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Les diagrammes suivants lllustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOPV RESOIUHOK TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 1.25 l: y^ 11111== 13.6 14^ ■yuu 2.5 2.2 20 !.8 ^ r^PUED INA^GE inc '•ioJ East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5i>o9 -Fax POEMS, i if SPyDIE O, PI^INCE. ^, i lONTREAL : «ccn I t ?ottx. / V/J POEMS. BY SADIE O. PRINCE. (MRS. S. 0. DAVIS.) "^^ ^ TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS lOHTRBAL : C. W. COATES. HAL'?** • S V tTTTCCPmTa IS10 c 2. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousan' ^Spjueen V eight hundred and ninety, by Sadib 0. Davis, Springfield, N.S., at tfc TJ^s tn flio Department of AgricultUTe. ^^ i spring Spring-time The Voice o: Summer • June A Song of D Lwit Days oi Pa|Ung Leav Wfcter - The Dying "\ The Old Yea Dying Thoughts foi CONTENTS. year one thousan: jfield, N.S., at tt PAaB. To Queen Victoria 9 Lines to tlie Queen on Her Sixty-sixtli Birthday - - - 14 SEASONS. spjsing le Spring-time jg The Voice of Spring jg Summer - - . .. . . . . --19 Jime 21 A Song of Departing Summer 23 Laat Days of Autumn 24 Falling Leaves 26 Winter - . . . • 27 Dying Year - - - 20 Old Year 3j 'g • - - -* .33 >ughts for the New Year 00 VI CONTENTS. TEMPERANCE. !i The Mother's frayer The Wages of Sin - The Fruits of Intemperance The Fatal New Year's Day I Made Him What He Was The Fatal Sands To the Memory of John B. Gough CHRISTMAS. PAOl 4! 4f 53 51 5j 6S Christ is Born - Two Christmas Eves Christmas Tlioughts Christmas Christmas Bells The Crucifixion Jesus' Love The First Easter Morn Easter MISCELLANEOUS. Memories „. Twilight '.'-'. Si All a Mistake - - g, A Leap- Year Episode - . . • g.. From Shore to Shore g^ Quatrains „. Dominion Day q. Evening Boat Song j^^j A Trust L No Night The T'resei Come untc Thoughts Rdics Evening R To " Cook Time The Bridge A IToble R Ck^ider tl They " Li\ Firtth, Hop mth You T» Little A Uies for a I^le Olive 1^ and Mr and Mr gone tl Dear Fr Mother Imy Dear ;ar Mullc lie Frank Mother CONTENTS. Vll .,™, ^ PAOB. 4t Trust Lesson - - - jqo Hpi^Night There 2q- T^ Present, Past, and Future lOg Come unto Me and Rest jqo lHoughts by the Sea 210 Katies - - - . . . . . . _ - 111 Evening Reveries 2 ,0 To •' Cook " a Husband 214 Time - - . . , , „ 116 The Bridge of Time 227 A ^oble Revenge _ . US fi( Consider the Lilies ,„, 6- They " Live in the Country » - . . . . . - 123 6'j Faith, Hope, and Love 22S 6i With You Alway . ' '227 68 To Little Annie May 229 II LIpffis for an Autograph - 230 72 ^5 :^ IN MEMORIAM. Only littlo Olive - . . . Mr. and Mr«. C. Roop's Children 78 Mr. and Mrs. J. Bent's Children 82 Only gone to Sleep - 84 My Dear Friend Ada The Mother's Lament 92 94 To my Dear Friend C. L. D. E%ar Mullock - le Frank Mother 131 133 134 137 139 141 143 145 147 149 1R1 Vlll CONTENTS. PAGE. Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor - - - . . . . - 154 1 Little Bertie Saunders 15g Little Myrtle Zinck - - jgg Geo. W.Hill 159 In Memoriam jqj The Wife's Lament 164 Mr. and Mrs. D. J. Rudolf's Children 166 Mr. F. Wolfe Igg Little Polly Iijq A Tribute to the Memory of Ida Jefferson - - - - 172 Home i>7A Mother, Home and Heaven - - 175 Sonnet l^g ii (i! POEMS. TO QUEEN VICTORIA. UPON THE CELEBRATION OP HER JUBILEE. ^HEE, noble Queen ! on England's shore X J^ ar o er yon ocean's foam-capp'd heiVrht We sons of Canada, adore, ^ ' rru'^^^J^^ to own thy sovereign might : This thy glad year of Jubilee, When tongues and trumpets voice thy praise In far-resoundmg symphony, We, too, our sounding lyre' would raise. We too, would wake the glad refrain, While grateful pride our bosoms swell-— C^d save our Queen ! Long may she reign i God save the Queen, who rules so well t » Ye soft sprmg breezes ! catch the strain And waft it to the smiling sky • There, in one floating, silv'ry chkin, f;lJlli 10 TO QUEEN VICTORIA. Hail India's Empress ! England's Queen I Ihy semi-century's peaceful reign, Eclipsed, nor equalled, e'er has been Through all the Empire's sovereign irain. Hail, this thy year of Jubilee ! Ye trembling captives, lift your heads ! For lo ! the flag of liberty, Its waving splendor o'er you sheds. Yes, Gracious Queen ! we'll shout thy worth • Each heart on British soil to-day, ' Doth bless the hour that gave thee birth— The hour that gave thee regal sway Thy throne is Virtue's stainless seat Sweet Christian graces lill thy breast J3y these thou standest all complete. The Queen of queens, the purest —best. The years roll back, and lo ! we see Kneeling in England's Abbey old. Circled by pomp and chivalry, A royal maid, fair to behold! Deep silence reigns, when from the hand Ut mitred priest the crown is given, Then peals the chorus, sweetly grand,' Until the dome with song seems riven. Well may those walls, of wide renown Re-echo with thanksgiving now ! ' For ne'er did Britain's ancient crown Bedeck a purer, nobler brow. Methinks that angels bending near Smile with delight the scene to view Then catch those anthem-notes, so clear And bear them through the ether blue TO QUEEN VICTORIA. U Again, another scene appears, Which through time's shad'wy vista gleams, The fair young Queen our sight still cheers. Her eye lit by love's lucid beams. The joyous peal of wedding bells, Gay banners floating wild and hio-h, The music-laden breeze — each tells ^ The glad auspicious hour that's ni^h. Again, she kneels— not now alone, A princely form is by her side— "Albert the Good," as he is known, One worthy of so true a bride. The listening throng, their vows have heard Ihe grand cathedral's very air Seems in exultant tremor stirred Around the royal wedded pair. Years roll along. The palace walls Ring with the shouts of childhood's voice • New-born afFection sweetly calls, ' And makes their doting hearts rejoice. But is that mother not a Queen ? Yes ; " none the less a woman," though Her heart as fondly beats, I ween. As any mother's heart below. The scene is changed. Beside a bier, Where sleeps in state the royal dead, We see our widowed Queen appear. In sable robes, with drooping head. She weeps— a stricken nation sighs— The royal orphans' sad hearts rend, For he who there in stillness lies, Was faithful Drnsnrf fof>>ot._ fr,i^^A 12 TO QUEEN VICTORIA. Still later on, that queenly heart, Is torn again by anguish wild,' When cold death hurled his piercin*' dart And slew a well-beloved child. ° Yes, noble Queen ! Sorrow, her cup Oft to thy quivering lips did place, But He who chastened, bore thee up. And gave His sweet sustaining grace. Upon time's pages, gray and old, What varied scenes thine heart has read ! For more than three score years have rolled Their swift-wheeled seasons o'er thy head And now the hand of age entwines The silver 'midst thy locks of hair, And traces o'er thy brow the lines Of chill decay, and earth-born care. Yet art thou spared. Our grateful songs. We to a Father's throne would raise • To Him the glory all belongs, ' Who thus hath lengthened out thy days And this to-day is Britain's prayer From loyal hearts— from Church and home bpare Thou our Queen, Father, spare ' lo rule us still for days to come ! " Thy prayers for guidance on the way. Blent with a nation's, were not vain • For Heaven's smile hath day by day ' Illumed thy long and peaceful reign. And may this year, most worthy Queen, Be, in its new-born robes of joy, The brightest thou hast ever seen, ' Fraught with delight, free from alloy TO QUEEN VICTORIA. The Winter's blasts are silent now, The smiling Spring again is here ; The red-breast whistles on the bough. The earth in verdure doth appear. ' So may thy dear declining life, Be evermore like Spring-time fair, In rainbow tints and sunlight rife, With not one chill of wintry care. And when at last thy day is done— When far adown the western sky. Sinks tranquilly life' setting sun. And death's lone twilight draweth nigh: When from thy hand the sceptre falls, And from thy weary head the crown : When yonder King of Glory calls, And bids thee lay thine armor down ; Then, with earth's sombre clouds all riven, May thy freed spirit upward soar— A FADELESS crown to thee be given, Which Time can tarnish nevermore. There, in that palace fair to see, O'erarch'd by dazzling noontide sheen, When dawns the endless jubilee. We hope to meet thee— noble Queen. 18 14 THE queen's sixty-sixth BIRTHDAY. LINES TO THE QUEEN ON HER SIXTY-SIXTH BIRTHDAY. ALL hail, Victoria ! Noble Queen ! Upon old England's far-otf shores, Whom, though by us as yet unseen, Our fancy's eye so oft adores. On this thy festal day of mirth, When silv'ry bells ring out in glee, In honor of thy. loyal birth, We, too, would join the symphony. Thy praise no voice can sing too high. No pen can overrate thy worth ; We'll sound thy glory to the sky, And spread it o'er the laughing earth. The flow of more than three-score years Has drifted o'er thy stately head ; All fraught with sunshine, shades and tears, Their cyclic pages thou hast read. Yes ! changing scenes thy heart has known, Thy lips from sorrow's chalice drank. Thy tears have fallen as our own, Regardless of thy queenly rank. A v/idow, twenty years and more, Along earth's pathway thou has trod ; And other loved ones gong before. Have reached the golden hills of God. HDAY. 'N HER 4Y. iieen ! shores, in, lee, ny. earth. years and tears, i. ,s known, rank. THE queen's sixty-sixth BIRTHDAY. 15 Yet thou art spared to guide us well, C>ur country's rinrhts to guard and 'shield • In tranquil concord we shall dwell, ' Long as the sceptre thou dost wield. Thy reign of forty-seven years, So calm and peaceful in their flow Thy character to us endears, And makes our breasts with ardor glow, Blent with the truest loyalty, To our dear land, and England brave ; We do rejoice, right glad are we, That thy free banners o'er us wave. Be this thy Birthday, gracious Queen, The brightest thou hast ever spent ; And be thy genial sky serene, All radiant with thy heart's content. May peace her fragrant flow'rets ^ed, About thy pure, transcendent way ;' May Heaven's own light around thy head Encircle, on this sweet May-day. trod ; God. 1 SEASONS. SPRING. S ^^Z!l2l '" ""' " ^^^^"^' ^ ^^-^ ^- s^^^ Far echoing o'er the woodland, and the niain • The fea^he^ songsters listen/ then sL£",',p To chant her hearty welcome once again. WUh lowly grace before her the neighbo'r?„J 'forest, , And rippling brooklets bathe her beauteous feet. ^"' XpS '"'^""^ '°°'^'^P'' * ^-^-Vfo™ Sprmg .^call has gladly fallen upon ' those willing And joy on all her being is portrayed. 8PKINQ. Wliu is this youthful stranger? What is her hero ? 17 mission ear her glad plain ; irting up jentle brow reet ; fing forest/ 5US feet, iiant form je willinfj Tin Nature, and her handH with giff . abound ; _&sh from her wintry slumber, with eye ho brihe pours in thy lap stores of treasure bhe showers her wealth at thy feet. ^^J?_^elds glow m cereal glory And tell to our glad hearts the story Of what thou hast wrought in our land. Yon old-fashioned cot-home of childhood I he ripening grapes cluster round, ' And down m the deep, tangled wild-wood. The ripest of berries are found. Ihe truit-ladened orchards are sighing Beneath the rich burdens they bear; tTA f.'T'^^*^''^^'^^«^^"«^« are flyin. The butterfly flits in the air. ^ "" Bright Summer ! oh, stay with us ever, We love all thy bright winning way^ • Oh would there were nothing to sever ' I he joy of thy long, sunny days ! The skies smile their sweetest, and o'er thee A Ai ^^*?Pe"ng winds murmur low : And though earth and heaven adore thee How soon, ah ! how soon, must thou go ' of morn ; st'ning, ounding, JUNE. Yes, when every leaflet has perished, The roses all scattering lie, Dear summer ! so tenderly cherished We'll then see thee droop, fade, and die ; Just so with life's pleasures, they leave us As quickly as summer's brief day • Earth's pomp, glare and show but deceive us Inen vanish forever away. ' 21 :ure ure, ^et. and, y ir land. Ihood, I -wood, ng ir; are flying, n» er, 3r er thee bhee, ago! JUNE. SWEET month of nectared roses ! I love thy fragrant time ; When nature's hand discloses Her jewelled treasures prime. Thy days to me seem brighter, All other days beside ; And toil and care seem lighter, While thy dear hours abide.' Thy azure skies seem clearest, Thy sunlight brightest, best; Thy red ripe fruit so luscious, Imparts the keenest zest. The fields now look their fairest, In green and gold array ; Earth smiles in fresh warm beauty, June, in thy bright day. The lilacs in their fragrance, Toss out their plumes on high, And seem to nod in beauty To every passer-by. ■ i Mi II tl ^^ ■ SEASONS. The fair rose hides her blushes ,_^f eneath the leafy shade, ' When kiss of wooing sunshine Upon her cheek is laid. The lovely lake, just yonder— A sapphire set in green- Seems decked in countless diamonds And sparkling crystal sheen ; Willie on its grassy margin, The oaks so proudly grow And bow to their own image', Reflected there below. How lovingly the breezes Waft o'er yon leafy hill, And make the verdant branches Move at their own sweet will ; While with them rocks the birdlinff In tmy cradle-nest, The old bird keeping vigil And singing at her best.' Oh ! may our lives be ever One June-time, calm and bright, Fraught with perfume, and hallowed By purity and light; Our hearts all warm and glowing Imparting as we go Bright rays of hope aAd sunshine. 10 some lone heart below June, 1889, li ! DEPARTING SUMMER. 23 A SONG TO DEPARTING SUMMER. THE scented roses scattered lie Upon the garden wall ; We sadly watched them droop and die. Their lovely petals fall. The lilac waves its plumes no more, It faded long ago ; The perfumed jasmine by the door. Has lo? t its gems of snow. The pale-faced daisy seems to sigh, And bow its beauteous head ; The light has left its golden eye, Its beauty all is fled. Where hung the apple blossom fair Upon the leafy bough, When May breathed forth her balmy air, The fruit is hanging now. Yon sloping hill looks bare and gray, Robbed of the waving dress, Which decked its side for many a day In verdant loveliness. But lo ! in golden splendor shine The fields of ripening grain, -^^ soon in jocund notes shall chime The harvest-song again. The new-fledged swallow soars on high- Deserted is each nest— ^^^ long 'neath far-off" southern skies. She'll plume her snowv breast. 24 III if i lit ■ I 1888, SEASONS. > The leaves have lost the freshness grand Ot their primeval day, And soon shall Autumn's mystic hand Have marked them for decay. ^ w^i^^ Summer ! must thou go, W,^ «lw[*V '^'"^' ^"^ flowers ? With all thy beauty, cherished so, Ihy fragrant, smiling hours ? Fain would we keep thee, but alas! Before Time's withering breath, Thy lovely feet must swiftly pass Adown the vale of death ^AST DAYS OF AUTUMN. The ripened fruit and corn all gathered home • ! Th.''r'!-'"''^^^ ended, and of yon hfll top brow The shouting ploughman turns the heavyZm ' The sturd^^oak-tree sigheth, and drops his rich bro, Still seem'ing loath to yield his glossy leaf • Asonewh?'"^^ ^'^f ^' ^" leafless^ad and mut As one who mourns a loss with inward grief )ld, eff Ind all (e, gont nov ler onci |long ir clos( Wint( sound repo stir p Ithen w deatl 1, no ! 1 II flame Sprir it naug] with again airy ro Ifeathere plain, ie budde thus ai b'o-om |at by-an [sleep to as the f mm LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN. 25 i)Id, effacing finger is laid on Nature's brow nd all her blooming beauty fades awav ' e, g^one, her dewy freshness, she smiles' but sadly er once bright robes are tarnished, worn and gray. jlongm dreamless slumber, those tired eyes shall I Winter's snowy bed she'll sink to rest • _'°?epose, ^"'^'''' ''°^"^ ^"" ^''^^ that calm dr stir pulsation in that silent breast. then we'll ask in wonder • Ta „«**!,• i \ death? wonaer. is not this slumber h fl^ • ^'^^'^ fP^^^ ^s there, though hid from <,,Vl.f It naught beside can start its fitful light. whh^recovered' beauty shell come forth once airy robes of verdure richly dad • f pS '°"^''''' '^^'"""'^ '^'^^ «<=ho o'er the |e budded sapling look no longer sad. tit™ ■f?'^-'''^ '"'' *°°' ""^t ^«de away, ftatnTe-anK ^Z!"' ''-' *-"' 26 SEASONS. ISlil ill!! I FALLING LEAVES. I SIT me alone at closing Of a drear autumnal day, And gaze through the misty shadows Of the twilight cold and gray ; While my bosom, stirred by emotion, heaves, As I watch the play of the falling leaves. O leaves ! varied thoughts com- surging O'er my lonely heart to-night ; Strange voices seem floating round me. As ye wheel your wind-swept flight ; And in sad, low murmurs, each seems to tell Of this life's decay — of the heart's farewell. Must this life yield to destruction ? Can it be we, too, must fade, And, like the sear leaflets, vanish Into dark oblivion's shade ? As the flow'r we wither, by winds swept by, As the leaf we fade, and droop, and die. Ah, yes ! it was but last Autumn, When the frost-nipped leaves fell down, When bleak, chilling winds swept rudely, O'er the dreamy landscape brown, That I cried in desolate agony : " She has gone — the dearest earth held for me." Then, oh, can you ask the reason. That for me the Autumn days Have lost all their wonted beauty, And lie wrapt in cheerless maze ? ^iliill WINTER. 27 Can yo.i wonder now, that my fonrl heart grieves As the wild winds scatter the falling leaves ? But soft floats a whisper o'er me How its music sweetly rings ! * I 'Tis, " I am the resurrection," i Oh, the depth of peace it'brincrs ' Sacred message! sweet as the bi'^eath of balm Shedding er my spirit a wondrous calm. ' For, as the bright leaves and flow'rets Once again their sweets disclose, When balmy Spring's soft bidding I Starts fair nature from repose ISo the dear departed, in Christ shall rise |lo the hte eternal, beyond the skies. 5o leaves, falling leaves, I'll gather Kays of comfort from you still Although ye bring sad, sad mem'ries. ^ As your mission ye fulfil, 'et a lesson pregnant with hopeful light can truly learn as I watch your flicrht. ' *^^nYon ^';; '*T ^^'*^ ^^^^" ^^« ««^^' frozen cave, tr N f '^"^.' ^'•'^^ling garments of white ; L?! \^'^^' '^^^y ^^^ beautiful face A-nd trembles to witness the sight. tif r P f r"» ^?^ '""y^ ^«w firmly he holds Meh brooklet, and murmuring rill Id will not allow them to bicker and play Meandering on at their wilL 28 SEASONS. V I f fiiii s li" The trees lift their voices, and quivering si<-h, Wliile stretching their naiced limbs forth, As if for protection, and mercy to plead, From keen, stinging blasts of the north. The sun rideth low in the le:.den-hued sky, Withholding his summer-noon heat ; No songsters now flitting on light, airy wing, The landscape with music to greet. But pale, spectral Winter ! although thou dost steal The glories of Summer away, Her perfume, her roses, her daisy-deck'd fields — The joys of her long, smiling day. Yet, still do we love thee, as over the earth, Thou flingest thy snowy robe fair. O'er which chimes the song of the merry sleigh-bellJ Out on the clear, frost-laden air. What joy, too, in coasting, the glad bcbool-boy finds, Or hasting with rosy-cheeked mates Adown to the old frozen pond, 'neath the hill, To sport on his smooth-gliding skates. And then those bright, long winter evenings, ah^ mel What gladness their coming imparts ! The comfort, the joy of the cosy fireside — The union of warm, loving hearts. In memory's garden those seasons will dwell, Wherever our footsteps may roam ; When winters of Age drift their snows o'er our heads We'll think of those evenings at home. "^u'll see th( Lit up by fhe voices, t As in that ror blossom! Her fond, \o frosts of Thoughts 11887. ISTEN, Each forth from t Peals out t |ad chants tl Hoarso spe leeming to n Dear dyin| [es, dear old Winter is i f er which fr Many a col ''^e, too, wou Nature is 1: [nd with he As we bem [t thy first d (Knowing i [Father, we 1 Tfierefyfe^ i THE DYING YEAR. 29 ^o'll see the home-faces, familiarly dear Lit up by the tire-light's soft glow ; ' fhe voices, the laughter, the music we'll hear As in that sweet time, long ago. or blossoms of mem'ry remain fresh and fair I Her tond, clinging tendrils still green ; lo frosts of the Winter can wither or chill Thoughts of hours, happy hours, that have been. 1 1887. THE DYING YEAR. ISTEN, how sadly yon distant bells chime . Each measure telling the year's numbered days : forth trom the shadowy belfry of Time j Peals out the mournful and dolorous lays, lad chants the wild-vsrinds a requiem low I Hoarso speak the breakers upon the lone shore jeemmg to murmur in accents of woe • ■ Dear dying Year, we shall see thee no more. [es dear old Year ! thou art passing away Wmter IS weaving thy snowy- white pall'; er which from yon leafless forest-boughs grav I Many a cold, icy tear-drop shall fall. 'e too, would join in the silent lament iNature is breathing— because thou wert dear— pd with her tear-drops our sighs would be spent I As we bemoan thy departure, old Year. ' U thy first dawning we trustingly said : I (Knowing not what thy bold record might be,) ji^^ther,^ we know by Thy hand we are led. , - ifiereiyre^ our future we leave all with Thee '" l^t; M |l( j ! iiiSi 80 SEASONS. Now nearly all of that record i.s traced, And glancing back o'er its pages to-day, Lo! we bi'hold them abundantly graced With richest blessings along the glad wav. How the sweet moments sped joyously by ! Few were the shadows to dampen their flow : Love's star was fixed in our bright smiling sky, Where gleamed the sunlight, with radiant glow, Oh, happy hours of the year 'Eighty-six ! Dear to our heart ye shall ever remain ; In memory's chalice thy joys we shall mix. Sipping their sweetness again and again. But, ah ! we feel that not every breast Joyously throbs as our own doth to-day. But there are many by sorrow oppressed. For this year snatched earthly comforts away. Some mourn the loss of the good and the true, Some sigh for darlings with ringlets of gold ; These cheered their hearts, when the year came anevrj Now the sad tale of their sorrows is told. Some sit and gaze out upon the lone sea. Watch for that ship that returneth no more ; Vainly they plead, " Come, oh, come back to me ! " Lost are their voices in ocean's deep roar. Where is the ship ? Ah ! go ask the fierce gales ! Ask the wild surges which lash the white strandj Vain thy inquiries — those broad snowy sails Never shall glide to the shores of home-land. Some have had losses and crosses to bear, Fortune has frowned, and her tide seemed adverse] Some have had sickness, temptation and care, iH, changii Light sha ^ith thy sc Some droi it thou ari lAnd to ua )eakcth a ["Time is I )on shall r Heed, hee fork while Work — f .LD Yea Yes! ly form no I And thy h fe stand by Sadly coui re thou sha And breatl what dji I As thy swi seasons of [Which in s V. iow: sky. t glow, THE OLD YEAR. 81 Y. , changincT Year! in thy network we find Li-ht shades with dark ones alternately rolled. Wit! thy scenes fairest, some bitter is twined— IjSoiiie dross, alas n.idst thy bright threads of gold. It thou art going, old Year ! Fare thee well i I And to us all, as thy form prostrate lies beaketh a voice from thy death-tolling bell •— " T®i!^ **° fleeting ; mortals, be wise i bon shall ring out thy life's last fading year Heed, heed the warning ; O mortals, be wise, ork while the day-beam is shining and clear Work— for beyond an eternity lies." iway. •ue, Did; :ame anewi 5re: ) me! t" jales ! ite strand I is md. d adverse! ■e, uliCuil. DCs THE OLD YEAR. (question.) |LDYear dear old Year! thou art passing away _ ' Yes ! thy pulse even now beats but low • \l ?^.? ^^^, ^^ withered, once youthful and frav I And thy locks shame the white, stainless snow le stand by thy couch, lowly bending the while' [badly counting the hours as they fly ; r A * j^," ^^^^* ^®P^^^' ^^^^® *^y ^ast farewell smile And breathe out thy last murmuring sigh. ! what dying Year ! hast thou brought to each one, [As thy swift-rollmg cycle of life I seasons of measured succession has run. [Which in shadows, and aunlio-Vif wofo %.,•*« 9 ill 32 SEASONS. Speak out from the death-shades, thou fast a'nkin. Year, Ere thy pale lips forever dre stilled ; Ere loosed is the cord that is binding thee here, And thy mission with us is fulfilled ? (ANSWER.) "I've brought happy hours to the newly-made bride, In her home filled with love's sweet content. And smiled on full many a cosy fireside. Where sweet peace and fair pleasure were blent ; But ah ! 'twas not mine all of bliss to impart, With no shadow to dampen its flow, The clouds must descend on some way-weary heart, Some of sorrow's keen portion must know. "Yes ! some sigh to-day for the loved and the true. Gazing out o'er the dark ocean's foam. Who gladdened their hearts, when my coming wJ new. And made all things so cheerful at home. And some go alone to yon grave on the hill, There to bend o'er a form laid to rest ; To iuingle their sighs with the wild-winds so chill, While their tears bathe the earth's frozen breast. "I've heard, since my coming, the mother's lament For her brave and affectionate son ; I've seen many hearts by adversity rent, And earth's joys all depart, one by one. This lesson I've learned since my sojourn below, That there's nothing substantial on earth ; But hark ! bells are chiming ! alas ! I must go, That the joyous New Year may have birth." I Sei Oe Ai: De W: Ai: Wi TIIC NOT Sw Jwift as J And, lo bright Fraugh 'he dear His voi ■*»» fast tilnkinj here, lade bride, tent, sre blent ; art, ary heart, )W. the true, coming wasj B. 1, so chill, n breast. I lament elow. DYING. D YING. 33 HE is going — slowly sinking, Let us watch his parting breath ; See the weary eyelids closing In the icy sleep of death. Once we hailed his youth and beauty, Now we see him old and gray. All his former visage darkened. By the shadow of decay. Dear old Year, farewell forever ! With thy seasons' changing hours. With thy many joys, and sorrows, With thy sunshine and thy showers ; All are mingled strangely mingled ; With the memories of the past. Which with lingering trace shall ever Round our hearts their impress cast. 'go, rth/' THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR. NOTHER Year ! Oh, how the moments fly ! Swift as a rapid shooting to the main ; Jwift as an arrow speeds, they hurry by And, lost to us, can ne'er return again. bright New Year has dawned on us once more, Fraught with fresh buds of Hope and young Desire ; 'he dear old Year has left Time's trodden shore. His voice is stilled, fgr aye, blushed is his lyre. 34 SEASONS. Nought but the echo of his songs we hear, Along the vista of the Past so dim ; The silv'ry sound delights fond mem'ry's ear, And thrills the soul like some sweet, holy hymn. But ah ! 'tis not for up to dream and sigh, And dwell upon the Past now fled away. The present but is ours — the future lies Obscure, unknown ; we only live to-day. And though, thou glad New Year! we fain would! know What thou to us wilt bring of joys or ills, We'll patient be, 'till thou thy record show. And calmly take whate'er the Master wills. TKNl PERANCE. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. WAS a lovely Sabbath morning, more than j^ thirty years ago, mliffht over vale and hill-side shed its lucid, amber glow; leauteous nature seemed at worship, in the holy calm which reigned, ^eet-voiced birds their praises carolled, with a hap- piness unfeigned. ly a stream, whose limpid waters join Potomac's surging waves, ^hich with stern, majestic splendor, Washington's fair border laves, ily sauntered eight young students, heedless of the sacred hour, Joing for their own amusement to a distant leafy i bower, mere to drink and gamble madly, till the blessed day I was o'er ; Ind to carry out their purpose, each his cards and wme-ijasK DOi.e. 1 i' t^^^^HJ 1 m 1 ^1 H^F ^^^^^H 36 TEMPERANCE. ? ;i ' r. i Youth, health, beauty, all were blended on each bro^i so high and white, 1 And each sparkling eye flashed keenly with its intej lectual light ; I But, alas ! if not retarded e'er they reach destruJ tion's door, } Those bright forms, so proud and manly, soon musl fall to rise no more. 1 As they leisurely marched onward, jesting with irrevl erent ease. O'er the placid sunny waters, borne upon the hsdmi breeze. Came the ringing of the church-bell from a villaj lying near, [ And its solemn invitation pealed in cadence sweet an(| clear. [ Suddenly one of the number stopped and said, witlj stern, pale face : I " Boys, I've come to this conclusion, that my steps I will retrace ; I I am going back to worship in God's temple made with hands, I And thus break from vice, which holds me in his dark Satanic bands." | Then in tones of mocking kindness, spoke the boldesi of the clan : | "George is getting so religious, let us help him all we can ; I Come, baptize him by immersion in this stream whicj ripples by, f Then I'm sure he'll feel much better when again he's nicely dry." So they formed a ring about him, saying, " Choosel between the two, I A cold bath in yonder waters, or your wav with usl pursue." THE mother's prayer. 37 n each bro ith its intell ach destruc f with irrev] Q the bahiiji )m a villagj en spoke George, with noble bearing and with reso- lution strong : ot with all your cruel taunting can you force me to do wrong ; u have power to drown my body in these waves so cold and still, ^ soon musBi^ ^^^^ listen to my story, then do with me what you will, u well know I am this moment several hundred miles ' w,^ •'■ cm my aear old home, where mem'ry oft with ten- derness doth stray ; t you know not, dear companions, all it cost to bring me here, e sweet anilBl the weary hours of sadness borne by one — my mother dear, d said, witliB^^"^ ^y struggling she consented from her youngest child to part, ho can realize the anguish which did pierce that bleeding heart ? emple madeHhe an invalid, bedridden many long and painful years, ew ere long her bark must anchor far beyond this vale of tears ; d the thought that I should never cheer again her earthly stay, emed almost to quench entirely life's but feeble flickering ray, iream which^ifc her grief with prayerful silence, lovingly she hid from me, a again he'sHiH the few last fleeting moments which I was with her to be ; ig, " Choose^ien she called me to her bedside, bade me kneel devoutly there, my head her dear hands rested, while she breathed my steps I in his darl the boldest] > him all m\ T&y with usi 88 TEMPERANCE. With her sweet eyes turned to heaven, rose her voiij in accents mild, As she plead, with inmost fervor, for God's blessing oi her child. That fond prayer I shall remember long as reasoj holds its sway ; Every word is branded deeply on my throbbing heaij to-day. Oft in dreams before my vision comes that lovell pleading face, With those parted lips, ad pallid, where disease ha left his trace, Then she ceased her supplication, bade me raise mi drooping head, Clasped my hand in hers so wasted, and in chokinj whispers said: * Precious boy ! you soon must leave me, for the stag is at the door, And this side the chilly Jordan, you will see my fao no more ; For your father's means are scanty, so it therefor cannot be That you spend youi" bright vacations, underneath tli| old roof-tree. Ere the two brief years are ended, when your studie shall have ceased. From these galling earth-born fetters shall my spiri| be released ; For the sands have almost vanished from the hourj glass of my life, And decay within my bosom wages now its lates| striie, All the pangs I feel at parting you can never, nevei know, For I love you as none other does, or can while her DeiOW. In that i expec :ou will your Bek, oh, s wordi the ten steps Lnd my d morn, ^hen the ing ei /hen the by th fhen, whe moth( fhrough 1 agoni; it the tl kind j |iet your lone c /here yoi dying pon't forg the be i-ll is over —Far ^hen his down |iOoking I] did nc ' they a mot id they tetapt '-'4 THE mother's prayer. 39 Dse her voi(i s blessing oi ^g as reasnl obbing heaJ that lovelj ! disease ha me raise noj I in chokinl for the stag see my fac it therefop derneath tli| your studie all my spiril im the hour| )W its latest never, neveS a while heri in that far-off land of strangers, which you soon expect to greet, Tou will have no mother's counsel there to guide your erring feet ; 2ek, oh, seek the Master's guidance, and His loving words obey ; the tempter's luring pathway never let your foot- steps stray, Lnd my dearest boy, remember, on each holy Sabbath morn, ^hen the chiming of the church bells to your list'n- ing ear is borne ; Jhen the hour of ten is striking from the old clock by the stair, fhen, where'er yorr footsteps wander, shall ascend a I mother's pray. r. fhrough the peaceful hour which follows, I will I agonize for you [t the throne of sovereign mercy, with a Saviour kind and true ; |iet your thoughts, then, ever wander back to this lone couch of death, ^here your loving mother prayeth with her falt'ring, dying breath, ^on't forget the hour I mentioned — at the ringing of I the bell, 111 is over — you must leave me — kiss me, darling boy, ' —Farewell ! '" ^hen his story Oeorge had ended, tears streamed down his manly cheek, looking up at his companions, wond'ring why they did not speak, ' they wept, for each remembered they, too, had a mother's prayers, pd they there and then decided to escape the teinpter 's snares, 40 TEMPERANCE. I 'II By their downward course exchanging for the patliJ of truth and love, \ That when earthly turmoils ended they might gaiJ the home above. • 1 Quickly then the ring they severed, set our bravJ young hero free, 1 All their way to church then wended with sincerJ humility. Cards and wine they flung with loathing in the way- side hedge hard by, Vowing ne'er again to touch them, by the help of One on high. I Six of those young men died happy — angels borel them far away ; r George, an able ChrisUau lawyer, in Iowa dwells! to-day ; [ And the eighth, an active worker in Christ's vineyard! here below, I Still thanks God for his decision made that morningl long ago. I Thus eight souls were fully rescued, by that feeble! mother's prayer ; | Rescued from th' accursed wine-cup with its sting of! dark despair, I Rescued from a felon's portion in a cold, untiraelyl grave. | Oh ! the fruits of faith triumphant ! Oh ! the power! of prayer to save ! I Courage ! all you praying mothers, mourn not for the] absent one, I God will hear your weak petitions ; he will save your! wayward son. [ Labor on, though oft in weeping, scatt'ring forth thel precious seeds I Of a pure unstained example ; Faith to full fruition] iead», Hien the harves ^ith each the gr< N a wre pani 1 rough wl driving )wn whos winds reathing c hearth! which n ing lay id athwai and cfn lick ring a round Bering in i gloom, lere a wif to her 1 fhile her wild ur [aiting, lisi steal b;5 Jll the cl. hour is irk! the/ Creakin TH ! WAGES OF SIN. 41 rhen the -sheaves are gathered ho- ward from the harvest of the Lord, rith each loved one safely garnered, you will reap the great reward. ^ THE WAGES OF SIN. Na wretched attic chamber, lighted by a narrow pane, irough whose roof, so frail and shattered, beats the drivmg sleet and rain, 5wn whose crumbling, tott'ring chimney, wintry wild wmds hoarsely moan, . breathing out their icy vapor o'er the cheerless, rude hearthstone, which now the dying embers lend their last expir- mg ray, ^ id athwart the dusky ceiling falls the twilight, cold and gray ; 6 > " « lick'ring shadows, weird and ghostly, flit in silence I round the room, bring in their mocking stillness, at its emptiness and I gloom. ^ • lere a wife, a mother, crouches, clasps her babe hard to her breast, lile her weary brain is aching, throbbing with a wild unrest ; f 'l\"ea/b *^'''"^' ^''^'''^' P'^ayi^g' as the dreary hours p the clock upon the steeple tells the midnight I hour IS nigh. ^ irk ! the one she waits for cometh. stafffr'rinir un thp Cieakmg stair, ° ^' ' 4 ill 42 TEMPERANCE. Hope soon leaves her tired bosom, and gives place dull despair ; Ah ! what means this shrinking, shudd'ring ? 'tis well-known step she hears, 'Tis a step which once like music fell upon her glaJ some ears ; Once, that hand so rough, unsteady, which the door| opening now, She had clasped in hers most fondly, when she breathe! her marriage vow. Once, those eyes, so bleared and bloodshot, to her o\ spoke love and bliss, Once, those lips, which now but curse her, thrilled hij by their ardent kiss ; But, alas ! Love's flower has fallen in the wine-cui dark and deep. Where the viper gnaweth ever and the demons nev(| sleep. From the tavern now returning, from th' accurst haunts of woe, • With a brain by drink all maddened, see him reelin to and fro ! Like a beast in quest of plunder, see the fire flash ij his eyes ! Hear his coarse, satanic mutt'rings, as his tremblir wife he spies ! Then the startled babe, his offspring, wakes with criej of fear and pain, And the sound but stirs the frenzy of the demon o| his brain ; With a curse, the babe he seizes, dashes it against tli wall, And its piercing wail loud echoes through the dark some, winding hall. Cruelly its brains are scattered all around the coI(| bare floor, .Jiil THE WAGES OF SIN. 43 ittle lips, arc still and pallid— golden locks are bathed in gore, lut a quiver, all is over, baby's spirit now has fled, Ind that mother like a statue, gazes on her darling — I dead. lot one word her cold lips utter, no reproof to him [ she gave, [ho had launched her only comfort out on Death's dark, chilling wave, her eye a strange light gleameth, as she lifts that form of clay, id adown the dim old staircase quickly gropes her blinded way; it into the street she hastens, heedless of the raging storm, the blast of chill December, which sweeps round her ill-clad foim. fl is blank — she hears not, feels not — quite benumbed j seems heart and brain, [hile her precious lifeless burden, nearer, nearer, she doth strain, irough the gloom and silent darkness, onward, onward, still she passed, ill the flaring tavern's doorway had her footsteps I gained at last ; liding swiftly to the counter, where the poison draughts were sold, fusing the atrocious horror, which that fatal niirht ' had told; ^ bere she laid the little sleeper, pale and cold as i marble now, lith the blood still oozing slowly from his lovely \ snow-white brow ; len with shrieking voice, loud ringincr through that ^laiiug ueu 01 aeaiin, m 44 TEMFEUANCE. ii m ill! I I Hushing all the noiHy babble, while the vilest hej their breath, She addressed the bloated landlord, pointing whej her baby lay : — " Dead ! he's dead, and you have killed him, loo upon your work, i pray ! " This was all her white lips uttered, then that heart! bleeding, torn, Sank beneath its weight of anguish, which was moj than could be borne. One last gaze upon her loved one, with those glitt'rir sunken eyes. One last agonizing murmur, then she staggers, fal| and dies. When her poor inebriate husband woke to soberne again. Found himself in galling fetters, heard the clankin<;j his chain. Lying in a lonely prison, with its grim walls all arounl Starting in surprise, he questioned : " Why is it I hej am found ? " Then when told he was the mvrd'rer of his boy- only child. That his sad wife too had fallen, crushed by angui^ deep and wild. In despair he seized a weapon, which by chance lay| his cell, And upon the rock-hewn pavement, soon his life-bloi)| trickling fell. While his dying cry resounded through the low, di| vault of gloom : "Oh! MY God! it is the wine-cup sends me to| felon's tomb ! Drink has ruined soul • nd body, caused the de^ THIS day DOTF • "% THE WAGES OF SIN. 45 le vilest hel linting whei ED HIM, \m that heart I ch was moil lose glitt'rir itaggers, fal| to soberne 16 clankind ,11s all arounj ly is it I he| his boy— li i by anguii chance layj L his life-blc I the low, dij :nds me to I 3ED THE DEE ID 'tis drink that sinks my spirit to THE LOWEST, DEEPEST HELL ! " 1, Ruinseller ! bold death-dealer ! dost thou feel no pang within, this crime, mo dark, appalling, as the wages of thy sin ? )w cans't thou unmoved, unruffled, in thy tavern stand to-day, id behold that hearse just passing, slowly, sadly on its way, |iden with three lifeless bodies, whose brief sojourn now is o'er, lowing that their blood is lying at thy broad, destructive door ? I thy mind so low and brutal, is thy heart so calloused, seared, hi thy long neglected conscience seemeth to have disappeared ? ! il' so, man most wretched, sad, indeed, will be thy state, Ithy slumb'ring conscienc ..aketh not until it is — I TOO late; [here remorse will eat as canker, in thy burning, throbbing brain, id forever thou must listen to the orphan's cry of pain; [here the drunkard's loudest curses shall be showered on thy head, iose poor souls by thee lured onward, 'till adown to misery led, that pit of endless torture, with its parching, heating breath, lere to reap sin's bitter wages, which is DEATH — eternal death. 46 TEMPERANCE. THE FRUITS OF INlhMPERANCE. M "T^IS evening; the moon climbs the mountainl X dark brow, And sheds her pale glory afar ; The lovely June flow'rets are slumbering now, They nod to each twinkling star. How tranquilly still ! over nature's broad breast Hath fallen the mantle of peace ; Ah, me ! would that every lieart knew this rest — That night brought to sorrow surcease. Alas ! to the souls overwhelmed by grief Calm evening can bring no repose ; The roses, the moon-beams, the zephyr-stirred leaf, Seem only to mock at their woes. A frail woman sits in a low, wretched room. And looks on the glorious sky — She sees not its beauty — all, all is but gloom, Her starlight of love has passed by. To-night, surging mem'ry seems cruelly keen, And flows like a wild lava tide ; [bee^ And through all the thoughts of the days that havj One scene puts all others aside. That hour when she wandered, a bride young and faij In the moonlight's soft, silvery gleam — Just ten years to-night — then a stranger to care, Life seem'd like a beautiful dream. But whence comes the change ? Is the moonlight le^ bright ? Have roses since then lost perfume ? Why heaveth that bosom in anguish to-night, That T^ale brow so shaded in doom ? THE .FRUITS OF INTEMPERANCE. 47 lANCE. e mountainl now, I breast lis rest — irred leaf, om, )om, ceen, [beeJ lys that hafl )ung and faij to care, aoonlight lej light, las ! the Drink-demon has entered her home, lAnd rifled the coffer of gold ; lant, misery shroud her, stern hunger has come, |The tale of her sorrows is told. 3r last baby-boy the destroyer has claimed, |No curly-head lies on her breast ; a pauper's rude coffin, so ill and defamed, (She laid the dear darling to rest. ts but a short time since he died on her knee, [She heard his last pitiful cry : )h, Mamma, some bread ! — can't you get it for me ? " [She could not — and so he must die. id now she is waiting her husbanj^'s return, I" He comes not!" she whispers again, len on the bare floor, while her brain seems to burn, [She kneels, with a low cry of pain : ')(ive, save hlTri, oh, God ! " in an agony wild [She pleads, while the sobs choke her breath ; )h, send, send relief to Thy farniishhig child, \0r let me find refuge in death ! " earnest her pleading, so bitter her cry, Continuing still to implore, lie hears not that staggering footstep draw nigh, [And enter the half -open door. sees her — he pauses — oh, say, will the sight [Not soften his adamant heart ? 1, no ! Drink has darkened his intellect's light, [And bidden all pity depart. Jhe's praying"— he mutters ; "She's praying, I see, I And listen !" he holds his foul breath — [qw dare she — curse, curse her — to thus pray for me ? WriMT J.%..^ ,,1^^ „,.l- TT i? .l-„i.U 48 TEMPERANCE. ill Death, is it, she craves ?" a murderous glance Shoots forth from his dark, blazinor eye, While fiends of hell seeming 'round him to dance, Cry : "Kill her— she wishes to die !" One wild, sudden leap, like a beast from its lair. One blow — and the vile deed is wrought ; One shriek from the lips of that prone figure there, And lo ! her life-blood stains the spot. " My God ! he has killed me ! forgive him, I pray !" Then clasping her poor, bleeding breast. Up, up through the starlight, she passed into day, And entered her soul's desired rest. Close, close the dark picture! E'en stars seemed frown. The shadows sped noiselessly by — The pale moon in pity looked silently down, The night-winds gave forth a deep sigh. And well might old Earth mourn in silence that nighj O'erwhelmed with shame and surprise ; And well might the heavens frown over the sight, And stars veil their beautiful eyes. O hearts of humanity ! rise is your might ; And aided by strength from the skies, Go, banish the cause of such deeds, black as night. And help the poor fallen ones rise ! Till cursed Intemp'rance, that bane of man's life. Shall, like wind-blown chatf, flee away. And over its ruins of darkness and strife, Dawn sweetly a new, peaceful day. THE FATAL NEW YEAR S DAY. 49 THE FATAL NEW YEAR'S DAY. UNTIE dear, why is this package tied up with such tender care ? is only faded flowers, and a little lock of hair ! " lus my girlish niece did question, as she viewed my treasures o'er, her innocence not dreaming that her words had pained me sore. I laid away my sewing, drew her gently to my side, fith the tears my eyes o'erflow^ing — bitter tears I could not hide ; Jertie, darling, I will 1 11 you, though upon my ach- ing heart ills each word of that sad story, like a deadly, pierc- ing dart. )u, no doubt, ^ e often, Gertie, looked upon my locks of gray, id my faded cheeks, where roses once were bloom- ing, bright and gay ; id have wondered why I've trodden, thus alone the path of life, id refused so many offers to become a happy wife. ! these faded blossoms, Gertie, plucked by dear hands, lifeless now, id this precious, golden ringlet, cut from off a mar- ble brow, fiese reveal my heart's sad story — these in silent keeping hold [em'ries of the days departed — mem'ries of the days of old. % m i >ut the story, can I tell it ? Heaven give me «1 Xl. T I a«iciigi/u, i pray i 60 ill TEMPERANCE. \ Oh, how vividly before me, comes that lovely Ne Year s day ! "^ [ When the snow lay crisp and stainless, and the sleigi bells rang in glee, ' And my heart beat time within me to their chime g'ad and free. I was young— and all the c mforts of a home wealth and ease Then were mine ; and life before me, gleamed lit placid, moon-kissed seas. I had then a lover, Gertie, he was handsome, good an true, ^ Mutual was our strong affection, which each day ba stronger grew. How he spurned the sparkling wine- cup, thoufjh would so often try t" h To persuade him that 'twere folly, and to lay sud scruples by. "^ For upon my father's table, there, alas ! the rubj wine, I From my easliest remembrance, in its luring li^ht dii shine; ° ^ 1 And to me it seemed unmanly, (which my trainii taught, alas !) "^ To appear so strictly temp'rate, and refuse a socia glass. So upon that fatal New Year's, when he came to mak a call ' With a party of his schoolmates, I resolved befon them all. Just to have some sport with Willie, and to test hj love for me ; * So 'mid greetings, and good wishes, out I spoke rifflil merrily : ^ ^ 'To my health you all will surely drink to-day a glass ofwme! *^ ^ THE FATAL NEW YEAR's DAY. 61 WHO DARE REFUSE, i.EMEMBER, SHALL NO MORE BE FRIEND OF mine!' ! the look my darling gave me ! as he whispered in my ear : jurely, Grace, you must be joking ! say you do not I mean it, dear !* [o !' I said, ' I am not joking,'~a3 I held aloft the wine — repeat what I have spoken — Drink, or be no FRIEND Cx' MINE ! [emblingly he took the goblet, drank, then had it filled again, [)r a recklessness had seized him, and the demon fired his brain, ^ery one had drunk too freely, when at last they said ' Good night ! ' id their prancing steeds soon bore them down the hill-side from my sight, iddenly, I heard loud voices, just a little down the street, id a nameless impulse drove me to the spot with flying feet ; lere, oh, horror ! on the pavement, still and white, dear Willie lay, pth a gash upon his forehead, whence his life-blood ebbed away. • lere those 'frighted steeds had thrown him, as they were so madly driven, ly those reckless, mirthful drivers, crazed by drink 1 my hand had given. low my cries of I tter anguish rang out on the frosty J air ! js I fell beside my lover, wailing forth my wild de- spair. 52 TEMPERANCE. * Speak, oh ! speak but once !' I pleaded, as I pressJ those lips of clay, ' Tell me that you now forgive me, for my thoughtle act to-day ! ' But no answer could be given, for the spark of lij had fled, [ And I knew that all was over, that my only love d — dead. For long weeks I lay unconscious, then returned life agaii.. Only in remorseful mem'ry, to live o'er that scene ( pain. Heaven, I feel, has sent forgiveness, and my soieml vows has heard, That while being lasts, I never shall again by deed, word. Tempt a soul to touch the wine-cup ; but with all inmost might I will fight th' accursed evil that has caused my life! dark blight. f But Remorse shall cease, no, never, gnawing at thij heart of mine, 1 Still I hear those merry voices— still I see the sparJ ling wine — f Still I see that look of pleading on my lost one's pali sweet face, When he whispered: " You are joking, OH ! you NOT MEAN IT, Gr.ACE!" Would to God I had not meant it ! but alas ! it is to late ! And a lonely life of sadness, is my well-deserved fat When the story I had ended, tears streamed from ml listener's eyes. As she gave me looks of pity, mingled with a sad surl "I MADE HIM WHAT HE WAS." 53 )w the story I've repeated, as it then to her I told, )ping it may prove a lesson, dearer far than gems or gold. ^ould come thoughtless sister— brother (who beneath God's righteous ire his neighbors' lips is putting the inflaming cup of fire), bad these lines I've traced in weeping, with the pen of heart-felfc grief, [•ief, which this side Heaven's portals shall, no, never j find relief — [op, I pray, and well consider— pause, and think with bated breath, the seeds your hand is sowing; seeds whose har- vest will hQ— Death. it you foot upon the adder ere you feel his sting of woe, id the stainless robes of Temp'rance, 'round you nobly, strongly throw ; arch beneath the waving splendor of her pure, proud flag unfurled, id against the grim Drink-demon, let your life-long darts be hurl'd. " / MADE HIM WHA T HE WAS." ^HE excitement was great in a Southern town, At the close of a summer's day ; id a crowd swiftly rushed to a tavern door, rhere within, still and lifeless, upon the floor [The pale, form of the landlord lay. 1st a short time before, he had staggered out [To the Slflp. nf nn r»nan iiroll 54 TEMPERANCE. \ Where his men were repairing the pump ; when lo ! As he bent o'er the margin to look below, In his drunkenness down he fell. He, so heavy and bloated, 'twas vain they tried To emerge his down-sunken head, Ere the deep gurgling waters had choked his breatlij And had yielded him up to the monster Death, With the flickering lit'e-spark fled. There he lay in that bright, gilded hall of sin, With its glittering walls so fair. And its rows of decanters and ruddy wines ; Where the dark evil eye of the demon shines Through the glistening glasses there. What a spectacle ! Ah ! 'twas a fitting place For the phantom of death, so grim ; For 'tis hidden alway 'neath the poison bowl. And it loveth to prey on the poor, blind soul,' Who doth quatf" from its flowing brim. See the sorrowing wife, as with drooping head, And in desolate misery. She mingles her sobs, with the orphans' cry, While the pitying friends gather softly nigh. With their offering of sympathy. In the midst of this terrible scene of woe (O'er v\ hich angels, methinks, would weep), A wholesale liquor-dealer came striding in. To behold his companion in shame and sin -"J*"& viicic iii iiio icy oieep. "I MADE HIM WHAT HE WAS." 65 Bry little appall'd at the sight seem'd he, IAs he stood in his pomp and pride ; |ue, he'd lost a good customer ; but he said, I a satisfied tone, as he viewed the dead, ITo a lady just at his side : It was I made that man what he was, ah, yes ! [For I started him on the way ; lith his liquors supplied him, his life-time throu^rh, hd I lent him his very first dollar, too, ° lAnd ten thousand he's worth to-day ! " ien the lady (a Crusader) turned and said, iLooking steadily in his face : Bo, you made that poor man what he was, indeed ? |t him up in this infamous traflSc, to lead Souls to misery and disgrace ? K that made him a drunkard— a wretched bloat JTo society but a stench ? Id him deep into sin, till he headlong fell ■^eternity's gulf and a drunkard's hell, There the burning no hand can quench ? lat are riches, I ask, weighed against a soul, "hat in blackness and gloom is lost ? the wild, bitter fruits of a wasted life— b poor fatherless children, heart-broken wife — ^)h ! compare them and count the cost ! " lie he stood, when she finished, yet answered not, phen he hastily left the spot ; it we trust that his innermost soul was stirred, [en pierced to its depths by the truths he heard.— "Liuths that never might be forgot. 56 i li TEMPERANCE. We too tusk as we think of the wretched homes All despoiled by the curse of wine, OUhe sad, aching hearts in the world to-day. I t ^r%«^»«hed neath King Alcohol's cruel swaj In his dark galling chains repine. ^' What are revenues, riches, compared to these ? Brothers, Sisters, of Temperance, say ? Are we each doing something the tide to check. Ihat IS bearing so many, a total wreck, lo the shores of Despair away ? T//£ FATAL SANDS. T HAVE somewhere read of a clear, cool stream J. In a tar-off, sunny clime ; How its waters like to crystal gleam In their placidness sublime. And the traveller hails it with fond delight As he treads the burning sand ; ' By the gale borne over its bosom 'light How his throbbing brow is fanned \ Here he stops to rest on his weary way Quaffing draughts so cool and sweet, While the fleecy wavelets like lambkins play Kound his heated, way-worn feet. Oh so cool, so clear ! not a stone is seen JNaught to mar its sandy*floor • And he says : " Oh, many a mile I've been, i3ut the like ne er seen before. THE FATAL SANDS. I will just Step in, it will cool rny feet ii^re J journey on my way • ' Oh I would to this sequestered seat My worn footsteps oft might stray ! " Rnf 1 Trf'^u'^fi^^ ^^^^^ <^he verdant shore But alas ! that subtle sand ' ^'Talh}7 f'^'' 1''P' ?^^P^^' *« ri«« no more 10 the fast receding land. Oh ye fatal sands ! ye deceitful waves f How appears your wary plav Like the tide of sin which round us laves As we tread life's fevered way ' Wifwf ^' T'^^"^^ ^^^«« «h«^«« appear, WMWy. •' ^''^"5^^"^' dancing spray ! ' A^d w'« T"" '^^?h'^ ^'' «^^^^«« «o clear, And we fam would launch away. Then gay fancy's visions range high and wide Pleasure smiles, we vainly think ' wfi?-. r"?^^'' ^"^^ ^n ^^^^ smooth sin-tide With Its fair, enchanting brink ' in the first step downward, how fair the pass f Oh, how bright the gilded hall, ^^"' ' With the gambling table-the social glass. Or the dance-note's stirring call. But alas ! alas ! soon those slipp'ry sands Give away beneath our feet, And unless arrested by mighty hands. Our destruction is complete, binkmg deep, and deeper, to depths of gloom To a drunkard's early grave, ^ ' ""'Npp/rf ^ K'^'^T ^' ^^'^mWer's doom, " •'"" '-wiu, UUIUSIV6 wave. 57 58 TEMPERANCE. TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN B. GOUGll\ YE wintry breezes ! gently sigh Around the fallen hero's head ; Ye stainless snow-flakes ! softly lie Upoi. his narrow, lowly bed. Let Temperance veil her lovely face, And drop the silent, heartfelt tear; Her " King " has fallen from his place ; The one to her and nations dear. That voice, whose burning words have thrilled The multitudes from day to day, Forever and for aye is stilled — Its last sweet echo dies away. That hand which fought the demon Drink, And helped its fallen victim rise, When trembling o'er Destruction's brink, Now pale and cold as marble lies. The pulsing of that noble heart Is still ; no more the orphan's cry Shall rend its tender strings, and start The drops of grief and sympathy. The drunkard's state — his sad wife's tears, Shall mar no more that peaceful breast ; Far from the shadow of earth's fears. The weary soul has found its rest. The silver cord is loosed at last, The golden bowl all shattered lies ; All labor ended, sorrow past, He, at his post, falls down and dies. Yes ! while still holding forth to view A much-loved theme ; upon the floor. He sank — Death's arrow tiierced him fchrnno'h- The curtain fell — Life's scene was o'er. He kn Aroi He, to( And Re Corn Toe And til Eras Himsel And His inr Waa How m That And pl( From And ah Behol Stood o: And s To him And 1 Which f Andl Sleep on For n( Let othe And si Till radii Shall ' And all 1 To ves JOHN n. Qouaii. COUGllM^ He knew the venom Satan Hin^s Around the dark accursed cup • He too, had felt the viper's stings, And quaffed the poison licmid up Reformed, he rose with ardent zeal, lo crush this deadly monster low, And thus promote man's highest weal Erasing every stain of woe. Himself, the child of poverty. And motherless in boyhood' left His inmost sensibility Was moved toward these aliki bereft. How many hearts bless C Jh to-d? y, That ere they saw his ki/. \]^^ race, And pledged to tear themselves away From old King Alcohol's embrace. And ah ! methinks that many more Beholding his glad spirit come, fcstood on the distant verdant shore And sang a song of " welcome home " lo him who turned their erring feet \vt^^ Poin*i«<^ to the path of Right' Which following, led to pastures sweet, And hills of glory bathed in light. Sleep on ! great " Temperance King," sleep on ! J^or nobly thou hast fought, and well • Let others stem the tide of wrong. And strive its surging waves to quell; X in radiant in her peact and nride, x^A u '^^"^Pe^apce reign from shore to shore, And all her foes be scattered wide, 1..^ ^^ vex our smilins- land no more 59 ^e thrilled 3rink, 'ink, •t tears, 'east; 5r, irnnn' CHRISTMAS. CHRIST IS BORN. BACK, roll back, ye ages olden ! We that wondrous scene would view, Which appears in sunlight golden, To our hearts as always new. Time can write no cold, damp traces On that scene of Royal Birth, When with all His heavenly graces, Jesus came to dwell on earth. See yon plain, whereon are keeping Shepherds now their watchful care; 'Tis the midnight, nature's sleeping, Silence lulls the balmy air. Suddenly, all glory-lighted, Shines the starry dome on high, And as shepherds start, affrighted, Lo I angi lie forms draw nigh. Now they come still nearer, nearer. Far around their splendor gleams ; CHRIST IS BORN. 61 And each face shines clear and clearer, Glowing with celestial beams. Harps of gold are tuned with gladness, Ne'er were chords more sweetly strung; Wake, bound Earth ! put off thy sadness, Hear thine own redemption sung! Oh, that song ! e'en now it thrills me, As it falls on fancy's ear ; Joy, amazement, wonder fills me, As I catch its words so dear: " Glory in the Highest ! Glory ! Peace on earth ! Good- will to men ! " Ah, that song of ancient story Is as sweet to-day as th n. For He, who in Bethleh> >* s manger. Lay upon a bed of hay. He, who came to earth a stranger, He, whose birth we hail to-day. Came forth from the Father's splendor — Came with pardon, joy and peace. And yith love most deep and tender, Gave Himself for our release. Crown our Jesus, hosts of heaven ! Hail Him, all ye sons of earth ! Honor, power to Him be given, Shout aloud His wondrous birth ! Let the nations bow before Him — All their gifts most freely bring. And with glad acclaim adore Him, While the Christmas carols ring. )kcembkr, 1886. 62 CHRISTMAS. TWO CHRISTMAS -EVES. HIGH the glowing flames are dancing, In the old-time fire-place wide, Crackling, playing, wreathing, prancing, Round the yule-log's rugged side. Everything seems bright and cheerful In the home of Farmer Lee, For though not by wealth surrounded, He is rich in charity. And his merry, rosy children Chatter of the coming day. For to-morrow will be Christmas, And their little hearts are gay. From the windows, trim and tidy, They have drawn the curtains back. So the pleasant home-light gleaming, Out upon the snowy track. May the passers-by encircle. Cheering them upon the way ; It was " Papa " bade them do it, And they hastened to obey. Now" the games begin in earnest — " Blind-man's buff," and many more — Eyes are sparkling, cheeks are glowing, Lips with laughter bubbling o'er, Suddenly the fitful fire-light Shows a wee, wan face without, Peering sadly through the window — Soon is hushed each noisy shout. And '■ e laughter quickly ceases; Then the door is opened wide. And a little ragged stranger TV i_ i._ XL xi__ _;j_ TWO CHRlSTMAS-EVES. 63 " What's your name ? " — " It's only Maggie- I'm so cold, and hungry too, But I'll only eat a little, If you'll let me stay with you ; For I'd rather die — I guess so — Than go back again to Meg. (Meg's the woman that I live with, And she sends me off to beg,) For to-day I could get nothing, And, oh, dear ! she beat me so ! If my mamma only knew it ! But she died long, long ago." Then the tear of pity glistened In each listener's dewy eye : " Mamma, Papa, won't you keep her ? " Pleading voices quickly cry. " Keep her ? Yes, indeed — poor orphan ! Though 'tis hard to feed you all, Yet I know the Father careth Even when the sparrows fall, And He will provide, I feel it, I will trust His loving care. And while we have augh^ ny children, This poor child shall have a share." Then the happy children shouted : " Drive another nail up. Will ! There's another pair of stockings. Fox old Santa Glaus to fill ! " Then up go the little stockings, By the chimney-side, two rows. And the coals are smothered, so that Santa will not burn his toes. Little Maggie, with the children. In clean garments, warmed and fed, Soon is lost in far-off dream-land, In a aoit aau uowuy Dea. ! ill' 64 CHRISTMAS. So she dwelt within the " farm-house " Man}'' months — beloved by all — 'Till one day a wealthy lady Who was childless, chanced to call, And attracted by her beauty, Wished to take her as her own. So she went — sweet little Maf]jgle, Whom to all so dear had grown. How they missed her ! yet they deemed it Better far, that she should be Cared for, in a home of plenty, Than with them in poverty. Christmas-eve again ; but many, Many years have wheeled their flight, Since the little starving Maggie Found a home that bitter night. Once again the winds are drifting Through the newly-fallen snow ; People with mysterious parcels In the streets pass to and fro. With his wife and little daughter, Sits a merchant a^j his ease, In a home, where wealth has scattered Everything the heart to please. " Maggie," said the handsome husband, " Why this foolish whim to-night. Thus to have our home surroundings Open to the public sight ? " Then his lovely wife drew nearer — Whispered softly : " Please, dear Guy, Just allow the shutters open For ta-mahi — I'll tell von whv ! TWO CHRISTMAS-EVES. 65 One sad Christmas-eve I wandered, Homeless, friendless, hungry, cold, And a kindly home-light drew me To a warm and sheltering fold." Then they asked their fair-haired darling What she'd like to have them buy For her Christmas gift, to-morrow ? Thoughtfully she made reply : " Best of all, I'd like a Grandpa, For I've dollies, books and toys. But I never had a Grandpa Like the other girls and boys ! " " Your's are dead, dear," said her parents ; " Yes, I know, but don't you see. If I ask Him, God will make one. And just send him down to me." Oh, for faith of trusting childhood ! That can bridge each doubt and fear. And through e'en the darkest turning, Find a way to make it clear. Then the merry little prattler Peered out through the darksome night, 'Till all suddenly, she started. Clasped her hands in fond delight : " Mamma ! mamma ! God has sent one. And he's on the doorstep — see ! He's a Grandpa, I's just certain, Go and bring him in to me !" Then the massive door was opened, And the light revealed the form Of a poor old man, most feeble, Quite ill-clad to brave the storm. " Pardon, sir ! your light so cheering, Seemed to warm my poor old heart — Now I'll go " — The voice familiar Caused the merchant's wife to start ; 66 CHRISTMAS. Then the light fell on his features — " Yes, I know him ! It is he "— She exclaimed — " My benefactor, Tis my friend, old Farmer Lee ! " " Do my dim old eyes deceive me ? Maggie, Muo^gie, is it you ?" As he clasped her warm hands close iy In his own, so thin and blue " Times have changed — oh ! changed most sadlJ Maggie, since I saw jori last ; On this world, so cold and cheerless, I am now a wanderer cpst. One cliilf' only, now is left me, He has turned me from his dovi\ 3nd "--" Come in, come in," she whispered, ' For your wanderings now are o'er, I hiiv" i3lt;iity to repay you Fvi your idndness once to rae ; And while God sees fit to spare yon, In my home your place shall be. ' Littio Dottie got her Grandpa, And the outcast found a rest ; Thus one little act of kindness. By the Master's hand was blessed. December, 1887. CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. AGAIN 'tis Christmas. That happy time of festive joy and mirth Is here. How swiftly, oh, how swiftly, have The golden hours sped by, since last rang out The Christmas carols, in sweet billowy waves Of sound, upon the listening Earth ; to tell The iSatal Day — the wondrous Birth of Him, The King of Heaven. For eighteen hur - i years, CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. 67 Ind more, that glad auspicious hour has been failed with delight — repeated o'er that old, Id Story, ever new, whose burning theme mil live forever. Wondrous Story ! Bath d I iiviveii's own light, glowing resplendently JvM. ;hti celestial beauty of the One n>;; e name is Love. Methinks I hear that song — djiii angel-song of long ago, borne down Ihrough grand old Ages, from those Eastern hills far away, in sweetness all untold : iGla'] lidings now to you I bring ; Peace and |cod-will toward men ; and Glory ! Glory, in |ho Highest !" And behold in yonder sky [he Star appears — the guiding Star — above le lowly shed, where lies the new-born Prince imanuel. Star of Bethlehem ! Ihe soul's own beacon-light from earth to heaven ; jn Thy bright beams, oh, let me ever fix [aith's upturned eye, and follow closely in [he silv'ry path thy splendor throws across life's heaving sea. Again 'tis Christmas, ow varied the emotions which now till e human heart ! Fair childhood looks with eye f eager joy, and fond delitjht, and thinks 'hi8 day the best of all ; when " Santa " comes ith wondrous pack, in all his mystic guise, 'he fiery heart of Youth beats high ; while calm Id Age in musing sits, and views the scenes f days gone by — still green in memory, ut, ah ! how oft the heaving sigh bursts forth rom trembling lips, as tear-dimm'd eyes behold ■fi»« Viewed His wounds, believed, adored. Sc would we, the tidings herald J- his commemorative day : ' P« '^' ^T^ ^^°' *he ange s. Fo?tM! t'^^ '"^^^ *^« '^^^ away • J^or this Jesus IS owr Saviour, ^' He for t^ hath burst the tomb • Kise to Jife, and endless bloom 75 LT E is risen ! EASTER. By whiter 1? ^^ ^^^^^ge \ Spoken first Thei> ir • '"'^®^'' ^^^" *^ey bent Glad P 7^7'"^" *« ^a'-th, that first W^d Wer~time. and rolled away ^-&lZrf''''''k '^^^J-y-^ notes Anj 11 "P""*™, and were eaupht bv nno And then another of the host ^ ^ "' 76 EASTER. To hear the wondrous tidings. Then It echoed on and on, that glad, New song, in tidal waves of joy, O'er Heaven's shining plain. Methinks No sweeter chords, on golden harps, Were ever struck by angel hands, Than those which breathed of vict'ry o'er The grave, by Heaven's all-conquering One,- The King of kings. Sing on, sing on, Bright seraph throng ! Sing on, to all Eternity ! For He, who once Was slain, now lives- -He lives again ! He is risen ! Earth, too, has caught this song of songs. To her 'tis even sweeter than To heavenly ears, if such a thing Can be. For is it not her own Redemption song ? Her one grand theme Of Liberty and Peace ? Lost, lost In misery and gloom she lay Enthralled by slavish chains of sin, Until an Heir of Glory came, And snapped the bands asunder. Now The ransom's paid — oh, happy thought ! Salvation is by Jesus bought. He is risen ! Adown through grand old Ages, rich In great, eventful story, these Dear words have been resounding for Well nigh two thousand years. Oh, yes ! Down through the damp old corridors Of Time they've rolled along. Through storm EASTEn. Of this poor fallen world. He is riaen I Tis told to dark-browed Afric's sona Where sweeps the lordly ml 'Trs L« fK ^ Where spicy odors seen Uh fair ^"'"'^"^ Of Asiatic lands, and far- Offlslandsof theSea. It is 0?india' TTi*^" ^"'^^ «^'^"^« i;; ^"^^»- , And lo I upon Of TJk *^""'gh^«^' blinded eye Ot Heathendom there bursts a^jlad n!^'^M' ,-^*»'knes8 and error flee It sHiT ^ message. And oh, may it stili sweep on, till every tongue ^ Shall lisp tj i^ wondrous story. Haste Oh haste, hou great millennil dawn / And then let rise one loud acclaim ' * rem joyful Earth; until at S ihe notes are lost in one sweet sonir Of jubilee, with those above ^ EenuntoHimwhoJiveth;He Who once was dead, and is alive-- AJive forevermore. 77 W, EASTER. cruel Death ! where is thy sting ? Where is thy vict'ry, boasting grave ? Since Jesus, our victorious King, Did all the darksome pathway pave With Heaven's own pure, unclouded ray ; ^ His presence scattered all the gloom, From death He took the sl'ng away, And gilded e'en the shad'wy tomb. tin -«™,i:| Saviour dear ! with me abide, That, when my way-worn feet shall stand Upon the brink of Death's cold tide, f then may hold Thy loving hand ; With Thee, I shall not fear the foe, Or heed the surging waters chill, But safely o'er the river go, Tc rest on God's eternal Hill. MISCELLANEOUS. MEMORIES, O^L^^,t? ^^ilight's curtain falleth W Shutting out the glare of dav Do T «ff 1°"" *^^ ^^«<^ «way, n ' !?^ ^*^® '"e bfickward iJown the corridors of Time ^^iV^^^Jf bjri„fchine tur^^^^^ Echoes with fond mem'ry'« chime. ^^TJh ^^'^'"^^^ «^*^J«W8 deepen Sh^ *^/»««n'H pale form app^ais- fetill each tender i,i^MnKi;« '.""HF-ars, Thrills uM-fl? . '^^^"i^^'Off heart-string xnriiis with songs of orher ^ ^arq • Till ^ '°"'' ''^^et, sat^ re^jam Till I seem i„ fancy iivi,.jf " ' •■' Oer those golden hou.: f^v.in. 80 MISCELLANEOUS. Fir^t, T see a humble cottage On a hill-side, by the stream, Where, in innocence of childhood, J^irst I dreamed life's pleasing dream ; uru-^i.^^® *^® ^^^^ o^d hearthstone, Which at eve we gathered round ; iNot oer all earth's wide expansion Oan a brighter spot be found. ' Once again I seem to wander Down yon ivy-tangled dell, Hand>in-hand with blithesome schoolmates 10 a spot we loved so well ; There to twine the scented garland, Seated in some shady bower Or the rich, brown filbert gather, In the season's fading hour. One by one arise before me Well-known forms of long ago. Breathing of the days departed, And of time's deceitful flow ; Sweet, pale faces smile upon me Lovelit eyes look into mine, Sparkling in their wonted lustre, Li^e the stars which o'er me shine. Soft, white hands my own are pressing, In their clasp so warm and true Harids whose touch did once like macic Ihrili my very being through. Murmuring voices float around me, On the breezes as they blow. Like a balm upon my spirit Falls each cadence, sweet and low. MEMORtES. Bnt, alas ! the vision fu.leth And unconsciously there burstX' As I start, an.I question sa,lly • ' Un times worn and gray old pa-es Oh ! how fchev are so^f fo « c^'npanions ? T.ilfo fk« 1 1 -^ ^ scattered now ' When fh^^'^.r'?'"" '«■»««»«. ■ When the cold wind sweeps the bough. Some m distant lands now ro^' Where amid new scenes, new pTe^'ures They have made themselves a h^^!' Crar.°"' VPon 'ho oc^an!' '' Oradled on its crested wave Some beneath its heaving bosom Silumber in a watery grave " '^"i'l°!:'j;«"^.oh.howmany! Where th«'P'"^ "'""*''«• And th! *?■■««" '"^^' S'""" above them B„7 „ 7* •''°°g-l"rJ /litteth by • ' lv:ii';:i"'r"'8«'^pw*^' nevel m the home of jov • oT'thetr' •="" *''«'«""'-' 'hem, ^f their happiness alJoy. ' 81 82 MISCELLANEOUS. Soon God's loving hand will straighten Life's entangled, mazy skein ; And what seemeth now mysterious, Shall at last be all made plain, When we gather with the loved ones, To be scattered not again, Where the spirit feels no longing, And the happy heart, no pain. TWILIGHT. WHEN the chariot wheels of the sun Roll down the blue aisles of the west, When the day's busy toiling is done. And nature sinks softly to rest ; Then, oh, then, comes the sweet, tranquil hour, When twilight^ — the soft nurse of day, Steps serene from her shadowy bower, In soft, misty garments of gray. In the hush of her wooing embrace, She ^ulls the tired day to repose. Then over the earth's drowsy face A vapory mantle she throws. Twilight hour ! calm, Helightful, serene, How oft as we sit in thy shade, Comes the music of days that have been, Whose joys have but blossomed to fade. TWILIGHT. Then our bark catches memory's breeze. And pennon and sail flying fast. Glide we backward oer tv '« heaving seas. lo view the green shores of the past And we scent the rare fragrance of flowers- i'ure blossoms of sweet, perfumed snow, All entwined round the dear vanished hours Ut glad sunny days, long ago. Till we start from our dreaming to see That twilight has deepened to night': While afar o'er the mist-shrouded lea, The last fading day-beam takes flight And we think, in the deepening gloom, boon, soon shall our life's twilight fall, i hen dissolve into night of the tomb The night that awaiteth us all. 83 But Hope breathes of a day, bright and fair, Whose noon-tide of glory ne'er ends, li ^.^ ®^®^ cloudless, and where JNo glimmering twilight descends. Ak^ <^**^ch of its splendor, one gleam ! Oh, but to soar upward — away From the shadows of life's fitful dream, To bask in that unending day. 84 MISCBLI.ANEOirs. ALL A MISTAKE. J^TTNA aheds herBilv'ry beaina over Natures closing '^"''floLs'ty :""'''' "•"""8«'"'"'o" 'he balmy bree» ^"'"■s i^e'^'; ""' P'"'''' "'"*""• °° "'"««' >»°k the viole, ^"''w «'!?'"'• '!'"' 8"'''"i''g sheen, o'er each slu.. b', ing flow ret weeps. Vbo""ve^' '''"'^'"'' P'""' ^^"^ """ «>>n-tree wave. ^""^ottofloT ''"°" "'""«• '"•'"""'"S ^orth their "^"'abidef' ""^ *'*"'^' ""y' ^J' y""' <=«""««' ' '" Tcide '"'^' "^ ^"■^ ^ P'"^*- y°" '* " ^ho ""^ """Vu^tfnff'^' °''' ^'•^' -"y y- -'-'r That the sun!-.,:l.fc from my life all will vanish if you go. J "Ve' " "'"' ''"'''•" '»•'' •"" lover, brave and ^'"'"wHh'yoZ"^"'"" dawns when my joys 111 share "''"chanc:to"'r"'""^ "P"*"^' """'*' '"-^--J- ™'r ^*'' to mT"' "*" '^''^ " ''• ''""6^ forebodings come But r^^must not worry you by my dim. ungrounded And though hard the struggle be. I will not be selfish, * # ALL A MISTAKE. 35 Iw.II not^Woud j-ou. hope; no, your uncle's wiah At h,. own expe, ,e. with naught save this stipulation Iftr ITra/l "D.,i. -L T tree' 00. dear Fred. But. oh. I .«k, Uon't forget a h .t so Whieh^through all those weary years ever. only, beats ''''"" intd'S""^ "' *""' ''<"'" f"- 'he -u«. l'""ht eS"' '""■■'^'°'" ^''" ^™"' 'h«' ""iden'B love- !"' Sved'""' '^"""«' ^"' ""y »«■"««<»> "hall be I "Ted"/""' ''"«f y«»". one whom all my life IVe '"'tue"' t""' " '"" '"' "°'^"' ^ ^"hout it you'd '" «"a sL^* "° '*'" '" ^»^' -- 'hough I were," ["You^shall never bear the test, so cheer up, my little f'Teed aXr"" """^ '^ P''^'' '-« -"' l^-kly PgTX fly"^ '"'"«'' '"'"'' '"'*''' h'ck to you I'll rM%ty ■°' '""• "'" ''«*«' brighter in our cloud- MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Uillil 161 16 4.0 1.4 2.5 2.0 1.8 1.6 ^ APPLIED IIVMGE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 -0300- Phone (716) 288- 5989 - Fax If m 86 MISCELLANEOUS. Then within the fair hotne-nest we together will rrrow old, ^ And I'll watch the silver threads come amon.. your locks ot gold, o J "' And the peach-tint fade away which upon your cheek X see y Strange indeed, it all will seem, but my eyes so dim will be, "^ That the change I will not note ; you to me will be as clear As you are to-night, my own. standing in the moon- light here. Why was it her young heart sank, list'ning to his voice so clear ? ^ Why was it foreboding came— something whispering m her ear, r o That the HEART might fade, grow old, even though the hair retained ° All its wonted golden hue, and the cheeks as fair remained ? But to be Fred Arnold's wife she had promised months ago, And she felt that in his path not one barrier could she throw, For 'twas Providence held out that great ladder to renown ; When its first round he had gained, would she try to pull him down ? ^ No ! so bidding him God-speed for the four low changing years, ' Which between them were to drift, fraught with sun- shine and with tears, She resolved to hope and wait, cheerfully to labor on, 1 hough that radiant, sunny smile from her vision now had gone, ,*irv iher will grow ! among your 'n your cheek ' eyes so dim me will be as in the moon- b'ning to his ^ whispering even though eeks as fair d promised ier could she it ladder to li she try to four long, it with sun- ALL A MISTAKE. S7 '''Ter& '^« '^'' -r^«' "I will write quite Why^ was it the very first sent a pang to her sad '''t:t^rlT' ^^ ^^^^^^" «'- ^er pure white brow ''" dLX, '' ^^ "^^^^'^ --^ -w is with him ; O Could you but her beauty see! for she's hnn.!.. young and gay ^ handsome. Her vacations here she spends, which you know I also """w^hto" '"'' "^ '''''' ''''> ' --^^ rather be Thus^tlie^ letter ran along; but alas I that nameless '^'^r^:^'''' '- '--^' Covered round her But as time flew on apace, and the seasons came and In hisjette^^ comfort came, truth and constancy were ''' t\nT: ''"'"'^ '^°"^^* ^-^« -g-n i^er peace "Vera Melville's here again, and is lovelier bv f«r» "^'{^tlom^^r'"^ ^'S^' -•'-h the maiden iHaiah.^waiting time is o'er, and but two abort years jEre h^r_ lover's voice shall ring inber gladdened ear 88 MISCELLANEOUS. Ah ! what have those yeixrs in store for that heart so trustinp- true ? Will the scene be joy or pain which the future bringG to view ? As the weeks and months stole by, still his brief epistles came, But in them was never more mentioned Vera Melville's name. Christmas bells are chiming out, and the snow lies crisp and white, Her DEBUT Miss Melville makes in society to-night; Many are the worshippers at her shrine of loveliness, All she spurns, save one, who least to her beauty pays address. He the tumult, Jeep and wild, ii- his bosom tries to quell, Wrought by her mysterious charms, and love's mystic, magic spell. But when heated by the dance, and a cool retreat they seek, Oh, the thrill of that soft glance ! Oh, the words he longs to speak ! As they tremble on his lipr \y is it he starts, grows pale. What is that he seems to he* r floating on the mid- night gale ? " Four years, Fred ! 'twill not be long, and you WILL COME back TO ME ! " Were they spoken by a voice, or was it but memory ? Ghastly white, he left her side, striving to be doubly Thinking only how he might wear this gnawing strife awayj ALL A MISTAKE. 89 Back^ to college and to work, it is this alone, thought Sohe^labored-plodaed on-in his mind resolve wa, ^"""pieTr '"""'"°" ''°"''' ^' •"'" """='«'^ •*""W be 7J I mt7'? W/^I ^''' ^ "y '«'"°' ^'" betray. MayT '™' '° "y absent darling " ""sfudit'sTIr'' '" ''^''°" *^"«'^' '*>"' «- J^ng. his Saw the^rose-flush on her cheek-and her old, engaging '^^ 11""' determined still, that to honor he'd hold [And mscribe that fickle dream on the pages of the f '"'to^ueir'* '^°'"'"'' ''"'' ^"'"'y «'"^« h^' f^-^'B f '" fng,rn1.!rio„°n^ '^'^•'* •"'^' -^-' ^^^ --•>- |ln his^hond^a letter crushed, which he did not seem to I II 90 MISCELLANEOUS. That she took from his cold grasp — so bewildered by the blow. White, and still as statuette, every word she calmly read : " Vera's very ill, my boy," this is what the letter said. " Yes 1 so ill, that we have shaved off her waving tresses bright, And her ] xteous cry for YOU ceases not from morn till night ; Lose no time 1 your presence may have the power to save her life, All I have shall then be yours, if you take her for your wife, For I know you love her well, so let nothing keep you back, For if you my wish deny, Fortune ne'er will cross your track." To the ground the letter fell, whirled her brain beneath the stroke. But the sweet voice trembled not, as in accents low she spoke : " Fred, the train is due at six, it is time for you TO START ! " Common words, indeed, were they, coming from a breaking heart ! " Oh, I CANNOT go ! " he groaned. " What ! and let her die ? " said she, "Think how utterly a blank would this life without her be; For YOU LOVE HER — do not start — you have shown it all to-day. And I had, dear Fred, of late, meant to tell you any- way, That, as we had older grown, we, of course, had| changed, you know, ALL A MISTAKE. 91 And 'twere better to go back to the happy lone affo,— 10 the footing, when you called me your little sister dear, And forget the foolish talk that had followed year bv year ; "^ ^ In those cherished days of yore, we had thought our Jove was true, "But you see "—she faltered here— and the clear voice husky grew, While her strength seemed almost fled, as with pallid lips she spake : " It was only— all— dear Fred, but a sad, a sad mistake. "Do you MEAN it ? " then he cried, as he saw the liffht 01 Heaven Suddenly break on his path, and the clouds of anc^uish rivn, ^ "Do you mean," he cried again, "you will break the solemn bands Of our long engagement, May, and its mem'ry e'er efface ? " Oh! that moment's agonies, as his clear eye searched her face ! But her courage wavered not, though her heart was bursting, nigh. From those sweet eyes came no tear, from those parted lips no sigh. He, so blinded, could not see, that those words so calmly said. Were as echoes of despair, when the star of hope has fled. ' So he went : he left her there— saying hastily, " Good- bye ! " [There she lingered, spectre-like, till adown the western I sky 92 MISCELLANEOUS. Sank the gilded orb of day, and the twilight gray and cold, Gathered round her fragile form — circled round her locks of gold ; While her mournful wail of woe doth the solemn still- ness break ; " It was all a sad mistake ! It was all a sad MISTAKE ! " Three weeks pass. Physicians say, " there is now no cause to fear, Vera Mellville's life is saved by Fred Arnold's coming here ! " Soon as she is strong again, to the church their way they wend. And their mutual vows of love at the marriage altar blend. Vera, in her sweet content, often thinks with tearful eyes. Of that woman far away, and of her great sacrifice. And she murmurs thoughtfully, as her queenly head she shakes : " Yes ! it must indeed have been, only one of life's MISTAKES ! " A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE. IT was a bright, a lovely night. In June's sweet time of flowers ; The moon's pale beams shed ambient gleams Athwart the leafy bowers. 'Neath mists of gray the landscape lay In dreamy mazes shrouded ; A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE. While nature drew her fill of dew, From starry heights unclouded-- When Bessie came to woo. Just half-past eight, through th' garden gate, I saw a maiden coming, With airy pace, and witching grace, A sweet love-ballad humming. She gave a rap, a slight tap, tap — 'Twas pretty Bessie Baily — My heart did jump, in one great thump, For when she entered gaily, I knew she came to woo. 93 E OF LIFES With modest air, she drew her chair Near mine, and said : " Dear Harry, Now don't you think— pray— don't you think It's time for you — to — marry ? I offer you my love most true, Now Harry, don't reject me ! Here on the spot, now will you not, Your future bride elect me ? " Thus Bessie came to woo. I blushed, oh, my ! with down-cast eye, (But then 'twas quite becoming,) Her saucy eyes looked glad surprise. While I my courage summing. Found voice and strength to say at length : "Reject you? Never! never! I've loved you long, with ardor strong, Now I am yours forever, My Bessie, dear and true ! " '( ; 94 1 1888. MISCELLANEOUS. She said "Good-night." then, charming sprite, Jiut on my rough, brown finger— Ihe signet of her constant love— A sparkling ring did linger. And we were wed when Autumn shed Her fruit in golden measure * A truthful wife— joy of my life, 1 ve found in her, my treasure. Since Bessie came to woo. And now life's day is growing gray A17 V^^''^^^'** "^'^^y gloaming; We, hand in hand, down to the strand Ihe mystic strand are roaming. • ' Yet still in June, when roses bloom, 1 live that joy-time over. Hear with delight the fond troth-plight Ot my sweet girlish lover. When Bessie came to' woo. FROM SHORE TO SHORE. (SUGGESTKD BY A PICTURE.) I SEE a boat speed on its way Upon a rapid stream; The oars, when flashing in the sun ^nrhY^^ burnished sceptres gleam ; ' While from them sparkling diamonds fall In crystal drops of spray. And on the water's blue-veined breast rloat merrily away. I^nOM SHORE TO SHORE. With float ng locks of gray "' wjtli look so iar away ; His partner's seated by his side Howplaeidisheriowf ' wi°M''?"'=* threads of livin,r „oId Would shame the snow-drift now Their voyage has been very onf ' But now the end is near^ ^' 'teet't's;:-^"-'''-- ^'?,™,S''' i/iee-Dop nard by; *#.'j iiv ocdi; \ , 104 MISCELLANEOUS. Upward, far upward, the strains sweetly rang, Up to the angry, tempestuous sky. Only a bird, yet my whole soul was thrilled, Bright shone the sunlight, the clouds rolled aside Every fear in my bosom was stilled, " Oh, what a trust-lesson, truly " I cried. Who of us, like the sweet songster, thought I, Hopefully trusts in the tempests of life, When every spot in our shadowy sky In the dark clouds of affliction is rife ? ' Who of us calmly, serenely sits down, Jojrously singing midst storms raging wild Saying, " My Father will care for His own. Nothing can harm me. His poor trusting child. Oh, for a faith that forever trusts on, Where mortal vision no longer can trace ; Oh, for a heart filled with rapturous song, Even when clouds hide the Master's dear face. Oh, for the sound of that sweet " Peace be still ! " When life's rude conflicts are lashing my breast: That sacred message my tired soul doth fill With the soft hush of an infinite rest. "NO NIGHT THEBE!" 105 ''NO NIGHT THERE r' I'M watching the shadows creep over the plain, wesV^ ""^ '"''^'^^^ ^^^' out from the The moon slowly risincr afar o'er the hill With her ovely pale brow, and her silvery crest- y^ile silently floats from the concave's profficiht Above me, the star-spangled banner of night. I sit in the stillness, and gaze on the scene. To fw\^''{J?\*' ^'"T ""^"^ ^ ^"^ b^r'ie far away To that bright beyond, where no night-shadows fall But where time flows along in perpetual day? ' .No need of a candle-no need of the sun- ^ Its light is the smile of the Crucified One. ^ ni"^ ""l *^® J'^y^ ^^ ^^^*^ city of day, Ut Its broad, golden streets where the glorified stand Its mansions or light, and bright crystal sea ' Which so gently flows over the glittering strand • Jesus my Saviour, who reigns fn that h^ome ' And beckons me onward with His gentle—" Conie ! " Till lost in an ocean of wonder and love I ShpTnT ""Ti T"*'* \ P^."^' ^"'' S^^^ P^^^o'is for flight • bhe longs all those glories supernal to prove ' I J^ar from earth's lonely way, and from sorrow's dark night. But on my rapt ear falls Hope's far-away song : I Endure to the end, for it will not he lonrr" ^ 8 106 MISCELLANEOUS. I n Oh ! when that fair morn of Eternity dawns, And the great Sun of Righteousness bursts on inv view, '' With what glad hosannas my soul shall arise, And the wide gleaming portals of glory pass'throuah lo go no more out, but forever abide With loved ones gone before, by Immanuel's side. THE PRESENT, PAST, AND FUTURE. SOFT fell the twilight : And musing I sat in the gloaming, Till gentle Fancy on light, airy wing fluttered near me liidding me follow, she led me far on through the shadows ; ° Over the river, o'er which hung the mists of the evenmg ; Up the stern heights of a mossy, and dew-covered mountain. There I stood gazing _ In wonder, and rapt contemplation • For what a vision arose far behind and around me: This was the Present, this bright pleasing spot wherei I rested. * ^ ' All round my feet clustered flowerets in fracrrant profusion ; ^ Ah ! these, thought I, are the blessings which strewl my path daily. ' And these sweet fruit-laden branches which wave jus! above me, These^are the rich, golden-houred opportunities offered, Which, but by putting my hand gently forth, I gather. Tl ' A few he Bat as I scatt Soft mini And as th That each silver Th. And lo ! tl Glimraerec trodd( There lay Time'i There lay I childh And thoug] pathw ^et wlien i [Fain would For ,^^ith petals There lay tl I breezes [There lay i ungathi [All had I J handed 'Now they departe. ■n Then rUh! all ^ py tow'ring steps, ar, far beyo !?»+„-„ vns, •ursts on my irise, pass throuffhj el's side. THE PRE8EXT, PAST, AND FUTURE. 107 UTURE. red near me through the lists of the Jew-covered )und me spot where . Then I looked upward. A ew heavy clouds hovered o'er me Bat as I gazed, lo ? thpv rifv i ' . scattered, '^^ '^'*^"^' ^"^ Quickly were paful^Tl^:^ disclosing, ! That each. IhLgh dark'^a" a^^^^ 'oTtr:' T ^"^' Sliver. ^I'lnig ot pure, shining A A 1 F^u*" ^ ^^^^^^^ backward, And lo ! through the shadowy vista 0.— ^djhe. cones of the U ana the way I had ''^ TiKvS!?''' ^-''-S P«'h. by the bank., of ''^atd'^^^' ^"""^ »'"' -<» S-n vales of „y '"' Sfa^ '"' '""' '" "^' °" ^"-^ «?"*« - '"at I ,.^^ For there the roses! ^ ^"-^S^Wulness bury. IVith petals down-trodden, lav scattered • rhere^%^e leaflets, all s'ear^d^rrautu^n-s chill r^'LSherrd"''^' «°'^^" «-"• -d the fruit all f ' hldedr""^ '^ ""'"''^'^' ""-^ «'-^«d e-Pty- Noff they had withered— their fr«»~„„ c I departed. 'ragrance forever Then I looked forward • 1 ah all was blank-all w^ hidden ^y^wnng mountains, unsealed by lenity's foot- ar.far^ beyond, o'er those heights lay the dim „,„.:. 108 MISCELLANEOUS. Veiled were its scenes, and 1 knew not what there! might await me ; Yet, as I paused, I could hear the wild surge of Death's river. And well I knew its cold \vaters ere lonj; I niustl battle, r If I would reach the bright shore, of which Faitfil often whispered ; Where the lone pilgrim shall find a sweet home-placel forever, And weary hearts shall for aye cease from earth-born repining. Then came a whisper, In low, measured accents, above me : / Only the Present is thine, for the Future is hidden, And the bright scenes of the Past, thou can st nevej behold them, Save when the Hood-gates of deep, gushing memV are lifted. Gone, gone forever, beyond mortal power of recallingj Each hasty word— all the dear, precious hours thou hast sqandered. But ne'er repine, For the Present is smiling upon thee. Go gather quickly the sunbeams and blossoming roses See ! all the fields in their cereal glory are wavmg, | White unto harvest, the ripe golden grain now ii gleaming ; ] Put forth thy hand, for the time is so rapidly fleetinj Into the Master's great store-house, go bear the sheave homeward.'* ot what there! ir^re of Death* loncf I niusti which Fait et honie-placft 3m earth-bor -e is hidden, u canst neveij jhing mem'i r of recalliDgj s hours thai isommg rosea •e waving, rain now Didly fleetiDjj T the sheave COME UNTO ME AND REST!" "COM£; UNTO ME AND REST!^' H ^^,P''"«'^"« are <^J^ose words divine, A A Which on the sacred pages shine : Oome unto Me and rest ! " They quell each rising, anxious fear. And with their tender, loving cheer Oft calm my troubled breast. When weary with the march of life With all its loneliness and strife ; When by rude care oppress'd, ' How soon away my burdens roll, When Jesus whispers to my soul' " Come unto Me and rest ! " I come. Thou precious, dying Lamb ! i come, oh, take me as I am, And draw me to Thy breast ; Thy promises are ever sure. And long as ages shall endure. In thee I'll find my rest. 109 I! ! 110 MISCELLANEOUS. THOUGHTS BY TIfll SEA. THERE'S a chftrni ever new in old ocean to me ^'^^*^ '^" " -^ "^^"^^ heavinf? breasfc Wher the .s<,rt twili-l.t falls over mountain'and lea And the brjght orb of day sinks to rest. See the sun's sinkinpr splendour diffusing its licrht Axru.f'' waters, as proudly they liow, ° While afar the bold sea-bird is taking its fiicrht And anon white sails tlit to and fro. "^ ' Tis an hour for reflection, and viewing the sicrht wu ^"^ ** ^^ ^^^ ^^"S ^S° ^^™® *o me, ° Who with majesty walked on the stern billows' heic^ht And who calmed the tempestuous sea. ^ ' We are sailing life's ocean; yes, swiftly we glide Kound our bark oft the wild surges roar • ' Tossed by storms of affliction, we drift with the tide 10 yon unseen and far-distant shore. Often gently we float, no dark storm-cloud appears lo bedim our ethereal sky ; But alas ! hope decays when the night-shades so drear Uather o er us, no Helper is nigh. Oh then, list ! a sweet voice gentlv powes o'er the wave fepeakmg softly those words, "it/.- '.'e still ' ' Oh what joy ! 'tis the Saviour, nr-,y coiyu.ig to save, And our lone hearts with gladness to fill RELICS. !l 111 appears es so drear R ^ w?^"^ ^f *^^ '^^^''' ^«a^i P*ist .' Fv.n y^ v^ preserve them not ? i^ven atter cycling years, To our hearts new scenes have brought wu "® comes a dreary day ^ ' A^iZ ^""l^ "^T'^y backward steals, And the achinor, longing heart At Its former al'ar kneels. Then those treasures, one by one From the bureau draw'r or chest, tenderly are lifted out; While across the heaving breast sweeps emotion's surging tide ^ As the vanished past appears. Bearing on its misty wings, Hopes and dreams of other years. See that lonely mother now Viewing sacred relics o'er ! LiUle shoes, a dainty robe, That her long-lost darling wore 112 « III MISCELLANEOUS. Here a toy, a broken doll, Here a curl of shining gold Only these— and yet to her They are gems of price untold. Mark the orphan's falling tear. As he views his parent's chair, Vacant now, but oh, how dear ! For the forms that once sat there, Went to join the far-off throng, Leaving still the soothing balm Of their memory loved, revered, Like a sweet and holy psalm. Then the dear old-fashioned Book Lying on the parlor stand, Thumb-marks here, and leaves turned there, Relics of a cherished hand. Leave the marks, disturb not one, For those hands are silent now,' Weary toiling all is done, Cold and white each silvered brow. See that lover as he bends O'er a little casket rare ! As he turns the tiny key, Mark his sad, abstracted air ! Now he presses faded flow'rs To his quiv'ring lips of white— NoAv he views a tress of hair. Till a mist bedims his sight. Then a hand in his is laid. How the touch his being thrills ! Then a gentle voice he hears. How his heart with rapture fills ! ed there, V. EVENING REVERIES. From a face most sweetly fair lender eyes gaze in his own, lill he wakes with sudden start J^mding that his dream hath liown. For those eyes which on him gazed Once with love-light pure and deep Death hath sealed with icy hand In a silent, dreamless sleep. One by one he puts them back, Kehcs of life's sunlight fled Dearest treasures of the heart Hope s sweet blossoms faded— dead. Keep your relics, lonely wife Mother, orphan, lover, all / T.T .^ ^^ ^^o knows thy crrief Marks each silent tear-drop fall Ihat dear hand that formed the tie ^h.U J"? ^.T^' *^ ^^^^^ ones here, fehall at last from every eye Wipe away affection's tear 113 EVENING REVERIES. A ^ Twif k;. ^^' *^^ ^^y'« ^«i^ i« ended, V^J:^^^ ''"'*''''' o'ershadows the west er all na ure repose has descended TK i,^lu^l.^'^^ * ^'o^n child to rest. Through the forest's deep foliage yonder Evening zephyrs now murmuring sigh • Twinkling stars ope their eyes, as in wonder And the mnnn IJt'fa k :i^.-j x. **""^"«r, ...,..^ ^^^j piuuu lorm on iiigh. I! .' 114 1882. MISCELLANEOUS. As I silently gaze through the gloaming, On yon concave, all sparkling and bright Borne on thought's rapid wing I am roamina, Far above its ethereal height ; ° To the One reigning there, who commanded, And behold, those blue heavens appeared '; By His hand are their wonders expanded, And the course of the planets is steered. Could we dare to dispute God's existence. Or deny His great wisdom supreme ? Could we offer to Truth stern resistance, While above us so brightly doth beam The wide firmament, constantly showin or days of old And m those breasts burns wrathful ire Where once glowed warm affection's fire. Though monarchs high their sceptres sway And kingdoms wax to mighty fame • ^ When highest pomp and show display' lo fan ambition's worldly flame ; r'rrf^ir*^ -IT V^^''' *" *^^ir bloom. ^ ey fall, spoil for the greedy tomb. Our Master says : " Redeem the time, for evil are the days and few," And if we follow this command, Kich blessings shall our pathway strew • If we in Time God's children be, ^ ' With Him we'll spend Eternity. 117 T/f£ BRIDGE OF TIME, ^HERE'S a bridge of countless arches- X ^yery arch a moment's space- Over which m measured marches, l;ass the myriad human race. And beneath it flows a River, J^ilhng all immensity, Rolling on, and on, forever—. River of Eternity. II i 118 ! >■( \^ MISCELLANEOUS. Bridge of Time ! so treacherous, swayinrr Pianks decayed, and timbers old, *^' O'er thy slipp'ry span we're straying, Falt'ring, lest we lose our hold. One by one they fall around us, Friends beloved— the true and tried ; Loving forms no more surround us, They have launched upon the Tide. We must follow ; sure, impending, Is th' inevitable doom ; Every hour our feet are wending Downwards, to the darksome tomb ; But with Jesus, dear, to guide us, Hold our trembling hand each'day, Fear we not, He'll safely hide us. When Time's fatal bridge gives way. A NOBLE REVENGE. Scene I. . THE coffin was a plain one— no flowers on its lid No rose- white satin lining its rude interior hid : No ribbon smooth and glossy, upon that shroud was placed, No cap, with plaited border, that brow of marble graced ; ^^^ asMe ^^''^'' ^'^^^^^^ ^^^''^^' ^^^^ ^^^''^^y hxm\i^^ A smile of peace disclosing, which grim death could not hide. The city undertaker, with stern and reckless mien Jr'repared to hide forever the slumberer serene. ' II A NOBLE REVENGE. ng To spend my ti.S wlt^ ' ^ ^1"^*' ^«" """"rd The poor heart-broken orphan .ti„ u^ged hb humble "" :o^!d\?L"°°"' "' '='''''^''-'' ^-^^ -'ehers eye ■^h'letS^'"'"'-"^"'''"? '° '>«''^ h« cry of woe • struck that poor k.v ,n h„T ^"J,'^ ''^''-^ ^ «<^el, him reel ^' ° ''"'P'^''' " '''o^ '^hich made ''" Chetl' ^'""^ "^ -ment-grief. rage swelled in H. bright blue eyes extended, his pale lips sprang "^'"Ha&L''^ *«-^ '"- «''"-<^ the glow of With^moat^unchildish accent, he screamed with venge- "Wh^n^r™ a man. Til m you, yes. that I gladly He raised his arm. so puny, but soon his voice grew Despair^eame o'er his features, his fevered brov^ grew His Kttle^heart seemed bursting, his anguish was Kr?ri^!:d?To: -a ?r---- i I M 1 120 MISCELLANEOUS. A heap of earth— a coffin, now mockingly doth lie lietween that child and mother ; no tombstone reatm high, o Points out her place of resting ; but in that boyish neart, A monument is builded, in mem'ry of the smart Wrought by that deed so heartless, stronger than granite far, *^ Time never can efface it, or heal the cruel scar. Scene IL A densely crowded court house— the Judge asks loud and clear : "Now, as this prisoner's counsel r^oes anyone appear?" A silence, when he finished, fell on the listeners all lill trom the crowd stepped forward a stranger, voun^ and tall, ^ '^ " His lips pressed hard together, while recognition's grace, ' ° Blent with reserve most haughty, o'erspread his hand- some race. He plead for one so erring— his genius all entranced His arguments convinced them, so pointedly advanced' I hen spoke the man acquitted, with gratitude so true; ^^ U sir, may God reward you, 'tis more than I can do '" 1 want no thanks," the stranger with icy coldness. | saici, ' And with a meaning gesture, he bowed his stately i neaci. ' "To me you are unknown, sir," the pardoned man I began. "Ah! I'll refresh your mem'ry quite easily, my man! No doubt, you still remember, that twenty years affoj You struck a weeping orphan, with hard and cruel blow, I COKSIDER THE LILIES. 121 y doth lie h . - that bo,iJ'- '""at bo, .o\i;2-L':;:&'r: ! smart wronger than scar. je asks loud ne appear ? ' beners all, mger, young 'ecognition's id his hand- I entranced, y advanced, ude so true; I I I can do!" cy coldness, his stately doned manj , my man!] years ago, I and cruel! say ^hafc have you to "' t^;i^ ^"" ">"« ^--d me, to take my life "No.myH™K:sswK.x.«; to-day IVe saved the Of one,, whose deed so brutal, has waged its inward f2eKoTl'n^SttZn"l^"'rr''-'-«. wrong." oroken— the deed that did him ^^« humbled man before hi. stood with a drooping f""o-ersprdr°"^ """'"S'^''- ^^ -ntenance ind that fori viratCr r "2T i""''^ «^«^ ^e. Since a BEVEngeIo Se b^ b'" ""' 'T^" °^ ''^''^'n. , ou MOBLE, by him was freely giv'n. CONSIDER THE LILIES. MATT. vi. 29. I How precious tl^ts on HeTu^h °"^ ''^"• N Xtred'r^'^?' ^'- >-ftlir Lord ' m 122 MISCELLANEOUS. How He loved on the mountain alone to stray Urbeneath its green summit at close of day To walk in some sheltering vale ' ^^^'^' boui^r*^^'"' ^"^ ^"^^^ '"^^*^ '°"'® wide-spread ^lirx®u*u^''^'■'®^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^'^ ""g^*^ fan His brow With balmy, perfume-laden gale. And one day when He walked in this cool retreat Where the moss-bedded vines kissed His sacred feet I And rivulets murmured so low ; He, methinks, stooped and plucked from its fragile stem, ' A perfumed valley-lily— a way-side gem, With petals as white as the snow. Then when many a learner His presen^^e sought, And He sat Himself down on the " Mount," and tautrht He spake of that lily so fair ; ^ ' All enrobed in its purity's stainless dress How it grew in its fragrance, and loveliness Untouched by the finger of care. "Consider the lilies ! " now hear Him say ' J?,®^ o^\^ ^^^' *^®y ^P^'^ »ot, yet clothed' are they Ji en bolomon, mighty and wise, In his splendor and glory was not arrayed Like this sweet little flow'ret, which blooms to fade, Ueneath the serene summer skies." But the chariot-wheels of old Time have rolled Onward, onward adown through the ac^es gold Years many— full many since then •" ' stray, tlay, 5 wide-spread tfis brow, )1 retreat, s sacred feet, J m its fragile sought, "and taught,! THEir "LIVE m THE COUNTRY." — - • X lo those favored children of mea ^^ °'""'' What a lesson of chppr n iu i , And of pure, .simpt faith l.K '^""''""S '"'*'•'. Whicfi gleam f rom tK "'°^'' '^'"•''« impart Ho, who tSy noteth Fh'^"' '" ''"" ' And who bade ^^ consider th^Tr'^' ^''"> Assuredly careth for youf '' ""*"' Mrttr„S;^l,^;-''-etosee, While toiiin"/o„ "iS'rugfd ;:;«1 '"' ™«- In wide. at'st^dtHf^ay •■'''' "'^'•'' 123 !SS, are they, IS to fade, oiled jold, r^^y ^^LIVE IN THE COUNTR y." TO R. H. 8. T ONCE beheld a noble, manly youth And sifllt Xsty^'^.fnTre V^P'"' '-^^ His aim in life, by prZnt Tni °f ^°' ■""'«; To honor ^d,;n^rarf:Ken^-' • And yet, poor Jad ! how very sad ' Hishomewas"i„theeoun?ryr 124 MISCELLANEOUS. I saw a gentle maiden, tali and fair, She too, was blessed with talents rich and rare ; By the sweet graces, which within her reigned,' Esteem and admiration, both she gained. Love shed its halo o'er her youthful head. And virtue round her path its nectar shed ; And yet, alas! each bright accomplishment, These talents, graces, altogether blent, Were " wasted on the desert air," Her homo was " in the country ! " Yes ! " in the country ! " that wide " desert " place. Where smiling Nature shows her lovely face, And praises her Creator, God, each day, In notes of most melodious symphony. Where heaven's own breezes fan the fruitful tree. And rippling brooklets murmur o'er the lea. Where harvests of abundance all abound. Where health, peace, and contentment may be found, Where all that's pure and lovely has its birth, The dearest, sweetest spot on all God's earth. Who dares to say they are not blessed Whose homes are " in the country ? " id rare ; eigned, i, 3d; 3nt, rt " place, face, tful tree, lea. I. ,y be found, birth, irth. ed ^AITH. HOPE. AND LOVE. P^ITH, HOJj,, AND LOVE. I^HREE beauteous fornm Inn,, i^ Wif K ! ?? . ^^^^ sweet y rrrand 4T r^."""^"- ""d "11 unseen Save by her tearless eye ' Doth brighter, brighter grow ^ We look beyond the hills of Zl Beyond this life-tide'. floV ' 126 i:fm 126 MISCELLANEOUS. O trusting Faith ! glorious Hope ! Your smiles and graces glow With heaven's own pure, transcendent li^ht Athwart earth's vale below. '^ Yet, Love, sweet Love ! thou art the best, The greatest of the three ; Without thee, but " as .sounding brass " Earth's noblest deeds would be. Thine heart is pure ; no evil thoughts Molest thy stainless mind : 'Tis thine to bear, thine to endure, To suffer long, be kind. Thou art ^he fountain-head from which Joy's ^ lling springs arise. The key-note of all happiness That thrills the earth and skies. Thy voice is music to the heart Of sorrowing ones distressed ; Thy tender touch like magic soothes The weary, aching breast. It was thine hand, Love, that brought The blessed Saviour down ! He laid aside His kingly robes, His glory-circled crown ; And led by Love, inspired by Love, With pitying haste He ran To rescue from a lost estate Poor fallen, wretched man. ent light J best, ss" ts "with rotJ ALWAY.'^ ^ ThTvlt^^""" •' ^'^"^' '''^^' and high Ihy virtues upward tower : ^ Ihou art incomprehensible In magnitude and power ! J^aith, Hope, and Love ! noble Three Beneath thy banner broad ""' Well march to vict'ry, and ascnbe Ihe glory to our God! m iich iight U "mTn YOU alway:' L^ LJ ^^ "^'^^^ you alway 1 " Oh, words of wondrous cheer f ■•^o jnusic sweeter, richer. E'er greeted mortal ear. ^P,^ken by lips most sacred. Where truth her nectar shed 10 cheer us on our journey As earth's lone way we tread. When dark clouds veil the smiling Ut heaven s azure w^ay, Temptation's soft beguiling Allures our feet astray; Then to our hearts this promise ^^ A soothing balm doth lend : ^o\ I am with you alway. Even unto the end." 128 MISCELLANEOUS. Love, most condescendintr i O Grace, most full and free ! Which prompts the Kin^r of Glory ro deign to walk with me. His presence, how delightful I His smile can chase away The blackest night of sorrow, And bring abiding day. Then let me clasp still closer, And never let it go, That hand which safe shall lead me Where sweet still waters flow. ' He 11 lead at last through portals, Where many mansions be, i ! i ANNIE MAY. 129 TO LITTLE ANNIE MA Y. IN MEMORY OF DICK. HER CANARY. r^RUEL pussy ! you have robbed me V^ Of my little birdie Dick ; Oh how could you be so naughty As to play me such a trick ? ^' Now I listen, listen vainly •tor the songs my birdie'sung m yon sunny eastern window Where his pretty cage was hung. ^^f ^ V«orn he woke me early ^^ And I fancy he did say : ^' A good morning to you, Annie ! Rnf T Tu^^"' ™^ ^«ar, to-day ?» But, ala^ ! his notes of gladness^ ' Are forever hushed and still lifT^'"^ of little Dickie ' We have buried 'neath the hill. Put away his cage, now vacant, In the perch no more he'll swing W^K^l'^f ^ to sleep at night tfie Pulv T kT^"'^ ^'""'^^^ bis'Ving f^A \^^^^^^^ was jealous, ^ And that was the very cause Of her seizing Dick, that morning in her sharp and cruel claws ; Jealous 'cause she was no singer Thtl- r '^ ^^ ^°^^d Dick so ; Ihmking he received attentions Which on ^r we should bestow !i' . 130 MISCELLANEOUS. How unwise, you wicked " Peggy " Now we all your form despise;' 1 11 not love you any longer, You're a murd'rer in my eyes. LINES FOR AN A UTOGRAPH, REMEMBER thy Creator," now A Ay }l *^J^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^y ^f *^y youth ; And let thy fond heart ever bow At the altar of virtue and truth. May richest blessings strew thy way. Peace, friendship, love, surround thee, iiU closes life's uncertain day, And angel-hands have crown'd thee. A gem of remembrance you ask me to trace On your Album-leaf, dainty and white, §iu- '*' ^?> ^^ • ^^™^'« «^"^ ^and may erase Ihis written memento from sight ^^l7?l^^^ '^ *^®, ^^^^""^^^ best album', my friend, With Its mem ry-leaves, stainless and wide: -im there, only there, I would ask you to blend My name with the friends true and tried ?y. 3. PH. ow ' youth ; IN MEMORIAM. ^y> thee, lee. trace ite, ay erase ly friend, d wide; to blend tried. ONLY, r "VNLY a little grassy mound, Snlfiw* ^ ""^^^^ ^^^ from sight, Sna ehed from our side one wintry day Filling our hearts with shades of night. Only two dear, sweet, dimpled hands Oh, if we could but hear it now \ 132 IN MEMORIAM. But this is all remains to-day Only a tress of sunny hair, Only wee garments laid away, Only our Alma's vacant chair. Yes ! this is all ; with tearful gaze Often we view them o'er and o'er, ™J^9^ the gloom of sorrow's maze, Whispers a voice from yonder shore. Then as submissively we bow, Lo ! 'ti» our darling's words' that come : Only a little Angel now. Safely I've gained the soul's bright home. Mourn not my loss, your Alma waits, w y J"^*^*^*^ *^ welcome thee. Watching beside the pearly gates, For thy frail bark to cross the sea." Rest little one ! we'll stay our tears, Thou only wast a sunbeam given,' Cheering our hearts a few brief years, ^httmg away so soon to heaven. Only a tew more days of gloom. Only a few more throbs cf pain, II? 'V^.^""^ endless, fadeless bloom, We shall embrace thee once again I LITTLE OLIVE. 133 9 er, aze, ihore. t come : ghfc home, its, ea." rs, ars, ODi, in. LITTLE OLIVE. W^ An^**^ harvest-moon was shining, wk;i ^^^y^f autumn winds blew cold While a mystic hand was painting ' i^orest leaves in shades untold ; ihen It was, as nature faded, That our little Olive bnVht Drooped-then fell like a sweet blossom, In the cold grave from our sight. Oh iiow drear is life around us, bmce our darling baby died ! il-rnpty cradle, little dresses Tearfully are laid aside, i^ or she nevermore will need them Or our fond and loving care, ' Angel forms do now attend her in the city over there. Could we but have seen her spirit As It gamed the glitt'ring strand, i^rom the bright immortal band, We methmks would cease from weeping, ^ And submissively would say : iilessed be the Lord who giveth i3Jessed He who takes away i"' i 1 i i \ \ i ! t i ! 134 IN MEMORIAM. She will never know the sorrows Of this dark and toilsome way Never feel the heavy burdens ' We must bear from day to day. J^ree is now her an^ei spirit From earth's wearisome alloy Naught can mar her fadeless beauty Or becloud her endless joy. ' Sweetest Olive ! precious blossom ! Though we miss thy form so fair Yet we would not wish to call thee ^ack to this lone world of care. J3ut if faithful to the Master, We shall meet thee, little one In the realms of day eternal, Far beyond the setting sun. IN MEMORIAM, CHILDREN OF MR. AND MRS. O. ROOP. AS I enter yonder churchyard, A . ^'?^^® ^^^ ^^^®" g^ass softly waves. And as thoughtfully I'm gazing, I behold four little graves. Silently in death's calm slumbers, In those graves our dear ones s'leep ; feide by side, we there have laid them, i^ree from care, and yet we weep. MB. AND MRS. C. KOOP's CHILDREN. I35 ^ WK^t^'"^' those infant voices ^•ng far sweefcer round God'^ throne. Though we still have four remaining Whom we trust our hearts shall cheer Yet there seems an aching void ' None can fill, though e'lr so dear. Yes f the last dear babe God gave us-- We had thought to keep her with us But she's climbed the golden stab' JNever more our own shall meet Or aga.n those arms entwine us ' As she gave her kisses sweet. ' Calmly over Death's dark river JJid her gentle spirit soar : C^azmg on her wondrous beauty Scarce we thought she was no more. But too true; the darling sleeper, For so short a time w£ given J-ike a sunbeam sent to cheer us' Quickly taken back to heaven 136 IN MEMORIAM. Oh ! what sculptor could have moulded 1 hat sweet form we laid to rest, As her little hands were folded Peacefully upon her breast. In those hands we placed a blossom And from off the snow-white brow learfully the locks we parted- Golden locks, an angel's now. ^^!7i ^^•^^one-those four dear treasures, All Crod s ways we cannot see ; But we know the words of Jesus : " Little children, come to Me ! " From the graveyard, and from mourning Let us turn our thoughts away. Gazing upward through the shadows Into realms of cloudless day. Safe within the Golden city Where their feet shall ever roam. ii®r 1^ ^^^^' ^® ^®® ^^^ ^ost ones, Welcomed to an endless home. CHILDB ( 2 \ c Could we wish them back ? No, never For we know they're early blest, Jesus loving arms enfold them. And they lean upon His breast. They have only gone before us— Waiting on the other shore, F B T^ H in 1880. MR- AND MBS. J. BENT'S CHILDREN. Side by side, they there will greet us When our earthly march is^oW ^%TI ** ^ ^''^' faithful. Anil , ™«S8enger doth come- An unbroken family gather, Jn the everlasting Home. 137 /JV MEMOR/AM. C TERN old Winter's snowy mantle V? . ?.°''%%?^P 'he hill ana lea" Ana the chilly winds are sighing Through each faded, leafless tfee Winds, sigh on ! and let your voices Chant a measured requiem low Oer three little graves ladTnewiy In the churchyard, 'neath the snow. For no mournful funeral anthem. Kwj, " °"* ''™* ^"'d of Pray'r %^^'*.?P^" g™^es was uttered ' TwT *" "l«y .'"id the dear ones there Bv thf.^'^f'^ '" *« night-time! Ha,«]t fh "'I'y Moonbeam's light" ilasti V their forms were lowered _^ In the cold grave from our si^ht "•J W ''■ I i 138 IN MEMORIAM. Soon another lay beside them There three little brothers sleep. Naught of earth can e'er molest them. Or disturb their slumber deep. Their young cheeks in health were bloorain„pare.l with thy Mfc?^' ^ ""'' '""'^'=''. When wakes the )o V 1 1 '' r'""" "other, Then oh, then may t •'»;)' ^T "" '"'g'' And clasp thy le.Th^.itnZtr''''' 15,3 li a i I 154 IN MEMOKIAM. I TO THE MEMOR V OF THE DKFAHTEI) CKNTENARIAN, Mit-nron P ^ '""'^'^ ''"^"^^^^^^^^^ waned— P™"'' "mP'r™ wuxcd and Ind w:r„esr 'tT'^''' ^^^ -'^ -^i^. drea„red; "' ^•'""'*"' J°>-« I" ' iond heart Amid.ufc"etSi* •; happy child, did roam But now-a newWe T'i^"^ childhood'., ho„,e A We eternalX'b^rdthe'rk;.'""^^" «^'- *-""" °^ """^ "Pon the sea-beach side. Not long— ah, no ! this Ocetin.' litV. ,>f » ro: :KrM^i' "^ -r •^"""-. ' Set on ou; last M^^t^VlZ^'S'^"^ ^"" 156 IN MEMOIIIAM. IN MEMORIAM. LITTLE BKUTIE HAUNpEKS-DIEU SEITKMHEK, 1880. OH ! our hearts are sad within us, And our homo seems cold and drear )t or trom out that home has vanished One sweet form, to us most dear • Yes ; our precious Bertie's left us, ' J or the Saviour in His love Thought 'twere best to call her early lo His own bright home above * I One short week of pain, and suff'rinLr- Ihen the final blow was given wu^*^ kittle form lay lifeless, W hile her spirit soared to heaven. leariuiiy wo closed those eyelids, Parted back the sunny hair, Gazing on the darling sleeper,' * Death had left so very fair.' In the cold, dark grave we laid her, With the death-wreath on her brow iJut, we know in yonder haven, She is safely anchored now. ' Oh could we have heard the welcome, oeen the angels hover near, As the golden gates were opened To admit our Bertie dear ! F'^r methinks the infant choir Struck anew their harps of gold, 1M80. (I im). us, ul drear, led ng- 'W, 1880. BERTIE SAUNDERS. And adown the plains of glorv One glad shout of welcome rolled • Then to her a crown was given ' And a robe of snowy white • ' Sweetest Bertie! safe forever Thou Shalt walk those streets of light. Though on earth we'll sadly miss her Miss those little pattering feet ' Nevermore shall hear her prattle' Or receive her kisses sweet. ' Neath the Father's chastening rod • Listen to the words of Jesus • " ' fc>uch the kingdom is of God ! " Mav we !h ' ' ""'^^^ ^^"' '^^^^ ««»»^ boar to that celestial home ihen, oh then we'll meet our darlin.r Antirth\'"K^'"^"^^^^^'''«^-"d^^ w ,*^*;*^ ,^^^''- '^«'"« forever We shall dwell, a happy hand. 157 e, 158 IN MEMORIAM. V ! /iV MEMORIAM. LITTLK MYRTLE ZINCK. OWEETEST little Myrtle f O Precious little Howor i lorn from us ao quickly- Withered in an hour. Brush the sunny ringlets Off the snow-white brow rold the chubby fingers— ' All is over now. Little lips are pallid, Fanned by no soft breath ; feweet blue eyes forever Sealed in sleep of death. Little form ao cherished But a lump of clay. Oh ! how can we lay her In the mould away ? Those dear little footsteps We shall hear no iiiore„ For those feet are walkino- Yonder golden shore. " And the Heavenly Shepherd, ^ bate our lamb will keep • For our darling Myrtle ' Only went to sleep, GEORGE W. HILL. She will wake in glory in the homeland fair, *ree for aye from sorrow, And earth's surging care. There we hope to meet her in celestial bloom, in the glad reunion ' *'ir beyond the tomb. 159 ! » TO THE MEM OR Y OF "y «=y hand .so rnercilessly slavs "^ ' Wo Stan If n ?; ^"i- ^"''^-^ashed shore Foro^nlte^o^e^^^^ ^''} ^-^f"' eyes; On golden stramk^ V ''iJ"'^ P'^'^'^e^ o'e^, touiucn strands his bark at anchor lies. Not by disease he wasted day by day Bu^hn''' ''f,^^^"'^ ^^i^ his body low Str.lT"\^^^''"^ «"" ^ifch pieSrav ThfLterri^t^wt^^'^^^^^ Their cheerimr r^ul "u^*^ ^^^"^'^ ^»^^ «hed An.1 threwTKtTroZ 'in:^^^^^^^ ->^' One year ago-unon h,-« «,.... i!!!! .^,^'^' ( ; 1«0 IN MEMOltlAM. How on his Jowly grave the same, same sun ShL"°o^ Zr r' -'""n'" ™"""«'« heat and glow Th ,.?• . "'"'"S orb ! while ages run FoHo" ud™ hT' ^v" *''!' P"'^'''^^' ''««rt below, ror lo . upon his Hpirifs raptured sigh! Whinh^'""' ^T °* Rig''teousnes° hs,;!, brck.- Which never ,s eclipsed by gloom or moi,t ' Whose pure, mild beams can give ..ofutl strok,.-. Then stay the tsar, repress the h«avingsi,rh Since one so lo. ed and t^c^r from caTe is free • The lowering cl,...,|« of my«tery by-and by ' The hi .h" r"^' ","'' P'«i"''' V'e >hail see W ho fills our cup of sorrow to tlu.- brin A>>. bmrs us low beneath the chastening rod, J1...J.. = -. may bat the closer cling to rfim. «,M^;«ying wife ! we know thou'rt sad and lone And sighmg for thy youthful partner Zr Whose smiling face hath from thy vi.i.m Hown Whose tender accents fall not on thy ear Yet look above ! behold him as he wait. T„ 1? ? ft"" *'"'? "''■'■''■ "'''«" "'eafy life is o'er • To bid thee welcome at the pearly gates And clasp thy hand as in the dafs of yore an it and glow ; in eart below. orokf: -al .sfrok( i free od, d lone, own. er; •e. IN MEMORIAM. IN MEMORIAM. 161 B E /.h^rsotfr ^^^^ a newly-,.ade n,ound. ^ This spot &t^::^l^'y ''^'''y ~^ OronI n^' ''^'^ •'•"'"^^^•^ «o drea,nles.s and deep Ut on^ now reposing in death s icy sleep ^ ' Serenely and peacefully here. ^' \fZlZ'^^" ^f^ l^'T' ^f '^«r J'f^'^ «ettin- sun And tn "^'1 y *^/"ght fade out, one bygone A wife and a mother, beloved so well L.ke pure benedictions her smile ever foil I On al whom her friendship did hold ' Wh:rrcb^„f ' f 1"'^"^'' '™"' "'« ""--i-Je at home Around her pure maidenly brow' aer light airy step and her musical voice f 162 IN MEMOUIAM. I Then one came to woo who was welcome and dear, The sound of whose footstep fell sweet on her ear When day s busy toiling was done ; Their inutual affection jrrew day after day. And swiftly the bright, joyous hours Hed away Like dew-drops when kiss'd by the sun. Alas ! one sad day came a dire, luckless blow, With cheeks fever-Hushed this fair maiden lay low And death s pale-browed angel seemed near : ' friends tenderly bent o'er her pillow of pain And prayed that the Master might spare her again lo those whom she fondly held dear. She rallied she lived, but fate's merciless hands Had bound her with cruel, unbreakable bands No more was her step light and gay ; '^°^ TnoJ'^'' ^''""" ^'^*''*' "^^^^ ^^"^ ^^""^ "'^^ ^'^ With paralyzed limbs she must evermore ^o Along o er life's wild, rugged way. But what of the lover? oh, say, will he spurn ? v^Tu "^^J ^''''™ *^'' ^^^"^ afflicted one turn When hope from her bosom hath flowj ? ' Ur will he so nobly by constancy prove, Ihe undvmg truth of a pure, fervent love And claim her his loved and his own ? ' Ah ! what careth he for an imperfect limb ? Ihose true, love-lit eyes still shine brightly on him- Ihe pure, virtuous soul still is there ; ►So witl The vo^ Hish In heav ' Nine ch And I I Six onl3 TheotlK In tht Farewell PV faitl Where With ste I Shall wa And n If md dear, her ear, iway, )W, lay low, ear ; in ar again and.s ids, ct she did IN MEMORIAM. jfj^ So With scarce a regret he did stand bv her side The vows softly breathing which made\er hrbride I His helpmate on life's road of care. In heaven's own bounties their pathway wa.s rife I Nme children were given to gladden their Vde ' And make home so cheerful and oav Six only tor " Mother " are sorrowing here. Ihe others were waiting to welcome her there in that blessed home-land of day. I Farewell, sainted mother ! we'll check every sicrh por f,uth now beholds thee in mansions on Mc!h I Where rivers of joy ever flow ; '' ' With steps never faltVing. thy strength restored feet Shall walk evermore on the golden-pave.l street, ' I And never earth's weariness know. n? n him — I 164 IN MEMORIAH. T/f/s WIPES LAMENT. QNE year-ami ala«! ono of .sadness and gloon, W S.n , ' , ,„y „a.s all stolen away from my lilV : ThrM -!/''; 'm* *u?"^'>' ^n'' heart-broken w f o riH Jmstmas hell, eh.me in their sweetness and ,Wee But^ah : they but bring saddest n.emories to in^ pain ' *'' • -• - "°"'''' '" "'y ''°»'» "f '"th'Tt'!,'' r""^*"" ^f^ '" ""= ''^''t Christmas- ti.Ie To that dark scene of suHbring, sorrow and death Whcm sadly we stood by that d°ar ones bedsi e ' breaV ''' ""^ ""''"'' "' ^'^ '»«' f«'li°« Before he crossed over the dark, surging sea -D^aVwife nri^'""-'' •"'^ '"y -^hin^g heart bled: uiar wile, I am dying, come, go hom. •■ h me i " In the tonderest accents he chokingly said. ' I ""wvcred with sobs : " Ah ! my time has not come ' " to rest"™" "GooJ-l'v-.-and .sank .sweetly Then passed f«,.i our sight t, the fair palace-home, bl t" " '"^''' '"' S'"*" "les of the Yc.s ! this glad assurance our lonely hearts keep Ihat our r',>"r on.) the joys of He blessed dotLhare *oroi.enl^ewhl.spered. " For me do not weep I have found the dear Saviour, 1 .soot. si,all be in ere. Thou^] That Unti] t E'en I I Then b] I wil I To teac] Ever I and glooiii rom my life ; e tomb, Dken wiff less and gieo, igain ; to ine, Y bosom of istmas-tide, nd death, idside, ast failiiii; a, leart bled ! h me ! " Id. lot come ! " ik Hweetly Je-home, les of the eep, loth .share, ep s'all be THE WIFKS LAMENT. jp,;, rWrrSLTn:!' ••'"-y ""«"!»•. i feel. Een^^y own precious darling,, to who'n. I g„ve I h^ cr .trivmg, dear Maxtor, to train tl.cufor Thee ! " WUn^the dark shades of „,yafry have* all fled lOh ,„ay we'ns one be united at last \wt '"«n f«"'?'y-ba'. 1, in that city 'of day I All their rapturous pleasures eternally share. I I ! 1 166 IN MEMOniAM IN MEM OR y OF Umv. OKUTIK, BKII.AH, AND HOHHIK, HKLOVKI. CinM.HKN OK MR. AND JIK. D. J. HLlM)r,K, WHO DIKD AT LUNKNMLltU, OK DIl'HTllKrilA, 188<5. Death ! thou lovcst to cull the tcncler Mowers r i^rasp them with thy reckless hand so chill, o ^,, ,, _ , „„„_.„ And bear them far away from cartlis fair bowers rhine own dark, rnould'ring charnel-house to fill. Three little blossoms once to us were sent Oh. how we loved and prized their precious worth w-i n"l"^ iragrance in our hearts was blent With ali that f^ave us gladness here on earth. Alas ! that ruthless hand, which none can stay Hath seized our treasured flow'rets one by one And borne thoin from our bleeding hearts away ' Iheir happy little transient day is done. ^^^x^ 'I'l;;!'' f ^«*^*^' laughing eyes are closed for aye llie little l»usy feet are silent now ; ' Dear dimpled hands are crossed on breasts of clav The curls are smoothed from off each snow-wliitc brow. No tired baby footsteps now draw near, When weary day is sinking into rest; No merry, prattling voices do we hear, ' No curly heads are pillowed on our breast. " Our ] In d( "Oh! ] " Th^ We wil But I At who Our £ They sti Toch When w And r If or MK. AND JIIK IKKIA, 188«i, r llowers, ind so chill, l)OwerH, IHC to HII. ious worth ! s blent arth. Mil. UUDOLF'S CJIILDREN. " Our Father ! ,„ust wo drink this bitter cun ? " In deep and helpless woe we sometimes cr^v • Thv wtllT T''^^' ^''^' -' sorrow upf' i J»y will bo done ! our aching hearts reply. Wo will not look upon the darksome tomb But upward-upward to the gates of X; When we have stemmnrl i,v » u "J^.*"^-'T> 1G7 f^'' 9 itay, >y one, iway, for aye, oi clay, now-white Jt^ 168 m MEMOHIAM. ii iM TO THE MEMORY OF MY DKAK 0L1> FKIKNl), WH. Y. WOLFK. THE llood-gatcs of meni'ry are lifted to-day Its deep surging waves o'er nic roll, Arousing to action each slumbering thou^^ht And stiring the depths of my soul * ' Again I behold o'er the far-distant hills, A cottage so trim and so neat, To which. long ago, when the night-shades drew near I ott turned my way-weary feet. The season spent there with its inmates so dear, Uii, ne er shall I cease to review ■ '^^wff w""- ''^''i'.^'^^^ ^''^' S*'^^ "^« welcome and cheer, With friendship deep, tender, and true. Vhat quiet and comfort we then did enjov As round the warm fireside we sat • How gaily the long wintry evenings sped by, With singing, and laughter, and chat. Alas ! there's a shadow creeps over vhat home— Again I look in at the door, But one chair is vacant, one dear form has gone lo return nevermore — nevermore. With tear-bedimmed eye sits the widow alone ii-nshrouded in sorrow and gloom ; Her joy has departed, her day-star gone down m the shadowy mists of the tomb. Her c His He ar An< And V Ear Can tl Or< Then And Too go Oh,] But ev< Trust Until i] And Our dec And ^ On Tim ToEt Oh ! the While And the And e I \% If i-o-ilay, ht, s drew near, dear, c and cheer, > ne — Gfone, MR. F. WOLFE. jgg Then wh^hould we weep ? Was the Maater who To^*" *? X ^* "°' =»y' " It is well ? " °"An'!f*''K°'!f ''^P*'^"^ "« b»' fione before On T,w'"'""!f ^* '^"''o "-^ '^^ sleep inc, vn n 170 IN MEMORIAM. LITTLE POLLY, WE have lost our little treasure ; How our hearts did ache that day When the pale-browed angel bore her O'er death's river far away. Little Polly ! how we loved her ! How her sunny, smiling face Brightened home and cheered us daily With its sweet and gentle grace. Yes ! she was the household idol And our loss we deeply mourn— Miss our precious tender flow'ret Thus so quickly from us torn. But we know she now is blooming In the gardens bright and fair, Far bevond this vale of shadows. Far beyond earth's toil and care. She, too fair, too pure and lovely. For this life's dark thorny way, Was transplanted over yonder Where her feet shall never stray, Where no sin or pain can reach her ; Her pure life no stain shall know, And her robes of shining splendor, Are as spotless as the snow. When the angel came to take her She gazed upward steadfastly, And we whispered : " Tell, us clarling. Tell us what it is you see ? " LITTLE POLLY. But she only smiled and vanished, l.ike the dew of morn, away Leaving us to weep in sadness Oerahttlefonnof clay. But we'll weep not. for our darling bhines a brilliant little gem, draught with heaven's own lighb and beautv In the Master's diadem. ^ ^"*^* iT®.?" ^('S^'^^Y' precious lost one f Tu! u °n ^"*^ * ^"^^i'^g Star i hat shall lead us on to glory Where the " many mansions " are. For if we would hope to meet thee. We must walk the narrow way Give our hearts, our all to Jesus. Th.n wk' ^^^'~-^«,':^ ^atch, and pray; ihen when weary life is over ^' fehall the bright reward be given And with all the loved and ransom;d. We shall safely rest in heaven. 171 i\ 172 IN MEMORIAM. Vfi' I A TRIBUTE. TO THB M8M0RY OF IDA JKFFKRSON, AOBD FIFTEEN YEARS. YE summer winds, which lightly blow In airy, undulating sweep. O'er yonder new-made grave breathe low. Break not that slumber calm and deep ; Wake not the peaceful sleeper there — She with the sunny, golden hair. And you soft dews of balmy eve ! Oh, let your crystal tears be shed Around that lonely, sacred spot, Above the youthful, sainted dead. Above that hidden snow-white breast Laid in the solitude to rest. O sweetest flowers ! shed o'er her grave Your rarest nectar and perfume ; For, like a lovely, stainless bud, Just in the flush of girlhood's bloom, She drooped, then faded day by day, Till angels bore her far away. We saw the health-glow of her cheek. The brilliant lustre of her eye. And little deemed that with his dart, Consumption stood so closely by ; But ah ! that piercing aim was sure, No hand could save, no skill could cure. ( r YEARS. blow i low, deep; ve n, A TRIBUTE. She sank beneath that fatal dart tut oh, how patiently she lav ? Awaitincr but the Master's call To leave this tenement of clay. fehe bade her parents stay the tear In words of tend'rest love and cheer. Before her spirit soared away She whispered. " Soon I'm goin^^ homo. The Saviour stands with open arms lo vvelcome me— He bids me come" One smile, one little fluttering breath Ihe sweet blue eyes were closed in death. Farewell dear Ida ! spirit blest ? S.) free from all earth's dark alloy t5o early entered into rest, ' So early found eternal joy Rest loved one, rest ! and by-and-bv We hope to meet thee in the sky 173 •July, 1887. re. 174 HOME. ■^ HOME. HOME ! fond meni'ry clings around it, Like the verdant tendril vine ; Home ! the purest beams surround it, That e'er gilded mortal shrine. Varied scenes of brightness meet us As in distant lands we roam, But no notes of sweetness greet us Like that word so tender— home. Oft the wand'rer on the billow, Far from home and loved on as dear, Bathes his rocking, midnight pillow With the silent, briny tear. Now he smiles, in fancy soaring Far across the ocean's foam, Undisturbed by wild waves roaring, He is wrapt in dreams of home. Once a youth from far-off Rhineland Rested by our cottage door, Telling of that sunny vine-land, Which his fond eye viewed no more. Then he whispered, " Will you sing me ' Home, sweet home.' that old refrain ? Touch the keys— those sweet strains brine me To the vine-clad hills again." Yes ! the heart delights to cherish More than all things else on earth, That sweet word which cannot perish- That loved spot which gave us birth. I F C B Bi Ar W M( J id it, I I? ring me HOME. That our pMH-'?^^ ^^^^^^ ^'^^ ^''^' mat our childish voices blended With a mother's evening hymn, Then, as low, devoutly bending Round the family altar there, From a grateful heart ascending nv?iT *" ^*^«r's fervent prayer Childhood ! oh, that we might iLer In thy perfumed, smiling day f ^ T^'^f'/^^'^^^^^'^^g finger Touched thee, and thou fled'it away. But there is a home above us Where the heart can ne'er grow old And a Father there to love J ' With a matchless love untold. w"r ^""T' T^ ^^*^' h«"»e faces We have closed our weary eves May we find abi