IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I *^"IIIIIM IIM I ■- IIIIM 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" — ► V] : <^ oy ^>y 7 ^ « '/ Photographic Sciences Comoration 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 CtHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadien de microreproductions historiques V %'■ Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques Th to The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ D D D D D D Couverture endommagde Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurde et/ou pelliculde Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque D D Coloured maps/ Cartes gdographiques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Reli6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge intdrieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 film6es. Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppldmentaires; L'Institut a microfilmd le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la m6thode normale de filmage sont indiqu6s ci-dessous. I I Coloured pa^es/ Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag6es □ Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaurdes et/ou pelliculdes I y Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ I ^ Pages ddcolordes, tachetdes ou piqu^es □ Pages detached/ Pages defii^ch^es □ Showthrouyh,' Transparence □ Quality ot print varies/ Quality inegale de I'impression □ Includes supplementary material/ Comprend du materiel supplementaire □ Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Th pa of fill Or be thi si( oti fir sit or D Th sh Til wl Mi dil en be rifl re( m< Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errato, une pelure, etc., ont 6t^ film6es i nouveau de fagon d obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film6 au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous. 10X 14X im 22X 26X 30X 12X 16X 20X 24X aax 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce A la g6n6rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Cani:'1a The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Les ima^o-; suivantes ont 6X6 reproduites avec le plus grand so'n, v*ompte tenu de la condition et de la netteti uo l'exemplaire filmd, et en conformite ^-ve*^ les conditions du contrat de filmage. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimde sont filmds en commen^ant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commeng ant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en torminant pur la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol —»> (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaTtra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symboie — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN ". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc.. peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6. il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 F it P U B 1. 1 S 'K /'' ll POEMS. BY S. MOORE. Oft' have I sung of grove i and bowers, Of l)eauty's charms, and sparkling eyes. Of verdant meads and bhisliing flowers, Romantic scenes and azure skies. But when my highest notes 1 raise ; I sing my dear Redeemer's praise. PUBLISHED BY JOHN LOVELL & SON, 23 AND 25 St. Nicholas Street, 1887. J Eiit eicd according to Act of Parliament, in th;: year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven, l.y S. Mooru, in tlie office of the Minister of Agriculture, Ottawa. PREFACE. At the earnest and frequent request of many of my esteemed friends, I h£> v^e been induced to publish a vohmie of my poetry. The following miscellaneous poems have been selected. Such as they are, I give them to the public, hoping that the reading of them will afford as much comfort to the reader as the writing of them did to THE AUTHOR. Quebec, October, 1887. , THESE POEMS ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY PERMISSION HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HONORABLE y GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF CANADA, BY THE AUTHOR. 'If CONTENTS. PAGE May MusiiiH-- Faitli, Hiipc ami Charity NiKlil Sonnet— A sea side leflcction Sonnet Spring Sum mcr I,<)nningfor Spring Our Olooniy I'rospects of an F.arly Spring ,. .. The Soul What is Life? '1 he l«rd is my Shepherd A Wandering Thought The Kail of the Ix:af Jack Li ntoii An Kve ing Walk The Klcventh Hour Sonnet — The Comet of 1874 Recollections of Ireland — T he parting scene The Loss of the Atlantic — A Sonnet.. Following Christ Sonnet Spring — A Reverie Spring Mount Herinon Cemetery The Warrior, the Statesman and the I'oet Honesty Thoughts on Music Recollections 01' Iri.sh Scenery — Lo\igh Err ■ DifTicul lies Envy What so I verthy hand finedeth to do, etc Quehec Scener>' — An Incident Man his uwn hiographer A Reflection If a man die, shall he live again My Theme The Sower Too nuich of tlie heautifiil Snow. . , . Samson and Dslilah Murder The Deceiver Sonnet 'I'o Brother Jonathan — On the Alaba- ma Claims In Sejirch of Happiness To my Wife Sonnet — Death of Prince Leopold.. . (iricf for Frince Leopold A Meditation TheOld Hard Home Thoughts Sonnet to Her Royal Highness the Princess Louise The Sunny Side Man '. . . . Infinity 9 II 12 M 14 >5 16 17 18 21 '-'3 2.3 25 27 29 3' 36 37 38 39 40 40 42 43 46 49 5' 52 56 57 58 59 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 7> 7' 72 74 76 76 77 77 78 81 82 83 84 85 I'AllK Death of J. Miller, etc., 87 Had Habits 89 Redeem the Time 90 Death 92 (Jueljec Scenery 93 This Canada of Ours 97 I n Memory of my Young Friend 99 On Cruelty to Animals loi '1 he Horse 105 Death of Nial the Third 106 The HlessMigs of the Press 107 Against Jruelty to Animal.s 107 rarewell lines 108 I,ove, Honesty and Truth 109 To a Lady who sent me a l>ou<|uet , . no Sonnet tii A Ouestion 111 Welcome to the Marquis of Lan^is- downe . 112 The Week of Prayer 113 Prayer 114 Sonnet — Death of General (irant 115 do do of a I.ocal Poet 1 16 A View of the Past 116 Reflections on the Past 118 The days of Childhood J19 Divine Protection 119 Hymn 120 A Retrospective Reverie 121 Autumn 123 Sonnet 125 The Hoy that will suit us 125 To an Intidel 126 The loss of the Atlantic 127 Our New Gov. Gen. and the Princess Txjuise 129 Little Maidens 130 The Infidel 132 Arbor day in the Province o (Juebec. 135 My Mother'sGrave 137 My Mother 138 Elegy on the Death of my Mother. . 139 Thoughts on lines written by my Mother 140 Sonnet— Death of the Princess Alice. 141 Sonnet — Death of Longfellow 141 I love my Hible 142 Sonnet 143 On a Ixcture by Dr. Punshon 143 Things which I hate . 145 Autumn— The F'all of the Le;if 146 Eligiac Sonnet — Death of Mother-in- law 147 Loxe 147 I xjve 1 49 Sonnet 150 My Lu.vury 150 Sonnet — Sunset 152 A Birthday Reflection 153 To a V'oimg Poetess 154 Things which I hate 155 Reading and Writing 156 ^ CONTENTS. PAGB Kiiiina's Pride Cureil 157 Sonnet — I'sychology 159 Friendship 159 Sabljath iJcsecration 160 'I'hc KivLT Si. I-awrcnce 161 Virliio and Vice i6j Christinas 165 I'assinjj 'I hoiij;lits 166 ' 'n a Sni)« Storm 168 Temptations i6j Rhyming 170 New Year's Day i;i The Whale... 172 Clinstian Work 173 'I'lic I'ress 174 My Two Lessons 175 'J'he Deaf Mute— Sonnet 176 Deaf Mutes 176 The Deaf Mule 177 The Last Kiss 179 War 180 Respect due to old age 1S3 An Honest Man 184 Afflictions i86 Provide Things Honestly. ....... 188 Farewell to I^ady Dufferin 189 Hymn 190 Sonnet — Sal>l)ath morning in winter. 191 Christmas Carol 191 Launch of T/w Lady Dufferin 192 Winter is coming; . 193 Out in i Snow Storm 194 Work 195 My Choice 197 A I'inic for Kvery thing 198 'Tis Sad to be lonely 199 Our Friends in Heaven 200 1 am a Christian joi I'he Sabbath zoi Trials 202 Santa Clans 203 Hay making 203 My Pet Robin 205 Slander 206 Ode to America .... 207 The La\irentidcs and Lake St. John Railway 207 Winter in Quebec 212 Moses 214 Musings .... 216 Hymn 218 The Resurrection 221 Superstitions of Ireland 223 The Deaf Mute 228 Conviction 230 Elegy on the Death of my Father.. 231 He sure your sin will find you out.. 232 The Death of Montgomery 233 Ireland 236 Knockmore 237 Sonnet .•...,,. 239 Waking Dreams. , ,,,,.,,,.,,,,..,. 239 Henmore Church 241 Interview with a Robin 243 PAUK The Krne at Helleck Love of Ireland Ixjve aiul Sorrow j Irish Politeness. , , , The Irish Heart A Recollection The Diw (jleiis of Antrim Tile Irish famine The .Shamrock Farewell to Lortl Dufferin The Hibernian I'icnic Flirting on the Stile My Consolation A liirthday Reflection Impromptu Lines on the Death of Renforlh Annie's ( Iravi; My Rural Home Hymn — The Penitent Thanksgiving Day Proni])lituile Christian Hope A Visit to the Island ol Orleans Shortcomings To the first born daughter of a friend. Peace of Mind. A Wish Death of President Garfield Home Thoughts A Night Meditation Sleep Deal Ocntly Sonnet — The Press Peace Sonnet. The (Queen's Jubilee Patience The World is wh.-it we make it Thou art my hiding place Lines on an Earthquake The Toothache The Calico Hali Ve Know not what a day may bring forth (Juebcc and its conflagrations To a Friend in Trouble The Cloud ^f Witnes.ses The Aurora IJorealis The Shunamm'te Philosophic Musings Sonnet - Death of Capt. Webb Somiet Idle Dreams, To Mrs. Falloou .... Musings Rural Scenes Sonnet — Death of Mr. j. Dougall. . , . Higolry Death of the Old Year A Remin'scence of my Early Days.. Consolatory Lines to a Lady.... . A Day Dreani of the Future The Fire Fly 244 '•'41 24». 348 249 251 252 25:! 255 25O 257 25» 2S9 ■iU\ 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 a69 270 271 271- 273 274 275 277 278 280 280 1:81 282 284 285 286 2^7 28B 289 290 291 292 294 29s 297 298 300 300 301 302 3"3 304 305 305 307 3'>9 3" 312 3'5 r..».' KKKAIA. Page So, first \vord of fifteenth from toj) fur Tlien /('(/(/And. " 91, fourth line from bottom for '• your of" nuui your day of grace. " III, last word of fourtli line from bottom for vail ;frr(/ voice. " 125, eighth line from top for shiix's read shrines. 154, eighteenth line from top fui /arasus read pnniaisus. 194, on fourth line err^'^^ the second word '• long." 238, seventh line from Dottom for shoul 's read shrouds. 308, third line of second stan.ia formanpy ;t'(?(/ many. lil li I jf ; 1 : 1 I I c c c c A T t; Tl Ai Bi Tl POEMS. MA Y MUSIA^GS, I love the beautiful month of May When the warblers sing and the lambkins play, When nature puts on her robes of j^reen And Flora smiles like a graceful queen. 'Tis then I would like to leave the streets, And feast on fair nature's ambrosial sweets, And inhale the refreshing, balmy air And bid, for a time, a farewell to care. I would seek the flowery selvedged path. Or the sylvan shade, or the ancient rath, Or the rocky steep, or the old grey cairn Or the deep ravine with its gorse and fern. Or the verdant banks by the crystal stream. And again indulge in my life's young dream — The dreams I had when I used to rove Through glade or glen or the tuneful grove. Those joyous days when my hopes were bright. And my future a picture of pure delight ; But time rolled on and the joys I sought, Tho' closely followed, were rarely caught. A 10 Poems, O ! days of my youth and vigorous health, A thousand times better than worldly wealth, All gone ! yet lingering memory strays Far down the past to those early days. And home and kindred and friends appear, As in the past, warm, loving and near ; And I kiss my mother and hear her speak, While I feel her breath on my glowing cheek. And the years keep passing with rapid flight. As I gaze on each scene of past delight. Yet often, dark spots of sorrow and strife Crop up in my past eventful life, And I droop my head and I heave a sigh, When I think of the clouds which o'erspread my sky. Thus often I sigh while I muse alone, And think of the friends and the days long gone, When my fancied future was bright and fair, And I loved the castles I built in the air. But now when musing my thoughts are cast On the by-gone scenes of the distant past. Still the brighest days of my early youth Were those devoted to virtue and truth, And the glowing hopes which then warmed my breast Still cheer my heart and afford me rest. Tho' wintry blossoms adorn my head, And the vigor of life be partly tied, My vision grows bright as I near the tomb, And gaze on that spring of eternal bloom. £ Poems. 11 ^^ FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY— THESE THREE, BUT THE GREA TEST OF THESE IS CHARITY:'— \ Cor. 13-13. Faith, Hope and Charity are given To help us on our way to Heaven ; The first is luminous and bright Dispelling doubts and giving light, A shield to quench, resist, repel The fiercest fiery darts of hell. The second grace anticipates The future blessing which awaits The suffering Saints, who keep the road That leads to happiness and God, A balm to ease our present pain And cheer us with a future gain. The third, or greatest of the three, Is love, or Christian charity, This is perfection's highest rise Our passport into paradise, The sweetest essence of our God Which in our hearts is shed abroad. Faith shall be shortly lost in sight, And hope in realized delight ; But charity, or love supernal, Shall never die, love is eternal. For God is love, and love shall be Our theme throughout eternity. Love is our Father's crowning grace, Sent down to raise a ruined race ; For God so loved the world that He Gave his own son to set us free. !: £ J ! >.: 1 i 12 Poems. And thus his love revealed to man In working out Salvation's plan. Thus Faith believes the promise given, While Hope keeps longing after Heaven But Love, a sweeter joy imparts, And gives us Heaven in our hearts, And trains us for that home above Where all is peace and joy and love. JV/G//T. 'Tis night, a dull, dark, cheerless night. Nor moon, nor stars are visible to sight. The gloomy shadows of the inky clouds Enwrap our city in their inky shrouds. But tho' thick darkness veils the starry sky, Yet there is nothing hidden from the eye Of the omnicient God whose eyes survey The darkest haunts as in the light of day. He sees and knows all that is done below. And hears our wailings of distress and woe. He fills with joy the hearts of those who mourn, And aids the poor, the wretched and forlorn. To some he gives the calm and quiet sleep. And some have gone to rest, and some to keep A weary, lonely watch in some sick room, That soon will give a tenant to the tomb ; To tend that weary one whose ebbing life Is struggling through the closing, mortal strife, A dying child, a father or a mother, A husband, wife, a sister or a brother. Poems, 13 :-:.'Jy 'Tis sad to see our loved ones pass away, And yet 'twould be unkind to bid them stay, And suffer more of anguish, grief and pain. And then to come to this same stage again. Within the lamplit streets the busy throng, As inclinttion leads them move along. How restlessly the crowds pass to and fro — Some speed their course, some know not where to go. Some keep in virtue's path, some led astray, Rush to the haunts which throng the downward way. To seek in wine the short lived joys of earth And in the giddy whirl of thoughtZess mirth, And reckless revelry dance down the steep, ' And headlong plunge into sin's murky deep. The burglar, under cover of the night. And prowling thief who shuns the glare of light, And other wretches equally as vile Led on by Satan and his dupes the while, Are out to-night and lurking for their prey. To rob and steal, or may be lead astray Some unprotected female, or the youth Who yields to vice and cheaply sells the truth. O ! God, my Father, teach me what is right, And shield me from the terrors of the night. And let thy guardian eye protect and keep Me from all evil while I rest in sleep. ■■! % A 14 Poems. SONNET. A SEA SIDE REFLECTION. How grand to see the white maned billows roll, And waste their fury on the rocky shore, Or listen to their loud, terrific roar, And then to think of him who can control The stormy winds and the tempestuous sea. And whispers " peace, be still," and winds and waves | His will obey, hushed by his lullaby. Then why are we of fear the willing slaves, When we have but to wake our sleeping Lord, Or rather trust the promise of his word, And feel secure, from every danger free. And have a calm serenity restored, Like to the glassy surface of the deep, When winds and waves are hushed in noiseless sleep?! SONNET. Life's joys and sorrows meet us every day. But some are blinded by their tears of sorrow And see no joy. Hope's pleasures pass away While they keep brooding o'er a dark to-morrow. Some seize on joy and tho' too brief its stay. They wait on its return and meekly bear Their short lived trials, while they find relief In coming to the Comforter to borrow A soothing balm to ease them in their grief. The storms we dread are messengers of grace. To bid us hasten to our hiding place. And seek relief in all availing prayer. But even should we have a weeping night A promised joy comes with the morning light. -■ 1*'. Poems, SPRING. Hail ! queen of beauty, vernal spring, We joy to feel thee near ; While twice ten thousand warblers sing A welcome in thine ear. Thou breathest on our su' 'W-clad land, And mountain, grove and plain, Assume new life at thy command. To grace thy fav'rite reign. The little songsters of the grove Their sweetest concerts sing ; While all around, beneath, above, Exult to hail thee, spring. And Flora with her gaudy train, Comes forth at thy command, To decorate the verdant plain, And beautify our land. All nature is one voice of mirth. Rejoicing in their queen ; And all this variegated earth, One soul-enchanting scene. ' If here we see thee deck'd so gay, What must that country prove, Where dwells the spring of endless day- The paradise above ! 15 IG Poems. SUMMER. When Sol p(5ur.s down his floods of light, So hot and so exceedingly bright, Then let me hide in some cooling shade Close by a murmuring cascade. And in my cool and sheltered nook, Give me a much loved friend — or a book ; Thus couch'd upon the verdant grass, My happy hours shall quickly pass. And my soul shall catch the lulling sound, And be charm'd with the pleasing scenes around. O ! who could bear in this hot July 'Neath a beaming sun, and a cloudless sky, To waste his life in the dusty streets, A stranger to nature's rural sweets ! O ! tell me, then, do you never sigh, For the cooling breeze and clear blue sky — The sequester'd walk, or the shady grove, Where little birds chant their songs of love ? O ! who would prefer the stifling town, To the verdant meads and the mountains brown ? Or who wouldn't sometimes love to rove By the crystal brook and the wood-nymph's grove ? But soon and the Summer shall pass away, The flowers shall fade and the grass decay, And Autumn shall come so yellow and sear. And Winter too, black, cold and drear. And Spring shall re&rn, and her gentle breath Shall revive the flowers long lock'd in death ; And Summer again shall array our bowers With sweet perfumes and beautiful flowers. Thus man like a flower shall fade and decay, And earth's sweetest gems shall pass away, And soon — and the gloomy grave shall close On the wither'd leaf and the budding rose. Poems. 17 But Christ the Lord has prepared in his love, A place in the Paradise above, Where the flowers perfumed with His own shed blood Shall be all gathered home by the Angels of God. Then summer's drought and wintei's cold showers, Shall never more injure those Heavenly flowers ; Thus, while we look back on the storms we endured, In hope we look forward when we'll be secured — Transplanted to Kden forever to bloom, No more to dread sorrow, sin, death or the tomb. LONGING FOR SPRING. how I long again to see The vernal face of Spring, And hear, from every budding tree. Some little warbler sing. 1 long to see the forest trees Clothed in their robes of green, And swaying in the gentle breeze Display their glossy sheen. I long to wander by the stream Where sport the speckled trout, Or in the noontide's genial gleam See lambkins frisk about. I long to see the sons of toil Perform the noble deed Of breaking up the stubborn soil To plant the fertile seed. j^ m^ 18 Poems. I long to see the meadows green Bespread with flowerets gay — I long to have a change of scene From winter cold and gray. It won't be long — a little while And snows will disappear And Flora with her winning smile Shall find a welcome here. OU/i GLOOMY PROSPECTS OF AN EARLY SPRING. Keen, biting frost, a chilling wind. With drifting snow and bitter sleet, Ah ! Nature has been too unkind, To leave fair Spring so far behind. That goddess we so long to meet. March has prolonged grim Winter's reign, For still the storm king looks as bold. As when he spread o'er hill and plain. The frost and snow, which still remain. Yes, March, thy breath was rather cold. Will April come with pleasing grace, And chase Boreas to his lair ! And will old Sol with dazzling face. Smile on the earth till every trace Of winter be dissolved in air ? The showery month will scarcely prove Sufficient for the task on hand. To clear each river, stream and grove, And ice and frost and snow remove. And banish Winter from our land. Poems. But should the despot have his sway, And rob us of an early Spring, Still nature's laws he must obey, And take his flight in genial May, To let us hear the warblers sing. Down South kind Flora wails and longs To visit us with pretty flowers, And birds, forgetful of their wrongs, Are practising their thankful songs, To cheer us in our sunny bowers. 19 THE SOUL. The Soul ! What is it ? Can a mortal tell. And by philosophy the cause expound, How we become possessed of deathless souls, And how the soul exists when life is gone ? Or had the soul a pre-existent state. Was it begotten ? or was it infused As at the first when Adam got his soul ? Ere born the child has life, say has it then A soul? Or does it enter with the first Breath drawn when it assumes distinctive life? Is there an embryo of soul ? and does It gradually reach maturity ? Or comes it at the first a latent power Felt in our infancy but not revealed ? Or does it sleep till conscience finds a voice ? Or till the mind puts forth its energies ? Or is the mind the soul ? that mighty power Which holds its empire in the human brain ? Can mind be measur'd by the bulk and shape Of brains ? And do their texture indicate The varied workings of the intellect? T f .i f 20 Poems. i '■\ But is there aught in brains to guide my search In seeking for the lodgment of the soul? In vain I try with microscopic art To find the smallest soul-mark in the brain — Nor electricity altho' confessed The subtlest matter yet to mortals known, Can aid my exploration of the soul. Tho' quick its flight yet thought is quicker still. Electric fluid is not intellect, Nor can its powers galvanize the soul. The mind can act on matter, but not all The elements of earth can hurt the soul. It is not matter, nor can it be called Life animate, nor yet sagacity. Where does it lodge? the brain ? or in the heart ? Or does it permeate the whole of man — Nerves, blood and sinews — all his mortal parts ? It is not life alone — the brutes have life But not a soul, that great enobling gift Belongs to man alone — man only has a Soul. And yet it comes with life, but does not end In death ; the soul immortal never dies. Shall I consult Dick, Paley, Butler, Locke, And will they tell me all 1 wartt to know ? Or must I stand ashore while they launch out Upon this ocean of perplexing thought ? Some sail too far and leave my sight, and some, Afraid to venture, scarcely leave the shore ; Some tell too much and some don't tell enough. They weary me with their philosophy. Shall physiology assist my search ? Or anatomical analysis ? Or searching chemistry the question solve ? Or must I end where I the search began In total ignorance about my soul ? Shall men well skill'd in metaphysics, give Poems. 21 Their deep-toned disquisitions of the soul, And by their own confusion, but confound, And leave me more in doubt by their discourse, And revelation's clearer light be dimmed With smoke from their defective little lamps. Distress'd with doubts, I turn my thoughts to God, Who points me to His Word, and there I learn That my immortal soul is God's own breath. And, therefore, I no more the soul can scan Than I can Him who breathed that soul in man. WIIA r IS LIFE t I asked a hoary headed man, Whose face was haggard, worn and wan. Scarred with the marks of many a strife If he could tell me what is life. He sighed and drooped his withered head, And leaning on his staff he said: " Life is a scene of toil and pain, ** A search for pleasure or for gain, " A few short years of joys and sorrows, ** A race to catch the bright to-morrows, " A flickering flame, a transient gleam, ** A bubble passing down the stream, " A flower doomed to swift decay — " To bud and bloom and pass away. " Life is the little space we crave " Between the cradle and the grave, " And soon we cross the little space " And terminate the toilsome race, " Then wearied, we resign our breath, *:' And life is swallowed up in death. " ■'in !r-;ii 22 Poems. If death, said I, must end the strife Such wretched living can't be life, For who could bear thro' night to grope Were there no morn to cheer his hope ? Your life is death and cannot be The life immortal cravtd by me. I ask'd a Saint, whose joylitface Assur'd me of his inward grace, If he could solve the question sought And satisfy my anxious thought. A gleam of hope illum'd his brow, While with a reverential bow He said : " *Tis life to know the Lord *' And Christ, the true and living word. ** This life of faith, or life divine, " Or everlasting life is n\ine ; " ' ris life to live a life of fiiith, " ' Tis life to triumph over death, *' He lives who knows his sins forgiven, *' He only lives, who lives for heaven. " There must be first a death of sin " Jjefore you have this life within, *' Ikit when the earnest you obtain ** To live is Christ, to die is gain." " I know this mortal house of clay " Will soon dissolve and pass away, " Then my immortal soul shall rise *' To endless life beyond the skies." Said I, if thus to live be life Then let me rush into the strife, And live to Him whose grace divine Can quicken this dead soul of mine. And give me life and conquering faith To triumph over sin and death. Poems. 23 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. Ihrough the bleak barren wilds and rough uplands I strayed' And hungry and faint and of dangers afraid, And foot-sore and weary, I longed to repose Beside the still waters where green pasture grows. My good Shepherd sought me my soul to deliver, And brought me to rest by t!._ brink of the river. He fed me, revived me, and gave me repose, And spread me a table in sight of my foes. When passing tlie valley where death's gloomy shade Hangs over my pathway I'll not be afraid. For he will be near with His staff and His rod To comfort my soul and upriise me to God. His goodness and mercy to me in the past Assure me He will not forsake me at last; He'll feast me through life on the sweets of His love, And then take me home to His mansion above. A WANDERING THOUGHT. A wandering thcugnt in search of happiness Had honey sipped from many a sun-kissed flower, And basked in indolence midst pleasure's smiles. Yet restless still, sought other scenes of joy : Wealth, fame, amusements, and the varied sweets Of buoyant health. But every pleasure sought Soon cloyed the appetite. Ethereal thoughts Subsist on Angel's food ; and so repel Earth's grosser dainties as a loathsome drug. And oft this wandering thought returned to its Clay tenement, and for a time obeyed The voice of reason in her stern commands. And concentrated all its energies To gain the needed knowledge sought below. i 24 Pof.tns. !ijl Then weary of restraint the fickle thought, Quick as the lightning's flash, would leave the task Begun, and wing its flight through boundless space, In search of some Utopian scene of joy ; Perhaps to build a castle in the air Or dream away the moments searching for Some fancied happiness it never finds — A profitless, an ignisfatuus chase. Again the wandering thought returns, and half Ashamed of its neglect takes up the task Just laid aside, determined to achieve The knowledge sought ; but ere the task be learned, Or the hard problem solved, the restless thought Eludes the vigilance of common sense. And flits adown the past and roams among The scenes of bygone days, or it may be * Portrays the flowery path of future years — Luxuriates in wealth, stands on the mount Of fame, and revels in the baseless hope Of realizing what may never come. But fancied joys like morning mists soon pass Away and leave a vacancy behind ; The vandering thought must seek its home again. For soul and body are so intermixed That death alone can liberate the soul. Thus thoughts, like rooks, come home again to roos t, And tell the mind the wonders of their flight. But is there not a spirit friend to guide The wandering thought to sweeter, purer joys Than fancy dreams of earthly happiness ? Is there no chart to show the spirit-way To joys beyond our vain imaginings? Yes we have got the royal chart to guide The spirit in its highest flight to bliss. Creative fancy fails to paint the scene Which faith beholds beyond the range of sight — Poems. Or highest flight of earth-bom, sordid thought ; Thought purified by faith can scale the mount Of keaven, and venture to the pearly gates Which stand ajar to let the glory of The new Jerusalem gleam out to light The way for blood-washed souls returning to Their God. And oft the longing, holy thought Will hover near the city of delight. And gaze with rapture on the glorious scene, And listen to the soul-elating song. Sung by the countless hosts before the throne. The soaring thought may look, and listen too, But cannot linger long, nor yet conceive The joys of that celestial home above. Thought has its limit, and can't comprehend The glory which surrounds the Deity, Nor can it penetrate the mysteries — Nor grapple with the attributes of God. Thoughts are the light-winged messengers of mind Or telegrams flashed from the soul to heaven. The blood-washed souls alone, dislodged by death, May enter heaven through the pearly gates. Still it is sweet to feed our trusting hope With glory 'glimpses of our future bliss, For holy thoughts are privileged to soar Up to the very paradise of God. 25 1 ■■•^ J \ i ,1 ■■ i 'A ■J I ;,' THE FALL OF THE LEAF. The verdant foliage of the trees Will soon be scattered in the breeze, Or huddled in some sheltered nook. Or floated down the passing brook. c i ji' 26 Poems. The leaves have changed their summer green For autumn's richer, golden sheen. The sear, the yellow and the red, The brown, the withered and the dead. Thus nature's beauties pass away, And quickly hasten to decay. How beautiful the maple leaf While blushing to conceal its grief. Tho* pleasing in its every stage, Yet still more beautiful in age. O ! Canada thy symbol leaf Of lovely foliage is the chief! How emblematic is thy choice, For that loved leaf has found a voice, Which tells me that a verdant youth, If beautified with love and truth. Shall still with mellowed lustre shine More beautiful at life's decline. It always makes me sad to see At autumn's close a leafless tree ; It points me to life's darkest stage, A friendless, cheerless, dim old age. But winter's gloom shall pass away And spring return with flowerets gay, To clothe again that leafless tree In nature's verdant drapery. Thrice happy he whose hope ascends To that fair spring which never ends, Where flowers in perennial bloom Adorn that home beyond the tomb. The wearied sons of want and toil, Who oft' find earth a barren soil. Poems. Tho' friendless as a leafless tree And schooled in suffering poverty, Yet rich in faith, rejoice and sing, Awaiting that eternal spring, When God, in whom they put their trust. Shall animate their sleeping dust And bear them to his heavenly throne, "Where chilling winters are unknown. Then let the storm-clouds veil the sky. The lovely leaflets sear and die, 'Tis but the gloaming of the night. And day shall dawn serenely bright. And usher in a glorious day. When all the gloom has passed away. My life is li£ a fading leaf. My days how few, my years how brief ! But if my trust be not in vain I yet shall live and bloom again. 27 JACK LINTON. Jack Linton held a little piece of ground. Nor could a better-managed plot be found ; From early morn down to the shades of night He toiled, and in his labour took delight. We called him " honest Jack," and he could sing And whistle too, as happy as a king ; And he would sing and whistle all day long. And never seemed to weary of his song. The Press could yield Jack Linton no delight, As he, poor man, could neither read nor write ; And yethis eye the beautiful could choose, His ear take in whate'er he heard of news. /:- iiiill iii ! 28 Poems. His home was humble, but it was his home, Nor did he ever feel inclined to roam ; His fare was simple, but his appetite Turned plainest food to morsels of delight. He was not wealthy, but he was content, So long as he could pay his yearly rent ; Thus having means his few short claims to meet, His life was happy and his pleasures sweet. A child of nature, simple and untaught. From nature's store his choicest bliss he sought ; Nor fretting care, nor envy's bitter sting Disturbed his peace ; 'twas his to work and sing. His wife and children shared his daily toil, And like him, they could work and sing and smile ; And tho' unskilled in dogmas and in creeds, They lived religion in their honest deeds. Jack's little world, in which he took delight, Was circumscribed within the range of sight ; Beyond this range he scarcely ever went — Thus in his parish his whole life wits spent. Could science or philosophy impart, A purer joy than filled this rustic's heart ? — His was the music of the warbling throng — A joyful feeling and a grateful song. Jack was a study ; and I often thought, Would he be happier were he better taught ? He doubtless would, if led in wisdom's way. Yet be more wretched should he go astray. Jack neither knew nor felt the want of knowledge, Nor could he tell the use of School or College ; Nor did he ever overtax his brain, *^'*' 'el the sharpness of a mental pain. ■tswWJ Poems. His tally was his ledger, and he knew What he should pay and what to him was due ; Events and dates were noted in his mind, Which when required he was sure to find. But no one dare the theory advance, That there is happiness in ignorance ; Tho' men of learning are not always wise, Yet none but fools true knowledge would despise. Jack did his best to practise what he knew, — Ye who are learned can this be said of you ? — And tho' unknown to literary fame, Yet many a scholar he could put to shame. He had contentment and a thankful heart, And honestly he played his humble part ; And as through toiling life he trudged along, He sweetened labour with his cheerful song. Good honest Jack, one of Earth's happiest men. Beloved and honoured in thy native glen ; Tho' far from thee, I still delight to trace The glow of gladness which illumed thy face. 29 AN EVENING WALK. The Sun had reach'd the golden West Triumphant in his cloudless reign. As I with painful thoughts opprest, Stray'd down by lovely Lough MacNean.'^ I felt a weariness of mind — Sad thoughts which caus'd my inward smart, My youth's bright hope had proved unkind, And griefs emotions fiU'd my heart. * A lake bounded by the Counties of Fermanagh, Gdraa and LietriiD, Ireland. 30 Poems. Tho* in my soul's deep solitude I felt a more than wintry gloom, Yet nature in her cheerful mood Seem'd like a maiden in her bloom. The Cuccoo sang his two-note song, The Rail kept up bis coarse repeat. Whilst others of the tuneful throng Were silent in their night's retreat. The lake was beautifully bright, And heath-capp'd hills and meadows green Bath'd in the ev'ning's mellow'd light Out-lin'd the grand enchantiirg scene. But brighter far than fancy's dreams Or pearly drops of morning dew, Were Sol's departing slanting beams Which gave the sky its golden hue. The winds were hushed and all was still, While darker shades crept up the dell, And Sol half hid behind a hill Was bidding me a kind farewell. ( The fading glory pass'd away ; But soon new beauties met my sight, The queenly Moon in bright array, Came with the gleaming stars of night. And gazing on the silent lake ' Which mirror'd Heaven's starry dome, I felt my longing soul awake To all the early scenes of home. Home ! with its twice ten thousand ties To bind me to that hallowed spot. Where first I sipped life's purest joys, Can never, never, be forgot. Poem8, I sighed to think those days were gone, Till reason bade me cease to mourn, And kindly whisper'd " travel on For what is past can ne'er return." Then why should I let sorrows rise Or damp my cheeks with fruitless tears, Since I am promised s;veeter joys Than e'er I knew in former years ? For oh ! the dearest friends must part, The fairest scenes will soon decay, — But Christ shall keep my trusting heart When these shall all have pass'd away. 31 V'i THE ELEVENTH HO UK. One evening as I walked abroad, I saw a poor old man Lie faint and weary on the road, And to his help I ran. I rais'd him from the cold, damp ground, A sad and loathsome sight, And soon within my home he found A shelter for the night. This poor old man was sick and weak. And heavy were his sighs ; Want star'd you from his hollow cheek, Death from his sunken eyes. He tried to pray — his prayers were brief- And groan'd with inward smart, For oh ! a load of crushing grief Lay on his troubled heart. lv» II A ■jn^ m n Z2 Poems. I thought him shorn of all his strength, His face appeared so wan — He sighed, looked wildly, and at length He thus his tale began : '• In early life I little thought That in this vale of tears, Such miseries would be my lot — Such sorrows, griefs and fears *' I had enough of earthly good — Had money at my call ; But then I had no gratitude To Him who gave me all. " My youthful days in folly spent, Portray'd my wretched end. And tho' oft called on to repent, My life I'd never mend. " Then, wearied of the reckless life And heedless course I ran, I thought if I could get a wife, I'd be a happier man. ( " I took a wife, and loved her, too, But ah ! that demon, Drink, Brought ruin's gulf within my view, And plac'd me on its brink. ** Out late at night, and often drunk. My health became impair'd — I knew my energies had sunk. But then I little cared. " I loved to run my wild career, And join the jovial souls. Who idolize rum, ale and beer, And worship flowing bowls. Iii!ii:i;i'!il Poems. " My money spent and credit gone, Then misery began, And looking at my wife and son, I felt a wretched man. " My wife, unused to poverty, Her wants with patience bore ; 'Twas then she closer clung to mCf And lov'd me still the more. ** In vain she argued, with her tears, That I would mend my ways, — At length she sank beneath her fears. And grief cut short her days. *^ I heard the sighing of despair Breathed from her broken heart. And from her cheeks, so sweetly fair, I saw the rose depart. " She blessed me with her dying breath, And wished the conflict o'er ; And then she closed her eyes in death, And slept, to wake no more. " I felt the sting of bitter grief. The pang of dark despair ; But ah ! in drink I sought relief. And not in humble prayer. *^ Alas 1 I was a wretched man, And knew that I was vile, Yet still my reckless course I ran. Nor sought the Lord the while. " What worldly joy could cheer my life. Or heal my bitter smart. While conscious that my loving wife Died of a broken heart ? 33 a: 84 Poems, " A kind relation took my son, But soon his spirit fled ; And now my kindred, every one, Is numbered with the dead. " Home was no more a home for me, Its only charm was gone ; Nor friend to soothe my misery — I felt my self alone. " I left my home, my friends, my all, And went beyond the sea, But still my cup was mixed with gall And bitter misery. " I thought to find in distant climes What home could not impart — Forgetfulness of former crimes, And peace to calm my heart. " But nothing could I find below. In all earth's gilded wares, That would assuage my cup of woe. And rid me of my cares. " Again I sought my native isle. No more inclined to roam — My friends were gone — nor wife nor smile To bid me welcome home. " 'Twas then I thought upon the past. While tears began to flow ; I wept to feel that I was cast Upon a world of woe. " Oh ! had I sought the Lord in youth. And read the sacred page. The God of mercy, love, and truth Would cheer my hoary age. Poems. " But now my sins like mountains rise, And crush me with their load. While in the dust my spirit lies, Nor dares look up to God." " But God is merciful," I said, " And willing to forgive ; Look up, have faith, be not afraid, * You still may turn and live.' " Ah ! do not doubt the Saviour's love, Nor yield to such despair — See how He intercedes above — He'll hear your earnest prayer. *' His blood will wash out every stain, His grace will set you free ; To save your soul from endless pain, He died upon the tree. ** He died your wretched heart to win, And will your soul receive, If now you turn from every sin And in His name believe." This poor man groaned, while gushing tears Ran down his furrow'd cheek ; Deep sighed and struggled with his fears. Too full of grief to speak. But soon to this poor penitent The voice of prayer was given, And from his burden'd soul there went An earnest cry to heaven. " And did the Saviour die for me I Oh ! could I this believe ! — And will He set the captive free — My soul again receive I 35 {' 36 Poems. " Vile as I am I cast my soul On the atoning blood, Lord thou canst make the leper whole, Have mercy, Oh ! my God." God heard his prayer and filled his heart With heaven sent delight. And now made willing to depart, With paradise in sight, He testified to those around Of God's great saving power, That he had now salvation found At the eleventh hour. O never say it is too late The drunkard to reclaim, But go and save him from his fate, Through faith in Jesus' name. If he who winneth souls is wise. Then be it yours to win The drunkards others wDuld despise From wretchedness and sin. SONNET.— THE COMET OF 1874. 'Twixt Ursa Major and the Polar Star The Comet shines so luminous and bright. And throws afar his blazing tail of light. What does it mean ? Is it a sign of war ? Or some foul pestilence ? Or deadly dearth ? If not, what brought the stranger from afar To gaze upon this sin-polluted earth ? Like some 1« . ■? wanderer who lost his way He lights his signal lamp and holds it high, To let us know that he has gone astray. Perhaps he comcj to sweep the northern sky, And chase away the shadows of the night ? Let Coggia say what brought the Comet here, And is the omen one of joy or fear. Poems. 37 RECOLLECTIONS OF IRELAND. THE PARTING SCENE. The mists obscured the mountain peaks, And hid their hoary heads ; While through the cloud-chinks, g'ory streaks Illumed the verdant meads, Which shone like patchwork in the glen, Mid fields of upturned soil ; Where many a group of hardy men Pursued their cheerful toil. Sweet robin, every now and then Would sing his little trill ; While thrush and blackbird, down the glen, Sang love songs louder still. The noisy streamlets in their flight Adown the hazel dell Kept up a hum of sweet delight. Like to the organ's swell. 'Twas Spring, the time of love and flowers, When Earth is all aglow ; And genial heat and fertile showers, Cause seed and plants to grow : The hawthorn blossoms sweetly shed Their odours on the gale, And * Flora ' in profusion spread Her gems o'er all the vale . 'Twas love and beauty all around, But grief within my heart ; The morn had come and I was bound With friends and home to part. 'Twas hard to tear my heart away, And break the magic spell Which bound me to my home that d?.y I bade my friends farewell. 38 Poems. But why dwell on the parting scene — The tear-be-sprinkled face — The prayer, the look of faith serene — The kiss and fond embrace. All past, yet in my memory still The scene appears, as when I took the last look from the hill Of my dear, native glen . Tho' many a year since then has fled. And many a change has come — Most of the loved ones now are dead. Who blessed my childhood's home. Yet still no matter where I rove. The fairest spot on earth Shall be that hallowed home of love. Where 1 received my birth. THE LOSS OF THE •• ATLANTIC:' A SONNET. The beautiful " Atlantic " speeds her course, And dashes through the fleecy-crested waves. Which soon will be six hundred people's graves ; She nears the rocks wiih unabated force, — No beacon there to tell of dangers near, — 'Tis dark, and neither oflicers nor crew Know where they are. — Oh ! that they only knew- While to the jaws of death their ship they steer 1 But hark ! a crash ! Oh ! what a dreadful shock ! Death and confusion reign on Meagher's rock . The sleepers wake, a loud heart-rending wail Ascends to heaven on that midnight gale. One-third are rescued from the foaming deep, The others sink in death's long dreamless sleep. Poems. FOLLOWING CHRIST. Lord I would follow Thee, But then my father's dead. And ere I go, first suffer me To hide his frail humanity, And then I'll in thy footsteps tread. And I, too, Lord would go And follow Thee to bliss. But ere I leave, I'd wish to show My love to those I love below. And give the farewell parting kiss. But to them Jesus said, '* If mine you wish to be. Go and the Gospel message spread. And let the dead inter their dead, A *ake your cross and follow Me." " No looking back will do — Your hand is on the plough — Through faith you must the world subdue, And ever keep the prize in view. Nor break your attestation vow." The Saviour claims your love — Your undivided heart, — Then let your thoughts be placed above And in his holy footsteps move, Nor ever from his ways depart. No sordid earthly thought, Should mar our holy songs ; We're not our own, for Jesus bought Us with a price, and so, we ought To give, what to Himself belongs. 39 40 Poems. O ! let us always place The World beneath our feet, And in the light of Jesu's face, From strength to strength, from grace to grace, Go on, until in Him complete. SONNET. When Calumny, the foul-rnouth'd monster, shows His most repulsive, loathing, hateful grin. Or smile satanic o'er his gloated sin, Or when he triumphs over others' woes, He first selects one of his greatest foes — Some child of virtue who is pure within — And then in whispers soft invents a crime. And daubs it over with his filthy slime. And sticks it on the back of that doom'd man Who knows not what is done, but wonders why His friends hold off or coldly pass him by. While scandal-mongers haste his deeds to scan, And leer and sniffle, while their fetid breath Has almost doom'd his character to death. SPRING— A RE VERY. When dreary winter takes his welcome flight. And day extends his conquests on the night. And Flora comes with her delightful train To scatter gems o'er all the verdant plain, How sweet to wander forth by wood or grove. Where warblers sing their happy songs of love,- Or by the brook or o'er the flow'ry mead, Where nature has her richest carpet spread, Poems, 41 Where butterflies display their gaudy wings, While overhead spring's sweetest warbler sings. The humming bee her busy task pursues, Nor stops to gossip nor to ask the news ; By nature taught she makes her work her pleasure. Then homeward speeds to store her precious treasure. Or let vo.'^ wander by the crystal stream, And on its banks enjoy the poet's dream, Or realize the joys around me spread, A world of beauty rising from the dead. Or if on fancy's wings my thoughts should rove To youth's bright morn or days of blushing love, 'Twould grieve my heart, for all the happy past With griefs dark clouds would soon be overcast. My friends, where are they ? some have crossed the wave, While others slumber in the peaceful grave. And here alone, far from those scenes remov'd, I mourn the mem'ry of the early loved. But hold, fond muse, nor sing this pensive strain. See life and beauty animate the plain ; For nature smiles, the little lambkins play, The groves are vocal, everything looks gay. One song of rapture now fills earth and sky, Creation's anthem to the Lord most high. Then, O my soul, take thou thy glorious part. Where reason leads, O let me give my heart. But nature's beauties hasten to decay, And earth's bright scenes shall soon have passed away. But thou, my soul, with righteousness arrayed, Shall never wither and canst never fade ; For in the blissful paradise above, Where all is peace and everlasting love, Thou, after death to glory shalt ascend, And feast on pleasures which shall never end. ' ■ ^.flPSTffT'iyi^ 42 Poems. SPRING. Spring, lovely spring we long for thee, O ! come and bless our earth And give the flowers birth, And beautify each shrub and tree, And cheer the insects in their glee, The warblers in their mirth. Too long our earth has had repose Beneath the chilling snow ; O ! bid the zephyrs blow And Flora's loveliness disclose, The violet and blooming rose, And nature set a-glow. Our winter has bee^ id drear, But hope revives at last, The storms will soon be past, And Spring, bright Spriu^, ivili .,oon be here Our waiting, drooping hearts to cheer, Too long with clouds o'ercast. We long to hail thee, joyful Spring, To spend our happy hours Among the pretty flowers, And hear the tuneful songsters sing And see them fluttering on the wing Above our verdant bowers. ^ Poems. 43 MOUNT HERMON CEMETERY. . Mount Hermon, lovely, mournful, hallovv'd spot ! The sleeping chamber of the silent dead ; Where we in Christian hope have laid our friends To rest in peaceful undisturb'd repose, Until the resurrection morn appears. Here skilful art and lovely nature join To beautify the scene, and throw a charm Of living loveliness around the dead. I love to take my pensive walks in that Sad silent cemetery, beneath the shade Of those old forest trees, whose spreading boughs O'erarch the neatly kept sequester'd paths, While in the clearings of the sunny slope And shelter'd vale, I gaze with sweet delight Upon the floral beauties which adorn This solemn, silent and enchanting scene. And here the tributes of affection shewn Are numerous ; some doubtless tell of love, While others point to wealth and vanity ; Here purest marble and the choicest stones Are hewn and sculptured into many a form ; And many a strange device on them appears ; Some emblematical, and some, perhaps, Mere decorations of the gaudy tomb. Thus fortune's favourites who had to leave The luxuries of life have had their dust Surrounded still with earthly vanities. Perhaps the record on that letter'd stone Proclaims a virtue which was never sought By him whose pamper'd dust lies underneath. But there's a record of the truly good Which time's corroding hand can ne'er deface, 'Tis registered on high, and will endure. When earthly glories shall have passed away. The good man needs no monumental stone. 44 Poems. Nor flattering epitaph to speak his praise ; His deeds shall live as long as time endures, Nor shall they die throughout eternity. Sometimes a record of the truly good Is graven on the people's hearts, and needs No costly monuments to tell their worth ; But there are humble, upright, honest men. Who almost unobserved pass down through life, And find at last a lowly grave, unmarked By letter'd stone or sculptur'd monument; And yet the memory of that good man lives In the affections of surviving friends, Who follow in the path in which he trod. But should the world forget him, yet his name Wont be forgotten by ihe God he lov'd. Oft have I stood beside some humble grave. And musing o'er that little grassy heap, Have tried to solve the questions which arose Within my mind, but all was mystery : Was he an honest man whose dust lies here ? What was his life ? — a peaceful one? or sad? Was poverty and ceaseless toil his lot ? And did the burden of his toiling years Grow unsupportable, until at last He sank beneath his life-destroying load ? Was death a sweet release from earthly woes, Sin, toil and pain and friendless poverty ? His soul — evicted from its eartnly house — Where is it now ? Ah ! who can tell ! and yet We are assured in God's own truthful word, That those who sleep in Christ are with their God. And in that other nameless lowly grave. Perhaps a wife and mother calmly sleeps. She had her days of toil and grief, but now She feels no more the weariness of life. But tho' her memory may pass away, Poems. 45 Her self-denying virtues cannot die, For God will not forget his own elect. But here's a little grave, and on the stone I read " Our Willie, " nothing more ; enough ; For this declares in words which touch the heart, That some fond parents lost their darling boy. Again I read " our loved one3, " yes, no doubt, They were the treasures of their parents' heart, The objects of their love and constant care ; But death, the spoiler, came, and life was gone, Love could not keep them from an early grave. The sharpest pang a loving mother feels, Is parting with her little ones in death. How few can willingly give back to God The heavenly pledges he was pleased to give. But while I muse a widow comes, clad in Her sable weeds, and kneels upon a grave, And looks with fixity of gaze upon The last, lone resting place of him she loved. She weeps sad tears of grief and asks support From Him who only can such strength impart ; She feels her loss, alas ! too keenly feels Her loneliness. Her dearest earthly hope Lies hidden in that tear-besprinkled grave. But grief is sacred, and I move away. In search of other scenes, and soon I come In view of the St Lawrence, flowing past This sacred spot, in all its loveliness. O ! what a grand soul-cheering scene bursts forth On my enraptured gaze ! This noble stream, Clear, deep and wide, so near, just down below The sylvan bank which skirts this cemetery. The playful wavelets move like things of life, And dance and frolic in the sun's bright rays , And in their pranks fling back again the light From Sol's reflection on the glassy wave. 46 Poems. Above, below, beyond and all around Unite to form one grand enchanting scene ! Not solitary nature, for commerce Here plies her busy trade with rapid pace, And white wing'd ships from many a distant port Glide past this silent city of the dead. The river seems half hid with floating craft, Impell'd by wind or steam or by the oar ; But then Mount Hermon's citizens see not These flitting scenes which once, perhaps, they lov'd. I turn away from this fair, busy scene To contemplate my future resting place ; And soon I reach the lonely vault where sleep In undisturb'd repose my kindred dead. But then it matters little where my flesh Be laid to turn again to mother earth. God won't forget to wake my sleeping dust. And raise me with the first whom he shall call. Good-bye, Mount Hermon, lovely, mournful spot, I love to visit thee and mark the special care Shewn to the dead who in thy chambers sleep. THE WARRIOR, THE STATESMAN AND THE POET. The warrior grasped his glitt'ring sword And sought the daring foe. And blood was shed and the foemen fled Amid the cries of woe. And many a battle fierce and long The warrior fought and won. And laurels wreathed the victor's brow For deeds that he had done. Poems. Death stopp'd the warrior's fierce career And laid him in the dust ; His blood-stt'.n'd sword his deeds record, Now deeper stain'd with rust. And yet in spite of chivalry, His titles and his fame, An executioner must be The warrior's proper name. . The sword, the famine and the plague Are evils which we dread ; They tell of punishment for sin And judgments widely spread ; War is a curse, and still must prove To happiness a bar — And God, the nations shall remove Who take delight in war. War is a scourge ; but should it come We must our homes defend. If in the right then let us fight And on the Lord depend : But wiser atill, to shun our foes And show our better sense, And blunt their swords by kindly words And giving no offence. The statesman sober, learn'd and wise, Who knows and studies man. Who laws enacts and plans and tries To do what good he can. Deserves a nation's gratitude, And justly earns the fame Bestow'd upon the truely good Of pure unsullied name. 47 48 Poems. For, tho' the warrior may be great, Yet he is greater still Who wisely holds the reins of state With philosophic skill. And yet the greatest of the three Is he who tunes the lyre, And in inspired poetry Breathes forth his songs of fire. The holy prophets who unseal'd God's mysteries to man, In poetry their thoughts reveal'd. For this was heaven's plan ; And still devotion's highest flight, As in the ancient days, Ascends in hymns of sweet delight And grateful songs of praise. When chubby little Cupid makes A target of our hearts, 'Tis from Apollo's wings he takes The feathers for his darts ; We own the power of poetry And yield to its control. For poetry must ever be The language of the soul. In every age, in every clime. It was the poet's art To sing and write in strains sublime The songs which move the heart. And still we love the gifted bard And prize his bardic lore, And shall his honour'd name regard Till time shall be no more. Poems. 49 HONESTY. I hardly think I ever can Find out an upright, honest man, Who is in all his dealings just And faithful to his Sacred trust. In thoug ^nd in his doings true, Who givw. .u every man his due, And acts with honesty to all, The old and young, the great and small; I often sought, but seldom found, A man in all his dealings sound ; Not e'en among the very best Would all their actions stand the test. They may not cheat or lie or steal, Yet may a selfishness reveal By grasping at the largest share, And doing something scarcely fair. The honr v I seek implies The doi hat is just and wise. By rendeiiiig to God his due And paying Caesar's' tribute too. 'Tis theft to steal another's gold, And nothing less if you withold The goods or money you should pay Which greed won't let you give away. You say that you can't live on air, And that you have no cash to spare, — Not for your creditors, I see, But for yourself and family. You live as well and dress as gay As if you had no debts to pay. You make a transfer to your wife And she is owner now for life. And such as you my soul abhors Who thus would cheat their creditors, IE 60 Poems. "Thou Shalt not Steal," and this implies Dishonest gain through fraud and lies. To covet what is not your own Is theft conceived. That thought alone Would soil the garments of a saint, And mar it with an ugly taint. You must be honest in your heart As well as act an honest part. But ah ! how few in heart are free From covetous dishonesty ! TliJG greedy grasping after gold Soon leaves the heart deprav'd and cold ; And when of charity bereft There's very little justice left. Thus he can triumph in the pain Of those whose loss has been his gain. The man who drugs and sells his drink Is not an honest man, I think ; While every drunkard seems to me The essence of dishonesty ; He robs his children and his wife, Himself — oft of his very life. 'Tis wrong to buy, 'tis wrong to sell A drug that drags you down to hell. Dishonesty of every kind Is selfish, hateful, wicked, blind. Detected theft brings grief and shame, And leaves a stigma on the name Of him who takes the tempter's bait And sees his folly when too 'a'e. And secret theft tho' long concealed Is often openly revealed. But tho' the the/tor greedy thought Be hidden like a thing forgot. Still honesty must ever be The best and safest policy. Poems. 51 THOUGHTS ON MUSIC. There are many kinds of sound In this noisy world of ours, Whether simple or compound, Whether great or small their powers, There are screeches, howls and groans To cause our dread alarm, And soft, mellow, melting tones With their tranquillizing churm. Sounds expressive of our grief and woe, And sounds of mirth when joys the heart o'erflow. Sounds to please us, Sounds to tease us, Or confound us And astound us. Or throw a magic spell around us ; Some are mournful, sad and slow, Some are dulcet^ sweet and low ; Soothing as a baby's dream, Charming, heavenly, melodious ; Some are like a demon's scream. Grating, harsh, discordant, odious ; Painful sounds which spoil our faces Causing all sorts of grimaces. Growls and yells which make us shiver. Causing every nerve to quiver. But when fair Cecilia sings Every heart is filled with love. While our thoughts on golden wings Flutter up to joys above. And then we feel a throbbing at the heart. And soothing, sympathizing tear drops start While listening to some sweet angelic voice, Which captivates the soul And holds it in control, "While with a joy seraphic we rejoice. P' 52 Poems, The tuneful choristers in spring Oft hold their concerts on the wing, Or in the wild wood or the grove, Pour forth their liquid notes And swell their little throats, And sweetly sing their joyful songs of love* I love the little warbler's songs, But to the human voice belongs The heaven-gifted skill To hold and bend the will, And all the soul with love and joy to fill. The rainbow's heaven-tinted dyes Illuminate the darkened skies, Delighting our enraptured eyes ; But pleasures sweeter, purer far. Than rainbow tints or evening star, Is heavenly music which inspires Our grateful lays, And fans devotion's sacred fires With songs of praise. Thrice blissful art, It calms our fears. Delights our ears. And opes the fount of joyous tears. And sends a thrill of pleasure through the heart* RECOLLECTIONS OF IRISH SCENERY- LOUGH ERNE. Lough Erne beautiful and bright. Thou still art in my fancied sight, While twice ten thousand charms appear. As fresh, as living and as near Poems. As when I viewed thy summer smiles, And sailed around thy verdant isles. How fair thy ev'ry bay and creek. From Wattle-bridge down to Belleek ! Where could I brighter scenes explore Than down by Crom to Inishmore ; While opening beauties deck the scene Adown by fertile Inniskeen ; Or on by Killyhevlin, where Thy loveliness is doubly fair. But let me linger for a while On Enniskillen's crowded isle; AVhere art and nature both unite To paint a scene of rare delight. Dear Enniskillen, famed in story, Thou'lt never lose thy ancient glory ! For thy loved name shall ever be The synonyme of loyalty. Portora ! in that word there lies All that could please delighted eyes ; There Art uprears a stately pile, Where Nature shows her sweetest smile ; That Royal School, Fermanagh's pride. Diffusing blessings far and wide ; Here many a youth the race began. Which ended in the honored man ; And many a youth of humble name Has reached the pinnacle of fame ; Whose first aspiring days were spent In that far-famed establishment. But let me seek the eastern shore. Scenes more familiar to explore ; Where many a happy day I spent Beneath that lofty Monument, Erected for as brave a soul, As ever bore the name of Cole. 53 f:- 54 Poems. Forthill, some of my sweetest hours Were spent among thy sylvan bowers ! Sweet haunt of consummate delight, Where all is pleasing to the sight — Where beauty lingers to impart, A thrill of pleasure in the heart. Then Cornagrade, and Derrygore — The pride of Erne's lovely shore ; Where lavish wealth attracts your view — Where one among the favoured few Has built a mansion, planted trees. Perhaps has said, " Soul take thy ease ! " But whether he find ease or not, His home is a delightful spot. Beyond, upon a neck of land, The ruins of a Castle stand. 'Tis said O'Reilly and his clan Came there one night, and ev'ry man They found within these walls they slew, And then destroyed the Castle, too. But other ruins meet your gaze. Which point you back to former days ; When devastation marked the path Of warriors bitter in their wrath. Adown the lake another mile. And Devenish, that treeless isle. Is there with all its glory gone ; And yet we still may gaze upon The old Round Tower, tap'ring high. And pointing upward to the sky . But when or why it was uprear'd, Some guess, but who has yet declared ? While some, may be, are reconciled With what they have been told by Wilde. Close by, some Gothic structures stand. Still in their ruins sacre'', grand Poems. 55 Whilst all around are relics spread, And scattered o'er the sleeping dead. » Old Devenish, sweet, hallowed spot ! Tho' distant thou art not forgot. But it would too much time consume Were I to tell of Castle Hume — Of Ely Lodge, of old Monea, Of Riversdale and Inishway : Or Tully Castle which Maguire So cruelly destroyed with fire ; And put to death each inmate there — For ah ! his wrath knew not to spare. But all is past, and peace prevails Throughout Fermanagh's fertile vales. Here Castle Archdall stands in view, And there is a Castlecaldwell too — But ev'ry headland, creek and isle Is beautified with nature's smile ; While pleasure, health and peace abound, On all the lovely banks around. The scenery of Ireland Is varied, beautiful and grand ; But Erne and its numerous isles. Show beauty in her witching smiles ; And throw a charm serenely fair Around your heart to hold you there i Thus, tho' far from these scenes removed, And from the social friends I loved ; Yet oft my wandering thoughts explore The beauties of Lough Erne shore. \ I 66 Poems. DIFFICULTIES. *Tis hard to act a cheerful part When hidden sorrows crowd the heart. 'Tis hard to smile when sick and poor And want keeps knocking at the door. 'Tis hard to suffer pain and grief Without one friend to bring relief. 'Tir, hard to be denied redress ; 'Tis hard our bitter foes to bless. 'Tis hard to feel we suffer loss, But harder still to bear the crossi 'Tis hard to struggle up the hill, Yet sinners' ways are harder still. 'Tis hard to conquer self and sin ; 'Tis hard the victory to win ; And yet we may our foes assail. Go on, subdu'^ them and prevail. But not by our own boasted might Nor power, need we attempt the fight ; But by the spirit of the Lord, Our only help, our shield and sword. 'Tis hard to get along through life, And not be worsted in the strife ; 'Tis hard to bear reproach and shame, Insult, outrage, a blighted name. 'Tis hard to keep your temper meek. And hold up your unsmitten cheek To your enraged and bitter foe, To plant on it another blow. 'Tis hard, but needful help is given To every candidate for heaven, Thus every one through Jesus' blood May prove a champion for his God. Poems. ENVY. Envy, that greedy fiend within The worlding's all-absorbing breast, That most uncomfortable sin That ever marred a mortal's rest, Peace cannot dwell within the soul That yields to its fell, dark control. 57 Why should I envy those whom earth Has pampered, dandled on her knee, Or those who, blest with richer birth. Ne'er felt the chill of poverty ? They have a right to what's their own, That right is mine, and that alone. What though my lonely, path be rough, My prospects desert-like and b?re, Still I'm content and have enough. And might at times a little spare To help a brother in his need, And lessen, too, my worldly greed. What selfishness to fret and fume And sicken at another's joy ! Such envious thoughts the reins consume, And every trace of good destroy To fret won't make your troubles less, Nor yet will envy bring redress. Where envy reigns love disappears — And what am I, of love bereft ? The slave of gloomy doubts and fears, Without one ray of comfort left. Thus envy leads to discontent, And both to present punishment, £ '- I r-. fe ■ . t.V ■ ^^SS^^^^B J 58 Poems. «• WHATSOEVER THY HAND FINDETH TO DO, DO IT WITH THY MIGHT."— Ecc\. 9, 10. There are many things we would like to say But the time to say them soon hastes away, And advice too late is like locking the door When the thieves have emptied our well fiU'd store. There are many things we intend to do In this busy world we are passing through, But we think and plan till the setting sun Goes down and our work remains undone. There is many a science we'd like to know But our march to knowledge is far too slow, For we try to fly and can only creep And the upward pathway is long and steep. There are virtues, too, we would wish to gain And the way to reach them is simply plain, And yet we linger from day to day Till the wish to get them has pass'd away. We may have habits we'd like to give up, The noxious weed or the tempting cup, But we wait till the habit becomes so strong That we can't give up what we own is wrong. We may have vices which cause our smart While conscience urges a change of heart But justice lingers and so do we Till our hope is lost in eternity. Then let us earnestly watch and pray And zealously labour from day to day, To add to our faith each needed grace, Determin'd while running to win the race. Poems. QUEBEC SCENERY. AN INCIDENT. One Summer's evening as I stood Beside the tlag staff, looking down Upon the ships which throng'd the flood And Hn'd the wharves of Lower Town, A strange emotion filled my soul And held me under its control. The picture was too vast — too grand To be explor'd by human sight, So I could only gaze and stand Entranc'd, upon this rocky height, And view the river deep and wide Now meeting the up-flowing uiJ? The strong commanding Citadel And guardian of our noble stream O'erlook'd the fields where heroes fell And scenes of many a poet's theme ; But every spot, beneath, around On which you gaze is classic ground. Commercial ships and men-of-war Were anchor'd in our friendly port — But where could ship or gallant tar Find such a beautiful resort ? In vain they seek in other parts For fairer scenes or warmer hearts. The busy steamers plowed the deep And blew their whistles rather shrill ; Beyond uprose the woody steep With Levis scatter'd o'er the hill, While shore and river teem'd with life All bustling in their busy strife. A wider range of vision showed A vast expanse of cultur'd ground, 59 KJ Poems. Where Sol his sweetest smile bestowed On all the villas strewed around, While sylvan shades and meadows green Enrich'd the beatific scene. Far off the smoky mountain peaks Outlin'd the grand magnific sight, While shadows in their playful freaks Were sporting with the rays of light. While through the cloud-chinks glory streamed And in the hazy valleys gleamed. Adown the river by Orleans The landscape was surpassing fair; But all must own that Beauty reigns In all her regal splendour there — Her crown with many a gem beset From Bon Ste. Anne to Old Lorette. But who could sketch in small detail — Could vision scan, or mind conceive — The beauties of St. Lawrence vale Portray'd that lovely summer's eve ? 'Twas sad to think that bliss so sweet Was doom'd for winter's winding sheet. But martial strains assail my ear And wake me from my reverie, I cease to gaze intent to hear The war insj^ring minstrelsy ; But peace surrounds our rocky steep Where useless guns may rust — or sleep. Quebec thou art a lovely spot. The home of luxury and wealth — Of honest toil and cultur'd thought Of law and order, peace and health, Nor can we view a fairer sight Than from thy grand old storied height. Poems. MAN HIS OWN BIOGRAPHER, What have you written to-day my brother On life's immortal page ; If read aloud to the listening crowd Would they call you a fool or a sage ? Your every thought you are writing down As well as each word and deed, And what you write will be read again, So brother beware, take heed. You write your life with indelible ink, And you cannot erase one blot, Nor can you unsay the spoken M'ord Nor unthink one wicked thought. You are writing your autobiography now, So look to your self-res])ect, And never record a thought or a word You would afterwards reject. The wound may be healed but the scar remains. The mark of the ugly sore, Then beware of blunders, erasures and blots. And carelessly write no more. If what you have written be foolishness. Turn over another leaf And write, in the light of truth revealed. What never will cause you grief. Your life will shortly be quenched in death. And your name may become unknown, But the book you write will be safely kept Till read at the judgment throne. So be careful of what you do and say. For nothing will be concealed, And the hidden thoughts you would bhish to own Shall openly be revealed. 61 62 Poems. Then write, my brother, a beautiful book Which Saints will dclij^ht to read — A record of holy virtuous thoughts Portrayed in each word and deed. ,-/ K El- LECTION, I've seen the cheek suffused with red By death's cold hand laid pale, Like tlowrets bruised by ruthless tread Or withered in the gale. I've seen the huary-headed man Outstej) his three-score years, With haggard visage, worn and wan, Deep-furrowed with his tears. I've seen the sinless baby die, I've seen its mother wcej) To see her little darling lie In death's long dreamless sleep. I've seen the pride of beauty fade And pass from earth away ; I've seen the youth cut down and laid Low in the mouldering clay. I've seen men rush to ruin's brink, And some I've tried to save, And some who bartered life for drink I've foUow'd to the grave. Thus have I seen the young and old, The thoughtless and the gay, The rich and poor, the meek,2the bold All borne by death away. Poems. G3 *»IFA MAX DIE SI/ALL HE LIVE ACAIX ' "—Job 14, I4. In vain I try to shirk the (juestion which Demands the cogitations of my soul. I know that I shall die, but when or where Or how? I cannot tell. Jkit when I die Say shall I live again? 'Tis mystery. l}ut then it is reveal'd in holy writ That man shall live again. Nor can I doubt, Nor can it be a thing incredible That God omnipotent, should raise the dead. But then the puft'd up puny infidel — Too proud to own a greater than himself — Who scoffs at truth, says man has got no soul, That when he dies oblivion seals his fate. Thus he may think or rather he may wish That such a death may cpiench his troubled life. But such a creed is comfortless to him Who suffers here and patiently endures The ills of life in hope of joys to come, The resurrection is the good man's hope ; But full ot dread to that ungodly man Who fears, but tlees not from, the wrath to come. The sinner conscious of his awlal guilt May justly dread a sin-avenging God ; But then the light that shows a man himself Illumes the Cross and shows the antidote — The cleansing blood which purges every stain. The unbeliever often vainly tries To stifle conscience with his gloomy creed, And VI in '' ■ of all his rebel pride I ' -^ his doubts and dark forebodings too. lUilation is e skeptic's hope, Vnd his eterniiy, a dreamless sleep. Thus darkness leads to deeper darkness, till The soul is lost in dark depravity. ■ i i:" ,JM 64 Poems. O ! let my soul mount up and soar beyond The misty clouds of gloomy unbelief, And gaze upon the everlasting joys Which truth reveals, and which both faith and hope Assure my trusting soul, shall yet be mine. MY THE ME. Let others sing of groves and bowers, Of beauty's charms and ladies' eyes, Of verdant meads and blushing flowers, Of moonlight scenes and azure skies ; I be it mine to sing the praise Of Him who led me all my days. Sun, moon and stars my God proclaim And earth and seas his skill declare ; The hidden rocks reveal his name And show his footprints everywhere ; Great are his works but in his word 1 trace the glory of my Lord. I love the grand old picture book So beautiful on every page ; The more I on each picture look The more do I become a sage ; Gieat Nature's book imparts delight, Elates the soul j'ldchaims the sight. But brighter far the world within My longing soul — the earnest given. The consciousness of cancelled sin, The cheering antepast of heaven. God's works attract my wondering gaze, His word fills all my soul with praise. Poems. 65 THE SOWER. Behold a sower went forth to sow, And he b> altered the golden grain, And prayed that God would His grace bestow And drop down the early rain. And wherever he found the fallow ground, He scattered the gospel seed. And the seed took root and bore much fruit, Unhindered by thorn or weed. Some goodly grain by the wayside fell, But the fowls in their ravenous greed, Were hovering there, and, sad to tell, Devoured the precious seed. He sowed some seed on the barren soil, Where stones in abundance lay, But no fruit rewarded the sower's toil, For the blade soon wither'd away. And other seed fell among the thorns, And tho' it was fertile ground. The thorns sprang up and destroyed his hope, And no harvest there was found. But some seed fell in the cultured soil And sank in the rich, deep mould. And rewarded the sower's patient toil, With thirty or sixty fold. He sowed the seed when the morning light ♦V-.s chasing the gloom away, And continued *o sow when the shades of night Were hidr.g his working day. Beside all waters he sowed his seed, For he knew that the Lord would bless The efforts he made, and reward each deed, With a hundred-fold success. \ "TlVI^" 66 Poems. The Sunday-school was a fertile field In which to scatter the truth, And his heart was cheered with a bountiful yield Of zealous, God-fearing youth. And he sowed the truth in the haunts of vice, And trustingly, sought by prayer To gather some fruit for Paradise From the seed he had scatter'd there. And he sowed the good seed in heathen lands And watered it with his tears ; And others have reaped, with well-filled hands^ The fruit of his toiling years. He scattered the seed, and he tilled the soil Believing the time would come When golden sheaves would reward his toil With joy at the harvest home. TOO MUCH OF THE " BE A UTIFUL SNOWr They may sing of the beautiful snow Who dwell in a sunnier clime ; For me I would rather bestow My songs on a theme more sublime. I long for the beautiful Spring When the snow, we have had half a year,. Will dissolve, and the little birds sing With joy when the flowers appear. In thi:^ bleak hyperborean clime Our wi»ners are chilly and long, And oft prove a wearysome time Not worthy a jubilant song. It is all very well for the rich Whose comforts an: ever in view ; But hard upon womei who stitch. And men who hav? nothing to do» Poems, Our winters are hard on the poor And trying to both young and old, Who have fuel and food to procure, And suffer the terrible cold. How oft, when the stormy winds blow And the sky is with clouds overcast. And facing the cold drifting snow, We wish the dread winter was past. Kven now, while I write, the rude storm Is kicking the clouds 'neath his feet. While the snow-mounds in many a form Are raising blockades on the street. When I sing of the snow, let my lay Be a wail that is plaintive and sad ; And when the ice passes away O ! won't I rejoice and be glad ! And when Flora visits our earth I'll join with all nature and sing With a heart overflowing with mirth, A song to the beautiful Spring. 67 SAMSON AXD DELILAH. What is Samson's boasted strength Before Delilah's art ! He must yield to her at length And tell her all his heart. She has got his secret now. Got his head upon her lap. And cuts the locks which shade his brow, Then wakes him from his nap : 68 Poems. Wakes him from his pleasing sleep And sells him to his foes ; Now, too late, he comes to reap The harvest of his woes : Mocked by cruel enemies, Fettered with the captive's chain, He mourns the loss of both his eyes And groans with inward pain. Samson's is no lonely case; We have Delilahs still — Men who could a lion face, Yet bend to woman's will, Men, tho' physically strong, Made a woman's willing slave, To vice and ruin urged along, And dragged down to the grave. If you wish your strength to keep, Beware of Samson's nap, Never lay your head to sleep Upon Delilah's lap ; She will ply her cunning art, Making you her easy tool ; And when you've told her all your heart, She'll spurn you as a fool. fca ML'KDEK. The lowest depths to which degraded man Can sink in deep, dark, vile iniquity, Is to bo branded as a murderer. In all tho catalogue of hellish crimes, — Poems. e9 And they are numerous and loathsome too, — Not one of them appears so cruel, dark, And devil-like as murder unprovoked. A hiunan being, innocent, unwarned, Dej)riv'd of life, and his poor soul, dislodged And sent adrift, perhaps with all his sins Upon his head, to meet an angry God, Must be the deepest depth of wickedness. See 1 that dark-hearted fiend in human shape With murder-marks writ on his frowning brow, Blood stains his skirts, his hands are red with gore, And yet, that man may walk about at large, Screen'd from the vengeance of the penal law By rebel hordes, who glory in his deeds, And know his guilt but won't reveal his crimes. Or he may be acquitted by the law. Not for his innocence, but thro' some flaw Found in the statute book ; or some defect Or wanting link found in the chain of facts ; Or may be screen'd by him who saw the deed, Or else thro' perjury or truth suppress'd ; Or thro' the clever cunning of the man Who pleads his cause; or thro' the ignorance, Or worse, the prejudice of jurymen ; And thus the murd'rer is again let loose, To add new victims to his list of crimes. Sin leads to sin, from foul to fouler stains, Until God's image is defiiccd, and then The fallen wretch is equal to the deed. Led captive by the devil at his will. The mother's heart, thro' guilt and shame, has lost Its feeling, and she kills her little one ; The brutal father in his drunken wrath Assassinates his own fond, trusting child; And his poor weeping wife falls by his hand. 70 Poems. And many a wicked child with daring guilt Has quenched a parent's flick'ring life. And oft, like Cain the brother's hands are stained In his own brother's blood. And sisters too, Who nestled in the same fond mother's breast, Have learned to hate each other unto death. Some in their wrath, and some for greed of gain. And some thro' pride to hide their guilty shame. And some thro' frenzied zeal, or bigotry, Or to revenge a spite or fancied wrong, Are prompted to commit the horrid deed. Some feel the sting of guilt, but there are some AVhose flinty hearts know nothing of remorse. And who can take a fellow mortal's life As coolly as they would that of a dog. The murderer may hide his secret in His own dark heart. But blood has got a voice. And heaven hears its plaintive wail, and will Avenge it here or in the world to come. God heard the victim's dying groan, and saw The heaven-daring crime, and he is just And won't o'erlook the foul, dark deed of blood. And sympathizing angels saw it too. And in deep sorrow bowed their heads and wept. They share our joys, and so we may infer That they are not unmindful of our grief. But God beheld it, and he knows it all, And tho' his justice lingers, it is sure ; For murder stains must be removed, or else Revenging wrath will suddenly come down And purge the land defiled with human blood. Then if we can't prevent the wicked deed, Let us not cloak the crime nor screen the wretch Whose hands are stained with blood. And let us try To ferret out his guilt, and if condemn'd A murderer, then let him get the death Or punishment his wickedness deserves. Poems. 71 THE DECEIVER. He looked on me with winning smiles, And every word he spoke was love ; But, ah ! I knew not then the wiles He used, my youthful heart to move. He got possession of my heart. And only gave me in return His treachery and cunning art, Which leaves me now in grief to mourn. He pledged his love a thousand times, But still withheld his promised hand, And tho' I dimly saw his crimes, I could not his appeals withstand. He wooed and won my heart, and then He left me here in grief to weep For joys that won't return again. Until I take my last long sleep. The world may never learn my grief, Which lies concealed within my breast, Nor can its friendship give relief. Or bring me back my peace and rest. And he, the base deceiver, he May try to hide his darkened brow, Yet when I'm gone he'll think of me, And shudder at his broken vow. SONNET. Brave General Gordon ! thy exalted name Now stands the highest on the list of fame, A soldier, skilled in all the arts of war, A hero, too, the bravest of the brave. 72 Poems. Khartoum's bri»ve defender, sold, betrayed ! — Oh ! would that we had sent thee timely aid Ere doomed to thy unknown and lonely grave : Ah ! It was sad to leave thee to thy fate And only send thee succour when too late. Thy deeds in China spread thy fame abroad, And we had learned thy honored name to bless,- A Christian hero, trusting in his God, Whose onward path was one of marked success,- But thine is now the crown of righteousness. TO BROTHER JONATHAN. ON THE ALABAMA CLAIMS. Come now dear brother Jonathan And be more mod'rate if you can, And don't swell up your little bill ; Nor yet exhaust your caustic skill In calling England ugly names For spurning your dishonest claims. A few, we'll own, through selfish ends , Appeared to be, the rebels' friends, ' And these should pay, and these alone Should for their foolishness atone. Old England hated Slavery And long'd to see poor Sambo free, And so the great majority Gave you their heart-felt sympathy. Then why extort a tax from those Who never sided with your foes? Don't be too hard upon your mother — Forgive and bear with one another ; Ye know, ye both are mighty nations. And more, ye both are blood relations, Then drag the demon from his car And shun this fratricidel war. Poems. We, too, who live in this Dominion Will tell you what is our opinion, We think that you are more to blame Than those on whom you make your claim. Why was there not a war-ship sent These wide-spread evils to prevent? And why not make the conquer'd pay The cost of all this great affray ? You say that England built the ship, And let her take her trial trip, . And so escape, and join your foes, The cause of all these bitter woes. 'Tis not the maker of the gun Whom we pronounce the guilty one, But him who uses it in wrath To cause a fellow mortal's death. Your arguments are out of joint — Let me adduce a case in point; I buy a gun, say, in New York, With it I shoot the Mayor of Cork : A noise is made — the Queen demands A million dollars at your hands, Because from you the gun was bought With which the Mayor of Cork was shot. Would you admit the claim as just ? No, but you'd spurn it with disgust ; So Jonathan withdraw your claim For Englishmen are not to blame. You'd better therefore seek amends From Davis and his rebel friends, For tho' your losses we deplore, Remember that you owe us more Than England could have owed to you, So pay us first our legal due. F 73 74 Poems. Your Fenians crossed our boundry line With dark and murderous design. For tho' we don't believe you sent them^ We say, why did you not prevent them ? You know 'tis very wrong to keep A dog that kills your neighbour's sheep, And you kept dogs, which caus'd alarm And losses on your neighbour's farm. Now what has been your contribution To us by way of restitution ? Come, come, now Jonathan, be square, And try to do what's just and fair. Bear and forbear, give and forgive. And try with all in peace to live ; This is, you know, the great command — So take your brother by the hand And say, " 'tis not a few old ships " Our friendly feelings shall eclipse, " We'll live in love with one another, " And act as brother should with brother,"" IN SEARCH OF JIAPPnVESS. I went in search of happiness And sought, alas ! in vain To find among earth's promised joys The bliss I thought to gain. For, like the ignis fat uus O'er marshy swamps by night, I found earth's joys as fickle as That phosphorescent light. Poems. I followed fancy's fairy flight, And built my castles fair, But soon I saw them all dissolve Like bubbles in the air. I sought for bliss in beauty's charms And fascinating smiles, And found, too oft, a i)ainted mask To cover artful wiles. I found the dance a meteor glare^ And often void of mirth ; Its ])romised joys ephemeral, Or dying in the birth. I turned into the gay saloon And drank the sparkling wine. And listened to the noisy throng Who scoffed at things Divine. But peace and happiness took flight From that unhallowed spot, To tind a lodging for the night In some lone, humble cot. Ah I no, accursed alcohol Has got no promised bliss, For all the joys it offers are As false as Judas' kiss. Again I sought, in wealth and fame^ For quietude of mind, But chased a shadow all the while, And followed far behind. Thus disappointed, I resolved Within my sphere to keep, And as I could not run nor soar, To be content to creep. 75 hiR 1\ 76 Poems. And so I sought by honest toil To earn my daily bread, And gloom and pride and murmurings, Like morning vapours, fled. And then I sought the Prince of Peace His blessing to impart, — He gave it, and I have it still, Decj) hidden in my heart. TO MY WIFE, ON OUR TWENTIETH WEDDING-DAY ANNIVERSARY. Thro' sunshine and shower, for twenty years past, By grace and by Providence kept, We've lived in the shelter, and felt not the blast Which over us blightingly swept. We might have had more of the comforts of life— And yet, perhaps, few have had more ; We've lived in contentment, apart from all strife, And want never entered our store. Then let us give thanks to our merciful God, Who has brought us so far on our way. And trust Him to keep us the rest of the road, Nor suffer us from Him to stray. I I SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD. Tho' prince and peasant must resign their breath, And yield alike to death's resistless dart. Yet when a prince — wise, good and true of heart- Falls suddenly beneath the stroke of death, It thrills our hearts, while every head is bent In talking, thinking of the sad event. Poems, 77 We lose a prince whose loved and honoured name Stands proudly high upon the list of fame ; A true philosopher, well skilled in art, Who, while he lived, has acted well his part ; But in a moment, in the noon of life, The good Prince Leopold quits this mortal strife, And leaves our Queen, his mcjihcr, in her grief. To mourn her son whose years have been so brief. GKIEF FOR PRINCE L E OPOI. D. Orief, through bereavement, is the common lot Of every one who has a hear t to feel ; And he must have a heart as hard as steel, Who stands unmoved mid scenes of deepest grief, Nor offers comfort nor affords relief. Grief in the palace or the humble cot Demands our sympathy in deed or thought. When kindred ties are rudely snapt in twain We feel as if the very threads of life Which bound our hearts were severed in tiie strife. Thus felt Eugenie when her son was slain. Thus feels out own loved Queen — thus feels the wife Of this good Prince, the Royal mourners feel A grief too deep for human words to heal. A MEDITA riO.V. Sometimes I get wearied of life, and would fly Far away from temptation and sorrow ; And oft in my troubles in anguish I sigh, And long for a brighter to-morrow. 78 Poems. Tho' I hid in a cave and became a recluse, 'Twould be but a change of position — It is not in heathenish foolish abuse, To better my spirit's condition. The world with its sorrows, defilements and sin May cause me much grief and vexation, — 1 may fly from its follies, its bustle and din, But where shall I fly from temptation ? My thoughts will pursue me wherever I go,, And sorrows shall trouble my spirit. Because my fiail nature is wedded to woe, And grief is the lot I inherit. I want peace of mind, and I want joy of heart, And neither the world can bestow me ; Besides, it is neither in nature nor art, The blessings required to shew me. Then let me repair to th^' great word of truth. And rest on the promises given, And trust in Jehovah, the guide of my youth, To lead me in safety to heaven. TJIE OLD BARD. It happened in the olden time, Ere it was deemed a sin to rhyme, Or canting critics learned the art Of torturing the poet's heart, A lonely minstrel on his way Sang to himself a rustic lay. The people caught the soothing strain And listened to the bard's refrain. And begged that he would stop awhile And sing their sorrows to beguile. Poems. 79 The Bard attuned his much lov'd lyre And ran his fingers o'er the chords — Slow, soft and sweet, then higher higher, And soon his thoughts got vent in words,. He sang of lavished beauties spread Beneath, around and o'er his head — The blessings of the fertile soil — The honest men of cheerful toil. He sang of chaste, soft, blushing love, Pure as the light .hat shines above. The maiden fair, the modest youth, Whose bosoms glow with love and truth. He sang of virtuous love matured The choicest balm of life secured — The sweets of matrimonial bliss, The love revealed in every kiss. O ! happy state, divinely sweet With every hallowed joy replete Where man and wife in heart agree A love-united family. Beneath this great o'er-arching dome The fairest spot of earth is home, Home, where our Eden is complete. Where all the social virtues meet ; Home, sweetest spot to mortals given Faint type of that loved home in heaven. A shadow dimmed the poet's face While singing of our ruined race — The cold, dark deeds of wickedness — Oppression, sorrow and distress, The tyrant's frown, the suffring slave. The traitor, thief and painted knave. The ravages of alcohol Destroying body, mind and soul — Drink with its twice ten thousand woes To rob the soul of its repose, OV/ Poems. Accursed drink, earth's greatest blight, And most abhorred, revolting sight, Oh ! say when shall the world be free From this polluted misery ? The Poet breathed a softer strain, And sang his dulcet notes again, And looking up beyond the skies, Wh'le tear-drops glistened in his eyes, He sang of patient faith's reward, The meed of every honest bard. And pointing to the pilgrim band, He sang the glories of that land Outstretched beyond the misty gloom Which mortals see around the tomb. TJwH then he sooth'd the suffr'ing poor Wno meekly, patiently endure — Those noble heroes in the strife Who triumph o'er the ills of life, Who onward urge their rapid course And even take the crown by force. The poet raised his gleaming eyes, Which seemed to penetrate the skies ; Then musing, as if lost in thought — But what he saw he told us not, For suddenly he ceased to sing, His nuise had droi)ped her weary wing ;.. And ihen he bowed his hoary head. And then was numbered with the dead» And with his harp upon his breast We laid the dear old Bard to rest. Poems. 81 HOME THOUGHTS, I love to think of the dear old home — For my thoughts keep lingering there — And to think of the haunts where I used to roam With a heart unknown to care. And I love to think of the days long gone, And the friends of my early youth, Who taught me to trust in the Holy One, And to walk in the ways of truth. And I think ( i the flowery-selvedged lanes. Where 1 ran in my childish glee — And I sportively roam o'er the verdant plains, And I climb the old ..sh tree. And I visit again in my waking dreams The old familiar spring, And the grass} slmtcii by the crystal streams. And the grove wi:ere the warblers sing. And f join my brothers and cousins at play, With our hoops, tops, bills and kites, And lime too rapidly glides away, Curtailing our loved delights. And we cheerfullv go to the village school, And again pore over our books, And \vt reckon our sums by the same old rule,. Ar.J — we watch the master's looks. And I think of the days of hc.wlthy toil And pure industrial mirth, When I covered the seeds in the fertile soil, Or gathered the fruits of the earth. And I sigh while I think of that joyless day When I left the dear old home, And lonely and tearfully came away Thro' this cold, vain world to roam. .'82 Poems. And I oft survey in my pensive thought The graves of iny kindred dead, And I sigh while I gaze on that hallowed spot, And a tear to their memory shed. And I hopefully think of the joys to come, When my heart shall no more be riven — When I'll meet the beloved of my childhood's home In our Father's house in heaven. SONNET. TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS LOUISE. Princess Louise, your feeling, loving heart Still overHows \/ith human sympathy. Your royr'l gifts, so generous and so free, Have made the wounded soldiers' tenr drops start In grateful feelings for such kindness shown To all our brave, heroic volunteers. We won't forget through all our future years How much, through you, we owe the British throne. Your long-loved name is music in our cars ; When here we loved you and were grieved to part With you and our good, wise and noble chief, And now your Ihoughfulness to soothe our grief Has won our hearts, as all your actions prove That Canada still shares your Royal love. Poems. 83 THE SUNNY SIDE. Always choose the sunny side When you can such bliss attain, Never swim against the tide — Wait its flowing back again. Should the clouds of sorrow lour Veiling pleasure's faintest ray — Wait, you'll find night's darkest hour Is the one preceding day. Happiness is not in wealth, Joy is not a work of art, — Greater is the gift of health — Sweeter is a i)eaceful heart. Tho' the gift you get be small, If it square with your desires. You are rich, for you have all That your present need requires. If you can rejoice to-day, Do not grieve about to-morrow ; Happiness will longer stay By avoiding needless sorrow. Always try to act the man, Honestly perform your part, Do whatever good you can — Cultivate a thankful heart. Never do nor suffer wrong, Neither shew nor bow to pride, Thus you'll smoothly glide along Life's delightful Sunny Side. 84 Poems. MAN. Man is like the wave-tossed ocean, Ever moving, still in motion ; Like a huricane he ranges, Like the wind or moon he changes , Ever shifting, passing on — Glows a moment, then i.i gone. In this changing world of ours, Man has sunsliine, storms, and showers- Sunny days his heart to cheer. Storms when pleasures disappear ; Cooling dews of sweet relief, Tempests of heart-rending grief. Few and evil arc thy days ; Many are thy devious ways, Man of sorrows, born to woe In this transient world below. Man ! thou little thing of earth. Doomed to troubles from thy birth, Look not on earth's worthless toys. All devoid of solid joys. Thou hast an immortal spirit, Which must l)liss or woe inherit. After death, eternity Opens wrath or joy to thee. If there were no hell nor heaven, Why was reason to thee given ? Reason points to nature's God, Dwells not on this earthly sod. Ever grasping, e.eeking, soaring, God's and nature's laws exploring. While the monitor wiihiu Shews the sinfulness of sin^ — Calls earth's treasures dung and dross — Leads the sinner to the cross — Poems. Points him to the blood-stained tree, Saying, " there is hoj)e for thee." There, before his weeping eyes, Hangs the bleeding sacrifice. See ! he gazes on the tree — Cries out, *• Jesus died for me !" Saved from sin, his fears depart ; Sweetest pleasures fill his heart ; While the feeling in his breast Bids him hope for endless rest. 86 IXf/XITV. My thoughts are circumscribed and held in check, And cannot i)enetratc the vast unknown Beyond creation's bouP'^s, that starless void Which borders on the dark infinity. What is infinity ? My finite mind Can't grasj) the thought. 'Tis far beyond ilie range Of fancy's night. The lightning's ijuickesi flash Continued through I'tcrnity would fail To reach the outlines of innncnsity. The Sidereal heavens but reveal to us The inner circle of eternal spaie. The milky way or galaxy is but The faint retleclioii of the distant stars In other regions of the universe. *Tis not in finite mortals to explore The shoreless ocean of infinity. The learned astronomer may count the stars And tell their names, perhaps may calculate The magnitude of some familiar ones ; And he may give in lengthy ninnerals Their distance from the Karth and from the Sun ; 86 Poems, But can he tell the number of the worlds Which may exist through boundless space beyond The tiny range of telescopic sight ? He'd waste eternity ere he could scan The boundless regions of immensity. But tho' I cannot grapple with the thought, Or solve the mystery which hangs around Creation's vast domain, yet in my soul There dwells a longing wish to soar away Beyond the skies and gaze with wondering awe On all the glories whicli adorn the great Illimitable circle of the heavens. I dimly see creation's margin here, But faith illumes the grand majestic whole, Where suns and systems in their orbits move, Fulfilling their Creator's high behest. 'Twas wisdom planned thj whole. 'Tis power divine That keeps in motion all the rolling spheres. Which form the great machinery of heaven. Infinity is endless nothingness, — A dismal void. Creation beautifies The dreary deserts of infinity. And plants around the circle of the heavens These glittering stars — the stepping stones of Deity Or tapers to illuminate the night, Or sparkling gems reserved for saintly crowns. Hope lures me on, and points to future bliss, And fiiith brings near hope's pleasing promises, And truths divine are realized. And joys To come are antedated here. I take The earnest and await the fulness of The bliss which shall hereafter be revealed. But while encumbered with this house of clay My soul must wait in hope for higher flights When she with full-fledged wings shall soar far, far Poems. 8T Beyond the limits of a mortal's thought. And when that glorious transformation comes, And I be clothed in immortality, I'll seek permission in the courts above To visit and explore creation's bounds, — The "many mansions " of my Father's house And all the wonders of his wide domain. Till then I'll wait and hope and trust, and learn The secret of my Saviour's dying love. The " little while " will shortly pass away And then my loving Lord shall come and take Me with him to his Father's hoi.ie in heaven. And then all mysteries shall be revraled, For in the blaze of heaven's glory, I Shall gaze with rapture on the new delights Which throng high heaven and all the vast expanse Of God's illimitable universe. And then I'll sing and shout my Saviour's praise Who conquered death and gained the victory. And through eternity my grateful soul, With wondering awe, shall thankfully adore The great all-wise and all-creating God. TlIorailTS SUGGESTED BY THE "MELANCHOLY DEATH OE MR, JAMES MILLER, OE Ql'EJihC. Kilk'il by the railway collison at Richmond, August 24tli, 1871. returning from Montreal. A dark mysterious Providence We cannot comprehend Has quenched the life and called away Our brother and our friend. We feel appalled and turn away With melancholy dread. To think he whom we loved so well Is numbered with the dead. :«■ ■i ■IJ" ■ j w ^^^^ g|d| M Poems. Like some destructive hurricane, Or whirlwind in its wrath, So came the messenger of death Upon his homeward path. Sharp comes the crash, he feels the pang Of life-destroying pain, — And home, with its endearing scenes. He'll never see ogain. Strong drink is proffered, but refused — Just hear his great reply, — " I've lived thro' life a sober man And such I mean to die." A few short moments and his soul, Freed from its mangled clay, Was wafted to that God he loved To dwell in endless day. Gone home, but not his home below, His family to greet. But to that happier home above, Where saints and angels meet. He thought and spoke and worked for God Till called away to rest — We'd rather he had stayed with us, But God knows what is best. If death be nature's sleep in hope — A rest from sin and strife. Then why should mortals dread the grave. And cling to wearied life ? But death too often rudely comes And fiercely takes his prey. And from our midst our dearest friends Are quickly snatched away. O 1 who would live without a prayer, Breathed forth in every breath, To be preserved in readiness For unexpected death. Poems, 89 ly/fA T T/fLVfC YE OF CHRIST I What think ye of Christ ? Oil feel he is mine God blessed forever eternal divine, My merciful Saviour, Redeemer and God, Who saved me from ruin by shtdding his blood. My Prophet, the will of the Lord to make known, My Priest and my offering, for sin to atone. My Captain, salvation and strength to impart, The Lord, King of Glory, who reigns in my heart. What think ye of Christ? he is goodness and love. The saints, intercessor now pleading above, My life, and preserver, the truth and the way. My rock and my fortress, my shield and my stay. What think ye of Christ ? I believe he'll soon come To call up his servants and bring them safe home, For he is the Conq'ror of hell and the grave, My life-giving Jesus, almighty to save. What think ye of Christ ? O ! my poor meagre thought Can never conceive of his love as I ought; But when I'm in glory beholding his face, Forever and ever I'll sing of his grace. BAD HABITS. The habits and vices we practise and love. Like chronic diseases, are hard to remove, The smoker will smoke and theitoper will drink, Not caring what others say of them, or think. The swearer, whose language is coarse and profane, Is bound by his habits, nor can he refrain From cursing, blaspheming and damning his soul, Urged on by a habit he cannot control. ft i. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ftiUM 1112.5 iii ilM IIIII2.2 2.0 1.8 1-25 1.4 1.6 6" ► V] mm Poems. THE HORSE. 105 The noble horse, but, oh ! how oft the poor Ill-treated brute, starv'd, whipp'd and overworked, Oft suffers in Quebec. It must be so, And hardly can be otherwise, because Our horses, here, are often plac'd in charge Of cruel men who know not how to shew A kindly deed to either man or beast. The tender mercies of the wicked are Dark, savage, cruel and malevolent. How seldom do you see the carter give A helping hand to his poor panting horse. While struggling 'neath a heavy load up some Steep hill, or stuck in some deep muddy rut. No, no ; he'd rather sit upon his load. And whip his horse, regardless of the pain The tortur'd brute must suffer at his hands. What does he care, so long as he can take His stupid ease and rest his lazy limbs 1 Too long these low-bred wretches have been school'd In thoughtless or in wanton cruelty; But weeping mercy in her soft appeals Has touch'd a chord in many a feeling heart, And men are calling to their fellow-men To spread the blessings of humanity. Besides our laws are being put in force, And cruel wretches now begin to feel That vindicated law asserts her power To save the tortur'd beasts from their misdeeds — That punishment pursues their cruelty. Thanks, many thanks to tho^e kind hearted men Who raise a shield to save the poor dumb brute From those whose frozen hearts ne'er felt a pang Of sorrow for the creature's sufferings ; And whose dull minds ne'er think that He who marks The sparrows fall, beholds their cruelty. H i*i ■:-llH! 106 Poems. But bright-eyed faith looks to a happier time When men shall learn what mercy stoops to teach- The lovely lesson of humanity, And then the lower animals shall share In all the bliss which pity loves to show. O ! how I long for those delightful days When deeds of cruelty shall be unknown — When grateful mercy shall sing songs of praise And kindness to the noble horse be shown. DEATH OF NIAL III. ARD RICH OF IRELAND. Among the brave kingf of old Erin is found The record of one who is justly renowned, King Nial the third, the Ard Righ^ lost his life Not in fighting the Danes nor in battle's fierce strife, Yet he died as a hero in trying to save A gilla or serf from a watery grave. In seeking a ford in the Callan dark river The gilla sank down — there was none to deliver — The King shouted " save him, " but none was so brave As to venture his life in the swift rolling wave ; And then the brave King, at the call of humanity — And prompted by Mercy, not bravo nor vanity, Plunged into the river, was lost in the flood While his minions appalled on the river's brink stood And watched the brave King while he struggled in vain His gilla to save or the shore to regain. Thus Nial of Callan is jur.tly renowned Who, in trying to save his poor gilla, was drowned. ill 1 1' '■li Poems. 107 THE BLESSINGS OF THE PRESS. In every dispensation of the world The banner of the truth has been unfurled, That men might gaze upon the upraised sign And lift their heads and think of things divine. Some heard the word, but others turned aside To sleep in ignorance, or nurse their pride. False prophets came ; sleek devils in disguise And raised, instead, their flimsy flag of lies. And men grew wicked, ignorant and vile, God often spoke, but darkness reigned the while ; For centuries the world was steeped in night, With here and there a spark of glimmering light. At length the Lord designed the world to bless And gave the wisdom to invent the Press, We own the Press a wondrous power of might, The fertile source of intellectual light. And though, much evil issues from the Press Still more of good has come the world to bless ; And truth shall stand, shall prosper and prevail, While limping lies and worthless trash shall fail. Then let us all adore our God and bless That Providence which gave the mighty Press. CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. Don't beat your poor, dumb animal, Nor let your passion rise ; Nor blindly see its misery — Nor deafly hear its cries. God's creatures feel, as well as you, The pang of bitter pain ; And often, too, they mutely plead. And pity beg in vain. 108 Poems. Don't over-load nor over-drive Your ill fed, jaded horse ; Nor let your conscience go to sleep^ Untroubled with remorse. 'Tis devil-like to vent your spleen, In oaths and kicks and blows ; 'Tis cowardly to triumph in The poor dumb creature's woes. The animals which God has made, And given for your use, Demand your mercy and your care,. And not your vile abuse. The righteous man is merciful. And treats his beast with care ; But wicked men act cruelly. And know not how to spare. Then never to the creature's wants Be either deaf or blind ; And let them all that mercy share Which you expect to find, j FAREWELL LINES. WRITTEN ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FOR CANADA. Old Tullykittagh, fare thee well ! ' We part to meet no more ; I go to foreign lands to dwell, , Far on a distant shore. • Yet, mem'ry oft shall wander back, Where'er my lot be cast. Reviewing the long-trodden track Of the eventful past. Poems. 109 Monlalto school, where oft I ran, A wayward, thoughtless boy, Unheedful of the future man, I sought but present joy ; And Skerry rock, so bleak and bare, With mountains piled behind. Shall form a picture which shall share A corner in my mind*. The sunny braes of dear old home. Still bright on mem'ry's chart, ' .Shall still be viewed where'er I roam. And treasured in my heart. Dear scenes of youth, a long farewell ! Dear kindred, good and kind, 'Tis painful as a parting knell To leave you all behind. But never, never, from my heart, Tho' far from thee I rove, Shall I displace the dear old spot Where dwell the friends I love. LOVE, HONESTY, AND TRUTH. The wisdom of the cultured sage — The zeal of earnest youth, Are dimmed, when lacking heaven's gifts- Love, honesty and truth. These are the gift's which sweeten life, The choicest graces given To elevate the sons of earth, And raise them up to heaven. 110 Poems, Possessed of these ennobling gifts — Truth, honesty and love— "We view a candidate for bliss, In brighter worlds above. The glory of our hoary age, The dignity of youth, Are gilded by this treble gift, Love, honesty and truth. This world would be a paradise — A type of heaven above, If every one possessed these gifts — Truth, honesty and love. These priceless gifts are free for all. And all the bliss may prove, Which flows from these enriching gifts- Truth, Honesty and Love. TO A LADY WHO SENT ME A BEAUTIFUL BOQUET^ Best thanks for the sweet floral beauties bestowed, — Your lovely, artistic boquet ; If ever my heart with true gratitude glowed It throbbed with that feeling today. Such flowers remind me of Eden of old. While they point to the Canaan above, Where the bowers, surrounding the City of gold, Are garnished with flowers of love, i In garden or field what a feast of delight We find in the beautiful flowers, So pleasing the odor, so charming the sight, Fit gems for the heavenly bowers. aiiii Poems. Ill SONNET. Loved Enniskillen, old historic town, And still revered, for never shall the name Be severed from truth, loyalty and fame. Thy ancient sons were men of high renown, Who held their sway and dared the tyrants' frown, And still thy sons their loyalty maintain. For should rebellion raise it hydra hej d Thy stalwart men will arm themselves again And in their loyal father's footsteps tread. But O 1 I trust invaders never more Shall raise their standards near thy peaceful shore, And that henceforth Commerce shall be thy aim While, as of old, thy motto still shall be " God and our right, truth, love and loyalty." , A QUESTION. I don't know which the most to prize, A tuneful voice or sparkling eyes, The voice is sweet, the eyes are bright, And both entrance me with delight. 'Tis nature's gift, refined by art. To sing these strains which move ihe heart, And culture, too, must train the eyes To gleam that sweetness which we prize. Thus color, form and feature join To give a creature half divine, But still more charming when we find The beauty of a cultured mind. There is a charm in woman's vail To make the saddest heart rejoice, All care and sorrow pass away Soon as she sings her cheerful lay. 112 Poems. And in her soft alluring eyes A depth of mental power lies, To speak her love, or flash her hate, — To spurn, repel or captivate. The sparkling eye and dulcet voice Cap never fail to be my choice, If with these graces she possess A heart brimful of tenderness. But all accomplishments are vain If in her heart dark passions reign, For what is voice, or eyes, or mind Without a soul by grace refined? \ *Tis piety that gives the grace Which beautifies a woman's face When this with other charms are given We view in her a type of heaven. WELCOME TO THE MARQUIS OF LANl^SDOWNE OUR NEW GOVERNOR GENERAL. Thrice welcome here to Canada Lord Lan^sdowne, justly famed * By every son of loyalty — By rebels, only, blamed. Act well the part assigned to you With dignity and grace — The path your predecessors trod You might do well to trace. Lord Dufferin had the happy art ,. To win the people's love, And leave, deep hidden in each heart, A thought we can't remove. mnn^^ Poems. Lord Lome and his fair princess wore Beloved, as right they should ; By wisdom and by watchful care They sought the people's good. Then you, if you would win our hearts, Must emulate these men, Who nobly, wisely played their parts By word and deed and pc n. As you have every requisite — Wealth, talent, rank and fame, Then let your brilliant gifts unite To magnify your name. And we — the men of Canada — Our loyalty shall prove. By fealty to your rule and law, With honesty and love. Oct. 22nd, 1883. 113 T//E WEEK OF PR A YER. Let supplicating prayer to heaven ascend, Prayer from the heart, the broken contrite heart, -And let us ask our Father and our friend For Jesu's sake his blessing to impart. " Come unto me," 'tis Jesus speaks the word, " Ye burdened souls, with conscious guilt opprest." Then come ye weary to your loving Lord, And enter now into his promised rest. 'Come as the prodigal, ashamed to come, And yet constrained to flee from your disgrace, "Come as an outcast, yearning after home To beg your Father for a servant's place. 114 Poems, Come as a penitent, devout, sincere, Unveil your heart, your secret sins confess, Come bold in faith, yet awed by holy fear, And God your soul abundantly shall bless. Come from your closet to the house of prayer And spread your wants before the throne of grace,. And cry ** Oh ! Lord thy guilty people spare And turn their hearts again to seek thy face." *• Revive thy work, withhold thy vengeful wrath^. And look in mercy on thy wandering sheep, And lead us in the straight and narrow path. And give us grace that Royal road to keep. " O may thy ransom'd church with joy return And hail the coming of a brighter day, When thy glad people shall no longer mourn, For all their sorrows shall have passed away,.'" PR A YER. Every want my spirit feels, Every sorrow, every care, Only strengthens my appeals, Sweetens earnest pleading prayer.. Many are my daily wants, More the precious gifts I share. For the loving Saviour grants '^ r All I ask in faithful prayer. Every promise in his word. Which his love and truth declare. May be mine, through Christ my Lord„ Richly realized in prayer. wmi^ Poems. Sweet the revelations given, Bright and beautifully fair, While the curtain veiling heaven Seems withdrawn in holy prayer. O ! I love a throne of grace, For the Saviour meets me there. And unveils his glorious face, While I look to Him in prayer . 115. SONNET. ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL GRANT. A Prince among the sons of men is dead. The healer of the breach, a warrior brave Has passed away to fill a soldier's grave, While o'er his bier a nation's tears arc shed. But not Americans alone lament The death of General Grant, twice chosen chiefs For other nations bow their head in grief And sympathize and mourn this sad event. This soldier, statesman, traveller, was known By half the world, and monarchs on the throne Revered the great Republic's President, For he was honored everywhere he went. His noble deeds, historians shaU record. His deathless soul we leave with Christ the Lord. 116 Poems, SONNET ON THE DEATH OF A LOCAL POET. Weep, brother Poets, for the loss of one On whom the muse her choicest gifts bestowed, And in whose breast the sacred fire glowed, While from his ready pen sweet numbers flowed ; His wit was keen, and oft his pointed pun Would sparkle like a dew-drop in the sun. Love warmed his heart and light illumed his mind, And yet too oft he seemed to reason blind. While gloomy shadows stretched across his path With dark forebodings of impending wrath, And then he flung his prospects to the wind, And wandered down the thorny road to death ; Yet, after all, we must engrave his name High on the pillar, raised to men of fame. A VIEW OF THE PAST. THANKSGIVING. When smiling spring with noiseless tread. Her gem-bespangled carpet spread. We sought the fields with eager feet. The green-robed goddess there to meet. Then summer came with warmer glow. More life and vigor to bestow. And flowers blushed a richer bloom. And filled the air with sweet perfume. The trees put on their gayest drers. And smiled in all their loveliness, Wiiile blooming Flora widely spread Her gems o'er mountain, vale and mead. ^Wflip Poems. The sweet delicious fruits matured, And we the precious gifts secured, And vegetation grew and thrived, While hope was strength«»ned and revived. Then autumn with her golden treasures, Came to increase our earthly pleasures. And till our basket and our store Until we ceased to ask for more. With these enriching blessings blest, Then let us take our needed rest. And in our homes that peace enjoy, Which stormy winters can't destroy. Oft in this hyperborean clime Too many have a dreary time, For scanty means insure distress, And suffering want brings weariness. O 1 ye who in your busy strife Secured the luxuries of life. Don't steel your hearts, nor shut your door Against the suffering, needy poor. It makes our cup of joy o'erflow To ease a fellow mortal's woe ; It thrills our hearts with sweet delight To know and feel we acted right. Thus shall our winter joys increase. Our homes and hearts be filled with peace. While round the festive board we meet And feast on bliss, divinely sweet. If some loved book my thoughts engage, Then let the howling tempests rage. They cannot chill, nor bid depart The joy that glows within my heart. 117 118 Poems. Arid should the muse my heart control, And raise the ardor of my soul, I'll sing of Zion's grand advance — Of virtue, peace and temperance. REFLECTIONS ON THE PAST. Far from the spot that gave me birth, I mournfully yet fondly gaze, Through fancy's light, on faded mirth And happy scenes of other days — The short-lived pleasures of the past, Which only were too sweet to last. My childhood, youth, and early friends Have passed away, like childish tears ; And now, reflection only tends To throw me back on by-gone years, And paint those early scenes which seem To haunt me like a lovei's dream. What tho' I find my lonely track Full oft with thorny cares bestrewed. Why should I murmur or look back On scenes tha t should no more be viewed, Or swell my heart with longing pain, Or hopes of happiness, in vain ? The past can give no pleasure now. Nor can the future cheer my breast, Unless I in submission bow To my Redeemer's high behest. So, now, supported by my Lord, I'll seek my pleasures in His word. "W^^ Poems. THE DA YS OF CHILDHOOD. I often wander back in thought, *To childhood's happy days, Reviewing each familiar spot — -Scene of my childish plays. Loved days of innocence and truth, Unknown to wordly strife, When in the glow of buoyant youth I sipped the sweets of life. .Since then along life's weary way, My onward course I've trod, Preserved and kept from day to day. By my supporting God. But tho' the past has had its bliss, It had its days of pain ; For joys in such a world as this, Are hollow, brief and vain. Then why should I for pleasures grieve, "Which long have passed away ; •Or feel repinings when I leave •Scenes going to decay. Far better look at joys to come, And view a fairer sight ; Then ever bless'd my childhood's home, When days were young and bright. iia I II DIVINE PROTECTION. The child of God has naught to dread ; For who is he that dare molest That trusting one, who leans his head Upon the loving Saviour's breast ! 120 Poems. Protecting angels wait on those To whom the royal robes are given, To shield them from their hellish foes^ And bring them safely home to heaven. What tho' the wicked don't discern The grandeur of the saints below, Yet they will shortly come to learn That truth they now refuse to know. They'll see where Lazarus is placed With Abraham, in highest bliss ; While they, dishonored and debased^ Must sink into the dark abyss. God greatly loves his own elect, And guards them with his watchful eye ; His providence their steps protect. His ear is open to their cry. It may be theirs to suffer loss, Their journey may be rough and long ; And theirs, may be a heavy cross, But theirs shall be the victor's song. HYMN. We all like sheep have gone astray, And wandered far from wisdom's way, And found the mountains bleak and bare. Affording us but scanty fare. But Jesus sought us in the wold And brought us to his sheltered fold. Where we with every blessing blest, In pastures green may take our rest. mmF Poems And he has guaranteed to keep Secure from harm his trusting sheep Who hearken to his warning voice, And make his will their lasting choice. No foe can pluck out of his hands The sheep who follow his commands, While he shall give eternal life To all who conquer in the strife. The Lord protects his saints below Till they have vanquished every foe, And then he bids the victors rise And claim their laurels in the skies. And when they join the white-robed throng. Who sing the everlasting song, They praise the Lamb whose cleansing blood Has made them kings and priests to God. 121 A RETROSPECTIVE REVERIE. One night I fell a-thinking, and I wandered back in 'aought, Revisiting the scenes which oft In early life I sought. I ran along the sunny slope, And through the mossy dell, And sat beneath the fairy thorn Beside the holy well. Again I struggled up the hill. And climbed the rocky steep, And watched the boulders which I hurled Go plunging in the deep. ^^11 .' IT*' 122 Poems. And far beyoru the glistening waves, Half hid among the clouds, I saw old Scotland's lofty hills Roll up their misty shrouds. And I watched the hardy fishermen. Who left the little bay, And spread their sails before the breeze, Dash through the foaming spray. And many a prayer was offered up That God would safely keep The fishermen from accidents And dangers of the deep. And I joined my little play-mates, And we sported on the lea, And ran and laughed and shouted In our happy childish glee. Again I sought our village-school. Where, many a weary day, I sat, impatient to be off To join my boyish play. And I rummaged thro' the school-room, And examined all the nooks. The peg on which I hung my cap, The shelf which held my books. And I recognized my school-mates. For their faces were the same As when we sat together, and I knew them all by name. A few short years soon hurried past. And then I vainly strove To hide the feeling in my breast — My heart's first blushing love. Poems. 123 And I felt the same emotions, The joy, the hope, the pride, For in thought my own dear Httle girl Was tripping at my side. And we walked down by the meadows, Where many a stroll we took. And we sat upon the mossy bank. Beside the little brook. We talked — 1 don't know what we said ; But this I only know, That earth to me no richer gift Or fairer could bestow. To hear her voice, to get her smile And half-reluctant kiss, Was then, is still, through fancy yet, My purest earthly bliss. Again there was a parting time : I felt inclined to roam, And, tho' it almost broke my heart, I left the dear old home. Since then, thro' life I've plodded on, And had my hopes and fears ; But I never found much poetry In manhood's busy years. AUTUMN. '^ The flowers are fading, the trees getting bare. And thin frosty vapours are chilling the air, For nature is losing her mantle of green, And now in a rusty-brown robe may be seen. 124 Poems, \\\ The beauties of summer are faded and i)ast, And the sweet, balmy breeze is exchanged for the blast, And Autumn is losing her rich golden store, And Winter, grim Winter, is coming once more. The gay scenes of Summer, and Autumn's rich treasure, Have given me oft' the most exquisite pleasure — The pearly dew sparkles in Summer's gay morn. Whilst Autumn shows golden fields smiling with com. I love the long days when the fair face of nature Is sprinkled with gems, and a smile on each feature, *Tis then I delight to traverse the wild mountain, Or seek the green valley, beside the clear fountain. ! is it not pleasing to spend the sweet hours Amid nature's beauties of verdure and flowers ? Yet still more enduring the sober-toned mirth. Enjoyed in securing the fruits of the Earth. Thus blest with abundance and social delights, We dread not the coming of long winter nights. For Winter has pleasures, and while the storms rage We may be consulting some favorite page. And the cold drifting snow which forbids me to roam, But sweetens the social enjoyment of home, While cozy and warm near the stove or the fire, 1 glance o'er a paper or tune my rude lyre. Or perhaps meet a friend of approved conversation, And talk of what tends to our edification. Thus time hastens on like a bird on the wing, Till Winter recedes to give place to fair Spring. ;i.'. wmmm Poems. 125 soArNEr. Ten thousand twinkling stars illume the night, But cannot chase the darkness quite away ; The sombre shadows, murky, dull and grey, Still linger, till the glorious orb of day Peeps o'er the hills and floods the world with light. The fair, full Moon in borrowed lustre shines. And cheers the Earth with her soft, silver rays, But Nature comes not to her sacred shines. Nor offers to her thankful songs of praise. But when the god of day puts forth his might. Then Flora smiles and every thing looks bright. While tuneful warblers sing their choicest lays. God is our sun, and in that light divine Our little lights grow dim and cease to shine. r//£ BO Y THA T WILL SUIT US. If you were a master and wanting a boy. What sort of a lad would you like to employ ? One quiet, good natured who sits in the house, And asleep or awake keeps as mute as a mouse ? I know you love modesty, but for your store. Or oiftce, or workshop, you'd like to have more. Well, then, a smart boy who is clever and witty ? No, no, we've too many such lads in our city. OrJa sharp cunning fellow, who knows at a wink When to hide his cigar or to stifle his drink ? Ah ! no, for altho' such a boy may be just, Yet somehow or other we'd feel a mistrust, For^the lad who learns habits so vile in his youth. Will seldom make progress in virtue and truth. Would you like a young imp with his head full of tricks Who often gets into, and out of, a fix ? Or a keen, clever lad with a leer in his eye, Who won't lose his breath when he tells a trade lie ? 126 Poems. ■I -I No, no, 'tis enough that the men long in trade In selling their goods may enlarge or evade, But tho' we may err yet we love the brave youth. Who is honest and just and adheres to the truth. The boy we select must be active and '^ nart, And have brains in his head and have love in his hearty Apt, cheerful, obedient, industrious and kind, And such is the lad we are longing to find. j :9 j^' '^1 ^H;: t:. HH 1H)|^': MH ^^■RH^; r« ™*"' i \ TO AN INFIDEL. Rob me of my Christian faith. Take away my soothing hope. And you leave my soul in death Through uncertainty to grope. Cold and dark must be the heart, That can neither hope nor trust — Darkness veils his future chart ; Death but drags him to the dust. Such a dull desponding creed. Sinks me lower than the brute — Husks on which I cannot feed, Drugs which don't my palate suit. Death may end this mortal strife But has got no more control, Death can't quench my inner life, Can't annihilate my soul. Wearied worlds shall cease to roll, Nature slumber in decay, But my God-imparted soul, Shall exist through endless day. Poems. 127 LOSS OF THE •• ATLANTIC r *Tis midnight and the waves run high, And darkness veils the murky sky, While swiftly the Atlantic glides Undauntedly through storms and tides. The watchman sees no danger near, Nor seeming cause of dread or fear, Nor is there heard the warning cry, " Look out, beware of dangers nigh." But like the bridegroom's midnight call Death's awful voice is heard by all, Who from their peaceful slumbers wake Their chance for life or death to take. Like thunder-crash there comes a shock ; She strikes on Meagher's sunken rock, And then is heard a plaintive wail Borne shoreward on the noisy gale. But who can now the hundreds save Engulfed beneath the foaming wave. Perhaps some hundreds, while asleep Were buried in the dreadful deep. While others only* wake to see Impending death and misery. Some shriek for aid in loud despair, While others kneel in fervent prayer^ And plead the sinners only plea, " Oh ! God be merciful to me." Three worthies bear a line ashore And save three hundred lives or more. And yet it was a mournful sight To see the suffering-saved, that night. Cold, naked, scared and tempest tossed — For every thing, save life, was lost. May God assuage their bitter grief ' And send them comfort and relief ! i / 'I A'- 128 Poems. m Was there no guardian Angel near That doomed, ill-fated ship, to steer ? Was death concealed from mortal's sight And hidden in the winds that night ? Or did he lurk beneath the deep To seize his victims while asleep ? Down to the ship death's angel flew And marked both passengers and crew, Resolved, before the break of day, To seize them, as hi? lawful prey. But mercy came with feeling heart And snatched from death's cold grasp, a part, Yes, but a part, for death may boast His triumphs on that rocky coast. No woman saved ! Oh can it be That in that night of misery. No stalwart arm, nor manly breast Was there, to succour the distrest. All dark despair, nor hope of life ^ For mother, daughter, sister, wife. For if not drowned, both young and old Succumbed and perished in the cold. How strange the ways of Providence ! How limited our range of sense ! We feel apalied, our heads we bow. For God's designs ve know not now. With lightning s];eed the message flies — A telegram of bitter sighs, And millions pity, and lament. And talk about the strange event. But, ah ! who can depict the grief. Or bring their lonely hearts relief. Who feel bereaved, who weep and mourn For loved ones who will ne'er return. Poems. And loving friends will drop a tear, Soon as the mournful news they hear, And say : Oh ! it is sad to roam ! Oh ! would that they had kept at home. But hope like Noah's faithful dove Comes to us with a pledge of love And offers, to assuage our grief, The cheering gospel olive leaf. 129 OUR NEW GOVERNOR GENERAL AND THE PRINCESS LOUISE. The Marquis of Lome and the Princess Louise Have more than succeeded the people to please, For the proofs they have given to do what is right Have filled every heart with a thrill of delight. Their dignified wisdom and unassumed skill Have lovingly drawn us to bend to their will With heartfelt allegiance, assured they shall prove Deserving of Canada's fealty and love. The Marquis, as chief of the great Campbell Clan, With God-fearing Scotchmen must still lead the van. And keep the old pathway of virtue and truth And prove an example to manhood and youth. He may keep his sword sheathed, yet be ready to draw- To punish the wicked who sin against law ; His rule must be firm, without weakness or fear, Yet neither despotic nor harshly severe. The beautiful Princess, his fond, loving wife, Has shewn us her dignified mission of life. With wisdom to counsel and truth to direct, •She means to raise women to love and respect. 130 Poems. " Domestic Economy ! " study it well, And in that accomplishment try to excel. Ye ladies of Canada can ye discern The wisdom a Princess would have you to learn ? If home be not happy then where shall we roam, For the world is a wilderness outside of home ! Let woman be taught that to brighten her hearth, Restores a lost Eden to man upon earth. O ! what a rich gift from our own beloved Queen ! — A daughter to be v/hat her mother has been — A pattern for women in palace or cot To plan, do and say, just the things which they ought. Long live our great leader, the Clan Campbell chief, May his rule prove a blessing unclouded with grief; And long live the Princess, his good, royal wife. To cherish our hopes and to sweeten his life. LITTLE MAIDENS. Little Maidens sweet and fair Tossing back their wavy hair. \ Laughing, skipping all the day ' Happy as a lamb at play. Like a baby's angel dream Like the tinkling of a stream, Is the happiness they bring — Is the joyous notes they sing. O ! how soon the little doves Tell each other of their loves. Silly thoughts they can't conceal But must childishly reveal. Then in confidence they show Some love-token from their beau. Tho' like timid hares they run And his presence feign to shun. Yet their love is shewn the while In that little-girlish smile. Poems. 131 Pretty little lively misses, Longing for a change of kisses, Half ashamed to kiss their mother, Tired kissing one another, Blushing, looking rather shy. Giving kisses on the sly. Cheerful are the little dears Passing through life's brightest years, In the margin of their teens, Looking out on fairy scenes. Arbours, meadows, groves and bowers Beautified with choicest flowers. Decorate the future way Down along their golden day. Little dream they of the cares. Sore temptations, traps and snares Which the wiley tempter hath Hidden in their future path ; Or the trouble, toil and strife Which may be their lot in life. Pity that their sky so bright Ever should be dimmed with night ; Pity that their trusting hearts E'er should feel deception's darts. . Little maidens, modest, good ; Filled with love and gratitude, Innocence and virtue shine On their features, half divine, While the snowy robes oftiuth Beautify their guileless youth. O ! that every little maiden Would retail her inward Eden, List to wisdom's warning voice Making piety her choice, Then her happy day would close Brighter than her morn arose. ■ 132 Poems. THE INFIDEL. None so foolish, none so blind, None so dark in heart ai i mind As that little earthly clod. Who would dare deny his God. Yes, indeed, the Lord deny — God omnipotent, most high, God the universal cause Of creation and its laws — Whose creating skill and might Far extends beyond our sight ; Worlds on world's tumultuous rise Dimly seen by mortal eyes, . But they all alike proclaim God is our Creator's name. Did the sun himself create And assume his princely state ? Did the self-appointed )ove Shew the planets where to move ? Still the puzzling thought must be. Who created earth and sea ? Or were they such funny elves As to start and make themselves ? Changes have come o'er the earth Since creation gave it birth, But each change in rock and clod Shows the power of a God. Man may use his gifted skill Nature's works to change at will, Still creation holds her state, Man can nothing new create. Last of God's creation — man Came to study wisdom's plan, Widely spread, around, above, Telling of creating love. See ! the skeptics curl their lips, Unbelief their eyes eclipse ; Poems, Hear ! how foolishly they chatter Of their " uncreated matter." " Matter," by their theory, Was from all eternity ; But if you should take offence At their want of common sense. Ignorance of things supernal, Saying ** matter was eternal," Then with supercilious nod They will ask you, *' who made God ? '^ Thus Jehovah is denied, While his works are deified ; Such the inconsistency Of the skeptics' theory. Wretched creatures, blind as moles Who would rob us of our souls — Cast away our future hope, Leave us in the dark to grope, Live the life of brutes below. Then to dark oblivion go. Such a wintry, lifeless creed Does not suit me in my need ; I must have a remedy For my every misery ; Rest in toil, in trouble peace. Life, when mortal life shall cease. Inward joy revealed to me. Which shall last eternally. Infidels, what do ye gain By the creeds which ye maintain > Does your unbelief impart Conscious pleasures to the heart ? Tho' the dread of future wrath Glares not on your misty path, Still in spite of all your pride Ye must feel dissatisfied ; 13a ^mtm I \ 134 Poems. In your secret hearts ye hate All that man could elevate ; In your miseries ye bro )d Shunning what is wise and good, While your restless spirits creep Down a lower, darker deep, Till ye feel your life a hell Dark and unendurable. Can we look for words and deeds Better than your darkened creeds ? Is it not your creed to move Down in nature's lowest groove ? Thus if nature take the shape Of the donkey, cat or ape, True to nature ye will try Nature's wants to gratify. But I dare not further go Down your gloomy path of woe — Unrestrained by love or fear — Nought to check your mad career. Need we wonder why your deeds Are in keeping with your creeds. If ye make a man a brute, ' Brutal then must be the fruit ; If ye take away the soul, Where's the helm to give control? Who would calmly bear a trial, Who would practise self-denial, If there were no hell to shun Nor bright heaven to be won ? Is not he who suffers pain And who hopes for ease again, Much a happier man than he Who has nought but misery ? Thus our Christianity Can a soothing balm supply, While a dark desponding grief Hangs about your unbelief. Poems. 135 ABBOR DAY IN THE PROVINCE OF QUEBEC. INSTITUTED BY THE HON. MR. JOLY. Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the Arbor day, The one we have placed in the month of May, With hopeful hearts let us haste away And join the procession, or bright array Of the men of worth, and our ladies gay, All brimming with pleasure on Arbor day. With our gay flags fluttering in the breeze And marching along to plant our trees, Oak, ash, I .ech, elm, birch, maple and spruce, Designed for shade and for future use ; And beautiful shrubs to adorn the bowers Where lovers may stroll in the noontide hours. O ! there never will be such a grand display Or such planting of trees as on Arbor day. Memorial trees to record the name Of the planter placed on the list of fame ; Or in memory of some hero at rest Whose deeds still live in each glowing breast. Historical trees with dates and days To cherish the names and proclaim the praise Of those most worthy to wear the bays, And of those who devised and led the way To give our Dominion an Arbor day — A hopeful, tree-planting jolly day. Let our Governor, Mayor, and all men in power Plant trees and guard our umbrageous bower. Let the magnates noted in Senate and Church Plant trees of hope, oak , maple and birch. And let every citizen lend his aid To protect those trees, for beauty or shade. And let all the parishes share in the joy And give Arbor day to this grand employ, i mm '«wi! "0. % 136 Poems. Men, women and children — let all agree, That each shall plant a memorial tree — A registered tree with the planter's name Which in 'years to come shall record his fame. But whether you rise to fame or not You'll never forget that one loved spot, And shall oft look back, till life's latest close, To the hallowed place where your own tree grows. And every year on our Arbor day We'll deck our trees with ribbons so gay, Each jealously guarding his own loved tree And all enjoying their mirthful glee. And for every little baby that's born '11 seek a young tree on our Arbor morn, plant baby's tree in the family grove In memory of the sweet pledge of love. Ovr trte-rlad hills are getting too bare, Bui we 4 trV.e vhem under our watchful care, And protect our forests from wanton abuse And allow them to grow for our futur i use. And as the hewer our groves invade We must plant more trees for shelter and shade,. That- our children's children may rise and bless Their grandfathers for their thoughtfulness. Let us plant in hope, like sowing in tears. And make a provision for future years. That when we be laid in our graves to sleep Some others a harvest of joy may reap. Thus every year in the middle of May We shall celebrate our bright Arbor day. For ages will come and shall pass away But we'll never forget our loved jolly day. ir^ Poems. 137 LINES, WRITTEN AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE ON MY FIRST VISIT TO IT AFTER HER DEATH. My mother's grave ! sad hallowed place, Beneath this little mound of earth Is hidden that sweet loving face, Of her who gave me birth. My mother's grave, I mourn to-day, While kneeling on the grassy heap, Where calmly rests her lifeless clay, In death's long dreamless sleep. AVhy is it that I sadly gaze Upon this little sacred mound ? — ! that I now my thoughts could raise To where her soul is found. Bui memory with her vivid light, Pourtrays my mother's love and care— The past is passing now in sight, I hear her dying prayer. 1 feel as if her hand were laid With tenderness upon my brow. Her look, the sayings which she said, Are present with me now. Dear mother dost thou see me here. And dost thou know my lonely grief ? If so, then in my inward ear Speak words of sweet relief. Dost thou still feel a mother's care For us who grieve that thou art gone, And dost thou still engage in prayer For us before the throne ? J 138 Poems. Orjis thy disembodied soul Unconscious of what passes here, And under God's supreme control, Preserved from grief and fear ? Methinks 'twould pain thee now to know The grief thy lonely children feel — The sore temptations, pain and woe, Our hearts cannot conceal. But all is happy with thee now. For safe on the eternal shore The victor's crown adorns thy brow Where joys are ever more. , MY MOTHER. 'Midst all my pleasure, care, and strife,. And bustling scenes of busy life, I hear a voice — it comes from thee — Which inly whispers : " Think of me ! " Oh ! think of me, whose watchful care, *' Whose sighs and tears and fervent prayer " Were daily offered up for thee, " Who ceases now to think of me. " Oh ! think of me, who often wept " And prayed for thee whilst others slept, — ** Who warned thee of the tempter's snare, " And led thee to the house of prayer, — " Who told thee of the joyful way •' That leads to everlasting day. *' And tho' long since my weary head " Was laid among the silent dead ; " Yet, oh ! still let my prayers and tears " Extend through all thy future years. " Then say, oh 1 shall it ever be " That thou shouldst cease to think of me !"" Poems, 139 No, mother ; no ! — thy name shall rest The sweetest treasure in my breast. No ! — till the rivers cease to flow, The rain to fall, the winds to blow, C)r till this heart shall cease to move, HI love thee with a filial love;. For, oh ! I feel it cannot be That I should cease to thine of thee . ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. She died, but, ere her spirit fled. She breathed one earnest prayer to heaven — That God a ray of hope would shed, To comfort us when she were dead. And heal the hearts by sorrows riven. She slept, alas ! to wake no more, Still she looked beautiful in death. A tranquil smile her features wore, I almost hoped God would restore — But, oh ! how vain — her vital breath. The verdant turf bedecks the grave, Where she now takes her long repose ; The busy world may toil and rave. The poor opressed for pity crave. She hears them not, nor feels their woes. Her spirit to her God has flown. To join the ever-blissful throng. And taste of joys to us unknown. While constantly before the throne She sings the everlasting song. % 140 Poems. Thrice happy are the peaceful dead, Who from their toil and labor rest ; Nor want, nor pain, nor sickness dread. Disturb their joys — for pleasures shed, Effulgent rays on all the blest. Oh ! may we who are left behind. Tread in the path in which she trod ; Like her, possess a patient mind — Be to our Maker's will resigned, And humbly walk thro' life with God. 1 THOUGHTS, ON SEEING SOME LINES COMPOSED BV MY MOTHER. These lines, from the pen of my dear sainted mother, Have thrilled thro' my heart like a voice from the dead ; Tho' the grave has divided us long from each other, Yet ne'er from my heart has her memory fled. Her sweet, placid features so truthful and loving, Her smile of approval which sweetened my joy, And the sad, earnest look whick she gave while reproving The follies she checked in her too thoughtless boy. Ah ! yes, dearest mother, thy look so endearing. Thy voice soft and soothing, thy nature so kind, Thy counsel so gentle, restraining or cheering, Are all photographed on my sensitive mind. Forget thee ! ah ! never, thou fondest of mothers, Tho' long death divided thou still hast my love, And this feeling is shared by my sisters and brothers, Who all hope to meet thee in glory above. Poems, 141 SONNET. DEATH OF THE PRINCESS ALICE. Let every subject of our gracious Queen Share in the sorrow which o'erflows her heart, And should the sympathetic tear-drops start, Remember there is happiness serene Beyond the shadow ., of our human grief — That hoped for home whicli beams with sweet relief To cheer the mourner and to heal the smart Of those who sorrow for their loved ones gone, And weep in grief and feel so sad and lone. Our Queen has had her trials which she bore With patient faith and Christian fortitude ThroJghout her years of hallowed widowhood, Again bereaved, — a loss we AX deplore, — The lovely Princess Alice is no more. SONNET. DEATH OF LONGFELLOW. America's great poet is no more, His matchless harp is broken and unstrung ; His pen is laid aside ; his heart and tongue Are hushed in death. But on the other shore His soul exults in bliss, while we deplore Our heartfelt loss and mourn in bitter grief; For he of poets was our chosen chief. He knew the music of the human heart And what would cheer and what would bring relief. He charmed the Sage, and had the happy art To sing the songs which nature has designed To reach the soul and beautify the mind. Loved Longfellow is gone. His writings will Remain with us till every heart they fill. J- 142 Poems. I LOVE MY BIBLE, I love my Bible, for it is The pure inspired word ; It came from God ; it leads to bliss ; Its author is the Lord. I love my Bible for the truth Revealed on every page ; It taught me wisdom in my youth, It cheers my hoary age. I love my Bible, for it shows The path that leads to heaven, And points me to that calm repose — The joy of sins forgiven. I love my Bible, for it tells Of endless joys to come, Where Jesus my Redeemer dwells — The saints' eternal home. I love my Bible for the light It sheds along my way — ' My lamp in dark afifliction's night, My guide to endless day. I love my Bible for the balm It has to heal my grief — A soothing promise or a psalm To give a sweet relief. O ! may the Bible widely spread. Diffuse the living word — T' awaken sinners from the dead, And bring them to the Lord. Poems, 143 SONNET, When dark, foreboding fears distress the soul, And swell the bosom with despairing grief. Remorse and doubt, and gloomy unbelief. And wicked promptings which we can't control, ! how we long to find some sweet relief — Some friend to lead us to a throne of grace, AVhere we in Christ may find a hiding-place From all the sorrows which surround our path, The dread of hell and God's avenging wrath. And get that swoet serenity of mind, Which we have lost and long so much to find — That bliss we knew ere yet to reason blind — A gleam of light again to point the way In which we trod before we went astray. THE REV. W. M. rUNSnON. [Written after coming from his Lecture on Wilberforce," delivered in the Wesleyan Church, Quebec, on Monday •evening, the 20th September, 1869.] I've stood beside the foaming cataract. And gazed with wonder on the awful scene. As down the steep the mighty waters rolled. And surged and shouted from the depths below. And while I listened to the ceaseless psalm, As loudly chanted by the raging flood, I felt the power of nature's eloquence ; And I have stood upon the ocean shore When seething billows broke in angry foam Upon the rocks, or roU'd far up the strand. And while I heard the wailings of the wind, And plaintive moanings of the affrighted waves, I owned the majesty of nature's voice. But far more overpowering than the flood, 144 Poems. Or white-maned billows coursing to the shore. Is Punshon's overwhelming eloquence, Which onward rolls impetuous as a flood ; And deeper-toned to my delighted ears, Than ocean's wail or howlings of the storm. He takes the hero from his hidden grave, And holds him up before our wonaoring gaze, A thinking, toeaking, working, living man, Clothed in the deathless virtues which he won, — The heritage of all who good pursue. And while our matchless orator declaims In choicest phrase the virtues of the brave, He with a scorpion scourge inflicts on vice A punishment sharp, scathing and severe. We who were privileged to hear him tell Of Wilberforce, the saviour of the slave. And of that noble band who stood by him, Through toiling years and brav'd the battle's rage, And shouted " No surrender," till at last The foeman fled and victory was gain'd, And slavery, that foul and wicked blot. Was wiped away from Britain's widespread rule, Won't soon forget the lesson which he taught. We love the mem'ry of the noble dead. But we should love the living, toiling man, Who treads the path in which these heroes trod ; And IVUliatn Morlcy Puns/ion is a name Known and revered — designed for deathless fame. Poems. 145- THINGS WHICH I HA TE. I hate to hear the aged and infirm ' Give utterance to .vords obscene, such as The libertine devoid of shame would use. 'Tis folly in its most debased extreme When hoary age with revelry unites. I also hate to look at those who gape With open mouths and stare and gulp with greed The fulsome ravings of the prating fool. There's nothing social in the vulgar mind j All, all is harsh, discordant, not unlike The hateful raspings of a sawyer's file. Lead must be light and buoyant when compared With that low, frothy jesting of the man Devoid of understanding, in whose mind A bright idea never was conceived. Besides, I hate the vain conceited fop, Who pokes his nose in other men's affairs, Or like a snarling cur will snap and bite At every word incautious truth may drop. With stores of squibs and hateful, canting trash, He thinks himself the critic's overmatch. I also hate the stupid, senseless drone, Who yawns and sleeps and wastes his precious time. And lingers out a lifetime unimproved. Above all things give me the man of sense. Who knows the ivhen and uglier e to act and speak, Whose bosom is truth's storehouse, and whose tongue Can grace with sweetness what his mind conceives. « I m- 146 Poems, AUTUMN— THE FALL OF THE LEAF. Summer's lovely meadows green, Sylvan shades and fairy bowers, Dewy dawns and eves serene, Balmy air and pretty flowers, — All these sweets will soon be gone, Fading, dying one by one. Autumn breathes a colder breath, Warning us of winter's chill — Nature passes on to death. Beautiful in dying still, — Cheeks aglowing in decay. Blushing as they fade away. ' Could there be a t^rander sight, Than our forests' rainbow tints. Glancing, changing in the light. Fairer far than colour'd prints, — Surely death cannot be grief, To that rosy maple leaf. Emblem of my fleeting days. Verdant, changing, frail and brief, — O ! that as my strength decays, I may show the maple leaf — Fair in every passing stage. Still more beautiful in age. Poems, 147 £L1GIAC SONNET ON THE DEATH OF MOTHER-IN- LAW. That sweet endearing smile we loved to trace Shall never more illume our mother's face ; Her lips are sealed, her eyes shall ope no more, No loving words, nor kiss, nor fond embrace For us henceforth ; we must our loss deplore, But though we mourn and suffer inward pain Our heartfelt loss is her eternal gain. She sought and found the Lord in early youth And ran with patience her appointed race. Sustained through life by God's supporting grace And strengthened by the written word of truth ; Nor did she hope and trust and love in vain. For God was with her in the final strife When she exchanged mortality for life. LOVE. Love is the smile of gratitude, A sympathetic glow. The inward heaven of the good And bliss of saints below, A gleam of glory from above And this is purest, highest love. There is a love less pure than this, A pleasure mixed with pain, A love that longs for earthly bliss And often sighs in vain ; Love is the price if love you buy, Love must have love or it will die. The tender passion of the heart Is designated love ; But when Cupido flings a dart At every cooing dove It needs not then a name so high, 'Tis but the echo of a sigh. i • M. (|ggp||pa^pf-^fT^ > •IMH 148 Poems. Love lingers' in the tearful eyes Of many a love-lorn maid ; It whispers in her plaintive sighs And almost asks for aid, Hers is an ardour most intense, The guileless love of innocence. The sharpest pang that pains the heart Is urequited love, And oft it baffles human art • ' Its venom to remove, Love, only love, can cure and save The love-sick from an early grave. Love has its dark and deadly foes Of every grade and name ' To quench, pollute it, or disclose The path that leads to shame, And foremost of its foes we see That green-eyed monster — jealousy. The strongest passion of the soul Is love, unselfish love, And under its supreme control \ In vain our efforts prove | To quench the flame, or draw the dart Which drains the life blood from the heart. The blushing maid and love-sick swain Who meet in field or grove Oft taste the sweets — or sick'ning pain Of this strange passion, love. When lovers in first love unite And love gets love, O ! what delight. , We never taste of earthly bliss Till love with love unites. Then pleasure's cup, in every kiss, O'erflows with sweet delights, Thrice happy they who live to prove? The sweets of such connubial love. Poems. 149 LOVE. There is a love of heat intense, Which Hke a scorching ray Consumes the rose of innocence And quickly dies away. There is a counterfeited love — A studied work of art, Which seems as if the cooing dove Had got a vulture's heart. There is a love in words expressed, And, ah ! too oft believed. Which leaves the trusting heart distressed, Forsaken and deceived. There is a love to reason blind Which nature can't control — A thought which occupies the mind And fills up all the soul. There is a love of modest blush — A timid bashfulness Which tells you by that glowing flush What words could not express. There is a love serenely calm, The germ of earthly bliss, Which cherishes a healing balm In each devoted kiss. There is a love which pity claims. Seen in each kindly deed — A sacred love which ever aims At helping those in need. 150 Poetas. Then say what is your love for me- Deceitful or sincere ? Deep-rooted as a forest tree Or like a baby's tear ? Or is it like the morning dews Which on the flow'rets fall — Short-lived, enduring or profuse Or do you love at all ? SONNET. I would not if I could again retrace The steps which I have taken up through life, So mixed with pleasures and with bitter strife ; I'd rather try to end my little race Supported by my God's sustaining grace. I had my joys when buoyant hopes were rife, And I had, too, that sweet, consoling peace Which God bestows on all who seek his face. Oft have I erred and had my doubts and fears, And sought again the Lord with prayers and tears And found again a happy, sweet release. I'm glad the past is past ; my few short years Will soon expire. Till then my soul would say : Thanks to my God, who led me all the way. , i MY LUXURY. Take from me every luxury but one— But leave me one — the only one I choose — A little while each day to sit alone And take a look at all the latest news. I want to know what in the world transpires — The deeds and strange events of every climei Which flash'd along the telegraphic wires, Almost ignore the lapse of passing time. Poems. 151 I read of wars, of battles fought and won, Of armies routed, and of thousands slain, Of Kings raised to, then driven from, the throne And sent back to obscurity again. Again I read of reckless loss of life, A boiler bursts, or else a train collides, And lives are lost, for accidents are rife, And death may come a thousand ways besides, I also read of devastating storms, Of earth's upheavings and volcanic fires, How restless nature in a thousand forms Lays hold on life which in her grasp expires. I read of crimes as fiendish and as dark As ever stain'd this sin-polluted sod ; How Cains escape and none can see the mark Except the eye of the all-seeing God, It grieves me, too, to read the sad details Of want and suffering felt in other climes, I'm also pained when wickedness prevails And justice lags behind advancing crimes. I read how Alcohol, the fertile source Of many crimes, distress, disease and pam, Dark-hearted deeds, grief, anguish and remorse. Maintains his cruel and despotic reign. And how the advocates of temperance Are labouring those maniacs to save. Who to the very brink of hell advance And head-long rush down to the drunkard's grave. And many a picture, beautiful and bright. Of noble deeds and true and manly thought, The mighty Press reveals to public light In courtly halls or in the humble cot. 162 Poems, Then if you wish to do the people good, Let every home be stored with useful news And feed their minds with literary food — With truthful records, and enlightened views. Give useful knowledge, not the frothy trash And rabid ravings of disordered brains, Exalt the one, the other try to quash And write the truth, despite the worldly gains. Then let me have a truthful, honest sheet Unswayed by bribes, in purpose firm and strong, In counsel wise, in useful news replete, The shield of right, the expose of wrong. A SONNET. SUNSET. This evening, when my office work was done, I sat down at my window, to behold The western sky, all tinged with burnish'd gold, Illuminated by the setting sun Gone down to rest behind yon distant height ; And gazing on the glory-tinted west, I felt enraptur'd by the picture given, Which seem'd to me, as if the veil of heaven Was drawn aside, to shew me where the blest Whose onward path, like to the shining light At day's bright noon, but more divinely bright, Go home at eve to their eternal rest. Fair emblem of the christian's closing day. Who, like the setting sun, in glory melts away. Poems. A BIRTH-DAY REFLECTIOA. I'm growing old, and life's short day Will very soon have passed away ; But tho' I near the coming night At even-tide there shall be light. And tho' I soon shall lay my head To rest among the silent dead, Yet still with joy I hail the morn Of that glad day that I was born. In looking down my by-gone years. So checkered with my smiles and tears, I bless the Lord that in my youth T sought and found the God of truth. I often sipped the sweets of life, And often passed through bit;er strife, Yet always fouiid throughout the past A shelter from the stormy blast. I soon shall reach the victor's goal With glory dawning on my soul, And through the all-atoning blood Shall dwell forever with my God. And when I reach the shining shore And join the friends who went before — I'll still look out for friends to come And join me in my happy home. K 153 /'' 154 Poems. r rO A YOUNG POETESS, My dear Miss Bella, should the muse Her free and easy aid refuse, Then you should study to disclose Your thoughts in tersely written prose. Pegasus is a fiery steed, So if you ride on him, take heed ; Bellcrophon once straddled there, So, of his luckless fate beware. Hold tight your rein, nor urge too fast Lest you might get a downward cast ; And you, and your sweet little lyre Be laid bespattered in the mire. So if you would in fancy's dream Drink from the famed Castalian stream, Drink only that which you are sure Is soul-refreshing, chaste and pure. Or if you have the strength and skill To climb and top PaPasus' hill, Or Helicon, or other places. — Haunts of the muses and the graces, Be quick to scan and wise to choose The sweetest and the chastest muse. Euterp6 and Erasto might With Terpsichori gwQ delight; Or should you incidents record Then Ciio must her aid afford : Or should you be inclined to follow The varied teachings of Apollo, See that your wings are fledged and strong Ere you take flight to realms of song. But better still could you aspire To strike some chords on David's lyre. — But why with classics rack your brain, Since all mythology is vain ? Poems. For better far than studied art Is that sweet music of the heart. So follow nature when you sing, And like the lark upon the wing Breathe forth a soul-inspiring song To soothe and cheer the listening thronu. Let every sentence be complete And every verse have equal feet ; Write common sense, and soon you'll see Respect shewn for your poetry. 155 THINGS I VIIICII 1 11 A TE. I always hate to hear a man Complaining of his wife ; It shows he never learn'd the plan To sweeten wedded life. Too soon she'll hear the ugly news, And then she'll raise a clatter In telling him what are her views About him in the matter. Far better give the soothing kiss And try his griefs to smother — There cannot be domestic bliss Where they accuse each other. A man should strive to please his wife, Nor ever give her cause To vent her s|:'een in angry strife Or sin 'gainst nature's laws. She may at times his pleasures thwart, But woman's heart is tender. And if he act a gentle part She'll to his love surrender. 1 * 1 156 Poetns. It pains my heart when I behold, A man who weds for dowry — When men and maids are bought und sold Their path cannot be tlovv'ry. Love forms a chain that never breaks, The golden one is brittle. And so the love that riches seeks, I count not worth a si)ittle. Love, virtue, beauty, youth and health Would be, in my opinion, A greater prize than all the wealth That's found in this Dominion. Esteemed, beloved, dear to your heart Should be you wife, because Of you she is the better part, Made so by nature's laws. And she, because she is your wife, Should in your strength respose, To be your help and joy through life ! And soother of your woes. HEADING AND WRITING. 1 cannot write unless I read, And if I read I'm forced to write, And thus I gather for my need. And then I try to sow the light. A man, who has the time, may read, And glean the fruits of others' toil, But, if he want to plant the seed. He'll have to cultivate the soil. Poems. 157 Sui)pose I get a work on drill And scan it over, every word, Would reading give the practis'd skill To use the ride or the sword ? I may pore over many a page, And others' sayings may retain, But never C£.n become a sage Unless I exercise my brain. As like produces like, so thought Excites to thought ; then let me strive To catch the strain the sages caught, And let my thoughts like theirs survive. EMMA'S PRIDE CURED. " Mamma, I don't like that little girl Who comes to our kitchen door, Her features are pleasing, her teeth are like peail, And her golden hair has a beautiful curl. And you said she was fit for the child of an earl — But what of all that — she is poor." " Oh 1 fie ! on you Emma," her kind mother said, " Don't let the proud thought arise ; That poor little orphan's father is dead, And her mother is now on her dying bed — And see how she mutely stands, asking some bread With downcast tearful eyes. " " But see, mamma, her old frock of gray — And her stockings not fit to be seen, See Ella and I, how we dress so gay — And what do you think but the other day She egg'd we'd allow her to join in our play, But we told her she was too mean. " 158 Poems. " And then she hung down her head and sighed While the tears bedewed her face, And she'walked away, and bitterly cried *0h I if my dear father had not died, I still might have raiment to flatter my pride *Nor have met with this sad disgrace.' " * Of late she has come with her sorrowful look. And timidly stood at our door, To get a few crusts, or a bone from the cook, Or may be " be off" with a coarse rebuke, While the poor little creature trembled and shook— Oh ! mamma it is hard to be poor. " But Emma got cured of her pride that night As she stood by the widow's bed. And heard her tell of her hope so bright — Her dazzling crown, and her robe of white — Which were hers to enjoy ere the morning light — For the orphan's mother lay dead. While here, the poor widow had sorrow and woe, But now she feels want no more ; And her orphan child has a home below Where Emma and Ella their love bestow On that dear little girl, whom, not long ago They slighted fcr being poor. Poems. 159 SONNET, PSYCHOLOGY. Ye learned psychologists can ye reveal The mysteries or workings of the soul ? Say can it roam, or what is to control Its close confinement in its house of clay ! A trar ce or slumber may our eyelids seal And tho' we live we neither know nor feel Till that unconsciousness has pass'd away ; Yet while we sleep the soul a march may steal And pass through scenes as in the light of day ; Then time and space are obstacles unknoarn — The misty past, the unknown future years Are to the mind as in a moment shown Or else a moment to the soul appears A tedious age be-dimmed with griefs and fears. II FRIEiyDSIIIP. Friendship, I have seldom known thee, Tried and true, firm-fixed and sure, That in smiles and tears would own me, And through weal and woe endure. Friends have come with bold professions When my noon-day sun was shining, But withdrew their fond expressions, When they marked my sun declining. Friendship oft is but a mask. Worn to hide an icy feeling. But whenever pu '> task, Flies — a selfishness revealing. r ■ l< « ? i 160 Poems. See ! how to that rich man's door, Friends have come when none were needed. See him now, when sick and poor, These can pass him by unheeded. Friendship, like the Cov'nant bow, On a cloud should show the brighter — Raise his friend when fallen low — Try to make his burden lighter. Friendship such as gentle Ruth Had for her adopted mother — Pure, unselfish, based on truth — Such should we have for each other. ' He who would have many friends Must evince his friendly feelings — Must not give with selfish ends — Must be true in all his dealings. Friendship may be formed below, Death itself cannot dissever, , Which thro' life will purer grow, ! And in hea\'en last forever. SABBA TH DESECRA TION. Is the fourth Commandment binding. Or should it be cast away As a law not worth the minding, Quite unsuited for to-day ? Or, if not, why, then, is Sunday Profaned without a check, And proclaimed the common /««-day Of the godless of Quebec ? Poems. If the sleeping old Saint Lawrence Knew the Sal)hath-breaker's vice, He would show his deep abhorrence, And upheave his floor of ice. But the river now lies dormant, And its dangers all concealed Like the hidden depths of torment, Which may shortly be revealed. And then the Sabbath-haters Will be driven from the throne. And be sent with Sunday skaters To where Sabbaths are unknown. Tho' they now mock at religion. And do just whate'er they please, They may yet get to a region Where the waters never freeze. 161 THE RIVER sr. LAWRENCE The great Saint Lawrence rolls along In peerless majesty, And bears upon its bosom strong Our shipping to the 'ca. Far in the West it has its source, Beyond the lakes and isles, Then onward speeds its lengthened course More than two thousand miles. On, on through lakes of vast extent It slowly wends its way — Or down the rapids seeking vent Impatient of delay. m^ 'iif 162 Poe?ns. Anon, it dashes down the steep At famed Niagara's fall, Where hollow thunderings from the deep Our throbbing hearts appal. Then foaming, surging, on it goes Adown its rocky bed, Till in the lake it takes repose And moves with slower speed. Its source, though free f om moral taint, Commands not our devotion, As it is only dubbed a Saint From Kingston to the ocean. Yet all the streams above, which drain The upper lakes, so wide Flow down St. Lawrence to the main, And swell its mighty tide. From Lake Ontario it flows Through many a lovely scene. And swiftly down each rapid goes From Kingston to Lachine. At length it meets the flowing tide Far inward from the sea, And forms a river deep and wide. From shoals and rapids free. And from the Gulf to Montreal The shipping of the world. From early spring to winter's fall, May have their sails unfurl'd. And when cold winter's chilling breath Suspends our navigation, Its frozen surface forms a path • Or highway, for our nation. Poems. Then gentle spring returns again And thaws its icy crest, And ships again come o'er the main And seek the golden West. But though Quebec and all our ports Invite a friendly trade, We'd deal destruction from our forts Should foreign foes invade. The priceless trophies gained by Wolfe, With Britain's flag unfurl'd, Still fling their shadows to the Gulf, And awe the figtiting world. Thus, while with loyalty we guard Our great commercial river, Yet peace shall be our loved reward And i^ledge of wealth forever. 163 ' ;^^'t VIRTUE AND VICE. Yice for a time may raise its guilty head And triumphin its reign of wickedness. But virtue's path tho' often clouded here Leads to the victor's goal and sure reward, In that bright land where shadows are unknown. Oft have I seen the votaries of vice, In costly raiment clad, toss their proud heads And strut along with self-conceited airs, Vain of the dress which hid their infamy ; And thoughtless of all care and honest toil. Laugh at poor virtue in her humble garb As modestly she toil'd along through life, Cheered with hope of future happiness. m ^u rw iw 164 Poems. ■*rt 1, I well remember having seen a case Olvice and virtue in their wide contrast. A poor industrious, honest, ragged girl. Head, feet and legs exposed and bare, while she,. To gain a scanty living, sought the fields And gathered thistles, which she brought to town And sold to those who horses kept or swine. And with the price, perhaps, at most, three pence,. Bought some coarse food her hunger to appease. This was a time when poverty prevailed, And many sought, but could not find, a home Where they might work e'en for their daily bread. And this poor girl chose thus to live, that she Might neither beg, not steal, nor yield to vice. And while this poor hard toiling girl passed by, She met a votary of vice clad in The newest style or fashion of the day, Proud of the dress which should have caused her shamej., And wagging her unshapely feather'd head, Looked scornfully at that poor ragged girl, And passed along to plot new schemes of vice. With downcast eyes this poor girl moved along. Poor thing, she felt the sting of poverty. But more than dress she prized her purity, And looking at the two I inly said, " There's vice in silks and virtue clothed in rags. But vice is seen in many a shape and form. Wrath, envy, lying and dishonesty, Oaths, blasphemy and vile debauchery, And stupid drunkenness, the lowest vice And most degrading sin on this side hell. But every vice is virtue's enemy. And so the pure and good must face their foes, And prove their faith by patience often tried, And looking through the gloom of earthly cares Cling to the precious promised jo/s to come. !»• Poems. 165 But were there no hereafter, still the bliss Of conscious virtue is a thousand fold More precious than the short-lived joys of vice. Thus " virtue is its own reward," while vice Has poison in its sweetest pleasure draughts. X CHRISTMAS. Hail ! happy season of the year, With sweetest pleasures fraught, With social joys and earthly cheer, And calm and holy thought. But whether in the sacred fane Or round the festive board. Let everyone take up the strain Of glory to the Lord. Oh ! what a glorious, grand event Took place that joyful morn, When God his swift-winged angels sent To tell that (Christ was born. The veiling clouds are rolled aside And glory streams around, "While wondering shepherds terrified Fall prostrate on the ground. ^* Fear not, the branch of Jesse's stem" The soothing angels said — ^*Is born this day in Bethlehem And in a manger laid. ■" We come glad tidings to proclaim — The promised Christ is given, And all who call upon his name Shall find their way to heaven." I 1- .■l. 166 Poems. Then quickly down the shining steep Descends the angel throng, To sing the holy child to sleep , With heaven's choicest song. 'Tis heaven's music come to earth — For men hear angels sing ■^ Their anthem at the Saviour's birth — The praise of Zion's King. " All glory be to God on high, On earth be love and peace, Good will to men," the angels cry — " So let their jarrings cease." Oh, what a grand, majestic sight ! 'Tis angels come to tell That God, who sat enthroned in lights Has come with men to dwell. God gives his Son the greatest gift That heaven could bestow, 'Tis mercy's lowest stoop to lift ' Our souls from endless woe. Then let us keep our festive day With holy, joyous mirth, And to our friends good will display, And peace to all on earth. 1 VAUSING THOUGins. I'm wearied with the world, but then I cannot shake away my trouble, For I must run with running men, Who daily try their pace to double, And move along with rapid pace. Or like a laggard lose the race. Poems. And thus the wear of life goes on, With toil and worry never ceasing; My sunny days will soon be gone, And with my load of care increasing, I struggle through the bustling throng, And urge my wearied steps along. A little fame, a little wealth, A little gratified ambition — The fruits of toil and wasted health — And shall J boast of my position. That after all my toil and strife I still eke out a weary life ? But is there not a sweeter rest Than earth affords, to soothe our sorrows ? Where fretting cares no more molest With hai)py days and bright to-morrows ? Yes ! but this rest is only given To those who are the heirs of heaven. Then why should dying mortals prize Earth's fleeting toys — not worth securing r* Far better look beyond the skies For bliss supernal and enduring — To seek religion and retain A greater wealth than worldly gain. 167 ' ■ , H ; i i^^l 1 ji H^m 1 'V \ 1.,,. ■ ■ .- »'■ 1 ^^— 1 ■ gijflj J 4* 168 Poems. LINES WRITTEN OX THE NIC II T OF A SNOW STORM. The storm is raging and the drifting snow Is forming curious ridges on the street, And still the noisy wild winds loudly blow, Unlolding winter's ghastly winding sheet. How hard the fate of that poor wandering wight, Who has to face the cold and bitter wind, And wade through heaps of snow on such a night, Perhaps knows not where he may shelter find. On such a night the *' Pictou" ploughed the wave ; The Hames upshoot, while chilling storms prevail, All hoi)t' is gone, in vain for help they crave. Not one is saved to tell the tragic tale. How comfortless must be the needy poor, Whose homes are destitute of food and fuel, While angry winds keep howling at their door, Where heartless men have spoken words as cruel. Oh 1 how our hearts with gratitude should glow, Who have our homes, and all our wants supplied, And feel no chill from storm-tossed drifting snow, For every want is more than satisfied. But while the storm keeps raging at our door, And while we share earth's gifts of plentiness, Oh ! let us think upon the needy poor And lend our aid to lessen their distress. 'Tis not enough to say " be clothed, be fed," Advice is good, but better far the deed Of that kind heart that gives a loaf of bread. To feed the hungry in their time of need. God asks a loan — dare we refuse to lend A little of the much which He has given? If we withhold, then sad shall be our end, And dark our prospects of a future heaven. # Poems. 169 TEMPT A TIONS, When temptations throng your pathway, When you're almost forced to yield, 'I'hen upraise the royal banner And more firmly grasp your shield. Call on your victorious captain, He'll impart his shielding power, And bestow the needful courage For the tempting, trying hour. Have you yielded to temptation, Is your soul of peace bereft, Is your hope eclips'd forever, Is there not one solace left ? Tho' you may have deeply fallen In the filthy, miry clay, Seek again the cleansing fountain, Go and wash your sins away. You have still an intercessor, And an advocate above. Waiting, pleading to restore you To the fullness of his love. iietter far to never stumble. But if you should chance to fall, Make an effort Christ will raise you, If by faith on Him you call. We can only gain the conquest. We can only win the race By our watchful, prayerful trusting In the Lord for needful grace. Come then to this loving Saviour And His saving grace implore, And He'll pardon while He bids you Go in peace and sin no more. i V. 11' !•* 170 11 J- i t Poems. RHYMING. Oft in my musings, If leisure I find I write down the thoughts Which keep crowding my mind, For tho' it seem foolish It cannot be wrong To vent my emotional Feelings in song. Defending fair virtue And fighting with crime, I think I can do it Far better in rhyme ; Tis poetry's birthright Alone, to impart The soul's deepest feelings Which flow from the heart. My theme is, that honesty, Chastity, truth Must be the adornments Becoming to youth, While wisdom and charity Prized above gold, Must be the rich jewels Befitting the old. For vice is so hatelul, That he must be blind Who suffers the demon To enter his mind. And yet he will enter Unless God impart His grace and salvation To strengthen the heart. Poems. m The liar, the murderer. Drunkard and thief Are terrified wretches Forever in grief; Then shun the dark pathway That leads you to shame, And follow fair virtue To glory and fame. NEIV YEAJi'S DAY. Let us hail the new-born year, Come our drooping hearts to cheer, Let us all be cheerful, gay, On this happy New Year's Day, Social day of friendly meetings. Joyous day of kindly greetings, Dawning of a year of blessings. Lover's hopes and sweet caressings, Blessings in antici|)ation, Wealth and fame in expectation, All is pleasing, joyous, bright, Full of half-enjoyed delight. Yes, it comes, brimful of pleasures, Honors, health and golden treasures. Hopeful year of bright tomorrows. Or, may be, of hidden sorrows. Happy that we do not know What the morrow will bestow, Happy that we cannot see What is in futurity ! If we knew the coming strife. Who could face the ills of life ? J3ut our cheering Angel Hope Holds our sinking spirits up, fllif' Ii; 172 Poems, Wipes away the falling ter.r, Promises a happy year. Thus encouraged let us rise, Soaring upward to the skies, Where all passing time shall be Hidden in Eternity. rilE WHALE. To-day I saw the captured whale, And viewed it all, except die tail, Which was too much submerged in water For me to see it — but wliat matter ; I saw enough to cause conviction That every tale is not a fiction. For oft I've told a truthful tale, Yet people said " 'twas like a whale." This whale, tliree Irish perches long, Wliich I considered great and strong. Was but a small one — I was told — And scarcely yet a twelvemonth old. Methinks a few such little fishes Would more than fill five thousand dishes ; Besides, if whales were good for food, This one would serve a multitude. Say fifteen hundred, if you wish Give each a cubic foot of fish, This little whale would serve your need These fifteen hundred men to feed. But Nature, both by sea and land, Deals dainties with ;i niggard hand ; For legal fish, with fins and scales, Are puny things compared with whalesi. Just fixncy this great mass of matter Alive and plunging through the water 1 Poems. Then think, could aught the courage quail Of him who dares to hook a whale. The Z>r«/V/ found this lucky prize, And towed it up to where it lies ; Its back all l)listerc J, skinn'd and bare — Its awful mouth — its teeth of hair — Its tongue, so greasy, soft and black, And larger than a miller's sack — Its belly, lank, and almost shocking. Grooved like a ridge-and-furrow stocking, — Enough to say, I saw the whale, Which I considered rath r stale, And like to news not told in time, •Or like ir • rather fishy rhyme. 173 C/fKfSlV.lX JrOA'A'. Work while it is called to-day ; Dangers threaten thy delay ; Work before the night ajjpears, Shutting out thy mis-si)ent years. Work while early youth invites To the sweetest of delights ; Work while health and strength be given ; AVork, and look for rest in Heaven. See ! thy sun's meridian ray Lures thee to eternal day ; Work while work is in thy power, E'en at the eleventh hour. Haste ! thou hast a work to do, Hosts to cut thy passage through, Foes to fight, a race to run, Steeps to climb, ere thou hast done. .-.uHi-'iiSvai i^.m:> i 174 Poems. Night is coming ; see the gloom That is gathering o'er thy tomb ! Work w!.iile yet thou hast the light ; None can work in that dread night. Fleeting years have passed away ; Why then linger ? why delay ? Future days may not be many ; Go and work, and get thy penny. Idler in the market-place, Loiter not ; thy steps retrace ; In the vineyard of thy Lord Work according to his word. Work while it is called to day ; Precious moments fleet away ; Night is coming, drear and dark. When thou canst no longer work» THE PRESS. The printing press, the mighty press, O ! what a power for good or evil — A light to shine — a voice to bless — A curse — an agent of the devil. The potent press, the teeming press Has sown the light in every nation — Thro' it the slave has found redress — The sinner brought to seek salvation. While thro' tht vile, prolific press. Untruth has been disseminated, And still, alas ! we must confess, The filthy flood is unabated ; But still there is a noble press, The gifts of mind on man bestowing- A fountain in a wilderness — An angel, light and wisdom sowing, Poems. God bless the honest, truthful press, With righteous law s to shield and guard it, And may the world its worth confess, And share its riches to reward it. 175 MY riyo LESSONS. The first great lesson of my life Which I must learn, is how to live A Christian in a world of strife. And all its wrongs to me forgive. Then let me humbly seek the Lord, Who will his saving help impart ; And teach me by His holy Word, To practise holiness of heart. The next great lessonj T.nd the last NVhich I must learn, is how to die ; But rie on whom my soul is cast Will every needful grace supply. But as I know not 7vhen, or ichere, Or how my mortal life shall end ; Then let me seek by faith and prayer Each day, as if my last to spend. T 176 Poems. SONNET. '"tWl THE DEAF MUTE. The ear, that avenue to reach the mind Is closed to every sound. Then how to find An entrance to the mind of that deaf mute, And then to guide his tlioughts in the pursuit Of knowledge, was a question of the past Which Sages failed to solve. lUit now at last We find the question easy of solution, Exhibited in many an Institution, Where poor deaf mutes are taught to exercise Their thinking powers ; to use their hands and eyes, And in that silent language of their own, Can take our thoughts, and theirs to us make known. Thus mutes may rise to literary fame. And proudly bear a wreathe-encircled name. DEAF MUTES. In ages past the deaf and dumb ' Were left in ignorance at home, No institution then was found In all the provinces around Where poor deaf mutes might gain the knowledge Which others learned in school and college. In olden times if mutes were poor. They went about from door to door And made their signs, scarce understood, And got relief in cash and food. Or by the hearthstone warm and bright Received a lodging for the night. Poems. The credulous believed the dumb Could tell them of events to come, And cunning mutes soon learned to meet Such ignorance with dark deceit And made their signs to indicate Their dupes, good fortune or their fate. Impostors often played the mute Which placed the dumb in bad repute, And many a harsh and cruel freak Was tried to make the creature speak And so for other's imposition He had to bear his sad condition. A purer ligth has dawned at last To dissipate the darkened past, Philanthropy with loving hands Has raised in this and other lands Her noble monu.v ents to prove That mutes have i tx peculiar love. Thus God's afflicted ones are sought, And then with skill and patience taught The law of God, the rule of life And fitted for this mortal strife, That they by true i)hilosophy May learn to live and learn to die. 177 THE DEAF MUTE Deaf to the music of the grove, When tuneful warblers sing Their dulcet notes, or songs of love To greet the opening spring. Deaf to the thunder's loudest crash, Deaf to the cannon's roar, Deaf to the wail, when wild waves lash Their fury on the shore. 178 Poems, Deaf to the song so sweetly sung When joyful saints rejoice, Deaf to the music of the tongue — Deaf to the human voice. Dea|* to a mother's lullaby, Her prayer and uttered love ; For s( und to him is mystery And fails his heart to move. The ear, that gateway to the mind, Is barr'd to every tone. And loving words and words unkind Are all to him unknown. Tho' deaf and dumb his searching eyes Can read your hopes and fears. While his intelligence supplies The lack of lips and ears. In ages past the mute was left Unheeded and untaught ; Of arts and sciences bereft, i How few his culture sought. But now a brighter day has come Which glows with rich supplies — Ears for the deaf, voice for the dumb,. The blind with other eyes. Then let us thank ic God of heaveit For all His mercies shewn, The institutions he has given, — The blessings He makes known. Poems. THE LAST KISS. Oh ! take me to her dying bed, To get her farewell kiss, Ere she be numbered with the dead. Or her immortal soul has fled To realms of endless bliss). I gazed upon her palid cheek ; The rosy glow was gone ; But beauty still, tho' pale and meek, Was there. I wept, and tried to speak. And said, *' Thou art my own." I took her wasted hand in mine, And held it to my heart ; She whispered, *' Love, I still am thine, " And will be in our home divine, ** Where we shall never part. ' *' Ah ! do not leave me thus in grief," I said, and inly sighed ; " Weep not ; remembei life is brief, '* And heaven brings a sure relief, " Farewell ! " she said, and died. The chill of death was on her brow ; A smile illumed her lace, Which told me she was happy now ; For, faithful to her sacred vow, She sought redeeming grace. I knelt besides her lifeless clay, And took my farewell kiss ; And then I longed to pass away, To be with her, thro' endless day, In yon bright home of bliss. 179 ■;|, J] 180 Poems. II WAR I O ! what a devastating curse is war ! What miseries are hidd-'ii in that word I It tells of battlefields and noisy strife, Of slaughtered Ivjsts and carnage widely sprCvad, Of fellow-mortals weltering in their gore, Of ghastly looks, of thirst and dying groans ; Of gaping wounds, and mutilated limbs, Of cities sacked an 1 fruitful fields laid waste, Of dark revenge and awful massacres, Of desolation, want, and sore distress, And other miseries entailed by war. It makes the heart grow sick to read the sad ■ Details of war and all its train of woes. What foolisiiness to madly rush to arms And end their petty quarrels with the sword I If men were wise they'd seek some frientUy aid, To arl/itrate and settle their disj)utes ; And if a head-strong nation should decide To end the strife in war — if after all The efforts made for peace have been in vain — Then let the nations loving peace unite And awe that nation which delights in war. War only can be justifiable When we, in self defence, protect our homes From the invading foe. Aggressive war Is foimd, too often, inexcusable. In olden times the sword was often sent To punish guilty nations for their crimes ; Perhaps it is so still, and if it be, What nation then can claim immunity From famine, plague, or retributive war ' War is a curse, and must be viewed as such ; A judgment on the conquered, and perhaps A punishment to both. For victory oft Is found to be more costly than defeat. Poems. 181 The shout of triumph has its echo in The orphan's and the widow's wail of woe. P'ame, glory, victory arc all too dear And never worth the precious blood they cost. The olden jjrophets sang in plaintive strains Ofcoming wars. It seems the time is near When some war-prophecy must be fulfilled ! '["he great apocalyptic day foretold — The day of vengeance, darkness and despair — Mas thrown its shadow over half the world. The storm clouds gather in the distant East — Nor is the western hemisphere exempt — Anil rumours reach us jf a wide-spread war. The sable Ivagle of the frigid north Has sought his (juarry in tiie glowing East ; The contlict, doubtless, will be fierce and long, And armies shall be wasted ere the dove Of l)eace shall visit these contending powers. Mizraim, long the theatre of war, Is still the scene of conllicts horrible ; Egyptian sands hove oi't been stained with blood ; And many, too, of Eiigia'i I's bravest men Have heli)ed to swell the number of the slain. Rebellion, there, is scorched ; not yet consumed. The Upper Nile, and all the vast Soudan Is one broad battle field. War rages there. Fierce battles have been fought and thousands slain Of Britain's foes. And hundreds of our braves Have fallen to) and died a soldier's death ; And JMigland's glory there has been eclijjsed With clouds of giief. Her culpabli.-ilelays Despoiled her hopes and caused death and defeat To General Gordon and his little band — Khartoum's brave defender left to meet His long impending fate and fall — at last Of hope bereft — but not his hope of heaven. .% M\ m. 182 Poems. X And other heroes, too, almost as brave, Have fought and fell and shed their blood in vain. That foul, false prophet, that vile Mahdi still Maintains his cruel and despotic reign. This rebel fanatic, this self-made god — Or rather fiend incarnate — still bedupes His followers with boastings of his powers, And gifts divine of working miracles, And i)roinises of spoils and paradise, While those who dare to disobey his will Must meet their fate and die a cruel death. Strange as it may ajjpear, the enemies Of England aid this wretch with arms, and teach His soldiers how to us»» them with effect ; But mighty England shall convince the world That God is still her refuge and defence. And other storm clouds gath *r nearer home And hidden fiends and bold defiant knaves Athirst for blood are ripe for civil war. Lut Britain's lion half awake shall soon Start up and shake his mane and roar defiance At the rebel curs, and scatter them Like chaff before the wind. The struggle may Be fierce and long, and thousands may be slain, While miseries untold accumulate ; But truth and loyalty shall stand the test. And peace and happiness sh 11 be restored. There shall be wars and rumours of great wars; But peace — that peace foretold shall come at last, Mahomet's Crescent Moon is waning fixst And soon shall disappear behind the Cross. But tho' Mahomet trusted in the sword To propagate the tenets of his creed — And cruel Mahdi thinks to do the same — 'Tis not the way the Gospel must be spread. The heroes of the Cross are called to fight Poems. 183 But not with cruel weapons nor in wrath ; They follow Him who is the Prince of Peace And wait and hope until the day shall dawn When peace and righteousness shall fill our Earth, Then swords and spears and all the arms of war Shall be transformed to useful implements To aid the farmer in his healthy toil, And in this reign of universal peace The nations shall forget the art of war. RESPECT DUE TO OLD AGE. Jn olden times res])ect was shown to age And youth revered the hoary-headed sage But times have changed, the old are flung aside To clear the way for youthful prating j)ride. Oft have I seen the self-conceited youth, As ignorant of manners as of truth, Ignore old men and hold them up to scorn As garments which should be no longer worn. Should young America this course pursue And rob the aged of their rightful due ! Is this her boast ? then let it be her shame, — A cloud to hide the glory of her name. A crown of glory is the hoary head To him who is by truth and virtue led. And those old veterans in the cause of truth Should get the homage of our rising youth. Experience teaches, and the aged should Know what is bad and what is truly good, And so the young who venture on life's stage Should take their counsel from the hoary sage. Our clever youth oft make it a pretence To mock old men found limited in sense ; 'Tis wickedness, their age commands respect And therefore none should treat them with neglect. 1%^ **- <6^ <*, *. %%%^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 (56 a m IIIIIM m22 lllltt '""-^ 140 nil 2.0 llitt 1.4 11.6 V] e /} <*>. ^;. 7 -«^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAiN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 iV V ^\^ ^.^<^ " ^ "^ ■^ 184 Poems. AN IlONESr MAN. *Tis hard to find an honest man, Sincere in every part, And who, could you his motives scan, Is truthful in his heart ; For, iho' to others he be just In dealing with their pelf, Say is he faithful to his trust And honest to himself? The miser and the prodigal Are both dishonest men, And are as deaf to reason's call As is my writing pen ; Th'S, gathers all the wealth he can, That, spends without control, Aiid neither is an honest man. For each defrauds his soul. The votaries of fashion are To modest virtues blind ; And all their vanities declare Their littleness of mind. Tho' like the peacock's gaudy tail Their fashion-dress may seem, Yet after all, they often fail To win the world's esteem. Tho' dandies think themselves so nice, In spite of all their skill, A man may estimate their price ^ Who knows their tailor's bill ; What 1 honest ! no, we don't believe, , And never did, nor can, For he who dresses to deceive Is not an honest man. Poems. The drunkard acts dishonestly To friends, and home, and wife, His prospects and posterity, His character and Ufe ; He, thro' his craving thirst for drink, Has lost all self-control, And rushes down to ruin's brink With guilt upon his soul. But tho' your character be fair, Unstained by outward sin, Yct search your heart, and oh ! beware Of lurking thieves within ; For tho' you pay your lawful debt, And have an honest name. Still you may wilfully forget To meet God's higher claim. If rich don't toss your head too high, Nor claim the whole amount, For God will call you by and by To render your account ; Then how can you be reckoned just, Who claim what God has given, And faithless to your sacred trust Defraud the God of heaven ? 18? Thus he is honest, he alone, Who gives what God bestows — Whose words and deeds are wisely shown To lessen human woes ; Then if you love an honest name You'll follow heaven's plan — The lowly road to highest fame — A truthful, honest man. M ■?■ : 186 Poems. AFFLICTION'S. God's dealings with His creatures oft Seem cruel and severe, — Some cannot see, some cannot speak, And others cannot hear. And some are cripples from their birth, And helplessly they crawl — Sad wrecks of frail humanity. The ruins of the fall. And some are born to poverty, Disease and want and woe, Whose life is one long, lingering scene Of dying here below. But why so many suffer so Is more than we can tell. For God, we know, is good and kind, And doeth all things well. Poor Lazarus was full of sores. And begged his daily bread ; The rich man, at whose gate he lay, Was princely clothed and fed. The rich man had a sermon in That cripple at his gate, But never sought the beggar's prayers Until it was too late. Oh ! ye who revel in your wealth And riot in your mirth. Despise not God's afflicted ones, Nor those of humble birth. Perhaps you first shall reach that goal The poor afflicted crave, For oft the wealthy, young and strong, Come to an early grave. Poems. It dissipates our haughty pride To look on others' woes ; It humbles us and makes us prize The gifts which God bestows. It brings a pleasure to the heart To lessen others' grief, While peace must be the recomi)ense Of him who gives relief. Besides, it gives the sufferer ease » And soothes his bitter smart, To get that balm, he needs so much — * A sympathetic heart. God cheers his own afflicted ones And stifles their complaints, By whispering his promises To all his suffering saints. But ah ! how many suffering ones Through doubts and darkness grope, Whose gloomy thoughts are never cheered With this celestial hope. Oh ! would that every suffering one Would to that Saviour go, Who has a heart to sympathize With every child of woe. 187 188 Poems. •• PROVIDE THINGS HONEST IN THE SIGHT OF ALL men:' From childhood up to hoary age Let honesty your thoughts engage, Be honest in your early youth And always act and speak the truth ; For truth and honesty unite To do and say whate'er is right, Still cling to truth, and you must be A man of sterling honesty. Equivocating lies precede Each selfish, low, dishonest deed. Thus all dishonest deeds must be The fruit of lies and perfidy. You must be fed, and must provide • Your food, and other things beside ; And you may oft be sorely tried In having all your wants supplied; But you must think, and strive, and plan, And do the very best you can To earn an honest livelihood ; But should you fail, then God is good And will all needful things supply To those who on His word rely. Jehovah Jireh : rest assured Your every want will be procured. Not only should your conscience be From^all dishonest leanings free, But it is yours by right, to claim The glory of an honest name. " Providejthings honest in the sight Of all men,"^and you'll do the right. That allfwhc v-hoose your deeds may scaii And say, "there goes an honest man. " This principle of honesty Belongs to all, and so should be Poems. 189 T Of ALL Possessed by all, but ah ! I fear But few, too few, possess it here. An honest man will not delay His every claim and debt to pay, And better still, his heart is set Against contracting any debt. An honest man ! what higher name, What honor, title, wealth, or fame Could you possess, that would compare With that exalted name you bear ! But if you needs must glory, then G ve thanks to God, give proofs to men. That you're possessed of wealth untold — A virtue far more prized than gold. FAREWELL TO LADY DUFFERIN. No maudlin tears were those we shed, No counterfeited grief was shown, We felt a joy of life had tied And that a cherished hOj e was gone. That fond adieu unlocked our grief And then we felt so loath to part With her, the lady of our chief, Who held a place in every heart. She had a heart to soothe and love, A bounteous, open generous hand, While all her graces went to prove How much she loved our favoured land. Loved Lady Dufferin, farewell ! Thy name like precious balm shall spread, And children yet unborn shall tell The virtues or our honoured dead. 'vJij,; 190 Poems. No monument to tell thy fame, No sculptured bust nor work of art Is needed here, because thy name Is graven on our every heart. May health and i>eace and length of days To thee and tiiine be riclily given — The thankful heart, the song of praise And constant antcjxast of heaven. NY MX, Oft when dark, foreboding fears Cast their shadows on to-morrow ; When my eyes are dimmed with tears And my heart is filled with sorrow, Jesus comes and whispers peace ; Jesus brings a sweet release. Chorus. — Glory be to God above, All is peace and joy and love ; Grief no longer shades my brow, I am hai)py, hapi)ynow. O ! my Father's watchful care Leading me through pastures vernal ; Balmy sweets j)erfume the an-, Foretastes of the bliss eternal ; Raptures fill my longing soul, Pressing onward to the goal. Glory, tScC. \ 1 |i; ^ ' 1 % ; ';';#: Poems. 191 .va\'.\7;7. A SAHRATH MORNING IN WINTER. The morn was cold, and frost lay on the ground, While snowy raiment clothed the distant hills, Which glistened in the sim so brightly fair, As if old Sol was lavish of his rays, And flung them down upon the cold, crisp snow Which seemed to set the white-robed peaks aglow, But, Oh ! the chill of winter's breath was there, And trees and hills and fields looked bleak and bare, Like mendicants who once saw better days. A solemn silence reigned, and not a sound Broke on the stillness, save the tinkling rills Which sang their morning hymn of grateful praise ; And toiling man, with God's provision blest, Once more enjoyed the Sabbath's peaceful rest. CHRIS TMA S CA A' OL . With joy we hail the hajipy morn, When God was robed in man, When Christ in Bethlehem was born, To work Redemption's plan. Rejoice, since Christ, the Saviour Lord, Has visited our earth. Which but a stable could afford To give the Saviour birth. For Jesus found no downy bed. Nor home nor princely hall ; His birth-place was an humble shed. His couch an oxen stall. But now he reigns, the Mighty King, Our God, enthroned above ; Where countless hosts forever sing The triumphs of his love. 192 Poems. LAUNCH OF THE ''LADY DUFFER IN. " Crowds of gazers stand around, On the bridge and o'er the ground, Watching till they see the ship Gliding down the greasy slip. Busy workmen i)ly their sledges, Driving in the clefting wedges — Hark ! a shout, le mkr est haut, Split the blocks and let her go. See ! a lady young and fair Smiling through her golden hair Comes to her appointed stand, Takes the bottle in her hand, Waits to give the ship a name, Honored in the world of fame, Standing at the vessel's prow — See ! the ship is moving now. Sliding down the smooth descent To her native element. Good ! she flings the bottle at her As she glides down to the water. Sprinkles her with sparkling wine, Gives a name almost divine ; One which every heart must win, Calls her Lady Dufferin. Down along the oily slip Swiftly moves the stately ship, With a j)lunge she quits the slide Dashing through the foaming tide, See how gallantly she floats — Listen ! from a thousand throats. Cheers are given to express "Lady Dufferin's " success; Hearty cheers resound again. For the owner Mr. Lane, While another rends the air. For that lady sweet and fair. Who the sparkling liquid spilt, On the ship her father built. i w. i I Poems. 193 WINTER IS COMING, The beauties of Summer arc passing away And the flowers are losin;_^ their bloom, And soon, hoary Winter so withered and grey Will see them all laid in their tomb. The forests so bright in their garments of gold Will shortly be leafless and bare. And the daughters of Flora will shrink from the cold Until they give up in despair. The dull leaden sky and the fierce howling blast. And tJie withered leaves rustling along. Assure us too plainly that summer is past — The season of flowers and song. And cold, cruel Winter will shortly appear — Already he knocks at the door, And his desolate reign will be lifeless and drear And hard on the destitute poor. But tho' for a time vegetation shall cease We must not succumb to our woes, But patiently wait for another release From Winter's long lingering snows. 104 Poems. ^ 'J i ' ill ( ' '"''■ '■■*;' Jl 'i *.~, J 4 •i I 1 i T//I-: s.voii^sj'OKM ox ////•; s'ight of the lor/f MARCH, ISCU. Out in the cc^ld, wild, drifting snow, Blindly wandering to and fro, For the night was dark and I went astray. And I laboured lf)ng kmtf ere I found my way. I looked to the left, and I looked to the right, But never an object appeared in sight; I could neither i)roceed nor yet turn back. For the snow had hidden the beaten track, And I struggled and wallowed thro' soft deep snow^ And I knew not what way 1 should go. Nor moon, nor stars, nor light could I see, And the tiiick, cold drift kept blinding me. Anil hoi)e for a time seemed almost gone. Yet I braved the tempest and still moved on. Harshly and loudly the wild winds howled, As if the dark dog of Pluto growled ; For if ever the Spirit of wrath had power, 'Twas i)ut into motion in that dread hour. Thro' chilling drifts and the bitter blast, I stumbled upon the right path at last ; And I reached my home — O ! joyful sight, And escaped from a cold, lone death that night.. O ! ye who inhabit a milder clime. And smoothly glide down the stream of time, But little ye know of the storms severe, And hardships endured by the people here — Toiling along thro' snows so deep. The wearied traveller sinks to sleep ; To sleej) — to yield up his vital breath, And be found congealed in the grasp of death.. O I ye who enjoy your homes so warm, And feel not the cold of the raging storm, Think, sometimes think of the shivering poor At their woodless stove, on a cold, bare floor ;, Poems. 195 Aiul the surplus comforts which yc can spare With the needy and comfortless go and share. And should your gratitude point you to heaven, T') thank your God for his blessings given, ! think of the way-worn luckless wight Exposed to the tempest on such a night; And to Mini who can winds and waves command, Commit the travellers by sea or by land, And vow that you never will shut your door 'Gainst the homeless stranger or friendless poor. irOKK. A man must work to earn his bread, And all who labor should be fed, And if the lazy loafers starve They only reap what they deserve. Want is tiiv. curse of idleness, At least with some, — yet 1 confess There are a few .vhoni we call blest, Who eat and drink and take their rest, Nor, know they of the toil and care In which the bulk of others share. *Tis right that we should have employment. It gives us health, peace and enjoyment ; And every man of every station, Should sweeten life with occupation ; And every man should seek the post Which he can fill and loves the most. It would be wrong to have the sailor Who loves to roam, appointed gaoler. While he who loves to plough and sow Should never to the ocean go. Some love the quietude of home And never feel inclined to roam, 7'\ 196 Poems. Nor do they ever see a charm Beyond the i)recincts of their farm. Some love to grasp the glittering sword, And some to preach the sacred word. Some love to rise to wor h and fame ; Whilst others love their humble name, Contented with their lowly lot And happy in their peaceful cot. Some love the city's crowded mart, And others love to keep apart, And would prefer the hermit's life To bustling scenes of noisy strife. Some love to read, some love to write, And some in neither take delight, Whose little minds cannot contain What will not bring them worldly gain. Some love in costly wares to trade. And some to labour with the spade. Some love to climb the lofty steep, And some along the vale to creep, Some love to have a change of scene, And some to be what they have been. Thus every man on earth may find A calling to his heart and mind. And every man may have enjoyment In what should be his own employment, While none should seek an occupation He finds against his inclination. ii OCUIS. MY CHOICE. 197 I would not be the rich and great, Nor yet the poor and mean — I'd rather have ray present state — The middle way between. The greedy rich pursue their gain And load their souls with care — The willing slave cleaves to his chain Or yields to dark despair. The haughty lordling sits astride Upon the neck of fame — His happiness a chilling pride, His boast a titled name. The needy poor are discontent Who ask and are denied, For seeing life in sorrow spent They're seldom satisfied. My choice would be the happy art Of always doing good ; My wealth an humble, honest heart, Brimful of gratitude. Let me be neither rich nor poor, The lordling nor the slave. But let contentment guard my door, Till I sink in my grave. 4\ 198 Poems. '} 1! I % ^*FOJi EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON AND A TIME FOR EVERY PURPOSE UNDER HEAVEN.^' SOLOMON. The Book of inspiration says There is a time for all things done, A time for grief, for mirth and praise — For every thing beneath the sun. There is a time when joys appear, When hearts are warm and spirits high. When all is music to the ear And all is pleasing to the eye. There is a time of deep distress, When sorrow's clouds their griefs explode Poor suffering mortals to depress And crush beneath aftliction's load. There is a time for wakeful toil, A time for sweet refreshing sleep, A time to sigh, a time to smile, A time to laugh, a time to weep. There is a time when mercy calls — When sinners may their steps retrace. And there's a time when judgment falls On those who spurn God's saving grace. There is a time for private prayer. The sweetest time to mortals known, When far apart from grief or care They may approach Jehovah's throne. There is a time when death destroys The pleasures of our brightest day, And robs us of our dearest joys, And sweeps our latent hopes away. Time glides along with noiseless flight, And yet to all a time is given To watch and pray and do the right. And run the race which ends in heaven. Poems. 199 IT IS SAD TO BE LONELY. It Is sad to be lonely, when others are gay, With a cloud o'er the heart to eclipse pleasure's ray ; It is sad to be nursing our sorrows alone, Or sighing for pleasures long faded and gone. 'Tis sad to see coming the troubles we dread, While a dark boding future hangs over our heads ; Tho' often the storm-cloud that darkens our sky Seems darker approaching than when it is nigh. When the sharp pang of anguish has entered the soul, Mirth loses its power to cheer or condole, And we turn from the gay to indulge in our sadness, Whilst light-hearted laughter seems folly and madness. The heart oft has sorrows unknown to the world, And its flag of distress may be seldom unfurled, For 'tis better to suffer than loosely reveal A feeling to others, which others don't feel. The heart often bleeds while the forced flickering smile Is borrowed to light up the features the while, As they only who feel can with sympathy blend The reciprocal tear with a heart-broken friend. There is One, and but one, who can give us relief. He bore all our sorrows, He knows all our grief; Let us go to this Friend, and our sorrows make known, And He'll cheer our lone hearts by revealing his own. M 200 Poems. OUR FRIENDS IN HE A VEN. Will '' the family in heaven" Be to each other known ? Is the hope in Scripture given ? Is the revelation shewn ? Will the brother meet with brother And feel each other's love ? Will they recognize each other In that happy home above ? Yes, for the pleasing story — In God's own Book is given — We'll join the Saints in glory — We'll know our friends in heaven. Here memory is dim-sighted And friendships pass away ; But there, by heaven lighted In that eternal day, We'll know both past and present, Yea know as we are known, And meet our friends — how pleasant — And sing before the throne, And then, O ! what enjoyment — To meet with those we love, And join the sweet employment Of holy saints above. Methinks I hear the voices Of friends who've gone before, And my longing heart rejoices To meet them on the shore. And I know those frier ds shall meet me. For they long to see me come, And then, O ! how they'll greet me With shouts of " welcome home." Poems. 201 I AM A CHRISTIAN. I am a Christian, and I love the name, Nor will I shrink thro' fear or guilty shame, To tell the world that I belong to God — Redeemed and washed in the atoning blood. I am a Christian, and I'll bear my cross, Tho' it exposes me to grief and loss ; My loving Lord who hung upon the tree. Endured the cross, a heavier one, for me. I am a Christian, cheered with inward grace And by the smile which beams on Jesus' face, ! may I act a Christian and proclaim The saving power of my Redeemer's name, 1 am a Christian, and I hope for heaven, Because in Christ I feel my sins forgiven ; Tis' but a little while till He sh.ill come And take me with His ransomed people home. 7 HE SABBATH. Hail I holy, hope-inspiring day, God's portion of the Seven, And oldest landmaik in the way That leads from earth to heaven. To-day the wearied snns of toil Enjoy the Sabbath's rest, And under God's ai)proving smile May worship with the blest. To-day the sons of God present Themselves before the Lord, An.i feast on heav'nly nourishment Drawn from the sacred word. N /i 202 Poems. I SI II 1 1 1 ^1 \' i^: I !ii i I ! I il To-day the social joys of home Their choicest sweets impart, Whilst gratitude like sweet perfume Fills every loving heart. To-day our Resurrection Lord Comes down his saints to greet, WHio wait according to his word And worship at his feet. Hail ! peaceful Sabbath, ever blest, The sign which God has given To tell me of an endless rest Prepared for me in Heaven. TRIALS. Oft in my sorrows have I thought, That crosses may be given Which better suit than blessings sought, To fit our souls for heaven . Our patience may be often tried — Our faith be almost shaken — Prayer long unanswered— not denied — Cast down, but not forsaken. Thorns may bestrew the weary way Which stretches long before us — The sun withhold his cheering ray While, tempests gather o'er us — Still, hope shall be our guiding star To that unseen.to-morrovv. While faith beholds that land afar Unknown to grief and sorrow. Then let our path be smooth or rough. We'll take whate'er be given — Christ soon will say " it is enough, Come up and rest in heaven." Poems. 203 SANTA CLA US. Old Santa Claus is now on his way Laden with presents for Christmas day ; Then down the chimney he comes at night And passes away ere the morning Hght, But leaves behind him the sweets and toys For his own rich, favorite girls and boys. For many a good little boy and girl Won't get one sweet from the hard old churl, Because, too seldom he enters the door When he knows the people within are poor. So there must be something wrong in the laws Which guide the actions of Santa Claus. Now if Santa Claus will bring gifts to me Either in sock or on Christmas tree, I'll ask my parents to let me share The sweets and pennies I've got to spare With some poor little boy or girl Who got no gifts from the queer old churl. jivliPmSIS HA Y- MA KING. I love to see the meadows So luxuriant and green, And all the other cultured crops Which grace the rural scene ; Cereals and all verdant plants Which promise daily bread, Inspire hope and dissipate The gloom of famine dread. I( i i ( ^ t'^ 204 Poems. But O ! how sweet to wander in A bright sunshiny day, And inhale the fragrant odor Of the lovely new-mown hay ; The sweep of the sharp cutting scythe Is musical and sweet, The tedding and the winnowing — All, all is joy complete. Oft have I, with the boys and girls, When life was young and gay. Joined in the mirth-producing work Of winnowing the hay ; Or ran with armfuls of the hay And threw them in the pile, And then built up a stately rick Shaped in the olded style. And we raked the shaven meadow And secured the fragrant hay And felt healthier and happier By spending such a day. Ye who in stifled cities dwell Amid the dusty streets, Go out and see the meadows And drink in their fragrant sweets, And join the jolly hay-makers In some bright sunny day And toil will prove a sweet delight In winnowing the hay. Poems, 206 MY PET ROBIN. Do you see that little robin there, Perched on the apple-tree ? Well, he has got a friendship for, And confidence in me. See, when I call him, how he comes, Obedient to command, To take the crumbs I offer him. And pick them off my hand. I move away ; he follows me. And h*>ps about my feet ; There now he perches on a bough, And sings so softly sweet. Now, if I could translate his song I think his words would be : " I love you, sir ; you are my friend, But I love my liberty. " I love to exercise my wings, Then rest, my plumes to trim — To take the good which God i)rovides, And sing my thankful hymn." Then sing away, my little friend, So confident and tame ; You know the hand which brings you food ; Would, mortals knew the same ! 206 Poems. SLANDER. Among the loathsome vices of the age, The most revolting to the saint and sage Is that of slandering an honest name, And robbing virtue of her spotless fame. The slanderer and scandal-monger are More to be dreaded than the scourge of war; Their poisoned tongues, like to the serpent's fangs, Fill many a breast with sad and bitter pangs. And yet these vile calumniators try Their guilt to hide, their deeds to justify ; They feign a grief, would rather not reveal Their awful secrets which they can't conceal. And then in whispers from their fetid hearts The scandal Hies, like Satan's fiery darts, And calumny, that foul and deadly blight, Has marred and stained the robe of purest white. "O, did you hear what happened poor Miss S.? "I'm grieved to think of her mamma's distress. ^' And I am told there is much bitter strife *' Between young B. and his light-headed wife ! '* Tis all too true, I heard it from Miss P ; " But don'*^ be teling what you hear from me, " For I was promised ; but you must excuse " My leaking out to let you have the news " Ye glib-tongued gossippers, who love to prate, And foul your neighbors in your tete-a-tete. Ye never think, when ye your friends beslmie. That tho' they err, yours is the greater crime ? O ! for that charity which kindly throws Its friendly mantle over human woes, Lifts up the fallen, soothes them in their grief, And tells the mourner of a sweet relief. Poems. 207 ODE TO AMERICA. WRITTEN 0\ MY ARRIVAL IX gUEI'.EC. l.and of cold winters, deep rivers and Hoods, Hot summers, broad prairies and wide spreading woods, Land where the surphis of earth may be fed — U'liere millions have come to partake of thy bread. The great land of freedom from tyranny's thrall, Where fortune dispenses her favors to all. Land where all i)eople are welcome, who come, Land where industry is promised a home. The great land of commerce, preferment and ^ 'oalth, Regardless, too often, of morals or health. l'crha])S I may love thee, yet Krin shall be That green spot of earth, still the dearest to me. THE LAURENTIDES AND THE LAKE ST. JOHN' RAIJAVAY. Far down in the dim cycles of the i)ast The Laurentides were formed, and firm and broad Their deep foundations laid. What countless years It took to build these i)iles of olden rocks ! Anon, w;>ve-washed, displaced and broken uji, The glacial period came, and o'er these hills The floating icebergs swept, or stranded on These heights, and left their gathered boulders there. Then through successive ages mighty floods Ploughed river beds, and swept the loosened earth And debris down to lower ground, and formed Great gravel heaps and wide-spread wastes of sand. The flood-washed rocks and vast diluvial beds Point to the far remote, when wild waves surged And billows rolled o'er these Laurentian hills. 208 Poems. Then at Creation's dawn the waters were Rolled back, and seas and oceans placed in bounds. The ocean's depths laid bare, dry land appeared. How bleak ! how barren at the first ! But soon The Great Creator spread aVerdant mantle O'er the new-drained earth, and fixed a law That trees and plants should reproduce themselves. Rank vegetation lived and died and formed The carboniferous strata hidden deep Beneath the debris of succeeding years. Then at Creation's close the Great Supreme — Or triune God — in likeness of Himself Created man, — a duplex being with A form erect and features half divine ; And gifted with a never-dying soul — A holy, happy being like his God, Endowed with knowledge and a kingly will To choose or to refuse, — to live or die. Man fell — was driven from his Paradise, And scattered o'er the earth to earn his bread By weary toil and consummated skill. Men deeply sinned and stained this earth with guilt, And so provoked a just, long suffering God, That He a deluge sent to wash this earth And cleanse it from its wide-spread filthiness : And, through his servant Noah, raise a race Of beings who would keep his righteous laws. In course of time the post-diluvial world Was peopled by the branching tribes which sprang. From the old parent root. The crowding hordes Sought wider space and wandered forth in quest Of lands unoccupied. And fighting kings And warlike tribes in conquest bent, made war ; And, if victorious, occupied the lands. And took the spoil of those whom they subdued* lit Poems. 201> I'hc dark and cruel ages passed away And truth and science shed their cheering light, And in that light inventions multiplied, And new and great discoveries were made — The greatest \yas this mighty Continent, Out-stretched along this western hemisphere. How varied and how vast the bounds we crowd Within that comprehensive little word — America ! Home of the homeless, and The country where the honest toiler reaps A sure reward. Our own loved Canada, The largest country on this Continent, Invites the surplus population of The British Isles to come and occupy Our vast, unpeopled bush and prairie lands. (Ireat Canada ! thy enterprising sons Are rapidly developing thy worth ; The vacant places are now being filled. And habitations stud the vast expanse Of prairie lands throughout the far north-west. New cities have been built and railways stretched From shore to shore across this continent. Thus from the broad Atlantic coast, to the Pacific shore, our railway lines extend, Uniting two great oceans by this grand COMMERCIAi. ENTERPRISE. But Canada Has many other lines besides the great Pacific, which are all well patronized. The " Lake St. John," now being built demands Our earnest thought and heartfelt gratitude. Great engineering skill and plodding toil Have overcome the difficulties of The Laurentides, or rocky heights which marred The way between Quebec and Lake St. John. X 'i . fZ '■'y/, •«, 210 iPocms. And when this Hne has reached its terminus, 'Twill link our City to a source of wealth, And open up a country where the sons Of toil shall clear the forests and shall soon Be blest with competence and happy homes, O ! what a health-invigorating boon To go by train to these Laurentian hills ! So grandly wild, so very picturesque ! Lakes, rivers, hills, ravines, and rocky steeps — And everywhere, except the towering cliffs, Bedecked with Nature's verdant drapery. Along the line the crimson fire plant In rich profusion greets you with delight ; And many another blooming beauty spreads Its tinted petals in the sun's bright rays. The air is redolent with fragrant gums, And every breath inhaled is health renewed — For every grateful sense is satisfied. For many miles the track runs through a glen Along the margin of the Bastican. Beyond the foaming river, towering high, Are rocky cliffs, their lofty summits crowned With dwarfish spruce and other forest trees ; 'J'he noisy river speeds its rapid course Adown the shelving rocks or boulder bed. And sings aloud its far-rebounding psalm. At other places, silent, smooth and deep It like a mirror shows inverted hills And azure skies. O I what sublimity ! The scenes above reflected in the deep I How picturesque, how grand, how beautiful ! The poet's paradise — the fisherman's Delight. What son of Isaac Walton could Restrain his wish while passing by these lakes And streams which swarm with lovely spec/£ltd trout. Poems. 211 The sportsman, too, with dog and gun, may find Among these lakes and hills the game he seeks. The botanist has here an ample field For his research ; and so has every one Who loves to roam in Nature's solitudes Among these alpine hills, far from the haunts Of busy ''"e hid in the sylvan shade. And here the learned geologist may trace The origin of these primeval rocks ; And theories advance to show the cause. Which, long ago, produced these grand effects. And here, our cousins from across the line, May come and feast their eyes, and breathe the cool And fragrant air of these T,aurentian hills. All honor to the men of wealth and skill Who planned and built this line which leads to scenes Of new delight; which, when completed, will Afford ano':her proof of what our men Of enterprise and engineering skill Can do in overcoming hindrances. The obstacles which seemed to bar the way Keep disappearing as the track proceeds ; And when the road has reached to Lake St. John, O ! what a boon to old Quebec ! — to all Who dwell, or yet may dwell, along the line ! Prosperity attend thee " Lake St. John." Oft may it be my joy to take a trip On this new Railway to the Laurentides. im 212 Poems. ill 1'^ WINTER IN QUEBEC. Far as the eye can range around, Snow cold and crisp o'erspreads the ground ;, With nothing to relieve the sight From painful, blinding, dazzling white, Unless the circling forests dark. Outlining the horizon's mark. Or, if the wild winds loudly blow. And drift along the blinding snow, Upheaving white mounds in their wrath,, Blockading the deep hidden path, 'Tis but another, rougher form, Of winter's long continued storm. And should the dark clouds disappear, And sunshine gild the atmosphere ; Tho' all around seem bright and fair The chill of death is in the air — White frost the while maintains its hold, So unrelaxing, hard and cold. No sheltered, fertile valleys here. Where verdure lingers all the year ; And Autumn's flowers keep in bloom. Till Spring's first daughters leave the tomb ■;, No, no, 'tis all a changeless sight. Of lifeless, verdure-killing white. But tho' the long-stretched winters here Are cold and terribly severe ; The hardy natives love their clime. And patiently await the time, When Sol shall shine with warmer glow, And dissipate the winter's snow. Poems. 213 Oft times the frost will nip your toes, And grip you by the ears or nose ; While on your beard your breath distils, And freezes into icicles ; And during this cold snap, or spell. We sufiter more than tongue can tell. St Lawrence is a ghostly sight, A jumbled mass of black and white ; And as the tidal waters flow The icebergs utter cries of woe. And grind and crush, upheave and toss, Till oft the river's bridged across. An ice bridge formed, secure and strong, Then daily, what a motley throng Is on the ice ; they crowd the places Prepared for skating, sliding, races ; While carters and pedestrians go As traftic leads them to an fro. Here long continued frosts abound, Which penetrate deep in the ground ; And oft our dead can't find a grave. And must await in vault or cave. The vernal Spring ere they can be, Placed in their final destiny. And such is Winter on the whole. In this cold clime too near the pole ; And yet 'tis freer far from crime ; Than many a more congenial clime ; For Canada the home has proved, Of peace, the loving and beloved. Mr 1 ■ i> !: ^ 1 214 Poems. MOSES. In P'gypt reigned a wicked king, Whose every act was vile, — He took the Hebrews' baby boys And drowned them in the Nile. What must have been the mother's grief To see her hope and joy, Dragged from her arms and borne away For monsters to destroy ! Thrown to devouring crocodiles, Or plunged beneath the wave — And yet 'twas better thus to die, — Than live to be a slave. The Hebrews were in bondage then,. And suffered great distress ; Until at last their cry went up To Heaven for redress. At such a time was Moses bom But God v/as strong to save The future hope of Jacob's race, From such a watery grave. For three long months good Jokabed Her little son concealed, And then she carried out the plan Which doubtless God revealed. She placed her baby in an ark. And laid it near the path Where Pharoah's daughter daily came^ To have her wonted bath. The anxious mother prays in faith, Anon with hope elate ; While Miriam stands sentinel To watch her brother's fate. ii,,..,,, Poems. The Princess comes and finds the child ; It weeps — her heart is won — A nurse is called and Jokabed Receives her darling son. And with a loving mother's care She sows the holy seeds, Which yield their fruit in after years, In great and mighty deeds. Tho' heir presumptive to the Crown, As Pharoah's daughter's son, God's people and their poverty Are prized above a throne. 'J'hrough faith he made his noble choice, Because he had regard To that eternal recompense — The saints' issured reward , God honours theUi that honour Him, And Moses is a name, Which in the foremost ranks above Commands the highest fame. Then let his noble choice be mine To choose the better part, And have the promises divine Deep-hidden in my heart. 215 •216 Poems, If |: MUSINGS. The joys of earth are few and unenduring, And scarcely worth the trouble of securing ; The friendships formed, the pleasures half enjoyed, Are but the preludes of an empty void. The glow of health to-day — perhaps to-morrow The fever flush, wounds, pain and bitter sorrow ; Alternate joys and sorrows come and go — A day of mirth precedes a night of woe : Bowed down with grief, anon with joy elate, We scarcely know what is our normal state. Is grief an interruption of our bliss ? Or is our pleasure l)ut a stolen kiss ? Thus tossed about between the two extremes, From stubborn facts, to fancy's idle dreams, We laugh and weep, cxj)ress our hopes and fears. And soon expend our few allotted years. But all don't share alike of joy and grief; Nor do all mourners find the same relief. Some live a life of suffering to the end, In pain and poverty, without a friend ; And worst of all, a discontented spirit Destroys that peace the poorest might inherit. Some find a respite from disease and strife, And dance along the sunny side of life ; Till sorrow's clouds their sunny sky o'erspread, And coming storms distract their souls with dread : Some in their troubles find a sweet release, Have friends to soothe and whisper words of peace- Impart relief and aid them in distress, And lead them back to health and happiness. A few seem flushed with buoyancy of health, Possessed of friends and fame, and wordly wealth ; But even these may find in wounded pride, A galling sore their features cannot hide. Poems. 217 Can wealth and fame prolong the owner's life, Or guard his heart from jealousy and strife ? The lavished luxury of earth destroys Our appetites, and nauseates our joys. Like bacchanals while in their festive glee, Ihe cup that cheers begets their agony ; They stagger down the serpent's slimy trail, Till drunken mirth ends in a howling wail. ruinous, bewitching alcohol ! Destroyer of the body, mind and soul ; Can he be honest, who would passive stand. Whilst thou, foul fiend, art ravaging our land ? Up men of truth and in your righteous wrath, Drive the destroyer from the people's path. wretched eartli ! degraded by the curse. Through drink thou art a thousand times made worse ; Let drink be banished, and our wretchedness Will be, at least discernibly, made less. The y>anacea of all human grief — The only remedy to give relief, Is that sweet hope which sovereign grace imparts, To soothe and cheer and heal all broken hearts. You may have pain, may suffer grief, and loss. And you may groan beneath a weighty cross, But if you know the mighty i)ower of prayer. You'll soon find strength your heaviest load to bear. Not only passive peace, but true delight, God gives to them who follow him aright ; Thus helping grace each needful time is given. To every soul that seeks relief from heaven. The dwellers on this sin-polluted earth Are doomed to pain and trouble from their birth ; None are exempt, all have their joys and sorrows — Their hopes, regrets, their bright or dark to-morrows ; And all must reach the terminus of life. Though short the race, or fierce and long the strife. 218 Poems, Mill Our wisdom or our folly we display, On entering the broad or narrow way ; If wisdom guide us in the narrow road, It must be joyful for it leads to God. Should folly drive us down the world's broad path^ It soon grows rough and terminates in wrath ; Transgressors' ways their foolishness declare — Their short-lived pleasures end in dark despair. Thus every man has sorrow or delight, And reaps the fruit of doing wrong or right. Sin's fleeting pleasures leave a sting behind, To gnaw the heart, and plague the tortured mind > But wisdom's ways, or virtue, love and truth, If sought and found in days of early youth. Insure life's comforts to the Christian sage, With hope and peace to cheer his hoary age. Let pain, affliction, crosses, trials come They'll but increase my longings after home ; Then be it mine to walk the royal road. Sustained and cheered by my forgiving God. HYMN. When pining sorrows fill my breast. And I feel lone and weary, Cast down, afflicted and opprest With troubles dark and dreary, I'll look to Thee my Friend above. Nor sink beneath my sorrow, Assured to-day of present love And hoped for joys to-morrow. ^ Poems, Say is there aught in this vain world To give me joy or pleasure ! What beauties do I see unfurled To keep me from my treasure !" 'Tis not on earth my treasure lies — Its honours fade before me ; No it is placed beyond the skies In you bright world of glory. Come on with me my brethren come Who feel your sins forgiven, Come, for this earth is not your home, Come on with me to heaven. There we shall meet to part no more, Where joys shall be increasing, And where we shall our God adore In praises never ceasing. Then welcome be the cross and shame, Since faith has placed so near me The joys which spring from Jesus' name, The hope that he will hear me. There's nothing here to court my stay — From bliss my soul to sever — Come Lord and waft my soul away To dwell with Thee forever. 219 Farewell vain world, I must be gone, Waft, waft ye heavenly breezes, And speed my happy spirit on To my sweet loving Jesus. That I may view Kim on His throne And prostrate fail before him, And gratefully his mercies own And ever more adore him. il 220 Poems. IS CHANGE IMPROVEMENT? Is change improvement ? yes, it must be so, For who would wish a north wind still to blow; Or who would wish a winter, bleak and drear To outlive spring and swallow up the year ? When cold Boreas blows his blighting blast We love a change and wish the storm was past ; Moon, wind and weather, every thing would be Without a change a dull monotony. 'Tis health-improving changing our position, While nature shows the blessings of transition ; The planets move, the seasons come and go. The rivers glide, and oceans ebb and How. Without a change, sure all the world would be A vast stagnation full of misery. Is change improvement? list to music's voice, Wiiat changing tones ! O how our hearts rejoice ! Without a change, think what a drawling drone Would be in one continuous changeless tone 1 Is change improvement ? ask the sons of art. Who in life's struggle play so brave a part ; Go see their works of energy and skill, The flaming steed, the ship and busy mill. The wild red bog changed to a fertile plain. And once bleak heath now clothed with golden grain, The forest wild through persevering toil A cultivated and productive soil. And when these pleasing works of art you view. Look back and think of what our father's knew ; Their customs savage and their manners rude, Their passions wild and ignorance their good. But changes came, dark superstition fled, And brought us art and science in its stead. What queer highways they made in former years, How stupid were their Civil Engineers ! Pocvts. 221 rp hill, down hill, they took their onward course Regardless of fatigue to man or horse. Xow roads are changed for we have art and science, Ti) which rude nature yields a quick compliance. I know, to many, change has proved a curse, From good to bad, more oft, from bad to worse ; Hut e'en the worst may from their woes depart And find enjoyment in a change of heart. I care not how through history you range Vou must admit the blessings of a cliange, The telegraph, steam engine and the ])ress, Ha\e wrought a change which all men must confess A vast improvement in our social state, Designed to make the nations truly great. Thus every change where wisdom takes command Approximates the beautiful and grand ; And then at last the final change shall be To bliss or woe — each to his destiny. rilE RESURRECTION. Grey streaks of dawn had shot athwart the gloom, While stalwart soldiers watched around the tomb ; But suddenly there comes an awful shock Which opee the tomb and shakes the solid rock. A mighty Angel rolls away the stone, While on his face the light of heaven shone ; The stricken guards fall prostrate on the earth, The scene has hushed their jibes and songs of mirth. The Resurrection Jesus leaves the cave, O'er death triumphant, Conqueror of the grave ; The prostrate guards, still trembling with affright, Creep from the place and take themselves to flight. They reach the city and the story tell Of what they saw, and what to them befel ; 222 Poems. The wicked priests persuade the guards with gold To tell a lie, to quash the truth they told. They might as will have tried to (luench the sun As hide the light and stop the work begun j The risen Lord to chosen saints appears, "The Lord is risen " thrills his people's ears. The wondering Angels linger at the cave, And talk of him who came the world to save ; The weeping women come at morning light And start to see the strange, mysterious sight. The sympathising Angels kindly say, *' The Lord is risen — see the place he lay, " Go tell the loved disciples of your Lord "That it has been according to his w^rd." They run and tell the thrilling news, but they Gave little heed to what they heard them say ; But John and Peter ran and reached the cave And found that Christ had risen from the grave. 'I'licy leave the place, awed with strange hopes and fears. But lingering, loving, weeping Mary hears The Master's voice, to her divinely sweet, And shouts Rabboni, while she clasps his feet — The blood stained feet she once washed with her tears Wiien Jesus saved her from her guilty fears. The sad Disciples meet again that night, And suddenly they see a glcrious sight; Their risen Master in their midst appears, Dispels their doubts and calms their rising fears. Week after week the Saviour comes and shows The wounds inflicted by his cruel fees. For forty days the resurrection Lord Oft met his own and cheered thevu by his word; Then from their midst they see their Lord arise. And wing his flight towards the upper skies. And while they gaze with wondering affright A passing cloud receives him from their sight. Poems. 223 Two sons of light assuage their rising fears And whisper words of comfort in their ears — " Cease from your sorrows, and from tears refrain , For this same Jesus shall return again.'' Ten days they wait to be endued with power, And on them falls the penticostal shower — The Spirit comes their rapture to inspire. And on them rests like cloven townies of fire. And thus endowed they hasten to proclaim Salvation in the risen Saviour's name ; The Lord is risen ! let the people sing The grave is conquered, death has lost his stin> The new and living way is now made known From sin and death up to his glorious throne ; Then shout for joy ! Ye sons of earth arise And waft your loud hosannas to the skies ! Sing of the triumphs of your conquering Lord ! Sing of his love ! His mighty deeds record. The Lord is risen. Sing the loud refrain That as he rose so shall wc rise again . >g- RECOLLECTION OF THE RELICS AND SUl ERSTITIOXS OF IRELAND. Raths, cairns and mounds, and ruins old and grand Abound throughout the north of Ireland ; Huge standing stones, or pillars old and grey, -And Danish forts, fast going to decay, Old Druid altars, relics of the past, And fairy thorns, which no one dare molest. And fettish trees, and many a holy well, And haunted cave found in the rocky dell. When superstition over truth prevails Then old tradition tells her curious tales. 224 Poems. Of tragic scenes in many a lonely glen, And ghosts appearing of those murdered men ; Of witches dancing round some phantom light, Of yells and screams heard in the dead of night, Of old Banshees which come with plaintive cries To 'mourn with you, when some beloved one dies^ Old women gathering dew on May day morn. Your cattle blinked, luck taken from your churn, The custom is, to wish your neighbours luck Of milk and butter, and of all his stock, All dread the man who has an evil eye And shun his path if he i;hould pass them by, Nor witch nor wizard can effect their harm, If they have got the proper kind of charm. For, for all ailments mortals here endure Old sui)erstition has a ready cure. What queer old stories, void of sense and truth, Old people told me in my early youth. Of Lcprohauns, these cunning little ro/, .es. Whom you may find a-cobbling at their brogues, If you see one don't turn your eyes away For if you do, he'll vanish like a fay. In highway style make him give up his purses Twill make you rich despite his cries and curses^ But tho' I sought to find one, night and day No Lcprohaun has ever crossed my way. In woman's guise a fairy seeks your door To see if you be friendly to the poor. If kind to her — to all who like her come — She'll leave a blessing and enrich your home ; But if you treat her harshly, when she goes '•he'll take your luck and leave you all her woes. But many a (^ueer old story I've been told Of haunted places and of hidden gold. Thus while the slave of superstitious dread The thought of riches filled my foolish head, Poems, 225- I hoped, I dreamed, and feasted on the pleasure Of finding some of this long-hidden treasure. And when I searched it was my luck to find Not gold, but treasure of another kind. I found beneath a cairn or heap of stones An urn containing ashes and charred bones ; The last of some poor mortal passed away, Who had been great and honoured in his day. With four large stones the hollow square was made To hold the urn, o'er which a flag was laid ; And over all was raised this ancient cairn, Now over-grown with lichen, moss and fern. Luxuriant heath grew thickly all around The hill cairn ard, where this strange grave was found. Two thousand years and more have doubtless fled. Since some old race had there mterred their dead. Whose funeral rite, or custom was to l)urn Their dead and place their ashes in an urn. Then place the urn, like that one I had found. And raise a heap of stones above the ground. It showed much toil tho' very little skill To place these heaps of boulders on tlie hill. But where could they produce so large a stock As no stone there was quarried from the rock ? And why make choice of such a heathy height To have the dead thus hidden from their sight ? 'Twas doubtless raised some tragic tale to tell, Or else to show where some great hero fell. But who the hero was and where he died Our ancient history has not supplied, Nor does tradition help my anxious tliought With olden tale connected with this spot. But there are other heaps of gathered stones Which were not raised to cover urns and bones ; Each has its tragic tale of cruel guilt And marks the spot where human blood was spilt. The custom was, a funeral passing by 226 Poems. r Must give the stoney heap a new supply. The custom, too, was carried on where none 'Could tell the reason why he cast a stone ; His father did it, that was all he knew. It was the custom and he'd do it too. 'Tis evident, from all the facts we trace. The Irish are a very ancient race, For in the olden scriptures are detailed The customs which in Ireland prevailed. And tho' these customs are subsiding fast A few still live to tell us of the past. While fort and cairn, round tower and standing stone Are monuments which point to years long gone. Oft in my youth, while turning up the ground Stone hatchets and flint arrow-heads I've found. And curious pipes, smoked by the ancient Picts, And other treasure trove in these Districts, Through which it was my happy lot to roam And trace the history of my island home. But for my lack of antiquarian lore I set light value on my gathered store, And now I wish, — but wishing now is vain — That I had all my treasure trove again. Yet still through memory's light I often gaze On many a picture of my early days, And cairns and urns and ashes of the dead And other relics are before me spread. And from these old memorials I can trace The rude beginnings of a simple race. The old grey cairns and weapons made of stone Point to a time when metals were unknown. But who the first rude, early settlers were And how ? and when they landed? and from where ? Are questions which we only can expound By those old relics buried in the ground ; And yet from these it would he hard to trace The history of this rude, pristine race. Poems. 227 In course of time, we learn, invading hosts Found out a pathway to the Irish coasts. Tuathdadanon, Firbolg, Pict and Celt, And proud Milisian whose arm was felt By every race, the warlike Danes and others, Who seldom lived as peacefully as brothers. Thus tyrants ruled, and suffering serfs obeyed. And Lord and Chief upon each other preyed, And rival kings kept up their deadly strife And many a prince in battle lost his life. Invaders came, but with the sword they brought Much useful knowledge and inventive thought, As many of the relics found declare How skilled in arts some of our fathers wore. Yet over mountain, valley, bog and hill Hung the dark cloud of superstition still ; But heathen Ireland draws near the day When all the gloomy rites shall pass away. Some fourteen hundred years ago or more St. Patrick brought the gospel to our shore, The light burst forth and heaven's choicest smile, Gleamed down with gladness on our favoured Isle. Since that event, up through succeeding years, Loved Ireland has had her smiles and tears, Her poets, heroes, senators and saints, Her shout of joy and wail of loud complaints ; Her devastating wars and bitter woes, And deadly vengence too upon her foes. Her history is stained with many a blot, And old tradition points to many a spot Where cruel wrath and fiercest passions l)urned. And all the laws of God and man were siuirned. Her long dark night of fable and tradition. Of ignorance and gloomy superstition, Is almost past and soon the day will come When knowledge, love and truth shall bless each home. 228 Poems, Tho' gathering mists her mountain peaks may shroud^ And o'er her bogs may hang the threatening cloud, There still is light to gild the grand old sign And cheer our Spirits with the hope divine; Her schools and colleges are scattered wide, And education like a flowing tide Now floods the land, a blessing to impart. Of useful sciences and works of art. There is treasure hidden in the soil, The sure reward of skilful, honest toil. And Erin's sons may work unhindered now And realize the blessings of the plough. Thus Ireland is blest from shore to shore — Is richer now than e'er she was before. Improvement and progression too declare That Irishmen are wiser than the were. More temperate, industrious and quiet And less inclined for faction fights and riot. The envious growler and the indolent May raise a whine and show their discontent,. Yet happier men are now rejoiced to see Their country rising to prosperity, While hopeful men in faith pursue their way And hail the dawning of a brighter day. THE DEAF-MUTE. The uninstructed tyro mute Is diflicult to teach. Yet Christian love has found a voice His silent ear to reach. His sleeping thoughts have been aroused' To work and watch and pray. And many a mute now triumphs in The blaze of gospel day. Poems. That Institution for the mute Must always take its stand As first among the monuments Which grace our favored land. The deaf and dumb are taught to speak A language of their own, While all the useful sciences Are fully there made known. Light slowly dawns upon the mute, Yet persevering skill Has never failed to reach his mind And mould his heart and will. A system has been organized To teach the deaf and dumb, And homes erected to receive All mutes who choose to come. Yet after all the efforts made To benefit the mute. There still remains sad wastes untilled Which might have yielded fruit. How heartless must that parent be To his afflicted child, Who leaves its thoughts like fallow ground Unweeded, waste and wild ! He'd better send his darling mute To that good Institution, To have it taught the Rule of Life And saved from shi's polKitioii, 229 r li - I' 230 Poems. 'Tis criminal to keep at home, The deaf and dumb and blind, When there are schools where they may come> And useful knowledge find. God bless the generous men who give The needed contributions. And all who take an interest in These noble Institutions. CONVICTION. My soul is sorrowful to day, ' Vieart is hard and cold, I Ai a sheep I've gone astray And left the sheltered fold. Oh ^hat ..V Sh'^pherd now would come And seek me in the wild, And bring the weary wanderer home And save his erring child. And Oh ! that he would bar the door When he has got me in. And keep me where I never more May wander back to sin. :li|| Poems. 231 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER, BORN 6th JANUARY, I79O, DIED 2ND JAN., 1875. My dear old father has been called away From worldly cares and all that could molest ; Years eighty-five told his long working day, And he was wearied and he needed rest. Fond memory brings before my anxious gaze Sweet reminiscences of by gone years ; My father's love, down to my early days, O'er flows my heart and fills my eyes with tears. His loved, familiar face Fll see no more, But cheering hope assures my trusting heart. That I shall meet him on the other shore Where we shall meet and never never part. Blest with intelligence and buoyant health Industriously he labored to provide Life's needful blessings, still far more than wealth He prized his family, his hope and pride. Intruding death laid loved ones in the tomb, And these bereavements filled his heart with grief ; But even in his sorrow's darkest gloom God soothed his soul with heaven sent relief. His active habits and unflagging zeal Remained with him up to life's closing days. While lovingly he sought his children's weal, Well pleased to know they walked in wisdow's ways. Yes, many a heart-felt prayer we've offered up That God would fill our father's heart with love — And full of days, and cheered with trusting hope. He passed away to join the church above. , j-vi^SSr si ■a i fr 232 Poeifis. ^' BE SURE YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT:' The wrong you did may be concealed, Yet God has said — nor can we doubt — That secret things shall be revealed, And that your sin will find you out. Though deeply hidden in your heart, Your secret sins shall see the light ; And you may yet with horror start To see them brought before your sight. The only witness of your guilt May be your silent memory, But what you did — the blood you spilt, Shall haunt your soul with agony. And you will feel and have to own That every evil deed you did, Was to the Lord most fully known, From whom no secrets can be hid. And so the harvest which you reap. Has sprung from the •; igodly seeds, Which you thought hidden, dark and deep. But now appear as noxious weeds. If sinners sow the gusty blast, The whirlwind storm will surly come ; And what a dreadful scene at last Shall be the sinner's harvest home 1 You may repent and be forgiven, But memory you cannnot blind ; And though, through grace, you enter heaven You leave the serpent's trail behind. Then " buy the truth and sell it not," And keep in wisdom's pleasant ways, Be pure in word and deed and thought, And peace shall crown your latter days. Poems. 233 How happy he, who in his youth, Secures that grace, so freely given, And sows the seeds of love and truth And waits a full reward in heaven. The true philosopher and sage Is he who early seeks the road And still "s found in hoary age In sweet communion with his God. DEATH OF GENERAL MONTGOMERY AND DEFEA7 OF THE AMERICAN ARMY A T QUEBEC, 31stZ>^C, 1775. The year had almost reached its close, And Winter's chilling frosts and snows Had spread a covering o'er the ground. And hid the verdure all around. At such a time the trump of war, Was heard the social joys to mar. Of those who basked in beauty's charms Arousing them to feats of arms. The men alert to duty's calls, Arose and quickly manned the walls, And then like heroes they await The enemy at pass and gate. The Yankees looked with jealous eyes Upon Quebec — a tempting prize — And on they came through drifting snow Resolved to strike the final blow. Why did they come ? Were they befooled ? Was it to get their ardour cooled ? Or did they mean to climb the steep, And find our soldiers fast asleep ? Too soon they learned their sad mistake, For all our men were wide awake, And at their posts ere morning light, llll: 234 Poems. I 31 And eager for the coming fight. Montgomery, foremost in command, Approaches with his chosen band ; Nor wait they for the break of day, But stealthily pursue their way. Nor bugle sound, nor beat of drum. Has warned Quebecers that they come , And yet they come through drifting snow^ To meet a watchful, waiting foe. Say was the brave Montgomery sold ? Or did he act unwisely bold ? Or how was it that he should then So harrass and expose his men ? Perhaps he thought to gain the height Without the trouble of a fight — That some bought traitor might await To give admission by the gate ! Or he might enter unawares, While sentinels were at their prayers ? Vain thoughts ! if such he ever thought, Too soon he found the foe he sought, His watchful foes,were there to check, His further march towards Quebec. The British guard at Pres-dc-Ville Two guns discharged with telling skill. And down below the citadel The venturous Montgomery fell, A warning to his countrymen, To not repeat his march again. Hemmed in between the rock and flood^ The snow was dfsd with Yankee blood. Poor men ! that morn they little thought That they would find Quebec so hot. With blighted hopes the Yankees fled And left behind their slaughtered dead — Their fallen General on the street, Poems. 235 The snow drift for his winding sheet. As pre-arranged on that same day The host of Arnold made their way Beneath the rock through Sous-le-cap, But found it not an open gap ; Two batteries were there to check Their onward march to take Quebec. Soon Colonel Arnold in the fray Received a wound — was borne away ; But still his men with dash and skill Had fought their way to Mountain hill ; Montgomery's men had fled and so They, there alone, must face the foe. And knowing. death would seal their fate, Ere they could enter Prescott gate : Besides attacked in front and rear, Without a hope their hearts to cheer They had to yield to Britain's sway. And so Quebecers gained the day. The air was rent witli shouts and cheers, Re-echoed by the volunteers ; While General Carleton and his men. Received a grand ovation then. Since then we've had no foreign foes To break upon our calm repose ; While on our rock-embattled height, Still floats the sign of Btitain's might, Tho' now with brighter hopes unfurled— The sign of peace to all the world. mm 236 Poems. IRELAND, Beyond tliC wide Atlantic Ocean Through fancy's light, The home that claims my heart's devotion, Is still in sight. Home of my fondest recollections And purest mirth ; Home of my heart's endeared affections, Land of my birth I Ten thousand hallowed memories bind me Where'er I roam — For oh ! I left my heart behind me, In that old home What was it tempted me to lea\ e thee. Dear Innisfail ? It ne'er was in my heart to grieve thee, Old Grania Aillic. Adventure threw her mantle o'er me, And I must rove, And follow those who went before me, Who claim my love. f Vet still in pensive thought I wander Back to thy vales, And through thy sylvan groves meander, And read thy tales. Oft have I heard the plaintive story Of thy sad wrongs, And often sang thy ancient glory In thy old songs. ' • Thy fertile plains and heath-capped mountains I've travelled o'er. But thy fair vales and crystal fountains I'll see no more. fs;: Poems. Yet in my waking dreams I'll view thee And catch thy smile, And joy when brighter hopes renew thee, Dear Em'rald Isle. Thou art creation's fairest jewel By Nature blest ; But wicked men both dark and cruel Have wrung thy breast. While with thee I have done my duty To guard thy fame. And, here, I'll sing of Erin's beauty And praise thy name. Ah ! no, they do not, cannot love thee, Who seek the path That would becloud the sky above thee With Heaven's wrath. May Truth dispel thy dark disorders — Thy health restore, ' And peace and joy surround thy borders Forever more. 237 IS KNOCKMORE. Great isolated rock, with verdure crowned And towering cliffs to guard thee all around. While caves and clefts and many a deep ravme Surround thy base and beautify the scene, Thy lofty head, embraced by floating clouds, Thy old gray face half hid in ivy shrouds, While hardy yews cling to the rocky steep Adown the which, the sable ravens sweep And talk a language yet unknown to man While nature's mysteries they seem to scan. O 1 what a landscape beautiful and bright I 238 Poems, Attracts your gaze from this enchanting height ; A verdant carpet decks the vale below, Through which the Screenagh and the Sylas flow, While little streamlets gurgle through the grove, Where woodnymphs linger and where lovers rove — And tuneful warblers sweetest music sing To give devotion to the opening sprin^'. The heath-cappt'l hills beyond the lovely glades With steeps adorned and murmuring cascades ; And Erne with her six times sixty Isles Viewed from this rock, presents her sweetest smiles. But all is beautiful around Knockmore, And all is charming down by Krne's shore. This mighty fortress reared on nature's plan Confounds the pride and impotence of man, He sees how nature by Volcanic shocks Upheaved the earth and formed those lofty rocks ; How time has thrown her mantle o'er the scene And clothed these cliffs with slipi/ds of ever green. Strange jjicture this, as shown on nature's page, Fresh verdant youth embracing hoary age ; For beauty liere, in varied forms, appears The scene delii^hts, whilst music charms the ears. And here we must in solemn awe adore The God of nature who upreared Knockmore. NoTK. — KnocUinore, situated in tlie County of Fernianagli, is an isolated hill of sini;ular beauty, almost inaccessable, haviny a preci- pitous rock front all around. The prospect from its summit is magni- ficeni, and the scenery around its base exceedingly beautiful. m Poems, 239 SONNET. Is there a spirit home beyond the skies Where hope shall end and faith be lost in sight ? There is a home unseen by mortal eyes, Yet seen by faith, our future paradise — A home of glory where the Saints unite In songs of praise and hymns of rapt delight That home supernal where love never dies. Where friend meets friend and friendshi]>'s sweetest ties Are strengthened, and forever made secure. Perfection stamps our every joy in heaven. All blessings there eternally endure. If we believe the promise God has given There is a home — a refuge for the soul Which shall endure while endless a