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I' Entered according to Act of the Par- liament of Canada, in the year one thousand eiifht hundred and eighty- five, by William Wallace Moork in the office of the Minister of Ajrri- culture. •* PRINTKD AND BODND BY HUNTER, ROSE & CO., TORONTO, w^/ ij PREFACE. •- >^ The fact that my book has been published " by sub- scription," shows that many of my old friends wished to possess my rhymes in book form. I have, for years, been strenuously urged to have them published, even in pam- phlet form, by many, the. memory of whose friends has been embalmed, as they presume to say, by my poetry. I have no further apology to offer the Literary World than to say that I have been bred in the wild woods of Canada, that I aided in clearing the farm on which a part of Moorefield is now built, and that — We were amply repaid by the seed we did sow. When the logs were all piled, yelling haw, gee, whoa ! I hope our mighty phalanx of Canadian poets will not too severely criticise the spontaneous bubblings of my heart, as expressed in " Random Rhymes." That the public may at once know what the author has been in the past, I here embody a few recommenda- tions : — Drayton, Sept. 18th, 1869. This is to certify that William W. Moore, Esq., is a young man of a good moral character, and well respected iu these parts as an honest, trustworthy persoa. Ezra Adams, Wesleyan M. Minister. From Rev. R. A. Fyfe, D.D., author of " The Soul and the Kingdom," and Principal of Woodstock College. I hereby certify that Mr. William Wallace Moore, who was for- merly a student in the Canadian Literary Institute, sustains a good moral and religious character, and I think he would make an earnest and active i^ent for the Tract Society. R. A. Fyfe, Woodstock, 23rd Sept., 1869. IV PREFACE. The following recommendation was signed at the dif- ferent polling places in the Township, by all the officials of the Township of Maryborough — Keeve, Deputy-Reeve, Councillors, Assessor, Collector, Treasurer, and Township Clerk; together with over two hundred other rate- payers: We, the undersigned, would, with great deference, beg leave to solicit the favourable consideration of your Board towards Mr. Wil- liam Wallace Moore, etc., etc. Our recommendation of this gentle- man is based on his integrity, energy, and scholarship, together with the great suavity of demeanor which has rendered him so pop- ular not only in Maryborough, but in the Townships adjacent. Martborouoh, March, 1871. Notwithstanding these very flattering recommenda- tions I would not have the public to think that I am im- peccable ; but, to the contrary, I am willing to acknow- ledge that I often overstep the bounds of propriety. I have read the biting criticisms of many astute schol- ars, but, nevertheless, I have come to the dogmatic con- clusion that poets only can legitinnately criticise poetry. A. person who never studied Geometry would certainly feel perplexed if asked to demonstrate even the 47th proposition of the First Book of Euclid. Those who never studied Music, and have no taste for it, cannot be expected to be able to criticise those who are experts in the art. Kindly I ask the forbearance of all, and request that if any piece, which my first effort contains, be distasteful to you, you will just quietly glide on to the next, and the next, and the next, until you find something more pala- table. William Wallace Moore. Moorefield, Ontario, Canada, Dec. 25th, 1884. ^i^ CONTENTS. The Author's Lineage Fishing at the Oanestoga River ." I " Be Patient " . . Life, like the Sn jw - . . " ' The Irishman's last Request - .' ' " Sorrow's Tears ... " " Ingratitude ... * " " " £^®^*?^^ed Thoughts about Money -" .' .* Love Song -.._"'" A CiT for Bread -..]'' The Maple -...'" Dr. Livingstone's Death - . ' ' ' Cunous Epitaphs - . ' ' " Must I Die ? - . . . '_ A Short Prayer To Miss Hamilton of Dublin - ." Short Prayer - - . Song of Thanksgiving . '. ' ' ' No Peace - . . A Request -..""'" Acrostic - . . _ \ ' ' ' A Scuffle on the Train I ' '' The Ciphering Dog -...'" Three Dreams - . ' ' " Wam^ng'^'"^ Drunkard's SoUloquy '. I The Time I'd like to" Die ^ ." ' " " J*»eC}iri that's at the Brick - . ' ' lo Maggie, when a Baby . • Insurrection in the North- West - SurrifntinV'^^^^^^^^^"^*^' " ' My On^ ^^ ^'f' ^f'^'[' ^"*«^P^ ^b"'" .^^i£'*^*K^®®^*^«*fe Excused" - PailJns ^''^®" ""^ Moorefield- - '. PAOK. 9 10 10 11 11 12 13 14 14 15 16 17 18 - 19 - 20 - 22 - 22 - 22 - 23 - 23 - 24 - 26 - 27 - 27 - 28 - 30 - 32 - 33 - 36 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 41 - 42 - 43 - 43 - 43 - 44 - 44 VI CONTENTS. PAOE. Captain Bates and Lady 45 The Danger of Bad Example 47 Life is Short - 48 The DevU 49 Miss Emma Davidson, the Belle of Hustonville - - - HI Freedom 52 Life in Toronto 52 Jealousy .--------.-54 There is a God 50 The Best Theology 57 To Mrs. Ira Edmunds 67 Fair Thistlehill - - - 58 Farewell to Glen-Allan 58 The Best Education 59 Tempus Fugit 59 The Cherry Tree UO A Difference --•-- 01 The Flooded River 61 Mihisterial Vow 62 The Snow 63 Philosophy 63 Even-Song 64 Heaven -- 64 An Invalid to His Wife 65 The Quail 66 Our Lot is Cast ; All have Cares 68 The Pet Pig 70 ** Young Man, Go West " 71 Ode to the Sun 72 Grace -- - - -76 Bithiah to Naomi - - * 77 On the Flysheet of " Bigotry Demolished " - - - - 77 Hustonville Requiem ..-.-... 78 A Lone Watch-Meeting— 1 876— 1877 82 Acrostic --.-.--.--- 85 Hell's Location 86 The Nest of Golden Robins 87 Hymn 88 Love Never Dies ---------89 To Brother - - - 90 Pat and Sir Walter 91 An Irish Hallow-e'en 92 Office Rent -100 Glen- Allan Laughing - - - - - . - - 100 Vice Regal Example 101 Thee 101 'i^ I CONTENTS. Vll PAOB. 45 I Peace 102 47 Seltishneaa 103 48 *s. Forlorn - - - 104 49 A Fact About Poets 104 51 Mooretield Poat-Office Store Placard 105 52 " Look to He " - 105 52 A Comedy 106 54 ^ The Sparrow - 108 56 "^ Fear Not .... 109 57 To Naomi Mara ] 10 57 * The Canestoga River - • Ill 58 To Lieutenant Wm. Jamieaon ....... II3 58 Erin 114 69 The Windowman 115 59 Death .117 60 My Mother's Grave 118 61 Dear Father's Grave - 118 61 William Wallace Moore, Jr, 120 62 A Chat with Dear Little Jennie ^ 1?1 63 In Memoriam 122 63 The Late Henry Shaver, Esq. ... ... 123 64 To Mrs. Ge^r- F. Howell 124 64 Miss Mary Cameron 125 65 I An A IVcted Minister's Prayer 126 66 . s Cassie Clark 127 68 f Rev. Ezra Adams 128 70 To Mrs. James Hughes 129 71 To Mrs. Captain John Booth 130 72 The Graves of Messrs. James and John Gray - - . . 131 76 Miss Maudsley'a Tomb - - 133 77 "The Wee Baby" 133 77 Lines on the Tragical Death of William Findlay - - -134 78 Linea on the Death of Mrs. Henry Blackwell - - - .136 82 Lines on the Death of Annie Maria Maddigan- - - . 137 85 Lines written at the Tomb of Miss Jack 138 86 In Memoriam 140 87 Robert King, Esq. 141 88 u^ William Richey, Esq 143 89 \ Henry Butterworth 144 90 Linea on the Death of Mra. David Welch .... 145 91 The Late Mr. David Welch 148 92 In Memoriam 149 100 ; Linea On the Death of Grace A. Bettenson .... 150 00 i Lines on the Death of Mr. Thomas Morgan .... 151 Loi An Elegy on the Death of Mrs. Sergeant Morgan - - . 152 loi An Elegy 153 Viii CONTENTS. PAOB. On the Death of Master Richard Jones 154 Lines on the Death of William Graham, Esq. - - •■ 165 Mrs. William Loughran to Her Little Orphan Grandaughter, 156 Lines to Commemorate the Dei^th of Mr. Thomas Alfred Scott 157. Thomas T. Driver 159 Lines on the Death of Miss Mary Ellen Kirby - - - 159 " Our Own Dear Mary " 161 Mr. Josiah Ross 162 In Meraoriam, 166 Obituary Lines on the Death of Mrs. Burton's Baby - - 168 To Dr. Middleton 168 Acrostic .-_ 169 Lines A dressed to William Medill, Esq. 170 Pa to Bertie 171 Gospel Harvest 172 Waiting 173 Lines to J, B. Williams 174 To a Nephew 175 Vote for Drew 176 Hustonville Election Battle 177 In a lietter to Naomi Mara, July 16th, 1879 - - - - 180 The Hustonville Quack 181 How to Cheat the Printer 183 Advertisement 184 Burlesque 186 To H. Duggan, Esq. 187 William Donnelly, the Biddulph Champion - . . - 190 Dr. Orton and Judge Drew 192 The Belle of the Times 193 Miss Sheehan, Brantford 193 " Thomasonian " 194 Dunkin 197 TheDunkinAct 198 A Reply - - - 201 »'The Whistler at the Plough" - ' 203 To Naomi - - 204 Miss Margaret E. Hamilton .-----• 205 Niagara Falls 206 In Memoriam 211 Henry Maudsley, M. D. 212 Elegy 215 Lines on the Death of G. H. M. Johnston .... 216 Lines on the Death of Minnie Rumrell - • • - - 218 In Memoriam 219 Appendix— Reply to W. W. Moore, Esq. - - - 220-224 RANDOM EHYMES. THE AUTHOR'S LINEAGE. Directly from the " Wallace Clan," The Author has descended ; Yet, with another Ancient Tribe, My Chieftain blood has blended. Brave Sir John Moore's Corunna blood. Was shed for England's glory • While Wallace— bravest of his l^d But lives in Scottish story. My father was a bold John Bull, As fearless as a lion ; While on my noble mother's side Of Wallace, I'm a scion. ^^Itru^S"^®' T'^^ ^^"^ Scotland bled ; iiri^^^i ^^^^^'^^'^ "g^*s asserted : Whose home was Scotland's wildest hills When by Scotch Lords deserted. T^e only man, of Scotland's Tribes, Who spurned the Strangers token-^ I he only man, whose heart remained Unconquered and unbroken ! If not betrayed by "Foul Monteith," When pursued by deadly foes. No alien pen would ever dare, Inscribe my Chieftain's woes. William Wallace Moore. 10 RANDOM RHYMES. FISHING AT THE CANESTOGA RIVER. August 19th, 1852. I AM fishing by the river, With a very steady hand, When my line begins to quiver, Fiah are biting, understand. Bass and chub are very plenteous ; Speckled trout are pretty rare ; Though my bait makes some contentions, Which soon dangle in the air. Oh ! it's fun to see them hopping, On the bank, so high and dry. As they give the earth a whopping. Ere they close their gills and die. Thus, it seems, the De'il has waited. To catch sinners night and day : While his hooks are golden- baited, To decoy their souls away. " BE PATIENT "—James v. 7. This world is full of trouble. As evinced wheree'er we go ; And grumbling makes it double, As the greatest dullards know. Quit your incessant whining, While through this world you're moving ; The sun won't cease his shining. Though you become less lees loving. THE TOOTHACHE. ■ H A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS DAUGHTER'S SUITOR. If you must court behind my back, And chance to give too loud a smack, Have sense enough to change your track, And try again ! Just come right out, before my face, Don't think that it's a great disgrace, To run the matrimonial race, Like other men. And if the girl return your kiss. Embrace her quickly and say Miss " I can't endure such love as this : I never can ! " And then the pledges of your love, She will accept — a ring — a glove— As though they fell from Heaven above. Oh ! happy man ! ! THE TOOTHACHE. Did you ever have the toothache ? If you did, just please to say. If you did not feel like throwing, Ev'ry tooth you had away! If you did not feel as I do. One ^rand truth can't be denied— It wasn t with the jumping toothache, That your jaw was then supplied. 12 RANDOM RHYMES. Ah ! how calmly now I bear it, Though my whole head seems to split, Oh ! yes, dear wife, you'd like to share it ! Let me go. I cannot sit ! Round the house I wildly wander, Through the parlor — up the stairs ; Now I mutter discontent, While the others say their prayers. But there is no use in talking ; All I say will be denied. Just because no doctor's patient. With the toothache ever died ! LIFE, LIKE THE SNOW. Like the snow, down we go. O'er the rugged cliffs of time. Death is felt, and we melt. In our very, very prime. In the days, when our ways, Are most pleasing to our fiiends ; Like the snow, down we flow To the ocean, where life ends. And our ma, and papa. May sit silent in their chair ; Quite alone, and there moan. While they view our locks of hair. Or they may, kneel and pray, With a likeness in their hand ; And thoughts go, pure as snow To the Throne, in spirit land. THE irishman's LAST BEQUEST. 13 THE IRISHMAN'S LAST REQUEST. Come back, dear wife, to Ireland — Come back with me Aathore^ For if you do I'll never roam, Far from her rugged shore. I'll oft shove out my pleasure boat Upon the open sea. That we may view those youthful scenes, That blessed both you and me. But Africa, or Canada, Or the United States, I'll never ask to see again I swear — By Heaven's gates ! Then won't you come, my own dear wife. That we together may Lay down our hoary heads in peace. In Erin's holy clay ? The banshee there will weep for us, When friends have dried their tears ; And angels too will hover round, And watch our graves for years. Our friends have scattered o'er the earth. As birds fly from their nest ; In foreign lands they sought a home. And Ibund a place of rest : But all their hearts, like mine, my dear, Within their bosoms burn, And long to know the hour when they, To Erin may return. I i 14 RANDOM RHYMES. Come home, my dear, come back with me, Our course is nearly run. Oh ! let our last days end, just where, Our youthful days begun ! SORROW'S TEARS. I've thought, most seriously, for years, How strange it is that bitter tears, Like rain, fast falling from the skies. Flow from the fountains of our eyes, When sorrows, which we can't control, Bestir the vitals of the soul. The heart would burst if sorrow's woe Found not a vent, and copious flow. Of that strange fluid which we shed. O'er those we love, when they are detfd. What is its source — where does it lie ? Strange reservoir of sorrow's eye ! INGRATITUDE. Of all the sins that ever man In this life could commit. It is to fold his arms in ease. And carelessly to sit, When any friend may want his aid, Who helped him in the past ; Whose sturdy arm had sheltered him. From any hostile blast. Proud gratitude, should rule the heart, Aye ! manliness, alone. Should spurn the sin — Ingratitude, And trample on its throne, DETACHED THOUGHTS ABOUT MONEY. 15 DETACHED THOUGHTS ABOUT MONEY. Lycurgus once, in Sparta old. Enacted laws most funny : He called his iron good as gold, And made it current money. Soon as the baby on the floor, Can crawl around and prattle, See how it makes him laugh and roar. To hear some money rattle. A young man wants to woo a lass, He struts, with cuff's and collars, But she is wise, and only asks, About his wealth in dollars. The spend-thrift flings his money round. He does not care about it : But he'll be hooted, like a hound, If ever he's without it. The miser clutches all he gets, With a strong, undying hold ; On musty bread he'd rather live. Than to touch his pile of gold. But when the lean-souled miser dies, His dear anxious friends stand round. To place some coppers on his eyes. And then, stick him in the ground. Yes ! money is a precious thing, For good to us 'twas given. Gold paves the way of men down here, And paves the streets of Heaven. 16 RANDOM RHYMES. ill " Leotubb on Ahtrokomy. -The Rev. J. 6. Macgregor will de- liver a lecture on the above subject, next Thundaiy evening, in the Grammar School, Elora. The lecture will be illustrated by the aid of a magic lantern. When the Rev. gentleman's ability is taken into consideration, together with the fact that all will be admitted free, we have no doubt the lecturer will be greeted with a full house. The following very excellent poetry, bearing on the lecture, is from the pen of Mr. W. W. Moore, a pupil in the Grammar School. ^Ed. Elora Observer y 1869. INVITATION. To the *ladies of Elora and vicinity. Within our reach, A special speech Will soon to us be given ; About those lights, Which cheer our nights, And light up aarth and heaven. And I'm assured, That, if procured, A magic lantern too, Will quickly bring, With magic wing, The starry world to view. And lest you, dears, Should shut your ears Against a passing word ; I send this myme, I hope in time, Like joyous humming bird. To bear the news, That if you choose To come next Thursday night, You'll see displayed The hand which made Those dazzling orbs of light. LOVE SONG. 17 LOVE SONG. To my Wife. I LOVED thee once, dear Nannie, With all my youthful heart ; And now, though old, dear Annie, With life I'd rather part Than have that cord which binds thee, So closely to me still — That cord which now reminds me. That I'm your dearest Will — Vibrate with notes of sadness, Instead of joy, or love ; It must resound with gladness, ^ Like music from above. I've proved thy love, my dearest, ^ I've probed it to its core ; I've found thee always nearest. Whene'er my heart was sore ! And oft, while all were sleeping, And dreaming of the past. Thou constant watch wert keeping. To screen me from the blast. The kettle hummed quite gaily, Though I was long away ; And thus, thy love grew daily, ^ E'en through our darkest day. I've always loved thee strongly, I'll love thee stronger still. And if I do things wrongly. Forgive your own, dear Will. Love has no eyes, my darling. Thy faults I ne'er could see, And for this very reason, You see no faults in me. .i' ' 18 RANDOM RHYMES. A CRY FOR BREAD. (Written during the late Irish famine.) Hear the wailings of those thousands, Who are languishing for bread, While ourselves, and all our cattle Are so sumptuously fed. In the Western part of Erin, By the Moy's incessant flow. Many stalwart fellow-creatures. Through sheer want, are lying low. There the famine rages fiercely. And the beggar's feeble knees Tremble, while the frame above them. Can scarcely say : — If you please, Just give me one potato, Tna'm, Or the smallest crumb of bread ; For Ood'a sake, ma'm, have pity now ! For I'm starved, and nearly dead. Ah ! think of Leitrim,'s lovely plains. And of Sligo's lofty hills, Of Mayo's larks, Roscommon's bogs. And Galway's babbling rills ; And then, Oh ! then, let pity's eyes, Fill right up to overflow, And weep, the very saltest tears, For dear Erin's present woe. Those plains, and hills, and babbling streams, Often rang with mirth and glee ; And peace, and joy, filled every heart, From the moifetain, to the sea : THE MAPLE. But now, for lack of food they wail, And to us they loudly cry : Oh ! send vs bread from o'er the sea, Or, of hwager we must die ! Help ! help ! my friends, that famished land ; Appease its piteous cry, And God will bless you here on earth, And reward you when yoc die. 19 THE MAPLE. From all the pretty forest trees. The Maple bears the palm. In Winter s howling hurricane, As well as Summer's calm. The lofty Pine may air its boughs. Above the maple's head ; It's boards may shield our mortal frames, When numbered with the dead. But it can't yield that sugar sap. At Spring time's early dawn, Which, from the graceful maple tree, Is yearly, freely drawn. The Maple's leafy boughs we prune, To cast a clumpy shade : Beneath such trees our grandpapas. Have often kneeled and prayed. Beneath such trees, we oft, ourselves, Have sat on Summer's eve. And felt the touch of nectar lips, As well as fairy sleeve, ! 20 RANDOM RHYMES. And viewed the twinkle in the eye, The dimple in the cheek, Of her, who looked the boundless love, She would not dare to speak. DR. LIVINGSTONE'S DEATH. Midst thoughts of home, he heaved a sigh, And asked a hut in which to die. They built a hut — ( weep not, my pen ! ) The rudest hut, e'er built by men, The verdant grass a roof supplied The cot, in which this great man died. Alone ! no friend of his stood near. To wipe away his falling tear. Just like the Saviour — friends all fled — He prayed, and bowed his weary head : No kindred hand, to close his eyes, 'Tis thus the great explorer dies ! Though England's glory, Scotland's pride, 'Tis thus their greatest champion died ! Why did not Britain cast her wing, O'er Afric's great exploring king ? Long ere his precious course was run, 'Twas Bennet sought Great Britain's son. And proud young Stanley laughed to scorn, Vain, British sons, who are highborn. This brave young Yankee persevered. While all the world, looked on, and jeered, Until the Doctor, safe and sound. In Afric's jungles, he had found. QUESTION. Great Livingstone ! thy loving name, Shall ever bear undying fame. While Wolseley boasts of Ashantee, Far greater fields were won by thee. Starved lions prowling from their lair, Could not thy dauntless spirit scare, Nor could the wildest Af ric' race, E'er change thy purpose, or thy place. True ! England tried to make amends By showing that they were thy fi lends, When from Mulala, with great pains, They carried home thy dear remains, And placed them 'mongst the good and great, The resurrection morn to wait. And in the Abbey, o'er thy head. To show that thou wast truly dead. They placed a stone, and had inscribed, That at Ghittambo thou hadst died ; And that thou hadst, for thii-ty years, Sought out the slave, and diied his tears. 'Twas thus thy banner was unfurled, To heal the wounds of that dark world : And thus for Science and for Truth, Thy life was spent from early youth. May thy example still inspire Our hearts to raise the negro higher, Till Christ is known to all around, And not a slave on earth is found. ii QUESTION. If we have no hope of Heaven, Through the work of God's dear Son, Shall our hearts remain unriven^ When we find ourselves undone ? 22 RANDOM RHYMES. CURIOUS EPITAPHS. Women who marry a second time, should inscribe the following lines on the tombstones of their first husbands : The husband dear, Who now lies here, I loved just as a brother; But when he died, I laughed and cried, And went and got another. MUST I DIE? With throbbing heart and tearful eye, I've asked the question — Must I die ? When but a child, on fathers knee, The thought of death oft harassed me ; And as I grew to riper years, This thought produced more lasting fears, Till near the Cross one day I stood, And felt redeemed through Jesu's blood. A SHORT PRAYER. V- My wife and I continue still To live in peace at Thistlehill, And while we here as pilgrimu roam, Though Thistlehill be not our home, May sin and Satan ne'er destroy The love and peace we now enjoy. St. George, July 25th, 1860. SHORT PBAYER. TO MISS HAMILTON OF DUBLIN. Oh ! Sally dear, I long to hear ITour joyous, hearty lau^h, Which drives dull care Into the air. As though 'twere nought but chaff. And Sally dear, I'd like to hear Your lovely voice once more ; E'en as it rang. When last you sang For me, on Erin's shore. Though now the sea Parts you and me, And keeps three thousand miles Between our homes, Your spirit comes, And casts on me its smiles. My love-sick soul Now takes control, And o*er the blue, deep sea It wings its way. Midst storm and spray, To bear a kiss to thee. %S I SHORT PRAYER. Now as we're going to the Covenant-meeting, U, may wo see Satan from Christians retreating, May the Lord, who is gracious, our weak hearts inspire, lo repel him, by prayer, to his deep den of fire 24 RANDOM RHYMES. li i SONG OF THANKSGIVING. Come, O my soul, and thank the Lord For his preserving care ; And thou, my heart, with it accord, His mercies to declare. Thou, O my soul, which once beguiled By Satan's cunning art. Knew not that sin had thee defiled. Till Jesus touched thy heart. But when that loving Saviour came, ' I soon beheld my sin ; And then, oh ! then, midst fear and shame, I cast my eyes within. I cast my eyes within that heart Which throbbed within my breast, I longed with self and sin to part, And find in Jesus rest. And now my voice can truly add Its note of humble praise, And sing that song which makes those glad Who know no end of days. EPITAPH. Ah ! do not cry, Though here I lie. Beneath this grassy sod ; But go thy way. And night and day, " Prepare to meet thy God." NO PEACE. 25 NO PEACE. *Vanum et mutabile. Is there a spot beneath the skies So free from cares, and tears, and sighs, So free from scoffs, and frowns, and jeers, That one might live in peace for years ? If you have found it, tell me where, That I may come your bliss to share : For I have sought it, night and day, In this, and that, and every way ; But found it not. O, tell me, then. Is mine the lot of other men ? I sought, when in the bloom of life, From 'mongst the girls to choose a wife ; Nor had I then the slightest peace. For' like a fox 'midst flock of geese, I knew not which might weigh the most ; If once I caught, and caught a ghost. Oh I how the flock would scream for joy, To see a goose thus cheat a boy! Nor had I peace midst all their sighs. And bashful sftiiles, and dew-drop eyes ; Nor through the kiss and tender squeeze They often gave while on my knees ; For then my conscience said to me, " Oh ! that they love you, can't you see ? " And yet my adamantine heart. Could let me with those darlings part. To cross the road, or babbling stream. Like cautious cat, in search of cream ! B * Tried and found wanting. 26 RANDOM RHYMES. I f i 1 1 i And when I read of men of yore Who dabbled deep in classic lore, And thus forgot the cares of time, And hushed their griefs in lengthy rhyme ; I thought that I, as well as they, Might find some lasting peace this way, Then, with joyous heart and beaming eye, I went to college — there to vie. With those who wished to pale the cheek. That they the languages might speak : But woe to me ! through lack of brains, I burst my skull, and lost my pains ! But after this, like arrant fool, I tried to teach a common school, Whose scholars, wild as young March hares, I taught to sing, and say their prayers. And when I got them fit to teach. They married off, or went to preach ; Though some, who did not like the quills, Worked for M. D. and now mix pills. I've now attained to middle life, Blest with a happy little wife — With children too — not quite a score ! And, therefore, look for peace no more. But if that place you've really found. By searching this world round and round, I wish you'd tell me where it lies. In earth, or sea, or in the skies. And train, or ship, or mad balloon. Will take me to you pretty soon ! ACROSTIC. A REQUEST. To my beloved wife Ann Shaver Moore. Annie, I pray thee let me find, In thee a friend, forever kind ; Forever good, forever free, In lavishing thy smiles on me, Those loving smiles, these smiles of grace, Which so bedeck thy gentle face. When others- hate, and scold, and frown, I ask that then, thou wouldst sit down, And place in mine, thy trusty hand. To cheer my journey through this land. This land of trial, care and sorrow, Where friends to-day, are foes to-morrow. 27 ACROSTIC. May God, who rules in mighty power, Imbue thy heart, this very hour. Sincerely, with the Saviour's love, Securing thus thy hom^^ above. Keep closely to the Saviour's side. In Him you'll find your wants supplied ; Though earth and hell against thee rage, Christ can the tempest soon assuage. ^e then shall take thee home, to reign Eternally, where grief, nor pain, Nor death itself, is felt again. ii 28 i 1 . n RANDOM RHYMES. A SCUFFLE ON THE TRAIN. While on the train, I felt in pain, I felt in love, and all that ; And as 'twas dark, I tried to spark, A blackeyed lass, and all that. " Nov/, sir," said she, " You make too free, You sit too close, and all that ; If you don't stop. You flippant fop, I'll get you off, and all that. " Conductor, dear, This fellow here Is making free, and all that ; I wish that you, Would put him through, Right through that door, and all that." No sooner said, Than up came Ned, And caught ray throat, and all that ; "Oh! no," said I, " I'd rather die, Than be put off, and all that." He said, " No use. For your excuse, I'll let you know sjie's mine, sir ; And that to-day. Along the way, I cheered her heart with wine, sir. A SCUFFLE ON THE TRAIN. 29 " New Yoric, or here, Or anywhere, Although she's not my wife, sir ; I love her so, For her you know, I lose my very life, sir !" The rope he pulled, My hair he woolled, My coat he tore, and all that ; And toward the door. He hauled, and swore, And tried to trip, and all that. I went along, As cool and strong, As though I was a lion ; Until outside ; But then, with pride, I flung him off to Zion. And like a sack Right o'er the track, He lit upon his head, sir ! We stopped the train, Went back again, And picked him up for dead, sir ! The ladies then, As well as men, To cheer, came flocking round me ; But when they came, To cap the game, Beside the lass they found me ! I 30 RANDOM RHYMES. While she with pride, Sat by my side, And though J looked quite bold, sir ; She bowed her head, And proudly said TonWe worth your weight in gold, sir ! THE CIPHERING DOG. Preachers may boast of how they preach, And teachers tell how well they teach, But when I tell this simple tale, I think of gas they all must fail. A preacher once, with white cravat, While on an easy chair he sat. Looked in my face, and as he smiled. He said, " Come here, come here, my child." I quickly went, and near him stood. Knowing his words were always good. " You're learning things both old and new. When you're at school, and cipher, too." I" Well ! I have taught a mastiff dog, Not only catch and hold a hog, But I have taught him cipher, too, That, I presume, you cannot do." " Well, sir," said I, " I've gone to school. For many years ; but such a rule ! A rule to make dogs cipher well ! Of such a thing, I've ne'er heard tell." " You seem amazed, my boy," said he, " But wait a while, and then you'll see AN ACROSTIC. How soon that mastiff learned this rule, Though he ne'er went a day to school. " One day, while I was standing still, This dog was trotting o'er a hill ; I then stooped down, picked up a stone. And struck him on the hind leg lione ! " Away he went — the work was done : He put down three, and carried one." 31 AN ACROSTIC. The Lord has blessed you, sir, since He Has given that Christian wife to thee. On whose departure from this place. Many have wiped a moistened face ; And many hearts in silence, too, Secretly shrank from the adieu Given by her on that same night On which you took your hurried flight. Solicitous your bride to bring To her new home in Pickering.* I do rejoice that you and she Can sing of Christ most joyously, Kindling in both your hearts a flame. Extolling Jesu's precious name. Since thus you're blessed, indeed you may Quietly spend your future day. Moorefield, Jan. 6th, 1859. of 'th^T^wXIf Rc^^^^^^^^^ " ''" °^ '^' ^"^ ^''' '^^''^'^ ^^-'^^'^ I ; Uit 82 RANDOM RHYMES. THREE DREAMS. Three dreams in succession Made thee my possession, And I laughed at those dreams, I declare ; For when I awoke They seemed like a joke, Or like so much smoke, Which had noiselessly passed through tne air. And now I am thinking. That these dreams were winking. At those days, which perhaps may soon come When you, if you choose, By tying the noose, May need little shoes. In my humble but peaceable home. My wife, as she wishes, May wash up the dishes, Or sit down in her chair at her ease ; And hear Fanny say. In her own childish way, • Before going to play, " Dear ma, give me a cake, if you please." So now, my dear Polly, Don't say it's all folly, And laugh at those three visions of night ; But come forth and try. With an amorous sigh. To ask me just why, I don't dream these three dreams in daylight Nl THE PEBISHING DRUNKARD S SOLILOQUT. 33 THE PERISHING DRUNKARD'S SOLILOQUY. The drifting snow is growing deep, But oh ! sir, what care I ? Though through my eyes I scarce can peep, Yet to get home I'll try. I'd be no man, if I sat down, And left my wife alone. Before I'd stay in yonder town, I'd freeze right to the bone ! The boys I left behind me now Are quaffing off the bowl. Before I left we had a row That vexed my very soul. But, ! what keeps me sitting here ? The snow does wildly roam ; And my dear wife will think it queer That I'm not now at home. I'll start again, and tramp a road ; It can't be very far. I move as slowly as a toad ; But where's my little jar ? Oh ! yes, it's in my overcoat ; I nearly drank it all ; I barely raise it to my throat Before again I fall. I'll rest a while, and drink again, I'll drink it to the dregs : 1 m not 90 bad as other men. I know it warms my legs. 34 RANDOM RHYMES. What though the winds more angry grow, And snows are drifting high ! I'll go right home, to-night, I know, For here I must not die. Ah ! think of all the sighs and tears My poor dear wife would know, If her dear James would freeze to-night, And die benejath this snow. And Maggie, too, ah ! who would e'er The lassie come and wed, If I sit here, in such despair, And in the mom be dead ? They ne'er shall say that I have died. And filled a drunkard's gi'ave ! Oh ! wake within me, Scottish pride. My blood is cold, but brave. Now, Jemmie Scott, up, up once more. And fight the howl' ig blast ; I soon shall reach my cottage door. That door is not made fast : Dear wife ! that door she never locks, When Jemmie is away. And now my inmost soul it shocks, To hear my dear wife pray. I hear her plaintive voice ju^'t now ; I see her rolling tear ; Her lips, and Heaven-direct od brow Are quivering through fetii*. The children too, around the stove, Are kneeling here and there ; WARNING. Thus while I drink and nightly rove, My wife is offering prayer. Her gentle wail more louder grows, As now she prays for me, Oh grant that James may not he froze. While crossing o'er the lea. Here yet I lie, aiid no one near ; I must have had a dream ; There is no ear my cry to hear, Of hope, there's not a gleam ! My frozen hands ! my tongue is still ! My legs I cannot move ! If I could only make my will, And kiss the ones I love. If I could bless those whom I've cursed, And see them e'er I go ; Then, I could boldly risk the worst. And die beneath this snow. Let preachers warn all those at ease. To learn from my sad doom, For my poor soul there is no peace, For me, in Heaven, no home. 85 WARNING. Do not steal, Or the De'il, Will make you squeal, When you go, Down below ! 86 BANDOM RHYMES. THE TIME I'D LIKE TO DIE. Oh ! let me die in Summer time, When earth is bright and gay ; When steamers plough the sleeping waves, And farmers make their hay. Oh ! keep me from death's chilling grasp, When wintry winds do blow ; Nor lay my body in the earth When clad with drifting snow. Don't let the frosts of Winter seal The earth above my breast, When'er I close my eyes in death, And find my lasting rest. But let me die when flowers bloom, And scent the balmy air ; When birds are singing in the trees, And warbling notes most rare. When humming-birds on quivering wings, Are buzzing in the lawn ; Oh ! let me die at such a time, ' ' At morning s early dawn. Not when the day is almost spent, And laden with life's cares ; But at the morning's first bright ray. Midst all its fragrant airs. Just when the song-birds first begin. To s. 1 g their morning lay ; Then let my soul flap its glad wings. And soa^ to endless day. i..::^ ADVICE. 37 THE GIRL THAT S AT THE BRICK. My head and heart are lonely now, And my blood is running quick. For I'm outrageously in love. With the girl that's at the Brick. She's pretty as a turtle dove, And she's graceful as a swan ; Her smile is like an angel's smile, When her face I look upon. Her lips enclose the brightest gems ; And her cheeks are like the rose ; And Oh ! how soon I'd change her name. If her name she would transpose. Her breath is that seraphic air, Which finds its source in Heaven ; Her voice is sweeter than the voice, To nightingale e'er given. Her eyes are like a young gazelle's ; Her long hair in tresses flows ; And she portrays a snow-white brow, And a pretty Grecian nose. If I could only charm her heart, Or steal her through some trick ; I soon would make a happy bride, Of " The Girl that's at the Brick." a' I ADVICE. Forgive all your enemies, and pity the poor, For this you're advised, by William Wallace Moore. I M 38 RANDOM RHYMES. TO MAGGIE WHEN A BABY. : She was bom Dec. 25th, 1877, aad this was written Jan. 10th, 1878, at about 2 o'clock, A. M. My dearest, little Maggie Moore, Although your squalls I must endure, Your little toe, I would not give, For gold, for which poor misers live. Old misers sleep no more than I, Although I wake whene'er you cry ; And oft you wake through ev'ry night. Through, hunger, colic, or through fright. The miser, with tenacious hold, ^ Clings to his ill-begotten gold , And through his dreams he feels bereft. Of all his wealth through fire or theft. But Maggie dear, not so with me, I'd sleep quite soundly, but for thee ; Your little self must first be fed, Before your mother rests her head. Ah 1 Maggie dear, when we get old, And through old age are growing cold ; Wilt thou not stir the fire awhile, And sing for us and cast a smile On these same faces, which with glee, Now lavish loving smiles on thee ? Who provide th for the raven, his food ? when his young ones cry unto God. — Job. Chap. 58, Verse 41. The ravens are fed, when their wings they spread, And croak to the Lord for food ; Then surely God's child, though foolishly wild, Is more precious than their brood. INSURRECTION IN THE NORTH-WEST. 39 10th, INSURRECTION IN THE NORTH WEST. THE volunteers' FAREWELL TO CANADA. Sung to the tune of ^'Just before the Battle.^^ [composed APRIL 26th, 1870]. Now the time has come for marching, And we're forced to say farewell To those friends we love^ so dearly, And the homes in which we dwell. But before we're severed from you, Let us bid a long good-bye, Let us grasp the hand we cherish, While the tear rolls from the eye. Chorus. Brave companions, cease your sighing, Britain's sons must never quail ! In the midst of foes and dangers, Britain's cheek has ne'er grown pale. "Onward!" though we shout with vigor, Yet our hearts would here remain: Oh ! it shocks us when we think that We may never meet again. When we think that loving fathers, Of whose hearts we are the pride, Soon shall hear that we have fallen. And for liberty have died. "Onward !" is our changeless motto. When we think of those dear friends. Whose quick rescue from Fort Garry, m m 40 RANDOM RHYMES. On our valor now depends : Yet the sight of our dear mothers Oft' invites the lurking tear, And our hearts would vainly tem^t us, To remain with those so dear. "Onward," "Onward !" is our watchword When we think of Scott's lone grave, When we see the flowing lifeblood, Of a Briton proudly brave : Not the love of all those maidens, Which we value more than life, Nor the tears, of our dear mothers Shall e'er lure us from the strife ! Now as Canada we're leaving. For the distant, bleak North West, And we know not but the prairie, Soon shall wave above our breast ; We would linger, for a moment, Midst the scenes of childhood's home, And would weep as do the willows, Which o'ershade a mother's tomb. But our brothers, strong and fearless. Must our eager footprints trace, If by Kiel's half-breeds vanquished, When we reach that distant place : O'er the prairies, lakes and rivers, Wilder and more fierce than we, You must come our bones to bury. And our graves, for aye keep free ! ! THOMAS SCOTT, THE RED RIVER MARTYR. 41 THOMAS SCOTT, THE RED RIVER MARTYR. Kneeled down on the snow, and the cold below zero, Outside of Fort Garry thou hast died like a hero; But the cold-blooded men who have emptied thy veins, Will soon find their bodies far outweigh their brains. Do they think that thy blood, which bespattered that snow, And thy poor shattered body, which now lies so low, Do not cry from the earth, to us, brave British sons. To clutch with a vengeance both our swords and our guns, And march right on the foe as we've oft done before, And hew him to atoms, as we did Theodore ? Thy voice from the earth, like that of Abel, doth rise ; And it rends' all our hearts, as it soars to the skies. Oh ! they'll feel their mistake, in that wild prairie land, When the sword is once clutched by a Briton's right hand 1 We will show Riel's rights, to be nothing but wrongs — We will turn into wailing, his war-whoops and songs ! We will dig him a grave, on that very same spot. Where they shed the brave blood, of our Martyr — Tom Scott. Not a half-breed, nor whole-breed, who took part in his death, Shall we ever forgive till we draw our last breath ! We'll send troop after troop, of our young volunteers To bring those to justice, who have brought us to tears. For who that has read of our dear Martyr Tom Scott, How he begged to be killed when they had him half shot, How he cried — i'-wi a Briton ! I ask but my rights ! How he pined in the dungeon, through long days and nights ; II k 42 RANDOM RHYMES. How he threatened, when shackled, and dared all his foes, Can avoid shedding tears, when we think of his woes ! ! Read of Queen Mary, with her frail head on the block, With her foes all around her, to sneer and to mock. With no one to sympathise, and no one to fret. But know that poor Scott was more desolate yet. Mary's head, from her body, was snapped off with one blow. And her pet dog, then lapped her hot blood in its flow Not so with our hero and martvr — Tom Scott, Whom those iLsolent rebels at Garry have shot. Ah ! he had ro: a dog, who could dare to come near, To lick hi.^ > death-wounds, and his sad heart to cheer. No brother, or sister, or companion, or friend, Was there wi . tb ..r sorrows, that with his they might blend. Thus Canada's first martyr, for freedom has died, And his blood, to his brothers, for vengeance has cried ! OUR VALENTINE. Twenty-one years ago, to-day, A pretty babe was born, they say, Away down at old Thistlehill ; Our Valentine, whose sparkling eyes, Have changed to laughs our deepest sighs : She teaches now at Canboyville. Moorfield, Feb. 14th, 1882. F. AND M. f 1 I dared all his : of his woes ! ! on the block, I to mock, ) fret, ate yet. d off with one d in its flow cott, shot. lome near, heart to cheer. nd, lis they might s died, 26 has cried ! sighs : F. AND M. I PRAY THEE HAVE ME EXCUSED. 43 WRITTEN FOR MISS C. J. BOOTHE'S AUTO- GRAPH ALBUM. Miss Katie J., when I'm away. And others take my place ; Let thoughts of me, midst all your glee, Still light your pretty face. ONLY ONE. Oh ! for a friend that will not flinch. When enemies are nigh — Only One, who won't give an inch. Though he should^ with me die. With such a noble friend at hand, I'll fight my foes, on sea or land ! ! (When at College, I sent these lines to our Classic Professor Rev. Dr. Stuart. My " black mark " was cancelled forthwith.) * " I PRAY THEE HAVE ME EXCUSED. Lukexiv, 18. " Turn morning, sir, it was my fate, To come to class a little late ; And when I asked to be excused. You sternly, and at once, refused. And now, my only antidote Is to sit down, and write this note ; And as my watch was rather slow/ You will forgive me, sir, I know. " Jan. 13th ]862. 'At % ■^ 44 RANDOM RHYMES. || " In the Drayton New Era of last week, Poet Moore, in a few neat stanzas, containing poetry and pun, does ample justice to the marriage of a Mr. Schell of that locality." Editor Arthur Enter- prise. TO MR. ALFRED SCHELL, OF MOOREFIELD. Dear Mr. Schell, I wish you well And hope you may succeed ; As now I find, you feel inclined, To make some sad hearts bleed. But I'm afraid, your pretty maid Has caused some bosoms sigh ; And when they sighed, she in her pride. Just calmly passed them by. n She ali forsook, and wisely took. Her choice with you to dwell ; To play you tricks, and care your chicks Soon as they chip the shell. ';. You and your bride, the knot have tied, Neath Curate Gard' »er's care ; So now we pray, you always may, Have blessings rich and rare. And as you stray, through life's rough way, ! - May ocean, through its swells, R^l on your coast, a mighty host, Of precious litfcJe Schells. PARSONS. To-day again, as other men. Attend their avocation ; Preachers proceed, to write and read About the soul's salvation. CAPT. BATES AND LADY. 45 kloore, in a few e justice to the Arthur JEnter- LEFIELD. 3e, !ks way, CAPT. BATES AND LADY. Among the passengers who disembarked at Guelph yesterday — July ISfch, 1878 — were a gentleman and lady, who were not only head and shoulders, but also waist, above the heads of those around them. They were Captain and Mrs. Bates, who have just come east frjm their quiet farm at Seville, Ohio. I had an intro- duction to them, and found them very agreeable company. Mr. Bates is 34 years old, and it may be truly said that he is the one giant who is handsome. He weighs 478 lbs., and his wife 433 lbs. His wife will be remembered by surviving frequenters of Barnum's old Broadway Museum, as Miss Anna Swan, then called the Nova Scotia Giantess. The Captain met her in 1870, and they were mar- ried a year later. Of strength the pigmy often prates. Not so our mighty Captain Bates; Though he, indeed, might well afford To boast that e'en the Wallace sword Would be but like a little wand When swung by his gigantic hand. Goliath's staff, though like a beam, To him as light as air would seem ; And Gaza's gates, if in this land, He'd carry oft" in his right hand. Nor does he ever wear a frown, Although on mankind he looks down For all the men of our small race Must still look up to see his face. As Saul was chosen for his height, I choose this captain for his might ; And giant beauties are so few, I choose him for his beauty, too. ^ • In him a perfect man we find, Both as to stature and to mind. {*» ft 11 46 RANDOM RHYMES. His dear wife, too, though somewhat wan, Moves gently as the whitest swan : Though " Swan" she was, yet through the fates, We now must call her Mrs. Bates. Bright Nova Scotia's noblest child, On whom both heaven and earth have smiled ; Though giantess, through heaven's gi-ace. She deigns to own our tiny race ; For when she stands on stage or street, In height she measures o'er eight feet ; To Captain Bates she lends a charm, Whene'er she leans upon his arm. Both, eight feet high, they stand to-day, And move along this world's highway. Two mofe, who weigh nine hundred pounds, Cannot be found, in earth's wide bounds. Come, then, and take at them a glance, For this may be your only chance. Diogenes, from porch to porch. Searched Athens' streets with lighted torch ; Though very wise, he took this plan, In broad daylight to find a man. Just so have I, in days of yore. Sought all this earth from shore to shore ; " And being young, and wild and free, I sought it then from sea to sea ; But man like Bates I've never seen, Nor woman like his noble queen ! This captain's praise I therefore sing. Because of mankind he's the king. July 18th, 1876. THE DANGER OF BAD EXAMPLE. 47 THE DANGER OF BAD EXAMPLE. A FARMER had a piece of land, Through which a river flowed ; This river ran before his door, And then it crossed the road. And on this roaJ a wooden bridge Was built both strong and wide, To bear those up, who wished to cross The river's rolling tide. But o'er its murky waters lay, A long since fallen tree, Full thirty rods above this bridge. Which stretched from lea to lea. And as the father daily went. To labor on his farm. He led his bov across this tree, And little thought of harm. One day the farmer in his fields. Was working at his hay. Then teasingly, for many hours, This little boy would say : — " Please, ma, do let me run across. To play with pa a while." The mother, wearied by the child, Consented with a smile. Away he scampered o'er the green, His heart was full of glee, He did not run around the bridge. He ran right toward this tree. '1 ^' t 48 RANDOM RHYMES. This tree, o'er "which his father oft, Had led him by the hand ; He's on it now, and step by step. He's moving from the land. Full fifteen feet from either bank, This dear child trembling stands ; His head is reeling, and he hides His eyes beneath his hands. He feels a rumbling in his head ; He hears the roaring stream ; He topples o'er and, Oh ! he's gone. With one unearthly scream ! No father stands upon these banks, His darling boy to save ; The loved one splashes for a while ; Then finds a wat'ry grave. Now, if this father taught his child, To shun that fallen tree — If he had led him o'er the bridge, He'd have him yet, you see. And so it is, with all those who Dare curse, and swear, and drink ; Their offspring they are leading on, To ruin's darkest brink. LIFE IS SHORT. Our life is but a short day ; How soon it passes away ! We are given our breath, But soon chilling death, Consigns us all to the clay. THE DEVIL. THE DEVIL. If I could catch the devil, right behind his donkey ears, I tell you, sir, I'd squeeze him tight, and tighter still, till down the tears Would flow like rain. I'd kick him too, till not another kick my boot could bear, I'd also thump, yes, that I would, with hold of hair. Lest he should gain. I think, if I were tried, I'd fight him ^n fair play, Without a chance to catch and cufl', and kick him in this way, It's hard to tell ; Father was a better man than I, yet Satan's squeeze Has often made him sigh and groan, and brought him to his knees, And near to hell. And, sir, I am persuaded, and that fully in my mind. That if old Satan now were dead, no creature of man- kind Could better feel. Why, sir, do you wonder at my saying so ? I say so still ; And though I wish all this, and more, and more, I wish no ill It's to the De'il : That old serpent, who has stung so many, e'en in private life ; See that troubled husband's heart, hear the tongue of his cross wife. Who does all this ? Is it neighbors, who always like to see neighbors fight. Or is it friends, who wish their friends to do what's right ? Am I amiss ? ii 1 l^i )0 RANDOM RHYMES. Ii Know you not that all the sickness, ptain, and death Which e'er have cursed this earth, through all its length and breadth, Are Satan's sons ; Just think of all the blood that war has lately shed. Think of all the battle-fields, their dying and their dead ! Their booming guns ! ! Then think of heathendom — its Ganges and its Nile : Its bowing down to " Unknown gods," before the funeral pile! Aye ! think and pray. And think of all the racks and screws our ancient fathers bore. And hear our bygone mothers' cries, which linger on the shore. All passed away ! And preachers' wants, you know, are like the stars of heaven, They seem so vast to those who once to him and his had given Their cheap blessing ; They never gave him a cent to pay him for his preaching, Nor a piece of good ham meat, this would be overreach- Yea, distressing. Their shrivelled souls, could wish him preach a sermon good on Sunday, But they'd like to have him go to heaven, for bread on Monday, And there remain, Through all the week, to live on angels' food, to Wear the crown. MISS EMMA DAVIDSON. 51 i death '1 its length ' shed, their dead ! i Nile : he funeral And on the ensuing Sabbath, both clothed and fed, coine down And preach again. But, if this strange "Old Nick" were nicked, by cutting off his head, Or by placing in his stomach a ton of boiling lead. All would be Avell ! >nt fathers ?er on the ■ stars of I his had •caching, erreach- sermon ead on sar the MISS EMMA DAVIDSON, THE BELLE OF HUSTONVILLE. Among the ladies of this town I never saw one yet, Whom*all the gentlemen adore. As they do thee, my pet. A.nd ah ! no wonder they should love A lass so young and fair, With angel eyes, and dimpled cheeks, And lovely chestnut hair. Thy ruby lips, and marble brow ; Thy well-framed nose and chin. When gentle smiles dare intervene, The proudest heart could win. If thou wouldst deign to cast a glance. At one who loves thee still; I very soon would call my own. The Belle of Hustonville. 52 BANDOM BBYMES, FREEDOM. And yet the Russia of to-dav Compels its czar to ride this wav Where nihifctf rvlrr ' """^ ' fers]o?rcKb"«'- Moorefield July I879. • LIFE IN TORONTO. •ioh. LIFE IN TORONTO. 53 ee, And jointed oak, prepared for floors, And coaches, cabs, and shining rigs, Right full of curls and grey old wigs. The walk along the other side, Exhibits life and city pride ; For there I see an endless throng, Constantly chat and move along, Some to inhale the morning air And others bent with heavy care. Ladies, like peacocks, flaunting gay And farmers in their homespun grey. And youthful f oplings wearing rings. Standing collars and other things ; With hats aslant, hung on three hairs. With dogs, and canes, and pompous airs. There Pat Malone goes trudging down, With lawyer Cross, with bag and gown ; Now Paddy's voice rings on the air. To use an oath he does not dare. He only says : " In troth in sowl, I struck him, sir, and made him howl. Faix, all who know me say I'm civil. But know that he's the very devil. Upon my sowl, air, once again, The very thought afiects my brain. How dared he spill my glass of gin, And then go kiss dear Mary Flinn, The very girl I loved so dear. As pay her way from Ireland here. Assault and batt'ry — sure, bedad ! 'Twas nothing only fun we had ; A clout or two, on eyes and nose. And holes in both our Sunday clothes ! " 54 BANBOM BHTMES. And brfk/hkl'^'""™'^ hi3 shin bone Ueardnon,„rto%dlt;^r' JEALOUSY. Before rdha'T-'' ^""'^ ^"^e- ^ofn^S^r^^l-Sea^ I care not how the cord^ nf i JEALOUSY. 56 Just see that woman sitting there, With cold angelic brow, She once was young, and free from care, But is not so just now. WhaV makes this lady look so sad ? Her children all seem gay : They know no better, but she does, Their father is away. And oh ! she thinks, " his heart is weaned, From this poor heart of mine. He cares not for the mazy dance, Nor yet the sparkling wine. " But ah ! that damsel's luring smiles, (His giddy, vain coquette). Now so engages all his thoughts, That I'm no more his pet. " He sometimes used to call me dear ; He sometimes does so still. But does it sound as once it did ? Ah ! no, and never will ! " I saw him once cajoling her ; She looked as pleased as life, She acted towards him just as if " She was his loving wife. " I felt just then as if my heart. My troubled heart would burst ; I felt as if a thousand darts Into her heart I'd thrust. " 1 wished him dead a thousand "times, I felt so much enraged ; i> 56 RANDOM RHYMES. And from that moment down to this, My wrath is not assuaged." Oh ! jealousy ! whene'er thy fangs Have fastened in a soul, It has not then within itself, The power of self control ! ''•U in my ccngratulatory address on the establishment of a Daily Mail by Stage to Uustonville, I find the following : We hope this mail may never fail To bring us new a and friends from far ; Nor be effaced until replaced, By a substantial railway car. THERE IS A GOD. The works of God do speak abroad, The wonders of His name ; The smallest brook, in darkest nook, Displays to us his fame. The little ant, and smallest plant, ^ The humming-bird and bee, And insects too, which are, 'tis true, Too small for man to see, Do speak abroad, the power of God, With voices loud and shrill ; And say their birth proves, that on earth He works His Sovereign will. ■w— TO MRS. IBA EDMUNDS. Again, if we, do solemnly, Behold the lightnings flash ; And then do hear, with Godly fear, The rumbling thunders crash. And then behold, with feelings cold, The winter's howling blast. Which does explain, with hoarse disdain. The sinner's doom at last. We'll surely know, that here below. There reigns a God of love ; E'en as he reigns o'er all the plains. Of that bright world above. 67 THE BEST THEOLOGY. That Theology is the best. Which man in this life e'er possessed, Which makes a man, while here, secure A life benevolent and pure. TO MRS. IRA EDMUNDS, OF HOLLIN. Since to thy home, to board I've come, I ask thy special care ; And if I stray from wisdom's way, Then grant a mother's prayer. And this boon too, I ask of you, A mother's kind reproof. So long as I, with care shall try. To dwell beneath thy roof. May 2ith 1859. D 58 RANDOM RHYMES. FAIR THISTLEHILL. Up comes the pen, down goes the book, As out of the window I look. Indeed, I must write, though I write not with ease. About the effect of the heart-cheering breeze. Which sometimes flies off, or perhaps lies so still, That it lives not at all on fair Thistlehill. This morning I see its effect, Its movements I plainly detect, Though onward it moves, without even a sigh. These flowers which drooped, and were ready to die. Lift up their parched leaves, and by nodding declare, That of its fragrant breath they all richly share. The birds also cheerfully prove. That this breeze, they ardently love. Those charming canaries, that swing in their cage. Sing more sweetly now, than they have for an age, And they open their beaks, and with voices shrill, They sing for Naomi, on fair Thistlehill. July 14th, 1861. . FAKEWELL TO GLEN-ALLAN. (parody.) With a quivering lip, dear Glen- Allan, With a sorrowful tear in my eye, With a heart, full of deepest emotion, I am forced now to bid thee good bye. Though the word seems too chilling to utter, Though it rends from my heart a deep sigh, Yet with voice full of boundless emotion, Glen-Allan, dear village, good bye. e, re, TEMPUS FUGIT. Farewell to those kind Christian neighbors, Who have wept with us, while in our woe ; Farewell, to all those who have aided In watching, dear Willie, while low ; And the hand that in tenderest kindness, Closed forever his sparkling black eyes ; May the God of our darling reward them, And give them a home in the skies. Farewell to thy cheerful surroundings, Thy beautiful river and rills. Thy halls, and thy churches, and graveyards. Thy valleys, and wheatgrowing hills. Though the word seems too chilling to utter, Though it wrings from my heart a deep sigh, Yet, with voice full of boundless emotion. Glen- Allan, deur village, good bye ! ! 69 THE BEST EDUCATION. Erudition gained at college, Cannot equal that self-knowledge. Which, by experience, we gain. Through hardest labour, grief, and pain. TEMPUS FUGIT. Another day has passed away. Just like the early dew. Or like the cloud, which does enshroud The morning's crimson hue i So with the life, of joy, or strife. Which here we mortals spend ; Just like a dream, to us 'twill seem When hurried to its end. I 60 RANDOM RHYMES. THE CHERRY TREE. h TO MISS SARAH EDMONDS. To thee I'll write a line or two About this tree which shaded you, In days of yore ; But if you laugh about this scrap, Although you think I need a nap, I'll write no more. This tree, this handsome cherry tree, Which sheltered you, and now shades me From those hot rays. Which penetrate its spacious boughs. And cause its tiny leaflets close, On sunny days. As now I view its spacious shade, I think of Him whose hand has made The earth and sea ; And know that Jonah's blighted gourd Such lasting joys could ne'er afford, , To you and me. Oh ! may its branches still extend. And may the little warblers lend Their songs of praise ; Long as they perch within its boughs, And it on thee its shadow throws. In future days. May 1859. ] THE FLOODED RIVER. 61 A DIFFERENCE. Last Monday night, while in this place, 1 heard a dismal tale. Which said that Hollin's dark disgrace, Was — That it did not fail Still to prodvjce a trickster, ivho, Would cheat his dearest Jriend ; And tell consummate falsehoods too. To bring about that end. Then Hollin's folk should never " guess," That they are on a par With Moorefield boys, who always bless The produce of the jar ; And swallow down the social glass. Which always makes them sing, Or bellow forth, just like an ass. The honors of their king. For though they act in this wild way, And squander time and health, And money too, which thing they say, Is not procured by stealth ; They never try to cheat a friend. Or shave without some soap. Though all their joys, do seem to end, In swearing at the Pope ! THE FLOODED RIVER. I LOVE the Spiing amidst its wreck Of ice, and snow, and rain; When the wild river rushes forth, To reach the distant main. 62 RANDOM RHYMES. 1 ' I I like to see it bear along Its conquered foe, the ice ; Which down it carries to its tomb, And buries slice by slice. I love to wander on its banks, And he' • its thund'ring roar ; As o'er its fall it pitches low, And foams from shore to shore. Grand emblem of the life we live, As through this world we roam. Oppressed by care, and grief, and strife, Until we reach our home. MINISTERIAL VOW. Before the Lord to-day I bow, And make this everlasting vow, I vow that I ^ Will henceforth try To promulgate His cause, By showing those, who are His foes. The terror of His laws. I vow that I, Until I die. Will hold the Gospel plough ; And naught on earth, of wealth or mirth. Will cause me break my vow. But as I preach, And try to teach. That truth which makes us free ; f O Lord, I pray, thy spirit may Still guide and comfort me. t John chap, viii, v, 32, PHILOSOPHY. 68 THE SNOW. The thawing snow will shortly go, Like ev'ry fleeting blessing ; And leave behind some feelings kind, And others quite distressing. I'll think of days, when sunny rays Did on its bosom glisten ; While cheered along, by merry song, I, to my bells did listen. To bells that rang, and belles that sang, On that bright sunny even ; When with a sigh, I said I'd die. And go right up to Heaven. If Ellen dear, would not adhere. To what I then was speaking, For then I said, with hands outspread. With love my heart was breaking. Bright, pleasant snow ; say, must you go. And thus destroy our sleighing ; Or, can't you wait, and still elate Those hearts with love decaying ? PHILOSOPHY. The best philosophy I find. Is to possess a tranquil mind ; Whose placid surface lies serene, No matter what is heard, or seen. 64 n RANDOM RHYMES. EVEN-SONG. All earthly things must have an end, Whene'er that end may be, For this bright day could not extend, Beyond its boundary. Then, Gracious Master, let my end. Be like this sunny eve. And to that end, be thou my friend. And then my soul receive. HEAVEN. We look at earth, and earthly things ; We view the pomp of worldly kings ; Their gold and rank, which oft take wings, And know that death, e'en their hearts stings, And then we think of Heaven. We think of all the grief and woe. Which sin and Satan here do sow, The booming cannon's fiery glow ; The wid and thee. mn • 66 RANDOM RHYMES. Or otherwise a lonely grave, May hide this mortal frame, Although I'm naturally brave, And bear a chieftain's name. • Perhaps no slab will tell the place, Where first I breathed a breath ; Nor word be cut in marble face, To show my home in death. A stranger's hand may close these eyes, Which now look love on thee ; A stranger's ears may hear my sighs, Alone in Tennessee. No hand on earth like thy dear hand, No ear to hear like thine ; Nor is there on this earth a band Of lovely pets like mine. Then while I go to seek for health, Far down in Tennessee ; I ask that thou, in woe or wealth. May still remember me. THE QUAIL. Now flap your wings, and spread your tail, And fly away, you foolish quail ; For if you don't, as sure as life, I'll shoot, and take you to my wife. God gave you senses, ears and eyes. And sturdy wiDgs to cleave the skies ; Why don't you then ?xert these things, And use your ears, and eyos and wings ? THE DUN. 6T Your instinct says " I'm sure to fail, Because my hand can't reach your tail," But reason long since me has taught. That I can reach you with some shot. And as you're neither blind nor lame. I tLink it neither sin nor shame To pull this trigger e'er you fly, And send some grains to make you die. Defiant still, this foolish quail Would neither use its wings nor tail ! I raised my gun, took steady aim, And very soon I bagged my game. Mr. MooREFiELD, Dec. 8th, 1875, -Debtor To W. W. Moore, $5.91 I MUST pay bills accruing due. Excuse me then for dunning you; And if the cash you cannot bring ; Potatoes, or some other thing. Good hay, or oats, or grist of wheat, Or flour, or cheese, or side of meat, Just bring along some gc-d dry wood, And pay this trifle as you should. ^1 Ji*^i M^ 68 RANDOM RHYMES. I I OUR LOT IS CAST ; ALL HAVE CARES. The wary birds perceive their lot, And vigil keep lest they be shot ; And when our piercing winters come, The sunny south becomes their home. Though born here, and here would stay, Their lot is cast, they must obey ; The woods, where they had learned to sing, They're forced to leave, on quiv'ring wing. While tlius their native groves they leave, Surely their little hearts must grieve. The poor worms, too, which, when we meet, We crush to dea^h beneath our feet, Must feel tlieir grief to be profound, Since they are forced to crawl the ground. The fishes too, that swim the sea, From rueful lots are not quite free ; 'Midst harpoons, hooks, and loopy twine, How oft they're snatched from out the brine ; And e'er they reach the boiling pot, How oft they mourn tlieir doleful lot. The cooing dove, the timid hare, And gentle fawn are full of care. The nimble deer now lightly bounds. Before the hungry, yelping hounds ; But as she jumps, full well she knows They smell her tracks, where e'er she goes. No wonder then, her heart would fret. While thus she knows her lot is set. The gentle sheep may browse and bleat, Until her master wants some meat; m\ OUR LOT IS CAST; ALL HAVE CARES. Then maugre lambs and silken wool, He cuts her throat, or breaks her skull. Behold that cow, she's nobly bred, See how she holds her graceful head ! She whisks the flies with her long tail, But never kicks the flowing pail. Yet, see that man, with sharpened knife, Hold down her calf, and take its life ; And that before her glowing eyes, While both their voicos rend the skies ; The dying calf implores for life ; Its mother cries — " Oh ! stay that knife ! " Behold the horse, of any breed, The heavy dray, or racing steed, The draft horse pulls his heavy load, Until he falls down on the road ; He jumps right up, and starts afresh, With shattered knees, and trembling flesh. He vainly pulls, his strength is done, Yet, teamster flogs him, as for fun. The trotter dashes round the course, With snapping whip, and driver hoarse ; She did it twice, this is her last. The winning post, she's flying past, The line is crossed, look at the stand. The board is in the judge's hand, .A.nd there, quite plainly, can be seen. The glowing figures, " Two fourteen." The driver's hat, as well as wig. Are pitched high oft' his head and gig, He sponges Pet's distended nose. And rubs her down, from head to toes. 69 i 70 RANDOM RHYMES. They admire her form — praise her breed, And glory in her matchless speed ; But Pet, next day, could tell a tale About the little, rusty nail, About the flinty gravel, too, That stole between her hoof and shoe, And, if she had a human tongue, She might say something of her lung. She's highly bred, and she can trot. But still there's trouble in her lot. THE PET PIG Though my pet pig Has now grown big, Soon as it hears me whistle ; It runs and grunts. And for food hunts. While strange pigs set their bristle. I call the dog ; Then my pet hog Comes running for its dinner ; While neighbor's hogs Look out for dogs, And run Hke any sinner ! If doubting men Call at the Glen, On any future day ; With hands on hips, I'll pout my lips, And prove just what I say. Olenallan, Oct. 1868. " YOUNG MAN, GO WEST.* 71 "YOUNG MAN, GO WEST." Young man, go west, Like all the rest, Both old and young are going ; Like a dream, Or a stream. Eternally they're flowing, To the West. All our neighbors Stop their labors. Their unmilked cows are lowing ; And their sheep Stand and weep. And wonder what they're doing Going West. The tenant's dead. Out there, 'tis said. And harsh landlords are unknown ; Ev'ry man Finds a plan To get land that's all his own. In the West. Go and take it. Start to break it. That's just all you have to do ; Go and stand On the land, And you're lord of all you view, In the West. ■ 1 ,11^ 72 KANDOM RHYMES. Jilt. I ODE TO THE SUN. Beautiful Sun, Thy couibo is run, And now 'tis dreary night ; And as T muse, Just what I choose, I write by poor, lamp light. With other spheres, Six thousand years. Right in thy well-known way, With steady tread, Thou'st marched ahead. Nor rested night nor day. Art thou a soul Who can control, Thy course that's daily run ; And canst, thou still, Thy pounds fulfil, And say when they are done: " Til take my ease, Just when I please, ril hide my precious light ; And cast all spheres, Midst woes and tears, Into eternal night." Or wert thou sent Through God's intent. To show our sinful race That as thy light Shone day and night. So does His boundless grace. ODE TO THE SUN. 78 And as thy light, Shone day and night, Since day and night began ; So has His love. Shone from above, To cheer poor, simple man. No servant fair. In earth or air, Could e'er more faithful be ; Not e'en the wave, Which does so lave, The beach virhich bounds the sea. We can see change, Through all the range, Creation doth portray ; But all through time. In ev'ry clime. Thou wast as thou'rt to-day. No feet hast thou. To walk, I trow, With sorely blistered toes ; Nor downy bed, To rest thy head, And yet I ask — Who Knows ? Perhaps thou hast. Through ages past, Received a bounteous pay ; To run around. Earth's utmost bound, And bless us in this way. And if thou hast, Why not at last, fi '■•I m 3*.' i 74 f! n ■: li RANDOM RHYMES. Engage some other sun ; To take thy place, And move apace, Thy weary course to run ? That thou, thus blest, May'st have a rest. From all thy weary toil ; For I dare vow, I think just now. Thy wheels must need some oil. Yet I can't see. By viewing thee, A single wheel or wing ; A head or tail, An oar or sail, Or any moving thing. But like an eye. Placed in the sky. You look with fiery glow. And strike those blind Who would dare find. Through human sight to know, How brightly pure. Thou canst endure To shed thy precious rays, And not exhaust. Through heat or frost, Thy light through endless days. No floods of oil Dost thou e'er boil. No whirling clouds oi smoke. iJ ODE TO THE SUN. 76 No hissing steam, Nor whistle's scream, No harness, chains, nor yoke. Thy gas ne'er failt, Nor do thy sails E'er need the aid of twine ; Nor does thy head, Though blazing red, E'er reel through too much wine. Then while we're told, By those of old, That angels must have food , We must exclaim. In Wisdom's name, Who are the tiny brood ? That they should dare, With thee compare. Who does not need to eat The sweetest pies Beneath the sKies, Nor yet the best of meat. Though they can talk, And laugh, and walk, And fly to worlds unknown, They are so shy, Like butterfly, They're here and then they're gone. But thou alone. Dost hold thy throne, While earthly cannons rust ; Or, while they roar From shore to shore. And nations fall to dust. m 76 RANDOM RHYMES. While Rome and Greece, With golden fleece, And Sparta's soldiers brave, Midst their glory, Song and story, Lie silent in the grave. That God alone, Can seize thy throne, Who made thee what thou art. And only He, Can say to thee — " Thy glory must depart ! " But as a man Readily can Destroy the weakest fly. So He with ease. Whene'er he please, Can blot thee from the sky. GRACE. At my Birthday Din-ner. We thank Thee, Lord, for daily food, O ! grant that it may do us good ; And as to-day I'm forty -five, Still bless us all while we're alive ; And when all earthly ties are riven, Then let us feast with Thee in Heaven. -Amen. Deo. 25, 1882. BITHIAH TO NAOMI. 77 BITHIAH TO NAOMI. While at the Collegiate Institute, Brant/ord. I SIT alone, up in my room, And I'm neither smart nor witty ! But as I sit, of course, I think Of Naomi, in the city. The house is still, and very dull. And as I sit, and think, and write, I fain would have you pack your books, And take the train for home to-night. Pa says that half the house seems gone ! And you, I think, would say the same If you would come and peep around, And see mamma, she acts so tame. The children, too, yes, every one, A hundred kisses to you send, And say they wish the Brantford folk. One sight of you to us would lend. Now, pack your books, and come right back, Right back to dear old Hustonville, And say to Brantford school farewell, And you'll our dearest wish fulfil. June 1879. BiTHIAH OrNAN MooRE. 1 nen. ON THE FLYSHEET OF "BIGOTRY DEMOLISHED. " Mr. Bailie, When you have nothing else to do, The pages of this book pursue ; For in them couched, you'll surely find * The tracings of a master mind. ii 78 RANDOM RHYMES. HUSTONVILLE REQUIEM. Poor Hustonville ! you must not die, Until I speak your name ; And sing the lonely requiem, Which does my heart inflame. How little do the passers-by, Who vainly wag the head. Know of thy by -gone, joyous days, Though now thou'rt nearly dead. How little do they know that here. O'er twenty years ago, Friend Tromenhaucer built a dam. To stop the river's flow. And built a mill, three stories high. And built a sawmill too. That we might grind our wheat at home, And have our lumber new. Nor do they care, a single hair, j . That this same powerful dam, Which I, with joy, when but a boy, Helped build with Buck and Lamb. Were carried down the rolling stream, And ne'er return again ; Just like the thoughts, which from my brain^ Roll through this tardy pen. But though they sneer, when passing by, And laugh thee now to scorn ; Thou had'st a jolly, happy day, E'er Moorefield had been born. HUSTONVILLE REQUIEM. Four stores thou did'st for years sustain, And many garlands won, Long, long before we ever thought We'd have a Palmerston And blacksmiths' shops had ample work, At night their anvils rang ; Our bootmakers then waxed their thread, And love-songs gaily sang. Tes, long before these thundering cars, Had dared to pass us by, Before they tolled their deathlike bell. Which said that we should die. Our churches, too, when Sabbath came, Wei'e filled to overflow ; The passers-by may shake their heads, As now it is not so. , The two hotels that here had stood. For over twenty years, To Jill the poor man's purse ivith cash, To dry tJte orpJuins tears ! (.?) Alas ! alas ! in ashes now. They smoulder in our sight ; And not a drunkard e'er disturbs The stillness of our night. An Orange Lodge once flourished here, And beat its powerful drum ; And Richey sold good whiskey here. And Belden sold good rum. To-day our streets look desolate ; Some sheep with lengthy fleece, 79 ii Si H 4 I 1^1 jjj I- ■'1' 80 RANDOM RHYMES. Run Up and down most li.stieHsly, And so do Hocks of geese ; As well as many saucy pigs, Which lounge around the doors, And squeal for food until the dead Could almost hear their roars. No doctoi's now our streets infest, To mix a hasty pill ; To salivate, or loose the teeth. Or dreary graves to fill. Though some may think it very strange, Or say, it is not so ; There fi not one here, who here had lived Just tiventy years aijo. James Davidson, from Drayton comes, To haul our town away ; He ilrst pulled off the dwelling-house Of Lieutenant Tom Gray. And placed it down, at Moorefield town. To make a parsonage, Of Wittie's shop they'll make a church, Our anger to assuage. And off to Moorefield he is now, Removing it with s{)eed ; Because at Hustonville, he thinks, Of prayers we have no need. Robinson's store, he soon will move, • If it don't totter down. For it is now the oldest store In this poor shattered town. w HUSTONVILLE REQUIEM. Our bootmaker is bound to Hit, He says this coming fall ; Then Jim will have anothoi job, If Brendle's shop he haul. Though Beemer's shop, which Belden built, Is made of massive stone ; E'en this old shop, I'll bet my kilt, Thev will not let alone. They'll tear it down, and take the stones, To build a MooreHeld mill ; Or build a private residence. On Parson Moore's old hill. Who k; 1WS but soon that time will come, When canny, cool McBeth Will haul the old McChary shops, With all their length and breadth. Anu place them on McCuUoch's lots, Right o'er the railway track ; And move his rusty engine too, And never more come back. Onr mercy sti)! we do enjoy, Which none can from us bike. That is our bathing place, which now Is nice as any lake. While Moorefield's folk enjoy themselves. By singing sacied hymns ; We, Hustonites, enjoy ourselves, Midst dives and lengthy swims. Our river's nice, meand'ring bed, Will keep its onward tlovv ; Though every one in Huston vi lie, To Moort^field up should go. 81 ■ifm R'i- Uiu Ei^?: f, I I 82 RANDOM RHYMES. Alas ! alas ! rlcar Huston villo, Though now thou art forlorn, Whene'er I think of l)y-gone days, My heart is forced to mourn And though just now in death's cold grasp, Thy limbs lie cold and still, I say midst all my youthful thoughts, I love thee, Huston ville. August, 1876. A LONE WATCH.MEETING~1870-1877. It's Sunday night, the snow is deep. The frost bechills the air, And many voices o'er this earth, Are heard in sacred prayer. And many hands around this globe. Are raised in love toward Heaven, To render thanks for seventy-six, As well as seventy-seven. The dear Old V^ear is grey with age ; The New is young and fair ; The New comes in with merry chime ; The Old goes out 'midst prayer. Eighteen hundred and seventy-six, Has had its ups and downs. And eigliteen hundred, seventy-seven. Will have its smiles and frowns. I'm sitting all alone, alone ! My wife and children sleep ; J A LONE WATCH-MEETING. 83 And as I wake the Old Year out, I'm almost forced to weep. I hear the clock in solemn tones, Say, ''Though, indeed, 'tivas brave, I Tunv mu3t atrike tfie laat, f^ad bUnv, And send it to its grave" Ah ! think of how this poor, Old Year, Preserved this land of ours From such sad wars, as now disturb The peace of other powers ! And think of how it has withheld Such pestilential gales As those which swept o'er Asia's plains, ArAd ransacked all its dales. And think of how its commerce grew, Of how its trade pre rressed ; Of how it willed us all the wealth, Of which we're now poasessed. How many millions has it blessed, Both potentate and slave ! How many, then, with me to-night, Should weep beside its grave ? Come ! ere we close its coffin lid, Let one long prayer be given, ' That as its days are done on earth, it long may rest in Heaven. The Young Year now, like pretty babe. Is dressed in snowy white, And truly happy we should be. To see this babe to-night. if hi 1*1 W: I( 84 RANDOM RHYMES. Though some are piiiin;^ on sad 1)«hIs Of sorrow and disease, This pretty babe called seventy-seven, Their troubled thoughts appease. They feel that though through seventy-six, They often wept through j)ain ; Since they have lived till seventy-seven, They're sure of health again. Those smitten hearts, which in the past, Through true-love did repine, Are full of hope, that in this year, Their loving arms will twine Around the necks of those they love, And, witliout sigh or moan. Kiss, o'er and o'er, their lovei-s' lips. And kiss them as their own. And those dear mothers, who have sat, From morn till setting sun, And wept and ])rayed their wayward ones Might have their wanderings done. That they once more may shed a tear, Of gratitude n nd joy, Since this bright year of seventy-seven, Has brought them back their boy ; Has brought them too, that much loved girl. Who strayed from Wisdom's ways, But now returns to make amends, Through all her future days. The New Year brings vacation too, When those that air at school, ACliOSTli; 85 Get free from all their little cares, As well as masters' rule. Like swallows now, they glide along The sheets of glassy ice ; Their freedom, and their slippy skates. They value above price. Our markets too, are very brisk, (3ur roads not slushed by rain ; And farmers, on their heavy sleighs, Bring in their golden grain. Though we outlived old seventy-six. We may not seventy -seven ; Then let us all, with one accord, Prepare to meet in Heaven. ACROSTIC. My lovely friend, dear Miss Munro, In streams my love to you does How, Since dear Naomi gave to me Such glowing portraitures of thee. Mellitiuous thy gentle voice. And eyes of blue — an angel's choice. Grand locks of flowing light-brown hair, (.xiven to grace thy face so fair. In manner portly and serene, E'en dignified, as any (pieen. My heart from aches, will ne'er be free. Until thy charming fac(; I see ; Nor shall 1 fail, when 1 have trie^ Photographic Sciences Corporation n9m*rm/m'^tmmmmmim 92 . RANDOM RHYMES. AN IRISH HALLOW-E'EN. On Hall-e'en night, With faces bright, The boys and girls assemble ; The girls so sweet, And gay and neat, That angels they resemble. The boys all spry, With laughing eye, Be witchingly beguiling ; Run here and there, With pompous air, To keep their loved ones smiling. ■^ They make a trump, Of cabbage stump. And blow a blast unceasing ; While other boys. With little noise, Their neighbor's roosts are fleecing. Drove after drove, Oft cease to rove. And bring their precious plunder ; And cast it down. Without a frown, 'Midst laughter loud as thunder. Here now comes Jack, And on his back, A greyish, well-fed gander ; The grey goose, too, He brings, 'tis true. And to the girls does hand her. ,<; AN IRISH hallow-e'en. 9B On their backs, Come living sacks, Of squeaking ducks and chickens ; And here there came, Though he was lame, A renegade called Dickens Who, by his side, With honest pride, A good old fiddle carried ; Whose slender strings, Like living thin^. Rejoiced when neighbors married. And here there came, A man whose name, I cannot now remember ; But he would tell. To bean and belle. Their fortunes in November. Now Biddy Foy, Brimful of joy, Stood up and spoke aloud ; " Let each one pluck, A chick, or duck, To feed the hungry crowd." Then, in thpy went, With hearts content ; To set the feathers flying ; Ere they were done. They had such fun. Through laughter they were crying. The old ones sat, To have a chat. While some their pipes were smoking ; I -; i tij .i.'i j I M \\i I i H' 94 RANDOM RHYMES. And others laughed, And whiskey quaffed, To keep alive the joking. Just now, though late. In came Westgate, John Westgate here I mean. He shook his head, And wildly said, I'll tell you what I've seen. " I saw my wife, With butcher-knife, Jump o'er the hedge to-night ; She was so cross, Not worth a toss I'll be for years through fright. " Some time ago, I heard, you know, If I could find a brier Whose stem would grow. Just like a bow, It's top to earth retire " And there take root, And upward shoot, Then I, by crawling under, Might plainly see, Aiid have a spree, With this mad Spectre-wonder. " Her hair stood straight Upon her pate. Her eyes flashed balls of fire ; She called me fool. And Satan's tool. And thief, and rogue, and liar. .4 AN IRISH hallow-e'en. 95 " Though dark to-night, Her knife was bright, As round her head she swung it ; I then could see, That right at me, She savagely had flung it. " And with a hum, I heard it come, And as it just was falling I heard her cry, ril have you die, For thus my spirit calling. "I then could see. Close by her knee, A bull-dog fiercely growling ; The De'il, thought I, Chained to her thigh, Is at me madly growling. " My heart now failed. My spirit quailed. And 'neath that brier sprawling ; I calmly lay, And tried to pray, And loud for help was calling. " I vainly tried. Myself to hide ; I backed from 'neath that brier, Then, she and her Infernal cur. Flew off, in flames of fire." " Alhvery well," Said Susan Bell, " Your story is well told, 11 ia i ■fl^ li it J 96 RANDOM RHYMES. Last Hal-een night, I got a fright, That makes me look so old. " To some 'twould seem. That *maring stream Has waters who're enchanted Your lover true, ^ They'll bring to you, If of them you're not daunted. " So out I went, > : With heart full bent To w^ash my bran new shimmie ; Thinking that I, Not being shy. Would see my own, dear Jemmic. " And as I washed, And soused, and squashed. My shiTnmie on the flag ; I heard one speak, Right in the creek. And there I saw the hag. " With wrinkled face, She walked apace, . And called to me quite often ; You need not fear, Though, Susan dear, I bring you Jemmie's coffin, "I gave a yell, And backward fell, I fainted dead through fright ; Oh ! pity me, • For now you see. My hair is grey to-night, * A stream whicli divides parcels of land. AN IRISH hallow-e'en. " And Jeinmie's gi'ave, Lies where the wave Of old KiUalla's bay, Sighs evermore, Along the shore, While for his soul I pray." Just now came in, Young Michael Flynn, " 111 bet," said he, " this apple ; That not one hear. Can, without fear. Go over to the chapel, " And all alone, Place this flat stone Upon the grave of Nancy ; You boast and brag, But that old hag. Will make you run, I fancy." Dickens at last, S&id,~" Not so fast, If you will hold my fiddle , I'll take that stone, And go alone, And place it on the middle " Of that same mound, Where, 'neath the ground. That murderess is lying ; I care not how, The ghosts may row. Or old banshees are crying." " Well done ! well done ! We'll have some fun," Cried all the crowd together ; 97 i J I '■ 4 IM m It i IT N 98 RANDOM RHYMES. "If Dickens goes, Before cock crows, His hide she'll surely leather," Up Dickens sprang, And with a whang, The door came bang behind him ; And out he went, Fully intent That Nancy should not bind him. With fearless tread, He walked ahead, Till 'midst the graves he wandered. The lone night owl, Began to howl. Then on his course he pondered. What right, thought he, Have I to be The butt of all their laughter ; He grins and nods. Yet onward plods. Till in a moment after. He heard a sound Right under ground, And o'er his head another. One voice called " Ma ! " The other " Pa ! " He then screamed " Holy Mother ! " This was no joke, For now a stroke Had blackened both his thighs, And as he fell. He gave a yell. With hands above his eyes. And there he lay, Half swooned away, And now, as sure as death ; From head to heel, His soul could feel. The power of Nancy's breath. " He's long away," They all now say, " Young Flynn, and you O'Larys ; Go to the grave. And do be brave. And never mind the fairies." And now these three, 'Midst roars of glee, Went out lame Dickens hunting : And soon they found Him on the ground, A buckgoat at him bunting. Then home he came, And though quite lame, He ran them out of sight ; And not a sound, With tone profound, His fiddle gave that night. From then till now He thinks, somehow, There are both ghosts and fairies ; Whether they be Of you, or me. Of Biddies, Janes, or Maiys. The fortunes then, We heard, of men. Of girls, and gray old witches ; 100 RANDOM RHYMES. If yea were there, I now declare You'd laugh yourself to stitches. The day now dawned, While many yawned, And rubbed their sleepy eye ; Yet fully bent As home they went, That Hal-e'en ne'er should die. ! li OFFICE RENT. If the money this week we made. On this square table now were laid. This office rent could soon be paid ; But as the money has been spent, We can't afford to pay the rent. lUil GLEN-ALLAN LAUGHING. They laugh at the days Of the old ox-sleighs. And the clumsy, two- wheeled cart ; At the days when the deer. And the wolf roamed here, To cheer or chill the heart. And they laugh at the roads, And the log abodes. Which so served their early day ; And they laugh at the cares. And their downcast airs. Which so soon have passed away. THEE. 101 t1 I 'fi VICEREGAL EXAMPLE.. Most noble daughter of our Queen, Thy grace and beauty we have seen ; And while we love to view thy face, We prize much more tlie Christian grace Which beams refulgent as the sun Through all the course which thou hast run, Since to this country thou hast come. , Our daughters see thy good example, And soon will on their folly trample; They see that beauty does not lie In foolish, flaunting tapestry ; In gewgaws and in golden chains, But common sense and sterling brains. Our sons have also not forborne, To learn a lesson from LorJ Lome ; '^^'^hose high-bred worth and portly mien, Would deck tne son of any queen ; No worldly pomp can e'er beguile, The noble son of great Argyle. May glory ever wreathe the brow. And love, and beauty, still adorn. The noble daughter of our Queen, As well as that of good Lord Lome. Toronto, Sept. 20th, 1879. I m THEE. At morning's dawn I daily think. Of those I often long to see ; And then my deepest, loving thoughts, My dear, at once revert to Thee. i; 102 RANDOM RHYMES. At noon, when dinner time rolls round, And for an hour f! om shop I'm free ; With nimble feet I trip along, To get a glance once more, at Thee. And v/hen the evening shadows fall, And other gents go on the spree ; My greatest joy, and brightest time, Is then to sit and chat with Thee. My eyes flash love when I behold, Thy graceful form, so full of glee ; Now, while I press thee to my heart, I vow I'll have none else but Thee. ■*^, it PEACE. Peace is the greatest blessing. An earthly home can have ; , A home this gem possessing. Has more than heart can crave. Though sorrows often harass. And fears disturb the soul ; Though trials may embarrass. Yet, peace dispels the whole. Be what the man's position ; His calling what it may ; Merchant, clerk, physician, I falter not to say. If peace reigns in his dwelling, Quite free from discord's sting, His wealth is far excelling The wealth of any king. SELFISHNESS. 103 SELFISHNESS. ^"?' but a craven doff, And like a hound or hog, inlest a poor man's home ? The Indian knows his grounds Whene'er he sallies out, ' VVith gun and nimble hounds, Or rod and line for trout. Nor will he dare to touch His neighbour's lawful prey, Though right within his clutch Hungry he wends his way. Ah ! mortal man, how frail How frail the dearest friend f We try to know, but fail On whom we can depend. Ah ! if when we were born A few short, heavy sighs ■Had caused us to adorn The home beyond the skies. For there, no selfish soul Disturbs the peaceful throno^ i^ove permeates the whole "" So much that none do wrong. All trials soon will cease Rewards will soon be ^ven lo those who live in pea?e. And plod their way to Heaven ■'« Jli 1 ! 104 RiLNDOM RHYMES. FORLORN. AN ACROSTIC. Ah ! what a thing it is to be, Forsaken in adversity ; And it is yet a greater woe, To think that even friends will go Far from you when the day has come, In which you have no gorgeous home. Since I'm forsaken in this way, Here I insert my thoughts to-day, And say, that when such friends forsake No wonder hearts of stone would break; Death, even death, would seem to be, A glorious land of liberty ; Giving to me a constant friend, Or one who would my rights defend. Lovd, since my earthly friends have fled, Descend and prop my drooping head ; E'en as thou dost so plainly see, No earthly friend doth care for me. Desert me not, O Lord, I pray, In this my dark and trying day, Since now on earth my grief can't end, Have mercy, and be Thou my friend. A FACT ABOUT POETS. The immortal Burns once was poor. And so were Milton and Tom Moore ; But they had rare, poetic brains. And perseverance too ; And those things soon begot them gains, And friends, both good and true. LOOK TO HE ! ' 105 MOOREFIELD POST-OFFICE STORE PLACARD. He has bread and potatoes, always on hand Plucked turkeys, and chickens, and geese at command Me keeps all you require, to wear and to eat The best of fresh butter, good hams and fresh meat. T There's noting of these and a thousand things more, But 3rou 11 find safely housed in the " Post-Office Store " And to keep a good name and pay as he goes Is now fully resolved by John W. Lowes. V : January 2l8t, 1876. "LOOK TO HE!" The above caption was once used, in my hearing, by a local preacher. The grammatica blunder alone forced me to retL the idea couched in the expression ; and in about twenty vearsTftlr wards, I wrote the following stanzas : ^ ^ *^*®'" When the dearest friends forsake thee And the ills of life o'ertake thee, Calmly see How the arms of Christ infold thee. While these ills have wisely told thee "Look to He!" These few words have oft amused me. Ere the cares of life abused me ; Can it be. Now as cares are creeping o'er me That these words sha'n't stand before me "Look to He!" ■li i m m S4--; £' ■) ' 106 i ■'i\ m KAN DOM RHYMES. A COMEDY. In the happy town of Moorefield, There stands a good hotel, In which the strange occurrences, • Which I'm about to tell, Took place upon a summer's night, Not many years ago, Unto a handsome brunette lass, Whose life was all aglow. She was a stranger in the place, Was stopping for the night ; But after all were sound asleep, She nearly died with fright. The man who kept this extra house, Before he went to bed, On every night within the year. Would place beneath his head Two bottles of the purest wine, His skill and means could find That ev'ry morning he might have, It near to soothe his mind. 1 Through some mistake, he placed the wine Beneath the lady's head ; And she, unconscious of the fact. Slept soundly as though dead. The wine fermented, and the corks Flew out with two great shots ; She thought the bullets pierced her head. And blood rushed from the spots. Her hands and clothes were covered o'er. She gave a piercing yell. A COMEDY. And senseless, fainting, to the floor Immediately she fell. ' The door was burst; oh ! what a sight, The maiden lay in gore. Rigid, and lifeless as a corpse, Upon the bedroom floor. Post-haste the doctor then was called. With his dissecting knife. But ere he came, the landlord said He'd have her for his wife. ' She looked so pretty in her shroud, While senseless there she lay, For well he knew that bottled wine, Could soon be washed awa^. And when she ope'd her deep, black eyes, bhe saw the doctor stand. With solemn face, and startled eyes And probe held in his hand. ' She uttered in a trembling voice, " Oh ! doctor, I am dead I 1 felt the bullets strike me here. Both strwik me in the head'* The doctor searched for bullet holes. The landlord sat and laughed. And of the remnant of the wine, A good long drink he quaffed; And then the bottles up he held, Before the trembling maid, And calmly aaid ; ''It is not blood. Yon need not be afraid, "And aa my negligence has brought. This trouble to your heart, 107 ttm mkl If % ■■-'. ^♦l '.f- M ' 108 RANDOM RHYMES. « If you'll he mine, my pretty girl, With you I'll Tiever part. The preacher then and there was called, To tie the nuptial knot, And when they drank a social glass, He hitched them on the jpot. Why don't the maidens of our land, Their white hands oft entwine, And pray that they may soon be shot, By some such lucky wine ? •1 THE SPARROW. Dear little bird from o'er the sea, Old Country people cherish thee. The English hamlet's mould'ring thatch, Where thy vast flocks, do yearly hatch. Thy well-known chirp brings back again To many wandering Englishmen. All hail ! to Workman who first thought, To have thee to this country brought, May Dr. Workman yet long live, That he to us such gifts may give. The linnet, thrush, and soaring lark. And nightingale to cheer the dark. Like other birds, from shore to shore, May thou this continent explore. Till not a nook, or shady tree. But shall become a home for thee. As insectivorous thou ait, Wisely and well, now play thy part ; Destroy all insects without fear, For British law protects thee here. FEAR NOT. ACROSTIC. 109 (Presented with an Album to the Teacher of School Section. No 6, in the Township of Peel, Co. Wellington, Ont.) Just let us show to you to-day ' ■ Our gratitude in this kind way, - However small the gift may be, None dearer can we give too thee. Many a scholar's face may here Remind you of the parting tear. Or may perhaps, recall to mind, Bewitching smiles, and thoughts most kind. Indeed we hope that neither time, Nor winter's frost, nor southern clime. Shall e'er efface the tenderness ; Our little gifts would dare express, Nor e'er forget the hands you squeeze. E'en as we cluster round your knees. So shall our faces from this book. Quietly on thy dear face look. til' 1 [( if m ' ; li FEAR NOT. Luke xii. 32. Fear not, the Lord of glory cries, When waves of trouble roll ; At once relinquish all your sighs. For I can save your soul. What though your earthly foes oft tread Your neck beneath their heel ; Since I have bruised the Serpent's head. And now your sorrows feel ! i I f k. 110 RANDOM RHYMES. There's not a pang that rends your breast, Which rent not mine before, I died, to give the troubled rest And life for evermore. / Fear not then, though the waves roll high, And o'er you sometimes sweep. For I, your gracious Lord, am nigh. Your precious soul to keep. I'll hold you on my bleeding arm, / ' Close to my gushing side ; While there, no foes can ever harm The saints for whom I died. TO NAOMI MARA. I ■ 5 1 i H I ii! ir li^ GooD-BY, Naomi dear, good-by ! Like dew, may blessings from on high Invigorate your heart and brain, Until, once more, we meet again. When I a parent's love can show, " By shaving off my chin," you know, Or rather, as yourself should say, " Leave on the chin, cut beard away." I got the barber shave my chin, To let the rays of light come in ; , ;v ' And yet my mustache would oppose Those rays which play around my nose. Lest they should brown the only place - Which you could kiss, on all my face. So now you see, my dearest child, I shaved, to please your notions wild. THE CANESTOGA RIVER. Ill P" \' H si IB THE CANESTOGA RIVER. LoNO ere Columbus reached this land, Thy banks sustained a happy band ; The Indians roamed along this stream, And in their wigwams slept, to dream Of pleasant hunting-grounds, and game, Whose real worth they could not name. Through the wild woods thy waters flowed, Far from the palefaced man's abode ; The howling wolf, and nimble deer, Frequented thee, through all the year ; Nor did the flash, or sound of gun E'er cause those woodland creatures run. And then the grufi", old grizzly bear, When Spring appeared, forsook his lair. And ran to thee to cool his tongue : When from his eyes his sleep he wrung ; For howling winds and winter snows. Do ne'er disturb a bear's repose. Long as thy waters frozen kept,. He ne'er awoke, but soundly slept ; Nor would he dare protrude his head, Till Canestoga's waters said That Spring, with all her warmth was here, His sleepy head, once more to cheer. Thy waters then ran deep and cold. Beneath those trees so grand and old. Oh ! how the pretty speckled trout Would swim and dash, and splash about. In thy pure water's gentle flow. When we were boys, some years ago I m I 112 ■ i i RANDOM RHYMES. Thirty long years, from Time have fled, Since first with eager hand and head, Upon thy shady banks we stood, And filled our pails with very good Speckled trout. What am I about, Superbly extra, speckled trout ! The white man, with his shining axe, Has followed up the Indian's tracks, And in his restless, onward march, Although all nature's tongue might parch. Would cut the trees from off thy banks, Despite the Indian's frowns, or thanks ! Oh ! ruthless, devastating man, Hast thou not known, since Time began. That this primeval, glorious shade. For its protection God had made ; That no bleak winds, nor burning sun. Should cause its waters cease to run. But now the waters in its bed, Fully attest that it is dead. ' Alas ! dear river, I deplore The thought, that on thy banks no more Shall the fierce bear, or timid deer Be found, the hunter's heart to cheer. In the account given by me (as a representative of the press), of the complimentary Dinner, Address and Purse, given to Mr. Jamie- son at that time, I find the following : — No sparkling brandy, wine, or rum, Had dared into our presence come. And yet, the night we did prolong. By brilliant speeches and by song. . iH TO LIEUTENANT WM. JAMIESON. TO LIEUTENANT WM. JAMIESON. On the eve of his departure for Scotland. ' Home, home, to roam o'er Scotland's hills, To hear the babbling of her rills, To pluck her never-dying heath, And to inhale her genial breath, To paddle down her Clyde, by night, Or view her Grampians in daylight. To see that land, for which 'tis said, A Burns scmg, and a Wallace bled. Oh ! would that we, like thee, once more, Could reach her craggy, much-loved shore ; But exiles here, we must remain. Although it fills our hearts with pain. But, when you have your journey done, And calmy view the setting sun ; Then bring to mind, 'midst tears, or smiles, The Moorefield bard, and lone exiles Whose hearts are forced to heave a sigh, While now they hear thee say — " Good-by ! " Whene'er you see the railway cars, Or sit and view the twinkling stars. Whene'er Old Scotland's wild winds blow. And heap around thy door the snow ; Then think we'd like a line from thee. Across the deep dark rolling sea. December 16th, 1876. 113 H II ■km 1:1 mi II ■ 1 'U: r 114 RANDOM l^TY^fKH. l! I A K ERIN. I FAIN would add a note of praise, In honor of that land, Whose sons have set the world ablaze, From mountain down to strand. But how can I add one note more To those already sung By poets, who have, o'er and o'er, Inspired its lyric tongue. Dear Erin's bogs, and mountain glens. Its rivers, and its bays, Its beautiful and sparkling lakes, And towers of ancient days. Magillicuddy's cloud-capped peaks. Which overlook Killarney, The famous stone, which someone seeks To touch him with the blarney. The rural home, and mansion gi'eat. The young and loving swain, The beaming of the morning sun, The dewdrop, and the rain. The master of the parish school, The priest, and parson too. Have had their share of poet's praise, A lavish share 'tis true. Yet Erin's son's have not been praised For half that they have done, For half the noble victories. Which they have often won ! ^ ERTN. In science and in literature, In oratory, pure ! Whoe'er surpassed O'Connell, sirs, A Goldsmith, or a Moore ? McMahon ! yes, his very name. The Frenchman's blood elates ; And Grant, that fearless Dublin boy, Gets homage from the States. Lord Dufferin, in Canada, Has taught the dullest soul That Irishmen, with fluent tongues, The people can control. And Egypt's wars have lately shown, A Woolesley, brave and true. Who proved to Arabi's vile hosts. What Erin's sons can do. Then, onward let thy great sons move. Let freedom be their cry ; For Britain's glory let them live. And for it let them die. 115 Vit M li'ii THE WINDOWMAN. (A simple invention, for holding the sash of a xvitidow, either up, or down.) The windowman deserves a rhyme. And words of praise from time to time ; For though he neither eats nor sleeps, The strictest watch he always keeps. When ploughman, and coachman, and all Hang their garments up in the hall, I 'hi m^ 'I V I i! i « : i- i In 'i< 116 RANDOM RHYMES. And weariedly jumps into bed, To rest both their muscles and head, The windowman, brave little man ! Does then the wily burglars scan ; The window-sash he will hold down, No matter how they work or frown. While footmen livery must wear, And often snarl at how they fare All ostentation, this man spurns, And from his labor never turns. When summer's sun's bright, burning rays. Cause servants lag, on sultry days ; The windows, up all day he holds, And neither eats, nor fights, nor scolds, II V Some time before my revered Father's death I presented him with a New Testament having print very large. On its fly-sheet I in- scribed the following : Dear Father, read this larger print. And if its lines you see ; Whene'er you kneel to humbly pray, Oh ! then, remember me. And if you leave us here behind And pass to yonder shore. To see the Saviour and to greet . f . \. ; Those loved ones gone before. Thy children then will read these lines. And love the Saviour too, That we may meet with those we love And be for aye with you. Your foiid son, Glen- Allen, October, 18G9. WiLLIAM. 'ISffl' ' 1 DEATH. 117 with I in- V DEATH. " Death " is a word all mankind fear, It fills wHh pain the timid ear ; Deep in our frame it sets its fangs. And fills the heart with rending pangs. As lightnings flash from pole to pole, It sends a thrill right through the soul ; And like the swiftly passing clouds, It brings to view our dreaded shrouds. Such solemn words we all respect, Yet e'en these words we soon neglect, But death, itself, is ne'er forgot ^^ Either by sage or Hottentot. When strangers breathe their last short breath, And pass the lonely vale of Death, We may ^orget when months or years, Have passed away like by-gone fears. But when our own dear friends have died. Though years, through Time's resistless tide. Are swept away through boundless space. Yet tears bedew our woful face. How blessed is the cheering thought. That death is with some blessings fraught, 'Tis Heaven's door to any man Who fully knows salvation's plan,— Who knows that his possessions lie Above the star-bespangled sky, Where moth and rust cannot destroy That wealth that ne'er has known alloy. ffi 1 1 X * II ij \ w. WW 118 RANDOM RHYMES. MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. Far beyond the rolling ocean Lies a dear secluded spot, Which now fills me with emotion, While most others are forgot. Not for the green, pleasant playground Where I gaily often played, Nor the fields where with my greyhound I, for days, so oft have strayed. Nor the spot on which the dwelling Of my childhood proudly stands. Is my troubled heart now swelling. Far away in distant lands. But, for that lonely, dreary place, Where the grass untrodden lies. Do I now bedew my face And make fountains of my eyes. ', DEAR FATHER'S GRAVE. If I outlive the winter's snow, I'll plant a tree, that it may grow ; So that I may, some future day. Beneath its boughs, devoutly pray. I'll plant a shrub, that it may spread, And coax the birds, close to his head, That they may sing, in happy lays. And cheer this grave in future days. DEAR FATHERS GRAVE. Some flowers, too, I'll place above The dust that I so dearly love, That they may grow, and sweetly smell, And of my father's virtues tell. And while for him I'll always weep, I'll carve these words in letters deep, Tread softly when this spot you near, For Father Moore is sleeping here. His ransomed soul is where, just now, With golden wings and jewelled brow, It walks the streets of Heaven's home, Where angel bands forev^er roam. There stands dear mother, clad in white ; She hails him now with pure delight ; He turns to meet her, and they meet, And sit, once more, at Jesu's feet. But while she sits and smiles with joy. She asks about each girl and boy ; And now while father sits and sings, She hides her face beneath her wings ; And heavily she breathes and sighs, And softly wipes her downcast eyes. For sad, sad news she got from earth, Of those to whom she'd given birth. Our Willie Wallie dressed in white, And shining like a star of light, Now swoops around and loudly sings, As on he moves on seraph wings. And as he rests among the flowers, Which gild the walks of Eden's bowers. He plucks their petals — flies away, And hands his grandpa a bouquet. 119 i^f ■■I llff 'M ftr.; 1.1 y i ; : I iH if i r; 5 •* ■ it!;. ' 120 RANDOM RHYMES. And Margaret's Willie now comes up, And in his hand a golden cup ; I hear him langh ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! And then he says : Dear grandpapa, Please drink this nectar which the king Has sent you from yon crystal spring. And many others, old and young, With wings outspread, and arms outflung, Come skipping o'er the Heavenly plains, To tell him that no further pains, Nor racking aches, nor scornful jeers. Should e'er disturb his future years. And then they fold their glistening wings, And loudly praise the King of Kings, Since thus a warrior of eighty-four Had fought life's seas and reached the shore. DIED AT GLEN-ALLAN, SEPT. 1st. A. D. 1869, WILLIAM WALLACE MOORE, Jr. Willie, dear Willie, while in midst of thy pain, How oft have we prayed that thou mightest remain, But since thou hast gone we dare not repine, Or wish thee return, on our arms to recline. Since of thee, dear Willie, we have been bereft, We prize all the more thy dear likeness that's left. The bright lock of hair that we cut from thy brow ; Willie, dear Willie, how we weep o'er it now. Some say it is good that thou hast breathed thy last, While they think of thy moans throughout the year past ; But, oh ! sweetest Willie, how little they know, How salt are our tears, and how deep is our woe ! ■» A CHAT WITH DEAR LITTLE JENNIE. 121 Willie, thy body is now taking its rest ; Thy spirit has flown to the land of the blest ; While we feel our own woe, and think of thy pain. We rejoice that through Christ we'll meet thee again, 869, last ; A CHAT WITH DEAR LITTLE JENNIE. Who died August ISth, 1873. Aged 2 moa. 23 dys. Little Jennie, pretty dove ! Shining dewdrop from above, Budding flower. Oh ! how fair ! And how wonderfully rare. Ah ! dear Jennie ; Do you and Willie take «, ^eep At ma and me, when we're asleep ? Do you, and he, not link and walk, And with the older angels talk ? Have ye not harps, and crowns of gold. As well as they, though not so old ? In Heaven, no sun shall ever shine To brown a cheek as white as thine, Nor chilling winds shall ever blow To close your eyes, through drifting snow. Whoever sinned, ye need nr o fear. Since now you've reached that heavenly sphere. But, Jennie dear, Would Willie weep amongst the blest. If we disturb his earthly rest ; So when your graves are opened wide. You may, with him, stand side by side ; For you and Willie would be brave, If ye arose near grandpa's grave, When lightnings flash, and thunders roar, H [><■ ! s i •M ■m 122 RANDOM RHYMES. And angels shout, that " time's no more." I ask that you should not be slow In gliding down to let us know ; But come at darkest hour of night, When moon, and stars are out of sight, So that thy voice, like sunny beams. May reach our hearts through solemn dreams. Moorefield, Nov. Ist. 1880. IN MEMORIAM. Lines affectionately addressed to Mr. and Mrs. George Noble, of Elora, on the death of their Uttle boy, Charles R. , who died on the 27th day of June, 1870. Excuse the liberty I take, In speaking of your boy ; I know his name now thrills your hearts, And mars your sweetest joy. But bear with me, while I instil Into your minds, the thought, \ That when the Saviour was on earth. He said, " Forbid them not."* When Jesus took your Charles R. ! To meet those gone before, He only set another light On yonder distant shore. And says more plainly by this act Than words could e'er portray^ The shepherd takes the lamb this time He'll call anotfier day. * Mark x. 14. THE LATE HENRT SHAVEB, ESQ. 123 "i, DIED, On the 28th day of June, A.D. 1870, at Loveland House, near Jerseyville, Township of Ancaster, Ontario, HENRY SHAVER, ESQUIRE, Aged 70 years and 28 days. ** Mr. Shaver was born on the 1st day of June, in the year A.D. 1800, at the old homestead, near Ancaster Village. His father, who was a staunch Methodist, endeavoured to bring up his children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and verily the old gentle- man's labours were not in vain. The honest principles, which were thus early inculcated, marked his career through Lis whole life. He was rigidly moral. When money was worth ten or twelve per cent, per annum, and many were glad to get it, even at the enormous rates of thirty or forty per cent, per month, he was so conscientious that he never took more than six. He never joined any church, though he regularly attended the Ancaster Regular Baptist Church, of which his late wife and most of his family were members. Had his wife and family joined the Methodists, he, no doubt, would have done so too, but, in the opinion of the writer, who has a good right to know, he sacriticed his own feelings in this matter, knowing that neither circumcision nor uncircumcision avail- eth anything, hut a new creature in Christ Jesus. His word was like the laws of the Medes and Persians — unchangeable. Both in his family and out of it, all fully knew that when he said either Yes or No, he meant it. He was a good neighbour, and an attached friend. If Mr. Shaver was a member of any church his name would now be heralded as a paragon to the flock. If every tree is known by its fruit — if every man shall be rewarded according to his works — if the life is an index to the heart, then, certainly, is Father Shaver gone to reap a rich reward. He bore his long affliction with the calmness of a philosopher, and the resignation of an unwavering Christian. After hearing a sermon by the Rev. W. H. Cameron, at the Baptist Chapel, a long and mournful procession followed the hearse which bore his remains to the Shaver Family Burying- ground." — Extracted from the Toronto Christian Guardian. THE LATE HENRY SHAVER, ESQ. Tread not the sod which o'er his breast, On that bright eve we laid ; Nor lightly speak when near that place, Where then we wept and prayed. lii 124 RANDOM RHYMES. But weep whene'er you think of him, Whose word was always kind, Whose hand and purse were always free The broken heart to bind. Go, rear a pillar at his head, That future years may know, That yet, the streams of gratitude, In children's hearts do flow. Engrave on it, in letters deep. The hope of him who died ; That all who read may flee to Christ To have their wants supplied. Yea ! though we weep, we weep in hope Of meeting him once more, When o'er life's ocean we have passed. And reached the distant shore. I r TO MRS. GEORGE F. HOWELL, OF JERSEYVILLE. My dear Cousin Howell permit me to speak A word to comfort your heart ; As the soul-easing tear still rolls down your cheek, I feel how lonely thou art. » Your husband, like others, has gone to the tomb. There for a short time to sleep ; You should not remember its darkness and gloom, For Christ his body will keep. You must think of that faith that inspired his breast, And think of his strong hope too. And know he has gone to enjoy the saints' rest, While us h» has bidden adieu. y^ I MISS MARY CAMERON. 125 Though the widow and orphans oft heave a sigh, For him whom they dearly love ; That Father and Husband who never can die, Reigns here as well as above ! Dry up your sad tears and your deep sighs suppress, Since God doeth all things right ; And for sorrow, that joy which tongue can't express, You'll enjoy in Heaven's own light. Jeraeyville, Sept. 20th, 1863. MISS MARY CAMERON, DAUGHTER OF DOCTOR CAMERON. Lines addressed to Mrs. Benjamin Smith, of JerseyvUhf April 23rd, 1860. AN ACROSTIC. Say, can I not, with feelings kind, Instil into your troubled mind Some balmy thoughts to cheer your heart, Though you with Mary had to part. Exultantly her voice now rings. Refulgent with eternal things. Making the hosts of Heaven sing. Anthems to Christ, her God and King. Righteous and loving child of God, You know she was, through Jesu's blood. Can you not, then, becalm your mind, And sigh no more though left behind ; May you not too, soon as you die, Expect to meet her in the sky. Rejoice with her with sainted tears. Or laugh to scorn your doubts and fears. No more to part through endless years. *i i '! I I l^ l£d RANDOM RHYMES. AN AFFLICTED MINISTER'S PRAYER. (rev. W. H. CAMERON). Hia last words to me were, " Brother Moore, we shall meet again" " My gracious Master, wilt thou save My body from the yawning grave, Though now its jaws are open wide, A refuge still thou canst provide. " I, therefore, look bo thee, O Lord, None else can any aid aflPord. The grave is dark, the dismal tomb Is filled with death's most lonely gloom. " Just now, the grasp of chilling death Seems to retard my shortened breath ; But still I sigh that I may move ^ In health, once more, 'midst those I love. "I only ask that I may live, That 1, my future life may give To him who gave his life for me. When crucified on Calvary." No wonder that this patient saint Was forced to utter this complaint, No wonder that he cherished life, Because of his fair charming wife. With such a wife, who would not stay, Instead of mould'ring in the clay ? And from such children, who could part, But with a sad and broken heart. CASSIE CLARKE. 127 r: How hard to part from those we love, Though called to dwell with saints above 1 He said to me, — " We part, but sure We'll meet again, dear brother Moore". I '1 CASSIE CLARKE. Daughter of Rev. Elijah Clarke. HER mother's lament. Tune-* * NELLY o RAT. " By request. Oh ! I'm often sadly thinking of my darling little pet, Who has gone to that happy land above ; Though my friends are often saying, that for her I should not fret, Yet, my sad tears cannot express my love : Oh ! no indeed, ah ! no ! Oh ! no indeed, ah ! no ! All my sad tears cannot express ray love ; Oh ! that a mother's tears. When they oft and quickly flow, Could resuscitate my bright, darling dove ! Oh! I loved to talk with Cassie, and she loved to talk with me, When the flowers clustered closely round the door ; When the pretty wild canaries often charmed that willow tree Which to me has lost its charms, evermore. Oh ! yes, for evermore. Oh ! yes, for evermore. Its charms are lost to me for evermore ; Though on it the birds are singing. As they did in days of yore. Its charms are lost to me for evermore ! m m ill I W! ll|| li: '*! •i 1 m Im 128 RANDOM RHYMES. Yes, I listen to the voices, which commingle on the street, When from school other children scamper home, And I wait, and often listen for the patter of her feet, But in vain, for she ne'er again shall come. She ne'er again shall come, Oh 1 she never will come ! I listen, yet I listen but in vain ; Oh ! I wait, and calmly listen For the patter of her feet But in vain, for she ne'er again shall come. Nowlask my blessed Saviour to bind up my bleeding heart With the thought that from sorrow now she's free. And that soon we all shall meet her, wh. je we ne'er again shall part, But she'll walk the bright, golden streets with me ; Oh ! she'll walk there with me Through all eternity ; Oh ! she'll walk the bright golden streets with me ; And that soon we all shall meet her, Where we ne'er again shall part. For she'll dwell with .ler Saviour, and with me. REV. EZRA ADAMS. AN ACROSTIC. Removed from earth and all its care, Eternal joys thou dost now share. Victorious o'er the dismal gra\ e. E'en through the Lamb, who died to save. Zealous thou wert while here below. Reminding us that Hell's dark woe. And Heaven's glory lay before. TO MRS. JAMES HUOHKS. 120 eefc, And death was but a hidden door, Down which we slipped, to feel and tell, All joys of Heaven, or woes of Hell. May we, when we this life resign, See that our death be calm as thine. Decoiaber 8th, 1871. M Bart rain me; TO MRS. JAMES HUGHES, OF GILFORD. Though your heart is sad For your lovely lad, Who sleeps in his lonely grave, I would dare to speak Of his rosy cheek. And his actions bright, and brave. He was young in years. But he knew no fears, When the horse's reins he caught ; And away he flew With his pa, and you, As quick as the quickest thought. Though the rumbling wheels. At the horse's heels. Ran like lightning round and round ; Yet he coolly sat 'Neath his dandy hat, And held with a grace profound. And his teacher said. When he saw him dead. And fondled his locks of hair : Though to my schoolroom, Dear JemTnie can't corns, Not another like him there. il. ! ( , ^1 1-1 130 RANDOM RHYMES. Ik^ ij m i ' • 3! And hivS grandpapa, And his grandmamma, And his neighbors, near and far, Often sit and sigh. And with tearful eye Speak of your bright little star. Though that star has set. Oh ! it twinkles yet Far beyond the lofty skies. Where no foes nor fears. Through the endless years Shall his peaceful rest surprise. Where no aching pain Shall disturb his brain, As it did, while dying, here ; But eternal joy Shall there soothe your boy In that bright and heavenly sphere. Can't you hear him say Unto you, to-day. To his pa, his friends and me : Whe7i your life is spent, And the veil is rent, You'll share this glory with me. TO MRS. CAPT. JOHN BOOTH, OF MOOREFIELD. The time will come when we shall reign, Beyond the starry sky. With him who died, yet ever lives, To wipe the tearful eye. THE GRAVES OF MESSRS. GRAY. # Ah ! think of this whene'er you weep For thy dear little one : God had a right to take your child, Just when her work was done. Though you may think the cold, cold hand Might yet a while be stayed, Since for her life you longed so much, You sighed, and wept, and prayed. Let not a murmur from your lips. Disturb the evening air ; There is a Heaven, and your pet, Dear Lucy^ now is there. 131 THE GRAVES OF MESSRS. JAMES AND JOHN GRAY. AT ST. JOHN'S, MOOREFIELD BURYING-GROUND. Who lies alone, and sadly here, Beneath this oval sod ? Ah ! yes, I see 'tis Jemmie dear, Whose soul is now with God. No more his hand will succour those Who oft come here to shed A tragic tear, and pluck a rose From off' his dreary bed. S'v'^et as the rose, his mem'ry still i^ loats on the homestead air. The widow's heart, with joy to fill. And mollify her care. The orphans too, whom he has left, Do reverence this spot ; tfi ir - n- ii I i ,1 '. ill; l( 1 ■ . I \ I 132 RANDOM RHYMES. For though of him they are bereft, \ By them he's hot forgot. This monument, which they supplied, Revivifies his fame, Tells us where born, and when he died, And keeps alive his name. And here his neighbors often stand, And heave a heartfelt sigh ; While with sad mien, and raised right hand, Thoy turn their thoughts on high. And while they stand in this dark mood. Oft audibly they say : " Well love OUT friends, and do them good, Like noble Jemmie Gray. A second grave, inclosed lies here, With palings neat and white. And weeping willows shed a tear, At morning, noon and night. Though eighteen years have passed away Since first this grave was made ; Still, ev'ry year, Aunt Sally Gray Came here, and wept and prayed. And yet she comes as though she came To meet a living friend, On whose right arm, and loving name Alone, she could depend. And fondest children, week by week, As Sabbaths roll around. With solemn tread and moistened cheek. Frequent this sacred ground. "THE WEE BABY." MISS MAUDSLEY'S TOMB. 133 R«v. Mr. Maudsley said to me to-day while we stood at his sister's grave in St. John's Cemetery, Moorefield : Those who wre dead are o^^r8 still. They are only gone into another room. Dear, sleeping friends ! They are ours still, Oone to another room, Awaiting God's behests to fill, But fill our hearts with gloom. y This man of God is not ashamed To care Miss Maudsley's tomb ;'' He can bear to be chafed and blamed, For 'tis her luaiting-room. Vain counterpart of that above, Which she long since has shared, That home, which Christ's immortal love. Has for us all prepared. August, 10th, 1881. \ lip ' ii;'' " THE WEE BABY." Re^ectfvlly dedicated io Mrs. George Bolls, of Moorefield, 'TwAS only a baby, they said, 'Twas only a baby was dead, A tiny wee baby, Not a tear e'er dropped from their eyes, Till they heard its mother's sad cries. Some, not e'en then, maybe ; But others, whose hearts had been touched. That tiny wee baby soon clutched, And kissed it with rapture I 11 ■ i! 134 RANDOM RHYMES. They thought 'midst their tear-blinded eyes, Of their own wee baby's last sighs, Last struggle and capture ! Aye ! only a babe, indeed ! *Tis not a mere baby that's freed From earth's care and trouble ; But an angel sent from above. To transfer its dear parents' love — 'Tis no earthly bubble ! As the needle points to the poles. So your babe, my dear Mrs. Rolls, Directs us to Heaven ; Sweet innocent lamb of the fold, More precious than silver and gold, For this cause 'twas mven. Ill li 1 J P 5* Weep not for the dear one that's dead, Nor think of the cold, lonely bed. Where lately you laid it, The Saviour has plucked your nice flower, And in glory, beauty and power, Has gaily arrayed it. li LINES ON THE TRAGICAL DEATH OF WILLIAM FINDLAY. Addressed to his mother, Mrs. Matthew Burns, of Palmerston. Ah ! come dear friend and place your hand On this sad heart of mine ; And then you'll feel its every throb In unison with thine. ■IP n ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM FINDLAT. And then behold the bitter tears, Which trickle down my cheek, While calmly up to Heaven I look, Though not a word I speak. And now, dear friend, accept the sighs My heaving bosom bears ; No other balm have I to soothe, Your sorrows and your cares. Your son lies cold in death to-day ! Life's but a brittle thread,— This morni.,g in the bloom of life ! This evening with the dead ! When to the raising of that mill, To Cowanston he went, 'Twas with a manly, noble frame. And heart of great content. But oh ! how little did he think The fatal hour had come, When falling beams would hurry him To his eternal home. Now, loving friend, though all your kin May shed affection's tears, They never can obliterate Your thoughts, through future years. For through those years you'll often think If Willie only lay Upon a downy bed of death, For one short week or day. Till I could cool his aching brow, And cheer his troubled heart, Ah ! then, just then, a mother's love, Could let him hence depart. 135 \'i .ia W- 136 RANDOM RHYMES. You're not alone in sorrow now, His wife must share your grief : Oh ! may the Saviour's changeless love, ^ To her bring some relief, And bind the wounds her widowed heart Through this sad shock has borne, Since Willie from her loving arms So quickly has been torn. With you and her and all your friends, I feelingly condolo ; But as the ways of God are such That them we can't control. We must t ' '^ in meekness bow, And thrji.^^. ^ is Son prepare, A deathless life in Heaven above, Et^irnaiiv to ^har'^ LINES On the death of Mrs. Henry Blackviell of Lemars, Iowa, U. 8., late of the Township of Maryborough, Ontario. Away near Lemars, in the far distant west. Our dear friend has gone to her bright, blissful restj Far, far from her home, and her friends in the east, Her joys and her sorrows in this life have ceased. With none to caress her, and no friend to mourn, Except her three children, who now feel forlorn, And him who walked with her the journey of life. To cherish her children, and cheer his dear wife, Alone, amongst strangers, 'midst sobbings and sighs, This kindest of mothers has flown to the skies. LINES. 187 1 How hope's aspirations, inflated with joy, Inspired her daughters and enchanted her boy, While over the prairies, they wandered for hours On carpets of nature besprinkled with flowers, Presuming their mother would yet live to see Her grandchildren perch'd on their dear father's knee. But alas ! for the hopes we all lean upon. They burst like a bubble ! like dew they are gone. And dear Mr. Blackwell, I'm sure, little thought, When the homestead he sold, and wild prairie bought. That so soon his dear wife would bid them good-by. And fly to her home, far beyond the blue sky. May Canada's sun, in his course to the west, . Iowa's sweet flowers still rear o'er her breast, That odors which flow from their sweet-smelling leaf, May soothe those dear hearts now smitten with grief. Feb. 17, 1882. . LINES On the death of Annie Maria Maddigan, who died at Bothsay, April Ath, 1882. The longest life we live on earth Is like the early dew, Or like the flitting morning cloud, Which soon escapes our view. How infinitely shorter still. Was Annie's hurried stay ! She came, our hearts with joy to fill. Then quickly passed away. Just as the little humming bird, Darts from an empty flower, 1 t'i li ! 138 RANDOiM RHYMES. So pretty Annie MatUligan Flit to her Heavenly bower. Hertlark brown e3'^es and curly liair Will cheer the angel throng, Who sing the Saviour s matchless love, While ages glide along. And when her parents and her friends Have ceased their earthly care, She'll welcome them to Heaven's home, Her happiness to share. LINES Written at the tomb uf Miss Jack, who died April 2oth, 1865. How beautiful this resting place ! How exquisitely still ! Although it lies along the street On Drayton's lovely hill, Which slopes so as to catch the rays Of morning's early sun. And still retain his genial smile, Until his course is run. Oh ! if those dca,r ones sleeping here, Could only stand and look Upon that busy town below. Its nice, meand'ring brook, Its lively stores — its trembling wires, Which bring us news from far; Or feel the quaking of the earth Beneath our railway car, 11 li LINES. How joyfully their laughs would ring, As oft they rang before ; But, oh! alas, as they are dead, Such things they'll see no more. One lovely creature slumbers here, Who can't to us come back ; Her name engraved upon this slab, Is Catherine Preston Jack. Though sixteen years have passed away, Since last we saw her face, We fain would clutch our pen to-day Her virtues to retrace. In school her frown was never seen, Nor was her voice e'er heard When other children dared to scowl, And have their anger stirred. At home, the children loved her so That round her they would cling Till she would tell them Bible tales, Or new hymns for them sing. Oh ! ne'er that voice can I forget, Though silent she lies here ; The mem'ry of its silv'ry tones, Comes now, my heart to cheer. No wonder that her parents come To cultivate the rose That buds above her resting place, And chides her long repose : But budding roses ne'er should chide The pretty flower that lies Within this solemn sepulchre Yet blooms beyond the skies. 139 m 4 mi ', 140 RANDOM RHYMES. Good -by lone tomb, it does us good To stand by thee and sigh, And feel that faith in Christ alone, The falling tear can diy. Farewell, dear Catherine Preston Jack, Farewell, till that great day When Christ shall come to burst these tombs, And take his own away. IN MEMORIAM. Mrs. Robert King died at Moorefield, on Oct. 20f/i, A.D. 1878. "She is not dead but sleepeth." Another saint has gone to rest, To earth she bade farewell, And what she now enjoys in Heaven No human tongue can tell. While here she lived a life of love, A life of love and joy. Which all the cares of this vain world Could mar, but not destroy. Her heart was fixed on things above From childhood's early dawn ; And all the solace of her life From this grand source was drawn. Although the smiles of earthly friends Had often cheered her way. While worried by the cares and toils Of ev'ry cloudy day. While raising up to manhood's prime Those sons she loved so dear, IN MEMORIAM. 141 78. The kindly words her hiisl)and spoke Oft checked the rising tear. And if their youthful wayward feet In doubtful paths e'er trod ; Her husband then would soothe her fears, And tell her trust in God. The vOiv that in his heart is made No earthly friends can fill, But when the Saviour once comes in, He'll find his presence will. Then, to that Saviour let us cling, With firm, tenacious hold, And He, with her, will shortly bring Us all into his fold. Though we may sometimes fear and doubt The purposes of God ; 'Tis for our good that he e'er lays On us His chastening rod. Then bow in meekness and prepare To meet her on that shore. Where neither death nor worldly care Shall e'er disturb us more. I li^i ROBERT KING, Esq. Vied at Moorejield, Atignst llth, 1879. Age 74 years 4 months. Very kindly dedicated to his sons, Messrs. Andrew and Robert Kino. At Hollin now, by mother's grave, Another mound, like wave by wave. Points out the spot where father lies, Now severed from all earthly ties. 142 RANDOM inrVMKS. Comu Uolnii't, conic and let us sec If we can count how often lie With voice mellifluous and calm, Requested us to sing a psalm, And then oft added with a smile — " In the old Covenanter's style." And let the lessons which he taught. Back to our hearts, with power be brought, That that great Saviour who, with power Sustained him in his dying hour. May be our Saviour and our friend, When on this earth our course shall end, Methinks I hoar his voice now say Hark ! my dear sons, come up this u'ay, Come nearer to our lowly ail, And as our parents lived and died, And now in peace rest side by side, So may we live, and from death ris(». When Jesus Christ shall burst the skies, And with his holy angels com» icious still Her locks of jet black hair. Her silks, and rings, and chains of gold, As relics fade away. Whene'er that likeness we behold Which does herself portray. \ifi ' t ■ i; il'i I' 162 llANDOM RHYMES. That likeness which we got enlarge*^ So that we all might see Her smiling face, as once it looked In love on you and me. Ah ! Mary dear, we hope that we, When earth's last ties are riven, May see thy smiling face once more, And love thee still in Heaven. MR JOSIAH ROSS, Son of Jame$ Ross, Esq., of Maryborough, was droivtied in Boyne River, in tlie Province of Manitoba. HIS father's lament. Our firstborn is missing to-day, love, Josiah is missing to-day, The river's deep, treacherous waters Have carried our loved one away. In life we can never behold him, He lies 'neath the turbulent stream ; Oh ! would that our arms could infold him, As that would annul my sad dream. You remember, I thought I was searching For something more precious than gold. By the banks of a deep, murky river. And the day was both dreary and cold. I sought till the darkness grew densely, And the sun sank deep in the west ; I sought, but quite weary through searching, I hopelessly sank down to rest. MR. JOSIAH ROSS. That dream was a wise premonition To help us to bear our deep woe ; The Lord in his kindness thus told us He shortly would take our dear Joe. Oh ! our dear, first-born son Josiah, Thy parents' poor hearts feel undone, All others can never replace thee, Josiah our dear, firat-born son ! Ourselves are like uoats on the river, The River of Life as it flows ; And how soon we'll enter the current And capsize, the Lord only knows ! Then let us prepare and be ready, When we reach the dangerous falls, And quietly steer our barks over, When the Master urgently calls. I'll start for Red River to-moiTow To seek the remains of our boy ; 'Twill mitigate half of our sorrow, The half of our woe 'twill destroy. If I find him and mark where he lies, By a slab I'll place at his head. It will seem as though he is living. Yes, living ! although he is dead. The place where he tried to cross over Boyne River with harrow and plough, I will mark, my dearest, minutely, And renew to Heaven my vow. The children to us who were given. Whenever they look on a stream, 163 f n III w ;fe hi; r'; 1 lip V ' VI 1G4 RANDOM RHYMES. Will piously look up to Heaven, And say they remember my dream. You say you would rather go with me Than bear your sad trouble alone, For the children add to your trouble As their loss they daily bemoan. Then come with me out to the prairies, Yes, come to the prairies with me ; You shared my })ast joys and my sorrows, And now by my side you shall be. We'll take our through tickets from Moorefield, And quickly to Winnipeg go. To behold that treacherous river That caused us this heart-rending woe. How sad looks the face of all Nature As the train goes hurriedly by, All the trees stand demurely bowing, The winds add their tremulous sigh. The once happy brooks only murmer ; The woe of the rivers sound deep ; And the towns look utterly dreary, As rapidly through them we sweep. Guelph, London, Detroit and Chicago, How soon we have passed through them all ; Get ready to take some refreshments, For soon we'll be into St. Paul. Oh ! no, their's no use for such weeping, You must drink a gooirit e'er restrain, Till thy sweet maid was brought to reign With those who from this earth had tlown To bask before high Heaven's throne. A Longfellow, a Burns, a Moore Could n< er inspire thoughts more pure; TO A NEPHEW. My very heart within me burned As one by one thy thoughts I turned. As, one by one, thy thoughts I weighed, My rhyming spirit stood and prayed That all the blessings Heaven could give Might be your portion while you live. For poets, 'midst their songs and prayers, Have little cash, and many cares ; They find with Byron, and with Burns, Money and praise take many turns. The phosph'rous fly, when night is dark. Does not withhold her little spark. Though Shakespeares now-a-days are few, And people laugh at me and you ; I ask, dear sir, from time to time, That you still bless us with such rhyme. 175 ^!f TO A NEPHEW. In Autograph Album. That Heaven's blessing, rich and rare, May be thy portion, is my prayer. While you are young improve your time In learning Greek and writing rhyme ; But never love, for 'twill not do Until your college course is through ; But tell the ladies when that's done. You'll visit them and have some fun. il^l *: •1 > I iff 176 RANDOM RHYMES. ' VOTE FOR DRKW. Election times are coming, boys, But oh ! they're nothing new ! Then cast aside all other joys And come and vote for Drew. As men of brainr. and pocket, sirs, • Are now-a-days so few ; Just act like men of common sense And vote for lawyer Drew. Let Foley once more change his coat Like all his motley crew ; He's nothing but a " billy goat " Who does not vote for Drew. 11 ' Great numbers of Reformers, sirs. And those of brightest hue, Will vote for hin who truth defends, And that is 0. A. Drew. The very name, Conservative, They could almost eschew, They'll bear it as an epithet. And vote for lawyer Drew, He will ConseTt'e our interests, Reform our evils too, H'i8 interests are one ivlth onra, We'll therefore vote for Drew. July 8th, 1807. t. HUSTONVILLE ELECTION BAITLK. 177 HUSTONVILLE ELECTION BATTLE. A WOFUL scene and mad affray Took place right here last Saturday ; Conducted by a man of note,* On whom the Tories all now dote. : i At least the Tories here all do, And all of them at Simcoe too ; At nine o'clock, the polling hour, He first i)egan to show his power. 1 When R. S. Moore began to swear Some stout youni^ men who then were there, Returning officer, said he. Fair play, fair play, there here must he. ' Presuming the said Mr. Moore Would favour APnn, to be sure, By swearing those t keep the peace Who would brave Allan's votes increase. Oh ! well, said Moore, with sullen scowl, You need not thuf< begin to houi, For I assure you half these men Are true tt Gowaa and, »ir, then Is it not fair that Alia}} too, Should have a share as ii',-ll as you f The constables then took their ptand And waited for his first command. This strict behest, distinct and loud, Was heard then by the listening crowd : Ye constables noiv at the door Admit six men and not one more. Th»)8. FergusuTi, M.P. 178 RANDOM RHYMES. When these >tix vote and paHS away I'll call six Trior e without delay. Thus peacefully the day began Without a blow from any man. But all this time a certain " Quack " Looked half fanatic on horseback, Resembling Tam O'Shanter's gait. With head bent down and tail out straight, Rushing fiercely through the wind, And leaving clouds of dust behind. By his great leader being sent Into Wallace he quickly went. Bellowing out with ardent soul : Ye Oowanites t'uah to the poll ! Rush to the poll notu instantly And make the Allan voters flae, For Allans strength is very great And no one knows poor Goiuans fate ! The Wallaceonian.^, bold and lirave, Harangued and goa Jed by this knave Forsook their oats, their wheat, and hay. And yelled like bloodhounds all the way. Armed with a hayfork, scythe, or gun, Until they came to Oowanston ; But here their weapons were exchanged For clubs, for thus it was arranged. Those bleaoing " lambs," now fresh from Perth, Belched forth their alcoholic mirth Until through Huston ville they came 'Midst tl amine: oaths I dare not name. "rr. HUSTONVILLE ELECTION BATTLE. 179 Now consternation and surprise Flashed from the woe-bestricken eyes Of some brave men who there had come Simply to vote, and then go home. And others, too, with heads now sore, Who showed fair play outside the door. And ah ! no wonder they should look Black as the wild Canadian rook. For, though the constables were sworn. They from the doors were quickly torn ; And the boards from off the house Fell to the ground with one great souse. Then in they jumped, with horrid yell. As though disgorged from lowest hell ; And now their bludgeons short and long Were swung by men enraged and strong. And lo ! the victims of such blows Went home with shattered head or nose. And thus while fighting some would yell : Now, sirs, we'll send your souls to hell. Quite long enough ye played your tricks But we'll convert ye with these sticks. Lay on him, Jim, another cried, Don't heed his groans bat tan his hide. Pushing, rushing, jamming, thrashing, Screaming, crushing, roaring, cra.shing, Out now they tumbled til! the road Seemed to abhor its mangled load. The poll clerk* through the window fled To save his books as well as head, * The Author waa poll clerk fl f^ i; •il 180 RANDOM RHYMES. ! t i For now the stones in hundreds flew Until they fell thick as the dew. But lest this truthful prolix rhyme Exhaust your patience and your time, I'll wind it up and bid adieu To this dark scene and motley crew. IN A LETTER TO NAOMI MARA, JULY 16th, 1879. Hip, hip, hurrah ! I've been away. But now my tea is smoking ; And oh ! my dear, If you were here We'd have a time at joking. For I am sure Naomi Moore Is not F.o killed by study, But tea she'll quaff. And sweetly laugh. And say sweetly ains he got muddy. Our love to all, Both great and small, Dear uncle, aunt and Harry But And do not stay Another day, come, and do not tarry I CONUNDRUM. When you're sad it makes you happy ; And when poor it makes you rich ; And makes you feel just like a Pripce When you wallow in the ditch. THE HUSTONVILLE QUACK. 181 THE HUSTONVILLE QUACK. A REPLY, ETC. Please listen to me patiently, A simple truth I'll tell About a certain would-be quack Who came midst us to dwell. Of Celtic blood and brainless breed, Yet big in bones 'tis true, He dared to wield his clumsy pen To show what he could do. But like the mountain groaning, sirs, A mousie to produce. This poor non compos merit is quack Just proved himself a goose. A baby of this century Who would his rhyming read, Would set him down at once to be Of purest donkey breed. He neither spells, nor punctuates As any school-boy could, And yet he talks of Farmer Tate, As if he thought he should. If Huston quack would mind his post As grey-coat farmers do, His catalogue of " sudden deaths" Might still be grooving few. And Mrs. Reid, of HustonviHe Might yet be living there, If i li' f 182 RANDOM RHYMES. And many a sprightly, blooming child vacant chair." Might fill the And many a loving father's sigh, And many a mother's tear Might be reserved, or bottled up, To serve some future year. And many a grave might be left shut. And many a spade lie still, If blackhaired Neddie never saw The streets of Hustonville. But people will be gulled, you know, By doctors and their kin ; They use such wily stratagems Our trusting hearts to win. And many of us fully know Diplomas are despised ; For Neddie's empty apple-cart At Kingston was capsized. When last the Parson christened him We heard him say — " Impos, " But as his voice just here went down, We're something at a loss We think he added " tor" to it, But yet 'tis hard to say. Impostor was his name, dear sirs. Long, long before to-day. The winds, that cross the grassy graves His unskilled hands did fill, Are fraught with groans against the quack. The quack of Hustonville. HOW TO CHEAT THE PRINTER. 183 HOW TO CHEAT THE PRINTER. Addressed to James Mcintosh, Esq., of Flora, Out. The merest tyro fully knows That printers publish rhymes and prose ; But all the printers — fools, or wise, Charge well for all they advertise. There's just one way in spring or winter, In which we can outdo the printer, I'll try the trick, and if I fail, We'll drink his health in bottled ale. I'll tell you now, dear Mac, the way, If you, in future, do not say A word aboot it in yon toon Where oft lue sat 'neath silvery moon. I've got a prett ' farm to sell, On it a house and living well, An orchard young, and bearing too, With barn and stable snug and new. I'd take four thousand — but would less Because I'm now in deep distress, My payment's due — of cash I'm short, And in such plight there is no sport. The township lot, and the concession, Must also be in your possession, Maryborough, lot number three — Let all cash buyers visit me. They'll find me on concession nine, 'Midst flocks of sheep and herds of swine. I! Vi ^ ,\ iV \\-^ "% s tt A \ €> 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 o '< -ms ///// m/.ji ",^ ^ % <^- \ f^ ^ 184 RANDOM RHYMES, And if I chance to be from home They can remain until I come. So now, dear poet, Mcintosh, I hope my project you'll not quash By giving bhaw the dread alarm That thus I advertise my farm. Since printers ne'er commit such crimes As charge a poet for his rhymes, If I succeed I'll die continier For having thus outdone the printer. ADVERTISEMl^lNT. William Wallace Moore lends money To buy land and keep you funny ; Or if of debts you ar^ afraid, And wish at once to have them paid, Just come to me, I have on hand Thousands to lend on house or land. What if you have acquired a debt ! You need not worry, toil and fret. Cheer up, good sirs, be quite content, For money now's but six per cent. One million, sirs, I got of late. Which I can lend on real estate. If lands and houses are all spent, I still would ask you be content. For if sad cares you have endured. It's time you had your life insured, Five hundred pounds to your dear wife Would well repay her for your life. ADVERTISEMENT. You should not eat, or sleep content Till you're insured from accident. Insure your houses, bams, and crops, You're dusty storegoods, and you're shops ; The " Mutual " instanter pays For every accidental blaze. If of music you're not possessed, Of instruments I have the best. Heaven is full of sweetest song, And earth won't last us very long. Then you should all for Heaven prepare. By sweetest song, if not by prayer. As now I'm living by my pen, I'll work as cheap as other men ; I'll draw your wills, collect accounts, And gather in those small amounts Which in the aggregate do make The very things that merchants break. All other documents I'll draw As neat as keen eyes ever saw, Mortgages, bonds, letters, deeds. Bill of sale on chattels — tweeds Or any stuff beneath the skies, I care not what's its worth or size. And if you marry ere you die. The marriage license I'll supply ; Two dollars only, I require To help you quench old Cupid's fire By getting you a happy wife To cheer your dull and wayward life. Another step I'll now advance, My advertisement to enhance, For last, not least, I'll auctioneer 186 i« 186 RANDOM RHYMES. Your goods as quick, and yet as dear, As any man whose flippant tongue, The cash, from miser, ever wrung. As Commissioner in Queen's Bench, My charges still I do retrench. If afHrmatioQ you would make, Or solemn oaths you dare to take, I'll charge you but a simple fee, If you will deign to call on me. BURLESQUE. Now Mr. McEwen, Pray, what are you doing ? Oh ! you're trying to look at your toes ! Yes ! there's fun in the rig ! For your belly's so big, That you'll ne'er again see them, my Jose. Except your physician Soon works a transition. By turning your big belly about ; And locating it where, You may, with assumed air, , Presume it's a fine cushion, no doubt. And your superfine clothes, Like the pig with the nose Well adorned with a pretty gold ring, Only make you a tool For the scoffer and fool, You are such a great dunce of a thing. Your wild eyes, like a hare. Still emit such a glare. TO H. DUGGAN, ESQ. That your folly tbey always portray ; And your eyebrows enshroud Those large eyes with a cloud, Like the sun, on a dark rainy day. Then Johnnie O'Thunder ! It's surely no wonder. That your neigbours of you are afraid ; They know if you borrow They're sure to sup sorrow, For their confidence will be betrayed. And this fact, as you know, Often forces you go To Mr. Armstrong's, three miles away. Just to borrow some bags. But, as now my pen Hags, I, abruptly must bid you good-day. 187 li TO H. DUGGAN ESQ., OF AKTHUR, ONT. In reply to his poem of Feb. 23rd 1881. rfec W?'*^' ^"^^^'^ «''** ^«*""*"' «*y« *»»»*-^' civilization grew pottry Pray, Mr. Duggan, who are you ? I know you rhyme, but that won't do ; I want you tell me whence you came ' As you were bom for future fame. I want to know what coloured hair, Whether black, auburn, red, or fair ;' What sort of forehead ; and your eyes Are they black or blue as the skies ? 188 RANDOM RHYMES. Is Dug^an rich, or is he poor, Like Bobbie Burns or Wallace Moore ? If, like Lord Byron, he was born With silver spoons and soup spoons horn, It is no wonder he can write Like any lord or noble knight. The bubbling spring on mountain side Leaps o'er the crags with gushing pride ; Just so it is with you and me, Our mental gushings must be free ; Like Iceland's fountains we must rise And soar beyond both seas and skies ; Nor can we chain our spirits down Though we must bear Macaulay's frown ! The poet's mantle, so divine ! I hope may yet be yours, and mine. You say you'll fight if I'm a Tory, But if Reform, in me you'll glory. The battle's fought, the work is done. The cards are played, John A. has won. Though Blake may fume and we explode, Sir John must now complete the road. Which in the future will repay Our country's present great outlay. What politics protect the Crown, Blow up the Czar, pull Pamell down ! Now tell me, Duggan, if you can Have faith in anything called man ; Since Fenians spurn all future hope By laughing at the very Pope Who freely gives his precious days To straighten up Sin's crooked ways ? jg^g^ggmmm TO H. DUGGAN, ESQ., Bright moral suasion quells the storm Roused by the Tories or Reform, But when this instrument has failed, Right to the Cross our hopes are nailed ; Near it we stand, and calmly pray : Give peace Lord in this our day, Nor let the sword in vain he drawn To stain an Irish field or lawn. May Pamellites have sense to see That right, not might, must make them free. If Erin's soil they must possess, Their greatest ally is the press. No Fenian plots can e'er restore The lack they feel the world o'er. My Irish friends, dear to ray breast ! I fain would take to the North-West, Where no rack rents, or cess, or rates Would e'er disturb their own estates. But as my prayers can't bring them out. There they must stay, to fight or pout. If Blake does not a plan invent To make them happy and content. Perhaps Sir John may let him lead. So that friend Gladstone he may bleed. By coaxing him to grant the cash To exile all the " Irish trash," (?) And place them on our fertile plains To rest their souls and tortured brains. 189 i '• I ! ,1 I Let Ireland's sons at once strike hands, And emigrate to foreign lands ; And let the Banshee wail around 190 RANDOM RHYMES. The landlord's waste, forsaken ground, And cheer the graves of those who died During the days of Erin's pride. Then, friend Duggan, and not till then, Will there be peace 'mongst Irishmen. So wheu we meet up there or here We'll drink their health in rounds of beer. Till then, dear poet, no mistakes, Shut up, shut up ! put on the brakes ! ! Moorefield, March 2lBt 1881. WILLIAM DONNELLY, THE BIDDULPH CHAM- PION. My readers will distinctly remember the Biddulph tragedy. The father, mother, and niece of William Donnelly, the party to whom the following lines are addressed, having been brutally murdered, and afterward burned to cinders and left smouldering in the ashes of their comforcable dwelling. His brother John, who was tem- porarily visiting him, was shot dead at his door, which be went to open in answer to a call for admittance. The assassins intended to murder William. He had previously received several anonymous letters threatening the utter annihilation of the Donnelly family. Still he fearlessly, and at once, appealed to the strong arm of our unbiased Canadian law for justice and protection. ** Vestigia nulla retrorsum,''^ at once became his motto. Forward he went and procured warrants for the arrest of those whom Johnnie Connor {who was the only witness) said he saw commit the atrocious murder at old Mr. Donnelly's. Hence the following lines to a party with whom I am not per- sonally acquainted. I've read of Napoleon of old. Of how he was daringly bold, And of Wellington at Waterloo, But neither was equal to you. No steps backward. WILLIAM DONNELLY. No 1 neither fought battles alone, When all friends and armies were gone ; But thou, alone and forsaken, While earth's strong pillows are shaken, And the grave seems ^-awning for thee, No darkness nor danger cans't see. Hurrah ! for the land of thy birth. Thou most daring champion on earth ! The land of thy birth is too dear. That thou should'st forsake it through fear ! The grave has no terror for thee. When the smould'ring ashes you see ; The ashes of home, and of friends. Aye, justice thy courage defends ! Thy beautiful cousin lies sear. With a father and mother so dear ; And then, poor John's piteous roar, " Oh ! Will, I'm shot dead at your door ! " When these things return to your mind, No wonder to danger you're blind ; When the blood which courses your veins, Rolls back like a wave to your brains, And dashes its surge on your heart, No wonder with life you could part ! Remember that Abel of old, Whose body lay bleeding and cold, Had blood which, though shed on the ground, Yet spoke in a language profound. The blood of thy brother will cry. And the winds of Biddulph will sigh. And the ashes they scattered will Tell tales in the future, dear Bill ! 191 192 RANDOM RHYMES. Fret not thyself, for God still lives, And justice to us all He gives ; And may God bless you. Will, while here, And take you to a happy sphere, When a long life in this you've spent, In affluence and sweet content. Oct. 11th, 1880. DR. OETON AND JUDGE DREW. In a roply to a letter which I received from Geo. T. Orton, M.D., M.P., while he was at Ottawa, in March, 1879, I find the follow- ing : "I must go to work and write a poem on both physic and law, and show how many of Dr. Orton's patients died ; and how many of our Elora Queen's Counsel's clients lost law suits on ac- count of the Parliamentary absence of both of you ; and then, on your return from Ottawa, yourself and Mr. Drew will be met by some of your constituents, who will greet you as follows : " Oh ! doctor, dear doctor, jump right off the train, And run straight to my house — Oh ! don't mind the rain ! For Mary is sick, and the boj'^s are all dead, " Where's Dr. Orton ? " were the last words they said. And then my poor wife, with a mother's sad cry. Would tell them that Orton would not let them die ; Oh ! you must stay at home, the neighbours all say, And not let us die in this kind of a way. I've lost it, good friend, what you heard is quite true, The case I'd have gained if I had Lawyer Drew ;* And that case of my neighbour — old Mr. Wray, He certainly lost because Drew was away. I'll vote for some fools who have nothing to do. But I'll not vote again for Orton or Drew. * J^'pw senior Judge of Wellington County. r.D., Uow- and how I ac- , on t by in! MISS SHEEHAN, BRANTFORD. THE BELL OF THE TIMES. What a pity, She is witty. What a sin I do declare ! How she smiles, How she wiles, With her eyes, and with her hair. With her curls. With her pearls. Set within her rosy gums ; How she thinks, How she winks, How she sings or gaily hums. Like a peahen, like a dove. How she coos, and dares to love ; If without her, forced to live, Not a cent for earth I'd give. 1,93 MISS SHEEHAN, BRAJSTTFORD. AN ACROSTIC. My dear Miss Sheehan, as 'tis said. In a few days you're going to wed Some nice young man, from Brantford town ; bince some young ladies now may frown. Stick closely to his manly side, And clutch his arm with gentle pride ; Remembering, too, that thy sweet smiles, And all thy simple little wiles He'll need to aid him through the strife. m I !i : i u| r 3 £ 4 ■ 194 RANDOM RHYMES. Since he has dared to take a wife. Heaven bestow on thee, Miss Sheehan, Ev'ry two years, a smiling wean. E'er may you, dear, whilo Heaven wills, Have courage thus to nurse young Sills ; And may the Lord, who rules the skies, Ne'er let youi' heart heave heavy sighs. March 29th 1879. " THOMASONIAN." About a quarter of a century ago the Thomasonians were delud- ing a good many through the foolish belief that the soid of man slept with his body after death till the day of final remrrection. Mr. Wm. Cooke, who was then Canadian colporteur of the American and Foreign Bible Society, asked me to write a rhyme which would include some Serif ture proofs opposing their doctrine. Though but a boy I assented, and compiled the following : You Thomasites profess to love That God who reigns in Heaven above ; And we profess to love Him too. We therefore wish to speak to you About that Word, which He has given To guide us to Himself in Heaven. And if ye will adopt my plan, We first will read about that man Whom God's great power from dust had made. And placed to dwell in Eden's shade ; (a) You'll grant his flesh, made out of clay. Without a soul would soon decay. In God's own image he was made, (6) And that has never yet decayed, * She became Mrs. Sills, (a) Gen, ii. 7. (b) Gen. i. 2b. T THOMASONIAN. 195 For He who does His Israel keep, Caii never slumber, much less sleep ; (c) Then how is it that ye dare say That Adam's soul sleeps in the clay ? Now see Elijah, who restored The widow's son, when he implored The Lord of life, and glory too, A certain miracle to do ; To hear his prayer, and graat just then That this child's soul should come again Into the body which lay dead (d) Beneath the prophet in tlie bed ; Now, how is it that ye dare say. That this child's soul slept in his clay ! Now come with us, likn Christian men, And read those lines, which cheered the pen Of Solomon, tLo wisest man, And then, refute them if ye can ; For he declares our bodies must Keturn again to sordid dust, (e) But that our spirits soar away. To meet their God in endless day. Again to check your foolish pride. We read — " The rich man also died," And then in Hell, midst woes and sighs. Amazed and shocked, he op'ed his eyes, And when he saw the beggar blest. Enjoying peace in Abram's breast, (/) He prayed in anguish, yet in vain. That Lazarus might ease his pain, By one small drop, from Heaven wrung, (c) Ps. cxxi. 4. (rf) I Kings xvii. 21, 22. r/l Luke xvi. 22, 23. (e) Eccl. xii. 7. H 196 RANDOM RHYMES. To cool his parch'd and blazing tongue ^ And oh ! his anguish, who can tell, Thus dashed about midst waves of hell. But lest you people dodge and say. All this takes place at the last day ; We tind he sees his friends on earth Midst jocularity and mirth. And prays that Lazarus may go And tell to them their brother's woe ; Is this not proof, as bright as day. That souls are not composed of clay ? When Stephen's flesh to death was stoned, We find that in himself he groaned. And prayed to Jesus in this way — Receive my spirit, Lord — to-day. (g) For argument there is no room, For Jesus lives not in the tomb ; He burst its doors and soared away, To realms of peace, and endless day. But if we sleep until the sound Of God's great trump shall rend the ground ; Just as each morning opes our eyes. To view the sun glide through the skies ; Precisely so, shall we awake, Our gloomy graves at once forsake. And rise immortal from the tomb To share gi'eat joy or endless gloom. So now, dear friends, you surely see We do almost with you agree ; Time's but a span, then Christ will come. To take His own beloved home. (id not affect his brains ! 1 wonder if they ever thought That kind acts would incline Ihe greatest sinners eyes to viezu The bibber of the wine ! It's almost time coldwater men Would from their swoon awake And hear Paul say to Timothy, Jy^t for thy stomach's sake."" Oh ! would that He, who chased the De'il Into the herd of swine, Would teach these men that it's no sin 10 drmk a glass of wine. ,■ « ^fel"^"? 'i ?^^«J^enzie and his friends, wj'C^ ^"^ country's reins, With one grand stroke protect our riirnts And save our reeling brains ? • ' Why don't they pass one sweeping law lo stop the noxious trade, I Timothy v, 23. 199 J : ii 200 KANDOM RHYMES. Why do they falter to complete Those laws which they have made ? It is no good to lop the branch ; At once root out the tree. Don't Tnake or import, and you then Shall set our country free. But now I'll speak quite plainly, sirs, And tell you what I think : You'd better cancel all these laws, And let us have our drink. Not all the popes that ever reigned, Nor yet our church and state. Will ever change us from our mind, Or save you from your fate. The Bible is the only rule We'll take as our sole guide. Nor do we care a single hair For all th e world beside ! If we, like men, but take the pains To rise in all our might, We may be sure we shall secure Our freedom and our right. Come on, ye men of Wellington, While trusting in the Lord, Come on and vote for temperance, According to his word, That man alone is temperate. Who can take out his glass, And fill it, on the Sabbath day. When home from church or mass. A REPLY. And drink the healthy beverage, Whether wine, rum or beer, And ne'er get drunk through ku the day JN or yet through all the year. ' Oh ! yes we'll vote for freedom's laws * And let all others see ' That we're not bound by tyrant chains, JNor shall we ever be ! Moorefield, Nov, 28th, 1876. 201 A REPLY, To Lines on the Death of Moorefietd's New GrktmUl That any farmer in this town bhould try to write just like clown, 10 put the name of Brodie down Is contemptible ! When Captain Brodie to us came. Me bore a strictly honest name. And still he bears and loves the same ; Would you dare tarnish ? ' Will you dare sully that career ^' Which he has run since he came here 1 hat has to us made him so dear ? ' Oh, how can it be ! Can any farmer selling meat, Or barley, peas, or oats, or wheat JNow as a censor takes his seat And condemn Brodie ? * '^' T"" ^" "^^-^^t^^as-^^^^^^^^ i -i 202 BANDOM RHYMES. After having bought our grain Which oft was sprouted through much rain, Or frozen, till our hearts would fain Feed it to the pigs. The higest price was always given, His bargains always right and even, His scales the justest out of Heaven ; Who can deny this ? But oh, you say, the scales are turned Since Brodie's merchant mill is burned, Now his last drop of milk is churned And ive've his butter. Your merchants now all stewing, frying, Sit down behind their counters crying, And look as though some friend ivas dying. Alas poor Moorefleld ! Let not that rhyming farmer's soul E'er permeate us, as a whole. But let us all ourselves control, And dare to do right. What though our Council made a blunder By not insuring us from thunder, Come build again and make those wonder, Who will not help us. For though some fools may harp and cavil. About the roads they have to travel. The mill alone will bring the gravel — That's sure as lightning ! " THE WHISTLER AT THE PLOUGH." We look to thosa who've land for tilWe We do not look to Drayton village, ' For they our interests would pillage ; * Every fool knows that ! Alas ! poor farmer, will not you Forever fret, and squirm, and stew, To hear that we commenced to hew The new mill timber ? Though you and yours may now be craved. Forever be John Brodie praised. The cash and notes are all now raised. And built it shall be ! Moorefield, April Ist, 1878. 20S " THE WHISTLER AT THE PLOUGH." I MET a man the other day. While walking down the street: His face sent forth a kindly ray. His manner was discreet. His aged frame was little bent. His profile large and full ; His eyes bespoke his heart's content ; His hair hung down like wool. I wondered who the man could be, I stood, and calmly gazed. Until my lawyer came to me, And said : You seem amazed ! If you don't know who that man is. You don't know much 1 trow, That's Alexander Som^rville, " The whistler at the plough," 2()4 RANDOM RHYMES. Please introduce me to him, sir, That 1 may truly tell. That I once shook the inky haj&d Of him who wrote so well. He raised his hat and stretched his hand. And gentle as a child. He coolly gave this kind advice And humorously smiled. Whenever you write again, young friend, In poetry or prose, Take time to write and then revise, Whatever you compose. I laughed and doffed my beaver hat. And shook the inky hand Of one who aids the literature Of this, our noble land. TO NAOMI. ! All in this house have gone to bed, No word for hours their lips have said. The clock's long tongue swings to and fro, The lonely hours to let me know. But sleep ne'er comes to me, my dear, - Till I'm forewarned by chanticleer ; You see then, love, that I have time To spice my letter with this rhyme. Take Harry's carriage, pitch him in, And round the walks then make him spin. Such outdoor exercise is good, 'Twill help you to digest your food. MISS MARGARET E. HAMILTON. When Sabbath comes, don't stay at home, And o'er the meadows wildly roam To chase the bees, and gather flowers, And desecrate the sacred hours. But go to church, that you may hear OF Christ who died for you, my dear ; May God, who rules both earth and sea, Still keep, and guide, and succour thee. July 22nd 1876. 205 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MISS MARGARET E. HAMILTON, Who died Augxist 2Qth, 18S1. AGED 16 YRS. 3 MOS. 15 DYS. Beloved daughter of Mr. and Mrs. John Hamilton of Maryborough. Ere Maggie died, our pretty group Was happy and complete. And now, if she could but return, ' Our joy would be replete. She passed away so suddenly, We scarcely knew for days » That we had lost her genial smiles, And all her pleasant ways. We miss the pies and extra cakes. She alway stowed away To tempt our blunted appetites ' Or deck a gala day. Her eyes outshone the twinkling stars, They vied electric light. And from our hearts, they oft dispelled The gloom of sorrow's night. . 206 RANDOM RHYMKS. Moroseness never drooped her brow, Her voice was calm and clear ; And all our'hearts are aching now, Because she is not here. Our Christmas times are just at hand. Of robust boys we've nine, And, Maggie dear, our girls are here. Except that face of mine. But when we list to catch the lay The heavenly voices sing, We plainly hear thy cheerful voice Chant praises to our King. And we shall meet you, by-and-by. To sing his praises too. When, one by one, we all shall die. And bid this earth adieu. Nov. mhl883. NIAGARA FALLS. | The very name — " Niagara Falls," Fills people with emotion. All through the States, as well as here. And those beyond the ocean. Imagination hears its roar Before its shores are sighted ; And in our dreams we view it o'er And feel ourselves delighted. But when we stand four miles below. From where its waters thunder. We bate our breath, our pace is slow. We hesitate and wonder. ' NIAGARA FALLS. 207 Here all the waters of the Noi-th — Michigan, Huron, Erie, Have put their last great effort forth And stagger wild and weary. From side to side they reel and foam As near the pool advancing ; They onward press, careering home, Like proud steeds nimbly prancing. And like those steeds uncurbed, yet spurred, They lash the rocks that bind them, As though their wrath these rocks incurred For casting waves behind them. No outlet can the eye behold, For all these plunging billows ; The channel stops, abruptly bold, To nurse its spruce and willows. And here the outlet of the Falls Must whirl around forever ; And thus to us it daily calls : Make one more grand endeavour. Stopped in my course, 1 tvill not stay, I only rest a minute To seek and find another way, And then at once run in it * « Its banks are lined with evergreens From base right to its summit ; While many cliffs enhance its scenes, And richly they become it. * The river above the whirlpool runs through a rocky gorge or ravine be- tween one and two hundred feet deep, and beatH with terrific force againat ita left bank, which curves abruptly but gracefully into a terrace-like basin, ' * UH causing this mighty river to diverge at right anglei from its direct course. 208 RANDOM RHYMES. In many parts its mighty walla Are fully square and even ; And from their nooks the bluejay calls To mates which fly in Heaven. No fences ward this Stygian stream For man or beast's protection ; This wicked, headlong gorge, 'twould seem. Is open for inspection. The whirlpool now we'll leave behind, And up the river wander ; And with a calm and Christian mind We'll on life's river ponder. There's little sunshine in life's stream, Just like Niagara River, It only gets the noon sunbeam* For which to thank the Giver. Then runs amidst wild shrubs and rocks, Far from those happy bowers. Which always cheer youth's lofty banks And scent the air with flowers. vj.^, Still up the stream we wend our way. And see things we should mention, Such as the old Niagara town With its antique Suspension. But bridges are not now my theme, *Tis Niagara's wild scolding That soothes my soul just like a dream. While I stand here beholding. Stentorian is its awful voice ; God's power it herald's proudly ; *The river runs north, and the ravine, throus'h which it flows, being ao deep, and having perpendicular walls, it is precluded from the sun's rajs except at midday. NIAGARA FALLS. Deep unto deep, as if by choice, Still calls, and calls more loudly. I raise my eyes up toward the skies, To waft my heart's devotion ; But through the mist a rainbow tries To quash my solemn notion. No drops of rain, no thunders loud, No dreary winds are blowing Yet o'er the Falls there hangs a' cloud In which this arch is flowing. Right at this bow a little stone I sportively projected ; I stood and wondered, all alone, For, surely, 'twas deflected. I flung another after that, To reach the foam I threw it, I then threvir stones both round 'and flat But still I could not do it. Down at my feet they seemed to fall, The air abc/ve the billows Just pressed them back against the wall To rest on rocky pillows. Gods mighty milldam boldly stands Above this yawning chasm ; And though constructed without hands It needs no cataplasm. Of its strange architectur'l plan I'll now adduce some data ; Its surface, ere the days of man, Was built of limestone strata • 209 210 RANDOM RHYMES. But under this, 'twas made of shale, Which soon decays and crumbles ; Still God's wise plans shall never fail, No matter who now grumbles. If man this cataract had planned, No doubt a rock foundation. Or granites laid by his own hand, Would be his wise creation ! The overhanging cliff above Protects a cave below it, And though the waters madly rove. They cannot overflow it. And through this grotto many yards Yon fearlessly may travel, Or sit and sing, like other bards, About its shale and gravel. On hottest days this cave is cool, With spray its floor is sprinkled ; 'Tis nothing leas than Ood's own school For scholars grey and wrinkled. The cat'ract spans from shore to shore, Six hundred yards, or nearly, Its downward leap is fifty-four,* And, oh ! it falls so queerly ! ■ Curling, whirling, tossing, tumbling Downward, still downward, rolling, Yet shimmering, foaming, grumbling Like beUs forever tolling. Goat Island, like a fearless dove, Abutted by her daughters, • Note, 162 ft IN MEMORIAM. The Grand and Navy isles above Divide these falling waters. Since Adam first beheld the light Of Eden's !.appy bower, Niagara has been, day and night Proclaiming God's great power. 211 IN MEMORIAM. Died at Stirton, Co. WelUi^gton, Sept. 4th, 1882, Rillia GERTRtTDE Woodman, age, 10 years, 1 month, and 28dly. The poet's heart is sorely tried If e'er he writes of those who died y hen m the midst of youth and health, And pleasant homes, friends, and wealth, ^ose lovely ones who die when young, , mo to thp.wmde all cares have iunq Whose aspirations only raise Their hearts to seek a father's praise A mother's love, a sister's smile ' Or, through the evenings to be^ile iru *®^^""^ of a brother's rounds When free from work, or gun and hounds. 'Twas when poor Rillia thus could please, And coax the song-birds off the trees, Whene er the organ and her voice Gave forth their notes so rarely choice When e en the household ca-ts would piirr . And mew, to show their love for her ' And when the dog, with longing look, W(>uld watch her cast away her book . And from the cupboard, all alone, -Bring forth his piece and welcome bone • i. .5 212 RANDOM RHYMES. And when her schoolmates, great and small When bound for school would for her call, That they together down might walk, And of their pranks and lessons talk, And when her teacher's eulogy Oft made her heart o'erflow with glee, . , v Just then, ah ! then, death's cold hands came, And from school roll erased her name. Now pensively her mother sighs. And thinks of Rillia's dark brown eyes ; And in her dreams, no doubt with care She curls her pretty, deep brown hair, Or hears her with her father talk, . As gently, side by side they walk, And sees her point to Heaven above. Where all may meet through Jesu's love. Moorefield, May 7th, 1883. RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY MAUDSLEY, M.D., Of Moorefield, Ontario, Canada, who died on the I'kth day of September, A.D. 1884, aged bQ years. O'er twenty years ago, my friends, This county was quite new ; Our neighbours had good oxen then And horses were but few. ' When sickness came, as oft it did, ' A neighbour's horse was sought, J And off we dashed in hot post haste. And soon was Maudsley brought. Nor did we ever seek in vain Our noble-hearted friend, b" •■■,*. HENRY MAUDSLEY, M.D. Immediately he stopped the pain And fear was at an end. The patients might be almost dead: ±5ut when the doctor came They always raised their drooping head And tried to lisp his name. His name, they said, renewed their breath And loosed their stiffened tongue It took away the fear of death— ' Fear to the winds was flung f And when they saw the doctor's knife Weigh powder on its tip They knew m^A death thiy^d have no strife ij once It crossed their lip. '' ' Hundreds healthy and well to-dav May thank him for their lives : A ^r^^ t'' ^"sbands bright and gay. And husbands for their wives Ihough some indeed he could not save And m his care they died He tned to keep them from the grave And o er their graves he cried No biting frost or drifting snow Could keep him from the sick, Though rain might fall and wild winds blow, He worked the same old trick. 1 he mud and gravel flew behind. As down the lanes he strode Aso er the fences he inclined To take the nearest road. A. huntsmen leap the yawning dyke. When after hounds and harl feo did our doctor ever strike For patients in despair. 213 I 214 RANDOM RHYMES. No fallen tree or drooping limb Could turn him from his course His whip and spur made way for him While sitting on his horse. But now he lies in old St. John's And as it was his will, There's not a slab of stone or bronze Where now he lies so still, To show how he had lived and died The bravest of the brave! Though life to others he supplied Himself he could not save. He also wished that no proud hearse Should bear him from his home, But that old friends who loved him most Should waft him to his tomb. Those friends obeyed implicitly, They carried him away. And placed him in his narrow house To wait the judgment day. But now, I ask, what of the poor i Who need his tender care. Where shall they find his substitute In medicine and prayer ? The two young doctors we have got, Who came to fill his place. Will his benevolence maintain And aid the human race. But who can dry the widow's tears And hush Miss Graham's * sighs. Or who shall quell young Harry's"!* fears And Minnie s,t when she cries ? "^The Dr's Niece. t Adopted ehildren. ELEGY. That God alone who makes the winds Blow where and how they please Can through his Spirit, comfort Them And give them lasting ease. Moorefield, Nov. 29th, 1884. 215 ELEGY / , borough, County of Welliln^Z K '^J^ ^"' P^' ^' ^«»*y- rnt,tiXf:^1i^oVie^:' '"^'"^^ ^y »>- ^-band James C„.- ^"ffn^Ty. *^""'':* ^^^^' ^y ^-y dear, < I love thy precious name, V JNot just because it first belonged 10 one of endless fame JVor yet because I love the friends Ut Jesus Christ the Lord • A Au^ *^f^ ^""^ *^i^e. mV dear And here that love record I love thee now because I know i ou loved me dearly too And on account of those dear ones ^ Who he asleep with you- ^^ ^^^M,^^"" ^®^"se of those Who still survive with me. . Whose youthful feet I shall lead on 10 meet in Heaven with thee. When ^rth and all its cares are done, A r?^.^^^ "^^^ ^e'lt before. And those you left to me, my dear 216 RANDOM RHYMES. Shall meet you on that shore, The shore of tliat vast, boundless sea, St. John's great sea of glass,* And then, through all eternity. Our days with thee shall pass. And then the loving Saviour's name With all our little choir, We'll help the angels to proclaim And ask them raise it higher ; For all our voices joined in one Can never sing too loud, Nor can we of that glorious name E'er feel too grandly proud ! ^ Till then good-bye, my own dear love. Till then, till then, good-bye ! In old St. John's, of Moorefield, By thee I soon shall lie ; / nd when the last great trump shall blow. We shall together rise. And with our lovely little group Meet Jesii^ in the skies. : I Moorefield, Dec. 2nd, 1884. LINES On the death of the Indian Chief, G. H. M. Johnston, Esq., of On- ondaga, Ontario, Canada. We write these lines, most noble Chief, To cause thee live though dead ; For all our hearts are filled with grief, Sir,*- ":om us thou hast fled. I *Rev. IV. 6. LINES. A Christian Chieftain thou wast here And now a Chieftain there, Amidst that glorious, heavenly sphere, So free from earthly care. " The Chief among ten thousand " now, Thou dost with vigour praise; Thyself a Chief, to Him you bow. And shall through endless days. The glory of that " happy land " To us is yet unknown, Where English crowns and Indian band. Shall mingle round the throne. Thy people loved thee as their king, And thou didst love our Queen, Thy praises, therefore, thus we sing To keep thy memory green. Thy father's father's dauntless sword Brought honour to thy race. And him and his unchanging word Thou dids't not e'er disgrace. Oh ! may the children thou hast left Thy footprints still pursue, That they, though now of thee bereft, May meet in Heaven with you. And may they, too, through Jesu's love, Thy Indian bands so teach, That all thy tribes may meet above. When life's sad end they reach. ' * Moorefield, Ont., April 25th, 1884. 217 218 RANDOM RHYMES. LINES On the death of Minnie Rumrell^ who died on the 22nd of April^ A. D.y 1880, while on a visit at the hospitable home of her grand- mother, M:8. Callaway y of Huston^ Ont, at the age of 1 year and 1 month. HER grandma's LAMENT. Step lightly friend, for Minnie sleeps, While Mary prays for her. and weepa ; Sit down and watch her waning breath, For now she's at the point of death. Dear Minnie wakes and asks the cup. And when from it she takes a sup, She washes o'er her hands and face, And on her pillow takes her place. Thus she prepares, I do record, To meet her gracious, loving Lord ; I've naught to do but now prepare To fold her arms and fix her hair. i Now, Mary, weep no more, my dear, * For Minnie's pain is ended here ; She calmly breathed her last short breath, And I have closed her eyes in death. Say, friend, sit over here a while. And view the sweet and heavenly smile Which rests upon dear Minnie's cheek, And then to my poor Mary speak, And tell her that bright angels came, And in the precious Saviour's name They plucked her budding little Rose, Which now enjoys its last repose. IN MEMORIAM. 219 Aprily frand- r and IN MEMORIAM, ALBERT GREIG LESLIE M'BETH, (Died at HuMtonville, on March 20th 1883, a^ed U months and 12 dayi.) Dear Albert now, with James and Ralph . In Hollm graveyard lies, ' And their three graves, Like crested waves, Point upward to the skies. ^'S^^^