LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ?^r?^n }rap -' -< I'^P^S^'i H J7/i. L^ Usi UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^ '^ -^^i-ylyi^t^ ^m^ W/^CtSiyi^, ^/^^->^,/f '' AN AUTUMNAL WREATH : A RELIGIOUS SOUVENIR. By MRS. LOUISA M. MACOMB EU. HYDE PARK-.CT^W^.^ PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE NORFOLK COUNTY GAZETTE. 1871. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 3lR8. IjOUISA M. MACOMBER, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. INTRODUCTION. These leaves, which have been gathered at long intervals, and many of them lain away in dusty drawers since the writ- er's early girlhood, are now, at the solicitation of friends, col- lected and woven into a wreath, to he presented as a keepsake to our many friends. Some of them have appeared in print, yet but very few of them have ever been suffered to see the light. Very many of them were gathered in hope and gladness, when the rich blessings of health and strength were ours to enjoy; when the inspiring voice of friendship was music to our ear, and when we ever delighted to reciprocate those tender and endearing sentiments; others were gathered from the dark boughs of the mournful cypress, when the heart was oppressed with its load of grief, when the kind ministrations of friendship were as a soothing balm to the wounded spirit; while many, indeed, were gathered from beneath the drooping branches of the weeping willow, where love and friendship have long since reposed in dust. The writer makes no pretensions to erudition in the pro- duction of this simple wreath; the sentiments of which it is composed are the spontaneous outgushings of a heart whose sincerity and simplicity must be its only apology. Coming as it iv INTRODUCTION. does, slightly touched by the hoar frost of life's eai'ly winter, it may, perhaps, be found devoid of both beauty and fragrance, unless the sunshine of indulgence and the sweet dew of friend- ship shall gently descend upon its leaves. Very much do we regret Ihat we have been compelled to defer from year to year the publication of these pages, in the vain hope that improved health might sometime enable us to bestow greater attention to then* revision and arrangement than we have been able to do. Some of the pieces may not, we fear, be perfectly satisfactory to some of our friends Avho may not be in sympathy with our religious sentiments. We feel very desirous, even ambitious, of pleasing every one of our valued friends ; yet we so love the doctrine of the Universal Fatherhood of God, the Brotherhood of Man, and the ultimate holiness and happiness of all our race, that we feel impelled to avow it, even here; but yet, Ave would ever cherish the broadest charity for all. Perhaps some of our Catholic friends may take exception at what we have expressed of Pius IX. To all such we would say, that it is not the religion of the Pope to which we object, but to his bitter hostility to the dissemination of knowledge, and to every form of popular govei-nment, his arbitrary assumption of temporal power, and his impious pretensions to a prerogative or attribute which belongs only to the Supreme Being. Realizing as we do that this humble offering is intended only for the eye of friendship, and is not to go beyond the charmed circle of relatives and friends, yet we feel a painful diffidence, even at that; and still we can but cherish the pleasing hope that, with all its imperfections, it may prove an acceptable souvenir, JXTR O D I 'CTIOX. V — a kind of keepsake, sacred to friendship, and consecrated to the memory of departed days, very long- after the heart which dic- tated and the hand that wrote it shall have mingled with their native elements. L. M. M. 1* CONTENTS. Page Dedicatory, ....... . 11 The Fiat, 14 The Messiah's Advent, ..... L') Whom Having not Seen, We Love, .... 18 The Eucharist, ...... . 22 Aspirations, ....... 25 Life, ........ . 28 Soul-Thoughts, 29 Morning, ....... 31 The Veiled Heart, 33 Truth, 36 Be Glad, My Heart 37 My First Schoolmaster, ..... 39 Lines Written on Seeing the Picture of a Mad Woman in Chains, ....... . 44 An Apostrophe to Time, ..... 47 A Wish, 49 Summer Friends, ...... 51 Fain would I Fly Away and be at Rest, . 52 The Heart, 53 Foot-prints, ....... 5o The Morning Stars Sang Together, .... 58 Memory, . . . . . 60 Th*^ Ghost of Unrest, 61 Lines on a Centenarian Woman, .... . 63 Pre-existence, ....... 07 coy TEXTS. The Parting Hour, ...••• Alone, . • • To My Mother, on My Marriage, .... To an Old Schoolmate, ..... To One in Heaven, ...... Come Up Higher, ..... Love Without Alloy, ...••• Kindred Souls, ...... The Fatherland, ...... Friendship, Lost Jewels, ....... My Angel Watcher, ..... Mother Love, ....••• Our Mother, ,.'... May, Though Sorrow Endure for a Night, yet Joy Cometh the Morning, ...... The Old C-n-pet, Our Home, ....... Lines Written on Returning from a Journey, Our Garden, ...••.. Flowers, ....... The Black Cricket, ...... To a Stuffed Duck, ..... A Talii witli a Blue Violet by Moonlight, Summer Eve, ...••• The Sunset Hour, Sunshine, .... To a Red-breast, Singing, . The Mysterious Bird, . The Wounded Bird, . To a Friend, on Being Presented with a Beautiful Tea On Visiting Drew Brook, . A Song — The Beautiful Trees, My Brother, . The Widowed Heart, . Pagic . 71 74 . 78 80 . 83 85 . 86 89 . 91 93 . 95 99 . 101 102 . 105 in . 107 110 . 113 116 . 118 122 . 124 126 . 129 131 . 133 135 . 137 139 . 142 Rose, 144 . 145 148 . 151 151 via CONTENTS. The Last J)ny ol" Summer, . Closet Prayer, .... To My Husband, on New Year's Day, To Lavinia, .... To Octuvia, .... To Carrie, . . . . . Lines, ..... Hope, ..... To One Beloved, ASoug — The Hermit, . To the Great Sea, The Drought To L— — e, suggested by Reading one of his Poems, The Resurrected Harp, UuAvritten Music, . In War Time, .... Death of Our Martyred President, The Slave Mother's Lament, . The Death of Lincoln, An Emblem, .... Call me Not Back, To the Oriole, .... In Affliction, ..... The Good Shepherd, In Memoriam, ...... Lines suggested by seeing- a picture of our Immortal Washington placing the Victor- Wreath upon the head of our INLartyred Lincoln, . . . "What Ye Know not Now, Ye Shall Know Hereafter, My Mother's Grave, ...... The True Friend, My leather's Bible, ...... My Father's Burial Hour, ..... The Dearest Name, ...... Jesus Wept, ....... Hour of Communion. ..... Pack 157 160 1G2 ]6.", 166 168 170 171 173 176 179 181 188 192 195 19J) 202 206 210 112 213 216 218 221 223 226 229 232 234 230 239 242 2-14 247 CONTENTS. IX Page My All, My All! , 219 Trust iu God, ...... . , . 253 The Good Old rilgiim, . . . . , , 254 Intemperance, .... . . 256 To Pius IX., , , 259 The Present Epoch, . , . 264 Garibaldi, ...... , 267 Impromptu, ..... , , . 270 The Last Decade, . . . . , 271 The Place of Judgment, . , . 273 The Whiged Hours, 285 He is Not Here, ..... , . . 288 Compensation, .... 293 The Autumn of Life, . 295 October of Life, . . . . , , 297 Husband, ..... . . 300 Birthday Reflections, . . . . , 302 Ill Sickness, . • . . . . . 304 Lines on the Death of Alice Gary , , 308 Lights and Shadows, , , . 311 Immortality, . . . . . , 314 What is Death ?— There is No Deaih, , . 317 Flesh and Spirit, . . . . . . 319 Hour of Anguish, .... , . 321 Hope, ...... . 322 Our Father AVho Art in Heaven, , . . 323 His Tender Mercies are over all the Works of His Hands, 325 Sympathy, . . . . . . 327 Hope in Affliction, .... , , . 329 Hereafter, ...... . 330 Thoughts of Heaven, ... , . 334 AYho Will Wind the Clock ? . . , 337 On Seeing God, .... . , 340 To Death, . 343 Done with Earth, .... . 344 DEDICATOBY. I dedicate to you, dear friends, This simple wreath of autumn leaves ; An humble offering 'tis indeed, Which love inspires and friendship weaves. " Smit with the love of sacred song," With truth and beauty's potent power, I give what is so dear to me ; Friends, will ye accept the dower ? Tho' late in life I twine this wreath, I trust it may acceptance find ; Since the sweet flowers which bloomed in youth Have left their fragrance on my mind. Tlieir fragrance, but their bloom is gone, And where birds sang on every spray, Are withered leaves without the flowers. But hope triumphing o'er decay. As the autumnal sunset's glow Doth deepen as the days decline, 12 AN AUTUMNAL WREATfl. So does the love within my soul Grow deeper for those friends of mine. The loved, the tried of early years, Who walked with me life's pleasant ways, The valued few who yet remain To cheer my autumn days. Many who have walked with us. Keeping faithful watch and ward, Have lain aside their pilgrim staff. And gone to their reward. And some of ns who sowed in hope Have reaped in bitter tears ; While some have garnered precious sheaves, The fruit of patient years. I would a worthier gift were mine. One worthy of your care and trust ; Whose bloom and fragrance might survive When I am in the dust. Poor as it is, its every leaf Betokens kind, sincere regard ; And if it does acceptance find, 'Twill be to me a rich reward. Perhaps as you may scan it o'er. It may revive some pleasing thought ; AX AUTUMNAL WREATH, 13 Awake the memory of loved scenes, Which hope and fancy wrought. Recall the vanished hours again, Revive the memory of the dead, Who with sandals wet with early dew. Life's morning paths with us did tread. Cheering to me as heaven's own light. And sweeter than spring violet's breath, Is the sweet faith I cherish yet, That love surviveth death. THE FIAT. "He spake aud it was done; He commanded and it stood fast." A voice went forth ; profoundest depths were stirred, Darkness retired at that Omniflc word ; Chaos, obedient, vanished from the scene, And lo ! a world stood forth, cahn and serene. Yon brilliant sun careering through mid-heaven, Night's glorious orbs, the moon and stars, were given To light the temple where our God presides Amidst His glories, yet His presence hides. Oh ! the stern gi'andeur of that temple, where The thunder organ peals amid the lightning's glare ! Would that each heart an altar might become, Where incense oflfered to that Holy One Might rise upon the winds, whose voice proclaims The august wonders of His glorious name : Might mingle with the surging, loud-voiced flood, And swell the chorus, " Thou, O God, art good." THE MESSIAirS ADVENT. A pui-er air breathes o'er Judea's hills, A holier calm the soul of Nature fills ; Retiring day, far in the rosy west. Proclaims the dawn of promised blessedness. The balmy air now gently doth distil A kindlier dew than e'er on Herman fell ; The distant hills are tipped with mellow light Of Rising Cynthia — Empress of the night. The tranquil shepherds with their flocks recline ; Meek innocents — emblems of the Divine ! The Lamb of God who takes our sins away — The heavenly Shiloh of the Prophet-lay. Why is the blood-stained weapon in its sheath ? Why round the nation's brow the Olive- wreath ? *Why that high, massive dome with gorgeous walls, Its portals closed and silence in its halls ? AVhy from the heait does hoary error groan ? The Idol-god, wh}^ tottering on his throne ? *Tcmi)lc of Janus. 16 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. As darkness flies before the god of day. So do the tj'pes and shadows pass away. Why baleful war, — that scourge of ages past — With blood-stained laurels, withering, stand aghast? His marshall'd hosts have left the sanguine plain, — No hostile navies sweep the heaving main. Yon orient star high o'er the mountains shine ; What means the stranger — favored Palestine ? Bright beauteous star — mild, pensive, and serene, Precursor of the lovely Nazarine ! On, on it moves majestic up the sky. Bright with the radiance of Eternity ; It leads the inquiring wanderers from afar To worship Him, the bright, the morning star ! The Prince of Peace approaches ! — O how sweet To lay the heart's pure offerings at his feet ! To yield the soul's devotion and its praise To Him, who comes, the Saviour of our race! What means that strain of music, soft and low ? Jordan has caught the sound, and in its flow Echoes it back to Zion's sacred towers, Throuoh hallowed ofrovcs and consecrated bowers. ^.V AUTUMNAL WREATH. 17 Is it the warbling- of some Prophet-lyre, Baptized anew with heaven's own altar-Are ? Or does some Eden-strain delight the ear, Which thrilled the heart e'er earth had known a tear ? Oh, how it fires the bosom ! Look on high ! 'Tis not of Eartli — 'tis heaven's own minstrelsy ! It's drapery's drawn aside — behold they come ! The angel-host warm from the spirit-home. They near the earth — how glorious they appear ! List! 'tis for man they leave their native sphere. " Good will to man ! " the burden of their song, Dissolves the heart in bliss as 't flows along. *' Good will to man ! " each shining seraph cries, " Good will to man !" heaven's echoing dome replies. The earth repeated — and the bounding main— " Good will to man ! " then earth was mute again. High heaven then paused, tlie wondrous work to scan ; No angel-mind could sound redemption's plan. When boundless love, that mystery undefined, Gave to the world the Saviour of mankind. 2* ''WHOM, HAVING NOT SEEN, WE LOVE:' I have not seen that pitying face, Which once was bathed in blood-like sweat ; Nor seen those meekly-flowing locks, Which oft were with the night-dews wet. Yet contemplation loves to range Those paths thy sacred feet have prest ; A lowly, meek sojourner then, — Thou had'st not where thine head to rest. Oft, ere morn's dewy twilight hour, When Nature lay in sweet repose, Amidst the mountain solitude Thy meekly pleading voice arose. Before the silent stars went out. Or the pale moon sank in the west, Thou sought'st thy heavenly Father's face, And laid thy cares upon his breast. How warms my heart, while fancy scans Thy works of love in Gallilee ? AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 19 Or where the Kcdron gently flows, Or murmurs the Tiberian sea. Or where the Jordan's cooling waves Unto the sacred rite were given ; And where the mystic dove came down, Proclaiming Thee a Son of Heaven. I have not seen thee on the wave. When all was terror and alarm ; When the sweet accents of thy voice Moved o'er the deep and all was calm. In melting strains, Jerusalem, Flowed the soft cadence of that voice ; Thy sick, thy lame, thy blind among, While angels, bending low, rejoiced. AVhen Death, unwont to yield his dead, Felt thy firm grasp his vitals wound, And Lazarus from the grave came forth In death's pale drapery, closely bound. I have not heard that deep-drawn sigh. That sigh which rent thy sorrowing breast. When thou, in dark Gethsemane, knelt With a world's weight of woe opprest. 20 ^^ AUTUMNAL WREATH. I have not seen thee, toiling, bear Thy heavy cross up Calvar3^'s heiglit, Nor seen thee on that cross expire, When the pale sun refused the sight. Nor have 1 heard that melting prayer, That prayer which moved the ear of heaven ; That those who thirsted for thy blood Might, through thy blood, be all forgiven. I have not heard the low lament. The agony of grief profound, The soul's deep prayer, the stifled sigh, Of Salem's daughter's weeping round. Nor have I seen, with aching heart, Thy sacred head in death reclined. The heaving of the expiring breast, The struofyiino- of the God-like mind. OS When resurrection poured its light Within that dark and gloomy grot, And Thou, with angel-bands, came forth. With rapturous joy, I saw thee not. Yet, 'tho my pensive fancy roves Among thy hills, O Palestine ! And listen to each mournful breeze. It cannot catch that voice divine. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 21 And 'tho I have not heard thy voice, Nor seen thy face, thy hands, thy side ; And 'tho my feet may never press The mountain top where thou hast died, Yet, Failh, midst angel-bands, beholds That form — to bless with arms spread wide, Where cherubim and seraphim Fall down to adore the Crucified. My raptured soul, overpowered with love, Bows lowly down — would kiss thy feet — With grateful heart adore thy grace. And, patient, wait thy face to meet. Deep in my heart of hearts enshrined. Thy name shall live, divinel}' sweet, 'Tho every earthly tie expires. And cold in death it cease to beat. THE EUCHABIIST. " For as oft as ye do this, do it in remembrance of me." Remember thee, thou Son of God, Thou who alone the winepress trod? Tho' earthly friends be all forgot, Jesus, thy friends forget thee not. Remember thee ? — Jesus, we feel It is our highest bliss to kneel Within thy sacred courts, and here Commemorate thy love so dear. Remember thee? — the Truth, the Way? Thy love, dear Lord, to us convey. While turns to thee each wishful eye. And throbs the heart with thee so nigh. Remember thee ?— can we forget The hopes which cheer our spirits yet. To see thy face, thy hands, thy side, O Lamb of God, the Crucified ? AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 23 Remember thee ? — Earth's holiest morn Was when the promised Christ was born ; Divinest gift of lieaven to man ; With grateful hearts the gift we scan. Remember thee ?— thy works of love Our very inmost soul doth move, We see thee raise the fainting head, We see thee bring to life the dead. Remember thee ? — we hear thee pray On the dark mount, ere break of day ; We hear thee raise the sacred song, We see thee feed the famished throng. Remember thee ? — we almost hear The dashing waves, so cold and drear. When thou, on that frail vessel, stood With all the grandeurs of a God. We hear those accents, " Peace be still," The storm-cloud, dark, obeys thy will. The awful waves retire and sleep On the calm bosom of the deep. Remember thee ? — we see thee stand With pleading voice, and outstretched hand, 24 AX AUTUMNAL WREATH. Presiding at tlie sacred feast, Inviting all to be thy guest. Remember thee ? — oft turns our eye To that sad mount where thou didst die ; Hopes cluster round that hallowed cross, Compared with which all else is dross. Remember thee ? — we call to mind The rock-bound tomb, where thou, enshrined, Didst sleep, didst rise, and bring to view A life which angels never knew. Remember thee ? — we'll ne'er forget When thou didst stand on Olivet ; The last adieu, that tender word. We love thee our ascended Lord. And when life's closing hour shall come, And heaven remands our spirits home, Sweet to the soul will be the thought, Jesus, that thou'lt forget us not. ASPIBATIONS. High over head, on sapphire plains, Where camp the ancient stars at night, Eager I turn the inquiring gaze. And plead for light— more light. I search for light — diviner light; My eyes forever more Essay to pierce the mystic veil Of that eternal door. Which he on Patmos' Isle looked throuofh, While robed in vestments of decay ; The glory of whose faintest gleam Would pale to death earth's brightest day. I thirst, I ever, ever thirst. And nought will quench this flame. Until the dust goes back to dust, And soul returns from whence it came. I thirst for knowledge, wisdom, light, A beauty which is undefined. 3 26 ^^V AUTUMNAL WREATH. A vision of extatic bliss Deep in my inmost soul is shrined. Spirit of mine, drink deep At life's immortal founts ; Drink deep from wisdom's flowing stream, There bathe ihj wings and mount. AVhere prophet-bards have swept the lyre, And bathed in heaven's own light, — But stop not there, O stop not there, Still upward wing thy flight. High, higher, higher. Is deeply graven on my heart, — Written as with a pen of fire Upon its inmost part. A voice forever in my ear Calls with a high behest, O come up higher, higher, higher. Nor there attempt to rest. But upward, onward, evermore, Toward the soul's eternal source ; Aspiring ever to explore, Still upward urge thy course. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 27 Thou hast not, Father, made the soul To famish with intense desire ; The spirit's depths thou dost pervade ; To tliee, to thee, it must aspire. Nothing but thine infinity The restless, thirsting soul can fill, Its deathless, yearning, deep desire For somethinof better still. LIFE. Serene the spirit's dawn ; How calm it doth begin ; Like a pale star of morn, Unstained, unscathed by sin, A spark struck oft' from Deity And destined for eternity. A path before it lies, Hours, days, and months, and years, With here a sunny mount. And there a vale of tears ; Its destiny it must fulfill, A power unseen directs its will. SOUL-THOUGHTS. I have no righteousness to plead, Yet, Lord, I love thy sacred name ; I love thee ; why should I not ? My spirit from thy bosom came, And shall soar back to thee again, When dust returns to silent dust ; Shall glow an ever-brightening flame, In hope and love and trust. I joy to think a time will come When every child of Adam's race Within thy temple, broad and vast, Will find a dwelling-place. In joyful hope I wait the day. The restitution of all things ; I joy to see the time pass by. Which the grand consummation brings. 30 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. A whole eternity of life Spreads out before my sight, And thought, o'erwhelmed at the vast scene, Flies to the Infinite. I grasp the pillars of his throne, And death's grim powers defy ; Safe, held by my own Father's hand, How can I fear to die ? MOBNING. 'Tis morn ! midst roses newly blown, Whose fragrant incense breathe to heaven, Father, Td kneel beneath thy throne, And offer praise for mercies given. Accept, dear God, through thine own Son, My praise for blessings ever new ; I've nothing but a grateful heart, — Will thou accept the offering due ? When yesternight its lights put out. And yonder sun had sunk to bed, With night's dark curtains round about, Thine angels hovered o'er my head. As thou did walk amidst the flowers, In dew}'- Eden's sinless prime. Thou walkest now at early hours, And wak'st the morning's chime. 32 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. I love to see thee through thy works, When curious buds and flowers expand, And humbly hold such sacred talks About thy plastic hand. Nature, sweet medium drawn between, As friend with friend, now face to face I can address thy presence, e'en No Eden-sword doth guard the place. THE VEILED HEABT. " Nevertheless, when it shall turn to the Lord, the veil shall be taken away." I saw an eye that could not weep, The fountain-head of tears had dried, The tender chords, which grief did sweep, Long since had withered up and died. And Oh ! that heart of finest mould, Deep wounded, scathed by error's tone— I saw that heart laid bare— 'twas cold- Pulseless as monumental stone ; And on its tablet I beheld. Deep graven as with living fire, Some souls, obnoxious to their God, Were doomed to his eternal ire. And o'er that heart a veil was tiung. Black as the darkness of the night ; I turned aside, my heart was wrung, To see that sad, untimely blight. 34 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. No light throughout its chambers shone, Save one, like comet's baleful glare, Presaging darkness, death, and gloom, Till martyred hope was buried there. I cried, *' Is there no balm in Gilead, — No antidote against despair, — Is there no arm that's strong to save, — No holy, healing, unction there ? " A pause ensued; 'twas solemn, deep, Profound, as was that one in heaven Before that thunder-tempest broke. Or ere that seventh seal was riven. And then a beauteous form appeared. Pure, radiant, as that seraph bright Which woke to song the morning stars, When God first said, " Let there be light." Like Pity, bending o'er the tomb, Where death itself can do no more. She meekly bent her radiant form, And poured the balm of healing o'er. Then, Phoenix-like, it lived again, From the dark dust of death arose, I heard the sweet-toned anthem peal A requiem o'er departed woes. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 35 An altar then that heart beseemed, I saw the smoke of incense rise, I saw it pierce the depths of heaven, A pure, accepted sacrifice. Earth still has hearts as sorely crushed,— How views such scenes the Omniscient eye ? From gilded domes, where Moloch reigns, Ascends to heaven the burning sigh ! And shall this Hydra always reign ? Hail ! watchman, hail ! " What of the night?" The morning breaks, the shadows flee — Hear ye that voice ? " I am the light !" Go tell that form of dark despair That the last tear shall soon be wept. And the dark veil, which he has spread O'er human hearts, will soon be swept. TBUTH. One spirit pure, with white wing iindefiled, Lowly and meek as violet of the sod, Still walks our earth, often in sackcloth clad, And yet majestic as a very god. Out of great tribulation 8he hath come. The blood of martyrs still upon her hem, Mingling with hers, drawn from the inner heart, While she the fight of faith hath fought for them. Thine offspring, thine is she. Eternal God, Cherished by thee and heaven's immortal breath ; 'Tho crushed to earth she soon will rise again, For she can never taste the pangs of death. Once pierced and nailed to Calvary's mournful cross, The awful hour when mercy veiled the sun. Hers was the triumph, — thine be all the praise ! The world's eternal gain that day was won. BE GLAD, MY HEABT. No more, no more, my mournful lyre, Attune thy notes to sadness ; Invoke the muse of cheerful lay. And sing one song of gladness. Earth has its merry-making things. And all the air's alive with song ; Thou say'st thou'd sing wort thou a bird, — Pray to what tribe would'st thou belong ? All creatures have their sunless day. And all their starless night ; Thou coulds't not know the night from day, If both alike were lisht. And had'st thou never known a grief. Nor ever felt a pain, Nevermore would'st thou aspire A hiirher bliss to orain. 38 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Then drink thy cup of hitter-sweet, Nor murmuring turn away ; 'Twas mingled hy a Father's hand — He cares for thee alway. 3IY FIRST SCHOOLMASTER. My first, my good, old teacher, I never have forgot : He was in the " sere and yellow leaf," When I was a little tot. Just let me tell you how he looked, — My teacher of the olden time, — Before I'd learned my a b c. Or ever thought of rhyme. I see him, as before me now, — He was straight, and tall, and slim ; And tho' many things I have forgot, I well remember him. His forehead, — it was broad and high. His nose was rather aquiline. His face was ruddy, oval, fair. And his mouth was very fine. His eyes beamed with intelligence. Were bright, and mild, and blue, 40 ^.V AUTUMNAL WREATH. And the pale pink color of his head 'Midst his thin locks shone through. The years his hair had whitened, And his eyes were getting dim ; But the golden spectacles he wore So well befitted him That he seldom made a blunder. Owing to imperfect sight ; And all our good old master did We ever thought was right. He was somewhat antiquated — He loved the things of old ; So to quite ancient costumes He tenaciously did hold. He wore those fashioned breeches Which came just to his knees ; They were like those in pictures Which one quite often sees. And he sported silver buckles On his knees, one on each shoe ; And the stockings which he wore Were silken, and were blue. His vest was a pale buff, Which reached exceeding low. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 41 To meet the breeches which he wore, In the long time ago. A snow-white kerchief round his neck, My teacher always wore ; 'Twas folded very neat and broad — Three inches— perhaps four. He wore a gown, oh ! such a gown We then had never seen, 'Twas of the colors of the rainbow, An yet was mostly green. His cane was polished hickory, Given him, when a boy. By a kind old Indian sachem. Whose name was Wickaroy. He was a worthy bachelor. Fast wedded to his school ; And so kind he ever ruled us. That he did not seem to rule. Rough men styled him the ' ' sucking dove," He was so meek in all his ways ; For there were bad, as well as good. In my childhood days. His manners, of the olden school. Were gentle and refined, 42 ^^V AUTUMNAL WREATH. Formed in those days when it was thought To be polite was to be kind. He neither drank, nor smoked, nor chewed- He was a temperate man ; And as a theologian, He stood in the front van. His piety was simple, Yet his creed was most severe ; He taught that to the heart of God None but the elect were dear. All about these Godly mysteries, He lain would have us know : I remember once I answered him, " If I was God, rd not do so." In our rural district, then, Hotels did not abound. And so our worthy teacher Was compelled to " board around." Children were thick as blackberries, And our dwelling seemed alive With little responsibilities, A literal human hive. We would flock around his easj'- chair. And chatter, and chirp, and sing. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 48 Like a flock of new-fledged birds, In time of early spring. Sometimes we brought him flowers, And sometimes berries, red ; While pleased he'd smile and answer Every word he said. He carried a green umbrella To school, and 'twas such fun To get within its shadow. And screen us from the sun. Oh ! blessed days, how swift they pass'd, Their memory still is sweet ; Oh! for one hour, again to sit, A simple child, low at his feet. LINES Written on seeing the picture of a mad woman, iu chains, Thou child of fearful destiny, Strange fire is in thine eye. Which burns with a consuming heat, Parching life's fountain dry. I gaze into thy fierce, red eyes. And scan their depths of jet ; With pity, more than tongue can tell — Thou art my sister yet ! Oh, could I read thy life's sad page. The cause — the anguish of thy mind — Yet, 'tis enough for me to know Thou art of human kind. I weep for thy sorrowing heart As I gaze on thy noble brow, But more deeply I grieve for that intellect Which lies in ruins now. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 45 The priest of the inner temple's fled ; The reasoning god has left his throne, And thou art raving in the dark — Imprisoned — chained — alone ! There is dust upon thine head, But no tear is in thine eye, And thine unshod feet in galling chains Are burning— hot and dry. And there's blood upon thy robes, And on thy relentless chain — 'Tis the generous blood from thy bursting heart, Which comes to relieve thy pain. Oh for the healing dew — For that tender, soothing rain. Which heals the heart's deep, festering wounds, And cools the burning brain. Oh for the word which broke From pitying lips of yore ; To calm and soothe thy frenzied mind, Thy reason's light restore. Oh for the music-breathing strains Which swept the prophet's lyre, Which calmed the maddened monarch's soul. And quenched its raging fire. 46 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Ah, how my being's depths are stirred, As I see tlie passers-by Glance at thy pale and haggard face With an unpitying eye. We'll tell it not in modern times, That in the years gone by, The frenzied woman, bound in chains, Was left alone to die. Thank God that a better day Hath dawned on human kind, Which teaches true philosophy — The science of the mind. AN APOSTROPHE TO TIME. Thou awful power whose mystic touch Marks with decay the^ works of man, — What finite power has done so much, — What finite mind thy power can scan ? With scythe in hand, and forehead bare, When first the sun lit up this sphere. On wing elastic as the air Thou didst commence thy swift career. Great universal Leveler, Tliy power is not confined to space ; Thou tireless, ceaseless traveler. Through all the earth, thy steps we trace. Proud cities, arches, temples, domes — Which bid defiance to thy sway, Like frost-work, where the sunbeam comes- Are crumbling, wasting, day by day ; And man, ere half he's run his race. His head with aoe thou silverest o'er ; 48 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Dost spread strange paleness o'er his face, And from his limbs extract their power. The eye, where genius flashes bright — The cunning hand, the inventive mind — They, too, must feel thy withering blight — To dark oblivion be consiofned. The muse of history weeps thy power — Not even she their \iames can save ; She holds them up their fleeting hour. And then thou hid'st them in that grave— Thy treasure-house, where thou hast lain Names dear to fame in days of yore ; Deep, dark concealed, they must remain 'Till thy devasting reign is o'er. On tireless wing, still thou wilt rove. And pluck from his high sphere the sun ; Blot out each star that shines above, And then Eternity will come ! Duration measureless ! — how vast ! Vain, vain, OTime, thine eflbrts all; Eternity ! Eternity ! ! Shall wrap thee in its darkened pall. A WISH. That I might walk on earth As walked Goers holy Son ; That every day might close With all its duties done. That every winged hour, Laden, might bear to heaven Thank-offerings, rich and pare, For hourly blessings given ; And this my motto ever be, Whatever befalls me 'neath the sun, Righteous art thou, thou God of love, Oh ! not my will, but thine, be done. I would have charity for all. Live holy, harmless, undefiled, Tho^ often tempted, sorely tried, Revile not, though I'm oft reviled. I'd shun the gay and brilliant throng, Yet no lone hermitess would be ; 50 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. But often spend delightful hours With souls of sweet affinity. I would not turn away from one, Tho' most degraded of our kind, If I could give one ray of light, Or healing for the darkened mind. Nor, *{'be ye fed, and be ye clothed,'^ Would say to those who seek my door ; But, help to hear the grievous load Of God's benighted poor. I'd leave my bed at dead of nig-^ht To ease one throbbing brow oi* heart ; Would brave the storm, the cold, or heat. To bear some kindly part. I would forgive the deepest wrong. As God hath oft forgiven me, Knowing that motive is the test. And that's not o^iven us to see. SUM3IEB FBIEND8. Close up the doors, shut out the world, The cold, vain, dark, deceptive scene, Where, sick to faintness, waiting long. Each day, from earth, my heart doth wean. Oh for some island in the sea, Some sweet green isle, where none intrude To break, with vain pretensive smile, The silence of my solitude. Yet, one true heart, amidst the wreck Of what I fondly dreamed was true. Remains ; and oh! it must be there. On that green speck of ocean blue. The seamew's notes would charm my ear. And halcyons lull my soul to rest; E'en 'midst the raging of the sea, rd feel that I was richly blest. Oh ! for that haven of repose. Where no deceptive foot hath trod ; Oh ! for that fold where lamblike souls Repose forever with their God. ''fain would i fly away, and be at best:' O for that haven of repose Where lion-foot hath never trod, Which vulture^s eye hath never .seen, And where the pure in heart see God . Fain would I leave this dusty road, Which I so long have halting trod. Would lay aside my pilgrim-staff. And dwell in heaven with God. O hush my heart, and rather seek To be resigned ; 'tis all of God, — Yield meekly to his righteous will. And humbly kiss the rod. All living things which move and breathe, From the poor reptile, 'neath the sod, To the adoring hosts above. All have one source — that source is God. Wisely he marks out every path ; The thorn, the rose, the staff, the rod. Alike are given us in love ; Then, O my soul ! trust thou in God. THE HEART. The heart! the heart ! the human heart. Its hidden mysteries who can tell ? Who can unclasp its mystic seal — Its hopes, its fears, its love reveal ? Its bitter anguish who can see ? None bat the eye of Deity. That Power which formed its secret springs, And woke to joy its tuneful strings, Molded with plastic hand its form, And sends life's current gushing warm Throughout its chambers , dark and deep. Will evermore its issues keep : He feels each shock of joy or grief, And knows the balm which brings relief. The heart ! the heart ! the stony heart, Made hard by sin, neglect, and scorn ; Devoid of pity, joy, and love, — Bleak, dreary desert, dark, forlorn. Unfeeling as the flinty stone ; Cold, isolated, dark, and lone. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. The heart ! the heart ! the contrite heart, Which lowly kneels to be forgiven, Awakes a louder, sweeter note Amid the angel choir in heaven ; A censer-flame, which warmly burns When the poor prodigal returns. The heart ! the heart! the broken heart ! A moonbeam resting on the dead Is like its smile, so fixed and cold We know that every joy has fled, A shattered lyre whose notes are flown ; Leave not the bleedinof heart alone : Thy balm of sympathy impart, And O bind up the broken heart. The heart ! the heart ! the trusting heart. Confiding as the harmless child, Ere the deceptive scenes of earth Its trusting spirit hath beguiled ; It gives its fears unto the dust. And heaven rewards the filial trust. The heart ! the heart ! the hoping heart. How dark soe'er its cloud of gloom, A rainbow spans its threatening form. And heavenly voices hither come, Whispering, " Cheer up, I'm near to aid ; Behold, 'tis I, be not afraid." AX AUTUMNAL WREATH. 55 The heart ! the^heart ! the loving heart, On sympathy and love it lives — In every sorrow takes a part — Its sympathy and love it gives ; Throws out its tendrils, like the vine, Round loving spirits close doth twine ; Yet for a holier love it yearns, Until the dust to dust returns. The heart ! the heart ! the cheerful heart ! A harp of many thousand strings, Whose music breaks the dismal spell Pale melancholy round us flings ; Perpetual sunshine smiles around Where'er the cheerful heart is found ; The evening fireside ! O how sweet The converse when such hearts do meet. The heart! the heart! the pure in heart! Ah ! they alone behold their God ; Their pilgrim feet pursue the path Which the Immaculate hath trod. The dove of peace doth make its nest Within the pure and stainless breast. And joj^s divine to them are given, While they sojourn from earth to heaven. FOOTPBINTS. On the mountains, in the vallies, In the desert, every sod Has been pressed by blessed footsteps, Which have labored there lor G©d. Some with carnal weapons fight. Yet no less secure the right. Devious paths and various motives Have been tollowed here and there ; Toiling ever, all his creatures Still are busy everywhere. Thus it is for God we labor, Tho' most times we're unaware. Thou who guid'st the tiny swallow Thro' the crystal depths of air, Hold'st the hearts of all thy creatures- Beings of thy tenderest care. Thou mak'st a path for every footprint — Mak'st a foot to travel there : Thou art love, and truth, and wisdom. Thou art knowledge, power, and might ; ^xV AUTUMNAL WREATH. Thou who nevermore permitteth Aught but what thou see'st is right, (While each one doeth as he willeth) Holdest each by thine own might. A glorious temple is being builded ; All we, thine agents, in it share. Just the work in that grand temple Which thy wisdom doth prepare ; And when the top stone's laid upon it, All thy creatures will be there, Shouting, "Grace, grace unto it," Thrilling heaven's holy air. " THE 3I0BNING STABS SANG TOGETHER:' Bright morning stars, how sweet yQ chimed When first the world begun ! But there is much yQ did not sing, Which never has been sung. Which waiteth for the eternal morn. When all the human race Begin the jubilatic song, Thrilling infinite space. There is one song ye could not sing, — The angels sang it, when They sang o'er Bethlehem, one glad night, Peace and good will to men. Yet there's a song yeH^e ever sang, Ye blessed stars above, And ye are chanting it to-night — That anthem, "God is love." Be this the burden of your theme, O hymn it o'er and o'er. AN^ AUTUMNAL WREATH. 59 While I, with hands and heart upraised, Stand silent and adore. Soon sin and death will be destroyed, And righteousness abound, When, from center to circumference, This glad song will resound. 3IE3I0BY. Ah ! there are things we would forget, And shroud beneath oblivion's veil, "While sweetest joys we cherish yet, — As soon our hopes of heaven might fail. As we forget them — nevermore ! They are linked with life's mj^sterious tie ; TheyUl go with us to yonder shore. And swell our sum of bliss on high. Here are they nestling like the dove Of peace, in hearts which oft have bled, Restoring scenes of joy and love. And bringing back the sainted dead. Hail memory, hold thine high domain ! With sweet-voiced hope the soul inspire ! Illumine life, cheer and sustain. And warm it with thine hallowed tire ! THE GHOST OF UNBEST. Onward, O onward ! Time in thy flight. And turn thou not back, — not e'en "lor to-night." May there be light in the path which leads down the hill, Down the dark valley — that valley so still. O draw the dim curtain a little aside, — Let me look thro' its iblds where the sweet waters glide, — Pray just let me see the delectable hill. Where "remaineth a rest," so peaceful and still, — Where float the soft notes on the heavenly breeze, Whence come odors divine from the life-heal ins: trees ; O Vm weary, I'm weary of this haunting unrest, And fain would I go to the isles of the blest. Here, if love ever folds its light, joyous wings Round some Avarm kindred heart, and hopefully sings. There reposing in peace, like the dove on its nest. Then obtrusive it comes — the ghost of unrest. 62 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Like the bee's restless wing midst the honeyed flowers, Ever restless the soul with its angelic powers ; Yet when it leans on our Father's compassionate breast, It ventures not there — the grim ghost of unrest. LINES. [Written on a centenarian woman, who was, for a long time, impressed with the idea that God had forgotten to take her out of the world, at which thought slie grieved incessantly, until the worn out heart-strings broke, and the glad spirit, like an un- caged bird, flitted to its final rest.] Poor homesick soul, bowed down with grief, Far on thy pilgrim journey come, An infant of a hundred years. Art wildly crying to go home. Far in thy second.childhood now, Weary and tired, thy way-worn feet. Thou hast borne the burden of life's day, Its morning chills and noontide heat. Lone one ! — companion, children gone. Thou hast outlived both kith and kin ; One by one, long years ago. The Father's house have entered in. I am pained for thee, O aged one ! I feel thy lonely agony ; 04 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Who knows but two-score years may pass. And I be lone like thee ? Faintl}^ thy feeble mind reverts To tender scenes which love recalls ; For dim the lamp of memory burns, In its deserted halls. Thy household gods have turned to clay. All crumbled by relentless time ; All gone the joys of early years, And those of life's gay prime. Bent is thy once tall, graceful form, Thy locks are white as fallen snow. And thou art blind, and deaf, and lame, — We marvel not that thou would'st go. O it is well we can depart, And leave the suffering clay behind, To join the loved of other years, — Our God, our heaven, and home to find. Thy withered hand, instinctive, holds Thy bridal, time-worn ring ; Ma}^ it go with thee to the dust,— It is a sacred thins:. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 05 The satin slippers tliou hast kept, So white, so trim, and neat. Which trip'd the gay, fantastic toe. Upon thy bridal feet. Moth eaten are thy dainty robes, Which thon did'st wear in woman pride, AYhen, arm in arm, thon used to walk With him who long since died. Dark dust is on the volumes now Which once were thy delight, When thine eye was bright as the gazelle's. And all undimmed thy sight. The music of thy loved guitar No more is heard within thine walls ; All mute are thy sweet singing birds, And dim the pictures on the walls. Thine house-top, all overgrown with moss. Its walls are tottering to decay. And desolation tracks the paths Where thou and thine did love to stray. And thou art pining to go home ; Earth's fruits are bitter to thy taste ; Yet fearing God's forgotten thee, Forgot to call thee to the feast. GG AN AirTUMNAL WREATH. Dear saint, the mother may forget Her child, or thrust it from her arms : Yet never will thy God foi-get, — Thou art graven on his heart and palms. Tenderer by far than human love, The love which warms the Father's breast, And all his attributes are pledged To brin^ thee to his heaven of rest. PRE- EXIS TENCE. [" ]\rethin]is that wc liave known sonic former state more glo- rious than the present; and the heart is haunteil l>y dim memo- ries—shadows left by past felicity."] Why do such memories haunt us ? — Did our unclothed spirit dwell 'Neath the shadow of the tree of life, By the heavenly asphodel ? Are we only exiles here, Pilgrims in a world of strife, Till mercy's hand unbars the gate, And gives us back our native life ? Have we lived in some other world Ere we were sent to this ? Or else, why does our spirit pine For joy it seems to miss ? Where is the heavenly, priceless pearl — The gem of perfect ra3% — The rose exhaling the sweet breath Of immortality ? (i8 ^.V AUTUMXAL W HEATH. The bird with pensive eyes Which cometh at our call, Which bears not on its gladsome wing A trace of Eden's fall ? Oar heart seems seeking something lost, — There's ever on the lip a praj-er, And stretching forth of empty hands, Which only grasp the air. It seeks, until the eyes grow dim, To catch the slightest glance Of what doth to vague memory seem A lost inheritance. From the sanctuary of the soul Ascends, like altar-fires, " Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," With vehement desires. Like a blind worm feelino- for wino:s Which its true instinct craves. Or restless sunbeams in the dark Of subterranean caves. Within our spirit's deep recess, Remains unsung our sweetest song ; Perhaps reserved for other worlds, It may not unto this belong. AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 69 Like some sweet rillbeneath the ground, Which is not fed by dew or rain, It sometimes breatlies low murmurings. Yet we have never cauolit its strain. Could we but breathe from out our soul A song aglow with holy fires. Never to cease the heart to thrill Till time itself expires ; But on some hallowed mission sent, Might waft wherever man hath trod, An offering laid at Jesus' feet, And consecrated unto God. Till then, we never can attain The height of our desires ; And in oar prisoned souls must burn Its useless, pent-up fires. There is a hungering of the soul No earthly manna can allay ; A longing for untasted bliss, Not subject to decay. Dear God, if thou hast sent us here To wait, to hibor, and to learn, May faith sultice, instead of sight. Till to thy bosom we return. 70 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. From round to round may we ascend Until so near the skies, Pure, white-robed souls, at eventide, Look lull into our eyes. THE PABTING IIOUB. Sister beloved. O must we part ? — To me the thought is hard to bear, It "brings a pang into the heart, Into the eye a tear. A tear which I would fain suppress. Or wholly hide from thee ; I would no thought might thee distress, However painful 'tis to me. I know -that many tender ties Attract thee to thy native home, That loving hearts and wishful eyes. Impatient, wait for thee to come. Would it had been our lot to live United, as in time that's fled. Loving, as when in babyhood, We nestled in our trundle-bed. When a mother's tender love Our hands did in her bosom warm, 72 ^.V AUTUMNAL WREATH. And a loving, sainted sire Did shield his charge from harm. As when, on unshod feet, we strayed Upon the dewy grass at morn. Or in the mellow snnlight, played Among the ripened corn. When we would chase the hirds and bees Far down the stream we loved so well. And in our childhood's laughing glee Our funny stories tell. Ah me ! how death has thin'd our ranks ! The clover grows o'er loving lips. And eyes, Avhich fondly beamed on us, Are veiled in dark eclipse. Like statues in a marble niche, They stand in memory's undimmed halls. And look with loving eyes on us, Upon our pictured walls. Sister, the years press hard on us ; Life's uplands now seem hard to climb ; While in the llowerless vale I wait For life's last sunset chime. AX AUTUMyAL W HEATH. 73 r.iit thoii must go — say not farewell ; The parting hour will soon be o'er, — The train is near, I hear the bell, AVhich seems to sa^^ we meet no more. Yet we shall meet where no sad bell Shall ever warn us more to part : Now one fond kiss, beloved, Carewell, Sister, farewell, we now must part. ALOXE. [The following lines were written in answer to a friend wlio in- quired if I was ever lonesome when alone.] O friend ! I never am alone. Nor do I hope to ever be ; And when you deem me all alone, The loved in life are still with me. Alone ! — how can one feel alone When God's sweet peace pervades the breast ? The vacant head and heart are lone, As lone as a forsaken nest When the sweet bird has flown away, In other climes to build and sing, And silence in its native tree Lists for the tender notes of spring. O I have felt more lonely far Within the gay, thronged, festive hall, Than now, while gazing at yon star, And listenino: to the waterfall AN AUTUMNAL WHEAT H. _ 75 Which lifts its pensive voice on high, And mingles with the night birds' songs ; While echo, from the distant hills, The solemn sound prolongs. And I have felt a deeper thrill, A holier impulse o'er me steal, When all the world lay locked in sleep. And night its glories did reveal. I've ever loved to gaze at night. Into the silent depths of even, — To mark the watch-tires all ablaze Along the high out-posts of heaven. I jo}^ at the calm noon of night, AVith sweet peace pillowed on the heart. When myriad voices swell with praise. To bear a silent part. There's a love within my inmost soul Which holds communion deep and high. With all forms of life, from the crawling worm To the bright seraph of the sky. I love to roam in forests dim, And list to nature's grand refrain. Now hushed in death-like silence deep. When, lo! the chorus swells again. -e of the leaf and flower. The leaves, I've pressed them to my lips, In love with nature more than art, AVhispering, "the hand which fashioned these. Moulded my beating heart. green, green leaves and fragrant flowers ! swellino- buds with bursting' hearts ! Gods smiles are je, — ye seem to form Of earthly love and heaven a part. 1 ever feel in these dim aisles, To kneel on meekl}' bended knees, While soft winds, like cathedral choirs. Warble amidst the trees. AVhere could I Hy to be alone?— For should the wings of morning bear Me far bej^ond the setting sun, Lo ! the dear God is there. Should I descend Tartarean depths, Where never human foot hath ti'od. E'en in that solemn, dark abode, 1 still should be with God. A y A f ' T(r^^XA l wr f.a tti. Beloved, I would not be alone, — I love the converse of a friend, — Most dear the hours I pass with thee, Thy soul and mine together blend. A cloistered nun I would not be, A hermit life I do not crave ; To me true friendship is a boon, The richest gift kind heaven e'er gave. A gift in love and merc}^ sent To keep alive the human heart ; Hast thou one friend ? — Cherish the gift, JSTor with thy life's best treasure part. 7* TO MY MOTHER, OX MY MABBIAGE. IMother, farewell ! I go from thee. Like the dove from the sheltering ark ; Henceforth another hand than thine Will guide my fragile bark. Another voice will counsel me. Inspiring courage, hope sublime. Another heart will sympathize In fortune's adverse time. 'Tis hard, indeed, to say farewell. Oh, best of mothers mine ! — No heart can ever beat for me More tendeily than thine. Thy faithful heart, thy gentleness^ Thy tender care and love, Ilath woke a chord within my soul To thrill in w^orlds above. Their memory will be to me, Sweet as spring violet's breath ; A X A U 7 UMXA L WR KA 7 '11. Held sacred in my inmost hcai't Through lite — nor lost in death. I look upon tli}^ pensive brow, Upon thy silvery hair, And feel that in thine aged heart, A sadness gathers there. I go, perchance, to joy — to weep, — For such is human lot ; • But be my future what it may, I ne'er shall be forgot. If one loved heart should cease to beat, That heart on which my hope doth rest, Then will thy mateless bird return Back to its native nest. rO AN OLD SCHOOLMATE. My early liiencl, 1 mourn thy fall; Better for thee that thou had died, With all thy laurels on thy brow, In thy yonng manhood's pride. O cursed forever be the bowl Which lures with sparkles at the brim. Yet, in its poisoned depths doth hold The germ of evei-y sin. And O I feel, most sorely feel, That thon, n child of destiny, Did see, and hate, yet could not shun The path which led to infamy. Thou seemest like a fallen star, A darkened, smouldering spark, jMore useless than the mimic light Of glow-worm in the dark. Science has lost a votary, The sick thy skill to tend. ^.Y AUTUMXAJ. irUEATJI. 81 lleligioii grieves at thy sad fall, Thy country mourns a friend. Once I loved tliec Avitli a childish love, Thj^ manners were so mild; Thou wast the idol of our school, At home a favoi'ite child. As comely as an Adonis, Thou wast in Ibrm and face, With the light of genius in thine eye, Which, in vain, 1 strive to trace. I've buried deep within my soul The hopes which thy young life inspired ; Drank deep of the oblivious stream, Since those high hopes expired. And now farewell ; O nevermore Would I see thee again. So painful and so mournfull}^ Renewing memory's chain. And as, in the long years, Tve lived Afar away from thee, So would I still, and fain forget Thy sad apostas^^ . 82 AN AUTUMXAL WREATH. And yet, ibnd memory will not sleep, But in the mirror of the past Beholds thee, with exalted aims, Too high and bright, to last. And still my prayer will be for thee, — Who knows but heaven may yet restore Thee to thy former self again, And to thy friends once more. 'Tis vain, indeed, to think to stand, Without a trust in heaven and prayer ; It is to carve our names on sand. Or write them on the desert air. TO ONE m IIEAVEJSr. Back througli the vista of long years I look and see a well-known face, Whose name is graven on my heart In lines which time can ne'er eftace. Sweet cherished vision, stay! O stay ! Thou rapture-breathing spell ! Fond memory lingering o'er the past Hath kept her record well. Through all my varied walks of life, Through fortune, good or ill, 'Midst joyful scenes or sutfering days. Thine image haunts me still. Thine was a heart of purest mold ; A high, aspiring soul was thine ; Not merely to be great, but good ; llather to glow than shine. Mikl was thine eye as parting day. Or my loved star at even ; 84 AX AUTUMNAL WREATH. And thy sweet smile of tenderness Seemed less of earth than heaven. And shall I see that face in heaven ? And will it look to me the same ? Wilt thou not meet me at the gate, And call me b\' my angel-name ? Hopes, long since gathered up to die. And flowers which drooped in early prime, JNIay 3'et re-bloom in some bright world. And swell its harvest-time. I know not where that region lies. Where thy glad feet now roam : Yet be that place where'er it may, 'Twill be my heaven, my home. COME UP HIGHEB. Come up higher ! — they beckon me, With snowy hands — those gone before ; — For those whom they loved in this world of ours, They will love for evermore. They stand by the side of the river of life, Where the waters so softly flow, Yet wishfully look down the valley of death, For those whom they left long ago. In heaven they look on their crucified Lord, Where is hallowed every desire, And they look down below, where the dark shadows rest, And continually beckon me higher. Like those who roam o'er the burning sands, And long for the cooling stream, Or as exiles, from their country torn, See home in every dream. So I dream, and long for that world of rest Whence those sweet voices come ; Yet wait, my soul, the time of the Lord, Then strike home, O spirit, strike home ! 8 LOVE WITHO UT ALL Y. There is a chamber in my heart Which seldom holds a guest ; A bounteous table waiteth there, Yet few come to the feast. The guest for which my spirit pines Is love, — ^pure, unalloyed, Refined from all earth's dust and dross, — Naught else can fill the void. Where soul with soul in love doth meet. Heart interchange with heart ; Where every feeling, taste, and wish, Doth find its counterpart. Friendships broadcast are sown, — Such as the world calls so, — Which, like the waves of ocean-tide. Do ever ebb and flov/. Friendships most tender, sweet, are mine. Love, which I know is real, AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. 87 But O they fall so far below My glorious, liigh ideal. Is it the yeanling of a soul Allied to a holier sphere-i. That thus it pines and grieves apart, Yet finds no echo here ? I have asked the night, as I have walked 'Neath the burning stars on high, And the strange voices of the spheres, But none gave a reply. "Thou deep-voiced sea, hast thou," I cried, "In thy deep caverns kept A heart which this priceless pearl hath found, And an eye which ne'er hath wept.^" And the sea, as it mirrored the genial sun, Gave out no answering tone. But its waves, as they washed the pebbly shore. Like my own heart seemed to moan. O sea, dost thou grieve when thy caves are full Of the wealth of earth's silver and gold ? When the genius and beauty of earth are thine, Which thou dost in thy bosom hold P ) AX AUTUMNAL WREATH, Ah ! thy gulphing billows forever will yearn, For there is a restless void, Like the aching void within my heart, Which pmes for a love unalloyed. Then I turned to the depth of my inmost soul. Thus vainly yearning here, And it answered, "perfection is not of earth, — 'Tis the growth of a holier sphere." KINDBED SOULS. There's a mysterious chord, which thrills When kindred spirits meet, — Feelings unspoken, undefined, — So strange, and yet so sweet. Which take possession of the soul. Before we are aware. And seem far less of earth than heaven, — For heaven seems everywhere. Who have not felt emotions strange. An undefined, mysterious thrill. Which to themselves was unexplained, — So independent of the will ? When they have taken by the hand One whom they never met before, Think ye such souls were not allied On some celestial shore ? Are they not those within whose breasts Each feeling finds an answering tone, — 8* 00 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. Whose tender, throbbing hearts do feel The deep pulsations of our own ? — Who only live when we do live, Who seem to die whene'er we die ; Or if they linger when we're gone, Their lives are hid on high. Should they depart for other worlds, Leave us in grief behind. The law which binds our spirits here, In other worlds will bind. THE FATHEBLAND. Are there not those we've here not met, Whose memory lingers with us yet ? With whom weVe wandered, hand in liand. Beside the streams of fatherland ? Perhaps in some bright world of bliss, Or ere we wandered into this, We parted, as we left that sphere, And sometimes meet while pilgrims here. Like angel's visits, far between, Seldom they come, — more seldom seen ; And yet vague recollections seem Linfferino:, like some forofotten dream Of something spoken or once heard. Which deeply hath the spirit stirred. Like psalms, heard by the quickened ear Of dying saints, while leaving here. When first awakened— when we've slept A little while — we've often wept 92 AX AUTUMNAL WREATH. At the quick flitting of a face, Of which dim memory held some trace. We breathe the fragrance of a flower, Then dimly see some mystic bower, — In vain we strive to think where seen That sacred bower, so cool and green. Music, sometimes, at eve's calm hour, Comes with its sweet, enchanting power. Borne on the twilight's dewy wing, — This to the soul vague memories bring, — Of quivering harps, and sweet-toned lyre. Which once did set the soul on fire, And makes us long to reach the strand Of our dear native fatherland. FBIEND8HIP. I deem the holiest thing of earth That which has ne'er been soiled by sin ; That plant of healing sent from heaven To win us back again. So vainly sought, so rarely given ! — Friendship such as the angels name, Those pure immortals of the skies, Who bask in its celestial flame. 'Tis there, in all its pristine glow, It poises up the seraph's wing ; Heaven's sweetest joys its highest bliss From their pure friendship spring. Painful distrust can find no place Where mutual souls, as through a glass, Behold its budding, opening bloom. While heaven's sweet seasons pass. If aught on earth can hold me here, When vanished yenrs have spent my prime, 94 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. It must be thine, O friendship dear ! Heaven's sweet gift almost divine. There is a fountain in my heart Which ever swelleth at thy name ; Its waters mingle when they meet, — From heaven's fount they came. there are souls who find a home Within my heart, its grief thej^ calm ; When Marah's waters brim my cup, They pour the soothing balm. Their very thoughts are with me still, Writ on my heart as in a book ; 1 hoard, with more than miser's care, Each cherished word and look. 1 would not cull the scentless flower. With gaudy tints, imperial red ; Be mine the modest fragrant bloom, Whose sweetness lingers when 'tis dead. When true friends die their memory lives, Survives within our heart of hearts. Which, like the full-orbed setting sun. Lingers to bless e'er it departs. LOST JEWELS. [Time and death have been very busy; they have robbed me of some of the rarest jewels ; but their precious memories are for- ever with me. — Epistolary Correspondence.'] How often, like the stricken fawn, I've souglit the cooling shade, To soothe the anguish of my heart, Which recent grief had made. For ere life's early morn was past, The bird in my heart refused to sing. And ere I gained youth's sunny height. She'd folded up her wing. Whatever I had loved the best Was surely alwa3^s first to go ; With me it has been ever thus, — 'Tis for the best I know. I had a lamb, an orphan lamb, Its wool as white as driven snow. Its dove-like eyes, so calm and meek, And O it loved me so. 96 AN AUTUMXAL WREATH. But it was gone ere half a year, That life so loved, so brief, — Poignant the sorrow of that hour. For that was my first grief. I had a tree of matchless form. Which fragrance shed from every leaf, Whose life, like clouds of summer morn, Was beautiful and brief. A rosebush graced my loved pater ee, O'er which I oft with pleasure hung, More beautiful and fragrant far Than ever Flora sung. Too beautiful, alas ! to stay ; I scanned it with an anxious eye, A worm was eating at its root, And soon that rose did die. I had a friend whose little heart Responsive with my own did beat. To school, to church, together went With cheerful hearts and willing feet. As she walked out to gather flowers, One lovely morn in May, AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. D7 Death gently waived his mystic wand, And turned my friend to clay. I think my heart had harder grown ; I could not grieve as when my pet, My sno¥/-white, meek-eyed orphan lamb Did close those eyes of jet. And there was one whose heart of hearts Was fondly pledged in deathless trust. Not many moons had waxed and waned Before that friend was dust. The reaper, Death, with palid face. Came o'er our way with noiseless tread ; I sought that friend, that friend was not, A broken heart was mine instead, ^Twas when the hunter^s moon hung high. And silvery rays were all afloat, Two shining spirits passed it by. And sailed beyond the blue remote. And when I knew that friend was dead, Nor longer seen my walks among, *'Eloi, lama, sabacthani," Hung trembling on my tongue. 98 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. I had a bird, which sweetly sung Above our vine- wreathed door, Too sweet, alas ! to linger long, Too soon 'twas heard no more. I had a gem — a spirit gem, — A bud of being, beauteous, rare ; I laid it on my heart, and when I looked again, it was not there- Swiftly did the death-angel come, — A look of agony I cast, A silent look of tender love, — It was the last, — ^the last. Now often when the day is done, And twilight lingers in the west, I count these jewels, one by one, Loving each one the best. Yet there are jewels richer far Than time on earth can e'er reveal. Hid far behind the morning star, 'Till friendly death our eyes unseal. 3IY ANGEL WATCHEB. A saintly form forever About our path doth keep, That never leaves us — never ! Whether we sleep or wake. She walketh just behind us, With hand on either side, And wings of purplish azure Protectingly spread wide. She sitteth by our pillow, When sleep our eye doth close, And patiently the livelong night She guardeth our repose. At morn, some mystic presence Awakes us from our sleep. And when no form we can discern, We almost feel to weep. And thus she's always with us, In every time and place ; 100 ^.Y AUTUMNAL WREATH. She is always just behind us, So we ne'er can see lier face. Bless God for this good angel, Who doth our footsteps guide ; And, until we cross the river, May she with us abide. Oft she holds our feet from pitfalls, Which thick beset our way ; And saves from many hidden snares, Which in our path doth lay. She cheers us when desponding, And, when weary, sick, and faint, She leads to healing waters, — Our angel watcher, saint. 3I0THEB LOVE. Mother, fold me again to thy heart, Let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek ; The world groweth cold, and is drear, Now thy love, as in childhood, I seek. That love which cradled me early. Which asked for naught in return. But the habe-love borne in my bosom, Which in my ripe heart now doth burn. O thy love, dearest mother, how holy !— 'Tis a spark from the bosom of God, More tender and warm now in heaven. While thy heart lieth under the sod. My faith grasps the pillars of heaven ; On what else can the sad heart recline ? Say, are there not many there gathered Who feel every heart-throb of mine ? 9* OUB MOTIIEIi. "Oh, liow \vc miss hori"* Loved sister ! — j-es, we miss a form, A saintly form wliich we adored ; We do not miss her in our hearts, But in our home and at our hoard. That saintly form is imaged on The retina of affection's eye, And when that form grew cold in death. Part of our being seemed to die. We miss a sympathizing breast, A mild and placid, pitying eye. Which e'er to sorrow and distress Gave tear for tear and si oh for si^h. * This was an expression (^f my sister's, in a letter wbfeh she addressed to me soon after our mother's death. It was tl>e lan- guage ol' the soul speaking through its tears, in all the elofjnence of grief. I can never recall them without a feeling of the deep- est emotion ; they touched the very tenderest chord of my whole being. AN AUTUMXAL WREATH. '103 We miss a voice, whose accents fell On our glad ear, as falls the shower Upon the parched and arid ground, Bringing to life the drooping flower. We miss a hand, which grasped our own, Outside the door of that lov'd cot. Whene'er we came,— and that sweet smile, Ah ! that can never be foro-ot. We miss a step, whose near approach Sent gladness bounding through our heart ; And homesick feelings o'er us came Whene'er we heard that step depart. - How, at the hour of morning prayer, That sacred hour when we all meet, We miss that loved, that rev'rent form,— Like Mary's at the Master's feet. How sad to us that vacant chair, Which on that lonely hearth remains. Where grieves a widowed pilgrim gray. As grieves the dove whose mate is slain. At nightfall, — how we miss her then, How lonesome seems the evening hearth : 104 ^.V AUTUMNAL WREATH. Where can we go and miss her not ? Nowhere upon the earth. Sister, that voice which charmed our ear With its low cradle lullaby, It is not lost, — in some bright world It swells with angel-melody. The chord within that mother-heart. Which vibrates with affection deep. With tender pity o'er us swells. While we in sadness weep. Again to meet that tender friend, A joyful hope to us is given ; A few more sorrowing days, — and then We all shall meet in heaven. 31 AY. Month of my heart ! and art thou here, — Here with thy warm and dewy wing, — With brightening skies and weeping showers, — The very genii of the Spring ; And the sweet Redbreast has returned From his long tour o'er Southern plains, And here recounts the homesick hours He had where slavery clanks her chains. With all thy charms, thou lovely month, To me thou seem'st with tearful eye : 'Twas on thy lap, thou pensive queen. My mother laid her down to die ! Pale May-moon, thou art beauteous now, As in my days of childhood glee, — I know no change has o'er thee come, 'Tho' colder seeiri thy beams to me. 'Tis not the scenes on which we gaze That are so dim or are so bright, — It is the medium, — the haze. Through which we view them. — dark or light. 106 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. When childhood's dew was on this brow, And the warm pulse of life beat high, how I sighed for thee, sweet May ! When wintry winds went howling by. And when I saw thy heralds come, — The gauzy cloud, the sky more blue ; And on the brown, frost-bitten sod. Saw the green grass come peeping through, 1 thought it was earth's natal time, And she was keeping holy-day. And she had called her minstrels out To swell the festive melody. Then with my pet I wandered forth ; (I had a pet, as I have now, — A snow-white lamb — an orphan lamb ; The pet I now have marks my brow.) O blissful days of innocence ! No sins to mourn or be forgiven ; If bliss so sweet, I know again It sure must be in heaven. THOUGH SOBBOW ENDUBE FOB A NIGHT, YET JOT COMETH IN THE MOBNING. After the drought — the blessed rain, Reviving the drooping flowers and grain, The sun returns with cheering light After the gloom of a starless night. After the shower — the heavenly bow ; After the cold — the feathery snow ; After winter — buds and leaves. And twittering swallows under the eaves. After summer — the teeming horn. Full of flowers and fruit and corn ; Then the frost-robed starry night, When the harvest-moon hangs clear and bright. After the harvest — rest from toil. When the golden sheaves from the genial soil Gladden all hearts, and oflerings rise Like the smoke of a grateful sacrifice. 108 AN AUTUMNAL WREATH. After the shroud — the wedding vest ; After the corse, the bride is dress'd ; For joy doth ever follow pain, As after the drought the blessed rain. After the day — the silent night, AVhen the downy couch doth to rest invite ; When o'er the frame soft slumbers creep, For "He giveth his beloved sleep." After the battle — the warriors rest Side by side with the pulseless breast That burns no more with a deadly hate ; Tho' peace has come, it has come too late. After bondage — liberty comes ; After oppression — peaceful homes. When 'neath the shade of the* fruitful vine Unfettered forms in peace recline. After the sigh — the radiant smile ; After sickness — health awhile, When this rose doth bloom on the cheek again, And hopes revive which in dust had lain. After adieus and farewells spoken — , After the o-olden bowls are broken — aj^ autumnal wreath. 109 Beyond the river joyful greetings, And holiest of all holy meetings. After the sorrows of life are past, And the grief-worn heart hath grieved its last. When death at length the eye doth close, Then comes the joy of heaven's repose. THE OLD CAEPET. *-Tes, take the dnsty thing away," To patient Mary I said one day. As o'er its time-worn frnm I careles walked. And of its faded roses mused and talked. While near at hsmd a new booglit eaipet lajr. To take flie old one's plaee, whenerer borne awar Waiting, impatient^ soon to fisd its place. The gandr strange- stared me in the face. As if the floral goddess had kt fan A shower o£ lillest, roses, leaTes and all. In soch prc^usiMi, that one seemed to smeD Their rerr oders as ther rose and felL Eaeh sweDing hod seemed waiting to disclose Its fc^e*! petals, and become a rose ; And tiien tlK shaded leares. witii green so rare. Seemed as H Xatore's plastic hand was there. "Ye*, take the dusty thin^ away. At*"! in its place the new one smoothly lay ; In-iJeed, I'm tired of this poor faded thing. So !ias4:eii, Mary, and the new one bring.'* ^.V AUTUMXAL WREATH. Ill This my reproving angel heard ; And quick as thought my heart was stirred, Su