast of France ; But all her crew — at least a score Of stalwart sailors — reach'd the shore. At first, of course, they could but fret; But sailors are a jolly set, And seldom long will entertain A grief on either land or main. So, when they'd mourn'd an hour or two, With one consent the hapless crew Ceased murm'ring and began to think About securing food and drink. Ere long they plenty had to eat — A good supply of fish and meat — But how to cook it knew they not, Since they had neither pan nor pot. Soon spoke the captain, with a cheer, " See yonder smoke ! A cot is near Where we could borrow what we seek, If we'd a man who French could speak." * It is only proper to state that this Poem was suggested by a story en- titled " The Gridiron," which may be found in Samuel Lover's " Irish Stories and Legends." It may not be as well told, perhaps, as in the original prose, but the reader may take it for what it is worth. THE IRISH frenchman: 1 89 "Spake Frinch!" a sailor quick replied — An Irishman named Pat McBride — **I learn'd the language years ago, While I was shtopping at Bordeaux ! " *' Have patience, byes dear, ivery one, While I to yonder cabin run, And in a jiffy yez'U see, I'll bring a griddle back wid me ! " Away he bounded, like a deer, And when he drew the cottage near, A grey-hair'd Frenchman he espied. Who stood the cabin door beside. " Och, polly voo Fransay, monseer 1 " He said, with a complaisant leer. " Oui, monsieur!" the man replied. As he the sailor keenly eyed. "Well, thin, a griddle I would borrow — I'll let yez have it back to-morrow. Perhaps V\\ fetch it back before" — The Gaul replied, '' ^e n' eiit ends pas ! '' '•' " It isn't yer long tongs I wish," Said Pat. "I want to cook some fish, Me friends are yonder on the shore." The Frenchman said, ^^ Je tientends pas !'' Pat stopp'd awhile and scratch'd his head. And then again he loudly said, " Och, polly voo Fransay — d'ye hear 1 " The Gaul replied, *^ Oui, monsietcr !'' * "I don't understand!" Pronounced "Zhar nontong par." 190 THE IRISH FRENCHMAN. Poor Paddy now began to rant — " Your griddle, not your tongs, I want ! So bring it out, and hould yer jaw!" The Gaul replied, '* Je nentends pas ! " " D'ye mind ! " said Pat, in accents gruff, *'I've borne your nonsense long enough — And ril not bear it any more ! " Still cried the Gaul, *' ye n oitends pas !'' " Take that ! " cried Paddy, with a frown, As he the hapless Gaul knock'd down ; ' But still the astonished man did roar, '^ Je fi entends pas ! Je nentends pas I '' Back to his comrades Paddy flew. And soon around him flock'd the crew — ''What luck! What luck, Pat?" cried they all. "Troth," answered Pat, *'no luck at all! *' Byes, dear, d'ye see, we've fallen among Frinchmen who can't shpake their own tongue; Bedad, to me it seems a riddle, TJiey say ' long tongs ' instead of griddle ! " MORAL. My moral plainly all can see — No one should a pretender be; For mere pretense, when put to test, Is worse than ignorance confess'd. POEMS FOR MUSIC. THERE'S GOOD IN THE WORLD. THERE'S good in this beautiful world, I am thinking, In spite of what splenetic cynics may say ; Its sweets we forget, while its bitter we're drinking — In the gloom of its night we lose sight of its day. When the storm breaks upon us awakening terror, We utter our useless complainings aloud. Forgetting the while, in our short-sighted error. The sun that shines brightly behind every cloud. There is good in the world — e'en adversity teaches A lesson, if we will but read it aright — It shows us our friends and exposes the leeches Who only cling to us when all things are bright. Oh, when the dark waves of misfortune o'erflow us. How ready are some our mistakes to condemn — 'Tis only 'neath fortune's bright smile some friends know us. And in our misfortune we learn to know them. There is good in the world— ah, yes, never doubt it — The unlucky stroke that awakens despair. May come with a halo of friendship about it To soften the blow and to lessen your care. Oh, is it not sweet, when the world seems so weary, And poverty stands like a wolf at your door. To find a true man in the wilderness dreary, Whose friendship you never had tested before I M . ^193) 194 STAND TO THE RIGHT, And such men there are, making life's arid places To bloom like a garden — to brighten and bless — Their hearts overflowing with love for all races — Their ears ever keen for the cry of distress. Oh, temple of brotherhood ! Blest is thy portal ! The ray from thy lamp to no spot is confined. But shines through the world, giving each wretched mortal More trust in his Maker, more faith in his kind. STAND TO THE RIGHT. STAND to the right, whate'er your condition, Even though friends may to enemies turn — Better have enemies in a just mission, Than a dark record of infamy earn. Friendship that's fickle is not worth preserving. Wealth gain'd by fraud and deceit is a curse — Stand by the right, then, undaunted, unswerving, Poverty's bad, but dishonesty's worse. Stand to the right — it were folly to barter Self-independence for station or gain — Better to virtue and truth fall a martyr Than win a success mix'd with sorrow and pain. An unsullied heart and a conscience approving- Are worth all the wealth that the world can bestow- Stand by the right — be forgiving and loving. Asking no favor and fearing no foe. WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW. 1 95 Stand to the right ! 'Tis the best and the surest — Wrong may appear for a while to succeed — But he is most happy whose heart is the purest — A self-condemn'd sinner is wretched indeed. Hate and detraction in vain may assail thee If thou art pure when their arrows they cast — Honor and rectitude never will fail thee — Stand to the right and you'll triumph at last. WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW. COME, and sit thee down beside me — If I've pain'd thee tell me how — Nay, my darling, do not chide me — Wear no anger on thy brow. Yours is not a face for ire — Yours no tongue a war to wage — Yours no eye to flash forth fire — Yours no heart to cherish rage. Come, then, sit thee down beside me — If I've pained thee tell me how — Nay, my darling, do not chide me — Wear no anger on thy brow. Once in honeyed words sincerest — Words I never can forget — You confess'd you loved me, dearest, And I know you love me yet. 196 CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY DARLING, And the depth of my devotion I have spoken o'er and o'er, And I'll feel the sweet emotion 'Till my term of life is o'er. Come, then, sit thee down beside me — If I've pain'd thee, tell me how — Nay, my darling, do not chide me — Wear no anger on thy brow. CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY DARLING. CREEP close to my heart, O my darling ! And put up your lips for a kiss. And tell me what joy in existence Can equal a moment like this t I know that time flies while I clasp thee, But on let his chariot roll ; While near thee, he loses his power. Thou life-giving light of my soul ! Creep close to my heart, O my darling ! I envy no king on his throne, While thus in sweet rapture I hold thee, My dear one ! my treasure ! my own ! Oh ! what would the world be without thee } Who else could my lone heart delight 1 How 'twould darken my life should I lose thee, Thou day-star that rose on my night! BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. igy Creep close to my heart, O my darling ! And tell me thy hopes and thy fears ; And shouldst thou feel sorrow while talkin^r I'll soon kiss away thy bright tears. Come, tell me again that you love me, That nothing shall tear us apart. While I banish thy fears with my kisses — Thou radiant queen of my heart I BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. BEAUTIFUL Bessie, young, joyous, and sweet As the flowers that bloom in her sylvan retreat. Is weaving a coronet, fragrant and gay. For she has been chosen as Queen of the May. Yet she heeds not the rosy-cheek'd youth who stands near And timidly whispers his love in her ear ; A beau from the city has turn'd her weak head. And she laughs at the rustic who asks her to wed. Chorus — O wicked vanity ! Fatal insanity ! What will it cost "> Pride has o'erpower'd her ! Sin has devour'd her ! Bessie is lost ! Beautiful Bessie, once Queen of the May, Has thrown her sweet wreath of fresh flowers away, )8 BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. And changed her old home and her humble attire — Denied her low birth and resolved to climb higher. And now in a mansion of glitter and show She drinks in the words of her grand city beau; Gay is the laughter that breaks from her lips, Bright are her eyes as the clear wine she sips. Chorus — O wicked vanity! Fatal insanity ! What will it cost? Pride has o'erpower'd her ! Sin has devour'd her! Bessie is lost! Beautiful Bessie is out on the street; Cold blows the night breeze, and sharp is the sleet; But the rude tempest brings with it no smart, 'Tis not so keen as the storm in her heart. Brief was her gay dream, and when she awoke. Sad was her waking — her trusting heart broke. And ere another day glides o'er her head. Beautiful Bessie will sleep with the dead. Chorus — O wicked vanity! Fatal insanity! What has it cost? Pride has o'erpower'd her 1 Sin has devour'd her! Bessie is lost! COME BACK TO ME. 199 COME BACK TO ME. TOO long have we been parted — Come back to me I I'm lonely, broken-hearted — Come back to me I I tread familiar bowers, But scentless are the flowers, And weary are the hours — Come back to me! Think of your promise broken — Come back to me ! Your words of love once spoken — Come back to me 1 Hearts truly pledged forever No thoughtless word should sever, The past we'll think of never — Come back to me I I've loved since first I met thee — Come back to me ! I never can forget thee — Come back to me! With looks of love I'll meet thee, With words of love I'll greet thee ; Relent, then, I entreat thee — Come back to me! 200 SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN. SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN. SHOULD fortune frown, Be not cast down; The sailor on the ocean, When skies grow dark, • Prepares his bark To meet the storm's commotion. And so should we. On life's rude sea, Be ever up and ready To meet each storm That comes along With courage firm and steady. Strive all you can, Work like a man To compass what you would do ; Then if you fail, At fate don't rail, You've done all that you could do ; Hope on, hope ever — Dejection never Yet won rank or station; And toil, though vain. At least will gain Kind friendship's approbation. FRIENDLESS NELLY. 20I After a shower, The bright-hued flower Will only look the brighter; So should the heart By sorrow's smart Be render'd purer, lighter. No man should fear The ills met here, With providence above him ; A constant mind, A soul resign'd, And one true heart to love him. FRIENDLESS NELLY. LITTLE Nelly, pale with hunger, Wanders through the street, Heavy is her heart with sorrow, Weary are her feet. Penniless she journeys homeward. Shivering with dread, For her father is a drunkard, And her mother's dead. What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, Nelly meek and mild! Heavenly Father, oh ! in pity Shield the drunkard's child. 202 FRIENDLESS NELLY. Nelly's eyes are large and lustrous, Golden is her hair, And she has a sweet expression, Nelly's very fair. But the child's unearthly beauty. That should be her crown, All too soon may prove the burden That will drag her down. What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, Nelly meek and mild! Heavenly Father, oh! in pity Shield the drunkard's child. Nelly's character is spotless. She is pure as snow; Can she, in the wicked city, Keep forever so.'* Sin, and sorrow, and temptation. Still her steps pursue ; Motherless, with no adviser. What will Nelly do .? What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, Nelly meek and mild ! Heavenly Father, oh! in pity Shield the drunkard's child. woman: 203 A WOMAN. HEALTH to the lass with the laughing bkie eye, That seems to have borrow'd its hue from the sky — Where young love is constantly feeding his flame, And virtue sits blocking the entrance to shame. Who weeps with the mourning and laughs with the gay, Who can comfort old age or with infancy play, Who quarrels with no one, but sticks to her creed- Here's to her, for she is a woman indeed! And here's to the girl with the lustrous black eye, Who one moment may laugh and the next moment sigh ; Whose heart is a casket of joy and of grief, And the first knows no limit, the last no relief. Who deeply doth love, but as deeply can hate— A Christian, and yet a believer in fate— Who for pity will weep, or in anger will kill- Here's her health— she is one of the softer sex still 1 Here's to the coquette with the optic of gray, Who will never say yes, but can hardly say nay; Who falls dead in love with each gay beau she sees, But can never find one for a long time to please. Who is anxious to marry, and yet is afraid; Who lives a young ninny, and dies an old maid ; Though blameful her follies it must be confess'd. Yet her health— she's a woman as well as the rest. 204 THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. In fine, here's to woman — the large and the small, The lean and the fleshy, the short and the tall, The dark eye, the blue eye, the hazel and gray, The cheerful and sullen, the grave and the gay. I care not how faulty their natures may be — They are women — which fact is sufficient for me ; As mother, friend, sister, maid, widow, or wife, They are God's best gift to man, the consolers of life. THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. GIVE me the good old days again. When hearts were true and manners plain; When boys were boys till fully grown, And baby belles were never known ; When doctors' bills were light and few, And lawyers had not much to do; When honest toil was well repaid. And theft had not become a trade. Give me the good old days again, When cider was not called champagne. And round the fire in wintry weather. Nuts and dry jokes were crack'd together; When girls their lovers battled for With seeds from juicy apple's core, While mam and dad looked on with glee, Well pleased their merriment to see. Give me the good old days again. When only healthy stock was slain; THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. 205 When flour was pure, and milk was sweet, And sausages were fit to eat ; When children early went to bed, And ate no sugar on their bread ; When lard was not turned into butter, And tradesmen only truth would utter. Give me the good old days again, When women were not proud and vain ; When fashion did not sense outrun, And tailors had no need to dun; When wealthy parents were not fools. And common sense was taught in schools ; When hearts were warm and friends were true, And Satan had not much to do. Give me the good old days again. Ere fraud and violence had reign ; When voters did not look for booty, And judges dared to do their duty. When patriots were not bought and sold. But work'd for country — not for gold; When every citizen could vote Without a dagger at his throat. Give me the good old days again, When our exchequer felt no drain ; When men in place to '' grind their axes," Swell'd not our public debts and taxes. When alms-house keepers had some feeling, And lived in clover without stealing. Alas ! alas ! I sigh in vain To see those good old days again. 206 YOU'LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD, YOU^LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD. SMILE while thou canst, be gay and unheeding, Riches and splendor at last are thine own; Strive to forget that a true heart is bleeding, Proud in its anguish, but wretched and lone. And when the clouds of despair hover o'er thee. When the false friends of thy summer have fled. Then will my sorrowing shade flit before thee ; False to me living, you'll weep when I'm dead. Blithesome and free in life's morning you found me, Sorrow had never o'ershadow'd my brow ; Bright fell the sunlight of sweet peace around me — Where, O thou fickle one ! where is it now 1 Gone ! like the light on the verge of the ocean, Raised by false hands to allure the doom'd bark — Suddenly quench'd 'mid the wild storm's commotion. Leaving the wreck'd ones to grope in the dark. Gay is thy dream, but soon comes the dawning, When thou'lt awaken to sorrow and shame; Wealth fleeth like the light mists of the morning, And there's no bubble more empty than fame. Ah! then, when clouds of despair hover o'er thee. When the false friends of thy summer have fled. My mournful shade will, I know, flit before thee — False to me living, you'll weep when I'm dead. WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? 20/ WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? WHAT are the sad waves saying Evermore, As they in ceaseless playing Kiss the shore ? They are saying, In their swaying, O'er and o'er : '* On the shore we're dying — Time is onward flying — And life's waves are rolling Beyond man's controlling Evermore ! " What are the sad waves saying Evermore, As they in ceaseless playing Kiss the shore ? They are saying, In their swaying, O'er and o'er : *'Joy has no to-morrow, Life is full of sorrow. And the restless ocean Types the soul's commotion Evermore." 208 WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? What are the sad waves saying Evermore, As they in ceaseless playing Kiss the shore ? They are saying, In their swaying, O'er and o'er : '' O ye lovers walking. Fondly, sweetly talking On the strand, Fervent vows, rose-tinted, Are like lines imprinted On the sand." What are the sad waves saying Evermore, As they in ceaseless playing Kiss the shore ? They are saying. In their swaying, O'er and o'er : '^ Foolish boy or maiden. Dreaming of sweet Aiden On the shore. Time will prove your treasures And your keenest pleasures Day-dreams — nothing morel" WHY ART THOU COLD? 209 WHY ART THOU COLD? WHY art thou cold and careless while I'm near thee ? Has thy vain heart proved recreant to me ? Dost thou seek other eyes and lips to cheer thee ? And art thou really anxious to be free? With all my soul, then, let us kiss and sever, I would not hold thee captive 'gainst thy will. thou once wildly loved! farewell forever, Thy voice will ne'er again my pulses thrill. Thou art false to me — another kneels before thee To whisper love in thy too willing ear. To swear that he forever will adore thee — I hope for thy sake that he is sincere. As for myself, I'm willing he should woo thee, I'm willing thou shouldst call him all thine own, 1 would not whisper one objection to thee ; . I love thee not, my heart has callous grown. 'Tis vain to say that love, though scorn'd and slighted Day after day, will suffer and live on ; By cold neglect the fondest love is blighted, It lives not when its aliment is gone. I loved thee once, and would have loved forever, Hadst thou been true and loyal unto me ; The spell is broken — thou art free, and never Shall my proud heart deplore the loss of thee. 210 CJHAZV ESTELLE, CRAZY ESTELLE. IN the great city she wanders alone ; None to befriend her — uncared for, unknown- Muttering ever of joys that have fled, Calling on some one who sleeps with the dead. What her life's story is no one can tell — She is known only as Crazy Estelle. No one to pity her, none to caress — God help the wanderer in her distress. CHORUS. No one to pity her, none to caress — God help the wanderer in her distress ! Hopelessly lost in the city's vast throng, Sadly she warbles a plaintive love-song ; Looking around her, but looking in vain. For a loved face she will ne'er see again. Wild is her dark eye and frenzied her air, And her white brow is convulsed by despair ; But not a wicked thought enters her head. She only seeks for a lover that's dead. CHORUS. No one to pity her, none to caress — God help the wanderer in her distress ! THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. 211 What will become of her out in the street? Heart-sick and foot-sore, no happy retreat; Who will take care of her? Where can she go? Wretched, forlorn, and o'erburden'd with woe. No one on earth can the wanderer save, And she will only find rest in the grave. Guard her, bright angels, where'er she may tread, Seeking in vain for her lover that's dead. CHORUS. No one to pity her, none to caress — God help the wanderer in her distress ! THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. SWEET are the flowers which bloom around The cot where I was born, And sweet the melody of birds That greet the early morn. Sweet are the daisies and blue-bells That gem the verdant plain, But sweeter than all these to me. My lass of Clover Lane. There is no perfume like her breath, Nor do the birds excel The music of her merry laugh. Clear as a silver bell. Pure as a daisy wash'd with dew — As modest, neat and plain — The queen of love and beauty is My lass of Clover Lane. 212 THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. The city belle whose cheeks are red With artificial bloom, And whose rich gems flash brilliantly In ball or concert-room, May please the pamper'd man of wealth, Conceited, proud, and vain; But I will pay my homage to The lass of Clover Lane. My darling has no jewels rare, Nor can she boast of wealth ; But she is rich in innocence, sweet peace, And robust health. She weeps with those oppress'd by woe. And at the couch of pain She is an angel minister. My lass of Clover Lane. So natural, so beautiful. So free from guile or art — Oh ! joy to press her to my breast. And wear her in' my heart. Should death my angel snatch from me, I'd never smile again ; My heart would wither should it lose The lass of Clover Lane. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A -CAPITAL" THEME. THE burning rays of the midday sun Pour down on the city's pave, And 'neath its glare full many a one Is hastening to the grave. While Mammon sits in her cool retreat, Far from the town's turmoil, And cries with glee, - The dust and heat Were made for the sons of toil! Their muscle and bone Are mine alone — I use them at my will— And what care I How fast they die, If they my coffers fill ? " A laborer from the giddy height Of a ladder's topmost round, Struck by the sun-ray's scorching blight. Comes toppling to the ground. And Capital takes of his wine a sup, While looking on with a frown. And says, ''Our tenements must go up If laborers do come down I" Their muscle and bone Are mine alone — • (215) 2l6 A ''CAPITAL'' THEME. I use them at my will — And what care I How fast they die, If they my coffers fill?" A widow, wild with grief, bends o'er The corpse of a stalwart man, Who but a little while before His earthly course had 'ran. And Capital, viewing the woman's distress, Cries out in a tone of ire, " Canals and railroads must progress If laborers do expire ! " Their muscle and bone Are mine alone — I use them at my will — And what care I How fast they die. If they my coffers fill?" Again, what dreadful sight has made That mother's cheek to blench? Her son has dug with pick and spade A grave as well as a trench ! And Capital cries, with mirthful eyes, *' Oh ! ho ! my workers brave. Delve if you die the death, for I Must surely trenches have !" Your muscle and bone Are mine alone — I use them at my will — And what care I A CAPITAL'' THEME. 217 How fast they die, If they my coffers fill?" "Ye are all the slaves of my potent will, As well as your babes and wives, And I would not nourish your worth and skill, Not even to save your lives ! Ye shall fetch, and carry, and dig, and hew, Beneath the broiling sun. Or ye shall starve — now which will ye do? — For mercy I have none ! " Your muscle and bone Are mine alone — I use them at my will — And what care I How fast they die. If they my coffers fill ? " 2l8 / DON'T CARE. 'a DON'T CARE!" T DON'T care ! " How many troubles A From these hateful words have sprung ? Far too often falls the sentence From the lips of old and young. How it lowers man's true standard ! How it hurries to despair ! Spleen, and spite, and hate are nourish'd In the baleful "I don't care 1" ''I don't care!" Oh! why so common Should this vile expression be ? Did it ever soothe a sorrow, Or to flight put misery ? Did it e'er dispel a shadow, Or bring sunshine anywhere ? Came there ever yet a blessing With the spiteful **I don't care?" Pauper, in thy wretched garret, Did it ever bring thee gold ? Maiden, did it mend the quarrel Which arose when love grew cold? Sailor on the boundless ocean, Would you ever danger dare On a ship, however worthy, With the captain **I don't care?" / DON'T CARE. 219 Heart-crush'd pilgrim on life's highway, Did it ever bring thee balm? Toiler roused by man's injustice, Did it e'er thy spirit calm? Christian reaching after heaven, Did it ever lead to prayer? Parent, did thy child's amendment Ever follow "I don't care?" Many a wretch in anguish groaning, Rack'd and wasted by disease; Many a thief his crime atoning In his sin-bought miseries; Many a low-brow'd, ruthless murd'rer Doom'd to dangle in the air, Owe the climax of their follies To the reckless ^*I don't care!" "I don't care!" Oh! let the sentence Never pass your lips again. It can never bring you pleasure. But it may engender pain. 'Mid all Satan's vile inventions, None more surely can ensnare Than the worthless, good-for-nothing, Stupid saying, " I don't care ! " 220 IMPROVE YOUR TIME. IMPROVE YOUR TIME. IMPROVE your time— the hours fly, And every breath we draw- Brings our swift footsteps nearer To Death's eternal shore. Considering vast eternity, Life but a span appears, Although we may permitted be To live a hundred years. The glorious sun at morning Breaks from his rosy bed, And brightens, till at noonday He greets us overhead. Then to the west descending, He hides his brilliant light, And quickly falls around us The sombre pall of night. So with man's course — all jocund Is his fresh morning time. And strengthening he progresses Till he has reach'd his prime ; Then down the hill descending Time slowly saps his bloom. Till aged and exhausted He drops into the tomb. LOOK AHEAD. 221 Remember, then, ye thoughtless, By youth and strength sustained, An hour idly wasted Can never be regain'd. The past is gone forever — The future is unknown — But the present still is with you. And that is all your own. LOOK AHEAD. YOUTH of bright eye and smooth white brow. So happy and exultant now, Viewing the brilliant sky above. Thy bosom full of faith and love — Love on, hope on, but still reflect. The stanchest ship is . sometimes wreck'd. Clouds will obscure the brightest sky. Fancies most prized take wing and fly — Weep not the past, for that is dead — And for the future have no dread. But look ahead ! Man of mature years, full of care. With threads of silver in thy hair. Fretting thyself o'er chances lost. Thy life-bark sadly tempest-tost — Deem not that you have lived in vain, The chances lost may come again. 222 THE FIREMAN'S DEATH. Up ! up ! and work ! be not cast down — The sombre clouds that on thee frown May, ere another day has fled, Disperse, and sunshine banish dread — So look ahead ! Decrepit pilgrim, nearly home. Fear not the change that soon must come- All living walk toward the grave — God only takes the life He gave. Let thy thoughts dwell on things above And rest content, for ''God is Love." Then youth, strong man, or pilgrim gray, Remember, while ye toil to-day, The earth at last must be thy bed, Strive not for dross — 'tis best instead To look ahead ! THE FIREMAN'S DEATH. HE slept, and o'er his dauntless brow a shade of sorrow stole. As though some scene of deep distress was busy with his soul. When suddenly the dread alarm came ringing shrill and clear. Cleaving the night air till it struck upon his startled ear. He bounded up ! His practiced eye , Was turn'd upon the lurid sky. Lit by the flames which, mounting higher, Soon clothed the night in a robe of fire. AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN. 223 With lightning speed he reach'd the scene — oh! what a sight was there ! A mother stood amid the flames, and shriek'd in wild despair ! Her arms around her frighten'd babe were thrown with frenzied clasp, As though she fear'd the fire-fiend would tear it from her grasp. With helmet turned, through flame and smoke The gallant fellow fearless broke; He saved them both, but ah! his life Was lost in the unequal strife. Now in sweet Greenwood's peaceful shade the noble hero sleeps, And o'er his grave full many a friend in silent sorrow weeps, A monument erected there is pointed to with pride By those with whom he oft has fought the fire, side by side. Sweet flowers exhale their fragrant breath Where now he calmly sleeps in death. And trees their spreading branches wave Around his solemn Greenwood grave. AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN. AT sea — we're all at sea upon life's ocean, And none can boast a never-failing chart — Sail as we may we'll meet with dread commotion, And hidden shoals to terrify the heart. 224 AT SEA UPON- LIFE'S OCEAN. The wisest and most prudent at the helm May in some fatal hour the wrong course take, But treacherous seas will surely overwhelm The mariner who laughs at woe and wreck. We're all at sea — some favor'd ones, enchanted, Float peacefully upon the placid tide. While others with sad doubts and fears are haunted, And ever on the roughest billows ride. This difference should not to wonder move us — 'Tis true the law we fail to understand. But then 'twas wisely framed by One above us Who holds the mighty ocean in His hand. We're all at sea ! God help that sordid creature Who grimly gloating o'er his golden hoard. With avarice making hideous every feature, Heeds not that dreadful cry, ''Man overboard!" No rest for him afloat ; and when disaster Shall lay him on the ocean broad a wreck, The gold which he has worship'd as a master A fearful weio'ht shall hansf about his neck. '&' We're all at sea ! and 'tis our common duty To help a fellow sailor in distress ; Hard gain'd indeed will be that race or booty To win which leaves on earth one light heart less. Then let us while we're sailing on life's ocean, Bless'd by soft gales, beneath kind fortune's star, Still keep a bright lookout with deep devotion For those who in their path less favor'd are. THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. 22$ THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. THE air is chill, the city's pave Is slippery and wet ; The child of wealth and luxury Is wrapp'd in slumber yet; The sleet and snow are rushing by In many an angry whirl, While hurries to her daily toil The honest working girl. No word have I 'gainst gold to say, If it be fairly earn'd ; And fairly used by rich men, who Sweet charity have learned. The generous merchant may with pride His banner broad unfurl. Bat prouder is the record of The honest working girl. Her clothes, though not the finest, Are the best that she can wear; Her fingers boast no diamonds, But her face is very fair; Her eyes are bright, and when she smiles She shows her teeth of pearl ; And love dwells in the bosom of The honest working girl. 226 THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. With wages scant the ills of life She's fated to endure ; And yet she manages to save A trifle for the poor. At any mean or sordid act, With scorn her lip will curl, ■ For noble is the nature of The honest working girl. Then treat her kindly, ye proud ones, Who ''neither toil nor spin;" She has to struggle very hard Her daily bread to win. And he — though dress'd in finest cloth — Would be a very churl, Who would not, if appeal'd to, help The honest working girl. God bless the modest, gentle ones Who labor day by day! And God bless those with means to spare, Who help them on their way ! Ye who would, in the better land, Possess the priceless pearl. Treat not with scorn, nor cold contempt, The honest working girl. IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGHBOR. 22/ IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGH- BOR, DON'T NAME HIM AT ALL. IN our judgment of others, we mortals are prone To talk of their faults without heeding our own ; And this little rule should be treasured by all : "■ If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." Men's deeds are compounded of glory and shame, And surely 'tis sweeter to praise than to blame ; Perfection has never been known since the fall — *'If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." Remember, ye cynics, the mote and the beam ; Pause in your fault-finding and ponder the theme ; Who has the least charity, quickest will fall — " If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." If we would endeavor our own faults to mend, We'd have all the work to which we could attend : Then let us be open to charity's call — "• If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." 228 THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. COMRADES, I am surely dying, Home again I ne'er shall see ; Would that I had died in battle, But it was not so to be ; Dying in this loathsome dungeon, But my pain will soon be o'er; How my failing pulse would quicken, Could I face the foe once more! Death I do not fear, my brothers ; I have met him o'er and o'er; I would die without a murmur. Could I face the foe once more. When brave, struggling Cuba call'd me, I the summons did attend ; Tell my father, if you see him, I was faithful to the end. Give this Bible to my mother ; Since our tearful last good-by, It has been my close companion, And has taught me how to die. Death I do not fear, my brothers, I have faced him o'er and o'er ; I would die without a murmur, Could I meet the foe once more, THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. 22g Now the shadows gather round me, And my Hfe is ebbing fast ; Bear me, comrades, to the window, On the sun I'd look my last. Farewell, now, my heart-sick brothers. You will join me by and by ; If you perish here, remember, 'Tis for freedom you will die. Death I do not fear, my brothers, I have faced him o'er and o'er; I would die without a murmur. Could I meet the foe once more. Fiends of Spain ! Incarnate devils ! Cuba's sons shall yet be free ! All your cruelty and venom Cannot crush out Liberty ! Still survives the holy passion That has carried us thus far — Soon will beam on the horizon Cuba's independence star ! Death I do not fear, my brothers, I have faced him o'er and o'er ; I would die without a murmur. Could I meet the foe once more. 230 *'/ CAN'T!'' AND 'TLL TRY: I CAN'T!" AND -I'LL TRY. U T CAN'T ! " exclaims the truant boy, While loitering on the way; " I can't ! " repeats the imbecile, Whose locks are streak'd with gray ; " I can't ! " It is the common phrase Of all inclined to fly When dangers menace ; but the brave Would rather say, ''I'll try!" '' I can't ! " It stultifies the soul And palsies all within ; 'Tis made the flimsy, weak excuse • For each besetting sin. And many an ill that stays by us Away would quickly fly, If we would hold our heads erect And firmly say, *' I'll try!" The drunkard says, " I can't ! " when he Is counselled to abstain ; The sluggard drawls, " I can't ! " when told By work his bread to gain. The harden'd thief exclaims, '' I can't Temptation's door go by ! " But each his fault could master If he'd stoutly say, ''I'll try!" "/ CAN'T r' AND ''I'LL TRYP 23 1 *'I can't!" Had Fulton thus exclaim'd When jeer'd at as insane ; Or bold Columbus when his crew- Revolted on the main ; Or brave Galileo, when forced His theory to disown; Or Morse, when pinch'd by poverty And struggling on alone — Had these brave souls, and many more Who won the wreath of fame, Sat down to murmur and lament When difficulties came. How many blessings we should miss Which make us glad to-day, And what a sombre cloud would on The hill of science lay. "■ I can't ! " Oh ! drpp the hateful phrase, Ye toilers everywhere ; Be earnest on life's battle-field, Fail not to do and dare ! Faint not, if stern reverses come. But fix your faith on high. And let your noble motto be, "With God's good help, I'll try!" :32 LINES WRITTEN IN " OUR CARRIES'' ALBUM. LINES WRITTEN IN "OUR CARRIE'S^ ALBUM. LUSTROUS eyes revealing Young Love peeping through, Heart of warmest feeling, Nature kind and true ; Lineaments which tell us Thou wert born to bless, Friendship's counsel zealous, Gentle Carrie S. Full of toil and sorrow Is this weary life, Each succeeding morrow Brings its care and strife ; But may heavenly power Shield thee from distress. Guard thee every hour. Trusting Carrie S. Time may overcome thee. Touch thy hair with gray, Steal thy beauty from thee. Take thy strength away ; But thy sotil will never Lose its loveliness ; TJiat will bloom forever. Truthful Carrie S. A PLEA FOR CUBA. 233 A PLEA FOR CUBA. FREEMEN of our great republic, Bend to heaven the knee — Raise your hands and shout the chorus, Cuba shall be free! Spain, vile Spain, with steel and halter. Hovers over freedom's altar. Cowards are we if we falter — Strike for liberty ! By the graves of our brave sires, By their great deeds done. By sweet freedom's sacred fires Lit at Lexington ; By our blood-cemented nation, By each bondman's aspiration. By our hopes of dear salvation. Do not Cuba shun! Hark! across the stormy waters Comes a piteous cry ; 'Tis from Cuba's sons and daughters, ''Will ye let us die?" Freemen, up! No longer dally! Round fair Cuba's standard rally, From the mountain and the valley — Cause her foes to fly! 234 TAKE IT EASY! Shall Spain's stabbers wield the sabre, Fiush'd with victory ? God forbid ! Let's pray and labor ! Cuba must be free ! Clamor for her recognition, Hurl her tyrants to perdition, Thus may we fulfil our mission, Death to slavery ! TAKE IT EASY! TAKE -it easy, men of muscle ! Take it easy, men of brain ! You may stumble if you hurry. And you nothing then will gain. Any work that's worth the doing Surely is worth doing well ; Rather than by haste destroy it. Better stop and breathe a spell. Take it easy, mirthful maidens ! Take it easy, girls and boys 1 Every pleasure rashly foUow'd, In the end too surely cloys. Never haste to grasp the shadow When the substance is secure ! Trust me, there is health and safety In the motto, ** Slow and sure." THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. 235 Take it easy, slave of passion ! Hasty words will nothing gain ; While your breast is fill'd with anger, All your work will be in vain. Curb your temper till cool reason Has a chance to play its part, And your task will be the easier, And the purer be your heart. Take it easy, mourning pilgrim ! Sad at heart and sick at soul, Why shouldst thou, when heaven is certain. Be so swift to reach the goal .'' Wait God's time, and thy probation On the earth will soon be o'er, And thou'lt wrestle with temptation And heart-sorrow nevermore. THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. " He who would eat the kernel must not complain because obliged to crack the nut." — Old Saying. YE who in this changeful life Not a ray of joy can see. Ye who foster care and strife. Never from excitement free; Ye who never seek for peace. Hoping it will seek for you, Daily will your woes increase, And you'll find this maxim true : 236 THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. Earthly joys and joys supernal From the sluggard mind are shut; If you wish to taste the kernel, First you'll have to crack the nut. Life's stream seldom smoothly flows, And at times we're forced to mourn But who would reject the rose Even though it has its thorn ? By hard labor we may seize Pleasure from the lap of pain. If we idly take our ease. We shall look for joy in vain. Earthly joys and joys supernal From the sluggard mind are shut; If you wish to taste the kernel. First you'll have to crack the nut. Should misfortune weigh you down, Never yield to dark despair; Take the cross and win the crown, Toil for good and laugh at care. Resolutely strive and plan. Inactivity is vain. What would pleasure be to man If he never tasted pain.^ Earthly joys and joys supernal From the sluggard mind are shut; If you wish to taste the kernel, First you'll have to crack the nut. FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER. 237 FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER. FOLD up the starry banner, And put it out of sight — 'Tis laugh'd at by the minions Of tyranny and spite. All impotent it flutters Upon the open sea, And who shall dare to call it The banner of the free ? Fold up the starry banner — Its rainbow glories drape, In deep humility and woe. With sombre, solemn crape. The eagle that watch'd o'er it Looks down in sad surprise, And the goddess of sweet freedom Is weeping where it lies. Fold up the starry banner, And hoist the hated rag Of vile Spain to replace it — Columbia has no flag. Her ships are free no longer, Her gallant tars are slaves, And all that may be taken Are doom'd to bloody graves. 238 THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. Fold up the starry banner, For sad Columbia weeps, And Tyranny is gorged with blood, While Freedom soundly sleeps, Or if she does not slumber. She lies subdued and tame, And all who gloried in her Are bow'd by grief and shame, Fold up the starry banner, Nor let it wave again Till it can have its proper place Above the rag of Spain. Then let it flash its glories Upon the land and sea. And those who love it strike one blow For Cuba's liberty. THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. (written on the fourth of JULY.) OH, Goddess of Liberty, radiant and joyous. Look down on thy favorite nation to-day — Permit no dissensions nor cares to annoy us — Drive every shadow of discord away. Come in thy rare beauty, a laurel-wreath wearing- Come with the flag of the free in thy hand — Come in thy eloquent language declaring Freedom shall never depart from our land. WORIC 239 Speak to us of our dead patriots and sages — The foremost of heroes — " the salt of the earth" — Whose virtue and fame shall descend to the ages While freedom's disciples prize honor and worth. Recall to our minds how the war tocsin sounded In '* seventy-six," when each sire and son With shouts of defiance upon the foe bounded Till tyranny perish'd and freedom was won. Oh, beautiful goddess, be thou ever near us, To guide and direct us in war or in peace — To strengthen when faint, when despondent to cheer us — When doubting, our faith in our laws to increase. Then still shall our land, like a beacon-fire burnino-, Invite the oppress'd of all nations to come. While their desolate heart are for sympathy yearning, And find a sure refuge in freedom's bright home. WORK. AROUSE, thou sluggard! Leave thy bed so dear. Nor longer in thy drowsy chamber lurk ; Walk forth with open eye and listening ear, And let kind Nature teach thee how to work. Turn where you may, each thing in nature's school The tale of constant motion will rehearse ; Nothing is idle — labor is the rule Which regulates the mighty universe. 240 WORK. By work the ever active honest bee With store melUfluous supplies his hive; The tiny ant by constant industry Garners up food to keep himself alive ; Even the plants, whose flowers pass from view In winter hoar, are toiling in the earth For sustenance the dreary season through, To give, when Spring-time comes, more sweet buds birth. By work, the bright stream, singing merrily, Is kept pellucid in its onward flow; Check its glad action — curb its motion free — And it will stagnant and oflensive grow. 'Tis motion that each planet bright upholds Steady and constant in its proper sphere, As in its course it ever onward rolls — 'Tis motion that keeps pure the atmosphere. Then heed the lesson, sluggard! Man was made Greater than earth, or air, or stars on high; For these will surely into nothing fade — The soul's immortal and it cannot die. But by inaction man may torpid grow. And drone his life away in useless dreams, Just as the evils of inaction show In stagnant, fetid, death-exhaling streams. HARD LUCK. 241 HARD LUCK. I TOOK my place the other day On board a ferry-boat, And look'd around as is my wont, The passengers to note. Two young mechanics going home From work was standing near, Whose colloquy I listen'd to, And will repeat it here. " O Jack ! " said one, " the other day I fell against Tom Duff, And I tell you I pitied him, He look'd so awful rough. His toggery was all in rags, No shoes were on his feet, In fact he look'd as hard a case As any on the street. *^ I asked about his family. His wife, he said, was dead, And his two little children Were suffering for bread. He'd had no work for nigh a month. And gone was all his pluck; He never could succeed, because He'd had such horrid luck." p 242 HARD LUCK. Jack listen'd to his friend's report, And then he heaved a sigh, And then he said, '' I pity Tom ; but Bob, 'Twixt you and I, This horrid luck we hear about, Unless I am mistaken. Instead of being sent to us Is often of our makin'. " Now, Tom and I were 'prentice boys Together, as you know, And he was very quick to learn. While I was very slow. He always could earn more than me. And dress'd like any buck; But he could never keep a cent. He had such awful luck. "He had no one to work for — His wages, every cent, Were his — while I was forced to pay My widow'd mother's rent. And yet so awful was his luck, He never had a dime. And he has borrow'd stamps from me To get beer many a time. " Both of us married early. And both got thrifty wives ; There should have been no difference In the current of our lives. HARD LUCK, 243 If anything, my expenses Were the greatest; for you see While Tom has but two little ones, Kind Heaven has sent me three. "Tom's wife was young and beautiful, But wasn't very strong, And being obliged to work so hard, She couldn't stand it long. She never ventured out of doors, But to her babies stuck. While Tom sat in some drinking-shop A-growling at his luck. " Now, I've no reason to complain, I'm doing very well ; Sometimes indeed when work gives out I have an idle spell ; But then I always try to keep A stamp or two ahead. And never yet have had to hear My babies cry for bread. " I'm just as sorry for poor Tom As you can be, friend Jack, And I would rather help him on Than try to set him back. But I have always noticed When a fellow guzzles rum And loafs about and takes his ease, Hard hick is sure to coined ►44 THE HORSE. THE HORSE. /^F all the lower animals ^^ That humbly tread the earth To work for careless, thankless man. The horse has greatest worth. A very giant in his strength, And yet withal so mild, That he will readily obey An invalid or child. How patient and how tractable, How willing he to toil — A very slave to man, and yet The monarch of the soil. The meanest steed is worth regard, But beautiful to see Is one of choicest lineage And perfect symmetry. No pen can do him justice, And e'en the limner's art Will fail a perfect idea Of the racer to impart. His form may be depicted. But the fire in his eye. The life that animates his frame, These, every art defy. THE POWER OF STEAM. 245 Height, sixteen hands — his color, black — An arch'd neck full and strong, A pair of eyes that shine like stars, Mane, tail, and foretop, long. Ears like a fox's, small and sharp. With nostrils large and thin, And showing, when expanded wide, The blood-red tint within. THE POWER OF STEAM. OH ! be my theme the power of steam — 'Tis greater than sword or pen; For it furnishes bread, and raiment and bed, For millions of toiling men. Day after day it puffs away, Alike in calm or storm, And mortals gaze in mute amaze At what it can perform. It winnows, it plows, it heads, it blows, It cuts, it slits, it dresses. It stamps, it planes, it digs, it drains, It condenses, collects, and presses. It forges, it rolls, it melts, it moulds, It files, it hammers, it rasps. It punches, it beats, it cooks, it heats, Releases and tightly grasps. It propels, it rows, it warps, it tows, It pulls, it carries, it scatters. 246 THE POWER OF STEAM. It pushes, it draws, it gouges, it bores, It polishes, breaks, and batters. It lowers, it lifts, it grinds, it sifts, It washes, it smooths, it crushes, It picks, it hews, it prints the news, It rivets, it sweeps, it brushes. It sculls, it screws, it mends, it glues, It pumps, it irrigates. It sews, it drills, it levels hills, Shuts, opens, and elevates. It extracts, confines, it marks out lines. It thrashes, it separates. It mixes, it kneads, it drives, it leads, It chisels, it excavates. It stamps, it turns, it hatches, it churns. It mortises, saws, and shaves. It bolts, it brings, it lends us wings. It fights the winds and waves. It scutches, it cards, advances, retards. It spins, it twists, it weaves, It coins, it shears, tear down, uprears. Discharges and receives. Then be my theme the power of steam — 'Tis greater than sword or pen ; For it furnishes bread, and raiment and bed. For millions of toiling men. Day after day it puffs away, Alike in calm or storm, And mortals gaze in mute amaze, At what it can perform. WOMAN. 247 WOMAN. A HEALTH to the lass with the laughing blue eye, That seems to have borrow'd its hue from the sky — Where young love is constantly feeding his flame, And virtue sits blocking the entrance to shame. Who weeps with the mourning and laughs with the gay, Who can comfort old age or with infancy play. Who quarrels with no one, but sticks to her creed- Here's to her, for she is a woman indeed! And here's to the girl with the lustrous black eye, Who one moment may laugh and the next moment sigh ; Whose heart is a casket of joy and of grief, And the first knows no limit, the last no relief. Who deeply doth love, but as deeply can hate — A Christian, and yet a believer in fate — Who for pity will weep, or in anger will kill — Here's her health— she is one of the softer sex still 1 Here's to the coquette with the optic of gray. Who will never say yes, but can hardly say nay ; Who falls dead in love with each gay beau she sees. But can never find one for a long time to please. Who is anxious to marry, and yet is afraid ; Who lives a young ninny, and dies an old maid ; Though blameful her follies it must be confess'd. Yet her heakh— she's a woman as well as the rest. 248 MEAGHER'S ESCAPE. In fine, here's to woman — the large and the small, The lean and the fleshy, the short and the tall, The dark eye, the blue eye, the hazel and gray, The cheerful and sullen, the grave and the gay. I care not how faulty their natures may be — They are women — which fact is sufficient for me ; As mother, friend, sister, maid, widow, or wife, They are God's best gift to man, the consolers of life. MEAGHER'S ESCAPE.- THERE'S a voice in the gale, speeding over the waters, A song of rejoicing, a burden of glee, A pean from Erin's brave sons and fair daughters, "Old Ireland's defender, young Meagher, is free!" They could not enslave him ; for on her broad pinions The Genius of Liberty day after day Hover'd over his head, and from tyranny's minions At length bore the noble-soul'd patriot away. With honor he shook off the shackles that bound him, His parole gave up ere he ventured his plan ; And then in broad day, with his enemies round him. Cried, ''Now I defy ye! Take me, if you can!" But vain their endeavors ; his steed like a swallow Flew over the ground with his rider so brave ; And soon they found out it was useless to follow. For Meagher was safely afloat on the wave. * First published under a 110m de plume in 1852. RELIGION. 249 Oh ! how must the news of the captive's achievement — The tidings that he had his Hberty won — Have chased, as the sun does the mist, the bereavement Of those who stood round him at SUevenamon ! How eyes must have sparkled and hearts must have bounded, And hills must have echoed with cheer upon cheer, From the wild throbbing- bosoms that quickly surrounded The bonfire that blazed upon Corrigmoclier ! But it is not his country alone that rejoices ; The republican host of our own cherish'd land In deep exultation are raising their voices, And thronging to grasp the young patriot's hand. ** You are welcome," they cry, " to the land of the stranger — Thrice welcome beneath our proud eagle's broad wing; Here safely repose thee, exempt from all danger Protected forever from tyranny's sting. RELIGION. HAIL, blest Religion ! safeguard of the free ! Destroyer of foul vice, mother of purity, Thou white-robed seraph at whom skeptics rail — Balm of the bleeding heart. Religion, hail! Many profess to own thy sacred flame, And day by day invoke thy blessed name In gorgeous temples, built with jealous care ;. But let's look in and see if thou art there. 250 religion: See, in yon cushion'd pew, with downcast look, A man sits poring o'er a well-thumb'd book ; All richly dress'd is he in vestments rare ; And as the holy man pours forth his prayer His face assumes a penitential air. Mingled somewhat, methinks, with worldly care. Now his pale countenance betokens pain, And tears are falling from his eyes like rain ! He reads a tnemoranduin book of loss and gain ! Its contents have convinced him, plain as day, That some of his dear cash has flown away. He whispers her his loss, and, musing on it. His wife is grieving for her next new bonnet. In a darksome corner, almost hid from view. Sits one who is a villain through and through. He's dozing now, and now begins to nod. And, sleeping holds communion with his god. His gilded god : that man his daughter sold — His only daughter — for a heap of gold. Now cast your eye on yonder youthful pair, Who seem Devotion's counterpart — ^how fair And pure they look, those lovely girls ! List ! their religion's centred in their curls ! "My gracious, Emma! look at Martha's hair! How illy it's arranged, I declare!" But turn we round our eyes, and gaze we now Upon a Christian, whose unclouded brow Speaks the tranquillity that reigns within His breast. He is not free from sin — RELIGION. 251 (None are, though some pretend to be, And elongate their faces piously; They never smile — not they — they'd sooner cry, And agonize and groan, and sweat and sigh). He believes that every creature born of woman Has passions, and "to step aside is human." He toiling earns his bread— does all he can To be what God intended him — a man. 'Twould fill a book to mention every one— The luckless debtor and the heartless dun; The widow poor, who scarce her bread can earn. Rising from prayer to meet the landlord stern; The beggar, perishing through lack of food, Doubting the policy of doing good. And, losing every thought of future weal. Goes forth from prayer constrain'd almost to steal. Yes, visit any city church— you'll find Within its walls all grades of human kind ; But underneath the peasant's humble roof (From which the rich man sneering stands aloof) The '' peace which passeth understanding " lives— That priceless peace which true Religion gives. There Nature works, and from the emerald sod Around the poor man's cottage, up to God The flowers their incense breathe, as if in prayer ; And every bird that carols in the air. And every breeze that sweeps the forest wild, Speaks of Religion, " pure and undefiled." THE HERO SAILOR. THE HERO SAILOR. Lieutenant W. Lewis Herndon, U. S. N., late commander of the U. S. Mail Steamship Central America, was lost at sea September 12th, 1857, by which disaster 326 souls perished, including Captain Herndon, and over $2,000,000 of treasure was lost. LOOK at his features, ye who read Man's nature in his face, And tell me if a single line Ignoble ye can trace. Peruse the well-mark'd lineaments As closely as you can, And say do they not " give the world Assurance of a man } " No giant strength did he possess, No stalwart, towering form, Yet with the strength of Hercules He wrestled with the storm ; 'Twas honor nerved the hero's arm And stirr'd his lion heart. And taught him how, at duty's call, With life itself to part. " There is no hope ! It cannot be That he escaped the wreck ! For he would be the last to leave The fated vessel's deck ! " THE HERO SAILOR. Thus spoke, and truly spoke, The gallant sailor's noble wife ; She knew to keep his honor whole He'd sacrifice his life. Weep for his fate, ye maidens, Wives, and mothers of the land ! On history's page eternally The glorious truth shall stand. That in that fearful hour of death Upon the ocean wild. Of all on board there was not lost A woman or a child. 'Twas nobly done, O Herndon ! And thy name shall ever be In manhood's lexicon a word Expressing chivalry. Well may the Old Dominion, Who gave us Washington, And many other noble names, Be proud of such a son. With placid brow the brave man saw The helpless ones depart, And then a heavy load of care Seem'd lifted from his heart He view'd them as they left the ship Toss'd on the billows wild. Then from his lips the sentence broke, " God help my wife and child ! " 253 254 ELSIE'S DEATH. When the ill-fated ship went down, Of all that luckless band Alone her brave commander stood, A rocket in his hand. To the last gasp he clung to her. And then, the struggle o'er. He calmly closed his eyes in death, And sank to rise no more. Calm be thy rest, O noble heart ! • Upon thy ocean bed; Than thine there is no worthier name Among the gallant dead. Thy fate was mournful, but the world Shall speak thy virtues rare, While God-like truth exists, and men Are brave and women fair. ELSIE'S DEATH. " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou ordained strength." — Psalm 8 : 2. AN infant form lay stark and cold. In its last sad habit drest, But the smile on its angel features told How calm it had sunk to rest. And tears down its mother's pale cheek roU'd, As she kiss'd her darling, stark and cold. ELSIES DEATH. 255 A little girl — the dead one's twin — Stood gazing on the scene ; She nothing knew of death or sin, And wonder'd what could mean Her mother's lamentations loud While o'er her darling's corse she bow'd. *' What ails my little sister dear ? Sweet mamma, tell me, pray. I've watch'd her lying silent here Throughout the livelong day. She does not seem to feel or hear — What ails my sister, mamma dear ? " " She's dead, my child ; your sister's dead — She cannot play again ; Her spirit has forever fled From grief, and sin, and pain. And yet, O God ! my heart will break When my last look at her I take ! " *' Mamma, have you not often said That when good people die, They go where no more tears are shed — With God, beyond the sky? I love my sister, mamma dear, But would not, could I, keep her here. ** For Elsie, I am sure, is there — So, mamma, let tis die ; And to her in that home so fair Together let us fly! 256 BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. I'm very sure, mamma, that she Is watching now for you and me ! " '* I thank thee, God ! " the mother cried, " Now I can bear my loss. Come, kneel, sweet one, with me beside Your little sister's corse ; Raise up your hands, my precious one. And pray, * Thy will, not mine, be done ! ' " BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. A FARMER once, A youthful dunce. Stood gazing o'er a field Of springing corn. By blackbirds shorn Of half that it should yield. Said he, " Bright birds, Mark ye my words. Your doom is surely seal'd. "Ye have had your share. Of my produce rare ; Ye have ranged my broad fields o'er, And pick'd and ate . At such a rate That half my crop or more Has felt the blight. Of your greedy bite. But now your reign is o'er!" BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. He kept his word ; Each joyous bird That on the morrow trill'd His joyous song The meads along Was mercilessly kill'd. "Now," cried the lad, With visage glad, " My barn will sure be fill'd ! " Time sped along, The blackbird's song No more was heard in air ; The farmer stood In solemn mood, And features full of care. His eye roam'd o'er The fields, but saw No vegetation there. On each green leaf A reptile thief. Erst the blithe blackbird's prey, A full meal had The farmer lad Had sent their scourge away, And the poor wight, Possess'd not quite The blackbird's power to slay. He view'd the scene With thouofhtful mien, 257 258 HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. His heart was touch'd with pain. " O bright wing'd birds 1 " He cried, '* that words Would bring ye back again ! For now, in sooth, I feel the truth. Birds were not made in vain!" HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. ONE summer's morn to Gotham came A weary wight, John Smith by name, Who travell'd hither from the west The profit of fair trade to test. His form was bony, lank, and tall, His clothes were poor, his means were small. A man he was of narrow views Who did not care to read the news. John entertain'd, 'twixt you and me, Queer notions of economy. At home he drank, and chew'd — would go To see the travelling circus show — Would puff his cash away in vapor. But couldn't afford to take a paper. Of fresh events he held no views. Because he didn't read the news. Scarce had he got the city in. Ere his misfortunes did begin ; HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS, 259 He sold his cattle, got the cash, And then resolved to cut a dash. He started off without delay. And, whistling, saunter'd down Broadway, To take an independent cruise — He didn't care to read the news. ''Say Johnny!" cried a voice, "look here!" John turn'd and saw a stranger near. *' Why, don't you know me, Cousin John ? " The man — a well-dressed youth — went on, '' Why, I knew you at once, right well ! Come, go with me to my hotel ! " John went — he couldn't see the ruse — Oh ! if he had but read the news ! No one will doubt us when we say John's cousin was enrich'd that day. While hapless John, of sense bereft. Had only half his money left. '' Gosh ! " cried the dupe, with rage and grief, "A fellow dress'd like that a thief! I swan ! 'twould give a saint the blues ! Oh ! don't I wish I'd read the news ! " Deploring his unhappy fate. He to a drinking shop went straight His sorrows in a glass to drown ; And when he'd gulp'd the liquor down, At once his brain began to spin, For what he swallow'd drugg'd had been, And soon his senses John did lose. Poor dupe! He hadn't read the news. l6o HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. Then many a low-brow'd villain came, Considering John Smith fair game. They pluck'd him bare, and not a cent Had he when to the Tombs he went. "Judge!" cried the victim, "Judge! look here! I've lost five hundred dollars clear! I hope your aid you won't refuse." "John," said the justice, "read the news!" A sharp-eyed newsboy standing near Cried, " Johnny, walk off on your ear ! Don't grumble 'cause you've lost your pelf, For now you know how 'tis yourself! You're fortunate, my old galoot, That some one didn't bust your snoot ! I guess you're one o' them foo-foos Who never want to read the news ! " If these cops wasn't standin' by, I'd go to work and break your eye ! I'd like to paste yer in the ear! I'd like to poultice yer ! D'yer hear .^ I'd like to take and warm yer jaw I would, if 'twasn't for the law ! I'm down on these 'ere country Jews, Too mean to spend a cent for news ! " With heavy heart John left the court, And quickly he his village sought. Where safe at last, his friends flock'd round To learn what fortune he had found. John eyed them o'er and o'er again Then, with a visage full of pain, WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME. 261 He said, " Friends, if there's one here who's A goin' to travel, read the news ! "I never have myself, but now I'll make a solemn, earnest vow To go, ere speeds another day, And a full year's subscription pay. I'll read the paper, every line, If it takes from six o'clock till nine ; For b'lieve me, friends, a mere recluse Is he who never reads the news." WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME? YOU say that you love me, and I will believe thee— 'Tis too late to doubt thee or part from thee now— Nor have I a thought that you'll ever deceive me While beauty and freshness are stamp'd on my brow ; But, oh, when that beauty and freshness have faded, And envious age mars my face and my frame. And the silver locks come which cannot be evaded— Oh, in that sad time, will you love me the same? 'Tis sweet, in the spring-time of youthful emotion. When swift as a racer our wild pulses play. To drink in the words of a lover's devotion. Without ever thinking that youth must decay. I doubt not you'll cling to and cherish me, dearest. While full is love's fountain and bright is his flame, But will your love stay with a fervor sincerest When the romance is gone? Will you love me the same ? 262 OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME I OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME! OH, thou adored, with wondrous beauty beaming! No Hmner e'er could copy thy sweet face ! And ne'er did sculptor in his wildest dreaming Catch e'en a semblance of thy form of grace ! The very air that lifts thy golden tresses Is odor-laden, having toy'd with thee. And I am wild with joy at thy caresses ; But time kills beauty — oJi, keep true to me ! Thy mind is richly stored — bright gems of learning Fall in a shower from thy ready tongue ; No abstruse study balks thy keen discerning ; Thou art an oracle thy friends among ; Thine eloquence takes captive every hearer. And moves the dullest soul to ecstasy ; But there's a quality than language dearer — For words are vapor — oJi, keep true to me ! Thou boldest in society a proud position — Thy rank is high, and rich is thy estate — Broad acres are thine own, and thy condition Is envied by the greatest of the great. I cannot choose but laud thy emulation, And I am very proud thy choice to be; But beauty, talent, riches, rank and station — All these may perish —