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 Favorite
 
 presented to the 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIKGO 
 
 by 
 FRIENDS OF THE LI1WARY 
 
 Ward L. Thornton 
 
 donor
 
 SARAH PLATT DECKER
 
 Jflairortt? ifoe ma of 
 &aral? $lati iwkrr
 
 8ft;* promos 
 
 from th. e calf of 
 
 tbio honklrl will 90 to thr 
 
 arab $llatt Brrhrr Armorial ifmb 
 
 ana tie {rablfratfon ia 
 
 authomrii hy that 
 
 Aiaoriation 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 
 
 1912 
 
 BY ELLIS MEREDITH 
 DENVER 
 
 Smith-Brooks Press, Denver, Colo.
 
 fflatt irtfor 
 
 By ELLIS MEREDITH 
 
 IN the death of Sarah Platt 
 Decker the United States 
 loses its foremost and best- 
 beloved woman. There are many 
 women who are great in one line; 
 there are but few who are great in 
 many lines, so really great that they 
 are above all littleness of vanity and 
 conceit, but this was true of her. 
 All her life she had lived upon a 
 plane where noblesse oblige was the 
 strong underlying and impelling 
 law, and but few of England's mon- 
 archs have been so well entitled to 
 wear their Anglo-Saxon motto, "Ich 
 Dien." She did serve all her life, 
 up to the very end, and this is as she 
 would have had it. 
 
 Her father, Deacon Edwin Chase 
 of Holyoke, Mass., was a great man 
 in his day, a great speaker and a 
 great counsellor, having served the 
 governor of his state in that capac- 
 ity. He had the same wit, the 
 same ability to see straight through 
 all sham, and the same courage to 
 take a stand and abide by it; she 
 was her father's daughter, and while 
 he did not live to see all the honors
 
 that were to be hers, he lived long 
 enough to know that the traditions of 
 his own family, and that of her 
 mother, who was an Adams, would 
 be preserved by her. 
 
 While she was yet a very young 
 woman, after two years of married 
 life, she was left a widow, and she 
 has told me how the table linen and 
 silver that had been given her by her 
 mother were divided, and she was 
 given the "widow's third," her dower 
 right in her own wedding presents. 
 It was this that made a suffragist of 
 her in the dawn of her life. In her 
 sorrow and bereavement she did not 
 sit down and brood. There was 
 work to be done, and she did her 
 share. She was one of three trus- 
 tees who administered a fund for the 
 relief of the poor, which had been 
 left to the city of Holyoke by a rich 
 old man named Whiting Street, and 
 this experience taught her much of 
 human nature and the need to bal- 
 ance a soft heart with a sound head. 
 Later, after her marriage to Colonel 
 Platt, while living at Queens, Long 
 Island, she was one of the directors 
 of the Mineola Children's home, 
 and while she has not been particu- 
 larly identified with work for chil- 
 dren in this city, her love for
 
 children has always been one of the 
 strongest factors in her life, and 
 nothing has brought her greater joy 
 than the love of little children. 
 
 Not long since she was giving me 
 a few items about her life for a 
 magazine article, and after she had 
 told me a great list of organizations 
 of which she was a member, and 
 years of service for this and that 
 cause, she said rather wistfully, 
 "Couldn't you say something about 
 me as a grandmother? You don't 
 know my daughter Florence, but 
 she is a lovely woman, and there is 
 nothing in my life that I enjoy more 
 than the Sunday evenings I spend 
 with her and her children." 
 
 The first great public work in 
 which she took part in Denver was 
 the relief of those who were left 
 penniless in 1 893 ; the next year the 
 Woman's Club was organized, and 
 she was made its president. In 1 897 
 Governor Adams appointed her on 
 the board of charities and correc- 
 tions. When the volunteers of the 
 Spanish-American war went through 
 this city, she was one of those who 
 added to their comfort in various 
 ways. When the earthquake vic- 
 tims from San Francisco came into 
 Denver without clothes or money,
 
 hungry, nerve-shaken and destitute, 
 this royal woman did not content 
 herself with heading a subscription. 
 She went to the union depot and 
 worked and comforted and coun- 
 selled. 
 
 When she was elected president 
 of the General Federation at St. 
 Louis in 1 904, some of her friends 
 urged her not to speak for equal 
 suffrage, which was then as it now 
 is, a burning question in the Federa- 
 tion, but she felt that she wished the 
 women in the Federation to under- 
 stand exactly her position before 
 they chose her to be their leader. 
 She made a great speech, and she 
 was elected by a rousing majority. 
 
 She had many and great gifts, 
 but I think the rarest and the great- 
 est was her splendid common sense. 
 It shone through all that she wrote, 
 and she wrote a great deal, and it 
 was this that made her the most 
 popular of all our women speakers. 
 Without pretense she spoke plainly 
 and simply, and while she appealed 
 to our hearts she appealed to sound 
 judgment at the same time. Her 
 life has been short in years, but long 
 in deeds, and she has left this phase 
 of it crowned in glory and honor. 
 Our loss is irreparable, but those of
 
 us who loved, and love her still, will 
 never cease to be glad that it was 
 our privilege to walk with her a little 
 way, although without her it is hard 
 indeed for us to live up to her brave 
 and cheery motto, "Never frown, 
 never sigh, and keep step." 
 
 rr tr 
 
 The verses in this book are from a 
 number she had cut out and saved, 
 some of them for many years. They 
 are "not from the grand old mas- 
 ters," but stray poems that spoke to 
 her heart and voiced some feeling 
 there. Where possible to learn the 
 author, credit has been given and 
 permission asked to republish the 
 poems, but most of them appeared 
 anonymously, and some of them 
 many years ago. It is believed that 
 they will be read with pleasure for 
 their own beauty as well as because 
 they speak to us of her. 
 
 The poem "Beyond," by Mrs. 
 Wilcox, is reprinted by permission of 
 her publishers, the W. B. Conkey 
 Company ; a n d James Whitcomb 
 Riley's poem "Away," from the 
 book called "Afterwhiles," appears 
 by permission of the Bobbs-Merrill 
 Company.
 
 The first poem is one that I once 
 told her seemed to be peculiarly her 
 own; the second, "How Did You 
 Die?" hung on the wall of her sitting 
 room. In this group are several 
 others that speak of the strict ideal 
 she set for herself. 
 
 In the second group are those that 
 show her attitude toward humanity. 
 The third gives a glimpse of that 
 strong and abiding trust in God that 
 was, I think, the source of her great 
 and unfailing strength, on which so 
 many of us have leaned in years past. 
 And last are some rather remarkable 
 verses that voice the triumphant cer- 
 tainty that death indeed is swallowed 
 up in victory and that Christ is the 
 Lord of the lord of Death.
 
 I. 
 
 PIRITS of old that bore me 
 And set me meek of mind, 
 Between great deeds before 
 me, 
 And deeds as great behind, 
 
 Knowing humanity my star, 
 
 As forth of old I ride, 
 Oh, let me wear with every scar 
 
 Honor at eventide. 
 
 Forethought and recollection 
 
 Rivet mine armor gay, 
 The passion for perfection 
 
 Redeem my falling way. 
 
 Oh, give my youth, my faith, my 
 sword 
 
 Choice of my heart's desire, 
 A short life in the saddle, Lord, 
 
 Not long life by the fire. 
 
 Btft jou it?? 
 
 OID you tackle that trouble 
 that came your way 
 With a resolute heart and 
 cheerful, 
 Or hide your face from the light of 
 
 day 
 With a craven soul and fearful?
 
 Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's 
 
 an ounce, 
 
 Or a trouble is what you make it, 
 And it isn't the fact that you're hurt 
 
 that counts; 
 But only how did you take it? 
 
 You are beaten to earth? Well, 
 
 well, what's that? 
 Come up with a smiling face, 
 It's nothing against you to fall down 
 
 flat, 
 
 But to lie there that's disgrace. 
 The harder you're thrown, why the 
 
 higher you bounce; 
 Be proud of your blackened eye! 
 It isn't the fact that you're licked 
 
 that counts; 
 
 It's how did you fight and 
 why? 
 
 And though you be done to death, 
 
 what then? 
 
 If you battled the best you could, 
 If you played your part in the world 
 
 of men, 
 
 Why The Critic will call it good. 
 Death comes with a crawl, or comes 
 
 with a pounce, 
 
 And whether he's slow or spry, 
 It isn't the fact that you're dead that 
 
 counts, 
 But only how did you die? 
 
 Edmund Vance Cooke. 
 
 12
 
 Noblrasr blup 
 
 IF I am weak and you are 
 strong. 
 
 Why then, why then, 
 To you the braver deeds belong ; 
 
 And so again, 
 
 If you have gifts and I have none, 
 If I have shade and you have sun, 
 'Tis yours with freer hand to live, 
 'Tis yours with truer grace to give, 
 Than I, who giftless, sunless, stand 
 With barren life and hand. 
 
 'Tis wisdom's law, the perfect code 
 
 By love inspired; 
 Of him on whom much is bestowed 
 
 Is much required. 
 The tuneful throat is bid to sing, 
 The oak must reign the forest's 
 
 king; 
 The rustling stream the wheel must 
 
 move, 
 The beaten steel its strength must 
 
 prove, 
 
 'Tis given unto the eagle's eyes 
 To face the mid-day skies.
 
 to IP Strong 
 
 *7 very gooJ /or strength 
 To /?non> i/ia( some one neeJi you to fee 
 strong. 
 
 OME one needs you to be 
 strong," 
 
 Needs you in the fight- 
 
 ing, 
 
 Needs the comforts of your song, 
 Needs your aid against the wrong, 
 Needs your lamp to help along 
 In the dark world's lighting. 
 
 "Some one needs you to be strong," 
 Needs your heart to cheer 
 them, 
 
 Needs the guiding of your hand 
 
 To the better, brighter land. 
 
 Shall they fail in their demand? 
 Wilt thou never hear them ? 
 
 "Some one needs you." O, be 
 
 strong, 
 
 Strong in God's own beauty; 
 Love shall make your labor sweet, 
 Go, your struggling brother meet; 
 God shall make your footsteps fleet, 
 
 In the cause of duty. 
 
 M. L. Haskins.
 
 [Y neighbor met me in the 
 
 street 
 
 She dropped a word of 
 greeting gay, 
 Her look so bright, her tone so 
 
 sweet, 
 I stepped to music all that day. 
 
 The cares that tugged at heart and 
 
 brain, 
 The work too heavy for my 
 
 hand, 
 
 The ceaseless undertone of pain, 
 The tasks I could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 Grew lighter as I walked along 
 With air and step of liberty, 
 
 Freed by the sudden lilt of song, 
 That filled the world with cheer 
 for me. 
 
 Yet was this all? A woman wise, 
 
 Her life enriched by many a year, 
 
 Had faced me with her brave, true 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Passed on, and said, "Good 
 morning, Dear!" 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster.
 
 , 3 (gui>H0! 
 
 IS I happy, honey? Sho! 
 I's too busy, chile, ter know. 
 Got ter git dis washin' out 
 While de sun am lurkin* 'bout; 
 
 Cook de dinner, hoe de co'n. 
 An' ez sho ez you's done bo'n 
 Den I'll hab ter stop agen 
 Ter whip dat pickaninny Ben ; 
 
 Git de goat an' chillun fed, 
 Count 'em ez dey goes ter bed, 
 Teachin' manners while I sews 
 Patches on de ole man's clo'es. 
 
 Sakes alive! I's hustlin' so. 
 'Clar' ter goodness ef I know 
 Ef I's happy or I ain't; 
 Got no time ter make complaint. 
 
 When I's nothin' else ter do 
 I'll set down an* think it thro', 
 But de day ter think an' set 
 Lor' ! dat day ain't got hyah yet.
 
 Sg Strong 
 
 strong ! 
 We are not here to play, to 
 
 dream, to drift; 
 We have hard work to do, and 
 
 loads to lift; 
 
 Shun not the struggle face it; 'tis 
 God's gift 
 
 Be strong ! 
 Say not "The days are evil. Who's 
 
 to blame," 
 And fold the hands and acquiesce 
 
 oh, shame! 
 Stand up, speak out, and bravely, 
 
 in God's name. 
 
 Be strong ! 
 It matters not how deep intrenched 
 
 the wrong, 
 How hard the battle goes, the day 
 
 how long; 
 Faint not fight on. Tomorrow 
 
 comes the song. 
 
 Cora M. Eager.
 
 II. 
 
 silence we keep year 
 after year, 
 
 With those who are most 
 near to us and dear; 
 We live beside each other day by 
 
 day, 
 And speak of myriad things, but 
 
 seldom say 
 The full, sweet word that lies just 
 
 in our reach, 
 
 Beneath the commonplace of com- 
 mon speech. 
 
 Then out of sight and out of reach 
 
 they go 
 These close, familiar friends who 
 
 loved us so; 
 And sitting in the shadow they have 
 
 left, 
 Alone with loneliness and sore be- 
 
 reft, 
 We think with vain regret of some 
 
 fond word 
 That once we might have said and 
 
 they have heard. 
 
 For weak and poor the love that we 
 
 expressed 
 Now seems beside the vast sweet un- 
 
 confessed ;
 
 And slight the deeds we did to 
 those undone, 
 
 And small the service spent to treas- 
 ure won, 
 
 And undeserved the praise for word 
 and deed, 
 
 That should have overflowed the 
 simple need. 
 
 This is the cruel cross of life to be 
 FulJ-visioned only when the ministry 
 Of death has been fulfilled, and in 
 
 the place 
 Of some dear presence is but empty 
 
 space. 
 
 What recollected services can then 
 Give consolation- for the "might have 
 
 been?" 
 
 SAGGED, uncomely, and old 
 Jl and gray, 
 
 A woman walked in a north- 
 ern town; 
 And through the crowd as she 
 
 wound her way, 
 One saw her loiter, and then 
 
 stoop down, 
 
 Putting something away in her 
 old, torn gown.
 
 "You are hiding a jewel," the 
 
 watcher said. 
 (Ah, that was her heart, had the 
 
 truth been read) ; 
 "What have you stolen?" he asked 
 
 again. 
 
 Then the dim eyes filled with a sud- 
 den pain; 
 And under the flickering light of the 
 
 gas. 
 She showed him her gleaning. "It's 
 
 broken glass," 
 She said. "I hae lifted it up frae 
 
 the street. 
 To be oot o* the road o* the bair- 
 
 nies' feet. 
 
 Under the fluttering rags astir 
 That was a royal heart that beat! 
 
 Would that the world had more like 
 ^ her. 
 
 Smoothing the road for the bair- 
 nies' feet. -will H.Ogihie. 
 
 ppurtimitg 
 
 I beheld or dreamed it 
 in a dream; 
 
 There spread a cloud of dust 
 along the plain. 
 
 And underneath the cloud, or in it 
 raged
 
 A furious battle, and men yelled. 
 
 and swords 
 Shocked upon swords and shields. 
 
 A prince's banner 
 Wavered, then staggered forward, 
 
 hemmed by foes. 
 
 A craven hung along the battle's 
 
 edge 
 And thought, "Had I a sword of 
 
 keener steel 
 That blue blade that the king's son 
 
 bears but this 
 Blunt thing!" he snapped and flung 
 
 it from his hand. 
 And Iowering crept away and left 
 
 the field. 
 
 Then came the king's son wound- 
 ed, sore bestead 
 
 And weaponless and saw the 
 broken sword, 
 
 Hilt buried in the dry and trodden 
 sand, 
 
 And ran and snatched it, and with 
 battle shout 
 
 Lifted afresh, he hewed the enemy 
 down, 
 
 And saved a great cause that heroic 
 day. 
 
 Edward Rrwland Sill.
 
 QOW open the gate and let 
 her in, 
 
 And fling it wide, 
 For she hath been cleansed from 
 stain of sin," 
 
 St. Peter cried. 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 "Though I am cleansed from stain 
 of sin," 
 
 She answered low, 
 "I come not hither to enter in, 
 
 Nor may I go." 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 "But I may not enter there," she 
 said; 
 
 "For I must go 
 
 Across the gulf where the guilty 
 dead 
 
 Lie in their woe." 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 "If I enter heaven I may not speak 
 My soul's desire 
 
 For them that are lying distraught 
 and weak 
 
 In flaming fire." 
 
 And the angels all were silent.
 
 "Should I be nearer Christ," she 
 said, 
 
 "By pitying less 
 The sinful living or woeful dead 
 
 In their helplessness?" 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 "Should I be liker Christ were I 
 To love no more 
 
 The loved, who in their anguish lie 
 Outside the door?" 
 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 "Should I be liker, nearer Him, 
 Forgetting this 
 
 Singing all day the seraphim 
 In selfish bliss?" 
 
 And the angels all were silent. 
 
 New Tork Tribune. 
 
 gf tfr 
 
 E massa ob de sheepfol' 
 Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, 
 Look out in de gloomerin' 
 meadows 
 Whar de long night rain begin 
 So he call to de hirelin* shepa'd, 
 Is my sheep, is dey all come in?
 
 Oh, den says de hirelin* shepa'd, 
 Dey's some, dey's black and thin, 
 And some, dey's po' ol* wedda's. 
 But de res', dey's all brung in, 
 But de res', dey's all brung in. 
 
 Den de massa ob de sheepfol' 
 Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, 
 Goes down in de gloomerin* mead- 
 ows, 
 
 Whar de long night rain begin 
 So he let down de ba's ob de sheep- 
 fol', ^ 
 
 Calh'n* sof. Come in, Come in, 
 Callin* sof. Come in, Come in! 
 
 Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' mead- 
 ows, 
 
 T'ro' de col' night rain and win'. 
 And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf 
 Whar de sleet fa' pie'cin* thin, 
 De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', 
 Dey all comes gadderin' in. 
 De po' los* sheep ob de sheepfol', 
 Dey all comes gadderin' in. 
 
 Sarah Pratt McL. Greene. 
 
 PRAY Thee, Lord, that 
 
 when it comes to me 
 To say if I will follow 
 Truth and Thee, 
 
 24
 
 Or choose instead to win as better 
 worth 
 
 My pains, some cloying recompense 
 of earth, 
 
 Guard me, great Father, from a 
 hard-fought field, 
 
 Forespent and bruised, upon a bat- 
 tered shield, 
 
 Home to obscure endurance to be 
 borne 
 
 Rather than live my own mean gains 
 to scorn. 
 
 Far better with face turned towards 
 the goal, 
 
 At one with wisdom and my own 
 worn soul, 
 
 Than ever come to see myself pre- 
 vail, 
 
 When to succeed at last is but to 
 fail. 
 
 Mean ends to win and therewith be 
 
 content 
 Save me from that! Direct Thou 
 
 the event 
 As suits Thy will; where'er the 
 
 prizes go, 
 Grant me the struggle, that my soul 
 
 may grow. 
 
 Edward Sandford Martin.
 
 HE left a load of anthracite 
 In front of a poor widow's 
 I 
 
 door, 
 When the deep snow, frozen and 
 
 white. 
 
 Wrapped street and square, 
 mountain and moor. 
 
 That was his deed ; 
 He did it well; 
 "What was his creed?" 
 I cannot tell. 
 
 Blessed "in his basket and his 
 
 M 
 
 store, 
 
 In sitting down and rising up; 
 When more he got he gave the more, 
 Withholding not the crust and 
 cup. 
 
 He took the lead 
 
 In each good task. 
 "What was his creed?" 
 I did not ask. 
 
 His charity was like the snow. 
 
 Soft, white, and silent in its fall; 
 Not like the noisy winds that blow 
 From shivering trees the leaves 
 a-pall 
 
 For flower and weed, 
 
 Dropping below. 
 "What was his creed?" 
 The poor may know.
 
 He had great faith in loaves of 
 
 bread 
 For hungry people, young and 
 
 old; 
 And hope-inspired, kind words he 
 
 said 
 
 To those he sheltered from the 
 cold. 
 
 For we must feed, 
 
 As well as pray. 
 "What was his creed?" 
 I cannot say. 
 
 In works he did not put his trust, 
 A His faith in words he never writ; 
 
 * He loved to share his cup and crust 
 With all mankind who needed it. 
 In time of need 
 
 A friend was he. 
 "What was his creed?" 
 He told not me. 
 
 He put his trust in heaven, and he 
 Worked well with hand and 
 
 head; 
 
 And what he gave in charity 
 Sweetened his sleep and daily 
 bread. 
 
 Let us take heed. 
 
 For life is brief. 
 "What was his creed?" 
 "What his belief?" 
 
 27
 
 III. 
 
 gltofr 
 
 k HE day is long, and the day 
 
 is hard, 
 We are tired of the march 
 
 and of keeping guard; 
 Tired of the sense of a fight to be 
 
 won, 
 Of days to live through and of work 
 
 to be done; 
 Tired of ourselves and of being 
 
 alone, 
 
 Yet all the while, did we only see, 
 We walk in the Lord's own com- 
 pany; 
 We fight, but 'tis He who nerves 
 
 our arm, 
 He turns the arrow that else might 
 
 harm, 
 And out of the storm He brings a 
 
 calm; 
 And the work that we count so hard 
 
 to do, 
 He makes it easy, for He works 
 
 too; 
 And the days that seem long to live 
 
 are His, 
 
 A bit of His bright eternities ; 
 So close to our need His helping is. 
 
 Susan Coolidge. 
 
 28
 
 E still, just now, be still! 
 Something thy soul has never 
 
 heard, 
 Something unknown to any song 
 
 of bird, 
 Something unknown to wind, or 
 
 wave, or star, 
 A message from the fatherland 
 
 afar, 
 That with sweet joy the home-sick 
 
 soul shall thrill, 
 
 Cometh to thee if thou canst but be 
 still. 
 
 Be still, just now, be still ! 
 
 And know that I that speak, I 
 
 am thy God. 
 The lonely vale of sorrow I have 
 
 trod, 
 I know it all; I know it and can 
 
 feel 
 Thy spirit's pain, but I that pain 
 
 can heal. 
 Thou never yet hast proved my 
 
 wondrous skill; 
 
 Hush! I will speak if thou wilt but 
 be still. 
 
 Be still, just now, be still ! 
 
 There comes a Presence, very 
 mild and sweet;
 
 White are the sandals on the 
 
 noiseless feet. 
 It is the Comforter whom Jesus 
 
 sent 
 To teach thee all the words He 
 
 uttered meant. 
 The waiting, willing spirit He doth 
 
 fill; 
 If thou would'st hear His message, 
 
 soul, be still. 
 
 30
 
 IV. 
 
 O 
 
 YING eyes, what do ye 
 
 see? 
 
 I see the love that holdeth 
 me; 
 The look that, lighting, leans to 
 
 bless, 
 The little daily tenderness; 
 
 Smiles without words; the sweet, 
 
 sure sign 
 
 Which says in silence, I am thine. 
 Returning feet met at the door 
 Alas, for those which run no more! 
 Ah, me, for lips that whispered, 
 
 "Dear! 
 Earth is all heaven, for thou art 
 
 here." 
 
 I see a figure like a stone; 
 The house where one sits on alone. 
 O, God, have pity! for I see 
 The desolated needing me. 
 
 Dying eyes, what do ye see? 
 I see the Love that taketh me. 
 Loud in the breakers, soft in song, 
 Ever the summons calleth strong. 
 I see upon an unknown strand 
 The signal of a distant Hand. 
 The leaf is light, the bud is out.
 
 Floods of May colors float about 
 The pulse leaps high, the heart is 
 
 young, 
 
 The sweetest chimes are yet unrung. 
 My bravest deeds I never did; 
 And struggling with the coffin lid, 
 Hopes, dreams and joys, and happy 
 
 tears 
 Start, throbbing, to live down the 
 
 years. 
 
 Almighty! Listen! I am dust, 
 Yet spirit am I; so I trust. 
 Let come what may of life or death, 
 I trust Thee with my sinking breath ; 
 I trust Thee, though I see Thee not 
 In heaven, or earth, or any spot. 
 I trust Thee till I shall know why 
 There's one to live and one to die. 
 I trust Thee till Thyself shall prove 
 Thee Lord of life and death and 
 love. 
 
 Elisabeth Stewart Phelps. 
 
 ESIDE the dead I knelt for 
 
 prayer, 
 
 And felt a presence as I 
 prayed ; 
 
 Lo! it was Jesus standing there. 
 He smiled: "Be not afraid!"
 
 "Lord, Thou hast conquered death, 
 we know; 
 
 Restore again to life," I said, 
 "This one who died an hour ago." 
 
 He smiled: "She is not dead!" 
 
 "Asleep, then, as Thyself didst say, 
 Yet Thou canst lift the lids that 
 
 keep 
 
 Her prisoned eyes from ours away." 
 He smiled: "She doth not 
 sleep!" 
 
 "Nay, then, tho' haply she do wake, 
 And look upon some fairer dawn, 
 
 Restore her to our hearts that ache." 
 He smiled: "She is not gone!" 
 
 "Alas! Too well we know our loss, 
 Nor hope again our joy to touch 
 
 Until the stream of death we cross." 
 He smiled: "There is no such!" 
 
 "Yet our beloved seem so far, 
 The while we yearn to feel them 
 near, 
 
 Albeit with Thee we trust they are." 
 He smiled: "And I am here." 
 
 "Dear Lord, how shall we know 
 
 that they 
 Still walk unseen with us and 
 
 Thee, 
 
 Nor sleep, nor wander far away?" 
 He smiled: "Abide in me!" 
 
 Rossiter Raymond.
 
 IT seemeth such a little way 
 to me 
 
 Across to that strange coun- 
 try, the Beyond, 
 And yet not strange, for it has 
 
 grown to be 
 The home of those of whom I am 
 
 so fond. 
 They make it seem familiar and 
 
 most dear, 
 
 As journeying friends bring distant 
 countries near. 
 
 So close it lies that when my sight 
 
 is clear 
 
 I think I see the gleaming strand. 
 I know, I feel that those who've 
 
 gone from here 
 Come near enough to touch my 
 
 hand. 
 
 I often think but for our veiled eyes 
 We should find Heaven right 'round 
 
 us lies. 
 
 I cannot make it seem a day to 
 
 dread 
 When from this dear earth I shall 
 
 journey out 
 To that still dearer country of the 
 
 dead
 
 And join the lost ones so long 
 
 dreamed about. 
 I love this world, yet shall I love 
 
 to go 
 And meet the friends who wait for 
 
 me, I know. 
 
 And so for me there is no sting to 
 
 death, 
 
 And so the grave has lost its vic- 
 tory. 
 
 It is but crossing, with abated 
 
 breath 
 
 And white, set face, a little strip 
 of sea, 
 
 To find the loved ones waiting on 
 the shore. 
 
 More beautiful, more precious than 
 before. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 CANNOT say, and I will 
 
 not say 
 
 That he is dead he is just 
 away! 
 
 With a cheery smile and a wave of 
 
 the hand 
 He has wandered into an unknown 
 
 land,
 
 And left us dreaming how very fair 
 It needs must be, since he lingers 
 there. 
 
 And you O you who the wildest 
 
 yearn 
 For the old-time step and the glad 
 
 return 
 
 Think of him faring on, as dear 
 In the love of There as the love of 
 Here. 
 
 And loyal still, as he gave the blows 
 Of his warrior strength to his coun- 
 try's foes 
 
 Mild and gentle, as he was brave 
 When the sweetest love of his life 
 he gave 
 
 To simple things: Where the violets 
 
 grew, 
 Pure as the eyes they were likened 
 
 to. 
 
 The touches of his hands have 
 
 strayed 
 As reverently as the lips have 
 
 prayed; 
 
 When the little brown thrush that 
 harshly chirred 
 
 Was dear to him as the mocking- 
 bird;
 
 And he pitied as much as a man in 
 
 pain 
 A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. 
 
 Think of him still the same, I say ; 
 He is not dead he is just away! 
 Riley. 
 
 [AYING "There is no hope," 
 
 he stepped 
 
 A little from our side and 
 passed 
 
 To hope eternal. At the last 
 Crying "There is no rest," he slept. 
 
 A sweeter spirit ne'er drew breath; 
 Strange grew the chill upon the 
 
 air. 
 But as he murmured "This is 
 
 death." 
 
 Lo! life itself did meet him 
 there. 
 
 He loved the will ; he did the deed ; 
 Such love shall live; such doubt 
 
 is dust; 
 He served the truth; he missed the 
 
 creed. 
 
 Trust him to God. Dear is the 
 trust. 
 
 Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.
 
 g>tutg of ikatfr 
 
 she reached the gates 
 of the Heavenly City, 
 She turned in pity 
 Whence she had fled; 
 Forgetting the gleam of her glad 
 
 to-morrow, 
 She saw the sorrow 
 For one just dead. 
 She could not hear the song celes- 
 
 tial, 
 
 The cry terrestrial 
 Had closed her ears ; 
 She could not see through the shin- 
 
 ing portal, 
 For eyes still mortal 
 And blind with tears. 
 
 She sighed, "Could we go to those 
 
 left lonely, 
 Ah, could we only 
 But speak one word! 
 How all life's grief and its heavy 
 
 burden 
 
 Might turn to guerdon, 
 Could we be heard. 
 Could we but say to the heavy- 
 
 hearted 
 
 In anguish parted 
 From all most dear,
 
 'Fear not, beloved, I could not leave 
 
 thee, 
 
 'Twould too much grieve me, 
 I still am here.' 
 
 'Not in the farthest, the highest 
 
 heaven 
 
 To mortals given 
 Can we forget; 
 For those whom we love, on radiant 
 
 faces, 
 
 In heavenly places, 
 The tears are wet ; 
 And we who on earth have gar- 
 nered treasure. 
 Beyond all measure 
 Return to earth; 
 Drawn by the love that held and 
 
 bound us 
 
 Since first it found us, 
 And gave life worth. 
 
 'Think not that the river of death 
 
 dull streaming 
 Drowns all our dreaming, 
 Its waves beneath, 
 Nor that in the dim and shadowy 
 
 valley 
 
 There ever rally 
 The waves of Lethe. 
 Think not that the grave has power 
 
 to sever 
 True hearts forever.
 
 Or that its sting 
 
 Is all for the ones left broken- 
 hearted 
 
 By those who've parted 
 On angel wing. 
 
 'The sting of death is the loves that 
 
 doubt us 
 
 And try without us 
 Their load to bear ; 
 As if, being dead, we should no 
 
 more love them 
 Or bend above them 
 Their tears to share; 
 Until, at last, by their doubting 
 
 driven, 
 
 We turn to heaven 
 To find relief, 
 Where a thousand years like a day 
 
 are fleeting 
 
 And loved ones meeting, 
 Forget their grief." 
 
 Ellis Meredith. 
 
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