'^mmmmwmmmmm u *Kr* nnti \ i im*mmmmm 
 
 POEMS 
 
 WILLIAM LOWE 
 
PJass P .S 3 S Z 3 
 
 Book-,0 R74-Ps 
 
 Copyright N° 
 
 COPYRJGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
POEMS 
 
 WILLIAM LOWE 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 BOSTON 
 
Copyright 1913 by William Lowe 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 ©CI.A35 0610 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Author and his book. 
 
 To appreciate a book at its real value, whether 
 great or small, some knowledge of the author is 
 a primal necessity — and to know a man in any 
 real sense we must have some such output of his 
 life as the book he writes or some other work of 
 his hand in which character is revealed. In this 
 case we are fortunate in having substantial 
 acquaintance with the man socially as also through 
 his verses, which have graced our columns from 
 time to time during the past several years. When 
 his first modest offering reached our desk we were 
 so impressed with the indications of unusual 
 talent revealed in the lines, that we wrote him, 
 with approval of his work and encouragement to 
 persevere, and we are glad to see his genius bear- 
 ing fruit in this measure. 
 
 Many of these poems have already won the 
 admiration of the public, with their delicate 
 touches of sarcasm, always softened and mellowed 
 by a kindly spirit, as also by the upward pointing 
 of every thought. The volume contains no line 
 inimical to the purest spirituality and no senti- 
 ment unworthy of the noblest life. 
 
 The book is worthy of its author and the author 
 is worthy of every honor due to one who, bravely 
 standing in his lot has given the strength of his 
 life in service to God and man. 
 
 C. C. Woods, 
 Associate Editor St. Louis Christian Advocate, 
 
 St. Louis Mo. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Admission Free 80 
 
 A Weary Pilgrim 87 
 
 Angels and Angels 52 
 
 Asleep in Jesus 51 
 
 Alone 49 
 
 A Valentine 41 
 
 A Dark Adviser 61 
 
 All Have Been Ours 19 
 
 A Parting Bow 11 
 
 Auld Friends 62 
 
 Better to Sleep 44 
 
 Big Indian 75 
 
 Beyond the Gates 45 
 
 Belated Flowers 47 
 
 Better Now 25 
 
 Bravely Endure 40 
 
 Beyond the Hills 20 
 
 Cheerless Philosophy 36 
 
 Dreaming I Dreamed 85 
 
 Disillusioned 89 
 
 Dread 32 
 
 Eventide is Best 18 
 
 Eerie Fancies 66 
 
 Far Better So 48 
 
 For A' That 58 
 
 "Gentle Spring" 92 
 
 Great Riches 93 
 
 Growing Old 14 
 
"Holy Willie's Prayer" 71 
 
 I'd Be Content 73 
 
 Ideals 31 
 
 I Dream No More 16 
 
 Joy in the Morning 20 
 
 Keeping Young 54 
 
 Lord Circumvent Him 64 
 
 Looking Backward 12 
 
 Lady Bird 33 
 
 Larger Light 42 
 
 "No More Sea" 10 
 
 Nearing the Night — Light 55 
 
 Our Garden 34 
 
 Our Grave- Yards 35 
 
 Only a Word 22 
 
 Old Letters 15 
 
 Only Dreams 35 
 
 One Fact Sufficeth 13 
 
 Some day — Somewhere 50 
 
 Soul of Song 9 
 
 Snobbery 53 
 
 TobeSupplied 81 
 
 The Song of the Suds 83 
 
 Two Learned Doctors 26 
 
 The Price of Love 11 
 
 The Wound is New 17 
 
 Too Late Now 46 
 
 Tired 47 
 
 To a Young Friend 60 
 
 Toll not the Bell 21 
 
The Heart a Harp 40 
 
 The Real Test 89 
 
 The Belle of the Ball 76 
 
 Thou or 1 23 
 
 What is Man 94 
 
 When a Man is Old 31 
 
 Why Call Me Back 28 
 
POEMS 
 
SOUL OF SONG 
 
 The words may be supremely sweet, 
 
 The singer most divinely fair, 
 And yet the song be incomplete, — 
 
 The subtile soul of song not there; 
 Tho silvery strains may rise and fall, 
 As from "the harp of Tara's hall. ,, 
 
 In vain the songster sings of love 
 Until their hearts have felt the fire; 
 
 As well might gentle woodland dove, 
 Unto the eagle's flight aspire; 
 
 Till then, love songs are but bare sound, 
 
 In which the soul of song's not found. 
 
 True love has power to smile at Death, 
 Dare loss of Heaven, or pains of Hell; 
 
 As sword of flame consume its sheath, — 
 A passion words can never tell; 
 
 Until the singer's felt the same, 
 
 Their songs of love are painted flame. 
 
 To sing the song of heart that's sad, 
 
 When dark clouds float in sky that's gray, 
 
 When hopes are dead, and joys are fled, — 
 Let not the laughing lips assay; 
 
 Till heart and lips together sing, 
 
 The song will have a hollow ring. 
 
 A song has form, and rhythmic beat, 
 Well chosen strains, and flowing line; 
 
 A tender thought in words most sweet, — 
 Yet these make not the song divine; 
 
 'Tis when the soul is borne along, 
 
 The feeling heart gives soul to song. 
 
 9 
 
"NO MORE SEA" 
 
 The sea, — the dark, the wondrous sea, 
 In all its vast immensity; 
 The birth-place of the rising sun, 
 Its sepulchre when day is done. 
 
 The sea, — the tossing, restless sea, 
 Like giant struggling to be free; 
 Knowing no quiet, calm repose, 
 A tide that ever ebbs or flows. 
 
 The sea, — the hungry, cruel sea, 
 The cause of untold agony; — 
 Destroying sea, beneath its waves 
 Great hosts have found untimely graves. 
 
 The sea, — the azure summer sea, 
 With rippling waves, like childhood's glee, 
 Bright, sparkling, dancing to the land, 
 And gently breaking on the strand. 
 
 The sea, — the burden-bearing sea, 
 Pressed on by many an argosy; 
 Laden with hopes, and joys, and fears, 
 With griefs and sorrows, — bitter tears. 
 
 The sea, — the moaning, restless sea, 
 Emblem of frail humanity; — 
 Sorrow-bearing, troubled, sighing, 
 Fearing, hoping, sinning, dying. 
 
 O sea, — abode of mystery, — 
 
 In coming great Eternity, 
 
 Thy waves shall cease to roll to shore, 
 
 For time and sea shall be no more ! 
 
 10 
 
THE PRICE OF LOVE 
 
 Who loves, must pay the penalty of love; 
 
 For all its pleasures give returning pain; 
 For life's heart-breaking losses often prove 
 
 The sweetest love song has a sad refrain. 
 
 The blushing rose has its keen piercing thorn; 
 
 The long, bright summer day, ends in dark night; 
 The sheep bears its rich fleece but to be shorn, 
 
 And sorrow treads in footsteps of delight. 
 
 Who lives and loves, lives but to suffer loss; 
 
 Who tastes of Fortune's sweets, must feel her 
 stings; 
 The path to heavenly joys lies by a cross, — 
 
 The great equation of all earthly things. 
 
 Who loves the best, may suffer most; 
 
 Yet tho' severe the stroke may fall, 
 " 'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
 
 Than never to have loved at all." 
 
 A PARTING BOW 
 
 "O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us, 
 To see oursel's as ithers see us." 
 
 I've tried to see with ither's eyes, 
 And what I see gies sma' surprise, 
 
 Tho' it may pain; 
 Fond notions as a dream will pass; 
 When we look thro anither's glass, 
 
 It breaks our ain. 
 
 11 
 
I see a man wha they ca' auld, 
 
 Whose tale o' years they deem near tauld, 
 
 Wha should retire; 
 Wha should be wise enough to ken 
 This is the age o' younger men 
 
 Of zeal and fire. 
 
 I'm thankful I hae sense to see 
 The brethren look this way at me; 
 
 And it were fitten 
 That I to ithers should gie place, 
 Just step aside out of the race, 
 
 Wi' graceful quitten. 
 
 The waters that rin down the burn 
 A backward course canna return; 
 
 And a' our tears, — 
 If ony tears for years now fled 
 By us perchance should e'er be shed, — 
 
 Ca' back nae years. 
 
 As sunset follows the bright day, 
 The youth o' ithers pass away, 
 
 And so maun mine; 
 Nar aan can flight o' Time restrain, 
 Ar it were folly to complain, 
 k)r weakly whine. 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARDS 
 
 I toiled far up a mountain side, 
 The chasms oft were deep and wide, 
 
 Its steeps were hard to climb; 
 For rough and rugged was the way, 
 And fainting 'neath the sun's hot ray, 
 
 I saw naught grand — sublime, 
 
 n 
 
When on the highest point I stood, 
 I gazed upon the path I'd trod 
 
 And saw a glorious sight. 
 The hills below were clothed in green, 
 The rugged crags had golden sheen, 
 
 When viewed from mountain height. 
 
 The toilsome way was now passed o'er, 
 The weary steps thought of no more, 
 
 As tho' they had not been. 
 By distance roughness was subdued, 
 As from a far-off point I viewed 
 
 A grand and beauteous scene. 
 
 So in the lives of those we love, 
 We oft may censure, disapprove, — 
 
 May not have understood. 
 But when from us they've passed away, 
 We've none but loving words to say, 
 
 And think but of the good. 
 
 ONE FACT SUFFICETH 
 
 Amidst the wordy strife of creed with cret . 
 
 And varying views of truth that men may hold, 
 One fact alone sufficeth for my need, 
 A sacrifice I see, a victim bleed; 
 
 God gave his Son, — love that can ne'er be told. 
 
 The Lord of Life beneath a cross bowed down, 
 
 A rugged, darksome path in sorrow trod; 
 Endured the hate of men, their scornful frown, 
 The cruel scourge, and wore a thorny crown; 
 And for our sake poured out His precious blood. 
 
 13 
 
This all sufficient is, nor need I pry 
 
 Upon what God hath wrapped in mystery; 
 His reasons ask, gaze with a curious eye 
 On things divine; or seek to know the "Why;" — 
 These questions leave to great Eternity. 
 
 In vain the angels wish some things to see; 
 
 Yet oft in holy places men have trod, 
 Would rend the veil that hides divinity, — 
 And weak, short-sighted, frail humanity 
 
 With their small scalpels bare the mind of God. 
 
 Sublimely wond'rous the redemptive plan, 
 No finite mind its grandeur can conceive; 
 
 A God incarnate gave Himself for man; 
 
 "The wine-press trod," streams of salvation ran; 
 I would not question, but child-like receive. 
 
 GROWING OLD 
 
 We're growing old, my love, my dear, 
 And life's last mile-stone must be near; 
 It won't be long ere we behold, 
 The pearly gates, and streets of gold. 
 
 For over four decades of years 
 We've felt the self -same hopes and fears; 
 The path of life together trod, 
 Together passed beneath the rod. 
 
 We've ever faithful been and true, 
 You unto me, and I to you; 
 No other love has come between, — 
 I've been your king, and you my queen. 
 
 14 
 
We've seen youth's morning glide away, 
 The dark hair turn to silver gray; 
 And we the flight of years may trace 
 By Time's deep furrows in each face. 
 
 But love — true love, of birth divine, — 
 With age has mellow grown, like wine; 
 And the soft love-light in the eye, 
 Has sweeter shown as years roll by. 
 
 Though we grow old, my dear, my love, 
 Our youth will be renewed above; 
 And first to pass, will sure await, 
 The other by the Heavenly gate. 
 
 For as we near the sunset rest, 
 
 The closing hours are sweetest, best; 
 
 Our love's been tried, and proved pure gold, 
 
 From its first dawn till we are old. 
 
 OLD LETTERS 
 
 We give them to the flames, and let them burn, 
 These treasured letters, yellowed by long years ; 
 
 With aching hearts see them to ashes turn, 
 These sad reminders of past smiles and tears. 
 
 Like to the days that come to us no more, 
 Their writers now from us have passed away; 
 
 Some to the far, unseen, and mystic shore, 
 
 As 'neath the cypress shade our loved ones 
 lay. 
 
 And some, by Time's swift changes scattered wide, 
 Apart have drifted on life's trackless sea; 
 15 
 
We know not if they still on earth abide, 
 
 Or if they sleep beneath the green-wood tree. 
 
 These letters old, bring ghosts of years gone by, 
 Which pass before us in a pale array; 
 
 And tears of sadness fall o'er times of joy, 
 Belonging to a ne'er-returning day. 
 
 These faded missives, with their freight of love, 
 The heart-revealing of the ones held dear, 
 
 Might to some thoughtless souls amusing prove, 
 When we no more can guard with jealous care. 
 
 To us, more precious than their weight in gold, 
 Yet to the flames we lovingly consign 
 
 These sacred letters, kept from days of old, 
 
 Lest stranger eyes should read one tender line. 
 
 I DREAM NO MORE 
 
 I've had my own bright dream, 'tis true, 
 But now such dreams I dream no more; 
 
 My years, or days, on earth too few, 
 Too near the cloudy, mystic shore, 
 
 For the fair dream to realize, 
 
 Or gain what once I deemed a prize. 
 
 In dreams my fancy took high flight: — 
 I thought that I might gain a name; 
 
 I saw afar a mountain height, 
 
 Upon its summit dwelt fair fame; 
 
 I care not now the height to gain, 
 
 Content to dwell upon the plain. 
 
 One lesson we do well to learn: — 
 To gain the choicest prize of life, 
 16 
 
Glitter from gold we should discern, 
 Ask if the gain is worth the strife. 
 Many to lofty heights aspire, 
 Consume themselves in their own fire. 
 
 This knowledge gained, ('tis much to know) :- 
 The price of prominence is pain; 
 
 On mountain heights bleak winds may blow, 
 When balmy breezes fan the plain. 
 
 Since dreams are o'er I only pray, 
 
 For cloudless closing of my day. 
 
 THE WOUND IS NEW 
 
 Yes, yes, — I know that all is well, 
 Though I in deepest sorrow weep; 
 
 The cheering words you seek to tell, 
 
 Cannot the heavy cloud dispel; 
 
 "There is no death, 'tis peaceful sleep;" 
 
 I know, — I know, — these words are true; 
 
 But now, — just now, — the wound is new! 
 
 And hearts when sorely rent must bleed, 
 
 And bitter tears will ever fall; 
 I know my darling one is freed, 
 From sorrow's sting and earthly need; 
 
 These things I know, — I know them all, — 
 I know them full as well as you, 
 But now, — just now, — the wound is new! 
 
 My loved one sleeps in peace, you say, 
 
 But I in sorrow am awake; 
 Sometime there'll come my sleeping day, 
 Sometime this anguish pass away; 
 
 Just now I feel my heart will break, — 
 Words to relieve can nothing do; 
 The wound, too deep, — the wound, too new! 
 17 
 
And your kind words are all in vain, — 
 
 This darksome path alone is trod; 
 Time may bring surcease from the pain, 
 May give me power to smile again; — 
 Leave me to sorrow, and to God; — 
 Grief hides God's goodness from my view, 
 And words seem trite, — the wound is new! 
 
 EVENTIDE IS BEST 
 
 The morning flowers are fresh and fair, 
 
 Bright dewdrops sparkle o'er the lea; 
 By soft south winds the f ol age stirred, 
 We hear the clear, sweet song of bird, 
 In glad and joyous minstrelsy. 
 
 The sun ascends, — the dew drops pass, — 
 
 'Tis now the toilsome time of day; 
 Life's oft-hard tasks our hands employ, 
 The flowers of morn oft-withered lie 
 Beneath the sun's hot burning ray. 
 
 The day declines, — long shadows fall, — 
 The sun is sinking in the west; 
 
 The toilsome hours have passed away, 
 
 And in the restful evening gray 
 
 We feel the twilight hours are best. 
 
 In peaceful hours of closing day, 
 
 To rest from work that's been well done, 
 We've learned true riches to attain, 
 Have ripened like the golden grain, 
 And calmly wait the setting sun. 
 
 18 
 
Youth has its bright and sparkling morn, 
 
 With songs of hope is richly blest; 
 But through the day the songs oft hushed, 
 Its brightest, fairest flowers lie crushed; 
 The eventide of life is best. 
 
 ALL HAVE BEEN OURS 
 
 Life is not gladness all, — 
 
 Has cares and fears; 
 
 And with the years 
 We know some rain must fall, — 
 
 Rainfall of tears. 
 
 But life has brought us joy — 
 
 Made full amends 
 
 In giving friends 
 Whose hands love's tasks employ: 
 
 And song ascends. 
 
 Life has its heat and cold- 
 Sunshine and showers, 
 Bright and dark hours; 
 
 Gives dross and purest gold, — 
 All have been ours. 
 
 And as we near the end 
 
 We'll not repine; 
 
 A power divine 
 Knows what is best to send; — 
 
 His will, not mine. 
 
 19 
 
BEYOND THE HILLS 
 
 In dreams we see a distant land 
 Of silvery seas and golden strand, 
 Clear crystal fountains, — rippling rills, — 
 A sunlit land, beyond the hills. 
 
 We see a sky of beauteous blue, 
 Fair, fragrant flowers of heavenly hue, 
 On sunny slopes, and shaded dells — 
 Edenic land, beyond the hills. 
 
 We see the dear and loved ones gone, 
 Who've crossed the river one by one; — 
 The mystic stream, that each heart stills 
 To rapturous beat, beyond the hills. 
 
 When strength seems gone, and hopes decay, 
 And wearisome may be life's way, 
 A spirit voice oft whispering tells, 
 ! Sweet rest is just beyond the hills." 
 
 In dreams we see, but some sweet day 
 We hope to wake and wing away 
 From earth, where Death and darkness dwells, 
 To life, and light, beyond the hills. 
 
 JOY IN THE MORNING 
 
 Wait thou, in patience wait! — The long, dark 
 night 
 
 Will have an ending; — for the rosy dawn 
 Is swiftly coming on its wings of light, — 
 
 The golden sunrise of a glorious morn ! 
 
 20 
 
But for a period brief will darkness reign, 
 
 And nightbirds render forth their mournful 
 cries; 
 
 The morning cometh! — And a rapturous strain 
 Of glad exultant song will soon arise! 
 
 Tho' in the gloom are gliding spectral things, 
 Which gibbering mock at thee and foully leer, — 
 
 Fear's dread creations on their bat-like wings, 
 That hover 'round and whisper in thine ear, — 
 
 Wait thou! — The morning cometh, and the night 
 Will fold its sombre wings and steal away; 
 
 The phantoms that have haunted take their flight, 
 And song-birds greet thee in the coming day. 
 
 TOLL NOT THE BELL 
 
 Let not the church bell toll 
 Its sadly solemn knell 
 Upon the day 
 I'm laid away; 
 If you should think it well 
 With my departed soul, 
 Let not the church bell toll. 
 
 Sing no sad funeral song, 
 But something to inspire; 
 One full of cheer, 
 That brings Heaven near, 
 On wings of faith mount higher, 
 Nearer the Heavenly throng, 
 Who knows no funeral song. 
 
 21 
 
Wear not the garb of woe, 
 As though all hope were lost; 
 If angels keep 
 Watch o'er my sleep; 
 The cold, dark river crossed, 
 Beyond its chilly flow, — 
 Why wear the garb of woe? 
 
 If I have reached the home 
 By Christ prepared for me, 
 Earth's trials o'er, 
 Reached the blest shore, 
 Have gained the victory, — 
 Why should ye be in gloom 
 Because I have reached home? 
 
 Think of the joys I share, 
 
 And what sweet songs employ; 
 Supremely blest, 
 Eternal rest, 
 Entered the Master's joy. 
 If ye believe I'm there, 
 Think of the joys I share. 
 
 ONLY A WORD 
 
 Only a word — a hasty, thoughtless word, — 
 
 And yet it fell 
 Like unto a keen-pointed, sharp-edged sword; 
 A loving heart made bleed. 
 
 O, none can tell 
 
 As one who feels too well 
 A word can wound as deeply as a deed. 
 
 Only a word — yet scorching like a flame 
 Friendship's close tie; 
 
 22 
 
Perchance no open breach, — yet not the 
 same 
 As in the days gone by; 
 The perfect trust has flown, 
 Seeds of suspicion sown, 
 
 And dark clouds float, where once was 
 clearest sky. 
 
 Only a word — yet filling with great joy, — 
 
 A word of love; — 
 The wine of life; — love words that never die; 
 Sweet tender ones that thrill, 
 With rapture move 
 The joy they give to prove 
 That Eden's fairest flower, with us is bloom- 
 ing still. 
 
 Only a word — and we are often told 
 
 Words are but breath! 
 This doth their mighty potency unfold: — 
 They may be breath of life 
 
 Or breath of Death 
 
 Fair as a bridal wreath 
 Or foul and deadly as assassins' knife. 
 
 THOU OR I. 
 
 There came in thought an angel's voice:— 
 "I come to you at God's command, 
 
 Bringing two cups, and yours the choice 
 To drink the one in either hand. 
 
 "Who drinks this one, will fall asleep, 
 And wake where foes no more molest; 
 No sighs there heard, and none e'er weep,- 
 A land most fair, of endless rest. 
 23 
 
"The other filled with bitterness, 
 
 With heart-aches sad, with Sorrow's tears; 
 With grief that words can ne'er express, 
 For one now lost, — one loved for years. 
 
 " 'Tis yours to choose — but yours to know 
 Whichever be the cup you shrink, 
 The one of sleep or one of woe, 
 
 The one you love that cup must drink." 
 
 Could true, self-sacrificing love 
 
 Choose for itself, if choice were made, 
 
 The sunshine of the land above 
 
 And leave loved ones the cypress shade? 
 
 Would not great love the bitter take? 
 "Be thine the crown and mine the cross; 
 My heart may break for thy dear sake 
 To thee the gain, to me the loss. 
 
 Farewell, dear one; — be mine the pain; 
 
 Join thou the Heavenly symphony, 
 With angels sing a glad refrain, — 
 
 I go to my Gethsemane." 
 
 Of birth divine is all true love, 
 
 And fragrant bloom its brow adorns; 
 
 But time and pain will often prove 
 The crown of love is one of thorns. 
 
 24 
 
BETTER NOW 
 
 You come to ask me how 
 
 Our dear one is today; 
 She is far better now, 
 
 All pain has passed away! 
 We think she saw some glorious sight, 
 As she fell off to sleep last night. 
 
 A smile is on her face, 
 
 As if she has a dream 
 Of forms of Heavenly grace, — 
 
 Sees some celestial gleam 
 From the fair land so far away, 
 The land of griefless, glorious day. 
 
 Oh, yes! — she's better now, 
 
 In sweet and blessed rest; 
 No more of throbbing brow, 
 
 No more by pain distressed; 
 A sweet, unbroken, calm repose, 
 The sleep that no sad waking knows! 
 
 Oh, yes! — she's better now; 
 
 Has been since yestereve; 
 But our sad tears will flow, 
 
 Our aching hearts will grieve 
 O'er our great loss, — (tho' 'tis her gain),- 
 To think she ne'er will wake again. 
 
 25 
 
TWO LEARNED DOCTORS 
 
 He bore the title LL.D. 
 And Doctor of Divinity, 
 And discoursed on Theology, 
 
 Surprising wise; 
 He seemed possessed of wondrous lore, 
 Of knowledge had a mighty store, 
 God's plans and purpose rattled o'er 
 
 To my surprise. 
 
 Told what God could and what He couldn't; 
 Of what He would, and what He wouldn't, 
 And pretty near of what He shouldn't, — 
 
 Had it down pat; 
 All things to him seemed very plain, 
 How could mere man such knowledge gain, 
 Or how so very much retain 
 
 Under one hat? 
 
 Upon a clear, bright summer day, 
 While drifting in a little bay, 
 And angling for the finny prey, 
 
 An isle I spied; 
 'Twas barely twenty paces o'er 
 At widest point from shore to shore, 
 It might be less, it was no more, 
 
 To it I hied. 
 
 Reclining on its scanty sward, 
 A feeble, piping voice I heard, 
 And looking where a grass blade stirred, 
 
 An ant I saw; 
 A greatly-learned ant was he, 
 Dean of Ant University, 
 And proudly held the great degree, 
 
 Doctor of Law. 
 
 26 
 
Around him an attentive throng, 
 He lectured learnedly and long, 
 His argument, so clear and strong 
 
 Conviction wrought. 
 'My pupils, close attention give: 
 Upon this earth on which we live, 
 Surrounded by the watery wave, 
 
 I've deeply thought. 
 
 I've traveled to its utmost edge 
 Climbed to the top of tallest sedge 
 That grows upon the mountain ledge 
 
 On farther shore; 
 I've scanned the water far and wide, 
 From every point, on every side, 
 No trace of other land I spied, 
 
 There is no more. 
 
 Tve tunneled deep beneath the ground, 
 
 To find whatever might be found, 
 
 My research has been most profound, — 
 
 I've sought to know; 
 Brought to it all my powers of mind, 
 Have studied long, and this I find, 
 By laws of logic well defined, 
 
 It's damp below." 
 
 On themes like this the little ant, 
 Like many a human, vain pedant, 
 Assuming to be real savant, 
 
 Discoursed that day; 
 I loudly laughed and thought just then. 
 Some things are far beyond the ken 
 Of learned ants or learned men, 
 
 Whate'er they say. 
 
 27 
 
WHY CALL ME BACK? 
 
 "O Father, spare, — 
 And press not to my lips this bitter cup!" 
 In vain the pleading, earnest, fervent prayer; 
 The cup was not removed, and to the dregs 
 She drank thereof. 
 
 Her darling passed away, — 
 She who had been the sunshine of the home; 
 The loving eyes were closed, and those dear hands 
 That had in works of love been oft employed 
 Lay now so cold and still upon a breast 
 Beneath which no warm heart beat lovingly; 
 Upon the placid face a smile remained, 
 As tho' 'twould say, "Weep not, for all is well!" 
 Perchance the prisoned spirit, ere its flight, 
 Beheld bright angels waving beckoning hands, 
 And smiling, welcomed them. 
 
 But she who wept no angels saw, but knew 
 The angel of the home had passed away ! 
 A smile upon the lips, — but oh, how chill! 
 And love's warm kisses that were on them prest, 
 Met none in glad return. — The scalding tears 
 Upon the pallid face unnoticed fell ! 
 Then in the sorrow of her soul she cried, — 
 "Oh, darling, — darling, — precious one, my child, 
 Beneath this heavy blow my heart will break; 
 With thee departed I shall surely die! 
 Oh speak again, my child, once more to me! 
 Oh, Thou great God, this cross I cannot bear ! 
 Why should I suffer thus? — what have I done 
 That I should thus Thy heavy chastening know? 
 My own dear darling, precious one is ta'en, 
 From out my loving arms untimely torn; 
 
 28 
 
give me back my child, or let me die ! 
 
 They tell me Thou art good, that Thou art love, — 
 Where is Thy goodness or Thy love to me? 
 My treasure taken, from a breaking heart 
 
 1 pray take me also, or give her back again. 
 
 I cannot, — will not, — say 'Thy wall be done!' " 
 
 It seemed a reeling world, — things dimly seen, — 
 And then thick darkness fell, — she knew no more. 
 But soon the ebon darkness passed away, 
 A strange unearthly light, a radiant glow, 
 Fell on the pallid form of her who lay 
 Attired in white for peaceful, lasting sleep; 
 Strains of celestial music seemed to float 
 Upon the air, as though the choir invisible 
 Were singing sad farewells to one held dear; 
 And as in distant space the sweet song died, 
 The peaceful rest was broken, and a gaze 
 Of saddened wonderment rested within 
 The slowly-opening eyes. 
 
 The sweet smile dwelt no longer on the lips, 
 Which, in the soft, low tones of grieved love, 
 Spake tender words once more: — 
 "My mother dear, in answer to your prayer 
 I come to you again ; but love sometimes 
 Can be less kind than death, and from us take 
 A richer joy than earth can ere bestow, — 
 May call us from the land of bliss supreme, 
 To bear afresh the burdens once laid down. 
 I've heard the angels in their songs of praise, 
 The glorious music of the Heavenly land, 
 Have tasted its sweet joys, and have beheld 
 The smiling face of our great, loving Lord; 
 Have heard His words of welcome to the home, 
 The promised place prepared for all His own. 
 
 29 
 
In answer to your cries, these things I leave, — 
 The Summer-land, the land of life and love, — 
 To walk once more along earth's rugged ways. 
 A little longer, we had joyous met, 
 I, waiting in Life's land to welcome you; 
 And ne'er again can earth seem bright and fair, 
 To those who've seen the one that lies afar; 
 And your fond love with God's doth not 
 
 compare : — 
 Why did you call me back, my mother dear?" 
 
 The strange light faded, and the light of earth 
 Returned once more. 
 
 And then the mother woke 
 From her unconsciousness to earthly things, — 
 A new light in her eyes, — a peaceful calm 
 Upon the face so lately trouble-marred; 
 And looking up to Heaven, submissive prayed — 
 "O God, forgive that I did doubt Thy love, 
 Or fought rebelliously against Thy will ! 
 Yet Thou hast heard my prayer. In vision given 
 My child returned and spake once more with me. " 
 Then, gazing on the cold, yet smiling lips, 
 An answering smile came to the mother's face; 
 Though eyes were dimmed by tears that thickly 
 
 fell, 
 As love's warm kisses prest the marble brow, 
 She softly whispered o'er the sleeping form: — 
 "Sleep on, sweet one, sleep on." 
 
 30 
 
WHEN A MAN IS OLD 
 
 A man is old when the lure of gold 
 
 No longer loudly calls; 
 When to the past his thoughts are cast, 
 
 And he dwells in Memory's halls; 
 Who'll talk to men of the good days when 
 
 He was a barefoot boy; 
 Yet in the play of boys today, 
 
 Sees nothing to enjoy; 
 Who growls, and whines, fault ever finds, 
 
 Doth constantly complain; 
 Sigh evermore for days of yore, 
 
 That ne'er can come again; 
 Who thinks the sky is not as blue, 
 The women not as fair and true, 
 
 As they were years ago. 
 The man who talks or thinks this way, 
 Has nearly ended life's brief day; 
 
 This man is old, we know. 
 
 IDEALS 
 
 The fairest pictures are unhung, 
 The sweetest songs remain unsung, 
 
 And dwell in dreams of men; 
 Present in inspiration's hour, 
 Exalted far above the power 
 
 Of any brush or pen. 
 
 In grand and rapt ethereal flights 
 
 The soul may soar to Heavenly heights, 
 
 But utterance never find. 
 May scenes sublime in visions see, 
 Be lost in the infinity 
 
 Of pictures of the mind. 
 31 
 
And yet we may, somewhere, some day, 
 With limitations passed away, 
 
 In some celestial throng, — 
 Tho' earth-bound lips have vainly tried,- 
 On music's grandest crest may ride, 
 
 Achieve majestic song! 
 
 DREAD 
 
 Of terrors, Death is termed the king ; 
 
 His hand is cold, and stern his brow; 
 But 'tis not in his power to bring 
 A darker dread or sharper sting 
 
 Than that which men oft suffer now. 
 
 To daily walk beneath a cloud 
 
 Of falling hopes and rising fears, 
 Of phantom forms, a gibing crowd, 
 Who, jeering weave a shadowy shroud, 
 Which low descending oft appears;— 
 
 An ever overhanging dread, 
 
 As we lie down and as we wake; 
 Attending every step we tread, 
 As sword suspended by a thread 
 Which may at any moment break. 
 
 O Death, we smile at thy dark dart, 
 And in thy face unflinching gaze! 
 What is thy momentary smart, 
 To weary months of burdened heart, — 
 Of starless nights, and clouded days? 
 
 32 
 
LADY BIRD 
 
 My Lady Bird, my Lady Bird, — 
 
 She knows I love her well; 
 There has not yet been coined the word 
 
 That would the story tell; 
 My heart's to warmer beating stirred 
 When thinking of my Lady Bird. 
 
 She's not a Bird of Paradise, 
 
 In gorgeous array, 
 With brilliant plumage to entice, — 
 
 But just a linnet gray; 
 But sweeter music I ne'er heard 
 Than loving voice of Lady Bird. 
 
 She's not majestic, tall and fair, 
 
 Goddess in earthly guise, 
 With a rich wealth of raven hair, 
 
 And black and flashing eyes; — 
 Such stateliness would have deterred,— 
 Too grand to be my Lady Bird. 
 
 The Junoesque some may desire, 
 
 Or Terpsichorean; 
 These forms of beauty love inspire, 
 
 And by them hearts be won; — 
 Before them all I have preferred 
 My little, loving Lady Bird. 
 
 33 
 
OUR GARDEN 
 
 We have a garden in which grows 
 In rich profusion fairest flowers, — 
 
 The beauteous, blushing, royal rose, 
 
 The lily white of stately pose, 
 
 And honeysuckle-covered bowers. 
 
 And there is found the bright blue-bell, 
 
 The plain and fragrant mignonette, 
 The early-blooming daffodil, 
 The little flower we all love well, — 
 The sweetly perfumed violet. 
 
 But stinging nettles there abound, 
 
 The deadly night-shade poison vine; 
 There briers and brambles oft are found, 
 While worthless weeds cumber the ground, 
 And round the flowers their tendrils twine. 
 
 The heart of man's a garden plot, 
 In which live seed is ever sown; 
 Of soul-floral forget-me-not, 
 Or foul weed we would fain uproot, — 
 In others' garden, or our own. 
 
 We oftentimes may thoughtless sow 
 
 Seed that may live for years to come, 
 Within some human soul to grow, 
 When our own heads are lying low, — 
 A noxious weed, or fragrant bloom. 
 
 34 
 
ONLY DREAMS 
 
 At times we dream of what may be, 
 And in the distance green fields see, 
 Where Fortune seems to wave her hands, 
 And beckon to Elysian lands, — 
 To find in light of garish day, 
 The fairest dreams to pass away. 
 
 I've dreamed — until, when I behold 
 On horizon the gleam of gold, 
 Or see in radiant crimson skies, 
 Some glorious palaces arise 
 
 'Midst twining vines, and waving palms, 
 In scenes of fair Edenic charms, 
 The stately dome and minaret, 
 As priceless pearls in coronet; 
 Hear most divine, entrancing song, 
 On perfumed zephyrs borne along: — 
 I know "Things are not as they seem,' " 
 
 'Tis but an iridescent dream. 
 
 OUR GRAVE-YARDS 
 
 We all have grave-yards of our own, 
 Where we to rest have laid our dead, 
 
 Though no white monumental stone 
 Is placed to mark their lowly bed. 
 
 We ve buried there some fond desire, 
 That has forever passed away; 
 
 Some dream that can no more inspire, — 
 For it no resurrection day. 
 
 35 
 
There lies the hopes of years ago, 
 
 Long passed away, and known no more; 
 
 That died in youth's bright, ruddy glow, 
 Faded, and withered as a flower. 
 
 There, some ambitions are at rest, 
 
 Some glorious dream of what might be; 
 
 Some laurels snatched from Fortune's crest, — 
 This dream a fading phantasy. 
 
 Some honor once we sought to gain, 
 Some prize alluring to the eyes; 
 
 Our strivings all proved futile, vain, 
 And hope within our grave-yard lies. 
 
 There friendships lie of years gone by, 
 And love we deemed would ever last; 
 
 Yet love grew faint, fair friendships die, — 
 These now with the departed past. 
 
 At rest they lie, a numerous host, 
 
 Of things that might or should have been ; 
 The hopes and longings ever lost, 
 
 And naught to keep their memory green. 
 
 Above our dead the grass has grown, 
 With blossoms wild, fragrant and fair; 
 
 Their grave has no memorial stone, 
 No mound to tell of what lies there. 
 
 36 
 
CHEERLESS PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Vaunting philosophy, deriding faith, 
 What comfort can ye give when cruel death 
 
 The home invades? 
 Then is the time when ye should show your power, 
 Bring solace, hope, and strength, in the dark 
 hour, — 
 
 Disperse the shades! 
 
 Bring then some message to a bleeding heart, 
 Bind up the wounds, the needed help impart 
 
 To those that mourn; 
 To those who wander in dark Sorrow's night, 
 Speak some consoling word, — show them the 
 light 
 
 Of coming dawn. 
 
 What is your message? — "All must pass away, 
 And death is but the night that follows day, — 
 
 It comes to all!" 
 Is this the best Philosophy can bring? 
 Is this the sweetest song that it can sing? 
 'Twere comfort small! 
 
 O proud Philosophy, that knows no God, 
 And in the path of Faith has never trod, — 
 
 Tho' thou dost boast, 
 Thou art a weakling when men need thy aid; 
 By thee no word of cheer was ever said, 
 
 When needed most! 
 
 Thou art a cold and heartless, cruel thing; 
 That no affection knows; Death's keenest sting 
 
 Cannot remove; 
 Without the power to dry a single tear, 
 Thou know'st not how to speak a word of cheer 
 
 To bleeding love! 
 
 37 
 
What dost thou know of throbbing hearts or love? 
 Can'st thou the heart of man dissect and prove — 
 
 Weigh in thy scales? 
 And is there naught beyond thy power to see, 
 That grander life than this to thee should be 
 
 Like fairy tales? 
 
 Christless Philosophy, thou bloodless art, 
 Cold, calculating mind, but void of heart, 
 
 Thy touch doth chill; 
 Thy glitter as the ice of Arctic seas ; 
 In thy cold light blooms not the sweet 
 heart's-ease, — 
 
 This thou doth kill! 
 
 If souls when passing thro' the waters deep, 
 When hearts are sad, and eyes with sorrow weep, 
 
 To thee should come, — 
 What could'st thou say to them in time of need? 
 Where is thy balm and oil for wounds that bleed? 
 
 Thou woukTst be dumb! 
 
 On Christian faith thou dost cast looks of scorn, 
 Deem it as baseless as the mists of morn, — 
 
 Reason's thy rule; 
 But there's a wisdom thou canst not impart, — 
 On soul emotions, things that touch the heart, 
 
 Thou art a fool ! 
 
 38 
 
THE REAL TEST 
 
 Call not faith firm till tried by storm; 
 A fragile boat may proudly float 
 
 Upon a summer tide; 
 When skies are clear and blue above, 
 With wind as soft as coo of dove, 
 All may go well, and it may sail 
 
 Smoothly along life's sea; 
 And all on board may sing this song, 
 "Our bark is staunch, our bark is strong, — " 
 
 A joyous melody; 
 But when o'erhead the thick clouds spread, 
 
 And winds begin to moan, 
 And soon the fiercely -shrieking gale 
 Doth test the strength of mast and sail, 
 
 The song may change to groan, 
 As waves roll high and in the sky 
 
 Appears no ray of light, 
 And there is heard the awful roar 
 Of breaking waves on rocky shore, 
 
 In thick and murky night. 
 
 Deep pealing thunder rending air, 
 And the fierce lightning's livid glare 
 Reveals across the stormy sea 
 The white-capped breakers on the lee; 
 Black billows breaking on the bow, 
 The tried bark reeling with the blow, 
 The wave-swept deck and buried rail, 
 The bending mast and straining sail, 
 
 In tempest driven along, — 
 'Tis times like these, not summer seas, 
 
 Will prove if bark be strong. 
 
 We may perchance in our heart-pride, 
 Deem our faith firm, when yet untried. 
 
THE HEART A HARP 
 
 The hearts of men are strangely wondrous things, 
 
 Are like unto a harp of many strings ; 
 
 May be attuned to sing glad songs of joy, 
 
 Or woeful wailings may its strings employ; 
 
 May raise the rapt, ecstatic songs of love, 
 
 Sweet as a seraph sings in Heaven above, 
 
 Or wretched discord of a hellish hate, 
 
 There heart strings may within itself create; 
 
 With Heavenly harmonies has power to swell, 
 
 Or the false jarring notes of darkest Hell; 
 
 To all that's high and noble be inflamed, 
 
 Or the dark passions of the doomed and damned; 
 
 May scale the highest heights of ecstasy, 
 
 Or sound the deepest depths of misery. 
 
 BRAVELY ENDURE 
 
 Let not thy heart be faint 
 
 With piteous wail, 
 
 At fate to rail; 
 Make not a weakling's plaint. 
 
 Seek not for sympathy; 
 
 If breaks thy heart 
 
 Smile at the smart; 
 Ask none to pity thee. 
 
 Why all thy griefs declare? 
 
 If thine be pain, 
 
 Complaint is vain; 
 None can thy burden bear. 
 
 40 
 
For men have their own grief; 
 
 Proclaim not thine, 
 
 And weakly whine, 
 As tho' thine were the chief. 
 
 But bravely all endure, — 
 
 The good or ill; 
 
 Time surely will 
 The worst of all ills cure. 
 
 Pain is in Nature's plan, 
 And men should show, 
 Strength 'neath a blow: — 
 
 The trial proves the man. 
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 The day that maids wi' smile and sigh 
 Read mony an amorous, loving line, 
 
 Shall na' go to the days gane by 
 Without an auld time valentine. 
 
 Ye ken what ye hae been ta me, 
 And sae it is nae use ta tell 
 
 Of what your aine eyes plainly see, 
 What ye already ken sae well. 
 
 And when a tale o' love is tauld, 
 There's naething sweeter ta be said; 
 
 It richer grows as we grow auld, 
 For love's dear roses never fade. 
 
 My girl sae dear, I dinna ken 
 
 What Fortune for ye has in store; 
 
 Mayhap much love frae ither men, 
 But nane o' them will love ye more. 
 41 
 
For ye hae been my Lady Bird, 
 
 Wha sings a song, uncaged and free; 
 
 Nae note o' discord in it's heard, 
 A soft and pleasing melody. 
 
 May God bless ye, my bonnie lass, 
 And sweet peace ever with ye bide; 
 
 Bright sunshine as the days may pass, 
 And brightest in your eventide. 
 
 Right weel I ken na' mony years 
 Can I look in your loving ee'; 
 
 And when I pass I hae nae fears 
 But that ye will remember me. 
 
 Our true, pure love has nae foul scar; — 
 When day shall follow life's decline, 
 
 Some happy day, on some fair star, 
 You'll be again my valentine. 
 
 LARGER LIGHT 
 
 O Thou great God, to whom we reverent bow, 
 Thou source of all, upholder of all things; 
 
 Before whom seraphs stand with holy awe, 
 
 And praise with faces hidden 'neath their wings; 
 
 Ancient of Days! Thou great Eternal One! 
 
 Before creation dawned on empty space, 
 Thou in Thine awful greatness dwelt alone, 
 
 With naught that lived or breathed before Thy 
 face. 
 
 42 
 
At Thy command, through space the vast spheres 
 roll, 
 
 And glorious angels circle round Thy throne; 
 Man on the earth appeared, a living soul, 
 
 Made in Thy image, — formed by Thee alone. 
 
 Thou art our Father, we, Thy children frail, 
 See Thee but dimly, and we fain would learn 
 
 More of Thyself; and fear we frequent fail 
 Thy nature and Thy purpose to discern. 
 
 And we would pray to Thee; teach us a prayer 
 That all alike may pray, whate'er their creed; 
 
 In humble confidence to Thee draw near, 
 And find an answer suited to their need. 
 
 Around Thee clouds and darkness; yet Thy 
 throne 
 
 Is one of righteousness; teach us the right; 
 The whole of truth to Thee is clearly known; 
 
 Out view of it obscure; we pray for light. 
 
 What Thou would'st have concealed, we need not 
 know, 
 And not for light on these things would we 
 pray; 
 But of Thyself, Thy will, more light bestow, 
 That we may walk aright; illumine Thou the 
 way. 
 
 We would not by vain thoughts dishonor Thee, 
 Nor prate presumptuously of sacred things; 
 
 From false, unworthy concepts keep us free, 
 Whene'er we think of Thee, Thou King of 
 Kings. 
 
 43 
 
Our King, our Father, as we now draw near, 
 This is our prayer: "Guide Thou our thoughts 
 aright; — 
 Reveal Thyself to us; Thy word make clear; 
 Give wider views of truth, lead into larger 
 light." 
 
 BETTER TO SLEEP 
 
 To sleep would be gain, for in sleeping is resting 
 From pains of the present, and pangs for the 
 past, 
 
 The many hard crosses, and life's bitter losses, 
 The sorrowful sunsets of days overcast. 
 
 There's soothing for sorrow in Lethe's calm river; 
 
 They suffer no longer who drink of the stream; 
 The end of life's fever — departed forever, 
 
 Beyond recollection, has died as a dream. 
 
 To sleep, and to know not the sad-hearted sighing, 
 By the bed of a loved one when Azrael nears; 
 
 When our dearest is dying, their last moments 
 flying, 
 And grief is too great for the shedding of tears. 
 
 Now sleeping — calm sleeping — unbroken repos- 
 ing, 
 From wearisome burden on life's rugged ways; 
 No moaning and soul aches, no groaning and 
 heart breaks, 
 But peacefully passing from clouded, dark days. 
 
 We speak of the past and its fond recollections, 
 The days of our childhood remembered so well ; 
 44 
 
But life has heart-aching, and often heart-break 
 
 6> 
 
 mg, 
 Sweet chimes of the matin, but sad vesper bell. 
 
 When waking is sadness, sleep welcomed with 
 gladness, 
 
 The going of grief and the passing of pain; 
 With weary eyes closing, to peaceful reposing, 
 
 In a land that is cloudless to waken again. 
 
 BEYOND THE GATES 
 
 'Tis vain to bid farewell; thou art not here; — 
 And yet, perchance, unseen thou lingerest near 
 
 The empty shrine; 
 What I weep o'er is but the shell 
 Where thou, thy real self, did'st dwell, — 
 
 A short time was thy home, — no more is thine. 
 Thee I have never seen, — 
 A fleshly veil between; 
 
 But when the hour has come 
 
 To leave my earthly home, 
 These mortal robes will fall away, 
 Earth's darkness die in Heavenly day. 
 
 Then thee and I will meet, 
 
 And hold communion sweet, 
 Beyond the gates of pearl and gold, 
 Where grandly, wondrous scenes unfold, — 
 Thy real self behold. 
 
 45 
 
TOO LATE NOW 
 
 "As thy servant was busy here and there he was gone." 
 
 Some cheering words we meant to say, 
 Some promised visit meant to pay, 
 
 But now the chance has flown. 
 The cheering words were never said, 
 The promised visit never paid, 
 
 For we were busy : — They are gone ! 
 
 These things we fully did intend, 
 
 To cheer the heart of some dear friend, 
 
 To let our love by deeds be shown. 
 But other things would intervene, 
 Some work or pleasure come between, 
 
 We were too busy : — They are gone ! 
 
 How could we know that soon their day 
 Of life would end, — they pass away? 
 
 Had we but known! Had we but known! 
 The words had not remained unsaid, 
 On loving errand we had sped; 
 
 Had been less busy: — They are gone! 
 
 And all regrets are now in vain; 
 Life's stream can ne'er run back again, 
 
 When once it by its banks has flown; 
 Unspoken words, and cheer ungiven, 
 Both might have been had we but striven; 
 
 But we were busy: — They are gone. 
 
 46 
 
TIRED 
 
 "Tired! — tired! — so weary! — and I fain would 
 
 rest. 
 Pain's days are wearisome — its nights so long; 
 O Father, hear my prayer, and grant me sleep." 
 The wearied eyelids drooped and slowly closed, 
 As from afar the voice of friends was heard, 
 All pain had passed away, and in its stead 
 Delicious langour and delightful dreams. 
 As 'midst soft billowy clouds she seemed to 
 
 float, 
 Fair faces smiled upon her; — one drew near 
 A loving kiss to press upon her brow; 
 " Awake my sister!" cried; — and she awoke, 
 Where rest was found. 
 
 BELATED FLOWERS 
 
 Fair flowers are on the casket-lid, 
 And kissed the cold, pale brow; 
 
 Terms of affection towards the dead, — 
 But what avails it now? 
 
 When lillies white and floral wreath 
 
 Adorn a bride prepared for Death? 
 
 The loving words that we may speak, 
 
 Upon sealed ears then fall; 
 Nor will pale lips their silence break, 
 
 In answer to love's call; 
 The flowers unseen, the words unheard; 
 The quiet heart remains unstirred. 
 
 Our loving words, the flowers we bring, 
 At this sad, darksome hour, 
 
 47 
 
With joy had made that stilled heart sing, 
 
 Had they been brought before; 
 To those closed eyes give a soft light, 
 And made their path thro' life more bright. 
 
 Of floral tributes many there, 
 
 Belated words of praise; 
 On the loved one, so still, so fair, 
 
 For the last time we gaze; 
 Our words not heard, love's look unseen, 
 To them, as tho' they had not been. 
 
 Had life brought oft'ner the caress, 
 
 Tho' parting must give pain, 
 It might have less of bitterness 
 
 To those who still remain; 
 If we had more affection shown, 
 Revealed our love ere they were gone. 
 
 Perchance thro' Death's dark mystery, 
 Great truths may be perceived, 
 
 And disembodied spirits see 
 True love they have received; 
 
 And the freed soul, tho' late, rejoice 
 
 To see love's look, and hear its voice. 
 
 FAR BETTER SO 
 
 I feel the loneliness, yet make no moan, 
 And if 'twere in my power would not recall 
 
 The spirit freed, who now afar has flown 
 
 From vales of earth, where sorrow's tears oft 
 fall. 
 
 Love would be cruel that would summons back 
 
 The loved to suffer, tho' our own hearts ache. 
 
 48 
 
All ended now, the weary, weary days; 
 
 The long, dark, restless nights are now no more; 
 No more of watching with a tear-dimmed gaze 
 
 One slowly passing to the mystic shore; — 
 The land afar, the home of all the blest 
 After life's storms, the haven of sweet rest. 
 
 Have I not prayed for lo ! these many years 
 That she should never know the parting pains? 
 
 That I should be the one to shed the tears, 
 The one I loved to sing the Heavenly strains? 
 
 As bonds must break, the time of parting sure, 
 
 The one should bear who can the best endure. 
 
 Tho' hearts may ache at severance of the tie, 
 
 Yet it is best, oh yes! far better so; 
 The time will come in the sweet by and by, 
 
 When we again our lost will meet and know — 
 A dear reunion, and life's sorrows seem 
 But as the shadow of a troubled dream. 
 
 ALONE 
 
 'Tis a thought full of sadness, 
 
 As eventide nears — 
 The journey's a lone one 
 
 Through life's closing years, 
 For the children, like young birds, 
 
 On strong wings have flown 
 From the parent's old nest 
 
 To nests of their own. 
 
 Dear ones have departed 
 To Heaven's fair shore; 
 The tender tie severed, 
 49 
 
The old life is o'er; 
 The circle now broken, 
 
 Its joys are all fled; 
 The hearth-fire extinguished ,- 
 
 The ashes are dead. 
 
 The song-birds are silent, 
 
 And naught doth remain 
 Of the soul-cheering music 
 
 But mournful refrain; 
 So I'd welcome the sunset, 
 
 The scft failing light, — 
 The dreamless reposing, 
 
 The long silent night. 
 
 SOME DAY, SOMEWHERE 
 
 Some day, — some day, — the time of rest 
 
 For us will come; 
 Somewhere, — somewhere, — in land most blest, 
 
 A glorious home 
 By Christ prepared for you and me, — 
 Though now this home we dimly see, — 
 And there a blest eternity 
 
 We hope to spend. 
 
 And if this helpful hope should die, — 
 This bright star in a clouded sky, — 
 What could the grievous loss supply 
 
 Should this hope end? 
 In time of loss help us to bear 
 In times of grief this faith can cheer; 
 The rainbow glows within the tear, 
 
 When losses fall! 
 
 50 
 
O say not, — " 'Tis an empty dream ;" 
 Or that "Beyond Death's sullen stream 
 There is no bright celestial beam, — 
 
 This life is all!" 
 If it be dream, let me dream on, — 
 Dream 'till at last shall set my sun 
 
 In life's far West! 
 But yet I feel 'twill rise once more, — 
 Rise when life's clouds and rain are o'er, 
 Upon a fair and cloudless shore, 
 
 In glorious East. 
 
 ASLEEP IN JESUS 
 
 So peacefully sleeping, 
 
 White bloom on the breast; 
 No more of earth's weeping, 
 
 By sorrow oppressed; 
 In God's kindly keeping, 
 
 Forever at rest. 
 
 No room for repining; — 
 
 Above the thick night, 
 The stars are still shining, 
 
 With Heavenly light; 
 And soon is the dawning 
 
 Of bright, blessed day 
 Soon cometh the morning, — 
 
 Night passeth away. 
 
 Why should we be grieving, 
 
 In spirit cast down, 
 When dying's receiving 
 
 A Heavenly crown? 
 Perchance by tomorrow 
 
 Our summons will come 
 51 
 
From scenes of Earth's sorrow 
 To joys of sweet home. 
 
 Not hopeless, though saddened; 
 
 And short is the wait 
 'Till hearts will be gladdened, 
 
 And pass through the gate 
 Which open is swinging; — 
 
 Our loved ones behold, 
 And join them in singing 
 
 The story of old. 
 
 ANGELS AND ANGELS 
 
 We hear about the angels, 
 
 Bright immaterial things; 
 Who fly about among the clouds, 
 
 On Jong, white, sweeping wings; 
 'Tis said that they keep watch and ward, 
 
 O'er us both night and day, 
 And when we go to our reward 
 
 Will bear our souls away. 
 
 But after all the angels 
 
 That NOW do us most good, 
 Are the material angels 
 
 Of human flesh and blood; 
 Who smooth the pillow of our bed, 
 
 On helpfulness intent; 
 Who, when we're bruised and battered up 
 
 Rub us with liniment; 
 
 Who help us in our time of need 
 
 With kindly word and smile; 
 Who, when we're flat upon our back, — 
 
 The tedious hours beguile; 
 52 
 
The loving angels of the home, — 
 Who tho' they have no wings 
 
 Have loving hearts and willing hands 
 To do the helpful things. 
 
 The angels of the upper air 
 
 Just now we do not miss 
 While we have earthly angels here 
 
 To cheer and love and kiss. 
 
 SNOBBERY 
 
 There are some folks who'll take your hand 
 And feel they're condescending; 
 
 Their own will loftily extend 
 With a slight, frigid bending, 
 
 And seem to think we should feel blest 
 
 To kiss the earth their feet have press 'd. 
 
 It's true we may have little gear 
 While they may have a plenty, 
 
 But we may hold our honor dear 
 Altho' our goods are scanty, — 
 
 And wealth is often-times the stool 
 
 That elevates to view a fool. 
 
 These purse-proud snobs will often be 
 
 Despisers of the masses; 
 A vain, exclusive coterie 
 
 Of self -admiring asses; 
 Who meet with mutual admiration, 
 And deem themselves "Cream of creation." 
 
 Her serious business is the game 
 Of bridge-progressive euchre; 
 
 53 
 
He, of mentality the same, 
 "Goes in" for billiards — poker; 
 'They toil not, neither do they spin," 
 To earn their bread do not begin. 
 
 There's nothing greater than a man 
 (What-e'er his earthly station,) 
 
 Whose life fits into God's great plan, — 
 Will bear investigation; 
 
 But often-times I think with Puck: 
 
 'What fools" when on some folks I look. 
 
 KEEPING YOUNG 
 
 I don't confess to being old, 
 
 Tho' over three-score years have fled, 
 And a long story could be told, 
 
 Since youth's soft ringlets crowned my head; 
 For years with me have kindly dealt, — 
 Old Time's keen tooth but slightly felt. 
 
 And as he now may plow my face, 
 And place his seal and signet there, 
 
 His lines do but the surface trace, 
 
 The soul untouched by his plowshare;— 
 
 For tho' youth's fresh bloom may depart, 
 
 One always may keep young in heart. 
 
 Some cares and troubles come to all, 
 
 And life is not a holiday; 
 Into each life some rain must fall," 
 
 And many days the skies are gray; — 
 Our youth we far too soon may bury 
 In a dark grave of useless worry. 
 
 54 
 
Life has its sorrows, — this is true, — 
 And times when all seems dark and drear, 
 
 But then it has its pleasures, too, 
 
 Days when the sky is blue and clear; — 
 
 And we might see the angels' wings 
 
 By viewing the bright side of things. 
 
 There is an art of keeping young, 
 And no one has a patent on it : — 
 
 Don't think you're always being "stung," 
 Or carry wasps in your own bonnet; 
 
 Avoid all useless, fooling fretting, 
 
 And learn the fine art of forgetting. 
 
 And this is sound philosophy: — 
 
 What-e'er life's play, accept your part, 
 
 And seek to grow old gracefully, 
 And keep within a youthful heart: 
 
 Smile at the sports of lads and lasses, 
 
 E'en tho' to see, you need your glasses. 
 
 NEARING THE NIGHT— LIGHT 
 
 Two old men sat in the shade of the trees, 
 Their white locks fanned by the evening breeze, 
 Their eyes grown dim with passing years, 
 Deep furrows plowed by time and cares. 
 
 They watched the sun as it sank to rest 
 'Neath the crimson clouds of a golden west, 
 And each one felt as he watched the sun, 
 That his own course was well nigh run. 
 
 They had been friends from early youth, 
 In different fields had sought for truth, 
 
 55 
 
Upon life's mysteries deeply thought, 
 Had read what the world's thinkers taught. 
 
 The question of man's origin, 
 When, where, and how life did begin; 
 The question of man's destiny, 
 When present life shall cease to be. 
 
 They had argued o'er Moses, and Christ, and 
 
 Paul; 
 Over Spencer, Darwin, Haeckel, — all 
 That modern scientists taught about man, 
 Spontaneous life, and creative plan. 
 
 Of primitive cells, of germs, protoplasm; 
 
 Past, present, and future; of hell, earth, and 
 
 Heaven ; 
 The first cause of all thingSj — on doctrine and 
 
 creed 
 Had many discussions, and seldom agreed. 
 
 That eve as the sunlight was fading away, 
 And the sky being clothed in a mantle of gray, 
 The song-bird had hushed its happy, glad thrill, 
 And a deep silence rested on valley and hill — 
 
 A calm, sacred silence, unbroken by word, 
 And only the voice of the Spirit was heard. 
 These men with their spirits communing alone, — 
 One heard a sweet song, the other a moan. 
 
 One said, — "I know no First Eternal Cause, — 
 No great controlling power save nature's laws. 
 I am passing away; — into the gloom! 
 
 Passing away, no ray of cheering light 
 Illumes the darkness of the silent tomb; 
 
 56 
 
When ends life's transient day — eternal night! 
 An endless sleep — dreamless unconsciousness; 
 
 To never more know joy, or grief, or pain, — 
 For nothing there can cheer, elate, depress; 
 
 Once I was not; — shall soon be naught again. 
 Forever passed away ! to be no more ! 
 For me, the future nothing holds in store; 
 This life alone I have — this life the whole!" 
 
 The other thus communed with his own soul: — 
 "Oh, Thou great God, whose presence space doth 
 
 fill, 
 In wondrous ways accomplishing Thy will, 
 In all these grand developments I find, 
 The mighty workings of a Master Mind; — 
 From dust of earth, and lowest life, to man 
 The carrying out of Thy creative plan. 
 And greater yet to be, to Thee more near, 
 What we shall be it doth not yet appear. 
 I see the bright light of a perfect day — 
 The shadows of Time will soon pass away." 
 And he shed the tears of rapturous joy, 
 As he thought of the nearing bye-and-bye, 
 "The sweet bye-and-bye," on the Heavenly shore, 
 When the storm-tossed voyage of life was o'er! 
 ;j One sad voice whispered, "Nearing the night!" 
 A glad voice answered, "Nay, the light!" 
 
 57 
 
FOR A' THAT 
 
 (With apologies to Burns) 
 
 We may be poor, my brither, dear, 
 Hae little gear and a' that; 
 
 Get poor appointments, year by year, 
 And yet be men for a' that; 
 Respect oursel and a' that, 
 Our work be sma and a' that; 
 
 The work it dinna mak the man; 
 A man's a man for a' that. 
 
 What tho' we may hae nae rich food, 
 
 Wear seedy claise and a' that, 
 Rich victuals dinna mak good blood, 
 
 May gie the gout and a' that; 
 
 Breeder of boils and a' that; 
 
 And broadcloth claise and a' that, 
 They never yet did mak a man; 
 
 A man's a man for a' that. 
 
 Ye see yon gawk who's caed D. D., 
 
 How big he feels and a' that; 
 If he saw things as things we see, 
 
 He'd shrink in size and a' that; 
 
 Tail feathers drap an a' that; 
 
 About D. D. and a' that; 
 We ken how they sometimes are got, 
 
 And we can smile at a' that. 
 
 A Bishop may an Elder mak; 
 
 Gie him some power and a' that; 
 But tho' he may a District tak 
 
 Nae preacher be for a' that; 
 
 Or very poor for a' that; 
 
 58 
 
May na' be wise for a' that, 
 Tho' he may hae the Bishop's stamp, 
 Be a sma man for a' that. 
 
 Now when we to the Conference gang, 
 To ken our place and a' that; 
 
 And look upon the titled thrang, 
 P. E's., D. D's and a' that, 
 Connection men and a' that, 
 Lang necked giraffes and a' that, — 
 
 Tho' they may strut wi' lofty head, 
 Haud up our aine for a' that. 
 
 They dinna ask where we wad go, 
 We are too sma for a' that; 
 
 The big aines get the cream you know, 
 And we skim-milk and a' that, 
 Thin, blue, skim-milk, and a' that, 
 At times it's sour and a' that; 
 
 But dinna ye get sour, my lad; 
 Keep yoursel sweet and a' that. 
 
 Then dinna greet, my brither, dear, 
 
 About your lot and a' that; 
 If you're true gowd it will appear 
 
 In spite o' place and a' that; 
 
 Be a true man and a' that; 
 
 Haud up your head and a' that; 
 Title and place ne'er made a man, 
 
 A man's a man for a' that. 
 
 59 
 
TO A YOUNG FRIEND 
 
 It hasna been much in my line 
 
 Ta gie girls "taffy-honey;" 
 But not sine days o' auld lang syne 
 
 Hae I met lass sae bonnie. 
 
 A kind fate it maist surely waur, 
 That ta our hame has brought her; 
 
 I wadna wish ta break the law, 
 But wish she waur my dochter. 
 
 Were I not wed, upon the shelf, 
 And mony years behind me, 
 
 I wad court Myrtle my aine self; 
 She wad nae faint heart find me. 
 
 Mayhap she'd laugh — I ken a' that, — 
 
 Think me a foo' for tryin'; 
 Yet try I wad tho' a' my fat, 
 "Wad burn up in the fryin'." 
 
 May sweet flowers bloom alang her way, 
 Few thorns and mony roses; 
 
 And come with each succeeding day 
 Some fair and fragrant posies. 
 
 And may she live for mony years, 
 Fu' o' bright smiles and laughter; 
 
 And only leave this warld o' tears, 
 Ta smile forever after. 
 
 60 
 
A DARK ADVISER 
 
 Auld Satan is surprisin' wise, 
 
 His morals past apology; 
 And it wad gie me nae surprise, 
 
 If he kenn'd best Church-ology. 
 
 He could untangle mony a knot, 
 They'd be to him nae mystery; 
 
 For he waur right upon the spot, 
 And helped to make Church history. 
 
 There is nae doubt, becoming dressed, 
 He mony a council did attend; 
 
 His "godly judgment" there expressed, 
 How they the true faith should defend. 
 
 And when they met in council grave, 
 I'm pretty sure there wadna be 
 
 Mangst those wha met the Church to save, 
 A keener nose for heresy. 
 
 He wad be fu' o' holy zeal, 
 
 And wad the holy saints inspire 
 
 To love forget, — nae pity feel, — 
 But burn the heretics wi' fire. 
 
 And Auld Nick hasna lost the art 
 Amang the saints to wiggle in; 
 
 There play his aine maist cunning part, 
 And then gang back to Hell and grin. 
 
 He wadna hae the Churches more 
 
 Christ-like in loving unity ; 
 Sae rubs the scab frae an auld sore, 
 
 And slyly laugh in de'ilish glee. 
 
 61 
 
For Churches wi' the self -same creed, 
 Against each ither aft arrayed; 
 
 On points of doctrine baith agreed, 
 Of closer union sair afraid. 
 
 Preach to the warld the self-same Word, 
 One common faith their heart inspires; 
 
 Baith get much siller for the Lord, 
 To spend on rival altar fires. 
 
 They wad be ane, if they could tell 
 Baith of the twa that ane wad be; 
 
 Some "humble saints," the de'il kens well, 
 Haud precious their ain dignity. 
 
 It waur through pride the angels fell, 
 And aften-times it seems to me 
 
 There is a sort of brimstone smell 
 On much sae-ca'd fraternity. 
 
 AULD FRIENDS 
 
 "Should auld acquaintance be forgot?'' 
 
 Was asked in days of yore; 
 Of course they should, — why should they not, — 
 When they're cared for no more? 
 
 When they're cared for no more as friends 
 
 When they're cared for no more; 
 'Twere well acquaintance were forgot, 
 When love is felt no more. 
 
 And tho' we hae in days gane by 
 
 Ca'd ane anither friend, 
 Friendships aft-times may droop and die, 
 
 And hae untimely end. 
 
 62 
 
Hae an untimely end, I say, 
 
 Hae an untimely end; 
 Their sweetest flowers may fade and die — 
 
 Hae maist untimely end. 
 
 We may forget acquaintance auld, 
 
 Hae recollection sma'; 
 The love ance felt grow faint and cauld, 
 And friendship passed awa\ 
 
 Friendship may pass awa', ye ken, 
 
 Friendship may pass awa'; 
 A bonnie bloom has faded, when 
 Auld friendships pass awa'. 
 
 For life aft-times has mony a tear, 
 
 And mayhap smiles ower-few; 
 And wards o' true friends aften cheer, 
 And turn gray skies to blue. 
 
 Can turn gray skies to blue, my friend; 
 
 Wad turn gray skies to blue; 
 
 The blessed sunshine on us send, 
 
 And change the gray to blue. 
 
 Dinna forget the friends o' auld, 
 
 But hauld their friendship true; 
 The auld friends are the tested gold, 
 Ye dinna ken the new. 
 
 Ye dinna ken the new, as yet; 
 
 Ye dinna ken the new; 
 The auld and tried dinna forget, 
 Because ye hae some new. 
 
LORD CIRCUMVENT HIM 
 
 Oh Lord, our God, hear Thou the prayer 
 
 We offer frae a heart sincere; 
 
 We pray Thy special presence near 
 
 Saints in communion; 
 Who meet and seek the path to clear 
 
 To closer union. 
 
 'Twixt churches in their forms agreed, 
 Born of aine mither, same in creed, 
 Its sinful folly, there's nae need 
 
 Of ony wrangling; 
 We pray Thee, Lord, the day to speed 
 
 That ends a' jangling. 
 
 Gie them the wisdom to devise 
 A way in which true union lies, 
 And do Thou open wide their eyes 
 
 To Satan's snares 
 For great men are na' always wise, — 
 
 Thy Word declares. 
 
 Gie these men wisdom frae above, 
 
 And let Thy Holy Spirit move 
 
 To acts that spring frae the pure love 
 
 That thinks nae evil; 
 May they Thy aine wise servants prove, 
 
 And shame the Devil. 
 
 Nae prophet's needed to fort ell 
 The advent of the Prince of Hell; 
 Frae doing some deed that's maist fell 
 
 Wha can prevent him? 
 Save Thou dost guard Thy servants well, 
 
 And circumvent him! 
 
 64 
 
For in the days of lang ago, 
 Satan waur going to and fro, 
 And wi' the Sons o' God wad show 
 
 Before the Lord, 
 To gie auld Job a cruel blow 
 
 Wi' fire and sword. 
 
 And well we ken he's still the same, — 
 Wad keep alive a jealous flame 
 To the discredit and the shame 
 
 Of a' our churches; 
 Do Thou for honor o' Thy name 
 
 Save frae his clutches. 
 
 Do Thou direct their thoughts aright, 
 And gie to them a true insight; 
 Auld Nick will seem angel o' light, 
 
 And winna fail 
 To hide 'neath robe that's lang and white 
 
 Baith hoofs and tail. 
 
 O may their wisdom come frae Thee, 
 And bring about true unity! 
 Auld Satan's plans will gang a-gley 
 
 If there's nae friction; 
 But to Thy people it wad be 
 
 A benediction. 
 
 65 
 
EERIE FANCIES 
 
 When we're alane wi' them at night, 
 Our thoughts show mony a curious sight, 
 
 Strange things appearing 
 Bright bonnie lasses, smilin' faces, 
 Auld withered hags, and wizened witches, 
 
 And goblins leerin'. 
 
 Aine night while by the hearth-stane sittin', 
 My thoughts ta friends o' auld were flittin,' 
 
 And by-gone days; 
 In my auld chair takin' my ease, 
 Watching the fire-light's cheerin' bleeze, 
 
 Taistin' my taes. 
 
 I mused and dozed; the fire burned low, 
 'Till nocht remained but a faint glow, 
 
 Soon ta expire; 
 Na' cheerin' bleeze ta rise and fa', 
 Throw dancing shadows on the wa' 
 
 Frae blazin' fire. 
 
 While dozin' in my easy chair, 
 
 I felt some eldritch thing was near, — 
 
 Some fearful fae; 
 Something I felt, but couldna see, 
 Was casting cruel looks on me, 
 
 Like beast o' prey. 
 
 I'd heard nae opening o' the door, 
 Nor any foot fa' on the floor, — 
 
 A' ghastly still; 
 "Wha's there, and what's your business here?" 
 I ken my voice fair shook wi' fear, 
 
 And blood ran chill. 
 
Just then a wee blaze frae the fire,, 
 Shaw'd what great fear might weel inspire, 
 
 And pale the cheek; 
 A lang, gant, spectre wi* a cowl, 
 On a white skull that seemed to scowl, — 
 
 A' dressed in black. 
 
 "Ye ask my name? why, mon, it's Death; 
 My business is ta' stap your breath, 
 
 Ye'll shortly find; 
 I do my work wi' much dispatch, 
 As easy as blaws out a match, 
 
 In gale o' wind." 
 
 I maun confess it made me start, 
 When he shaw'd me a lang, keen dart, 
 
 And looked sae grim: 
 "I ken ye could by what ye carry, 
 But there's nae need for ony hurry," 
 
 Says I ta him. 
 
 "Sit down and gie your shanks a rest; 
 I think, old chap, that ye had best 
 
 Pit aff the wark; 
 Just tak' your time an' bide a wee, 
 Or come again some ither dee," 
 
 Says I ta him. 
 
 He glowered a bit, and then he said, 
 "Ye scarce hae tooth within your head, 
 
 Sae stap your blether; 
 A few white hairs in your auld pow, 
 I ken I should lang time ago, 
 
 Hae cut your tether. 
 
 67 
 
"Ye are nae chield, I lang hae tarried; 
 Ye canna say ye hae been harried 
 
 Into your grave; 
 Ye ken some day ye'll hae ta gang, 
 And I wad like ta ken how lang 
 
 Ye want ta live." 
 
 "I havena fixed the time" says I; 
 "Just wait, I'll ca' ye by and by, 
 
 Can't say just when;" 
 Says he, "What do ye tak me for, 
 Ta think I'd wait until ye ca';" 
 
 I lost hope then. 
 
 His dart he grippit; Lord! thought I; 
 He pretty soon will let it fly 
 
 My heart ta find. 
 His purpose I couldna prevent; 
 I had nae thought he wad relent, 
 
 Sae freed my mind. 
 
 "So ye're the aine that gaes about, 
 And mony a shinin' light pits out; 
 
 Hae ye nae shame? 
 That taes away those held maist dear, 
 The cause o' mony a bitter tear 
 
 O'er broken hame. 
 
 "What sort o' pleasure is there in it? 
 And what did tempt ye ta begin it, 
 
 Your wark o' woe? 
 Your wark sae cruel and sae evil, 
 Ye auld twin brither o' the Devil, 
 
 Ta wham ye'll go. " 
 
 68 
 
Says he "As auld gowk ye surpass; 
 There was some sense in Baalam's ass,- 
 
 Ye shaw nae trace. 
 I ken that folks talk sae about me, 
 But nane before has dared ta flout me, 
 
 Sae ta my face. 
 
 "I ever hae been sore maligned, 
 By the whole race o' human kind, 
 
 Since I waur born; 
 They ca' me cruel, fearsome, ghastly, 
 And when they speak about me maistly 
 
 Wi' hate and scorn. 
 
 "I wad scorn my dart ta inbrue 
 In blood o' such an unco foo', — 
 
 'Twad be a shame; 
 'Twadna be fit ta use again; 
 I'll knock your brains out wi' a stane 
 
 And send ye hame. 
 
 "Ye bletherin foo', dinna ye ken 
 I dinna hae ta hunt for men? 
 
 They hunt for me; 
 The means o' livin' sare misusin', 
 Their bodies aften-times abusin, 
 
 In lechery. 
 
 "See them in gormadizin', drinkin', 
 Frae nae vile dissipation shrinkin', 
 
 Ganging their gait; 
 Carousin' aft frae night till mornin', 
 And hae nae thought about reformin' 
 
 Till it's too late. 
 
 69 
 
"And as for women there's nae tellin' 
 
 The length they'll gae ta shaw they're willin' 
 
 That I should come; 
 Lace till they canna draw a breath 
 Cut short their days, an' on poor Death 
 
 Lay a' the blame. 
 
 "What auld Dame Fashion may decree, — 
 Law neck, thin soles, whatere it be, — 
 
 They maun obey; 
 In dressing shaw they hae nae gumption, 
 Get caulds, pneumony, and consumption, 
 
 And pass away. 
 
 "Sae mony ways I am invited, 
 
 Ye'd think that folks were maist delighted 
 
 Ta come ta me: 
 For now-a-days folks live sae fast, 
 It stands ta sense their days soon pass, 
 
 And sae they dee. 
 
 "Yet for it a' I am accused, 
 
 A' my life lang I've been abused; 
 
 Nae tongue can tell 
 How these things prey upon my mind, 
 I fear I'll wake some morn and find 
 
 I've hanged mysel. 
 
 "But I maun gang; I've much ta do; 
 But first, my lad, I'll settle you, 
 
 I'll get that stane." 
 Just then I heard the first cock craw, 
 The ghastly thing had passed awa'. 
 
 I was alane! 
 
 70 
 
"HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER" 
 
 (With apologies to Burns) 
 
 Oh Lord, my God, help me to pray, 
 Turn not Thy righteous face away, 
 Tho' I sae aft hae gone astray, 
 
 In crooked path; 
 Hae mercy in that dreadful Day, 
 
 Thy Day o' Wrath. 
 
 Thou surely art a patient God, 
 Or most assuredly Thou wad, 
 Smite me with Thy avenging rod — 
 
 Send me to Hell; 
 A sinful path I lang hae trod, 
 
 Thou kennest well. 
 
 I waur self-righteous Pharisee 
 And had nae real humility; 
 When I professed to draw near Thee 
 It waur a sham; 
 
 Lord, how could'st Thou suffer me 
 To speak Thy name? 
 
 1 maun confess wi' hanging head 
 That when in kirk the prayer I led, 
 T'waur but a form o' words I said — 
 
 Of prayer nae part; 
 When for Thy help I should hae plead 
 Wi' all my heart 
 
 In it there was nae holy fire, 
 
 Nae humble heart or great desire — 
 
 I prayed so that folks wad admire 
 
 And think me gifted; 
 The Holy Ghost did nae inspire 
 
 In pride uplifted. 
 71 
 
When by my bed I knelt to pray, 
 My thoughts aft wandered far away, 
 On worldly things went a' astray — 
 
 Waur not on Thee; 
 Let not Thy vengeance dire repay 
 
 Sich mockery. 
 
 I waur puffed up wi' sinful pride, 
 
 In my own merit glorified — 
 
 Thy patience must hae sare been tried ;- 
 
 O Lord forgive! 
 While in my aine sight sanctified, 
 
 Scarce fit to live. 
 
 In judgment aft I've been unjust, 
 Thought ither men, vile, sinful dust, 
 In my own goodness greatly trust, — 
 
 Thought myself right; 
 When fu' o' earthly, fleshly lust, 
 
 In Thy pure sight. 
 
 I've prayed for blessings on my store, 
 Tho' I had much, yet wanted more, 
 And thought but little on Thy poor, 
 
 Who were in need; 
 Lord, in Thy mercy pray look o'er 
 
 My selfish greed. 
 
 I hae vindictive feelings nursed, 
 
 And in my heart some men hae cursed, 
 
 And e'en asked Thee to do Thy worst 
 
 In their vexation; 
 And had a most ungodly thirst 
 
 For their damnation. 
 
 72 
 
O Lord, forgive that impious prayer, 
 
 Against the presbyt'ry o' Ayr, 
 
 When I besought Thy arm made bare, 
 
 To their tormenting; 
 When my aine sins I'd better far 
 
 Hae been repenting. 
 
 Oh Lord, my God, I plainly see, 
 My heart it wasna right with Thee; 
 It was as vile as vile could be, — 
 
 As Hell's dark lake; 
 Do Thou from all such sins set free, 
 
 For Christ's dear sake. 
 
 I'D BE CONTENT 
 
 I'm sure I have not got the itch 
 For making money, being rich, — 
 
 For riches are a bore; 
 I'd simply like to have enough, 
 Of the bright, heavy, yellow stuff, — 
 
 Ten millions or more. 
 
 I'm moderate in my desire, 
 To luxuries do not aspire, — 
 
 I am a simple man; 
 I'd like to own a private car, 
 And when I wished to go afar, 
 
 A special for me ran. 
 
 I do not care a snap for style, 
 
 And yet, perhaps, 'twould be worth while 
 
 To have a coat of arms; 
 A team of blacks, and one of bays, 
 With burnished gold the harness blaze, 
 
 As I drove round my farms. 
 73 
 
But one small farm would do for me, 
 One I could easily o'ersee, 
 
 Too large would be a care; 
 A little farm with fertile soil, 
 One that would pay me for my toil, — 
 
 About, — say ten miles square. 
 
 I'm one of the old-fashioned kind, 
 To new inventions not inclined, — 
 
 They mostly are a pest. 
 I want a touring car, (first-class,) 
 That no one on the road could pass, 
 
 I want the very best. 
 
 I'd like to have an humble home, — 
 Or more than one, — have one at Rome, 
 
 And one at gay Paris; 
 Another one at Washington, 
 And still one more at big London; 
 
 And villas by the sea. 
 
 And then I might as well as not 
 Have built for me a first-class yacht 
 
 With all the latest frills; 
 To take a little pleasure cruise, 
 Round Casco Bay and Newport News, 
 
 Or midst the Thousand Isles. 
 
 With these small things I'd be content, 
 Nor would my poverty lament, — 
 
 For blessed are the poor. 
 I'm thankful wealth I do not crave, 
 But with these trifles like to have 
 
 Ten million dollars more. 
 
 74 
 
BIG INDIAN 
 
 When first there thundered o'er the plains 
 The swiftly moving railroad trains, 
 There dwelt a doughty Indian chief, 
 Who in such things had no belief ; 
 Who vowed they should not go before 
 His Indian lordship's wigwam door. 
 
 He swore he would not let them go, — 
 
 They scared away the buffalo; 
 
 Their screech and whistle, — thundering sound,- 
 
 Would quite destroy the hunting ground; 
 
 He vowed he'd jerk one from the track, — 
 
 The cursed railroad he would wreck. 
 
 So he prepared a lariat long, 
 
 Of extra length, and doubly strong; 
 
 When all prepared one summer day 
 
 He stood upon the right of way; 
 
 His lariat round his waist tied fast, 
 
 And swore his place should not be passed. 
 
 As a swift train was drawing nigh, 
 
 With resolution in his eye: — 
 
 "Me great Big Indian!" proudly said, 
 
 And twirled the lariat o'er his head; 
 
 At the right moment out it flew, 
 
 His arm was strong, his aim was true, 
 
 Around the smoke stack dropped the loop; 
 
 He gave a big triumphant whoop. 
 
 It was his last. For sad to tell 
 The next sound was a fearful yell ! 
 A yell that told of dire disaster; — 
 Tho' he could run, the train ran faster ! 
 
 75 
 
Around the smoke-stack was the noose, 
 The end round him would not unloose ! 
 
 His great mistake he quickly found, 
 
 In fighting for that hunting ground; 
 
 It was too late then to repent, — 
 
 He fain would stop, but onward went, 
 
 Sometimes broadside, sometimes heels up, 
 
 He had to go, he couldn't stop; 
 
 On the hard ties his head would thump 
 
 With many a sore and grievous bump. 
 
 The end of that proud chief was sad: — 
 
 He knocked out what few brains he had. 
 
 [Moral] 
 Don't try swift progress to restrain 
 Unless you're bigger than the train ! 
 And if you enter in the fight, 
 Don't 'round you tie a lariat tight. 
 
 THE BELLE OF THE BALL 
 
 "The witching hour of night, 
 When church-yards yawn, and graves give up 
 
 their dead;" 
 Tho' restful spirits silent keep in bed, 
 
 In quiet Hades; 
 Yet at the midnight hour grim spectres stalk 
 Unquiet from their graves, and take a walk 
 With ghostly ladies. 
 
 Once when by the fire side musing, 
 After ghostly lore perusing, 
 Of grim spectres, — goblin, leering,— 
 'Till I felt that one was nearing, 
 From the outer gloom was coming, 
 
 76 
 
From the place of its entombing, 
 From its bed of dark, dank sleeping, 
 From the place where worms are creeping,- 
 O'er me came a creepy feeling, 
 Something eerie towards me stealing. 
 With blue flame the firelight burning, 
 Towards the door mine eyes kept turning; 
 Tapping footsteps soon was hearing, — 
 Thro' the opening door appearing, 
 A grim form that stood before me, — 
 (Cold sweats breaking out all o'er me;) 
 Silent standing, thing of horror, 
 Seemed to freeze my very marrow; 
 Ghastly silence all unbroken, 
 Not a word by it was spoken 
 Till I, in sheer desperation 
 Essayed sang froid conversation, 
 All my courage down to zero, 
 Strove to play the dauntless hero. 
 "Who are you? — why came you here? 
 What! the late Miss Van De-Vere?" 
 I'd have stayed to hear no more, 
 But 'twas 'twixt me and the door; 
 Did not dare a swift leave taking, 
 Tho' I in my shoes was shaking ! 
 "Why thus honored with a visit? 
 'Twould be pleasure most exquisite, 
 And I'd deem myself most blest, 
 Were you somewhat better dressed. 
 You are coming negligee, 
 And I trust you'll pardon me, 
 But you could improve upon it, 
 By a veil and a nun's bonnet ; 
 Something on your shoulders throwing, 
 Something that is full and flowing; 
 
 77 
 
To your looks you would be adding, 
 By a small amount of padding; 
 Tho' none but a foolish ninny, 
 Would assert that you were skinny, 
 Yet your fondest, dearest crony, 
 Would confess you somewhat bony! 
 Tho' of course you still are charming, 
 Yet you've fallen off alarming; 
 Decollete the fashion seems, 
 But you bear it to extremes ! 
 Once you had a smile most winning; 
 (Please to moderate your grinning), 
 Where are now your long soft tresses. 
 Your red lips just ripe for kisses? 
 Those soft eyes so amorous — gleaming; 
 Looks of love enticive, beaming? 
 Where the thousand little graces, 
 Lustrous silks and dainty laces; 
 All the rich and rare adorning, 
 When you danced from night till morning? 
 You were famed for graceful walking, 
 Now, stiff jointed you are stalking; 
 Even this must be hard toiling, 
 For your joints are dry — need oiling! 
 Where your once bewitching glances, 
 As you led in graceful dances?" 
 
 Then, — with arms outspread, advancing, 
 In a ghostly, mincing dancing, 
 With its head nodding and wagging 5 
 And the under jaw low-sagging, 
 Soon it stood grinning before me, 
 And then bending closely o'er me, 
 Threw its bony arms around me, 
 To the fleshless bosom bound me; 
 On my cheek and lips impresses 
 Hard, and curst, and loathsome kisses! 
 78 
 
Bore me struggling on the floor, 
 Round and round and o'er and o'er, 
 In an awful dance was leading, — 
 Dance of Death the measure treading; 
 And the fleshless jaws oft met, 
 Rattling as a Castanet! 
 Round and round in gruesome dancing, 
 Rattling bones in ghastly prancing, 
 Bony arms in firm embracing, 
 Bony fingers in caressing, 
 To my lips the white teeth pressing, 
 Loathed, ghastly, ghoulish kissing; 
 With the eyeless sockets staring. 
 In my face with hideous glaring, — 
 For where bright eyes once were beaming. 
 Now phosphoric light was gleaming! 
 Dimmer the blue lights were burning, 
 Round and round in rapid turning, 
 Wheeling, shuffling, gliding, bending, 
 In a dance that seemed unending, 
 Other ghostly forms were blending: 
 Coming from their resting places, 
 Coming from the grave's embraces, 
 In decaying vestments drest, 
 Arms encircling, breast to breast, 
 Treading eldritch grave-yard measures, 
 Hideous shadows of past pleasures, 
 In a grim sepulchral whirl, 
 Holding a grand spectral ball! 
 
 But the central figure there, 
 Was the late Miss Van De-Vere! 
 
 79 
 
ADMISSION FREE 
 
 Old Brother Means, in pious mood, 
 
 Would sing most lustily, 
 That old-time, good revival hymn 
 "I'm glad salvation's free." 
 
 He was a pillar in the church, 
 
 Firm in the faith was he, 
 And nothing more believed than this — 
 
 Salvation's full and free. 
 
 He was quite sure he had a home 
 
 Where many mansions be; 
 It made his inmost soul rejoice, 
 
 To think he'd get it free. 
 
 His eyes to Heaven he'd lift in church 
 
 In holy ecstasy, 
 (And could not see the plate go round,) 
 
 Because he'd get it free. 
 
 When he was asked for Mission cause 
 
 To contribute a V, 
 His soul had a congestive chill — 
 
 Salvation seemed not free. 
 
 He owned rich lands, and blooded stock, 
 
 With a long pedigree, 
 But when he bought a first-prize hog, 
 
 He found hogs were not free. 
 
 When tax collectors came his way, 
 
 He was in misery, 
 To think his earthly home cost much, 
 
 While Heavenly ones were free. 
 
 80 
 
He had a good big bank account, 
 
 Enjoyed prosperity; 
 Would dole a dollar to the church, 
 
 And sing, "Salvation's free. ,, 
 
 At last he died and left it all; 
 
 His soul at liberty 
 To seek for the celestial gate, 
 
 And claim his fair home free; 
 
 But somehow seemed to lose the way, 
 
 Got where he wouldn't be, 
 For Satan bowed, and grinning said, 
 "Come in: Admission free!" 
 
 TO BE SUPPLIED 
 
 The Conference year was near its close, 
 And godly souls of Saintville Station 
 
 Were in the agonizing throes 
 
 Of earnest, private consultation; 
 
 On one thing they were all agreed, 
 
 A change of preachers was their need. 
 
 The one who had them served that year 
 Had been there long enough, they said; 
 
 They sighed, and groaned, expressed a fear 
 The church was dying — well-nigh dead; 
 
 If it would be revived again. 
 
 He must be moved — that much was plain. 
 
 It's true that year was but his first; 
 
 A long and costly move he'd made; 
 He'd never yet been reimbursed; — 
 
 Of things like that nothing was said; 
 
 81 
 
Though he had striven his work to do, 
 The old must go, — send on the new. 
 
 The Elder came, 'twas his last round; 
 
 He was by saints invited home, 
 To give him counsel most profound 
 
 About what could or should be done; 
 The building up of Saintville Station 
 Demanded much consideration. 
 
 "If you'd send one that can preach good, 
 We'd pay four hundred dollars here; 
 'Twould strain us hard, but then we would 
 
 Promise that much another year; 
 Send us a preacher of that sort; 
 (This year we're only eighty short.) 
 
 "We want a preacher that can preach 
 Like Marvin did when at his prime; 
 That 'way up into Heaven can reach, 
 
 And soar among the stars, — sublime; 
 The tortures of the damned can tell, 
 And give the sinners lots of Hell. 
 
 "We'd want him to preach much on love, 
 And feed our souls on angel's food; 
 Who'll Heavenly recognition prove, 
 
 And put us in a shouting mood; 
 To great consoling subjects given, 
 Be strong upon the joys of Heaven. 
 
 "Must not be young, must not be old; 
 Must not be solemn, nor be gay ; 
 Must not be timid, nor be bold; 
 
 Must be first-class in every way ; 
 Send one like this to Saintville Station, 
 We'll ^ive four hundred and donation." 
 82 
 
The Elder listened to them all, 
 
 And, with specifications done, 
 Said, "Your demands are modest, small; — 
 
 You want ten preachers rolled in one: 
 He must come cheap, — you'll have to stay 
 'Till Conference bargain-counter day." 
 
 The Conference closed, appointments read, 
 And to their charges preachers hied, 
 
 But none to Saintville Station sped, 
 For it was left "to be supplied" 
 
 By transfer from some unknown sphere, — 
 
 For none that filled the bill were here. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SUDS 
 
 There's the song of the mount, 
 
 And the song of the vale, 
 The song of the stream, 
 
 And the song of the rail, 
 The song of the shirt, 
 
 And the song of the woods, — 
 But I never yet heard 
 
 Of the song of the suds. 
 
 Yet what would we be 
 
 Were soap-suds unknown, — 
 Wash-boilers all vanished, 
 
 And wash-tubs all gone? 
 The duds all enveloped 
 
 In primitive dirt, 
 Go dirty and grimy, 
 
 Without a clean shirt! 
 A picture most horrid, 
 
 My fancy now paints: — 
 
 83 
 
If godly at all, 
 
 We would be grimy saints! 
 
 The story of Eden 
 
 Is sweet to believe, 
 But we should be sorry 
 
 For poor Mother Eve; 
 It's not sacrilegious, 
 
 (At least so I hope) 
 She must have been filthy, — 
 
 For where was her soap? 
 Without comb and brush, 
 
 And never a glass, 
 Too sunburned to blush, 
 
 A frowsy old lass. 
 
 If like other women, 
 
 (And she must have been,) 
 She would have desired 
 
 To keep herself clean. 
 And when the Old Serpent 
 
 Made his polite bow 
 To the mother of all, 
 
 She wanted to know 
 Of some simple device, 
 
 That was not yet in sight, 
 To make her look nice, 
 
 And be less of a fright. 
 
 Now Eve's lovely daughters 
 
 We greatly admire, 
 But not Mother Eve 
 
 In her scanty attire. 
 And when she had learned 
 
 To make her some clothes; 
 To wash her own face, 
 
 Scrub the dirt from her toes; 
 84 
 
To straighten her hair, 
 If she hadn't a comb, 
 
 She was looking more fair; 
 For her wash day had come. 
 
 The Fathers may call 
 
 It the fall of the race, 
 But I think after all 
 
 She was growing in grace. 
 So here's to the tub, 
 
 The boiler, or pot; 
 To the women that scrub, 
 
 To water so hot; 
 To soap and wash-board, 
 
 To the clothes on the line;— 
 For have we not heard, 
 "To be clean is divine?" 
 On our linen no taint, 
 
 Make it cleanly and white; 
 Smell not like that saint, — 
 
 The unwashed Stylite. 
 
 DREAMING I DREAMED 
 
 I had a dream the other night, or day : — 
 
 I thought I'd joined the host who'd passed away 
 
 From mortal life; 
 That the old reaper, commonly called Death, 
 Had claimed me for his own, cut short my breath 
 
 With his sharp knife. 
 (I know he's represented with a sickle, 
 But what he cuts with matters not a nickel.) 
 
 Tho' I was dead, I seemed to hang around 
 This lower earth, on my old stamping ground, — 
 Somehow kept here; 
 
 85 
 
The whole affair was dream-like unto me, 
 Why thus kept here, it was not plain to see, 
 
 Nothing seemed clear. 
 (I'd sailed from shore of Time, but made no offing; 
 'Twixt this world and the next, like prophet's 
 coffin.) 
 
 How long I thus continued, I'll not say, 
 For with a ghost a year is like a day, 
 
 Or like a night; 
 For this we know, that when man's race is run, 
 And death cuts off his time, with time he's done, 
 
 It's taken its flight. 
 (As he's no time to measure, feels no lack 
 Of a good calendar, or almanac.) 
 
 But not to be prosaic in this tale, 
 
 For fear your time and patience both should fail, 
 
 I'll simply say: — 
 I visited old scenes, tho' none saw me; 
 I was a ghost, unseen, yet I could see 
 
 As in life's day. 
 (Here ghosts have great advantage over men; 
 Can see, and hear, and be themselves unseen.) 
 
 The Conference time had come, and I went there, 
 To look once more upon the brethren dear; 
 
 In spirit meet them; 
 Of course I felt just then, 'twas rather hard 
 To see, and hear, and be myself debarred 
 
 To once more greet them. 
 (But it was best, for if I had appeared 
 I fear the last one had been badly scared.) 
 
 Memorial Sunday came, that solemn time, 
 When brethren speak of those who've left this 
 clime, 
 
 86 
 
Gone to some other; 
 Speak of them then in words of fervent praise, 
 Tell of the earnest work, and godly ways 
 
 Of the dear brother. 
 (It's strange such loving words are seldom said 
 Until they're sure that he is good and dead.) 
 
 Well, I went in to hear them speak of me; 
 And heard a most uncommon eulogy, 
 
 To my surprise. 
 I ne'er had dreamed that I was half so good, 
 Or in their fond esteem so highly stood; 
 
 It ope'd my eyes. 
 (But folks upon a grave will bouquets shower; 
 And to the living, scarce bestow a flower.) 
 
 I blushed in glad surprise, at least I should 
 If ghosts could blush, (they can't for lack of 
 blood;) 
 
 Yet felt quite sad 
 To think, for years these things had been un- 
 known; 
 My merit ne'er found out, till I was gone, 
 
 It was too bad. 
 (Much love may be unshown, there is no doubt; 
 We've simply got to die, to find it out.) 
 
 A WEARY PILGRIM 
 
 'Twas pretty near the close of day; 
 There slowly trod the dusty way, 
 A man with tin can by his side; 
 And as he walked he doleful cried, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 87 
 
His clothes were ragged, red his eye, 
 He swiftly passed all wood-piles by, 
 With growling voice the weary bum 
 Repeated oft in accents glum, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 "Come cut this wood," the old man said, 
 "And you shall have some meat and bread, 
 The gate is open, come inside;" 
 His growling, raucous voice replied, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 "We need some help," the maiden plead, 
 "To help weed out the onion bed;" 
 A tear stood in his bleary eye, 
 He answered with a plaintive sigh, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 He shuffled on to a back door, 
 "Kind lady, I am sick and poor:" 
 "Beware! we have a savage dog, — " 
 He answered with a quickened jog. 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 On, on, still on, his course he sped, 
 With unwashed face, and uncombed head, 
 "Go wash yourself," the housewife cried, 
 He with heart-rending groan replied, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 Just off the road, on a hillside, 
 A haystack weary Willie spied; 
 "Here is the goal, here ends my quest, 
 Here I'll lay down and quiet rest, — 
 "I'm tired." 
 
There till the morning light he lay, 
 Half buried in a pile of hay; 
 Snoring beneath the fragrant heap, 
 He muttered in his troubled sleep, 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 There came to him at early morn, 
 Poor Ragged Raffles, sadly torn; 
 The dogs had chased him out of town, 
 He groaned, (and on the hay fell down,) 
 "I'm tired." 
 
 DISILLUSIONED 
 
 I had a most uncommon dream; — 
 
 I dreamt that I had crossed the stream, 
 
 The mystic stream of death 
 Upon its further side I stood, 
 Had left behind me flesh and blood, 
 
 And was a shadowy wraith. 
 (Now wraiths are creatures that can wend their 
 
 way 
 Thro' any substance like to the X-ray !) 
 
 I found upon old Styx's shore 
 
 Lots of the folks who'd gone before — 
 
 Like me, become a ghost; 
 The world and all was left behind, 
 Our substance rather thin, refined, 
 
 But mem'ry was not lost. 
 (Mind is not matter, as we understand; 
 So mind is still retained in spirit land.) 
 
 I thought of her I'd loved so well, 
 My own dear, darling Annabelle, 
 
 89 
 
Who was my promised bride. 
 Of Juno form, and queenly air, 
 To me, the fairest of the fair, 
 
 A goddess, glorified. 
 (In those we love all sweet charms seem included ; 
 Sometimes we find too late we've been deluded.) 
 
 On her fair cheek there bloomed the rose, 
 White, swan-like neck that held in pose 
 
 A grand and queenly head; 
 Carnation lips and teeth of pearl; 
 Rich, golden tresses crowning all; 
 
 A lovely thoroughbred. 
 (Fond love is often blind, we have heard said, 
 But eyes are opened after we are dead.) 
 
 A strong desire came over me 
 To visit my divinity, 
 
 Tho' she to me was lost; 
 I sadly knew, knew but too well, 
 That never yet rang wedding bell 
 
 For goddess and a ghost; 
 (Old Pluto tried that once with Proserpine; 
 Since then the gods in mercy drew the line). 
 
 And so I earthward took my flight, 
 
 As clocks were striking twelve that night, 
 
 (Ghost's fashionable hour;) 
 And without lapse of time was found 
 Within that most mysterious ground, 
 
 In my fair lady's bower. 
 (I call it bower, it has a better sound 
 Than saying in her bed-room I was found.) 
 
 But sad enlightenment was mine, — 
 Was that the one I deemed divine, 
 
 90 
 
Fairer than any other? 
 Was that the one I had to wed, 
 The one there snoring in the bed, 
 
 Or was it her grandmother? 
 ('Tis one of the sad ironies of fate, 
 The real revealed to us when it's too late.) 
 
 The rounded bust lay on a chair, 
 The dresser held the golden hair 
 
 From off her sleeping poll; 
 The lustrous tresses passed away, 
 Not hair enough, 'twere safe to say, t 
 
 To dress a fair-sized doll. 
 ('Tis sad to know, what sometimes we may think 
 When adjuncts are removed how charms will 
 shrink.) 
 
 The carmine lips pale pink now shown, 
 The roses from the cheeks had flown, 
 
 Which now were wan and hollow; 
 The pearly teeth still there, — alas! 
 They lay in water in a glass, — 
 
 That fair complexion sallow. 
 (To rash conclusions men should never leap, — 
 For sometimes beauty may NOT prove skin 
 deep.) 
 
 "Good heavens!" I thought; "I've seen enough; 
 To be so fooled is mighty tough!" 
 
 Quick from the room I fled; 
 1 leaped old Styx with one great bound, 
 And as I struck the shadowy ground, 
 
 Thanked God that I was dead ! 
 (I did not want an artificial wife; 
 Better be dead than feel a dupe for life!) 
 
 91 
 
"GENTLE SPRING" 
 
 "Hail gentle Spring, ethereal mildness come." 
 
 At present you are strictly on the bum ! 
 
 Now is the time for sunshine, budding flowers, 
 
 Not snow, and ice, and frost, and sleety showers. 
 
 Just hump yourself, and change your frosty face, 
 
 Or you will surely fall in dire disgrace; 
 
 You, "Gentle Spring" of which the poets sing, 
 
 Rather a griping, chilling, freezing thing. 
 
 Is "Winter lingering in your lap?" For shame! 
 
 You, pictured as a virgin, clean and pure, 
 
 Yet "Winter in your lap!" Oh, to be sure, 
 
 He'd like it well enough; he's not to blame; 
 
 And other hoary rogues would like the same. 
 
 Your character will surely suffer loss, 
 
 If this endures much longer. Don't get cross! 
 
 Think of yourself; and think of us also, 
 
 What we endure, with cold, and sleet, and snow; 
 
 Who wants to go about with reddened nose, 
 
 With muffled ears, and with half -frozen toes? 
 
 With coal advancing, wood so hard to get? 
 
 Consider and be wise, it is not yet 
 
 Too late to change about and on us smile; 
 
 Don't let Old Winter still your love beguile. 
 
 He won't be true to you, for some bright day 
 
 He'll pack his furs and swiftly run away. 
 
 But this I know, in spite of what I say, 
 
 You are a woman, and will have your way ! 
 
 92 
 
GREAT RICHES 
 
 I am a multi-millionaire, 
 
 My riches are beyond compare, 
 
 I build grand castles in the air, 
 
 Where oft I dwell; 
 For me the song-bird sings its lay, 
 And sweet flowers bloom along the way,- 
 The fragrant hawthorn's snowy spray, 
 
 And clear blue-bell. 
 
 To me each month rich treasure brings. 
 The vernal season opening flings 
 A freshness that the wealth of kings 
 
 Could not supply; 
 The glorious, golden summer days. 
 The shimmering, blue autumnal haze. 
 When woods in red and russet blaze, — 
 
 Mine to enjoy. 
 
 As stocks may rise, or stocks may fall. 
 And Bulls or Bears "go to the wall," 
 To me it matters not at all. 
 
 Which way they go; 
 1 have a wealth of hill and dale, < , 
 Of grassy mead and flowery vale, 
 Whose store of beauties never fail, 
 
 But richer grow. 
 
 To lie beside some sparkling stream, 
 And watch its waters flash and gleam, 
 And fish, and muse, and idly dream, 
 
 O'er rod and line; 
 Above a clear, cerulean sky, 
 Soft, fleecy, white clouds floating high. 
 While birds with plumage bright flit by 
 
 All this is mine. 
 
 1)3 
 
For stocks, and bonds, and land, and gold, 
 Men may grow sordid, hard, and cold; 
 With all their holdings never hold 
 
 Life's richest prize. 
 For the chief good have never striven; 
 To all the glories God has given; 
 Beauties of earth or joys of Heaven, 
 
 Have closed their eyes. 
 
 Though other men may own the lands, 
 The title in another's hands, 
 However grasping their demands, 
 
 They can't control 
 The thousand beauties everywhere. 
 Flowers of the field and birds of air, 
 He who loves best has greatest share 
 
 In his own soul. 
 
 WHAT IS MAN? 
 
 The close of day drew near, and its fair Lord 
 Was slowly sinking 'neath the Western hills, 
 Upon whose distant crests the leafless trees 
 Stretched out bare, blackened arms 'gainst field 
 
 of gold. 
 Beneath a mass of gorgeous coloring, 
 With brilliant bordering of rosy flame, 
 Low-lying clouds, illumed by Hand divine, 
 Were floating slowly o'er the evening sky, 
 As isles of amethyst in azure seas; 
 Above them all, dark, billowy folds outspread 
 Like purple canopy o'er golden bed. 
 Amidst the Heavenly hues a bright star shone 
 As gleaming gem in royal coronet. 
 But soon the sombre shades spread o'er the sky, 
 And the bright pageantry had passed away; 
 94 
 
The Heavens above grew darkly, deeply blue; 
 Above, around, celestial lamps were lit, 
 In untold thousands thro' the azure dome. 
 As I surveyed the host of far-off worlds, 
 I thought with one of old: — "When I behold 
 Thy wondrous handiwork, the moon and stars 
 Thou hast ordained, what unto Thee is man?" 
 And with this thought there came great question- 
 ing 
 Upon the mystery of eternal things. 
 I thought of God, of Time and endless Space, — 
 The great eternal three. 
 
 On wings of thought I sought to measure space, 
 And know the vast extent of God's domain. 
 Then lightning's flash more swift in spirit stood 
 Upon a distant world; though from our earth, 
 'Twas but a flickering point of far-off light, 
 Yet world so great, this earth could scarce have 
 
 caused 
 A ripple on the breast of its great seas 
 Had it been hurled therein. 
 
 Then on, in rapid flight, 
 To orbs more distant still. In space they shone 
 As firefly's feeble lamp, yet when drawn nigh, 
 As worlds of mighty magnitude appeared. 
 And though eternity were spent in flight, 
 From sphere to sphere remote, yet still afar 
 Were worlds more distant still, adorning space, — 
 The dwelling place of God, that knows no bounds. 
 
 And then of Time I thought; — Bewildering 
 
 thought! — 
 Time no commencement knows, and knows no 
 
 end; 
 Beyond conception old, — yet ever new; 
 A constant flowing stream that has no source, 
 95 
 
And finds no great abyss in which to fall; 
 
 Each moment born, — yet white with weight of 
 
 years. 
 Though every world in vast infinitude 
 By atoms separate were slowly hurled 
 Into unending space, till all again 
 Were formless void, and great creation's work 
 In framing other worlds anew began, — 
 When once again the Heavens with glory shone, 
 The countless ages passed in the great work 
 Would form but minute part of endless whole! 
 Eternal Time, brother of boundless Space! 
 
 And then I thought of God. 
 Here all conception's lost in mystery! 
 One who is ever present, yet unseen, 
 Who all vast space doth fill, yet dwells with men; 
 From whom no thought is hid, or whispered word, 
 With whom all wisdom dwells; Maker of all, — 
 Great as Infinitude, and old as Time! 
 Reason of finite man in vain doth strive 
 To form a thought of One so wondrous great; 
 And fools, because of failure, frequent cry, 
 "There is no God." 
 
 While reverent souls, but souls of surface thought, 
 In their own minds depict divinity; 
 In some mysterious world erect a throne, 
 And place thereon One whom they bow before, 
 To whom they offer prayer and songs of praise, — 
 One measured and defined, like unto man, 
 A mental image of great magnitude, — 
 And humble and devout will prostrate fall 
 Before a Deity the r minds have made, — 
 Finite's conception of the Infinite. 
 
 How vain and vague are all man's little thoughts, 
 
 For " clouds and darkness" veil the Glorious One: 
 
 96 
 
And mind of man can ne'er in highest flight 
 
 Conception form of the unseen "I AM." 
 
 In humbleness of mind and reverent awe, 
 
 His being we confess. — "0 God, Thou art 
 
 A spirit infinite; boundless Thy sway." 
 
 And here our thoughts begin, and find their end. 
 
 And then of man I thought; what is man, 
 That God, — the mighty God, — for him should 
 
 care? 
 Feeble humanity, whose days on earth 
 Are three-score years and ten; yet, — wond'rous 
 
 thought, — 
 In God's great image made! Created lord 
 Of all terrestrial things. 
 
 There came a view of man 
 In his rude primal state; dweller in caves, 
 Or finding shelter 'neath umbrageous trees; 
 Companion of the beast, roaming the wilds 
 In naked ignorance; no knowledge had 
 Of evil or of good; stranger to good, 
 Save good that beasts might know; — And yet a 
 
 man 
 With gift of higher life enshrined within, — 
 The beas \s companion, yet above them all. 
 For as the germs of future forests dwell 
 In one small acorn's cup, so in rude man 
 Were seeds potential for a glorious growth. 
 In the dim twilight of his early morn 
 Strange voices oft were heard, — unearthly ones; 
 And fearful phantoms seemed to hover round, 
 A fearing consciousness of powers beyond 
 What eyes behold, or hands take hold upon, — 
 Spirits mailignant that need be appeased 
 By offerings rude, and cringing, trembling prayer; 
 The painful strugglings of a waking soul 
 97 
 
That was not yet aroused to nobler things. 
 As ages passed, the great awaking came, 
 And dormant mind aroused to loftier thought; 
 The dawning of great light is dimly seen, — 
 God speaking to the soul, — mind's early morn; 
 And as advanced the day, the long dark reign 
 Of ignorance of evil passed away, 
 And knowledge came of good. 
 
 Not sensuous good, 
 But knowledge of the right; — the moral sense 
 Awoke to rule the man. No longer now 
 In Eden's ignorance of good or ill; 
 And flaming sword of light, — (knowledge pos- 
 sessed), — 
 Into this rude estate barr'd all return. 
 The days of innocence of man now passed, — 
 The innocence of darkness of the mind, — 
 " Let there be light, " God said, and light appeared. 
 No longer then content to walk the earth 
 As beast of field may tread, with ne'er a thought 
 Beyond the present day, — the breath of God, 
 Into his nostrils breathed, to Heaven arose 
 In earnest prayer for more of light divine. 
 And some great souls, like Abraham of old, 
 Amidst the twilight saw a glorious light, — 
 The promise of a larger, better day. 
 From time to time as sped the years away, 
 Great souls were born, — true seers who sought for 
 
 God; 
 And He of them was found, — His voice was heard 
 In gentle zephyr's sigh and thunder peal, 
 In ocean's roaring waves, and babbling brook; 
 His face beheld in clouds, as o'er the sky 
 In robes of light, of crimson and of gold, 
 They, on their course majestically sped; 
 In every flower that bloomed, in rainbow's arch, 
 98 
 
And verdant foliage dancing in the breeze; 
 His glory was beheld in the great host 
 That nightly sparkled in the Syrian sky, 
 And in the radiant sun that daily rose 
 To drive away the sombre shades of night, 
 And wake the birds to song; but most of all 
 Revealed by still small voice within the soul, — 
 Spirit of God in touch with that of man. 
 
 'Till in time's fullness rose the Morning Star, 
 Announced by angels in triumphant song; — 
 The Shiloh had appeared, to give great light 
 To those in darkness and the shades of death, 
 To show to men the God whom they should serve. 
 "He that beholdeth Me, the Father sees;" 
 And as He walked the slopes of Galilee, 
 Or weary trod Judea's hills and vales, 
 The flowers of hope bloomed as He passed by, 
 As hearts by grief oppressed heard words of 
 
 cheer. — 
 "Ye burden-bearing souls, in Me find rest." 
 Jesus, the friend of man, — the Son of God, — 
 The God whom none had seen, and now His love 
 And great compassion to a sinning world 
 Made manifest in Christ — the Son of man ! 
 
 When on these things we think, we well may ask, — 
 "0 what is man? and what is there for him 
 When life is o'er? What is there just beyond 
 Life's setting sun? Will it again arise 
 'Midst grander scenes in realm of endless day? 
 Where now the myriad millions of the dead, 
 Who had their little day of grief and joy, 
 Who hated, loved, and feared and passed away? 
 Where are they all?" Oh, how such questions 
 
 come — 
 Questions to which no oracle of earth 
 99 
 
Can give reply; and all in vain we strive 
 To pierce the darkness that our view enshrouds! 
 And 'midst the clashing and contending thought, 
 Words without knowledge oft, as men may prate 
 About the things that now are dimly seen, 
 With what deep yearnings we oft wish to know, — 
 For something more than faith, — we long for 
 ^ sight; 
 
 For certainty, that leaves no room for doubt. 
 For often -times, storm -toss'd we seem to drift 
 On unknown seas (perchance to larger light;) 
 And though the heart be fixed in love of truth, 
 The eye is dim, and truth but partial seen. 
 How often Pilate's query, "What is truth?" 
 Is wrung from seeking souls, as they reflect 
 Upon eternal themes; — on things too great 
 For finite grasping in their broad extent. 
 Till weary, — oh so weary, — with the strife 
 Twixt faith and doubt; allegiance of the heart 
 To the old paths,— the paths the Fathers trod, — 
 And the perplexing thoughts that vex the mind 
 As for the truth we search whate'er it be; — 
 To know of things of which we cannot know 
 Until the present life has passed away; 
 Weary, we'd welcome sleep, — a long, sweet sleep, — 
 That no awaking knows, save in a land 
 That will unfold the mystery of man. 
 
 As on these things I thought, 
 I fell asleep, and had a wondrous dream. 
 Before me stood a fair, majestic form, 
 A loveliness that earth-born sons of men 
 Can ne'er attain unto; his vestments white, 
 E'en as the robes were white when on the Mount 
 The Lord of Glory once transfigured stood. 
 Within his eyes were looks of tender love, 
 And in a voice melodious he spake. — 
 100 
 
"And would'st thou know of what lies far beyond 
 Life's setting sun, — what is prepared for man? 
 Come thou and see. " 
 
 And as he spake, I on free'd spirit's wings 
 Was upward borne from all terrestrial things; 
 The distant worlds were passed in rapid flight. 
 And the bright light of blazing suns grew dim, 
 Lost in the vastness of eternal space. 
 Afar appeared a wondrous glowing orb, — 
 A luminant surpassing, — great and grand; 
 Around it played bright beams of beauteous light, 
 Like unto those that dart and dance in Arctic 
 
 skies, 
 But far exceeding all that eye hath seen 
 Of lights supernal flashing round the Pole. 
 Ere long I seemed submerged 'neath mighty waves 
 Of radiance divine, — glory ineffable, — 
 Beyond the brightness of the noon-day sun; 
 And in this sea of glory, angel forms 
 On broad white pinions passing to and fro. 
 
 In this my dream, if it were all a dream, 
 
 (For dreamers oft behold what men termed wise 
 
 And open-eyed fail frequent to discern,) — 
 
 I saw the land that lies beyond the flood, 
 
 The cold, dark, mystic stream that all cross o'er 
 
 Ere they attain the realm of life divine : 
 
 The place ethereal, seen by faith's clear sight, — 
 
 The far-off land no mortal eye hath seen. 
 
 In this fair dream, I saw a God-lit land, 
 
 A realm unclouded, — glorious, perfect day; 
 
 Its light not that of golden, dazzling sun, 
 
 Or soft and silver rays of the pale moon ; — 
 
 The source of light peculiarly its own; — 
 
 A wondrous radiance, — clear and Heavenly glow, 
 
 Proceeding from the great, eternal Throne. 
 
 101 
 
It was a land^beyond conception great; 
 Of frills and vales, and vast extended plains; 
 Of lofty mountains, and of shaded dells; 
 Bright, sparkling fountains, and clear, crystal 
 
 streams, 
 Along whose banks the fairest of fair flowers, 
 Of irisated hue and sweet perfume, 
 In rich profusion had perpetual bloom; 
 Fair, stately lillies, fields of asphodel, 
 The royal rose, — star-eyed forget-me-not, 
 With all their floral fragrant sisterhood; 
 A land of waving palms and clinging vines, 
 Of trees bowed down beneath a luscious load 
 Of nectral fruit, — orchards of Paradise, 
 To which Hesperides were barren waste; 
 Birds of rich plumage flitted to and fro 
 Amidst the trees, or on some swaying bough 
 Poured forth from swelling breast a flood of song, 
 While hidden from all gaze in leafy bowers, 
 The doves were softly cooing calls of love. 
 
 Afar were mountain heights that radiant shone 
 With the warm rosy hues that tinge the clouds 
 That overhang a low, descending sun; 
 And every lofty peak that towered on high 
 Appeared to bear a blazing ruby crown; 
 While nearer hills had chrysoprasian glow. 
 In this fair land, light seemed endowed with life 
 And streaming rays from peak to lofty peak, 
 In all the rainbow's bright, prismatic hues, 
 Flashed o'er a deeply blue, unclouded sky, 
 As though the sapphire and all precious stones 
 Their souls sent forth to dance in ambient air, 
 And jewelled grandeur gave to all the scene. 
 
 102 
 
It was a world of song, — 
 Song such as earthly ear has never heard, 
 Or mind of man in loftiest flight conceived, — 
 Song's very soul, from every fetter free, 
 To soar in sweet harmonious melody, 
 That earth's musicians hear but in their dreams, 
 And waking, weep, because 'twas but a dream, 
 And sigh to sleep again once more to hear! 
 For all things seemed surcharged with sweetest 
 
 song: — 
 The ocean's heaving waves rolled to the shore 
 In mighty billows of deep sounding praise; 
 In grand majestic tones its voice was heard: — 
 "Glory and power to Him upon the throne!" 
 The rippling, sparkling waves made melody, 
 As gentle winds wafting o'er verdant plains, 
 In cadences as of Aeolian harps 
 Fanned by the passing of an angel's wing ! 
 While shining worlds, revolving in vast space, 
 Around the blue, illimitable dome, 
 Joined in the anthem of the Heavenly land 
 With the unending "music of the spheres." 
 
 Land of eternal life, where all things lived; — 
 No sere and yellow leaf, — no faded flower, 
 No blighted fruit or semblance of decay; 
 Here life perfected in its fullness found, 
 No shadow here of death, and naught here held 
 Unconscious in his cold and drear embrace. 
 
 The land of joy supreme; — 
 Ecstatic joy, that flew on seraph's wings 
 Of widest sweep, in swift and lofty flight; 
 On pinions strong and free, — rejoicing, soar 
 In widening circles singing seraphic songs; 
 'Till Joy seemed weary of its joyfulness, 
 
 103 
 
And soft descended from ethereal heights, 
 To rest upon the bosom of sweet Peace. 
 
 This was the land of peace, — peace unalloyed; 
 No earthly strife struck a discordant note, 
 No rift was found in Love's melodious lute, 
 To which all joy-born song that rose and fell 
 Throughout the Glory Land had been attuned. 
 
 The home of light, and life, and song and love; — 
 The place prepared by Him who once had trod 
 The vale of earthly tears and heavy cross, 
 And dying showed the greatness of His love. 
 The promised place where many mansions were, — 
 Abiding rest when earth's brief day was o'er, 
 Eternal refuge for worn, weary souls; 
 Rest from Time's heart-aches and the thousand 
 
 cares, 
 The days of sorrow and dark nights of pain, 
 The longing, weary wishing for the dawn, 
 The coming of a day that never came; 
 Rest from all dark forebodings, and from all 
 The burdens borne and griefs they once endured, — 
 These were all ended with life's setting sun. 
 Friend meets departed friend, now far removed 
 From battle-ground of earth and strife of Time, 
 In this bright spirit land, where spirits pure 
 Converse with those redeemed by love divine, 
 Upon great mysteries, which then were plain; — 
 A ransomed host, saved by the love of Him 
 Who freely gave Himself for wayward man. 
 This host beyond all number, robed in white, 
 With tears forever wiped from every eye, 
 Now far removed from sin, or death, or ill, 
 They had the victory gained, and now were 
 
 crowned ; — 
 A mightv multitude of sinless souls, 
 104 
 
Through all the long past ages gathering home, 
 From every nation, people, kindred, tongue. 
 A great song rose, a song of rapturous praise : — 
 "To Him who first loved us, and from our sin 
 Has set us free, through His own blood, — be 
 
 glory, 
 Highest praise, and everlasting power!" 
 
 And all the host of Heaven took up the strain; — 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand golden harps, 
 And silver trumpets' high-resounding notes, 
 With all of Heaven's angelic choristers; — 
 Ocean's long rolling waves, the palmy groves, 
 With mountain heights, and verdant plains, 
 Proclaimed "AMEN! AMEN!" in chorus grand, 
 One honoring burst of universal praise. 
 
 These things I saw and heard, and fain would 
 
 stay 
 To longer see and hear. 
 
 Then spake the Heavenly guide : — 
 "What thou hast seen and heard, is but a part; 
 For far beyond conception of the heart, 
 Are things laid up in store for all of those 
 Who follow in the footsteps of the Lord; 
 This is the land beheld by faith alone. 
 Now come with me and thou shalt look upon 
 What unbelief beholds, when eyes are closed 
 And hearts are barr'd against the Heavenly light. " 
 
 Then in the spirit was I carried far, 
 
 Into the vast infinitude of endless space; 
 
 The glorious lights grew dim, — the music hushed 
 
 To dying cadence of a whispered song; 
 
 Deep, and yet deeper still,the thickening shades, — 
 
 To darkness so intense, that mountain-like 
 
 It crushed upon the soul. 
 
 105 
 
More fearful far 
 Than the wild shriekings of a mad despair, 
 The awful silence of this realm of night! 
 All things that herein lay had ceased to be, 
 No work, nor knowledge, nor device was there ; 
 Love's tender heart had perished, and its voice 
 Forever hushed in a dread, dreamless sleep; 
 Hopes, joys, or fears were there alike unknown; 
 From off his throne, dark, spectral, ghastly Death 
 Bent sightless eyes upon the perished forms 
 Of things that used to be, but are no more: — 
 All, — all, — had passed away; and e'en Despair 
 Lay silently amidst the perished dead. 
 
 It was oblivion's land; — a chill domain, 
 
 As seen by those who scornfully deny 
 
 The heart's fond longings, — Revelation's word, — 
 
 And claim for blighting Death eternal sway. 
 
 A world of darkness; — 
 A night unbroken, — dense, eternal night, — 
 In its embrace held all existing things; 
 No faint, dim spark or glimmering gleam of light 
 Illumed this ray less realm of utter gloom; 
 Its mountain peaks ne'er lit by rising sun, 
 And on its oceans no soft moonbeams played, 
 Or distant twinkling star lit up the sky; 
 Not e'en a crawling glow-worm's feeble lamp, 
 Or fire-fly's darting torch, suggested light; 
 No lurid lightning's momentary flash 
 Across a starless, ebon, midnight sky; 
 Here darkness, unrelieved, bore sway supreme; — 
 Sea, shore, and mountain wrapped as in a pall; 
 A shroud of utter darkness covered all. 
 And in this land of gloom, dread silence dwelt 
 In deep, unchanging, awesome solitude; 
 No word of man, or song of birds, 
 
 106 
 
No splash of waves upon the shore, 
 Soft, moaning winds or tempest roar, — 
 In all the land no voice was heard. 
 
 Here Silence dwelt with Night; — 
 A silence so intense, that wing of moth 
 Or crawling of a worm had broken it, 
 And wakened echoes in its blasted crags, 
 Had there been moth to fly, or worm to crawl. 
 Appalling Silence dwelt with deepest Night, 
 On ocean's bosom and on mountain height, — 
 Silence profound o'er all! 
 A realm of dark, eternal quietude, — 
 In a cold rigid sleep here all things lay; 
 No tides its oceans moved to ebb or flow, 
 Or currents stirred its deeply stygian depths; 
 The breath of winds caused not a rippling wave 
 To softly break upon the voiceless shore; 
 In all its vast expanse unmoved it lay, 
 As if congealed upon its stagnant bed. 
 The very air was motionless; 
 
 And e'en the sable clouds 
 That hung suspended in the midnight sky, 
 Changed not their sombre forms from age to age; 
 For ocean, land and sky, alike were dead. 
 A world of death, without a germ of life; — 
 A pulseless ocean, in its darkened depths 
 No fishes swam, or primal mollusks lay; 
 Upon the barren shore no foot had pressed, 
 Or wing of living creatures passed in flight; 
 No drone of insects on the midnight air; 
 Treeless and herbless was the sterile soil, 
 And on the blasted, cold, and blackened crags 
 No lichens clung, but all was bare and chill; — 
 A lightless, lifeless, soundless, soulless land ! 
 No living hopes, or ghosts of hopes now dead, 
 In this still, awful darkness could be found; 
 
 107 
 
A land of utter death, where naught could live; 
 
 A night unending, ghastly in its gloom; 
 
 Cycles of time roll by, worlds may be born and 
 
 die, 
 Eternity grow white with weight of years, 
 All else to change, but this dark world un- 
 changed, — 
 A place of cheerless, cold, eternal night! 
 The unseen, joyless, hopeless future land, 
 Beheld by unbelief, which blindly cries : 
 "This life for man ends all, there is no God!" 
 
 In thought these worlds I saw, — and yet how far 
 Fall all our little thoughts from those of God ! 
 For "As the Heavens are high above the earth," 
 So are the thoughts of God than those of men. 
 Upon the little isle of Time we stand, 
 And wondering glances cast upon an ocean vast, 
 That past all sight extends on either side; 
 The barks that on it sail, all out-ward bound, 
 None e'er return to tell of lands beyond ; 
 And there are aching hearts that long to know 
 Of some blest port where those who've sailed 
 
 from sight 
 Have anchor cast. There comes to all of those 
 Whose spirits are attuned to seize upon 
 The clear vibrations of a Heavenly harp 
 A message musical: "Let not thy heart be 
 
 faint; — 
 Have faith in God ! He who created thee, 
 With all thy spirit longings, — great desires, — 
 Hath rich provision made for all thy need; 
 The breath of God that in man once was breathed, 
 Is not a mortal breath to pass away 
 To utter nothingness, but will endure ! 
 Trust thou! — and patient wait!" 
 
 108 
 
JU L 
 
 18 
 
 Kl3 
 
LIBRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS 
 
 015 926 414£