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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 Chap... Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf„.][2^ja.aFT 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
--i 
 
" Stood Adam Sage, there, waiting to be sold." 
 
THE FUGITIVES 
 
 And Other Poems 
 
 By John E. Barrett 
 
 The Peter Paul Book Company- 
 Buffalo, New York 
 
 MDCCCXCVII 
 
 TWO COPIES RECEIVED 
 
 V 
 
f'3 
 
 S''-' 
 
 \^.^'' 
 
 Copyright, 1897 
 
 by 
 John E. Barrett 
 
 Printed and bound by The 
 Peter Paul Book Company 
 in Bufl'alo, New York. 
 
To 
 
 my dear wife and children 
 
 this book 
 
 is affectionately 
 
 dedicated 
 
Introductory 
 
 IN presenting the tragic story of "The Fugitives" it 
 is not the intention of the author to exploit anew 
 the subject of slavery, which, happily, has been settled 
 forever in the United States. His selection of the theme 
 is a result of his lifelong sympathy with the slave, in 
 whose freedom he rejoices almost as much for the sake 
 of the South as for that of the slave himself. 
 
 Three things have impressed the writer deeply in 
 contemplating this subject. These are : the kindness 
 shown by some of the old Southern masters for their 
 slaves, as in the case of Adam Sage's first owner; the 
 capacity of the Negro to learn under favorable opportu- 
 nities; and the strong bond of love that ran like a vein 
 of gold through all the sad vicissitudes of slave life. 
 These elements have been kept in view in telling the 
 story of " The Fugitives," which has been written, with- 
 out prejudice to any race or section, in the same impartial 
 spirit that has prompted writers in all times and coun- 
 tries to deal with such historic themes as commended 
 themselves because of the profound human interest they 
 possessed. 
 
 Although slavery has disappeared from the South, its 
 record cannot be blotted from history, and it will always 
 
vi Introductory 
 
 afford a fascinating study for the historian, the novelist, 
 and the poet. There were generous hearts in the South 
 in the slavery days, as there are today, and, therefore, 
 it is proper to say that the fate of Adam Sage was but 
 the consistent result of the system which no longer pre- 
 vails 
 
 "Where blooms 
 The happy promise of a brighter day, 
 With God's fair fields as free as they are fair." 
 
 It is a gratifying feature of the emancipation of the 
 slave that it has left no race resentment. The enfran- 
 chised Negro entertains no deep-seated animosity because 
 of the oppression of yesterday which held him or his 
 father in thrall. This reserves to him all the more 
 strength and freedom to work out his destiny hopefully, 
 and wring from the years to come, by his intelligence, 
 frugality, industry, and patriotism, recompense for the 
 cruel years that are gone. The exercise, under happier 
 auspices, of the heroic qualities of patience, endurance, 
 devotion, and courage shown by Adam Sage in "The 
 Fugitives," cannot fail to win for the Negro among his 
 neighbors and fellow citizens the recognition and respect 
 which manly worth invariably compels. There is room 
 enough on this wide earth for all God's children, African 
 as well as Caucasian ; and the God-given boon of freedom 
 is for all. 
 
Introductory vii 
 
 For the verses in this volume in addition to "The 
 Fugitives," it is sufficient to say that they too are "fugi- 
 tives," written at odd times, and suggested by various 
 incidents in the busy hours of daily newspaper activity. 
 They are printed here in accordance with the frequently 
 expressed wish of indulgent friends who have desired 
 that they might be collected and preserved in some per- 
 manent form. 
 
 J. E. B. 
 
Contents 
 
 The Fugitives, i 
 
 The Growing of the Christmas Tree, .... 26 
 
 Life's Journey, 28 
 
 The Day of Peace, 32 
 
 A Cry in the Night, 35 
 
 A Friend of Mine, 37 
 
 The Misanthrope, 40 
 
 The Miner, 42 
 
 The Classes and the Masses, 46 
 
 A Christmas Chant, 48 
 
 The Flag at Gettysburg, 50 
 
 Thanksgiving Chimes, 53 
 
 A Girl from Ireland, 55 
 
 The Midnight Storm, 61 
 
 A Hero of the Mine, 63 
 
 Milicent May's Valentine, 69 
 
 A Tree, 72 
 
 Tragedy of a Fishing Village, 75 
 
 The Slate Pickers, 77 
 
 Do You Remember? 80 
 
 The Death of Hamlet 82 
 
 May Day, 84 
 
X Contents 
 
 The Double Crown 86 
 
 A Mother's Treasure, 91 
 
 The City of Scranton, 93 
 
 To a Little Girl of Ten 95 
 
 Hymn to Saint Patrick, . 96 
 
 Song of the Steel Mill, 98 
 
 The Magdalene, 99 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, 102 
 
 The Water Lily, 104 
 
 At Sunrise, 106 
 
 Tessie 107 
 
 The Engineer 109 
 
 The Enchanted Vest, iii 
 
 Lincoln 113 
 
 The Dead Minstrel, 114 
 
 A Blast of Autumn, 116 
 
 The Unknown Soldiers' Monument, . . . .117 
 
 George Eliot, 121 
 
 Christmas Pearls, 122 
 
 Nancy Flannigan, 123 
 
 The Edelweiss, 125 
 
 Rich and Poor, 127 
 
 When Pussy went A-Fishing 130 
 
 The Oak, 132 
 
Illustrations 
 
 "Stood Adam Sage, there, waiting to be , 
 
 sold," Frontispiece v 
 
 "Thus Adam Sage by martyrdom was 
 
 freed,". . . . facing page 2^ J 
 
 A Girl from Ireland, . . facing page ^^ 
 
The Fugitives, and Other Poems 
 
I 
 
The Fuo-itives, and Other Poems 
 
 The Fugitives 
 
 A Tale of Slavery 
 
 With aching heart, and eyes bedinimed with tears, 
 On Georgia's uplands stood a sighing slave 
 Lamenting fate's decree that made him black; 
 That gave to him the gift of love and took 
 The things he loved away — his wife and babes, 
 Who, like himself, were sold to toil and curse 
 The color that made life a crime for them. 
 He murmured not against tlie rays that fell, 
 In stress of noon, down from the fiery sky, 
 But all day long, with grief for company. 
 His unrecfuited strength applied to toil; 
 And when, in mercy, night his labors stayed. 
 His weary limbs he stretched upon tlie field, 
 And sobbed, whilst list'ning to his fellow slaves 
 Chanting their plaintive songs of slavery, 
 As sadly sweet as penitential psalms. 
 Crushed were his hopes ; for this was long before 
 The flaming hiss of war leaped, like a sword, 
 
The luioitives 
 
 ^ 
 
 Out of the cloud lliat darkened all the sky, 
 And drenched the land with patriotic blood — 
 Long ere the great and gentle Lincoln rose 
 To heights sublime among the sons of men, 
 And, mid the storm, unsheathed his lofty soul 
 For that sublime, immortal stroke that slew 
 The dragon slavery on freedom's soil. 
 And so, in deep dismay, poor Adam Sage 
 Pined for his lot, and for his lost ones, too, 
 "rill love, o'ermastering duty, called him; 
 And when it called, he followed where it led, 
 And gave his precious life for those he loved. 
 Of Adam's sacrifice there still remains 
 The sad traditit>n; and 'tis oft rehearsed 
 On winter nights, among the Negro huts. 
 By those who once were slaves, but now are free. 
 How he became a fugitive and showed 
 A father's love — a hero's spirit, too — 
 In that wild crisis when the fearful dogs 
 His wife and babes assailed, and how he gave 
 His life to save them from a dreadful fate. 
 Then passed through death's grim gate to liberty. 
 
 Where men were better than the laws they held 
 A little less than sacred, Adam Sage 
 To manhood grew, his master's favored slave. 
 
The Fuofitives 
 
 &' 
 
 There peace prevailed, and liappiness held sway, 
 
 And slavery was ni>thing but a name; 
 
 For kindness, tliat unwritten law that makes 
 
 The meanest state endurable, was his, 
 
 Till grim disaster fell ui)on the home 
 
 Whose shelter made him feel more son than slave, 
 
 In which the master, bowed by debt and care, 
 
 Saw all his dear possessions swept away. 
 
 Adam, as if from some sweet dream aroused, 
 
 Awoke to feel the burden of his chains 
 
 And know that through the color of his skin 
 
 Freedom on freedom's soil was not for him. 
 
 The blow that struck the master crushed the slave 
 
 And shattered all his fondest hopes. The home 
 
 In which his happy boyhood's days were spent 
 
 Was sold, and all it held was scattered wide. 
 
 'Twas there he coined his leisure into lore, 
 
 And gained some glimpses of the glowing past 
 
 Amid the pages of his master's books, 
 
 Which told of deeds heroic and of men 
 
 Who broke the bonds of other days and filled 
 
 The startled world with their immortal fame. 
 
 The magic types his swelling soul inflamed 
 
 With tales of clashing swords and sounding shields, 
 
 'Till all his ardent blood caught fire and swept 
 
 His soaring spirit to exalted heights 
 
 Whereon he reveled mid the knights of old, 
 
 Whose prowess, on the printed page, shone forth 
 
The Fugitives 
 
 As anthracite, deep hid in nature's breast 
 And keeping secret all its magic power, 
 Glows in the furnace heat and shines anew 
 And shows its (juality so long concealed. 
 O mind of man, immortal gift from God! 
 No tyrant's chain can curb or fetter thee. 
 The serf on thy expanding wings may soar 
 From vilest servitude to heaven's porch 
 And hear the choirs immortal. Thou art free 
 Where despots hold the sons of men in thrall. 
 Thy realm is limitless. 'Tis all the world 
 That was of old, and is, and is to be. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In daydreams Adam Sage to freedom soared 
 On pinions of the mind; his guides the books 
 He read, wherein the glories of the ])ast 
 Were pictured in the light of other days. 
 He saw fair Egypt in her golden prime, 
 And Persia, where the proud Cambyses ruled; 
 He saw great Rome in glowing splendor shine, 
 And, in the morning of the Christian day, 
 Beheld Judea's sacred hills aglow 
 With the immortal radiance of the King 
 Who wore the thorny crown for mankind's sake, 
 Who made the blessed cross salvation's sign. 
 And in his kingdom drew no color line. 
 
The Fugitives 
 
 He seemed to hear the cry of Calvary, 
 "O Father, not my will, but thine, be done! " 
 Then peace, the comforter, was in his soul 
 And all his tasks grew light, for deep within 
 His heart there dwelt the deathless love of him 
 Whose gentle spirit suffered more than slave. 
 Yet who was Lord of lords, and King of kings; 
 And so his soul with gratitude was filled 
 For what he was and what he hoped to be 
 When, life's brief voyage ended, he should stand 
 Among the ransomed on the farther shore. 
 Oft musing in the lonely hours, he thought 
 Of one who, like himself, was still a slave. 
 He loved her well, and she, poor artless child 
 Of nature, freely gave her heart to him; 
 For love is no patrician proud who scorns 
 The poor to lavish favors on the rich, 
 But of his gifts impartially bestows 
 On black and white, on bond and free, alike. 
 So Adam's wedding day was one of joy 
 For him and Dora and their fellow slaves. 
 The old plantation rang with mirth and song, 
 And all the simple pleasures of the time 
 Were garlanded to glad the festal scene. 
 Their master, anxious for their happiness, 
 A joyous holiday proclaimed for all. 
 Love blossomed o'er the cruel thorns of care, 
 And sorrow was a stranger for a day. 
 
The Fugitives 
 
 Jr." 
 
 The years o'er Adam's threslioUl ligluly crossed, 
 
 And fniilful liine, and Dora, gave to him 
 
 Two little ones, a precious boy and girl. 
 
 Both were his — yel not his, hut his master's; 
 
 For, thougli the laws ol' nature and of God 
 
 To Adam and his wile the children gave. 
 
 The laws of Georgia made their offspring slaves — 
 
 Slaves at their birth, and owned as lambs are owned 
 
 When flocks increase upon the farmer's field. 
 
 IV 
 
 The sale of all the things he held most dear 
 Filled Adam's gentle master with despair ; 
 For though his sense of honor was most keen 
 To satisfy the debt he owed, his heart 
 Rebelled against the breaking of love's ties 
 When he beheld his faithful slaves in tears 
 And heard the mother i)leading to be bought 
 l?y him who bought her husband and her babes. 
 Without a pang the gentle planter saw 
 His fertile acres and his homestead sold; 
 But Adam Sage's children, with their cries, 
 Aroused the pity of his inmost soul 
 Anil fdled his eyes with sympathetic tears. 
 Meanwhile the blacks their dirge of sorrow sang 
 Around the auction block, on which their kin. 
 Like chattels, one by one were i>laced for sale. 
 
The Fu<rltives 
 
 There, disregarding that divine decree 
 
 Which holds *' wiiat God Iialh joined " iiidi.s.s(jhible, 
 
 Husbands and wives were i)ut ai)art and sold 
 
 Like beasts, for whom there is no law of love. 
 
 Yet whom the kind of heart in mercy hold. 
 
 Mute as a statue cast in speechless bronze 
 
 Stood Adam Sage, there, waiting to be sold ; ■ 
 
 His head was bowed, and in each stalwart hand 
 
 He held a smaller hand, the trusting hands 
 
 Of those who loved him well, his precious babrs ; 
 
 And close beside them knelt his tearful wife, 
 
 His Dora of those ha[)py days gone by. 
 
 But his no more, for soon she would be sold 
 
 And sent away to break her heart in toil. 
 
 Then, like a shock he heard his name called out, 
 
 And, ere his senses rallied, he was ]>ushed 
 
 Upon the ignominious block for sale. 
 
 With flashing eyes he looked u\)on the men 
 
 Who praised his sturdy limbs and strength to toil 
 
 As they might praise a horse put up for sale. 
 
 They sneered at his intelligence, and said 
 
 With scorn, " A Nigger has no use for brains." 
 
 Then Adam's anger stirred him like a storm ; 
 
 But one swift glance at Dora made him duml), 
 
 For she, the i)icture of despair, stood near. 
 
 With silent pity in her streaming eyes, 
 
 And clasping close her children in her arms. 
 
 She knew how deeply Adam felt this shame 
 
The Fugitives 
 
 Which, from the curse of color, fell on both. 
 
 The overseers, with heartless gibe and jest. 
 
 Made cruel sport of Adam's wedded life 
 
 And mocked the wife and babes he loved so well. 
 
 Till ribaldry grew stale and he was sold. 
 
 Then came the sale of Dora, who was bought 
 
 To serve a master in a distant state ; 
 
 And last of all came Adam's little ones, 
 
 His lisping Nellie and his hopeful Ned, 
 
 Who, hand in hand, upon the auction block 
 
 Were thrust to close the bargains of the day. 
 
 And so disaster, in the name of law 
 
 And in a land of freedom, crushed the hopes 
 
 Of Adam Sage and clouded all his days ; 
 
 And when he kissed his wife and babes good-bye 
 
 At parting, the unfeeling planters laughed ; 
 
 But louder grew their laughter when they saw 
 
 Poor Dora faint and fall, as from her arms 
 
 They tore her children brutally away. 
 
 On Georgia's soil, far from his loved old home, 
 And far from those who loved him, Adam Sage 
 Toiled hard and prayed for liberty and peace. 
 His master's acres glowed with ripened wealth 
 And summer's fair enchantment filled the scene 
 With lavish bounty beautiful to see, 
 
The Fugitives 
 
 And pleasing to the planter's eye, but curst ; 
 
 For deeply hidden in this harvest lay 
 
 A mighty wrong against a patient race, 
 
 Who, cheated of their liberty and toil, 
 
 With docile hands made all the landscape glad. 
 
 Here cruel slavery held cruel sway 
 
 To terrorize the timid ; here were seen 
 
 The lash, the bloodhound, and the overseer, 
 
 And, far less heartless than the rest, the last. 
 
 The owner, Gordon Lee, was seldom there ; 
 
 The glamour of the city held for him 
 
 A rapture greater than the cotton field, , 
 
 And Paris yielded pleasure far more keen 
 
 Than Georgia's slave-tilled acres could bestow. 
 
 The humdrum of plantation life no joy 
 
 Distilled as London did; and sweeter far 
 
 For Gordon's ears a prima donna's song 
 
 Than some whipped slave's lament: and so he left 
 
 His vast estate to trusted men. The chief 
 
 Was Nathan Stone, a man as hard of heart { 
 
 As he was hard of name — and nature, too; 
 
 Who held that blacks were beings without souls, 
 
 To servile tasks and viler treatment born. 
 
 This Nathan Stone had purchased Adam Sage, 
 
 Made jeering sport of Adam's wife and babes, i 
 
 And hated Adam for his love of books, | ] 
 
 Of which he often spoke with bitter scorn. ' 
 
 Hate fosters hate, and Adam struggled hard 
 
lO The Fuorltlves 
 
 To curb his hatred of the overseer 
 
 Whose nature neither love nur mercy knew. 
 
 His bloodhounds were to him more precious far 
 
 Than human kind, and so he brouglit them forth 
 
 To feast their eager nostrils on the slave. 
 
 The well-trained dogs their master's wish obeyed, 
 
 And scented Adam o'er, whilst he, in fear, 
 
 Stood trembling and amazed, and softly spoke 
 
 To make the fanged brutes his friends. Then Stone 
 
 In anger swore, and said: " How dare you try 
 
 My faithful hounds to bribe? They know you now; 
 
 Their scent is keen and sure for Nigger blood. 
 
 And so beware, and do not run away." 
 
 Then, swearing at the beasts, more kind than he, 
 
 And feeling that his menace was complete, 
 
 He called his dogs, and, with a parting threat, 
 
 Bade Adam heed that fearful warning well. 
 
 The patient slave an added terror felt. 
 
 And freedom never seemed to him more dear 
 
 Than when the baying of the kenneled pack 
 
 Voiced perils he had never known before. 
 
 And filled his startled fellow slaves with fear. 
 
 He missed the dear old home in that dark hour — 
 
 The mild and gentle sway of other days, — 
 
 But most he missed his loving wife and babes; 
 
 And when the pitying stars of night looked down, 
 
 He looked beyond the stars for hope, and prayed 
 
 That some day he might meet his precious ones — 
 
The Fuofitlves ii 
 
 «3 
 
 His Dora, Nellie, and his little Ned, 
 
 Whose names he oft repeated o'er and o'er, 
 
 As if they heard his voice and heeded him; 
 
 But when he wondered where they were, his grief 
 
 Surged up anew, like the returning tide. 
 
 Submerging all his pleasant dreams in tears. 
 
 Night after night the blessed cross he kissed, 
 
 And thought of Calvary, and pra3-ed to him 
 
 Whose sacred feet had walked in sorrow's way, 
 
 And to his care commended his dear ones. 
 
 His Dora, Nellie, and his little Ned, 
 
 Whose names were as a litany to him. 
 
 The words of freedom's charter he had learned 
 
 And sometimes he would pray for liberty 
 
 And "the pursuit of happiness," those boons 
 
 The fathers of the great republic held 
 
 Forever sacred, as the rights of all. 
 
 And then he cried, "O God, make thou these words, 
 
 This great, immortal chart of freedom, true!" 
 
 The owner, Gordon Lee, was seldom seen 
 Upon the great plantation, where his slaves 
 Their simple lives wore out to swell his wealth 
 And make his leisure pleasant. When he came 
 And looked his acres and his chattels o'er. 
 His questionings were few. His overseer 
 With ready answers satisfied his mind 
 On all the needful things he cared to know — 
 
12 The Fugitives 
 
 The profit and the progress of his fields, 
 
 The latest market price of slaves, and how 
 
 The prospects for the coton crop appeared ; 
 
 But of the sorrows of the slaves themselves 
 
 No word e'er reached the ears of Gordon Lee. 
 
 Observing Adam at his tasks one day, 
 
 The owner questioned Nathan Stone and said, 
 
 " He labors like a man. more free than slave. 
 
 And looks it too "; but Nathan, laughing, 
 
 Made reply: " They're all alike, these Niggers, 
 
 But most of all the prayin', bookish sort 
 
 Of which that stalwart chap's a specimen. 
 
 Him, at an auction sale, dirt cheap I bought; 
 
 And he has mooned some, thinking ever since 
 
 About his mate, the wench he called his wife, 
 
 And two little brats he called their children. 
 
 Such sentiment! Well, you should hear them cry!" 
 
 And Nathan laughed again to think a " black " 
 
 Could love, or grieve, or fret as white men do. 
 
 With easy conscience Gordon walked away. 
 
 He had no relish for hard Nathan's jest, 
 
 But did not wish to thwart him. Adam saw 
 
 The master pass, and swiftly came the wish 
 
 To beg a few short days in which he might 
 
 Behold again his wife and little ones; 
 
 But the stern overseer, with frowning looks, 
 
 Dispelled the thought ere he could give it words; 
 
 And so, despairing, Adam turned away, 
 
The Fugitives 13 
 
 His shoulders gleaming in the sun with sweat, 
 And gave his energies anew to toil, 
 Grief's greatest antidote and reason's stay, 
 When sorrow swells the heart and saps the mind. 
 
 VI 
 
 The planter who had purchased Dora hoped 
 His kindness would her sorrow soon allay, 
 And that, in caring for his children, she 
 Would soon forget her own, and happy be. 
 But mother love is not so slight a thing ; 
 It is the root of life that clings till death 
 To the dear object of its tender care, 
 And not the flower that gladdens and departs 
 With the first breeze that shakes its ripened state. 
 Poor Dora's heart was breaking for her babes — 
 Her little Ned and Nellie, ever dear, 
 Two tiny slaves who grieved and pined for her, 
 Who yearned for her caresses and her love. 
 Like tender fledglings from the parent nest 
 Torn rudely and despoiled of help and hope 
 By strange, unpitying hands. And oft she thought 
 Of Adam and his fate, and wondered much 
 If his new master was unkind to him, 
 Or if he whipped him oft, as slaves had been. 
 Or did he meet with kindness such as hers. 
 Such haunting thoughts were with her day and night 
 
14 The Fugitives 
 
 And made her heart-hungry for her loved ones. 
 
 Deep in her dreams she heard her children's cry ; 
 
 Far away they seemed, and called her "Mother," 
 
 Name sacred unto angels and to men ; 
 
 And in her waking hours she longed to clasp 
 
 Her precious little lambs close to her breast. 
 
 Then would she close her eyes that she might think 
 
 Her master's prattling children were her own. 
 
 This fond deceit but kept her sorrow keen 
 
 And all the embers of her grief alive. 
 
 In vain did Dora languish for a year — 
 
 It seemed to her an age — until one day 
 
 A slave just newly bought, a woman too, 
 
 Brought woful tidings of her little ones, 
 
 And told her where they were and how they fared. 
 
 With eagerness the mother heard the tale. 
 
 And wept, and Avrung her hands when she was told 
 
 Her children oft were whipped because they called 
 
 For " mother " and begged that they might see her. 
 
 Then their master, so the slave's story ran, 
 
 Would tell them black children had no mothers ; 
 
 But this made Ned and Nellie cry the more 
 
 And call aloud, " O mother, mother, save us ! " 
 
 As if their little hearts would break. And then 
 
 Poor Dora, prostrate, sobbed convulsively, 
 
 Her cheek laid tenderly on mother Earth, 
 
 Her salt tears mingled with the cooling dew. 
 
 And piteously entreated God for help 
 
 And strength to see her children once again. 
 
The Fugitives 15 
 
 VII 
 
 Time circles swiftly on the wings of joy, 
 But lags when sorrow counts the hours. The year 
 A decade seemed to Adam Sage since fate 
 Had wrecked his little home and all his dreams 
 And sent his precious wife and babes adrift ; 
 Yet in his heart they dwelt and on his lips 
 A constant prayer for them found utterance — 
 For Ned and Dora and for little Nell. 
 And oft he wondered where they were, and how, 
 And whether he should ever see them more. 
 Strange whisperings of freedom reached his ears, 
 But did not pass his lips ; for though his thoughts 
 Were as the countless stars, his words were few, 
 Since cruel tones had taught him thrift of speech; 
 Yet some poor slave would often cheer his heart 
 With news of freedom's progress in the North, 
 Where heaven was near and slavery unknown. 
 Oft, as from some distant shore, he heard 
 New England's fearless voice in mighty tones 
 Calling to freedom's God for liberty! 
 And then he hoped that some day he'd be free 
 And know the blessed joys of life unstained 
 By slavery's foul thrall and bitter curse. 
 At set of sun one day, while brooding o'er 
 These thoughts which filled his eager heart with hope, 
 He heard his name and wondered much who called. 
 The solemn twilight filled the land with peace; 
 
1 6 The Fuo'itives 
 
 t>" 
 
 The ripening harvest, like a sea of snow, 
 
 In billowy whiteness spread before him. 
 
 It seemed some spirit voice that called his name; 
 
 And then he heard it louder than before. 
 
 In anxious, timid, plaintive tones, *'Adam!" 
 
 He felt 'twas Dora's spirit from the skies 
 
 With some celestial message, and he knelt 
 
 And listened eagerly; then saw a face. 
 
 'Twas Dora, precious Dora, all in tears, 
 
 Who, frightened, like a bird with broken wing. 
 
 Was hiding in the grass. Soon they were clasped 
 
 In fond embrace, and sobbed, but could not speak. 
 
 So great the tumult of their sudden joy. 
 
 To him it was as if an angel came 
 
 With welcome news of his deliverance; 
 
 And when their beating hearts permitted speech 
 
 He said: "And thou art truly Dora, wife! 
 
 How oft I thought such happiness might be, 
 
 And feared as often that we'd never meet!" 
 
 "And I, dear Adam," .she I'eplied, "have dreamt 
 
 By day and night of rapture such as this. 
 
 I know where our dear children are; I've seen 
 
 Our loved ones, and they cried aloud for you. 
 
 And begged that we might take them to our home 
 
 From their cruel master. O Adam dear, 
 
 Let us go hence, and save our little ones. 
 
 And fly to some wild shelter of the woods. 
 
 Where God will shield us from the wrath of men." 
 
The Fugitives 17 
 
 But Adam, fearing danger for her sake, 
 
 Said : " Should we seek our freedom, they'll follow 
 
 And destroy us. For myself I care not. 
 
 But for you, and for our precious children. 
 
 And I dread the fate that may befall you. ' ' 
 
 "We may not die; we may succeed," she said ; 
 
 '' But if death come I'll welcome it, for I 
 
 Have died a thousand deaths since you were sold." 
 
 "Then, welcome death ! " he answered, "if it come; 
 
 I hesitate no more." And on they passed. 
 
 With eager feet, toward freedom's far horizon. 
 
 Night soon enmantled them in friendly gloom, 
 And hand in hand they hurried swiftly on, 
 Their sense of danger lessened by their love, 
 Wliich gave them speed and strength to seek a haven, 
 E'en as the fresh'ning breeze fills out the sail 
 Of some ill-fated ship in sight of land, 
 With calm ahead, destruction close behind. 
 And as they ran or rested 'neath the stars. 
 And whispered of their children, Adam told 
 His wife what he had learned of liberty. 
 And of the friends the slaves had in the North, 
 Who sheltered fugitives, and gave them aid 
 Through what was called the " underground railway,' 
 Which helped the hunted black man to a goal 
 Of blessed safety in his day of dread, 
 b 
 
1 8 The Fugitives 
 
 These tilings filled Dora's heart with hope, and she 
 Prayed fervently that Heaven yet might lead 
 Her husband and her children and herself 
 In safety to fair freedom's happy soil. 
 After a journey of a night and day 
 Adam and Dora beheld their children 
 From a safe hiding place. Ned and Nellie, 
 Who had grown amazingly, Adam thought. 
 Were doing some errand for their master ; 
 And Dora, seeing no one near, ran out 
 To meet them in the path, calling their names. 
 The happy children with delight were filled 
 At sight of her, and, in excess of joy, 
 Forgot their haste, forgot all else but her. 
 As chickens rushing to their mother's wings 
 They nestled lovingly within her arms. 
 Who, led by love, had come to rescue them. 
 Braving all, e'en death itself, for their sake; 
 And when they saw their father their young hearts 
 Leaped with joy. It seemed that heaven was near 
 In that swift meeting at the verge of night, 
 When darkness, like an angel's wing, came down 
 To shelter and to speed them in their flight. 
 Few were the words and brief the embraces 
 Of that thrilling time, whose precious moments 
 Warned them to haste, since foes were all alert, 
 And freedom many weary leagues away. 
 Quick through a sheltered field they fled 
 
The Fugitives 19 
 
 To a shallow stream. This they crossed with ease, 
 
 Adam saying the dogs would lose their trail 
 
 In the water. The children wondered much 
 
 At the haste of their flight, but soon were told 
 
 Its meaning. At first they ran on swiftly ; 
 
 But with the hours they wearied of the way, 
 
 And long ere dawn poor Nellie's strength had failed. 
 
 Adam took her in his arms ; and Dora, 
 
 With Ned's hand clasped in hers, bravely kept i)ace 
 
 With her stalwart husband, speeding onward 
 
 Through nature's rough and unaccustomed way, 
 
 His face turned hopefully to where he saw 
 
 The north star, like some bright beacon shining 
 
 From heaven's window to guide his footsteps. 
 
 It gleamed like the fair star of Bethlehem, 
 
 Whose guidance led the wise men to the crib 
 
 In which the Jewel of Salvation lay 
 
 That night of nights when angels and shepherds 
 
 Made the green hills glad with heavenly song. 
 
 He spoke to Dora of the star, and she 
 
 Was glad ; but little Ned was overcome 
 
 By the exhausting journey through the swamp. 
 
 Into which they had wandered for safety. 
 
 And so they were compelled to rest awhile. 
 
 Adam his sleeping burden, his Nellie, 
 
 Softly laid in a bed of mangrove shrubs. 
 
 And wrapped his thin coat close about her form 
 
 To shield her from the dew and damp of night. 
 
20 The Fufritives 
 
 t>' 
 
 Poor Dora, worn and footsore, foil asleep, 
 
 With little Ned's head on her weary breast ; 
 
 Then Adam watched and listened. ICvery soinid 
 
 That stirred the brooding silence startled him. 
 
 A cricket's chirp, a wild bird's rustling wing, 
 
 A vagrant breath of air, the swaying shrubs, 
 
 And all the petty noises of the swamp, 
 
 Magnified by solitude, filled his heart 
 
 With ap[)rehensions dire for those he loved; 
 
 For in each trembling leaf he feared a foe, 
 
 And in every inarticulate voice 
 
 A menace spoke unto his frightened ear. 
 
 At last, when dawn's bright fringe illumed the east. 
 
 He knelt and prayed that God, by day and night, 
 
 His dear ones might defend ; and then the slave 
 
 Lay down upon the cool, sweet grass to rest 
 
 And cheat his brain with dreams of liberty. 
 
 Sleep conquers fear; and so the fugitives 
 
 In kind oblivion spent a few short hours, 
 
 Gathering strength for the dreadful journey 
 
 Through the mangrove swamj) in which Adam hoped 
 
 Their safety lay. Its tangled paths were hard; 
 
 But this would make pursuit more difficult 
 
 And baffle their pursuers for a time. 
 
 Till freedom's friendly door might ope for them. 
 
 So Adam thought, ere he lay down to rest, 
 
 And so he dreamed when sleep sealed up his eyes 
 
 And laid the burden of his cares upon 
 
The Fuoritives 21 
 
 fc> 
 
 A stony pillow in the wilderness. 
 
 But, like the falling star that in the night 
 
 Its splendor spills, leaving no trace at dawn 
 
 To indicate its course, the magic of our dreams 
 
 Which gilds the sky of sleep with fleeting joy, 
 
 Flees with the shadows in our waking hours: 
 
 So Adam's dream of shelter in the wilds 
 
 Was but a brief delusion of the brain. 
 
 He woke betimes to find his wife and babes 
 
 Still sleeping. The sun had banished darkness, 
 
 And blotted out the beauty of the stars 
 
 Which filled the sky a few short hours before; 
 
 And Adam, anxious to evade i)ursuit 
 
 Soon roused his precious charge to haste away. 
 
 IX 
 
 With limbs refreshed by sleep, the fugitives 
 Their northward course resumed. Their pace was slow, 
 Their progress difficult, where branch and thorn 
 Were thick, resenting every step they took. 
 And as the day wore on, their bleeding feet 
 Betrayed their course to the pursuing dogs. 
 Then hunger came, and Ned and Nellie cried 
 For food, of which they'd taken no account 
 When starting; but Adam found some berries 
 Which for a time allayed their yearnings, 
 But did not satisfy their pressing needs. 
 Adam and Dora, too, felt hunger's pangs 
 
2 2 The Fugitives 
 
 fc>' 
 
 Ere noon; but the children, weak and famished, 
 
 Wailed most piteously, and could not walk; 
 
 And, as the hours went by, their clamor smote 
 
 Their father's heart with pity, and he wept. 
 
 Dora tried hard to soothe the little ones; 
 
 But hunger is a pain kind words can't heal 
 
 Nor time alone allay. In that crisis 
 
 Adam another call to duty heard; 
 
 His wife's and children's needs must be supplied, 
 
 Though it should cost their freedom. Thus resolved, 
 
 He bade them hope and he would find them food. 
 
 Then, placing them within a sheltered nook 
 
 And telling Dora coax them into sleep, 
 
 He went away, saying, " I will be back 
 
 With something good to eat before sunset." 
 
 Poor Adam's task was harder than he knew; 
 
 He hoped to quit the swamp and find a friend 
 
 Who'd bring him food from some convenient house 
 
 Without delay, and thus supplied come back 
 
 And feed his hungering wife and children. 
 
 But ere this loving labor was half done 
 
 He suffered much. The dense and straggling growth 
 
 Of tree and shrub his clothing tore to shreds, 
 
 And scratched his flesh. Yet he had almost won 
 
 At close of day, and was in sight of those 
 
 Who wept and waited — oh, so long! — for him 
 
 And for the food he brought them in their need, 
 
 When through the swamp he heard a fearful cry. 
 
The Fugitives 23 
 
 It chilled his blood and made his heart stand still; 
 
 It was the dreaded baying of the dogs, 
 
 The swift pursuing bloodhounds on his track, 
 
 Who, speeding on the scent, were close at hand. 
 
 Their savage nature all aroused to find 
 
 The prey their keenness told them now was near. 
 
 In horror Dora and the children woke. 
 
 The fatal cry resounding in their ears. 
 
 The death-knell of their hopes of liberty I 
 
 In that dire moment hunger was forgot; 
 
 The precious food, procured at such a cost^ 
 
 Was worthless now to stay the doom of death 
 
 Impending o'er the trembling fugitives. 
 
 The baying hounds were near. Adam rushed on 
 
 To shield his dear ones from the savage dogs; 
 
 But ere he reached them the dun thunderbolt 
 
 Of the pack leaped from the tangled thicket, 
 
 With jaws apart, and held the slave at bay. 
 
 Adam beheld his foe and cried aloud 
 
 To Dora and the children to escape. 
 
 He said, "I'll meet the cruel dogs alone; 
 
 Run for your lives, and think no more of me! " 
 
 But Dora, helpless, and appalled by fear. 
 
 Could neither speak nor move nor comprehend. 
 
 Then little Ned to meet his father ran. 
 
 And, as he did, a bloodhound caught the child. 
 
 'Twas a Cuban beast they called the " Demon," 
 
 Half-trained and all unfit for such service, 
 
24 The Fugitives 
 
 And it sank its fangs into the child's flesh. 
 At this, Adam, enraged beyond control, 
 Rushed at the demon dog and broke its hold 
 Upon the child; whereat the fearful beast 
 Sprang at his throat, and then a deadly fight 
 Ensued between them. Adam's great muscles, 
 His only weapons, were as hard as steel. 
 And with a blow he staggered the fierce hound. 
 Then, tawny and terrible, the great beast 
 A panther's litheness with a lion's strength 
 Displayed, as with his blood-red mouth agape. 
 He leaped with gleaming fangs to rend his prey. 
 Stunned by the shock, brave Adam fell; 
 And swift upon him sprang the powerful dog. 
 Foaming with conscious energy to kill. 
 And eager to destroy his human foe. 
 But Adam's nature, kindling to the fray. 
 Drew strength from peril, and he shook aside 
 The mighty beast; then stood erect once more 
 And like a flash saw Dora and his babes 
 Crouching in fear before the lesser hounds; 
 'Twas but a glance, the "Demon" soon again 
 Returned, with eyes aflame and jaws apart. 
 And deep in Adam's flesh his teeth were set; 
 But Adam in a mighty viselike grip 
 The bloodhound caught and choked till it was dead. 
 The strength of Samson in his veins he felt 
 In that great struggle with the soulless beast, 
 
 
Thus Adam Sac:e by martyrdom was freed. 
 
The r\igitives 25 
 
 Whose lack of mercy was to him a type 
 
 Of slavery's self and its inhuman creed. 
 
 And, as he slew the hound, the rest, enraged 
 
 By that fierce struggle and the scent of blood, 
 
 Rushed full upon him, and he fought them down; 
 
 But Nathan Stone just then rode up in haste, 
 
 And when he saw the "Demon" dead 
 
 His anger blazed, and with an oath he urged 
 
 The eager dogs to rend the helpless slave. 
 
 At Nathan's words the beasts, with one wild cry 
 
 Of fierce delight that echoed through the swamp. 
 
 Their human (juarry sought and tore in greed. 
 
 As they some creature of the wilds might tear. 
 
 Till Adam's precious life went out, the while 
 
 His wife and l)abes, in agony of soul. 
 
 The awful scene beheld that made them dumb 
 
 Whilst listening to his last, his dying, prayer. 
 
 That those who showed no mercy unto him 
 
 Might still be merciful to those he loved. 
 
 Thus Adam Sage by martyrdom was freed 
 From slavery's foul sway, which now no more 
 Its baleful shadow casts upon the land 
 We love to call the sunny South, where blooms 
 The happy promise of a brighter day, 
 With God's fair fields as free as they are fair: 
 Where naught of slavery prevails save that 
 Which love's sweet thralldom sways with rosy chains. 
 
The Growing of the Christmas Tree 
 
 It grows in gladness, fair and green, 
 
 A symbol of eternal hope; 
 It whispers of the Great Unseen 
 
 On wilderness and cheerless slope. 
 The changing seasons come and go, 
 
 Yet always beautiful to see, 
 In summer's heat or winter's snow, 
 
 Appears the fadeless Christmas tree. 
 
 The sparkling dew of summer fills 
 
 Its verdant boughs with jewels rare, 
 And winter hangs his icicles 
 
 Like dazzling diamonds there; 
 The frost king decks it like a bride 
 
 With wreaths of magic filigree, 
 And fleecy snowdrifts often hide 
 
 The beauty of the Christmas tree. 
 
 The timid wild birds build their nests 
 Within its shelter, free from fear; 
 
 And in its shade tlie squirrel rests, 
 Nor dreams of danger drawing near; 
 
 a6 
 
The Growing of the Christmas Tree 27 
 
 In happy days of early spring, 
 
 When jocund Nature thrills with glee, 
 
 The robin and the bluebird sing 
 
 Their sweetest in the Christmas tree. 
 
 But half its charms do not apj)ear. 
 
 In summer's dew or winter's rime, 
 Until the season of the year 
 
 That brings the happy Christmas time. 
 Ah! then, indeed, it glows, it gleams 
 
 With gems that sparkle joyously 
 And realize the hapjjy dreams 
 
 Of childhood in the Christmas tree. 
 
 Long may it grow! Long may its sway 
 
 O'er childhood's dreams last everywhere, 
 Till all the world keeps Christmas day, 
 
 And every heart is free from care ! 
 May all its boughs with fadeless joys 
 
 Be filled through all the years to be. 
 For all the precious girls and boys 
 
 Who cluster round the Christmas tree! 
 
Life's |()iirney 
 
 Urad liy Uu' a\itlioi al llu- aiimi:il moinni i;il si'ssion of llielilks, in llie 
 Si-iuiiUiu AiMili'tiiv (>r Miisu-, Di-ii'iuhor ail, 1894. 
 
 FfDiu I'lilcn's fust gDod-iwonuiii; to tlio last t^ood-iiight 
 
 of liuic, 
 Across tlio siDiird ai^cs, tluDUgh many a creed and clime, 
 Through desert land and meadow, o'er snow-clad plain 
 
 and sea, 
 Life's journey leads the sons of men unto eternity. 
 The way is sometimes pleasant, but 'tis often filled with 
 
 l)ain ; 
 'Tis sometimes bright with splentlor, and sometimes 
 
 dark with rain; 
 But whether gloom or gladness fills the toiling pilgrim's 
 
 breast. 
 At the end the ji)urney leads to. there is rest, blessed 
 
 vest . 
 
 J^oubts gather in life's pathway, like black storm-clouds 
 
 in the sky. 
 And the stoutest-hearteil tremble when the tempest 
 
 passes by; 
 
 aS 
 
Life's Journey 29 
 
 There are sti-i'p and thorny places, and trials hard to 
 
 bear: 
 We sometimes marvel liowllu; weak eixlnic their \vci;^lit 
 
 of care, 
 Why the friends we prize the de.nesl ;ire first to faint 
 
 and fall — 
 The first to close life's jonniey in the sleep that comes 
 
 to all; 
 Yet lujpc's i)ri|^iit star is shining; in the distance far and 
 
 fair, 
 And onr eaj^er footsteps hasten when the friends we love 
 
 are there. 
 
 Tliere is Mended joy and sadness alon;:; life's thorny 
 ])ath: 
 
 There pleasnn; holds his revels, and j.^rief her st.'.isons 
 hath; 
 
 iVide holds his fleeting <;nnival, the hiihhie of a day; 
 
 But love alone is lasting, and will never pass away; 
 
 For love is Heaven's gift to man, to keep his ICden near, 
 
 His heaven on earth, his happiness, till time shall dis- 
 appear; 
 
 And by her aid he jomneys timard the land he «:annot 
 see. 
 
 From the beantifid lliat was to the beautiful to be. 
 
 The milestones of life's journey tell the end is far away; 
 Yet some reach it in a decade, and some re.u h it in a 
 day: 
 
3© Life's Journey 
 
 But be it days, or be it years, or whensoe'er it ends, 
 God's blessing will sustain us to whatever length it 
 
 tends; 
 Will fill the desert places with the flow'r we hold most 
 
 dear — 
 The thornless flow'r of friendship, balm of breaking 
 
 heart and tear. 
 Whose fragrance, like sweet incense, when the head is 
 
 bowed with grief. 
 Raises up the drooping spirit, gives the fainting soul 
 
 relief. 
 
 Along this trying journey there are pastures always fair, 
 
 And glimpses of God's garden in its beauty, too, are 
 there ; 
 
 There are blossoms mid the thorns, and the birds sing 
 overhead, 
 
 And pictures of enchantment, to delight our eyes, are 
 spread ; 
 
 Though the road leads through the desert, there are liv- 
 ing springs to cheer; 
 
 Though the selfish are about us, yet some cherished 
 friends are near; 
 
 And who shall say that Eden's joys to us have been de- 
 nied. 
 
 When the land is filled with beauty and our loved are 
 by our side? 
 
Life's Journey 31 
 
 The absent friends we mourn, and vainly look for 
 
 through our tears, 
 Are bound to us by sacred ties through all the passing 
 
 years; 
 We may not see their faces, but their mem'ry cannot 
 
 fade 
 Till life and love and friendship in a common grave 
 
 are laid. 
 And the pulsings and the strivings of mankind are at an 
 
 end, 
 And the present with the future in one symphony shall 
 
 blend, 
 And the choirs of heaven proclaim, in anthems most 
 
 sublime. 
 Eternity's good-morning and the last good-night of 
 
 time ! 
 
The Day of Peace 
 
 " Let us have peace." — U. S. Grant. 
 
 The nation lives; the slave is fiee; 
 
 The song birds of the South 
 Their nests are building fearlessly 
 
 Within the cannon's mouth. 
 On each mountain side and valley 
 
 Sweet flowers their fragrance shed, 
 And the peaceful millions rally 
 In honor of the dead. 
 They sing of the brave-hearted, the valiant men and true, 
 Who died to save their country in the darkest hour she 
 knew. 
 
 No longer frightened from afar 
 
 By messengers of woe 
 Who told the surging tide of war 
 
 Had laid our dearest low 
 On plains of death, on storm-swept heights, 
 
 On gory fields of fame, 
 Where waved through dreadful days and nights 
 Red battle's oriflamme, 
 We chant a dirge of sorrow and we sing a song of pride 
 For the loved and lost who left us and the glorious death 
 they died. 
 
 32 
 
The Day of Peace 33 
 
 The fields that frowned in other days, 
 
 When hatred's shadow filled 
 Their sunny slopes with battle's blaze, 
 
 Their hollows with the killed, 
 Now yield us incense for our dead 
 
 And fill our arms with bloom 
 To mingle with the tears we shed 
 
 Upon each loved one's tomb. 
 Then for every faithful soldier weave a garland of the best, 
 And lovingly bestow it with the flag upon his breast. 
 
 War's fearful guns have gone to rust, 
 
 But love lives on to keep 
 Forever beautiful the dust 
 
 Wherein our kindred sleep. 
 The plains plowed deep by strife are green; 
 
 The furrowed hate is healed 
 On every stormy battle scene. 
 On every hallowed field; 
 And — God be thanked! — the wrath is past, the cruel 
 
 conflict made 
 In the hearts of men when brothers against brothers were 
 arrayed. 
 
 Our country's flag in glory waves 
 
 On land and surging sea; 
 Beneath its starry folds no slaves 
 
 Are groaning to be free; 
 
34 The Day of Peace 
 
 For the gyves they wore are broken 
 
 And will ne'er be forged again, 
 And the words by Lincoln spoken, 
 Forever shall remain — 
 Forever and forever, and no man a man shall own. 
 Till white and black together stand before the great 
 white throne. 
 
A Cry in the Night 
 
 A trembling voice in depth of night, 
 
 When all is still, I sometimes hear; 
 Its plaintive cry puts sleep to flight. 
 
 And wakes me with its note of fear. 
 It is my little boy that calls — 
 
 My five-year-old with eyes of blue. 
 Who, through the dark and silent halls, 
 
 Says, " Papa, let me come to you ! " 
 
 I know his little heart is filled 
 
 With dread of something undefined — 
 
 Some fleeting vision that has thrilled 
 
 His soul and stormed his peace of mind. 
 
 And in that lonely hour, when all 
 Is darkness and he cannot see, 
 
 I give him courage as I call, 
 
 " Don't be afraid, but come to me! " 
 
 Then may we, too, in lack of light. 
 
 When darkness, fear, and doubt oppress, 
 
 Lift up our voices in the night. 
 For comfort in our loneliness. 
 
36 A Cry in the Night 
 
 To him alone whose holy name 
 
 Is help for all on land and sea, 
 And in our direst need exclaim, 
 "O Father, let us go to thee! " 
 
 i 
 
A Friend of Mine 
 
 I could not think him dead until 1 saw 
 
 His calm face in the coffin lying, 
 And noticed that his eyes were dry the while 
 
 His dearest friends around were crying; 
 But when I thus beheld him so unmoved, 
 
 Amid the grief I knew would pain him, 
 I said unto my doubting soul, " 'Tis true; 
 
 And death, oh, cruel death ! has slain him! " 
 
 The seal of silence on his lips was set — 
 
 Those lips that often s[)<)ke fur others, 
 The winged words that baffled wrong and made 
 
 Men deal more justly with their brothers; 
 Oh, silence that was loss beyond repair, 
 
 As when some jewel prized by nations 
 Is swallowed in the ocean's deepest depths 
 
 And forfeited for generations! 
 
 Closed were those eyes, through whic;h in other da}'s 
 He saw his country crushed, and gave her 
 
 The flower of his young manhood to destroy 
 The galling chain of the enslaver; 
 
 37 
 
38 A Friend of Mine 
 
 Alas! the chain he sought to break he wore 
 Himself, but that could not degrade him, 
 
 For through each wild vicissitude he loved 
 His country and the God that made him. 
 
 O e)'es in which tlie soul of candor dwelt, 
 
 Where kindness spoke the thought unspoken, 
 No wonder for your closing tears are shed 
 
 And many loving hearts are broken. 
 The old-time welcome from those eyes has fled; 
 
 They mirror not the joy of meeting, 
 Which at a friend's ai)proach ilhuned their depths 
 
 And emphasi/A'd the friendly greeting. 
 
 Hushed is the voice the people loved to hear, 
 
 In which there lurked no note of malice ; 
 That never wronged a fellow man because 
 
 He dwelt in hovel or in j)alace. 
 Oh! evermore obedient to his heart, 
 
 And to the faith in it abiding, 
 That voice rang true and clear for noble things, 
 
 And well the i)ei>ple trusted to its guiding. 
 
 With love and sorrow were his days entwined, 
 Because his boyhood's fond devotion, 
 
 In life's bright morning, for his native land, 
 Was deeper than the restless ocean ; 
 
A Friend of Mine 39 
 
 But in the noonday of his nuDihood came 
 
 The triumph of his brave endeavor 
 O'er dungeons, chains, and banishment 
 
 And tyranny's fell sway forever. 
 
 And in the noonday of his manhood, too, 
 
 His fruitful life, alas! was ended; 
 The work he did was noble, and the work 
 
 He planned gave hope of harvest splendid. 
 Words can hut show tlieir weakness to [)ortray 
 
 His worth ; and so, amid our weeping, 
 With stricken hearts, we lovingly commend 
 
 His soul to God's eternal keeping! 
 
The Misanthrope 
 
 " I'liere is n cluss ol poisons who walk ilowii tlx- iloilixily of li(o, liko ii 
 viiU'K;vi i-nu't — ooKl on llir oiilsiiU-, som on iho insiilo. — ami n\akin>; 
 every one tlu'v nuot Tnisi'vablo." John U. (.ioih.h. 
 
 Why watulci ck)\vn life's s\mnv slope 
 A sad ;iiul aimless misanthrope, 
 Whilst flowers, from the cheerless sod, 
 Lilt their sweet laces up to God, 
 Aiul leathered songsters round thee sinj;-, 
 Aiul make the forest echoes rini;? 
 When gladness thrills each hud and leaf. 
 Why make lh\ heart the home of grief? 
 
 Why clothe thy spirit in desjxiir? 
 Why cloud tliy very soul with care? 
 Why make thy life one cheerless night, 
 And rob thyself of love and light? 
 The silent stars above thee shine. 
 And nature wears a look benign; 
 Then why shouldst tlu)u in sorrow go 
 Through life, a monument oi' woe? 
 
The Misanthrope 41 
 
 Why, e'en the tiny mountain rill 
 Laughs as it leaps adown the hill; 
 And in the gently flowing brooks 
 That glide along through sunny nooks, 
 The ripples laugh the livelong day 
 In simple sport, like elves at play; 
 And everything is rife with hope 
 Save thee, thou moping misanthrope. 
 
 The thunder laughs within the cloud. 
 And scorns to wear its somber shroud; 
 The lightning with its splendor fills 
 The shadowy vales and snow-capped hills; 
 And on the surging billow's crest 
 Laughs the white foam, by storms caressed; 
 Whilst, singing in each straining sail, 
 Is heard the urgent ocean gale. 
 
 Then lay aside thy look of woe. 
 And trust in him whose blessings flow 
 To gladden every aching heart 
 And to the weary strength impart; 
 Stretch out thy hand to help the weak. 
 And to thy faltering comrades speak; 
 Trust thou in God, have faith and hope, 
 And be no more a misanthrope. 
 
The Miner 
 
 Wlu'ir n.iUirc's cnicihlc, lonp; years ago, 
 
 Wr()ii|;Iil llic hhick niinulc called antlirac'iU', 
 
 lienealh carlh's cnisl a thoiisaiul reel or so, 
 The miner delves in everlasUng night, 
 A dim and dickering (lame his only light: 
 
 Antl though, in main a gnise, grim ileath is near, 
 Unseen and terrible, alert to smite. 
 
 The patient worker gives no heed to fear; 
 
 His heart is ihrilK-d with tlunights o( wife and children 
 dear. 
 
 The scars of toil are on his manlv lace, 
 
 And show the marks ol powiler and of coal 
 That robbeil his visage of its youthful grace, 
 
 But cannot leave their imprc"ss on llu' soul. 
 
 He may not write his name on hist'ry's scroll; 
 Yet he is none the less a perfect man, 
 
 Who acts his part in life from start to goal. 
 Who does the wi)rk he fmds as best he can. 
 And leaves behind a record earth and heaven may scan. 
 
 4a 
 
The Miner 43 
 
 His modest shanty on the; hlcrik hillside 
 
 Is rugged virtue's home. Wilhiii its w.ills 
 Domestic peace and lia|i])iii(ss ahidc, 
 
 And discord's haleful shadow never falls. 
 
 'I'he cares tlial olleii kill in |)alare halls, 
 The gilded miseries thai smile and slay, 
 
 The greed for gold and grandeur vvhic li cnlhralls 
 So many hearls, o'er his exert no sway. 
 I le envies none; his home is like a summer's day. 
 
 Vfi, th<)uj_',h his sim])l(; home is free ftoni sliifc, 
 
 And at his hearth tran(|uillity is guest, 
 Tiic perils that beset the miner's life; 
 
 Might fdl with dark dismay the stoutest breast. 
 
 As the long lists of fatal accidents atLe:st. 
 The dismal workshop where, amid the gloom, 
 
 Ife toils at stern necessity's behest, 
 Within a twinkling may become his tomb; 
 And every sturdy blow lit: strikes may sotmd hi:, doom. 
 
 A spark some ambushed terror may awake, 
 And set tlie (ire (lamjt's fearlul breath ablaze 
 
 With wrath that makes the busy valley shake. 
 And mocks the thunder of midsummer days 
 
44 The Miner 
 
 Which round the mountain's cloud-capped summit 
 plays. 
 It snaps the stalwart pillars, and in piles 
 
 The slain are heaped among the winding ways; 
 Along the blighted corridors, for miles, 
 The fiery tempest sweeps the subterranean aisles. 
 
 Then, through the mining hamlet, white-faced fear, 
 Like some fierce simoon of the desert, flies, 
 
 Speeding the grief that cannot shed a tear. 
 Piercing the air with stricken women's cries 
 For those on whom they'll never feast their eyes. 
 
 And, while the sorrow-laden voices swell 
 Upon the breeze, and lamentations rise, 
 
 The panic-stricken people rush jiell-mell 
 
 To that dread pit whose mouth is like the mouth of hell. 
 
 Who, in that dreadful moment, will essay 
 
 To risk his life and all that life endears 
 For those who feel the palsy of dismay? 
 
 Aye! there are scores of hardy volunteers. 
 
 Who bravely fling aside all human fears. 
 And down the yawning gulf, whence hope has fled — 
 
 Where naught but certain, stern-faced death appears 
 In all his hideous livery of dread — 
 They go to save the living or to join the dead. 
 
The Miner 45 
 
 Heroes who risk their lives in glory's blaze 
 Become immortal mid the world's applause; 
 
 And grateful nations sing the ceaseless praise 
 Of those who die to serve a noble cause, 
 And slied their blood to blot a tyrant's laws: 
 
 But the brave miner, heedless of renown, 
 Scorning a fate would give the bravest pause, 
 
 Descends the deadly i)it where dangers frown, 
 
 And for his fellow man his precious life lays down. 
 
 O cruel mines, that maim and crush and kill! 
 
 The dazzling wealth ye yield cannot atone 
 For all the pain ye give, the souls ye fill 
 
 With grief, the orphan's and the widow's moan, 
 
 The loving mother's deep despairing groan. 
 And all the untold misery ye make. 
 
 But God is ever mindful of his own, 
 And heeds each loving heart the coal-mines break, 
 And all the precious lives their grim disasters take. 
 
The Classes and the Masses 
 
 When foreign hosts defiled our coasts 
 
 And threatened to enslave us, 
 Then patriot hands grasped flashing brands 
 
 Right willingl)' to save us; 
 When Britain's flag and British brag 
 
 Our nation sought to sever, 
 Our fathers broke the tyrant's yoke 
 And made us free forever. 
 There was no cry of classes, 
 Of classes or of masses; 
 But hand in hand for native land 
 Stood Yankee lads and lasses. 
 
 When treason rose, and angry foes, 
 
 Within our country's border, 
 The Union's life assailed with strife, 
 
 With bloodshed and disorder, 
 And when, appalled, brave Lincoln called 
 
 For help to save the nation, 
 There was no class; men flocked en masse 
 
 To stop the devastation. 
 46 
 
The Classes and the Masses 47 
 
 There was no cry of classes, 
 
 Of classes or of masses; 
 
 But hand in hand for this dear land 
 
 Stood patriot lads and lasses. 
 
 And though we hear the thoughtless sneer, 
 
 And say we are divided. 
 The flag we love still floats above, 
 
 And cannot be derided; 
 Should any foe e'er strike a blow, 
 
 Or dare to come between us. 
 He'll quickly feel that Yankee steel 
 Still owns its old-time keenness. 
 There' d be no cry of classes. 
 Of classes or of masses; 
 But hand in hand for this dear land 
 Would stand our lads and lasses. 
 
A Christmas Chant 
 
 All things upon the blessed earth, 
 
 Beneath the heav'n that bends o'erhead- 
 Each tree that in the soil hath birth, 
 
 Each river in its restless bed, 
 And all the waves that wash the deep 
 
 And sing across the heaving sea, 
 And all the frowning cliffs that keep 
 
 The leaping surge where it should be. 
 And every cataract that goes 
 
 In whitened gladness to the bay, 
 And every peak that lifts its snows 
 
 In dazzling splendor to the day — 
 Proclaim the joy that is to be 
 
 For us through all eternity. 
 
 The joy of night, the joy of day, 
 The joy of near and far away. 
 The joy of shepherds on the hills, 
 The joy of toilers in the mills, 
 The joy of czar, of serf, and slave, 
 The joy that flowers above the grave, 
 
A Christmas Chant 49 
 
 The joy of sun and star and sod, 
 The everlasting joy of God, 
 The joy by men and angels voiced — 
 The birth of the immortal Christ, 
 Who came to men on Christmas day 
 To save them from sin's evil sway! 
 
The Flag at Gettysburg 
 
 The legions of T.ee, all exultant of manner, 
 At Gettysburg planted their sinister banner, 
 " Here ])erish the Union in one grand endeavor; 
 Here triumph secession for good and for ever ! " 
 They said, as the scene, like a fan, spread before them: 
 They saw not the cloud of dismay hanging o'er them; 
 They felt that no power in the land could defeat them; 
 They knew not the sinews of steel that would meet them. 
 
 They were hopeful of heart and defiant of bearing, 
 With the dash of the chivalrous South in their daring; 
 Their manhood was grand, and their courage was 
 
 splendid, 
 But reckless the cause that their valor defended; 
 And they came like a surge from the depth of the ocean, 
 Impelled by the strength of a fatal devotion. 
 To rivet the chains of the slave and to sever 
 The bonds of the Union asunder forever. 
 
 But patriot hearts were on hand to receive them 
 
 With the warmth of a welcome that could not deceive 
 
 them; 
 And Old Glory waved high o'er the holy endeavor. 
 To '* cherish the Union for good and forever." 
 
 5° 
 
The Flag at Gettysburg 51 
 
 Then the outburst of war, hke Vesuvius roaring, 
 When its torrent of lava on F'onipeii was pouring, 
 Filled the field with its dead, and the day with its sorrow, 
 Till the sun from the night seemed its darkness to borrow. 
 
 The legions of Lee, with a fierceness appalling, 
 Rushed on mid thefarnagc,wlierc thousands were falling. 
 Then stood brave Ben Cri|)pcn,"-I= his colors above him, — 
 Ah! long may his comrades and countrymen love him j — 
 And he held up his flag and defiantly waved it, 
 Then fell like a hero; he knew he had saved it, 
 For his brothers in blue held their own midst the thunder 
 Whilst torrents of lead tore battalions asunder. 
 
 Then Gettysburg's field was a prize worth the winning! 
 And the desperate foe made a stormy beginning; 
 But ahead was the spirit that never surrenders; 
 Ahead was the flag and its gallant defenders; 
 Ahead was the spirit of Crippen defying 
 The foes of his country, their cannon replying! — 
 The spirit of Winkclried famous in story, — 
 The spirit immortal of courage and glory! 
 
 O Gettysburg! fearful and fierce was the slaughter 
 
 When the blood of the brave on thy slopes flowed like 
 water; 
 
 ♦ThcKallant color-bearer oflhoOtK'HiiiKlrefl ntirl Kortv-Uiird Pennsyl- 
 vania Voliinlc'crs, Hen Crippen, fc-II while waving his colors clL-fianlly in 
 the face of the foe, during Uic first day's fiKlit at Gettysburg, 
 
52 Tlu' ]'h\[^ at ri(Utysl)urn;- 
 
 WIkmi horses aiul nu'ii Icll where fate wildly fhin}; them, 
 War's dreadful inaehiiUTy broken amonj; (hem; 
 Whilst death, like an avalanche, swiltly descended 
 And scattered his wralh midst the hosts thai ( ontiMuh'd; 
 And the whistling of bullets, ea(-h other delying, 
 'J'heir hist iatal messages l)orc to tlic dying! 
 
 * * * 5K 
 
 Ihil the war guns are hushed, and those dread days arc 
 
 over, 
 And the wild bees aic hinnming in Celtysburg's clover; 
 Where the bravi'st are slee|)ing, the song birds are mak- 
 ing 
 Their nesls; anil soft bree/.es sweet blossitmsare shaking 
 O'er the graves ol the dead, who. regardless of station, 
 Responded when Lincoln appealed to the nalii)n; 
 And i'oi' us every grave, whether splendid or lowly, 
 Js the shrine ol a jiatiiol, precious and holy! 
 
Thanksgiving Chimes 
 
 TFcTc in Ihis (iiir ;uul liivoicd Lind, 
 Wlicii- lift- is well worth liviii;;, 
 
 I'or lu.iiiy frills Iroiii (lod's ri^lil li.iiid, 
 We've- reason lor lli;inksf;ivinj^. 
 
 Within our shores no (yninl's wr;illi 
 Can make a free man Taller, 
 
 Or cast a shadow o'er his path, 
 1 1 is fireside, or his allar. 
 
 No greedy l.indlord's power we leel 
 
 In liJMrrty's dominion, 
 No narrow bigot's hia/ing zeal 
 
 Inlimid.'ile;; opinion. 
 
 'I'he harvest of" our rriiillul fields 
 (iroans not for stranger eolfers, 
 
 I'nt onrs is all that nalnrt; yields, 
 And ours is all she oders. 
 
 'I'hen (lod l)(,' ihaidced a thoii:„irid times 
 I'or all his gifis and graces! 
 
 This day let onr thanksgiving chimes 
 Ring out for all the races 
 
 53 
 
54 Thanksgiving Chimes 
 
 Who here find refuge from the yoke 
 Of foreign domination, 
 
 And bless tlie liardy hearts of oak 
 That made this kind a nation ! 
 
A Girl from Ireland. 
 
A Girl from Ireland 
 
 Sad and bitter was the sorrow 
 
 Lovely Eileen left at home, 
 And keen the grief she brought with her 
 
 Across the swelling foam; 
 But times were hard in Portadown 
 
 And she, an only child, 
 To help her aged parents braved 
 
 The ocean vast and wild. 
 
 There was wailing in the village 
 
 When she kissed her friends good-bye. 
 And every heart was sorrowful, 
 
 And wet was every eye; 
 The stormy sea that swept the strand 
 
 Subdued its angry frown. 
 And sobbed in sympathy with those 
 
 She left in Portadown. 
 
 ** God's blessing on you, gramachree/^' 
 Her father feebly said, 
 As he laid his trembling hands in love 
 Upon her sunny head; 
 
 55 
 
56 A Girl from Ireland 
 
 "The land that you are going to 
 Is very far away; 
 .But God is there, as lie is here, 
 And God is good alway." 
 
 "My Eileen e//iasy" her mother spoke, 
 
 "And are you going from me? 
 I thought I'd never see the day 
 
 When parted we should be; 
 Sure, you have always been the joy, 
 
 The lifeblood of my heart, 
 And Death himself could do no more — 
 
 No worse — than make us i)art." 
 
 And there was one who could not speak. 
 
 Who could not shed a tear. 
 He'd loved fair Eileen tenderly 
 
 And truly for a year; 
 And well he knew that nevermore 
 
 He'd see her face again, 
 When the sea should come between them; 
 
 And it fdled his heart with pain. 
 
 "And have you not a word at all — 
 No word or parting smile? 
 'Tis not forever that we part, 
 But just a little while; 
 
A Girl Iroin lrt;laiul 57 
 
 I am coiniiij; back, to Ireland — " 
 
 Hut inorc slir could not say, 
 And to end the pan^^s of i)arting 
 
 Sweet I'lileen rushed away. 
 
 Well, the ship came o'er the surges 
 
 Ul the paljiitating deep, 
 And in its steerage ICilecn's eyes 
 
 l'"ull many a tear did weep. 
 No wonder that the sea is salt 
 
 And restless in its bed, 
 From the salty tears the emigrants 
 
 In sighing sorrow shed. 
 
 A mighty city met the gaze 
 
 or Eileen when slu; step|)ed 
 On freedom's soil, but I'ortadown 
 
 Within her heart she ke[)t; 
 In iond affection's treasury 
 
 ' Twas cherished evermtjre, 
 Whatever might befall her 
 
 On the new and Iriendly shore. 
 
 Soon she found a home and welcome, 
 Where her modest, winning ways 
 
 Won the honest love of strangers. 
 Who gladly gave her praise; 
 
58 A (ilrl from Ireland 
 
 Aiul ;ill her t;isks slic chotTriilly 
 IVi lonncd wilhoiil a iVown, 
 
 For she Irlt thai she was working 
 For tlif lioiiK- in i'oitatk)wn. 
 
 And of hor scanty earnings 
 
 The hirgest part she sent 
 Across the sea to those slie K>veii 
 
 To lielp to pay the rent; 
 And Eileen's greatest happiness 
 
 Was whiMi her parents saitl, 
 In their Ullers, 'twas her kindness 
 
 Kept the lool al)ove their head. 
 
 Thus for twenty years slie hibored, 
 
 And tor twenty years her pay 
 Went back to Portadown until 
 
 llcr liair was tinning gray; 
 Till one day a niourniul message 
 
 Came across tlie deep, and said 
 That her lather, wliom she loved so well, 
 
 And who loved her, was dead. 
 
 Then Eileen, broken-liearted, rose 
 
 And iiut her tasks aside, 
 And hasleiuil back to Portadovvn 
 
 Across tl\e restless tide: 
 
A Girl from Ireland 59 
 
 Oh ! the voyage seemed an age to her, 
 
 But in good time 'twas o'er, 
 And she sought her native village 
 
 With eagerness once more. 
 
 'Twas sorrow's self that welcomed her ^ 
 
 Across the heaving wave; 
 For the mother she had come to see 
 
 Was sleeping in her grave, 
 And the friends who knew and loved her 
 
 Some twenty years before 
 Were dead, or scattered far away 
 
 From Erin's wave-washed shore. 
 
 A few there were remembered her 
 
 And pitied her despair, 
 And wondered at time's changes 
 
 In her face and sunny hair. 
 The Eileen of the long ago. 
 
 Ah! where, indeed, was she — 
 The Eileen of the joycnis heart 
 
 Who sailed across the sea? 
 
 Amid her questions one she asked 
 
 Of h'^n who could not weep 
 The (.ay she first left I'ortadowu 
 
 To venture o'er the deep: 
 
6o A Girl from Ireland 
 
 They told her he enlisted 
 The day she went away, 
 
 And perished in South Africa 
 In some paltry British fray. 
 
 Then to the churchyard Eileen went, 
 
 And where her parents slept 
 She knelt in loneliness of heart 
 
 And kissed their graves and wept; 
 Her life was sore and sorrowful 
 
 And earnest was her prayer 
 That God might pity her and keep 
 
 Her soul from dark despair. 
 
 And at the closing of the day 
 
 She left the mournful scene, 
 With all its painful memories, 
 
 Its anguish deep and keen : 
 She left for dear America; 
 
 But this time there was none 
 To sorrow at her leaving, 
 
 And poor Eileen wept alone ! 
 
The Midnight Storm 
 
 A distant note disturbs the peaceful night, 
 And sends its solemn warning from afar; 
 
 The moon fills al! the vast with glowing light; 
 The azure dome has not a cloud to mar 
 Its depths or dim a single gleaming star. 
 
 A second note the silence deep assails. 
 O dreamer, open wide thy heavy eyes: 
 
 Behold! the moon her dazzling beauty veils; 
 The tranquil asjjcct of the heavens flies, 
 And arrowy shapes are flitting through the skies. 
 
 Nearer the mighty, swelling conflict comes: 
 Affrighted peace with eager haste has fled 
 
 Before the clamor of Jove's dreadful drums. 
 
 Whose vehemence would seem to wake the dead, 
 Whilst moves the wheeling tempest overhead. 
 
 O God of pity and of boundless love. 
 Teach us to pray in such an awful hour, 
 
 To lift our hearts to thee, to thee above, 
 
 When all the trembling planets feel thy power, 
 And clashing clouds in swift destruction lower. 
 6i 
 
62 The Midnicrht Storm 
 
 fc. 
 
 O let thy gentle mercy be our stay 
 
 When night is rent by lightning's fearful lance; 
 
 Be thou our shield when deadly storms hold sway, 
 Our potent help at terror's wild advance, 
 When blinding darkness dims the wide expanse. 
 
 When, rushing in the leni[iest's path amain, 
 
 Out from llie (laming vault the bolt leaps down, 
 
 Dear Lord, do thou its fatal wrath restrain! 
 
 Be thou our help and hope when dangers frown, 
 And desolation threatens all the town ! 
 
A Hero of the Mine 
 
 The episode on which the followiDj? story is founded was related to the 
 writer several years a^o by a veteran miner who was at work in the mine 
 when a slate picker descended the shaft, at the peril of his life, to warn 
 the men of their danger. 
 
 I 
 
 His fingers were sore and his face was black, 
 
 And he worked in the screen room all day lonj^, 
 Bent low in the dust, with an aching back. 
 
 Where the current of coal ran swift and strong; 
 And the dusky stream rushed noisily past, 
 
 Like a roaring flood in the dejith of night, 
 Whilst the sharp-edged fragments fell thick and fast 
 
 ]'"rom the breaker that broke the anthracite. 
 
 II 
 And Ben the slate ])icker, busy and mute, 
 
 Sat sorting the slate from the broken coal. 
 As it swiftly rtished down the sounding chute 
 
 In ceaseless monotony to its goal; 
 I'or our fires must glow on a winter's night. 
 
 When the tempest howls and the snow is deep, 
 And boys must pick slate from the anthracite 
 
 Though their fingers bleed and their bright eyes weep! 
 
 63 
 
64 A Hero of the Mine 
 
 III 
 
 Little Ben's was a sunless, cheerless life, 
 
 Since his father died in the Civil War, 
 In the stormy days of the nation's strife 
 
 That our flag might not lose a single star; 
 And the bullet that slew the soldier brave, 
 
 When the fury of slaughter sealed his fate 
 At the Wilderness, made his child a slave 
 
 In the dusky screen room of Number Eight. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ben bore his burdens without a moan, 
 
 And steadily worked in the breaker grim. 
 When his fingers were cut, he choked a groan 
 
 As he thought of those who were dear to him- 
 Of his mother, so gentle, good, and mild, 
 
 Who had been such a patient sufferer — 
 And a hero's heart filled the breast of the child 
 
 As he labored so cheerfully for her. 
 
 So, day after day to the shaft he went 
 
 With his dinner pail, like the other boys, 
 But no idle moments by him were spent. 
 
 Like the others, in frolic, fun, and noise; 
 He looked upon life as an earnest task, 
 
 This orphan lad with the heart of a man, 
 Whose laughter was stifled by toil's black mask, 
 
 Ere thej pleasures of boyhood's days began. 
 
A Hero of the Mine 65 
 
 VI 
 
 Of the breaker he knew each cog and wheel ; 
 
 It seemed to him a living, pulsing thing, 
 With its mighty arms and teeth of steel, 
 
 And its voice that was always thundering — 
 A wonderful monster without a soul, 
 
 A throbbing, heartless, and j)itiless power, 
 That shattered the big black boulders of coal, 
 
 And scattered the dust in a dusky shower. 
 
 And a braver boy never picked the slate 
 
 In a gloomy screen room than little Ben; 
 In the hour of peril he feared no fate, 
 
 When terror dismayed the hearts of men. 
 And wherever he be this Christmas day 
 
 May God in his bounty be good to him, 
 From his fireside keep all sorrow away, 
 
 And fill his cup full of joy to the brim ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 And why do I pray for Bennic, you ask? 
 
 For the best of reasons that man can give; 
 He saved my life — ah! 'twas no easy task — 
 
 And because that he risked his own I live. 
 The breaker was built right over the shaft, 
 
 And one day the flames broke out and shot 
 From foundation to flagstaff, fore and aft, 
 
 Till the very stars in the sky grew hot! 
 
66 A Hero of the Mine 
 
 IX 
 
 Ah ! that was a day of despair and dread, 
 
 Wlien the first fierce flash through the breaker strove, 
 And the leaping flame through the screen room sped 
 
 Like a shaft of light from the hand of Jove. 
 Then out through the doorway rushed men and boys, 
 
 In a struggle for life, through fire and smoke, 
 And down the dark stairs with a fearful noise. 
 
 Crushing and cursing and praying, they broke! 
 
 The brave engineer, a hero of grit. 
 
 Remained at his perilous task and said: 
 " Unless some volunteer goes down the pit. 
 
 The men in the mine will be surely dead! 
 I will do my part and stand at my post. 
 
 However high or hot the flames may grow; 
 Though the engine gets red and my arms should roast. 
 
 Now, who'll risk his life for the men below? " 
 
 XI 
 
 As he spoke, down the shaft the big sparks fell 
 
 From the burning breaker, like falling stars, 
 Into that awful abyss of a hell, 
 
 Whose terrors were worse than a thousand wars. 
 Then each heart was faint, till a little boy 
 
 Shouted, "I'll go down, and I'll save the men!" 
 And despair was suddenly turned to joy 
 
 By the hope-giving words of little Ben. 
 
A Hero of the Mine 67 
 
 XII 
 
 And the prayers of mothers, sweethearts, and wives 
 
 For that brave-hearted lad arose on high, 
 As he sped down the shaft to save the lives 
 
 Of the men, like an angel from the sky. 
 The burning breaker, a pillar of fire, 
 
 Glowed brightly and reddened the straggling clouds, 
 Till the crimson heavens with aspect dire 
 
 Seemed draped in a million blood-red shrouds. 
 
 XIII 
 
 And down, like a flash, to the awful pit, 
 
 In the flaming car, rode brave little Ben 
 Alone, but he wasn't frightened a bit. 
 
 For he was determined to save the men; 
 And higher the merciless flames did rise. 
 
 And the glittering sparks in a torrent fell. 
 Till the blazing pile seemed to touch the skies. 
 
 Like a torch thrust out of the mouth of hell. 
 
 XIV 
 
 There was terror down in the deep, dark mine 
 
 When the stifling gases in volume grew; 
 And the oldest workman couldn't assign 
 
 The cause of the trouble, for nobody knew. 
 We felt as if death were creeping near. 
 
 And we thought of our children and our wives, 
 When a voice in the dark rang loud and clear: 
 
 "The breaker's afire, men ! Run for your lives! " 
 
68 A Hero of the Mine 
 
 XV 
 
 The voice came nearer, repeating the cry, 
 
 And fining each heart with a nameless dread. 
 Till the panting boy at our feet did lie. 
 
 Where he fell exhausted; we thought him dead. 
 Then we knew our danger; our end seemed near; 
 
 And we hastened on through the stifling air 
 To the foot of the shaft, where hope and fear 
 
 Were speedily changed into wild despair. 
 
 XVI 
 
 There was no way out as we used to go; 
 
 From bottom to top, like a fiery well, 
 The seething, luminous shaft was aglow. 
 
 Whilst the hot, blazing timbers swiftly fell. 
 We looked in despair at the flaming way. 
 
 And spoke not a word, till a ray of hope 
 Broke through the dark night of our deep dismay, 
 
 As a voice shouted, " Men, the slope! the slope! " 
 
 XVII 
 
 Then we rushed to the slope; 'twas hard to reach. 
 
 Through rickety workings and M\eu roof, 
 And perilous pathways, that puzzled each, 
 
 On through tangled disaster's web and woof! 
 But we scrambled out to the light once more, 
 
 Where hundreds of glad-hearted women and men 
 Saluted us all with a mighty roar. 
 
 And thousands of blessings for brave little Ben. 
 
Milicent May's Valentine 
 
 Up in the east rose the god of day — 
 
 Up from the somber couch of night — 
 Filling the chamber of Milicent May 
 
 With a glorious flood of golden light. 
 Forth from her bed came the maiden fair, 
 
 An anxious light in her eyes, I trow, 
 Tossing a cascade of jet-black hair 
 
 O'er dimpled shoulders white as snow. 
 
 Shoulders as white as the spotless dove, 
 
 Ringlets as black as the Irish sloe, 
 Eyes aflame with the light of love, 
 
 Cheeks like the heart of the rose aglow, 
 A soul that had never known deceit, 
 
 A voice that was never trained to betray. 
 Lips that never were taught to greet 
 
 Those who were loved not by Milicent May. 
 
 There was not in all the Wyoming vale 
 A lassie more loving than Milicent May 
 
 As she sighed and wished for the morning mail 
 That frosty and fickle Saint Valentine's day. 
 69 
 
70 Milicent May's Valentine 
 
 Her lover had gone to the war out west, 
 To fight in the terrible Modoc war; 
 
 And last night poor Milicent could not rest, 
 Dreaming of him who had gone afar. 
 
 First she dreamed he forsook his flag 
 
 For a bow and arrow and hunting knife, 
 And, ranging himself 'neath an Indian rag, 
 
 Took a lovely squaw for his wedded wife. 
 Forswearing the vows he had sworn to keep, 
 
 Full many a time ere he went away; 
 And sadly she sighed in her troubled sleep. 
 
 Alas, for the sorrow of Milicent May ! 
 
 Again she dreamed that an Indian dart. 
 
 Tipped with poison and sharp as a lance. 
 Pierced her brave warrior through the heart, 
 
 Whilst the Modocs joined in a wild war dance, 
 Scalping the paleface so young and brave. 
 
 And leaving him dead on the battle plain, 
 With no one to give him a shroud or a grave 
 
 Or bear him away to Wyoming again. 
 
 It was this she dreamed when the glorious day 
 
 Uplifted the mystic veil of night 
 And flooded the chamber of Milicent May 
 
 With its glorious flood of golden light. 
 
Milicent May's Valentine 71 
 
 She wished that the morning mail would come 
 With a letter from him she loved so dear, 
 
 A message to say he was coming home, 
 Or something her fluttering heart to cheer. 
 
 She went to the lattice to view the morn, 
 
 The lattice through which the sun did shine — 
 And there she saw, coming across the lawn, 
 
 Her soldier, her lover, her valentine ! 
 "Oh, welcome, my darling, as dawn of day 
 
 To the weary heart that can find no rest! " 
 And somebody folded sweet Milicent May 
 
 In loving embrace to his manly breast. 
 
A Tree 
 
 Suggested by Arbor Day. 
 
 Out of the valley's depth I rise 
 
 To greet the blue of heaven's dome 
 And kiss the overarching skies 
 
 Where cloud and thunder have their home, 
 I love the magic of the stars, 
 
 The meteor's erratic flight, 
 The ruddy glow of glorious Mars 
 
 And all the jewels of the night. 
 
 What am I? Just a simple tree. 
 
 I've lived four hundred years or more: 
 I was a sapling fair to see 
 
 When first Columbus touched this shore; 
 But dew and rain and snow baptized 
 
 My spreading arms from year to year, 
 And, though he once my form despised, 
 
 I long outlast the pioneer. 
 
 Man's friend am I, though he's not mine; 
 
 I build his home, I build his ships, 
 I shelter him in storm and shine. 
 
 And when he wars my bark he strips; 
 72 
 
A Tree 73 
 
 I give him fruit, though oft with scorn 
 
 He draws on me for his supplies; 
 I am his cradle when he's born, 
 
 And I'm his cofifin when he dies. 
 
 I furnish most of all his needs; 
 
 By me his life is amply blest; 
 I am his paper when he reads, 
 
 His couch when he lies down to rest; 
 And when his festive hearth is gay 
 
 With music's loftiest accord, 
 And his fair daughters deign to play, 
 
 My heart becomes their sounding-board. 
 
 I make, I shade his dwelling place — 
 
 But why prolong this list of facts 
 To show my kindness for his race, 
 
 Since he repays me with an ax? 
 He smites and spares not, though he knows 
 
 Some day the friend he now destroys 
 Will be no more to bear his blows, 
 
 Or make his happy children's toys. 
 
 But I am just a simple tree: 
 
 Let ax and torch achieve their worst. 
 
 And let me go; no tears for me 
 
 Till all this earth shall parch accurst! 
 
74 A Tree 
 
 Then let man's genius, if it will, 
 His chemistry, my kind replace; 
 
 And let the vandals who would kill 
 The forest serve the human race. 
 
Tragedy of a Fishing Village 
 
 With willing hearts and muscles strong and steady, 
 And sturdy arms and spirits stout and brave, 
 
 They heard the skipper's orders, " Quick! be ready!" 
 And launched their boat upon the restless wave. 
 
 Out on the swelling sea a cloud was frowning, 
 The tide ran rough upon the rocky shore; 
 
 But the fishermen had no fear of drowning. 
 For they had faced such dangers oft before. 
 
 Oh ! often in the days gone by they fronted 
 Billows and breakers on that selfsame place; 
 
 Launching and landing mid its perils wonted, 
 Ah! many a time with death they ran a race. 
 
 And so, with confidence, that fateful morning, 
 They manned their oars to reach the fruitful deep, 
 
 With rhythmic stroke familiar perils scorning. 
 Nor saw how near destruction's awful sweep. 
 
 But human strength and energy were fruitless; 
 
 The rolling breakers rose upon their path. 
 And all the efforts of strong arms were bootless 
 
 Against the sullen storm king's rising wrath. 
 
 75 
 
76 Tragedy of a Fishing Village 
 
 A mighty breaker, gathering all within it, 
 
 Engulfed their boat, flung oars beyond their reach; 
 
 And in the narrow compass of a minute 
 
 Death rode the surge and sorrow smote the beach. 
 
 Down from the village came the women, wailing 
 
 In pity to the homicidal sea, 
 Voicing their lamentations unavailing 
 
 To the cruel waves that mocked their misery. 
 
 For answer to their cries the heartless ocean 
 Flung back the broken bodies of their dead. 
 
 Helpless as seaweed and as void of motion, 
 And heedless of the tears their dear ones shed. 
 
 There on the rocks lay men of strong endeavor. 
 Slain by the sea in manhood's morning prime, 
 
 At rest from all life's storms and toils forever 
 Deaf to the roaring tempest for all time! 
 
 Oh! perils lurk through life in every station, 
 And loving eyes for loved ones vigils keep; 
 
 But they who look in vain taste desolation 
 When those they love are lost upon the deep! 
 
The Slate Pickers 
 
 Close by the coal shaft the breaker stands, 
 And all day long the cars go flying 
 
 Up to the tower, while brawny hands 
 And sturdy arms their tasks are plying. 
 
 Up with a rush, and down with a roar, 
 The anthracite boulders go crashing 
 
 Through the jaws of the breaker, and o'er 
 The rolls whose teeth of steel are flashing. 
 
 In through the screen room the dusky streams 
 Of coal and slate strive on and rattle 
 
 Through the narrow chutes, whose iron seams 
 Ring like the grim ding-dong of battle. 
 
 'Tis here the slate pickers toil and fret. 
 The dust of the coal upon them falling, 
 
 Making their faces as black as jet 
 
 With the grime of their dismal calling. 
 
 The coal is sharp and the slate comes thick, 
 And dealers growl if their anthracite 
 
 Is not quite clean; so the foreman's stick, 
 Like Nemesis, always swings in sight. 
 
 77 
 
78 The Slate Pickers 
 
 The children bent at their painful task — 
 The dull, monotonous pick, pick, pick — 
 
 Can't look around or a question ask: 
 'Tis a fearful thing, that foreman's stick. 
 
 But when the foreman is not in sight 
 
 The dusky screen room is sometimes gay, 
 
 And the chute, the slate, the anthracite, 
 Are deserted for a minute's play: 
 
 For "boys will be boys," no matter how 
 Their backs may ache at their weary task; 
 
 Though age may scowl and contract its brow, 
 Youth in the sunshine must sometimes bask. 
 
 'Twas this made Charlie in childish glee 
 Leap from his toil on a summer's day, 
 
 Eager to look at the screen and see 
 
 The ponderous wheels, like Titans, play. 
 
 'Twas a wondrous sight to see the crash 
 
 Of coal caught up between teeth of steel, — 
 
 How finely everything went to smash! — 
 
 And Charlie thought he would touch the wheel. 
 
 He watched the cogs at their iron dance; 
 
 'Twas such fun to see them whirl and spin; 
 He touched them, and, quick as reptile's glance, 
 
 The treacherous things snapped Charlie in. 
 
The Slate Pickers 79 
 
 They caught the child in their deadly grip, 
 They crushed his bones in their wild embrace. 
 
 The great wheels halt; they delay the trip. 
 There's one more slate picker's vacant place. 
 
 The stern-faced foreman, with tear-stained cheek, 
 Thought of his own little son, and sighed; 
 
 His heart was sad, and he could not speak, 
 As he saw how Charlie the slate-boy died. 
 
 Oh ! the coal is sharp, the slate comes thick, 
 And dealers growl if their anthracite 
 
 Is not quite clean; but the foreman's stick 
 No longer swings in poor Charlie's sight. 
 
Do You Remember? 
 
 Do you remember, just a year ago, 
 
 That fair October morning when we met? 
 The woods were blushing under autumn's glow; 
 
 It seemed as if that morning's sun would never set. 
 What rapture 'twas to gaze along the hill 
 
 At nature's countless glories gleaming bright, 
 And listen to the rippling of the rill 
 
 That glided down the hillside like a sprite! 
 
 How glorious was the scene with red and gold, 
 
 With blazing sumach and with purple vine, 
 The radiant forest dazzling to behold, 
 
 As if transfigured by a touch divine ! 
 Ah, how it thrilled us ! I remember well 
 
 How admiration beamed within thine eyes, 
 While we experienced more than tongue can tell. 
 
 And looked enraptured on the earth and skies. 
 
 For me, it was thy presence gave the scene 
 Its wealth of radiant glory; and the grace 
 
 That spread o'er all and made it so serene 
 Was but the reflex of thy loving face. 
 
 So 
 
Do You Remember? 8i 
 
 The blushing woods their beauty from thy cheek 
 Derived; the skies were clear and bright that day 
 for me; 
 
 The rill was musical when thou didst speak: 
 But nature borrowed all her charms from thee. 
 
 Yes, it was thy fair presence gave its worth, 
 
 Its wealth of beauty to the fading year; 
 'Twas not the crimson leaf that decked the earth, 
 
 But all was lovely because thou wert near. 
 The glowing landscape, true, was fair and bright; 
 
 The cloudless skies were soft and fair above: 
 But 'twas not these that gave me such delight 
 
 That morning; 'twas the purple dawn of love! 
 
The Death of Hamlet 
 
 Suggested by the death of Edwin Booth. 
 
 He sleeps at last, and all the grief 
 
 That shook his soul in manhood's prime 
 Is wafted like some faded leaf 
 
 Across the horizon of time. 
 How shall we fitly say farewell 
 
 To him whose voice in other days 
 Thrilled other hearts as by a spell 
 
 And won the incense of their praise? 
 
 Like some ungentle blast that shakes 
 
 The fairest blossom from the tree 
 Is this grim mystery that takes 
 
 Life's perfume and life's flower from thee. 
 And can those lips indeed be dumb, 
 
 From which such golden words did fall? 
 And is that princely figure numb 
 
 That yields the purple to the pall? 
 
 Alas! 'tis so; the prince is dead 
 
 Who showed us Denmark's woes anew. 
 
 May sweetest rest attend his bed. 
 
 And peace the gentle heart and true! 
 82 
 
The Death of Hamlet S^ 
 
 The lights are out ; the play is o'er; 
 
 His voice is hushed, in very truth; 
 His presence ne'er shall thrill us more, 
 
 And Hamlet dies in Edwin Booth! 
 
May Day 
 
 Like the life beyond the tomb, 
 When we've passed the dreary gloom 
 Of danger, death, and doom, 
 
 And decay. 
 Jocund nature wakes this morn 
 To salute the radiant dawn 
 Of the glorious newly born 
 
 Month of May. 
 
 E'en the very trees are rife 
 With the mellow wine of life, 
 And the buds with gentle strife 
 
 As they ope; 
 The cold, sullen winter blast, 
 With its snow and frost, is past, 
 And the skies are bright at last 
 
 With new hope. 
 
 In the quiet mountain nooks. 
 By the side of running brooks, 
 Like weird, uncanny spooks 
 Before the sun, 
 84 
 
May Day 85 
 
 In a frightened sort of way, 
 From the place in which they lay 
 Through the cheerless winter's day, 
 The shadows run. 
 
 Skim the swallows o'er the streams 
 Where the angler sits and dreams, 
 And the sunlight glints and gleams 
 
 On the spray 
 Of the laughing waterfall, 
 While the bluebirds chirp and call 
 In the hemlocks straight and tall. 
 
 Far away. 
 
 Oh, happy, happy time. 
 When the year is in its prime. 
 And nature's psalm sublime 
 
 Fills the air! 
 How I fain would join my song 
 With the glad, melodious throng 
 Which to thee alone belong 
 
 Everywhere! 
 
The Double Crown 
 
 To the Right Reverend William O'Hara, D. D., first bishop of Scranton, 
 on the occasion of his golden jubilee as priest, and his silver jubilee as 
 bishop, December 21st, 1892. 
 
 Prelate of God, a double crown is thine 
 
 This golden day. May angels sing thy praise 
 Before the throne, and may the Povv'r divine 
 
 Thy fruitful life prolong for many days! 
 The harvest of thy labor here is shown 
 
 In happy hearts aglow with faith and love: 
 Yet only part of thy great work is known; 
 
 The rest is writ eternally above. 
 
 Silver and gold of years are thine today, 
 
 As faithful bishop and as priest of God 
 Whose loyal feet along the chosen way 
 
 Of duty in the Master's work have trod ; 
 And we, thy children, mindful of the zeal 
 
 Which thou, through all thy loving care, hast shown, 
 Here pledge the everlasting love we feel 
 
 For thee, whom we are proud to call our own. 
 
 86 
 
The Double Crown 87 
 
 How weak are words when souls are deeply stirred 
 
 With joy, in such a jubilee as this, 
 And loving thoughts, that struggle to be heard. 
 
 Are silenced by their own excess of bliss ! 
 Yet this we know: that which we fain would say 
 
 Thy own great heart in kindness will supply. 
 As thou hast done, in thine own generous way. 
 
 For all of us through all the years gone by. 
 
 This storied vale of Lackawanna tells 
 
 Of thee and of thy noble work, which fills 
 A wider field, where blessed Christian bells 
 
 Baptize the air, beyond the circling hills, 
 And bid the faithful to each holy shrine 
 
 Which thou hast consecrated to the Lord, 
 Where quenchless altar lamps forever shine 
 
 Before the One immortally adored. 
 
 Honors had sought thee in another sphere, 
 
 Before thou cam'st to this expanding field, 
 Jehovah's consecrated pioneer, 
 
 To be our watchful shepherd and our shield. 
 Love claimed thee elsewhere, but God called thee thence; 
 
 And so, with courage, cross, and crozier, came 
 The soldier and servant of Omnipotence, 
 
 With high and holy purposes aflame. 
 
88 The Double Crown 
 
 And 'twas with us thy years of silver grew, 
 
 A shining woof within the web of gold; 
 Approving Heaven did thy youth renew 
 
 And glorify thy work a thousandfold. 
 The wilderness that frowned when thus began 
 
 Thy labors here — e'en the grim Shades of Death,* 
 Which tell of man's cold cruelty to man — 
 
 Now blossoms with the fadeless flow'r of faith. 
 
 The mariner who braves the boundless sea 
 
 May scan his pathway o'er the ocean vast; 
 The stars do guide him wheresoe'er he be, 
 
 And science sees him safely home at last; 
 But thou hast guided erring souls aright 
 
 Throughstormandstress, with motherchurch thy chart, 
 And faith thy beacon — the unfailing light 
 
 That shines forever for the human heart. 
 
 Better than marble shaft or printed page 
 
 Thy monuments, which through these valleys rise — 
 The church, the schoolhouse, and the orphanage — 
 
 To speak thy praises to the arching skies: 
 And better still the tender, Christlike throb 
 
 Of thy great heart for her whose footsteps roam 
 In sin; the outcast whose despairing sob 
 
 Thy pity touched, to find for her a home. 
 
 *The Shades of Death — the wilderness of the Pocono Mountains, 
 where many women and children perished while fleeing from the terrors 
 of the Wyoming massacre. 
 
The Double Crown 89 
 
 And while the House of the Good Shepherd stands, 
 
 With shelter wide as heaven within its gate, 
 To typify the "house not made v/ith hands" 
 
 And win the hopeless from their hapless fate, 
 Thy gentle memory shall blessed be, 
 
 Thy praise be sounded like some sweet-toned chime 
 Whose ceaseless and enchanting melody 
 
 Is echoed to the distant ver^je of time. 
 
 The worse than fatherless, the child of shame, 
 
 For whom no friendly door but death's dare ope. 
 Bereft of mother's love and of a name. 
 
 Has found in thee a refuge and a hope; 
 Friend of the outcast and the orphan child. 
 
 Of all God's children wretched and in tears, 
 Exemplar of religion undefiled. 
 
 May years be added to thy wealth of years! 
 
 Thy work was not inspired by fleeting fame, 
 
 Nor by the garish, fickle world's applause; 
 Indifferent alike to praise or blame, 
 
 Thy life was given to the Master's cause: 
 Yet precious things are hid from human ken; 
 
 The rarest gems are in the deepest sea, 
 And deeds least known, least magnified by men 
 
 Shine most resplendent in eternity. 
 
90 The Double Crown 
 
 Prelate and priest of God, thy double crown 
 
 Of gold and silver, sanctified by years 
 Of holy service, tells of a renown 
 
 Which heaven and earth applaud, and which appears 
 With brighter luster as the days go by. 
 
 Here, where thy labor lives, and far away 
 Beyond the azure of the star-strewn sky, 
 
 Where set of sun shall never end the day ! 
 
A Mother's Treasure 
 
 Jt is tattered and old, a bunch of shreds, 
 
 It hangs by the staff an ungainly rag; 
 But I treasure all of its broken threads, 
 
 For my boy fell under that dear old flag; 
 And oh ! how my heart goes back to him 
 
 With a mother's yearning, this blessed day, 
 And a mother's grief, till my old eyes swim 
 
 For my boy who died in Antietam's fray. 
 
 Antietam, you know, was a hard-fought field; 
 
 My boy was there in the thick of the strife. 
 Ah ! he was a hero, and would not yield 
 
 His flag till he yielded his precious life; 
 He bore it well in the midst of the fight, 
 
 Inspiring his warrior comrades on 
 While the bullets were whistling left and right, 
 
 And over the head of my soldier son. 
 
 The leaden hail and the terrible shell 
 
 Tore the flag to shreds, but he waved it still, 
 
 Determined that ere from his grasp it fell 
 The enemy's bullets his blood should spill. 
 
 91 
 
92 A Mother's Treasure 
 
 And that's why my thoughts wander back to him 
 Who was dearer than life, my soldier son, 
 
 While the tears come thick, till my eyes are dim. 
 As I think of the glorious death he won. 
 
 They say he was cheering his comrades when 
 
 A bullet went crashing through his young breast. 
 And he fell in the arms of loyal men 
 
 Who laid my boy tenderly down to rest. 
 The flag is still stained with the blood he shed 
 
 When my son his brave young spirit resigned. 
 And I fondly treasure each crimson shred. 
 
 Though my eyes with weeping are nearly blind. 
 
The City of Scranton 
 
 In depth of night the furnace flame 
 
 That soars v/ith wings of fire on high, 
 Writes this fair city's glowing fame 
 
 Across the banners of the sky. 
 The shrieking engines sing its praise 
 
 Through echoing vales by day and night 
 As rushing forth their various ways 
 
 They go with gleaming anthracite. 
 
 And to the deep and dangerous mine, 
 
 Far from the blessed light of day, 
 In which the gems of ages shine, 
 
 The fame of Scranton finds its way. 
 Amid the bustling haunts of trade, 
 
 Where fortune's pendulum doth swing, 
 And wealth is hourly lost or made, 
 
 The fame of Scranton's echoing. 
 
 Wherever industry doth raise 
 
 An arm to strike an honest blow 
 
 For progress, be our city's praise 
 Proclaimed, until the ages know 
 
 9i 
 
94 The City of Scranton 
 
 That here, among the circling hills, 
 Manhood has made itself a place, 
 
 And sinewy labor bravely fills 
 The mission of the human race. 
 
To a Little Girl of Ten 
 
 Just think of it! You are ten today. 
 
 You feel quite old; you are quite young. 
 One tenth of a century, you say ! 
 
 And yet your lullaby was sung, 
 It seems to me, but yesterday. 
 
 Ah! dear little girl, the world is fair 
 To you this day. Long be it so! 
 
 May all your days be free from care. 
 May all your years in goodness grow, 
 
 And Heaven hear my simple prayer! 
 
 Bright be life's path, my child, for thee, 
 Where'er it leads beneath the stars; 
 
 And may thy heart be always free 
 From every ugly ill that mars. 
 
 Through time and for eternity! 
 
 95 
 
Hymn to Saint Patrick 
 
 When great Saint Patrick raised the cross 
 
 Where error long held sway, 
 And bade the people lift their eyes 
 
 To hope's eternal day, 
 The dawn of faith on Erin's hills 
 
 In glory did appear, 
 And all her peaceful valleys felt 
 
 Jehovah's presence near. 
 
 Then o'er the land the peace of God, 
 
 Like holy manna fell. 
 And from his sacred temples spoke 
 
 The solemn vesper bell; 
 Bright were his blessed altars then, 
 
 Dark grew the Druid fires, 
 And to the vault of heaven rose 
 
 A thousand holy spires. 
 
 Oh, glory to God who gave us 
 The truths Saint Patrick taught! 
 
 Glory and praise to him for all 
 The deeds Saint Patrick wrought ! 
 96 
 
Hymn to Saint Patrick 97 
 
 The beacon of faith he left us, 
 
 The light he set on the shore 
 When the darkness of blindness threatened, 
 
 We will keep for evermore. 
 
Song of the Steel Mill 
 
 When I beat up my drums ten thousand hearts rejoice; 
 There's peace and plenty in the music of my voice; 
 I fill the sky with flame and beauty in the night; 
 I joy the eyes of men and women with my light; 
 When I lift up my flame, the cloud for me makes room, 
 And welcomes to the stars my white, my dazzling plume. 
 
 Mine is a most profound Wagnerian strain; 
 I take possession of the silence in my train; 
 I laugh all night in wild and reckless glee, 
 To think what happiness belongs to me; 
 My cup of joy's a great converter brimming o'er 
 With vaster wealth than Cleopatra wore. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I make the pathway of the years to be; 
 I fashion weapons that shall make men free; 
 I sing the everlasting song of peace, 
 Toil's fruitful epic that shall never cease 
 Till Time resigns his scepter and his throne, 
 And earth's great fabric's vanished and unknown ! 
 
 98 
 
The Magdalene 
 
 Her name a byword, and her life a shame, 
 The sin-sick woman to the Master came. 
 Spurned by all else, she ventured near to him, 
 Her weeping eyes with tears of sorrow dim. 
 
 And kneeling at his feet in mute despair. 
 She kissed them, and she wiped them with her hair; 
 And then with ointment sweet anointed them, 
 Feeling unfit to touch his garment's hem. 
 
 Her tongue was silent, but her loving deeds 
 Bespoke the nature of her urgent needs; 
 Her heart was crushed with penitential grief, 
 But Christ the Comforter gave her relief. 
 
 Amazed, the righteous viewed the shocking scene 
 And warned the Master of the Magdalene. 
 The sinful woman they beheld with hate; 
 They did not see her heart all desolate; 
 
 99 
 
loo The Magdalene 
 
 They only knew her life was a disgrace, 
 And that her presence tainted all the place. 
 They could not read the anguish in her eyes; 
 They had no pity for her stifled sighs; 
 
 No pity for her wretchedness they felt, 
 As at the loving Master's feet she knelt, 
 Burdened by sin, and friendless and alone. 
 The world regarding her with heart of stone. 
 
 Where should she go in that most dreadful plight? 
 Where could she go, whose day was turned to night? 
 For her life's joy, its happiness, had fled; 
 Well might she envy e'en the peaceful dead. 
 
 For she was dead, though living: and such death 
 Is worse than that which robs us of our breath; 
 It slays the spirit whilst the body lives. 
 And ceaseless tortures to the conscience gives. 
 
 Hapless the soul oppressed by such a fate! 
 Who can imagine or describe its state? 
 Yet such a state was hers, and such her case. 
 Till Christ restored the Magdalene to grace. 
 
The Magdalene loi 
 
 And in the busy age in which we live, 
 The same dear Christ is ready to forgive 
 If grief like hers will crush the sinful heart 
 And tears like hers from sorrow's eyes will start. 
 
 The greatest sinner, at the Master's feet. 
 Like Magdalene, may find forgiveness sweet; 
 Oh, blessed hope for those who've gone astray 
 And long to tread once more the righteous way ! 
 
 A heartless world may close its heedless ears 
 To the poor sinner's cries, and scorn her tears; 
 But if, like Magdalene, to Christ she goes 
 In depth of sorrow, Christ will heal her woes. 
 
Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 (Born in Edinburgh. Died in Samoa.) 
 
 Ah! happy life it was to live; ah! happy death to die 
 Away in far Samoa, where the shams of life are rare, 
 Where the sensitive might shun the gaze of every sneer- 
 ing eye,— 
 But, Robert Louis Stevenson, oh why didst thou go 
 there? 
 
 Laurel-crowned and gifted thou wert, within the land 
 Where the stalwart sons of genius would be proud to 
 own thy worth. 
 
 The bonnie land of Burns and Scott, whose wizard wand 
 Made its acres glow with magic, the cradle of thy birth ! 
 
 What fate, then, made thee wander from Scotia's friendly 
 isle 
 
 To seek in far-off solitudes the pleasures of the sage — 
 The dearest, sunniest hours of thy young life to beguile 
 
 On the rim of desolation, on the margin of life's page? 
 
Robert Louis Stevenson 103 
 
 Did any wound thy marrow, or did any hurt thy heart? 
 
 Did any craven strike thee in the kernel of thy pride? 
 Did any caitiff mouth at thee, to send thee thus apart 
 
 To ebb thy precious moments on lone Samoa's side? 
 
 It may be so; it may not be; but whether yea or nay, 
 The world's the loser for thy death, O gifted child 
 at rest ! 
 Than thee no kinder, braver, nobler bit of human clay 
 Ever sought release from sorrow on mother Nature's 
 breast ! 
 
 The winds of far Samoa sing thy dirges soft and sweet, 
 
 And waft them o'er thy narrow bed whilst countless 
 
 ages run ; 
 
 But one who learned to love thee lays this tribute at thy 
 
 feet, 
 
 Thou gifted child of genius, Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
The Water Lily 
 
 A vision on the water seemed 
 
 The lily white and fair, 
 Where the zephyrs stirred the ripples 
 
 In the gentle morning air. 
 
 And the sky bent blue above it, 
 
 And in the forest near 
 The sweet notes of the robin's song 
 
 Resounded loud and clear. 
 
 A group of laughing maidens came 
 
 And saw, upon the tide, 
 The lily in the morning light 
 
 As bonnie as a bride. 
 
 They clapped their hands right joyously. 
 
 With pleasure in their eyes. 
 And tried each other to outrun 
 
 To gain the dazzling prize. 
 
 There, in its virgin beauty. 
 
 The lily tossed its head 
 On the ripples, whilst the sunbeams 
 
 Their glory o'er it shed. 
 104 
 
The Water Lily 105 
 
 Like a jewel of rare splendor 
 
 It shone upon the lake, 
 And the laughing maidens struggled 
 
 With each other for its sake. 
 
 But one, more eager in her quest 
 
 Than her fair sisters, gave 
 Her precious life to win the flow'r, 
 
 And sank beneath the wave. 
 
 Oh! in sorrow home they brought her; 
 
 And, when she lay at rest, 
 She was fairer than the lily 
 
 They placed upon her breast. 
 
1 
 
 At Sunrise 
 
 A rustle of leaves and a dash of dew, 
 A flutter of wings and a gush of song, 
 
 When morn in the east spills its crimson hue. 
 Salutes the dawn, and its joys prolong. 
 
 As some feathered minstrel swells his throat 
 And wakes the woods with his morning note. 
 
 Light blending with shadow from east to west, 
 Like a Rembrandt picture across the sky, 
 
 The singer inspires with an added zest, 
 And he carols his anthem loud and high, 
 
 Till some waking goddess, in sweet surprise, 
 Thinks his singing the music of Paradise. 
 
 'Tis robin redbreast to his modest mate 
 That merrily carols this morning song 
 
 When the sun is glancing through heaven's gate, 
 And the world is calm, and the day is young. 
 
 Ah ! would that I to my arms might invite, 
 
 With such matchless music, my heart's delight! 
 
 io6 
 
Tessie 
 
 The gentle presence that we knew 
 
 A sunny season only 
 Has vanished like the morning dew, 
 
 And all the world is lonely. 
 Ah, how we miss her winsome face! 
 
 Our hearts are sore with sorrow 
 As we behold her vacant place 
 
 And yearn for God's tomorrow. 
 
 We know she lives beyond the tomb, 
 
 Where sorrow is a stranger, 
 Where there is neither grief nor gloom 
 
 Nor pain nor sin nor danger; 
 Yet, as we think of her in life — 
 
 Her soul-inspiring gladness, — 
 As daughter, playmate, sweetheart, wife, 
 
 Our hearts are crushed with sadness. 
 
 Since she is gone there is no day; 
 
 In vain the sun is shining 
 For those dear friends who grieve alway; 
 
 And love itself is pining 
 107 
 
io8 Tessie 
 
 To soar away beyond the stars 
 To the joy that shines about her, 
 
 And leave behind the grief that mars 
 Their lonely lives without her! 
 
 I 
 
The Engineer 
 
 He rides in the eye of danger, 
 
 Yet no danger does he fear; 
 To terror he's a stranger — 
 
 He's the hardy engineer. 
 The thunder growls in the hollows, 
 
 The lightning leaps in his path, 
 Yet his duty he bravely follows — 
 
 He fears not the tempest's wrath. 
 
 The darkness descends like blindness. 
 
 To blot out the steel-shod track. 
 Yet his grand face glows with kindness, 
 
 And no courage does he lack. 
 The rain comes down like a river, 
 
 But he cleaves the storm-swept shroud 
 Of night, whilst the mountains shiver. 
 
 As an eagle cleaves the cloud. 
 
 He thinks of the fair face waiting 
 For him at the end of the line. 
 
 And the thought his heart is elating 
 With a rapture almost divine; 
 109 
 
I lo The Engineer 
 
 And although the storm is shaking 
 The heart of the town with fear, 
 
 His courage is not forsaking 
 The undaunted engineer. 
 
 
The Enchanted Vest 
 
 The emperor of China has deprived his prime minister, Li Hung 
 Chang, of the yellow vest. — Pekin dispatch. 
 
 There's distressing news from China, and our laundry- 
 man, How Am, 
 Is afflicted with colossal grief, that cannot be ex- 
 pressed ; 
 All the pigtails are aflutter, and from Pekin to Siam 
 Runs the agonizing story that Li Hung has lost his 
 vest. 
 
 Oh, keener far than woman's hate, or serpent's cruel fang, 
 
 Is this tear-compelling story of the Asiatic strife, 
 The far-reaching deprivation of the mighty Li Hung 
 Chang, 
 Whose yellow vest he reckoned of more value than 
 his life. 
 
 All the armor-plated warships that breathe terror on the 
 seas, 
 All the hordes that rush to danger with the dragon on 
 their crest, 
 
1 1 2 The Enchanted Vest 
 
 All the fighting men in China who would slay the 
 Japanese, 
 Are not worthy to be mentioned with the famous 
 yellow vest. 
 
 'Twas a garment of distinction to the mighty Li Hung 
 Chang, 
 When he wore it there was wisdom in the pulsing of 
 his breast. 
 The Ganges ceased its floodings, and the happy bulbuls 
 sang. 
 And the sun delayed his journey to the shadows of 
 the west. 
 
 But that garment of enchantment Li Hung shall wear no 
 more; 
 In his anger the great emperor has made him pull it 
 down; 
 The Japs are winning victories upon Corea's shore, 
 And disaster, double-leaded, wears an everlasting frown. 
 
 Now, 'tis clear as noon, the meaning of the Japanese 
 hooray. 
 We need not question further, for each reader knows 
 the rest — 
 The Japs are winning victories and China lost the day 
 Because Li Hung, the mighty, has pulled down his 
 yellow vest. 
 
Lincoln 
 
 Fame's trumpet blows a silver note 
 Across the ebbing sea of time, 
 
 And angels on the farther shore 
 In rapture chant its song sublime. 
 
 It sings of peace, of broken chains. 
 Of cruel wrong at last made right; 
 
 Of franchised millions lifted up 
 
 From thraldom into freedom's light. 
 
 It tells of manhood's grandest act — 
 
 The liberation of a race 
 From centuried oppression's grasp 
 
 And grinding greed to power and place. 
 
 It links the freedom of the slave, 
 Upon whose neck a nation's shame 
 
 Was laid through years of tyranny, 
 With Lincoln's everlasting name. 
 
 113 
 
The Dead Minstrel 
 
 He is not dead whose song survives, 
 
 E'en though we strew his grave with flowers; 
 
 His voice outlasts a million lives 
 Whose precious memory is ours. 
 
 The falling tear, the breaking heart 
 That tell of him who passed away, 
 
 Are tributes to the poet's art 
 
 And speak of his immortal sway. 
 
 Our tongues are dumb; our tears alone 
 Must plead our bitter grief for him 
 
 Who was, in truth, the people's own, 
 For whom the people's eyes are dim. 
 
 His magic swayed the minds of men, 
 And righted many a cruel wrong. 
 
 His heart went throbbing through his pen, 
 His spirit through his deathless song. 
 
 For that dear land beyond the sea 
 He risked his life, he dared a grave; 
 
 No ancient knight of chivalry, 
 
 With soul aflame, more dared or gave! 
 
 114. 
 
The Dead Minstrel 115 
 
 And this dear land, whose shelt'ring shore 
 Welcomed the minstrel and the man, 
 
 Lives in his song; he proudly wore 
 The proudest name, American. 
 
 God rest his soul! Brave, loving heart — 
 The world is lonesome since he left; 
 
 His smile was more than all his art 
 To those who are so sore bereft. 
 
 His manly breast with love was filled 
 For all God's children far and wide. 
 
 Yet his great pathos never thrilled 
 The hearts of men as when he died. 
 
A Blast of Autumn 
 
 A change comes o'er the verdant woods; 
 
 Their summer charms are going, 
 And all their beauty flies like chaff" 
 
 When autumn's blasts are blowing. 
 And, like the hopes we entertained 
 
 Ere youth's bright dreams were shattered. 
 When glowing fancies filled the mind, 
 
 The forest leaves are scattered. 
 
 The leaf whose earliest wealth of green 
 
 The tallest tree adorned, 
 Now mid the lowly grasses lies; 
 
 'Tis trampled on and scorned. 
 E'en so the proudest human heart. 
 
 When life's career is ended, 
 Like the meekest and the lowliest, 
 
 With common dust is blended. 
 
 Ii6 
 
The Unknown Soldiers' Monument 
 
 The monuments of czars and kings 
 
 Who slumber with their kindred dust 
 Are fittingly the common things 
 
 That fall a prey to time and rust; 
 But for the soldier there must rise, 
 
 More lasting than the crumbling stone, 
 A symbol to immortalize 
 
 Our dearest dead, the brave unknown ! 
 
 The lad who, at his country's call, 
 
 Went forth and perished in the fray, 
 Who fought and fell as heroes fall 
 
 In war's wild hurricane one day. 
 Whose youthful life in war's red tide 
 
 Was for his country nobly spent. 
 Who for the Union bravely died. 
 
 Should have a fitting monument. 
 
 Ah ! who shall tell the pangs he felt 
 On leaving those he loved so well — 
 
 The mother at whose knee he knelt 
 In childhood's happy, holy spell; 
 117 
 
1 18 The Unknown Soldiers* Monument 
 
 The father, white with age and dim, 
 The youthful playmates, and the rest; 
 
 The sweetheart who would die for him. 
 The sister sobbing on his breast — 
 
 When every village station thrilled 
 
 With eager-hearted volunteers. 
 And every city street was filled 
 
 With marching men and women's fears, 
 And "God be with you!" smote the air, 
 
 Whilst broken-hearted mothers mourned. 
 And "God be with you!" was the prayer 
 
 Of those who nevermore returned. 
 
 Then tender ties were rudely torn. 
 
 And tears of love were dashed aside. 
 When treason laughed the land to scorn 
 
 And sent its challenge far and wide, 
 When Sumter felt the rebel shock, 
 
 And loyal blood surged like a wave. 
 And loyal men stood like a rock 
 
 The nation's precious life to save. 
 
 Where war's dread thunder rolled he stood, 
 The tide of treason beating down, 
 
 On many a fearful field of blood 
 Where men of courage won renown. 
 
The Unknown Soldiers' Monument 119 
 
 Where thousands fell to rise no more 
 
 Until the final bugle call 
 Shall sound on time's eternal shore 
 
 The last great reveille for all. 
 
 And so his monument shall be 
 
 No granite shaft, no crumbling stone, 
 No marble chiseled gracefully 
 
 With glowing praise of the unknown; 
 But this fair nation, free and grand 
 
 And great for all the days to come, 
 His fitting monument shall stand 
 
 And sing the soldier's requiem. 
 
 What nobler monument could be 
 
 Than this, the land he died to save, 
 The sanctuary of liberty, 
 
 Within whose borders breathes no slave. 
 Where all are free to worship God, 
 
 Where every man is free to vote, 
 Where no man fears a tyrant's nod, 
 
 Or feels a tyrant at his throat? 
 
 The soldier's epitaph shall be 
 
 The starry flag he loved so well, 
 Immortal emblem of the free, 
 
 Beneath whose glorious folds he fell; 
 
1 20 The Unknown Soldiers' Monument 
 
 Be ours the task to cherish these 
 
 From foe and folly, crime and strife, 
 
 In days of danger and of ease, 
 
 And guard with ours the nation's life. 
 
George Eliot 
 
 Amid the silver music of the bells 
 
 That fill the air with merry Christmas chimes 
 Is heard a sad and solemn note which tells 
 
 A heart is hushed whose throbbings thrilled our times 
 With thoughts transcendent. Yes, a brain is still 
 
 And dreamless now whose grand creations led 
 To lofty heights upon the classic hill 
 
 Where knowledge dwells : George Eliot is dead ! 
 
 And who shall say the soul so greatly blest 
 
 With gifts divine in this dull fleeting sphere 
 Is not assigned a heavenly place of rest 
 
 In lieu of all its restless struggles here? 
 Her mind was fired with scorn for petty things, 
 
 Her pen was tipped with fire to kindle wrongs 
 Like rotten fagots, while she plucked the stings 
 
 From pride and fraud, and filled faint hearts with 
 songs. 
 
Christmas Pearls 
 
 Merrily laughed the boys and girls, 
 
 Till room and hall and rafter 
 Echoed the songs of the precious pearls, 
 
 Resounding their happy laughter, 
 As Rob and Tom, Willie and Ruth 
 
 Beheld a sight most shocking — 
 'Twas a wondrous thing, in truth — 
 
 An elephant in each stocking ! 
 
Nancy Flannigan 
 
 A rhapsody inspired by her charms and her graces in the heart of an 
 admiring peasant. 
 
 Really, Nancy Flannigan, you dance so very daintily 
 
 That all the people envy the floor beneath your feet; 
 And you hypnotize the piper, you're so piquant and so 
 quaint, till he 
 Is lost in admiration contemplating such a treat. 
 The swallow in the sunshine is not swifter than you, 
 Nancy, 
 When you trip a merry measure like some poet's fond 
 desire; 
 And I pity the gossoon — ah! sure, he's devoid of fancy — 
 Whose heart you cannot kindle to a coal of living fire. 
 
 Surely, Nancy Flannigan, the Graces would be proud 
 of you 
 Were you but one of them; but then I'm very glad 
 you're not; 
 For mythology is moonshine, and, though poets might 
 sing loud of you, 
 Your living, moving loveliness is far a happier lot. 
 123 
 
124 Nancy Flannigan 
 
 There's no sculptured dream of beauty can outvie you, 
 saucy Nancy, 
 When the music thrills the pulses and the heart with 
 joy is rife. 
 And I sometimes think that you must be some sprite of 
 necromancy; 
 But then, I know for certain you're the sweetest thing 
 in life ! 
 
 Truly, Nancy Flannigan, your witchery is killing me. 
 For I think of you all day and I dream of you all 
 night; 
 And the visions of your beauty that constantly are 
 thrilling me 
 Put every thought of everything on earth, but you, to 
 flight. 
 Oh ! I wish your heart was mine alone, with not a throb 
 to doubt you; 
 'Tis thus you make me selfish with your arch and win- 
 ning ways. 
 With the love light all about you, there is no joy with- 
 out you. 
 And every year will have at least a hundred thousand 
 days! 
 
The Edelweiss 
 
 O beauteous edelweiss, that grows 
 
 Like some white thought on high, 
 Amid the lofty Alpine snows 
 
 Which seem to touch the sky; 
 Earth's common things thy lovely form 
 
 Disdains; and so I see 
 A soul that lives above life's storm 
 
 And stress portrayed in thee. 
 
 Thy starry charms no common clod 
 
 Of humdrum earth adorn, 
 But near the golden gates of God 
 
 They glad the Matterhorn; 
 They bask in sunshine ere the day 
 
 Shines on us here below. 
 And when from us 'tis passed away 
 
 They greet its afterglow. 
 
 So lofty thoughts to heights sublime 
 
 Lift up the human soul 
 Amid the mountain peaks of time. 
 
 Where endless ages roll; 
 125 
 
126 The Edelweiss 
 
 And, like the edelweiss, that springs 
 Chaste on its Alpine height, 
 
 The heart that seeks exalted things 
 Tastes heaven's pure delight. 
 
Rich and Poor 
 
 The rich man's hands are palsied by the grasp of too 
 
 much gold; 
 His arms are weary of the weight of wealth they cannot 
 
 hold: 
 The poor man's hands are empty; his face is wan and 
 
 thin; 
 His wife and babes are perishing for bread he cannot 
 
 win. 
 
 The rich man's nights are sleepless, by a thousand cares 
 
 oppressed ; 
 His mining stocks, his railroads, and his bonds deny 
 
 him rest: 
 The poor man, too, is sleepless; his heart is sore with 
 
 grief; 
 And through the gloomy night he prays the dawn may 
 
 bring relief. 
 
 The rich man's home is gorgeous, but within his ample 
 
 halls 
 No childish voice is echoed and no childish footstep 
 
 falls; 
 
 127 
 
128 Rich and Poor 
 
 The poor man's home is crowded, and his children 
 
 thinly clad, 
 But 'tis their hunger most of all that makes their father 
 
 sad. 
 
 And when the blessed Sunday comes, the rich man bows 
 
 and prays, 
 Within a softly cushioned pew, for brighter, happier 
 
 days: 
 The poor man, too, kneels down and prays for courage 
 
 to endure, 
 And in his heart of hearts he feels that Christ came to 
 
 the poor. 
 
 'Tis Christ can give the rich and poor the peace that 
 
 gold can't give. 
 If from his hallowed life they'd learn the lesson how to 
 
 live; 
 The wealth that makes the rich man's life a burden hard 
 
 to bear, 
 Will bring him happy days and nights if with the poor 
 
 he'll share. 
 
 And so the happiness that shuns the rich man's lonely 
 
 life 
 Will fill his heart with gladness and will rid his soul of 
 
 strife; 
 
Rich and Poor 129 
 
 For wealth can't bring contentment to heart or soul or 
 
 head 
 While the children of the patient poor are famishing for 
 
 bread. 
 
when Pussy Went A-Fishing 
 
 [Written for a little girl.] 
 
 A pussy cat went fishing, but forgot her hook and line; 
 She saw a troutlet in a stream, and said, "That fish is 
 
 mine! " 
 But the stream in which the troutlet swam was rather 
 
 deep and wet, 
 And pussy could not angle, and she had not brought a 
 
 net; 
 So the troutlet unmolested in the crystal water played. 
 And, not seeing stealthy pussy, of course, was not afraid. 
 
 The pussy cat sat watching till her eyes were growing 
 
 dim; 
 Then, suddenly forgetting she had never learned to 
 
 swim, 
 She plunged into the streamlet for that plump and 
 
 tempting trout; 
 But plunging in was easier by far than getting out; 
 And she floundered in the water, a sorry-looking cat. 
 Whilst the little fishes wondered to see a "fish" like 
 
 that. 
 
When Pussy Went A-Fishing 131 
 
 A fisherman who came that way and saw the troubled 
 
 brook, 
 Dropped in his net, because he thought it better than his 
 
 hook ; 
 And right eagerly he grappled to land his "finny" 
 
 prize, 
 But its mewing and its clawing terrified his ears and eyes. 
 And he finally succeeded in bringing puss ashore. 
 But he never saw a queerer " fish " in all his life before. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 If the moral ot the pussy cat's adventure you would 
 
 heed, 
 You should never plunge beyond your depth to gratify 
 
 your greed. 
 
The Oak 
 
 A little girl of three 
 Tossed, carelessly, 
 
 An acorn in the field ; 
 And from it grew an oak. 
 That, when the storm broke, 
 
 Was shelter and a shield. 
 
 'Twas many years ago. 
 Rain, wind, and snow. 
 
 And tempests wild have swept 
 Across the spreading tree. 
 And beast and bird and bee 
 
 Within its shade have slept. 
 
 There are acorns and soil 
 To bless our toil 
 
 Today. Oh! use them well; 
 For in each shell concealed, 
 Its beauty unrevealed, 
 
 A giant oak may dwell. 
 
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