Illustrated 
 Edition. 
 
 GOPVaiGHT, 
 
 insoane, a^uj,
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 .-jM
 
 Alfred Midgley.
 
 special Subscription Edition, 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 Edited by E. W. H. FOWLES, MA., LL.B, 
 Author of ''Melbourne Fourth," " Iterate Curtiis," 
 " The Worker$' Compensation Act of 1905," tic. 
 
 Wholesale PuhlisJ:er$ : 
 W. R. Smith & Paterson, Brisbane. 
 
 BRISBANE: 
 
 R. G. Gillies, General Printer, 
 
 III QUEEN STREET.
 
 PR 
 H/f.3 
 
 MSW7 
 /?oS 
 
 Mv 5ifar mi(e anD ©HlHren. 
 
 1482588
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Poems of Democracy— 
 
 "How Much Owest 
 
 Thou?" 
 " What is Your Life ? " .. 
 The Talents 
 " Harden Not Your 
 
 Hearts" 
 "Aim High" .. 
 The Miser 
 The Conclusion . . 
 
 Personal Poems — 
 
 Barnardo . . 
 
 Beethoven 
 
 In Memoriam, W. H. 
 
 Browne 
 A Living Witness 
 A Daughter of Dorcas . . 
 Jacob 
 
 Poems on Religion — 
 
 Dawn's Message . . 
 
 In the Quarry . . . . 
 
 In the Vineyard . . . . 
 
 " I will Fear no Evil " .. 
 
 Restoring the Soul 
 
 " Eich in Mercy ; Eeady 
 
 to Forgive " 
 Eighteousness, Peace, and 
 
 Joy 
 The Celestial Zion 
 The Compensation 
 The Emmaus Journey . . 
 The Still SmRll Voice . . 
 Where Gcd Speaks 
 Yesterday, To-day, and 
 
 For Ever 
 " When Deep Sleep Fall- 
 
 eth on Men " . . 
 Holy Ground 
 God over All, Blessed for 
 
 Evermore 
 
 Notes to the Poems 
 
 Page 
 From Carmel to the Cave 95 
 Dedication .. ..96 
 
 " The Master is Come and 
 
 Calleth for Thee " .. 97 
 Just Speak a Word for Me 98 
 Our Father . . . . 98 
 
 Poems fot Recitation — 
 
 An Army Strategist . . 99 
 A Song of Threepence . . 101 
 Dickey and I . . . . 102 
 
 Felix 103 
 
 The Pilgrim and the 
 
 Shrine 104 
 
 Good Night and Good 
 
 Morning . . . . 105 
 
 Unequally Yoked . . 106 
 
 Hanging Judges. . .. 107 
 
 Mr. Michael Maloney .. 109 
 The Churl .. ..Ill 
 
 Too Good .. ..115 
 
 Watchmen, What of the 
 
 Night ? 118 
 
 The Old Village Church 119 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems — 
 
 A Dead Calm . . . . 121 
 Spes Non Fracta.. .. 122 
 Oh ! Could I but Live 
 
 O'er Again . . . . 122 
 
 The Snowstorm.. .. 123 
 Scarborough . . . . 123 
 
 Winter 125 
 
 Appi eolations . . . . 126 
 Old Letters .. ..127 
 
 Their Native Village . . 128 
 
 iEolus 130 
 
 Death of John Hampden 131 
 Election of the King's 
 
 Standard at Nottingham 132 
 The Talking Gum . . 134 
 
 .. 140-150 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 Alfred Midgley Frontispiece 
 
 " The Canopy O'erhead " .. 19 
 " The Sylvan Nook ". . .. 21 
 "To City Wharves" .. ..27 
 " He Puts in a Bit of Maize " 38 
 "A Pretty Cottage Away Back" 39 
 
 "War" 
 
 Exhibition Hall 
 
 " And Onward Eolls " 
 
 " The Team was Fresh " 
 
 " Then Came New Sounds " 
 
 49 
 53 
 55 
 67 
 136
 
 Note by the Publishing Committee, 
 
 The movement towards the pubUcation of this work 
 began in the strong conviction of the hon, secretary of 
 the Committee that it was highly desirable that Mr. 
 Midgley's poems should be published in book form. On 
 mentioning the matter to several Hterary friends the 
 secretary was encouraged to attempt an organised effort 
 to accomplish this object. 
 
 Through response to circular sent out by Committee, 
 and other efforts, it has been possible to publish an 
 illustrated edition of i,ooo copies, which, after sub- 
 scribers have been supplied, leaves the remainder for sale 
 to the public at subscription price. 
 
 There are many friends of Mr. Midgley who will 
 be glad to have a pleasing volume of his poems in their 
 hands. There are many who, though not knowing him 
 personally, have been helped by his writings which have 
 appeared in the Press of Queensland and elsewhere. 
 They will be glad to possess, in an attractive form, a 
 collection of his verses. Serious illness has for some 
 time rendered Mr. Midgley unable to do any physical 
 work, even that of writing ; the Committee hope that 
 this volume will not only be a permanent delight to its 
 author and its readers, but that its publication will result 
 in tangible profit to one whose present circumstances 
 call for practical sympathy. 
 
 For the generous, and whole-hearted interest and 
 assistance of those who have helped to carry the move- 
 ment to its present issue, the Committee feel deeply 
 grateful, and much more especially to the honorary 
 editor of these poems, whose work has so largely con- 
 tributed to realizing the Committee's hopes. 
 
 In securing for Mr. IMidgley's poems a place in the 
 book literature of Australia, and in the knowledge that 
 the work is one which will have, and only can have, a 
 good influence upon the minds of those who read it, the 
 Committee have the satisfaction of feeling that their 
 project has not been in vain. 
 
 Kev. W. Little, Ch.urman. I J. J. Allison, Esq. 
 
 Hon. T. M. Hall, M.L.C. T. G. Dewar, Esq., Hon. Treas. 
 
 John Moffatt, Esq. | Kev. J. S. Pollock, Hon. Sec. 
 
 Henry Cooling, Esq. (
 
 List of Original Subscribers* 
 
 vola. 
 His Excellency Lord Chelms- 
 ford . . . . • . 4 
 
 Atthovv, J. F., Esq. .. i 
 
 Atthow, C. Esq i 
 
 Andrews, R., Esq. .. i 
 
 Archibald. Mrs. John . . 3 
 
 Bath, Rev. W. S. .. 
 Bourne, J. G. , Esq. 
 
 Bell, J. R., Esq i 
 
 Berry, J., Esq. . . . . i 
 
 Brisbane School of Arts 
 Barter, Miss 
 Burton, Mrs. .. 
 
 Bowes, Rev. J. 
 Baker, Rev. W. P. . . i 
 
 Brooks, S. W., Esq. .. i 
 
 Brown, Rev. W. P. . . i 
 
 Cribb, J. G., Esq , M.L.A. i 
 Cribb, T. B., Esq i 
 
 Clifton School of Arts .. t 
 Cooling, H., Esq. .. ..2 
 
 Culpin, Dr. .. .. ..4 
 
 Cooktown School of Arts., i 
 Carseldine, A. W., Esq. . . i 
 Collins, Captain .. .. i 
 
 Collings, J. S., Esq. .. 2 
 
 Castlehow, Rev. ., ..2 
 Cooling, A. J., Esq. .. i 
 
 Denham, Hon. D. F. . . 2 
 
 Dalby School of Arts , . i 
 Dean, J., Esq. . . ..4 
 
 Davis, W. H , Esq. .. i 
 
 Dale, Rev i 
 
 Dewar, T. G., Esq. .. 2 
 
 Edwards, Hon. R., M.H.R 2 
 Evans, Mrs. . . . . i 
 
 Fletcher, C 
 
 Finlayson, M. 
 
 Gregory, E. B., Esq. 
 Greenham, Dr. 
 Gibson, Hon. A., M.L.C. 
 Gall, G., Esq. 
 Guttormsen, J., Esq. 
 Grimes, Mrs. W. D. 
 Geddes, J., Esq. 
 Grindle, Mrs, 
 Gillies, R. G., Esq. 
 
 Hall, Hon. T. M., M.L.C. 
 Holmes, Mrs. . . . 
 
 Hunter, A. J., Esq. 
 Husham, J. Esq, . . 
 Hay. James G., Esq. 
 Hutchison, Captain J. 
 
 Jarrott, W., Esq. 
 Jones, J, L. Esq. 
 Jones, D., Esq. 
 Jones, Rev. T. 
 Jones, D., Esq. 
 
 Kidston, Hon. W., M.L.A, 
 
 Lowndes, Rev. Selby 
 Lees, Wm. . . 
 
 Little, Rev. W 
 
 Lilley, Rev. O 
 
 McGregor, J. G., Esq. 
 Morcom, W. N., Esq. 
 Morrow, Thomas, Esq. .. 
 McLeod, A. R., Esq. 
 Midgley, H., Esq. 
 
 Mickel, E., Esq 
 
 Matthewson, Thomas, Esq. 
 Merry, G. P., Esq. 
 Moffatt, J. C, Esq. 
 
 vols.
 
 List of Original Subscribers — continued. 
 
 Moffatt, John, Esq. 
 Moffatt, William, Esq. 
 McKenzie, J., Esq. 
 Matthews, — ., Esq. 
 McCullagh, Fanny, Esq. 
 Moss, W. J., Esq 
 McConnell. D. R., Esq. 
 
 Nosworthy, Miss . . 
 
 Outridge, A. H., Esq. 
 
 Pickard, J. H., Esq. 
 Payne, W. M., Esq. 
 Petty, J. H. Esq. .. 
 Pollock, R. D . Esq. 
 Pollock, Rev. J. S. 
 
 Queale, R., Esq. .. 
 
 Robinson, W., Esq. 
 Robinson, W. H., Esq. 
 Robinson, W. B,, Esq. 
 Robinson, Mrs. W. 
 
 vols. 
 
 vols. 
 Richardson, Mrs. 
 Richardson, C. T., Esq. 
 Renton, James, Esq. 
 
 Summerlin, L., Esq, 
 Stevens, Hon. E. J., M.L.C. i 
 Sumner, R., Esq., M.L.A. 4 
 Stevens, Rev. W. J. 
 
 Taudevin, W. H. . . 
 Taudevin, S. R. N. 
 Thallon, J. P., Esq. ,. 2 
 
 Taylor, Rev. W. G. . . 2 
 
 Williams, J. O., Esq. .. i 
 
 White, Lucy F i 
 
 Wetherell, C, Esq. .. i 
 Watson, T. F., Esq. 
 
 Woodward, W., Esq. ,. i 
 
 Westacott, R., Esq. .. 2 
 
 Wagner, A., Esq. .. i 
 White, T. J., Esq. 
 
 Yangan School of Arts
 
 The Poet and His Works* 
 
 Biographical Sketch* 
 
 Alfred Midgley, the author of this collection of 
 miscellaneous poems, is a native of Yorkshire. He was 
 born in Leeds, 24th February, 1849. His father and 
 mother were natives of the same town. With the ex- 
 ception of three years of his childhood, spent at a village 
 boarding-school, nearly the whole of the first twenty-one 
 years of his life was spent in Leeds. Some of the inci- 
 dents of his early years at the village school are described 
 in the verses entitled, " Their Native Village." He 
 received a fair education at several private schools in 
 Leeds, chiefly in Oxford Place Academy, the principal 
 of which was J. K. Dall, B.A. After leaving school 
 he served an apprenticeship with Messrs. Hudswell and 
 Clarke, a firm of engineers. At 16 years of age he became a 
 member of the Wesleyan Methodist Church. His career 
 as a public speaker commenced at the early age of 18. 
 Then he became a local preacher, and his fluent addresses 
 and very boyish appearance made him rather popular in 
 the surrounding villages. 
 
 In 1869 he read some pamphlets describing Queens- 
 land as a desirable place for emigrants. Trade was dull, 
 prospects unsatisfactory, the remaining ties of relation- 
 ship in the old country were few, and so he decided to 
 come out to Queensland. He voyaged to Moreton Bay 
 on the ship " Storm King," and landed in Brisbane in 
 January, 1870. A short time afterwards he obtained 
 employment at his trade in Rockhampton. 
 
 While there he offered himself as a candidate for 
 the ministry of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of Aus- 
 tralia, and was accepted. His first appointment was the 
 Ipswich Circuit in 1871, v/here he spent two years. His 
 next ministry was for three years in the Toowoomba
 
 II 
 
 Circuit. While in Toowoomba he married Miss Sarah 
 EHzabeth Vowles, of Newtown, Ipswich. She fell a 
 victim to consumption eleven years afterwards, leaving 
 a son and daughter. In 1876 he was appointed to the 
 Albert Street Circuit, Brisbane. During the third year 
 of his ministry there he resigned his position as a 
 Wesleyan minister. 
 
 Having obtained a lease of three years of the right 
 to sell produce by auction at the railway siding, Roma 
 street, Brisbane, he entered on business life and con- 
 tinued in it until 1887. Financial difficulties then over- 
 took him, and from that time till 1902 he was in the 
 employ of several produce firms. 
 
 In 1883 he was elected M.L.A. for Fassifern. In 
 1898 he contested unsuccessfully the Bulimba electorate 
 as a Labour candidate. 
 
 In 1873 he published a small volume of poems ; 
 and in 1888 compiled, by the authority of the Lands 
 Department, a handbook on Queensland for distribution 
 in England. 
 
 In 1886 he married his present wife, \vho was Miss 
 Sarah Ellen Baron, of Brisbane. There are t\vo sons 
 and four daughters by this marriage. 
 
 About six years ago there appeared in his right 
 hand the first symptoms of the malady from which he is 
 now suffering. He has had no stroke ; but a creeping 
 paralysis has gradually almost deprived him of the use 
 of his limbs. The loving care and ministration of his 
 wife and children are with him in these months of 
 affliction ; they enable him to bear with cheerful patience 
 the frailties of the flesh, while his Christian faiih still 
 makes " the will of God his utmost choice." 
 
 His Writings, 
 
 In the preface to his first volume of poems (pub- 
 lished in Toowoomba, 1873) he tells us why he writes 
 and whose praise he sets out to win. It is fairer to 
 judge him by this aim than by any fine standard of 
 " poetry " : —
 
 12 
 
 Few mighty deeds my rhymes record, 
 Of men who loved to use the sword, 
 Or beings of mystic, classic name, 
 Of doubtful deeds and doubtful fame — 
 Such things for me had ne'er much charm, 
 
 And may not ever ; 
 I'd rather make your hearts feel warm, 
 
 Than make them shiver. 
 
 The pure and good I'll strive to praise. 
 The drooping soul I'll try to raise, 
 By means which my own soul can feel — 
 The cheering word, the kind appeal — 
 With simple truths as simply told, 
 
 Thus touch the human 
 That lives in breasts of young and old, 
 
 Of man and woman. 
 
 The world's applause ? I ask it not, 
 
 I'm well contented with my lot ! — 
 
 To please the few who know and love me. 
 
 And serve the God who rules above me — 
 
 In these two things my pleasure's blended — 
 
 Much gain in giving. 
 And all through life, till it is ended, 
 
 Much joy in living. 
 
 Among his earlier poems, written in England, is 
 ■''Ruth," a story of a loving heart — 
 
 " Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew 
 She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven." 
 
 *' Helen Young," an English Christmas story, was 
 written partly in England, partly in Queensland. It is 
 a poem of over 800 lines. As an early effort it shows 
 considerable power of dramatic description. A brief 
 quotation will serve to illustrate the style : — 
 
 They reached the Moor, and near the quarries drew ; 
 
 Some clouds had gathered and a bleak wind blew ; 
 
 Donald was thinking of his gentle bride. 
 
 And she leaned wearily at Donald's side. 
 
 When near the quarries, driving with good heed, 
 
 He drew his reins and checked the eager steed ;
 
 13 
 
 They past the first ; between it and the last, 
 Close by the road, a pile of stones was cast — 
 The broken fragments from the works below, 
 But looming now like pyramid of snow. 
 And watching from the sheltering shade of these, 
 One waiting stood, and when the light he sees, 
 Out in a moment, cat-like forth he leapt. 
 Muffled and tall before the horse he stepped, 
 No threat he used, he made no lawless claim, 
 But raised his arm, with sure, deliberate aim, 
 And speaking not, pointed at Donald's head — 
 A flash — a cry — and the unerring lead 
 Laid Donald lifeless on the blood-stained earth ! 
 
 Mr. Midgley was once asked to write two additional 
 verses to the well-known song, " Thy voice is near me in 
 my dreams " In sweet harmony with the spirit of the 
 original he soon wrote : — 
 
 The whisper of thy trusting love, that sweet low voice of thine — 
 When first I pressed thee to my heart and fondly called thee mine ! 
 I hear it still, though years have fled, distinctly as of yore ! 
 I cannot think of thee as dead, but only " gone before." 
 
 Thou wert too fair, by far, for earth ! God called thee home to 
 
 heaven 1 
 The angels wondered such a flower to this bleak world was given I 
 But oft I feel thy spirit near, and still I follow thee ; 
 I hope again thy voice to hear — thy radiant face to see. 
 
 He is no pessimist. Hark to his cheerful stirring 
 notes in such poems as " Watchmen, what of the night ? " 
 (ist vol. published 1873, P- 5^ '■> reprinted ki this volume, 
 at page 118). 
 
 He wrote some " Lays and Ballads of the Protect- 
 orate," taking as his themes the detention of the emigrant 
 ship, the erection of the King's standard at Nottingham 
 (Aug. 23, 1642), and incidents in the battles of those 
 days. "The Death of John Hampden" (see p. 131), 
 shows his sympathetic reading of history. 
 
 " Observations of an Observatory," an interesting 
 poem of twenty verses, appeared in the Boomeraivj (an 
 erstwhile Queensland newspaper). The Brisbane Obser- 
 vatory was originally a tread mill, built in convict days by 
 convict labour. For many years a gun v/as fired from it
 
 14 
 
 every day at i o'clock. Mr. Midgley's lines were written 
 shortly after the firing of the gun had been discontinued, 
 and they offer quaint comment on the rapid changes in 
 " men and things." *• The Bird of Paradise," is a poem 
 founded on a Swedish legend. " A Dream of Earth and 
 Heaven," is an allegory of much force and inight. Most 
 of these poems appeared in Mr. Midgley's first volume, 
 and it has not been thought necessary to repeat them 
 here. The poems of this volume include the best of his 
 more mature efforts, and so much of his earlier verses as 
 considerations of length and literary merit would allow. 
 
 The Editor has added (pp. 140-150) a few notes to 
 the text, in the hope that they will be of service to some 
 readers.
 
 PO_EMS. 
 
 I. — ^citriatic 
 
 OJuccnslanb. 
 
 Whence this wondrous transformation ? 
 
 Till of late a silent shore, 
 Now the home of a young nation, 
 
 Growing stronger evermore ; 
 Busy streets, retreats of leisure, 
 
 Solid, shapely homes of men. 
 Fanes of worship, haunts of pleasure, 
 
 Wondrous contrast — now, and then ! 
 
 Spacious wharves, where ships of nations 
 
 Go and come by night and day ; 
 Wealth of mines, plains, and plantations - 
 
 Where as yesterday were they ? 
 All this loveliness was wasted. 
 
 All this world of wealth unknown, 
 Stored up bounty all untasted. 
 
 Treasure-trove to England thrown. 
 
 Where are skies more blue and sunny ? 
 
 Where such varied wealth and vast ? 
 Land of corn, and wine, and honey, 
 
 By no land on earth surpassed ; 
 Throwing ofT each vain tradition. 
 
 Free from the Old World's unrest ; 
 Land of peaceful acquisition, 
 
 And in perfect peace possessed. 
 
 Own we, gratefully and frankly, 
 Gathering what the harvest yields, 
 
 We are reapers, reaping amply 
 From a hundred fruitful fields ;
 
 i6 
 
 Reaping from historic pages, 
 Reaping from the skill of men, 
 
 All the fruits of all the ages, 
 
 Of the platform, plough, and pen. 
 
 Pass the oldtime greetings hearty, 
 
 From whatever land we come, 
 Of whatever creed or party. 
 
 Some day we shall all be one ! 
 One in noble emulations, 
 
 One in sympathy as men. 
 One in Truth's strong, deep foundations^ 
 
 Let us taste what will be then ! 
 
 And since all life worth the living 
 
 Owns the claims of brotherhood, 
 Knows the blessedness of giving. 
 
 Feels the joy of doing good. 
 Pray we that heaven's benediction 
 
 On our hearts and homes may rest, 
 Spreading wider the conviction. 
 
 Peaceful victories are best. 
 
 ^hc <^iv6tra linn's Return. 
 
 See yonder, stretching on each hand. 
 The coastline of my Native Land ; 
 The joy, when leaving thee, was pain 
 Compared with my return again ; 
 I've seen enough of sullen skies. 
 And heard enough of groans and sighs, 
 And Old World scenes of want and wrong 
 More grateful make my greeting song. 
 
 I pledge to thee, dear Native Land, 
 
 Against all foes a helping hand, 
 
 A heart for thee that aught shall dare. 
 
 For thy well-being a daily prayer — 
 
 May heaven's smile rest on thy soil, 
 
 Rewarding skill, requiting toil, 
 
 With flocks, and fruits, and grain, and gold,. 
 
 And greater blessingsand manifold.
 
 THE AUSTR ALIAN'S RETURN. 17 
 
 And since some limits there must be 
 
 To all of human liberty, 
 
 Be thine so few, and they so small 
 
 As hardly to be felt at all ; 
 
 So small the reverence for might — 
 
 So great the love of truth and right — 
 
 That the grand Golden Rule shall be 
 
 Of each law the epitome. 
 
 Still smile triumphant over fears, 
 As come and go the changing years, 
 And ever rest upon thy face 
 Perennial youth, and health, and grace ; 
 For thee may joys of motherhood 
 Grow greater with thy children's good ; 
 Dear Motherland, young, fair and free, 
 The happiest land on earth to me. 
 
 2. — Hocms 0f Hatuit, 
 
 Mr. Midgley looks out with eyes of love on all nature — the set 
 mountain, the singing stream, the call of the clear throated bird^ 
 and the fields yellow to harvest. 
 
 " All things bright and beautiful, 
 All creatures great and small, 
 All things wise and wonderful, 
 The Lord God made them all,'' — 
 
 this is his doctrine. He looks, too, past nature to nature's God 
 and sweetly reasons, in the old way, that if God so clothes the 
 grass of the field and feeds the young ravens, then He will not 
 forget the children of men. From Nature's beauty and variety and 
 fragrance, and from the sure return of the seasons, and he draws 
 many a lesson of comfort, even as tens of thousands have done 
 since the Sermon on the Mount. As Anstice (1808-1S36) says : 
 
 •' Yet birds and flowers around us preach. 
 And all the present evil teach 
 
 Sufficient for the day. 
 Lord, make these faithless hearts of ours 
 Such lessons learn from birds and flowers i.
 
 i8 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 Make them from self to cease, 
 Leave all things to a Father's will 
 And taste, before Him lying still, 
 
 E'en in affliction, peace." 
 
 Mr. Midgley shares with all tender souls the love of flowers — 
 those " unconscious witnesses to the resurrection." To him a 
 primrose by the river's bank is something more than a primrose— it 
 is a smile of God's goodness, and yet a lesson that life is brief. In 
 the final verse of " Flowers" there is a wish that will surely not go 
 unhonored, come the '• one clear call " soon or late. Mr. 
 Midgley loves the Australian bush ; but his verse is quite free from 
 any ambitious attempts to follow a Gordon or a Kendall. He sees 
 the happier and quieter side — the birth of morning, the gradual 
 cessation of earth's labour at eventide, the peach trees blooming, 
 the slowly descending fall of night — and when the human element 
 enters it is in the picture of some homestead nestling under the 
 mountain's shadow, or some wavinpr field of golden grain. In "A 
 Bush Idyl " the words are often commonplace, but the scene is one 
 that Kings might envy, and lines like 
 
 " 'Twas money built the cottage walls but mother made the home" 
 
 contain a truth not unworthy of remembrance. The twin poemS 
 " Praying for Rain " and " Thanksgiving for Rain " will be notlesS 
 appreciated in Queensland than elsewhere. 
 
 §pringtimc. 
 
 " Thou renewest the face of the earth."— Ps, 104. 30. 
 
 Lo ! once again from darkness and the dust, 
 
 Leaf, blade, and bloom, and nascent grain, and fruit, 
 
 Preach cheerful homilies of humble trust 
 
 In God's sure care, for toiling man and brute. 
 
 Earth's kindly fruits His loving kindness tell, 
 Rebuke our doubts, and shame away our fears, 
 
 With thoughts of Him who doeth all things well, 
 And with His goodness crowns the circling years. 
 
 Not all of human skill can form a seed, 
 
 A root, or bulb, or germ, instinct with life ; 
 
 Some higher Power anticipates our need 
 
 In pastures green, and blossoms sweet and rife.
 
 g
 
 SPRINQTIME—THE WATTLES. i9 
 
 We see so much of wisdom, and of good, 
 
 In common things, that scarce attention claim, 
 
 That we may trust, in things not understood, 
 Pervasive goodness lives and moves the same. 
 
 ^hc gllattlcs arc in gloom <?l9itin. 
 
 The wattles are in bloom again, the wattles are m bloom, 
 Woven into the pattern and relieving tints of g oom ; 
 Each tiny tufted floweret, in yellow blanket rolled,_ _ 
 Braving the blustering westerlies, and nights of nipping 
 cold. 
 
 The wattles are in bloom again, the wattles are in bloom, 
 I brought a spray with me to-day, its scent pervades my 
 
 WithTfra'grance reminiscent of fields of ne^y-mown hay, 
 And hedgerows of Old England, white with the flowers 
 of May. 
 
 The wattles are in bloom again, Oh ! may their bloom- 
 ing bring 
 To stricken hearts, that solace need, some gracious com- 
 
 fortin''' ' 
 For those" whose eyes, since last they bloomed, have 
 
 closed on all below, , ■ a 
 
 And opened, as they humbly hope, where fairer flowers 
 
 grow. 
 
 Man does not live by bread alone ; and other wants to 
 
 meet, , ^ ^ c *. . 
 
 The canopy o'erhead is spread, the carpet for our feet , 
 And things of beauty numberless nourish each subtle 
 
 sguss 
 Of better things as yet unseen, and grateful reverence.
 
 20 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 These wattle blooms, and all things else, that have no 
 
 innate thought, 
 But true to time, and tint, and taste, are to perfection 
 
 brought. 
 In them, as in the firmament, His handiwork appears, 
 Who first the floral dial planned, that marks the circling 
 
 years. 
 
 '' Croo-tc," ^ops, " (Hoo-n." 
 
 *' Coo-ee," boys, " coo-ee," clear as a musket crack, 
 And like a stockman's whip the ridges echo back, 
 Solitude is startled with the sudden cry, 
 And from hungry workers comes answer in reply — 
 " Coo-ee, Coo-ee." 
 
 " Coo-ee," boys, " coo-ee," 'tis mother at the door, 
 Calling us to supper in cheery tones once more ; 
 The patient, plodding teams, from the plough released, 
 Wend homewards, cogitating on their coming feast. 
 " Coo-ee, Coo-ee." 
 
 " Coo-ee," boys, " coo-ee," the milkers leave the yard, 
 Calves are loudly bleating, the pigs are grunting hard, 
 The sep'rator's monotone to them must music seem : 
 There's bacon in the milk, boys, money in the cream. 
 " Coo-ee, Coo-ee." 
 
 " Coo-ee," boys, "coo-ee," the sun is sinking low, 
 And deeper, and darker, fantastic shadows grow. 
 Hunger gives good relish, where good fare is found, 
 And the rest and sleep of labour, are sweet and sound. 
 " Coo-ee, Coo-ee." 
 
 Sometimes mother, in her quiet, gentle way. 
 
 Says, " Boys, it will be grand, when comes life's closing 
 
 day, 
 To hear across the river the Master's call. 
 And find there's room, and rest, and welcome for us all — 
 ' Come horpe. Come home !' "
 
 wjr^ 
 
 ■ The Sylvan Nook.
 
 A BEAUTY SPOT. 21 
 
 ^ §m\h} gpot. 
 
 Congenial shrine of solitude, 
 
 Of rural rest and shade, 
 
 Where through the trees the minstrel breeze 
 
 Sings softly on its way, 
 
 And slanting gleams of sunset beams 
 
 Just peep at close of day. 
 
 Few sounds are here, but twittering birds 
 
 Know well this sylvan nook, 
 
 They know no fear, but low and clear 
 
 Repeat some brief refrain ; 
 
 Or thrilling notes, from throbbing throats. 
 
 Ring loud and clear again. 
 
 Fair fronds of fern and velvet moss. 
 
 Mantle each bole and crag. 
 
 And all around, where on the ground 
 
 The old tree roots are seen, 
 
 The green grass springs, and round them clings 
 
 Their ruggedness to screen. 
 
 A few flowers live their lives away 
 
 In this secluded spot. 
 
 And human eye doth seldom spy 
 
 Their modest loveliness ; 
 
 So like the lives whose love survives 
 
 Neglect and loneliness. 
 
 'Tis good when all around is fair, 
 
 And all within is peace, 
 
 To let the soul, free from control, 
 
 On pleasing fancies dwell ; 
 
 While memory strays, and bygone days 
 
 Renew their magic spell.
 
 22 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 JlolUCUJS. 
 
 Or wreathed around the young bride's head, 
 Or love's last tribute to the dead, 
 Reminders of our happiest days, 
 Mementos of our days of gloom ; 
 With us through all life's devious ways 
 From cradle onward to the tomb ; 
 But symbols now of thir.gs to be 
 They speak another tongue to me. 
 
 For so to me it now appears 
 Their meaning changes with the years, — 
 And what were signs of things of earth, 
 A deeper, richer meaning bear. 
 Than love, or hate, or grief, or mirth, 
 Than earth-bound hope, or earth-born fear ; 
 When all these things have ceased to be 
 They tell of better things to me. 
 
 If friend of mine should wish to grace 
 With flowers my final resting place. 
 My wish would be that first and chief 
 Red blooms of sacrifice may show, 
 And with them, and in strong relief. 
 Rich golden hues of Mercy glow ; — 
 For without thesq, white flowers would be 
 Unmeaning as applied to me. 
 
 <J fush ^rabe. 
 
 Near a coach-track, still and lonely. 
 Underneath a sheltering tree. 
 
 Marked with rough initials only — 
 Whose, I wonder, can it be ?
 
 A BUSH GRAVE. 23 
 
 Wild birds hush their songs and laughter, 
 
 Swaying in the morning breeze ; 
 Wondering what I am after, 
 
 Parrots watch from lofty trees. 
 
 In the night, when earth is sleeping, 
 
 Wonga pigeons coo and call, 
 While the stars are vigils keeping. 
 
 Or the moon illumines all. 
 
 Shadows 'neath the whispering branches 
 
 Move in the fantastic light, 
 Startling with weird phantom fancies, 
 
 Lonely pilgrims of the night. 
 
 Nothing calmed by sudden wailing 
 
 Of the curlew's mournful cry, 
 Or the harsh horse bells revealing 
 
 Unknown strangers camping nigh. 
 
 Who, I wonder, and what was he, 
 Buried in this rough-fenced grave ? 
 
 Trooper, drover, or it may be 
 Some explorer restless, brave. 
 
 Or intrepid miner seeking 
 
 Spot of rumoured hidden wealth. 
 Speared, when in his blanket sleeping, 
 
 Smitten down by savage stealth. 
 
 Starved, or sick, or thirst — distracted, 
 
 Meeting an untimely fate. 
 In some purpose not eflected. 
 
 Or some service to the State. 
 
 Fain I trust, O silent sleeper, 
 
 Some bright memories from the past, 
 
 And a consolation greater. 
 
 Soothed and cheered thee at the last.
 
 24 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Sihc Jautlc5s Jlolucv0. 
 
 Sometimes, in quiet meditative hours, 
 I wonder why God made so many flowers — 
 That never change to nut, or grain or fruit, 
 For food for man, or mute dependent brute. 
 
 'To them the birds to satisfy their needs 
 Come not, in quest of nectar or of seeds ; 
 Gregarious flocks and herds unheeding pass — 
 Marvels of beauty, in the trees and grass. 
 
 The blossoms of the orange, peach, or plum, 
 Are harbingers of ripened fruits to come ; 
 The unpretentious bloom upon the vine, 
 Is herald of the coming grapes and wine. 
 
 But roses, lilies, flow^ers of sun or shade, 
 
 Of every form and tint, why were they made ? 
 
 Of their own charms they have no consciousness, 
 
 Of perfumed breath, and graceful loveliness. 
 
 Festooned o'erhead or peeping from the sod, 
 They seem the pleasant afterthoughts of God, 
 Remembering that man when clothed and fed. 
 Has other needs than raiment and than bread. 
 
 Do not the things of beauty, such as these, 
 A purpose serve, if serving but to please ? 
 We imitate their Maker, when to grace 
 Our ample boards, we flow^ers on them place. 
 
 And more they teach : where deeds perforce are few, 
 These flowers are like compassion deep and true, 
 Like loving look, and cheery pleasant smile. 
 That serve sometimes some sorrow to beguile.
 
 PEACH BLOSSOMS— MOB NIXG. 25 
 
 {3cach '^loscioms in ^iuui 
 
 There must be some mistake, it is not spring, 
 But here and there the trees are blossoming ; 
 In pink and red, or pink and white tints blended, 
 They seem to think the winter-time is ended : 
 Like little ones that waken ere the dawning. 
 And think the moonlight in the room is morning. 
 
 Early matured in tloral maidenhood. 
 
 They venture forth in jocund hardihood ; 
 
 As if ashamed of garb that seems desponding, 
 
 To coaxing warmth and tender dews responding, 
 
 In vernal beauty fresh, and bright, and winsome, 
 
 They come as those who know their coming welcome. 
 
 They trouble not as we who toil and spin, 
 
 But open wide to let the sunshine in, 
 
 And seem to say in flowery language whispers, 
 
 "Jack Frost is gone," to their still sleeping sisters, 
 
 *' Come don you blouses, and your new spring bonnets, 
 
 The bees are humming all their latest sonnets." 
 
 To me these buds and blossoms bring to mind 
 
 Those spirits bright that ready pretexts find — 
 
 For smiles, and words, and deeds of gracious cheering, 
 
 And leave us longing for their re-appearing ; 
 
 Those sanguine souls that always have a reason 
 
 For trust and hope, in every time and season. 
 
 ji^lovning. 
 
 The eastward stars fade in the dawning light. 
 And one by one they vanish with the night ; 
 No motion felt, nor heard the slightest sound 
 As half the world into the light rolls round ; 
 A new day comes, with heraldry sublime, 
 Fresh, fair and young, as the firstborn of time.
 
 26 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 The birds begin to prune their rested wings, 
 New joy in life each radiant morning brings — 
 The flowers, refreshed, with laughter in their eyes. 
 Their incense blend with feathered minstrelsies ; 
 And He who gently doth our care condemn, 
 With trust renewed bids us consider them. 
 
 All through the night the surf upon the shore, 
 As if in pain, was moaning evermore. 
 Sobbing as those who linger o'er their dead, 
 And will not leave them or be comforted ; 
 But now the wavelets of the sparkling sea, 
 Li]<e little children clap their hands with glee. 
 
 The glad new day, like millions gone before. 
 Sheds heavenly glory over sea and shore. 
 And suffering ones that could not sink to sleep. 
 And watching ones that loving vigils keep, 
 Less lonely feel than through the weary night. 
 And thank God for the morning air and light. 
 
 ^he Shortest gar). 
 
 Once more the ebb has ceased o'er Austral lands. 
 Of the great tide of solar heat and light ; 
 
 The Cosmos vast, controlled by unseen hands, 
 Now re- adjusts the hours of day and night. 
 
 Unerring and unceasing year by year. 
 
 The world rolls round in its perpetual race. 
 
 Showing no signs of wasting, or of wear. 
 
 From threefold motion through the realms of space. 
 
 The ceaseless whirl that brings the night and day. 
 The yearly circuit of the central sun — 
 
 Tbe never-ending, oscillating sway — 
 
 Causing the seasons in their constant run..
 
 SHOR TEST DA Y.—E VENT IDE. 27 
 
 What are the riddles through long ages solved, 
 Compared with these, to science fathomless ? 
 
 How at the first those myriad orbs revolved — 
 And still revolve, we cannot even guess. 
 
 Nor how the sun burns unconsumed by day, 
 The tidal changes with the changing moon ; 
 
 Nor how the planets in their pathless way 
 Move to the moment, never late nor soon. 
 
 Awed and amazed we ask, and what is man ? 
 
 And still the sower goeth forth to sow ; 
 God's care for us in all this wondrous plan, 
 
 The summer fruits and harvest sheaves will show^ 
 
 Suburban €bcntit)c. 
 
 From the great city sounds of factory bells, 
 
 Borne on the breeze, proclaim the hour of five, 
 
 And each shrill whistle in succession tells 
 The day's work done in busy human hive. 
 
 A down the river on the ebbing tide 
 
 The throb of steam-tug vibrates on the air, 
 
 With steady speed the tug and coal punt glide, 
 To city wharves and shipping waiting there. 
 
 From a new house, being built, through all the day. 
 The village rang with noise from roof and walls, 
 
 Now sound of saw and hammer dies away, 
 And wonted quiet on the hamlet falls. 
 
 A group of lads are shouting on the green. 
 Football as yet is life's supremest good ; 
 
 I think of mates and mirth that once have been. 
 And music lingers in the well-known thud. 
 
 A flock of parrots, garrulous, and shrill. 
 
 Sweep swift o'erhead, after their daily quest. 
 
 Seeking, as soon all sentient creatures will, 
 Through dark still hours a refuge and a rest.
 
 ■28 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 ^ight. 
 
 Gently the evening shadows fell, 
 
 As fall, each fleeting year. 
 The tokens and the signs which tell 
 
 The night of life draws near. 
 
 Now overhead — as o'er the sea 
 
 Ships sail to ccmpass true — 
 The grand celestial galaxy 
 
 Moves through the boundless blue. 
 
 In orbits so immensely vast, 
 
 Ages may wing their flight 
 Ere yet again in space is past 
 
 The spot they pass to-night. 
 
 Not God alone, but time and space 
 
 We fail to comprehend ; 
 How there can be no further place, 
 
 Or time begin or end. 
 
 All powerless is human thought 
 
 To picture nothingness ; 
 And soon to impotence are brought 
 
 Thoughts of infiniteness. 
 
 Heights so sublime, depths so profound, 
 
 We cannot sound or soar ; 
 Our limitations close us round, 
 
 And baffle evermore. 
 
 In simple trust I bow my head. 
 
 Content to leave it so. 
 Believing He knows best who said — 
 
 " No further shalt thou go."
 
 PRAYING FOR RAIN. 39 
 
 |3ramug for %^^\\\, 
 
 "When the heaven is shut up and there is no lain, because they have 
 sinned against Thee ; yet if they pray toward this place, and confess Thy name, 
 and turn from their sin when Thou dost afflict them : Then hear Thou from 
 heaven, and forgive the sin of Thy servants, and of Thy people Israel. When 
 Thou hast taught them the good way, wherein they should walk ; and send rain 
 upon Ihy land, which Thou hast given unto Thy people for an inheritance." 
 
 Shall we restrain our humble prayers to God, 
 And bear our ills with sullen apathy ? 
 Shall we deny His right to use the rod, 
 And scorn to ask His pitying sympathy ? 
 Is He " Our Father," wise above our thought, 
 Or have we falsely trusted and been taught ? 
 
 Can it be right to pray for daily bread, 
 And vain and wrong to ask for needful rain ? 
 If clouds drop not their fatness from o'erhead, 
 How can there be the ripened golden grain ? 
 God works by means, in giving what is good, 
 And rain must fall, or fails our daily food. 
 
 Mute in their pain, in speechless helplessness. 
 In time of drought, dumb creatures die of thirst. 
 Of all faith's tests, their suffering and distress. 
 Some good men find the hardest and the worst ; 
 And may not we, who use them in our need, 
 In their behalf for mercy intercede ? 
 
 False is the test of those who say they trust, — 
 And turn to God the last instead of first ; 
 Consuming gifts in gratifying lust. 
 Their God is but a fetish, blest, or curst, 
 Which they set up, or cast down with a sneer — 
 If the response is not both prompt and clear. 
 
 " Science," and "reason," and " material laws,'* 
 Can never silence man's dependent cry ; 
 It only needs some strong constraining cause, — 
 And it breaks forth and pleads appealingly ; 
 And how our wish affects the higher Will, 
 We cannot tell, but trust it is so still.
 
 30 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 ^hivnhsgititng for Pain. 
 
 Good to our sight, or good in some disguise, 
 Are all Thy gifts, or their withholding, Lord, 
 Sometimes the good is seen through tear-dimmed eyes, 
 Sometimes with laughter of a glad surprise — 
 We watch Thy purposes uafolding. Lord. 
 
 Great was our need, and what had we to bring, 
 To claim Thy notice, or Thy favour win ? 
 To Thee belongeth every living thing. 
 We give but Thine in our thankoffering. 
 And trust alone the offering for sin. 
 
 And if it pleases Thee to hear our cry, 
 Contrite and helpless, in our dire distress. 
 And if it pleases Thee to send reply 
 In showers of blessings from a clouded sky. 
 Will thankful praises serve to please Thee less ? 
 
 Ah ! it was good to see the gentle rain. 
 
 More free, and copious, and insistent grow. 
 
 Music it made on roof and window-pane. 
 
 We watched Thy footstool growing green again, 
 
 And felt our hearts with thankfulness o'erflow. 
 
 ^he (iPiscrablc CTroln. 
 
 What a voice ! it sounds like a grindstone 
 
 That has not been turned for a year. 
 Or the notes of some hurdy-gurdy 
 
 With bronchial tubes out of gear ; 
 And he needs must croak out his discord 
 
 High up in the loftiest tree. 
 As if possessed of the notion 
 
 That he a good singer must be.
 
 THE MISERABLE CROW. 31 
 
 While birds that sing sweetly are trying 
 
 To shame him, and make him be still, 
 Attuned to the joyance of morning, 
 
 They warble, and whistle, and trill ; 
 Or in merry ablutions together 
 
 They plunge, and they splash, and they skim, 
 And laughingly ask one another — 
 
 *' Oh, what is the matter with him ! " 
 
 "What a coat ! for a land of sunshine, 
 
 Where even the winter months are 
 Brighter and better than summer time. 
 
 In lands in some regions afar ; 
 The same sombre suit ever wearing. 
 
 All day both abroad and at home, 
 As doleful as Poe's ancient raven, 
 
 Reminding of death and the tomb. 
 
 And every sense he possesses, 
 
 His hearing, and smelling, and sight, 
 Finds pleasure in things that are gruesome, 
 
 A charnel-house is his delight ; 
 His black wings go flapping like hearse-plumes, 
 
 Wherever the young weaklings are. 
 And his evil eye soon catches sight of 
 
 The dead or the dying afar. 
 
 But there now ! I may be maligning ; 
 
 All this may be part of his trade. 
 And scavenging, carrion and garbage, 
 
 May just be for what he is made; 
 To tell you the truth, I was musing 
 
 And thinking of many things when 
 A croaking black crow near a stockyard 
 
 Suggested analogous men. 
 
 And the semblance seemed nearly perfect 
 
 To the churl, the brutal, and base, 
 The morbidly-minded, and dismal — 
 
 With frowning and fiddle-long face ; 
 But there's this important distinction : 
 
 In his habits, and tastes, and trade, 
 The bird crow is what nature made him, 
 
 But the human crow is self-made.
 
 32 POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
 ^hc Dustliiuj Mestci'lics. 
 
 The sunshine and the showers strove to deck the earth 
 
 again 
 With herbage, and foHage, and garlands of gay flowers ; 
 Sought to make the land rejoice with exultant mirth 
 
 again, 
 But it seemed a hopeless task for the sunshine and the 
 
 showers. 
 
 For the hustling westerlies swept o'er the valleys and the 
 
 hills, 
 And all fresh and fair young life shrank from their 
 
 withering breath, 
 Parched up with heat that scorched them, or nipped by 
 
 sudden chills, 
 Unnumbered things of beauty died a premature death. 
 
 And, like them, human hustlers often work a world of 
 
 harm, 
 The sensitive and the tender shrink from their clumsy 
 
 touch. 
 And they find nothing helpful, nothing to cheer them or 
 
 to charm, 
 In hustlers, who in all things are " business-like " too 
 
 much. 
 
 Oh hustlers ! Take time to eat, to laugh, to rest, and 
 
 soundly sleep ! 
 With all your getting seek to gain the joy of those that 
 
 give. 
 What use this endless sowing if men may never reap ? 
 And what is the best of livings that leave no time to live» 
 
 Take care, the children's childhood days will soon come 
 
 to an end. 
 And the care bestowed upon them will tell through 
 
 future years. 
 While the brusque, and harsh, and hard, who the little 
 
 ones offend, — 
 Begrudging smiles, may, all too late, shed unavailing 
 
 tears.
 
 A SEASIDE REMINISCENCE. 33 
 
 Take the hint, when sometimes counting the years that 
 
 may remain, 
 You start to find how few, at most, their number now 
 
 must be. 
 And to beautify the earth be as sunshine and the rain, 
 And cease to be akin to the husthng westerly. 
 
 Jl ^casibc licmiuisccncc. 
 
 The sun his long day's march had ended. 
 And the pleasant twilight hours — 
 
 Peace, and rest, and worship blended. 
 Song of birds, and scent of flowers. 
 
 But an undertone of sadness. 
 
 As I sat beside the sea, 
 Mingled with the notes of gladness. 
 
 That the breezes brought to me. 
 
 For the wavelets seemed complaining, 
 
 Stealing o'er the sandy beach. 
 Seemed intent upon regaining 
 
 Some lost treasures out of reach. 
 
 Then I all intently listened 
 
 To each old, familiar song. 
 Borne from where the moonlight glistened, 
 
 Sung by happy youthful throng. 
 
 Sailing, singing, laughing, dreaming, 
 Strong, and brave, and young and fair. 
 
 Knowing little of the meaning, 
 Of life's suffering and care. 
 
 Who, I mused, would mar such gladness, 
 Who would change your smiles to tears, 
 
 Who would bid you think in sadness, 
 Of the prose of future years ? 
 
 Sing on, sing on, in lively measure, 
 Sighs will come in time, good sooth» 
 
 Give memory some shells to treasure^ 
 Won from bright flood tide of youth.
 
 34 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 3. — ^0cms 0f the p0im. 
 
 Love of children, tender solicitude for old age, playful fancies 
 about common things, and a subtle constant sympathy with the 
 struggles, the hopes and the fears of a working household — these 
 are the features that shine through many of Mr. Midgley's 
 poems. He does not sing of the splendours of a palace, or the 
 luxuries of wealthy idleness. " Give me neither poverty nor riches " 
 is the golden mean which he would seek, and so he sings — 
 
 " Of all things needful for this life we have sufficient share, 
 Not near enough for indolence, but far too much for care." 
 
 Home is the earthly paradise, and it is made not by costly furni- 
 ture and wide domains, but by sweet faces and loving hearts. In 
 many of Mr. Midgley's poems he draws, with a few phrases, the 
 picture of the happy fireside — the verses in this section will show 
 how he delights in his theme. The opening " Lullaby " almost 
 sings itself to music ; " Granny's Specs." is imperfect in style, but 
 every line of it rings true to human feeling; "A Bit of Maize " 
 and " A Bush Idyll " are homely enough rhymings — almost 
 colloquial ; but there is a sense of content and innocent joy in them 
 that is not always found in far statelier numbers. 
 
 31 ^^lothcr's Sullabg. 
 
 By-by baby, all in white, 
 By- by baby, sweet good-night. 
 Sweet good-night. 
 
 Close those laughing, bright blue eyes, 
 All day full of sweet surprise. 
 Sweet surprise. 
 
 And if dreams should come to thee, 
 Bright and pleasant may they be, 
 May they be. 
 
 So that on thy smiling face. 
 Angel whispers we may trace. 
 We may trace.
 
 WIDOWHOOD. 35 
 
 And thy waking may it be, 
 
 Full of joy to thee and me, 
 
 Thee and me. 
 
 And each day increase the bliss, 
 That thrills through me with thy kiss, 
 With thy kiss. 
 
 Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
 Sleeping, waking, bless our child. 
 Bless our child. 
 
 ^ibotuhoob. 
 
 The first astir at early morning light, 
 The last astir when all else were asleep. 
 
 And only in the watches of the night 
 
 Yielding to grief, and finding time to weep. 
 
 Her wealth of love they learned too late to prize, 
 Nor had discernment on her face to see — 
 
 The look of longing when her wistful eyes 
 Mutely appealed for filial sympathy. 
 
 She pined away like flowers deprived of light, 
 In loveless, jovless, daily, dull routine ; 
 
 And all could see, and judge the cause aright, 
 Save those who should most vigilant have been. 
 
 She passed away, and then they knew their loss, 
 And tribute paid in touching paragraph. 
 
 And costly flowers of spotless wreath and cross, 
 And sculptured stone, and scripture epitaph. 
 
 Ah ! what avail such mural tributes now ? 
 
 The eyes are closed, the tears of grief unseen ; 
 A loving kiss upon her careworn brow. 
 
 In days gone by, would better far have been.
 
 36 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 Orphanhood. 
 
 " Made orphan by a winter shipwreck." 
 
 Dear pensive child, so early called to know 
 Life's greatest grief, and bear so large a part ; 
 We wonder not that frequent tears still show 
 The desolation of her lonely heart. 
 
 She misses every morn her dad's caressings, 
 And playful toying of each wavy curl ; 
 And every night her mother's prayers for blessings, 
 And good night kisses to her darling girl. 
 
 And it is hard to her to comprehend — 
 They never more her joys and griefs will share. 
 That death has brought to a perpetual end 
 Their gentle nurture, and their tender care. 
 
 If she such wealth of love had never known, 
 The contrast in her eyes less sad had been ; 
 She learns, too soon, with others older grown, 
 Our greatest joys oft make our griefs more keen. 
 
 So v;e forgive her when we hear her sigh, 
 And note her heart is not in scenes of mirth ; 
 Smiles, love, and joys may come as years roll by. 
 But now her sorrow shadows all the earth. 
 
 i^ximmfs Specs. 
 
 A pair of most precious relics, 
 Worth more than their framework of gold, 
 Bequeathed to me as a keepsake, 
 Which shall be, when I am grown old, 
 Passed down as a prized family heirloom. 
 As long as together they hold.
 
 GBANNV'S SPECS. 37 
 
 How often they used to sparkle, 
 
 With a sympathetica! joy, 
 
 When, with a kiss, she would welcome 
 
 Her bright, laughing, mischievous boy. 
 
 But soon had to close, and take from her nose 
 
 Her treasure — his coveted toy. 
 
 Wonderful specs that always seemed 
 
 To diminish the cares of age ; 
 
 Indispensable help they gave 
 
 In perusing the sacred page ; 
 
 They seemed, as they shone on her saintly face — 
 
 Things venerable, thoughtful, and sage. 
 
 Patient specs, in seasons of joy. 
 
 When the glad tears would overflow, 
 
 Naively she used to blame them thus — 
 
 Not wishing such weakness to show, 
 
 She would say, as she rubbed them with her gown, 
 
 " What's wrong with these spectacles now." 
 
 And I remember the time v;hen 
 
 The eyes they had aided grew bright. 
 
 Catching a glimpse of the glory 
 
 From that land where there is no night — 
 
 That better land, where all tears wiped away, ^ 
 
 Age comes not, nor dimness of sight. 
 
 ^ ©Ltcbbing ^islt. 
 
 Written for a friend, to accompany some useful wedding gifts. 
 My homely presents, as you see. 
 
 Are things of plain utility ; 
 
 Not gifts of jewels rich and rare, 
 
 But articles of kitchen-ware. 
 
 And with them take the heart-felt wish, 
 That many a sweet and savoury dish. 
 
 Through long and happy years to come. 
 May not be lacking in your home.
 
 38 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 For a young wife, howe'er good-looking, 
 Fares none the worse if good at cooking, 
 
 Who loves her for her own dear sake. 
 Loves none the less if she can bake. 
 
 But be the dishes hot or cold, 
 
 Or be they few or manifold, 
 May peace, and love, and sweet content, 
 
 Make every meal a sacrament. 
 
 ^ fit of ^laizt. 
 
 When first the settler in the scrub, or on good forest 
 
 land, 
 With a brave heart, and brawny arms, his clearing takes 
 
 in hand. 
 He rightly thinks, for man and horse, in early struggling 
 
 days. 
 Corn comes the first, and Vv^isely he puts in a bit of 
 
 maize. 
 
 Jle takes to other things in time, to lucerne, cane, or 
 wheat, 
 
 But his dumb partners, like himself, must have some- 
 thing to eat ; 
 
 He thinks of them and feeds them well, because he finds 
 it pays, 
 
 To let his team, morn, noon and night, put in a bit of 
 maize. 
 
 And not his team alone, but he, finds it is wholesome 
 fare 
 
 Made into meal, and mixed with milk, and cooked with 
 wifely care ; 
 
 With or without the ham and eggs, that come with bet- 
 ter days, — 
 
 'Tis good in winter mornings to put in a bit of maize.
 
 He Puts in a Bit of IVIalze." 
 
 * M 
 
 ipplilRilli|RM| 
 
 "A Pretty Cottage Away Back from the Track,
 
 A BIT OF MAIZE— A BUSH IDYL. 39 
 
 And when at last the struggUng years to easier years 
 
 give place, 
 The waving corn is dear to him as a familiar face ; 
 And true to his old friend, and shy of each new-fangled 
 
 craze. 
 Whatever else he misses, he puts in a bit of maize. 
 
 Emblem of sturdy strength, in dark and healthy green, 
 Emblem of toil's reward, when tasselled cobs are seen ; 
 And when the well-saved golden grain is loaded on the 
 
 drays. 
 Emblem of more home comforts, is the farmer's bit of 
 
 maize. 
 
 Jl §m\\ Btil. 
 
 Did you see a pretty cottage away back from the track, 
 With flower garden in the front, and orchard at the 
 
 back? 
 The garden gay with flowers, and the blossoms on the 
 
 trees — 
 Alive with honey-hunters from a dozen hives of bees. 
 
 That's where we live : I took good care when I the 
 
 means possessed, 
 To build for those I loved so well a comfortable nest. 
 As cheerful, neat, and roomy, as I thought it ought to 
 
 be — 
 For those who shared in up-hill years the old slab hut 
 
 with me. 
 
 Did you see a matron sewing on the veranda cool. 
 
 And see her kiss two little maids when they come home 
 
 from school, 
 Then with a look I know so well, in eyes of softest 
 
 brown. 
 Gaze down the road, and long to see me coming back 
 
 from town ?
 
 40 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 Ah ! if I tried to tell you all that she has been to me, 
 Though lips refrained your eyes might smile in in- 
 credulity ; 
 But I often tell my boys, when we together roam — 
 'Twas money built the cottage walls, but mother made 
 the home. 
 
 Yes, we have three banana boys, supple and tall and 
 
 strong ; 
 I've been with hay to town to-day, and I've been rather 
 
 long, 
 But they know just what to do whenever I'm away, 
 And work that fags me now a bit, but seems to them as 
 
 play. 
 
 And our Jack can plough a furrow now, smart and 
 
 straight and neat, 
 And at riding, breaking, branding, Bob would be hard to 
 
 beat ; 
 While our Larry, laughing Larry, the youngest of the 
 
 three, 
 Takes most delight in garden work, and so takes after 
 
 me. 
 
 We all work hard, but all the same avoiding the mis- 
 take 
 
 Of sacrificing greater good for sordid savings' sake ; 
 
 Of all things needful for this life we have sufficient 
 share, 
 
 Not near enough for indolence, but far too much for 
 care. 
 
 I hear the stockwhips cracking, and old Towser's honest 
 
 bark, 
 Good-bye, the days are getting short, and it will soon be 
 
 dark ; 
 Yes, I'll tell them that I met the new minister to-day. 
 And that you'll call and see us all, next time you come 
 
 this way.
 
 TWENTY- ONE. 41 
 
 UiDcntr-onc. 
 
 (To a young friend on his coming-of-age.) 
 
 Dear Dick, I wish with heart sincere 
 
 A voyage long and pleasant ; 
 A good fair breeze, skies bright and clear, 
 And everything that makes life dear, 
 
 Grow greater from the present. 
 
 Your father's friend is growing old, 
 
 But he is your friend too, 
 And better things than gems and gold, 
 And better blessings manifold, 
 
 He hopes are waiting you. 
 
 If prospered in your herds and soil, 
 
 In basket and in store. 
 Be generous to the sons of toil, 
 Nor let your good on them recoil, 
 
 In evils great and sore. 
 
 Live so that when old age shall come, 
 And life has reached its ending, 
 
 A better heirship may be won, 
 
 And God and men shall say " Well done !" 
 Good stewardship commending. 
 
 ^ gibing §aciifice. 
 
 She was her father's darling. 
 
 His only child was she, 
 And oft he pressed her to his breast. 
 
 So fond of her was he ; 
 She was so like her mother, 
 
 Whom she remembered not. 
 Whose spirit rare, and face so fair — 
 
 He never had forgrot.
 
 42 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 She honoured and she loved him, 
 
 And reverenced his grief, 
 And did not spare, in tender care, 
 
 To give his heart rehef 
 From sorrow that had shadowed, 
 
 His fa-ith, his life, his soul ; 
 When, at the last, his mind o'ercast. 
 
 She gently could control. 
 
 But many years he lingered. 
 
 His mind alone diseased. 
 Him like a child, she oft beguiled 
 
 With little things that pleased ; 
 And sometimes suitors sought her. 
 
 To whom she answered, nay : 
 With none to share her toil and care, 
 
 Her young years passed away. 
 
 And when at last God took him. 
 
 Her sight was growing weak, 
 And cheek and brow were wrinkled now ; 
 
 No lover came to seek 
 Her hand, and heart, and ask her 
 
 To be his love-crowned queen ; 
 She loved her task, nor thinks to ask. 
 
 Has her life wasted been ? 
 
 Jlovcnce. 
 
 Such loveliness adorned her face, 
 
 Such hues of perfect health, 
 Her form was fashioned with such grace, 
 
 So ample was her wealth — 
 We never thought the flowers which she 
 
 Had planted in the spring, 
 By other hands would gathered be, 
 
 For graveside offering.
 
 FLORENCE. 43 
 
 Oft was her voice attuned to song, 
 
 Her vocal gifts -were rare, 
 With tender tones, or sweet and strong, 
 
 She soothed, and banished care ; 
 We little thought her little bird 
 
 Within its cage would trill, 
 When her dear voice no more was heard — 
 
 For ever hushed and still. 
 
 But she was more than fair to see, 
 
 And more than good to hear, 
 One of those saintly souls was she 
 
 That briefly sojourn here; 
 We should have thought, for years to come 
 
 Her mission here would be 
 To brighten many a shadowed home 
 
 With Christ-like sympathy. 
 
 Smiles, words, and songs, we miss them sore, 
 
 And filial tenderness; 
 Our eyes turn to the opening door, 
 
 To greet her and to bless ; 
 But we have thought the love that gave 
 
 The same love took away ; 
 And with this trust we leave her grave 
 
 And homeward take our way. 
 
 ^ Soung Capitiilist. 
 
 He bears a name his father bore. 
 Unsullied by a deed of shame, 
 
 A synonym upon his door 
 
 Of sterling worth his sign became ; 
 
 And grace and favour he has won. 
 Because he is his father's son.
 
 44 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 His mother lives, for him to pray, 
 For wisdom, guidance and restraint, 
 
 Blending before him every day, 
 The best of motherhood and saint ; 
 
 As one by one loved ones depart, 
 Her love for him fills all her heart. 
 
 Well balanced brain, sound organs, free 
 
 From ante-natal taint or lack, 
 No bane of base heredity — 
 
 To hold him down, and keep him back ; 
 An Absalom in form and face. 
 
 Without his bias to disgrace. 
 
 Erect, and strong, in perfect health. 
 Test perfect every limb and sense, 
 
 Potentialities of wealth — 
 
 Part of his great inheritance — 
 
 Are hands, and eyes, and thought, and speech, 
 Of greater worth than gold can reach. 
 
 All noble thoughts of noble men, 
 
 All rights and liberties blood-bought, 
 
 All peaceful victories of the pen. 
 All good by evolution wrought, 
 
 All these, if rightly understood. 
 
 May make him great, should make him good. 
 
 And O ! the ample dower of years, 
 The lease that fifty years may last, 
 
 Not called to count through useless tears 
 The units left, the decades past ; 
 
 In all things that real riches be, 
 A young capitalist is he. 
 
 And will he wise or foolish be ? 
 
 A prudent man or spendthrift prove ? 
 Will those who watch his future see 
 
 Degrading lusts, or growing love 
 Of truth and right ; from youth to age 
 
 True to his goodly heritage ?
 
 A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD. 45 
 
 ^nb it fittlc Qlhilb ghall fcab 'Zlxm. 
 
 Were you in haste to leave us, little one, 
 That naught availed our love and care and grief ? 
 
 And were you glad ahead of us to run — 
 
 Your sojourn with us was too bright and brief ? 
 
 And could there be a greater love than ours, 
 
 Or safer shelter than our lowly home, 
 Or eyes more watchful while you gathered flowers 
 
 With eager hands, wherever you might roam ? 
 
 If so, then you are safe and blessed indeed, 
 
 For all we have, we would for you have given, 
 With willing toil, and word, and look, and deed — 
 Have made your life akin to that of heaven. 
 
 Naught in the past to grieve o'er or regret ; 
 
 Nor in the future to shrink from or fear ; 
 The worst of death — the things we would forget — 
 
 You never knew while you were with us here. 
 
 And you, a little child, have led the way 
 
 Through sombre shades we sometimes fain would 
 shun ; 
 
 And all the mystery has passed away, — 
 
 Which greater grows as years the longer run. 
 
 Once more, good-bye, and one more lingering kiss ; 
 
 Your little feet have made the path more plain ; 
 And though our darling we shall sorely miss — 
 
 You have not lived, and died so soon, in vain. 
 
 ^n infant of ^iii!£. 
 
 They brought his daughter's child to him, 
 
 A babe a few days old, 
 His eyes with more than age were dim — 
 
 With feelings manifold ;
 
 46 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 For he who stands where he can see 
 
 Life's way from first to last, 
 However bright his hopes may be, 
 
 Oft lingers o'er the past. 
 
 With old-time tenderness and skill, 
 
 He nursed a child once more, 
 And thought of what of good or ill. 
 
 The future held in store ; 
 All the vicissitudes of years, 
 
 Like his three-score and ten. 
 And grief, and penitential tears, 
 
 The common lot of men. 
 
 Then, like a solemn sacrament. 
 
 With kiss and fond caress — 
 The grey-haired head was lowly bent 
 
 To supplicate and bless ; 
 One hand he raised, and one did place 
 
 Lpon the infant's head, 
 And gazing on the upturned face, 
 
 With quivering lips he said — 
 
 " I bless the child, yet what avails 
 
 What I may fondly say ? 
 But intercession still prevails, 
 
 They wish the best who pray ; 
 Great God and Father of us all, 
 
 Whate'er his lot may be. 
 In sunshine, and when shadows fall. 
 
 May he remember Thee. 
 
 " So that when cord, and bowl and wheel, 
 
 Long use has served to harm. 
 And dimness o'er the eyes shall steal, 
 
 And music cease to charm ; 
 An inner sense, a deeper sense. 
 
 Shall know, and feel, and see. 
 The compensating recompense ; — 
 
 Remembered, Lord, by Thee."
 
 THAT THY DA Y8 MA Y BE LONG. 47 
 
 %\XiXX %\x^ §4i}s ^\\\\\} be Jong. 
 
 " Honour thy father and thy mother." — Exod. 20 ; 12. 
 
 Once so erect and strong in every limb, 
 See how the years have bowed and broken him ; 
 He thought of thee through all his manhood's primOj 
 And sought for thee a more congenial clime, 
 Leaving a land of life severe and hard, 
 Where sire to son bequeathed the poor reward 
 Of hopeless toil, insufferably sad ; 
 Devoid of all to make thy advent glad. 
 
 *' Behold thy mother," dim now in her sight. 
 For through long days, and far into the night. 
 With scanty means, and many wants to meet, 
 Her loving labour never seemed complete ; 
 And by thy bed on lowly bended knee. 
 Herself forgetting oft she prayed for thee. 
 And nought for thee was deemed too much to ask, 
 Nor aught for thee, a burden or a task, 
 
 Say not : " It is a gift, from duty free. 
 If now you should reap benefit by me," 
 Dare not by word, or deed, to treat them ill, 
 Honour them both, it is the Father's will ; 
 They each have had for thee an ample share 
 In years gone by of toil and tears and care, 
 And it should not an irksome duty be 
 To cherish them who did so much for thee. 
 
 ^Ig gcujiimin. 
 
 Closed eyelids hide each sweet forget-me-not, 
 
 Hushed for awhile the music of thy voice ; 
 Sleep soundly, loved one, in thy curtained cot, 
 
 And in thy sleep and dreams smile and rejoice; 
 Dream of the day gone by, the day to come. 
 
 Smile in remembrance of each fond caress. 
 Live o'er again the daytime life of home, 
 
 Live to be blest and loved, to love and bless.
 
 48 POEMS OF THE HOME. 
 
 So potently benign thy dawning life 
 
 To influence mine, inspire or restrain, 
 Giving new courage, nerving for the strife, 
 
 Making me young in heart and hope again, 
 'Tis rest to me to gaze on thy repose, 
 
 It strengthens me to know they helplessness. 
 And arms me thrice against all coming foes. 
 
 To note thy innocence and tenderness. 
 
 What are my daily toil and thought for thee ? 
 
 My labour for the bread that perishes ? 
 Thou reapest but of temporal things from me, 
 
 I reap from thee soul-bread that nourishes — 
 An inner life of love, and trust, and truth, 
 
 Of best ambitions that the heart can know, 
 Giving the vigour and the strength of youth 
 
 To noble purposes grown halt and slow. 
 
 Thou knowest little, but thou teachest much. 
 
 Thou toilest not, but thou art clothed and fed> 
 Heaven's kingdom upon earth is made of such. 
 
 The Great Master lovingly hath said : 
 It must be so, for when I look on thee. 
 
 All that is worthy, noble, undefxled. 
 Revives again the deep desire to be 
 
 To the Great P'ather as to me my child. 
 
 OTontcntmcnt. 
 
 On rugged rocks where one would think it plain, 
 Lichen or moss would try to cling in vain, — 
 Yet, in the fissures rootage had been found. 
 By sweet wild flov/ers, that perfumed all around ; 
 "While near by, in a garden, kept with care, 
 Some costly blooms were not so strong and fair. 
 
 A workman rose from table humbly spread, 
 And thankful felt for daily work and bread ; 
 Home-proud and thrifty, for an hour or so 
 He, whistling, used the weed-destroying hoe; 
 While at the Hall, with luxuries replete. 
 His lordship yawned, and grumbled at the heat.
 
 CONTENTMENT. 49 
 
 A healthy, happy, merry kitchen maid 
 Listened when guests the grand piano played ; 
 Her greatest grief was, being a hireling, 
 She was forbidden at her work to sing ; 
 While in her boudoir, it was plain to see 
 My lady suffered much from ennui. 
 
 A city shop girl, issuing from her cot. 
 
 From window sill plucked sweet forget-me-not 
 
 And mignonette, and pinned them on her dress, 
 
 A living picture of glad cheerfulness ; 
 
 And looked more charming, sweet, and debonair 
 
 Than ball-room belles, with orchids in their hair. 
 
 4— ^0cms mx ^imcs iintr SeiiS0ns. 
 
 Mr. Midgley is no national poet ; he does not seiie on every 
 passing pageant, from the birth of a royal heir to the birth of a 
 Commonwealth, and turn it into a miniature epic. Rather does his 
 sympathetic muse seek out some grimmer reality of suffering — a war 
 or an earthquake ; or it chooses some festival of the common people 
 and traces its satisfying, simple delights up to the Giver of all 
 Good. 
 
 SEav. 
 
 War on war ! this earth seems fated, 
 
 Life devoid of noble plan ! 
 Hearts and homes are desolated ; 
 Man's worst enemy is man. 
 Where the promise of His coming ? Things are as they 
 
 always were ; 
 Sin and sorrow, greed and hatred, reign triumphant 
 everywhere !
 
 50 POEMS ON TIMES AND SEASONS. 
 
 Does the music reach the ringers 
 Closed within the belfry walls ? 
 Nay, it floats away and lingers 
 O'er the valley where it falls. 
 In the belfry, noise discordant, ropes and cranks and bells 
 
 and wheels ; 
 But afar, borne on the breezes, sweetest earthly music 
 steals. 
 
 So it is, O man, my brother ! 
 
 We who would know all the plan 
 Understand not one another, — 
 In this turmoil never can. 
 Time and place are not propitious ; we must move in 
 
 higher spheres, 
 Ere we catch the music's meaning in the grand march 
 of the years. 
 
 Mar anb the Othilbrcit. 
 
 " It is not the will of your Father, which is in Heaven, that one 
 'Ot these little ones should perish."— 3/afi. i8: 14. 
 
 By single precept, prayer, and hymn, 
 We teach them to belie\e on Him ; 
 Then rend their homes with shot and shell, 
 -And make their land a flaming hell ; 
 And heedless of their pleading eyes. 
 Their terror, grief and dumb surprise, 
 Doom thousands, through their future years. 
 To vice, and want, and shame, and tears. 
 
 If such the struggle now for bread, 
 If little ones must go unfed, 
 Better a babe's euthanasy 
 Than life matured for butchery ; 
 And it might serve to let Him know 
 They are not wanted here below ; 
 For, since His time, the busy inn 
 Affords not even stabling:.
 
 WAB AND THE CHILDREN. 51 
 
 Oh ! hapless Httle ones, your cry 
 
 On the hot air goes waiUng by ; 
 
 But we are eager news to hear, 
 
 And make no sign, and shed no tear. 
 
 " There is no God," the scoffers say, 
 
 " There is no over-ruling sway !" 
 
 But greed, not God, should bear the blame 
 
 Of war's unutterable shame. 
 
 For God could never thus ordain 
 
 For innocents such brutal pain ; 
 
 He does not will, but overrules 
 
 The wrath of men, the speech of fools. 
 
 Rather, proclaim by word and pen, 
 
 While such things are, men are not men ; 
 
 And reason and humanity 
 
 Have scarcely yet begun to be. 
 
 ^fter the |lus90-|a|j;inese Mdv, 1905. 
 
 And now the smoke has passed away, 
 
 And now the din has ceased, 
 And now the reckoning is to pay, 
 
 After the ghoulish feast. 
 And now the captives wend their way, 
 
 Some westward, and some east. 
 
 What has been proved, what has been won, 
 
 What has been gained or lost ? 
 Shake hands, brave foes, your work is done ; 
 
 Sit down and count the cost ; 
 The burning fever's course is run. 
 
 Now comes the ague's frost. 
 
 As proof of claim, what now avails 
 
 The valour of the braves ? 
 All old-time heroism fails. 
 
 Torpedoes rule the waves. 
 In cofhn-ships, o'er bursting shells, 
 
 Crews sink in watery graves.
 
 52 POEMS ON TIMES AND SEASONS. 
 
 Found wanting is all fiendish force, 
 
 As test of wrong or right, 
 The heart grows sordid, hard and coarse 
 
 That homage pays to might ; 
 And fools are they, or something worse, 
 
 Who can in war delight. 
 
 Is yon the dawning of the day 
 
 Above the Zuyder-Zee ? 
 And will its light yet win its way 
 
 O'er every land and sea ? 
 And peace hold triumvirate sway, 
 
 With love and liberty ? 
 
 I^ussk, 1906. 
 
 Ah me ! what groans and tears. 
 What sanguinary fights, 
 
 What anguish through long years, 
 Men have to pay for rights ! 
 
 What internecine strife. 
 
 Bloodshed, banishments long. 
 Contempt for death and life. 
 
 Contempt of right and wrong ! 
 
 Still stands the warning word, 
 A thousand times made plain, 
 
 " Nations that love the sword. 
 Shall suffer lethal pain." 
 
 Oh, when will all men know, 
 In every clime and land. 
 
 Freedom can never grow, 
 
 'Neath despots' mailed hand ? 
 
 Soon may a nation's will, 
 
 Assert a nobler choice 
 In clarion tones which thrill, 
 
 And exiled hosts rejoice.
 

 
 SA N FRA N CISCO EA R THQ UA KE. 5 3 
 
 §iin Jjvitncisco ^avthqiuikc, 1906 
 
 " I am a man, and all calamities that touch humanity come 
 home to me," — Terence. 
 
 We felt no tremor in this distant land, 
 No shock as if the world had weary grown 
 
 And soon would swerve and sway and quivering stand, 
 And then in fragments into space be thrown. 
 
 But when the news was flashed beneath the sea, 
 Our hearts grew faint with awe and grief and fear ; 
 
 Men asked in vain what can the meaning be 
 Of the dread portents of this fateful year ? 
 
 We cannot tell ; the best of men must bow ; 
 
 The wisest men are wiser in being still ; 
 And Faith and Hope speak tremulous and low, 
 
 In presence of such overwhelming ill. 
 
 But Love abides, and of the chastening rod 
 She makes a staff, and ventures forth again : 
 
 In things which hide the fatherhood of God, 
 She shows us still the brotherhood of men. 
 
 ^hc (Rational §hoU). 
 
 We take from Thee, the Giver of all gifts. 
 The timely products that each season brings, 
 
 And love to Thee each thankful heart uplifts, 
 And in our souls makes melody and sings. 
 
 We bring to Thee thank-offering of our best, 
 Gathered from near and far, from land and sea, 
 
 And from our labours for awhile we rest. 
 To greet each other and to think of Thee. 
 
 To think of Thee, not now with awe and fear. 
 
 Like those who camp under the star-lit sky, 
 Or those who with a sense of danger near 
 
 Toil in the mines, where hidden treasures ie.
 
 54 POEMS ON TIMES AND SEASONS. 
 
 But as they think to whom spared life is sweet, 
 And sweet the light, and labour, rest and sleep, 
 
 Thy thought is ours, we think it right and meet — 
 Who sow in hope, with joy and praise should reap. 
 
 Make us a people whom prosperity 
 Does not debase by sensuous excess ; 
 
 Patient and brave when comes adversity, 
 
 When harvests fail and lean kine years distress. 
 
 ^he (Exhibition. 
 
 " Who knoweth not in all these that the hand of the Lord hath 
 •wrought this?"— Jo& 12: 9. 
 
 The spacious aisles with treasures filled 
 Bear witness of man's toil and care ; 
 
 But did not one more wisely skilled 
 To man assign his lesser share ? 
 
 Creation everywhere reveals 
 
 Design in its revolving wheels. 
 
 If in these works of human hands 
 
 Abundant wonderment is found, 
 The brain that plans and understands 
 
 In wonders does much more abound. 
 And past our searching out we find 
 The Maker of the human mind. 
 
 Lever, and spring, and rod, and wheel, 
 
 Designed by some external skill. 
 Devoid of power to think or feel, 
 
 Devoid of power of choice or will. 
 Bear witness, greater wisdom planned 
 The human mind, and eyes, and hand. 
 
 The cattle on a thousand hills. 
 
 The sheep upon a thousand plains, 
 The harvest that the storehouse fills, 
 
 The big, strong horses in the wains, — 
 Man has not made these, nor can he 
 Give his best works vitality.

 
 THE EXHIBITION. 55 
 
 The secret and the gift of God 
 
 Is life, in all its endless forms ; 
 The flow'ret peeping from the sod, 
 
 The trees that brave the fiercest storms ; 
 Through each succeeding higher grade, 
 Man uses things he has not made. 
 
 And shall we proud and boastful be, 
 
 As if we had nothing received, 
 And hold these gifts from duty free. 
 
 And God in them be unperceived ? 
 Or see in them His generous hand, 
 In all the harvests of the land ? 
 
 Jl gz\sy Icur's Mish. 
 
 As when a river, fed from snow-crowned hills. 
 In deepening bed and widening channel fills* 
 
 And yet so vast the constant inward flow, 
 Midway the river to a lake doth grow, 
 
 And wide outspread, far as the eye can see, 
 Mirrors the sky in deep tranquility. 
 
 So may the blessings coming from above, 
 And all the human tribute streams of love, 
 
 Serve other ends than mere utility. 
 
 And something better than a mill-stream be ; 
 
 Made potent, as the growing stream rolls by 
 Our lives to broaden, and to beautify. 
 
 And as the river-lake finds its egress, 
 And onward rolls to fertilise and bless. 
 
 So may our lives receive but not retain 
 
 Their pent up blessings from the lower plain ; 
 
 Each proving year by year, and more and more — 
 " There is that scatters, yet augments its store."
 
 56, POEMS ON TIMES AND SEASONS. 
 
 CEastcr. 
 
 " Come, see the place where the Lord lay." — Matt, 28 : 6. 
 He drained the cup of anguish to the last, 
 
 He could not leave the cross ; love held Him fast ; 
 But all is o'er of darkness and of pain, 
 
 The life laid down is taken up again. 
 
 Come, see the place this hallowed Easter morn, 
 Lift up your heads, ye weeping ones forlorn ; 
 
 No room for doubts, no need for sad laments, 
 Nothing remains but folded cerements. 
 
 Come, see the place, Salome, Magdalen, 
 
 John, Peter, James, and learn what it doth mean ; 
 
 His rising is the keystone of the arch, 
 The jubilate of redemption's march. 
 
 Come, see the place ; the morning light streams in ; 
 The sting is drawn of human guilt and sin ; 
 
 The fear of death — a life-long bondage strong- 
 Has changed its dirge for a deliverance song. 
 
 "Remember the ^abbath fag." 
 
 To those who know Thee, Lord, Thy will is best, 
 For each behest of Thine is good, and right, 
 
 And this day, made for man, divinely blest. 
 Brings welcome rest, and duties that delight. 
 
 We thank Thee, Lord, for rest for limb and brain, 
 And all of earthly good Thy day brings forth, 
 
 Por quiet fellowship of homes again, 
 
 And kindred sympathies of priceless worthy 
 
 For thoughts of Thee that bring us trust and peace, 
 For songs of Zion, and comfort of Thy word, 
 
 And for the hope, when earthly Sabbaths cease. 
 An endless one awaits Thy servants, Lord.
 
 VERY LIKE HIM. 57 
 
 Bcvj) ]£ihc |}im. 
 
 There goes old Father Christmas, in a motor car, no less ! 
 As near as is conventional, in light and cool undress ; 
 But when our dads were lads, Sam, some few score 
 
 years ago, 
 He travelled in a slow stage coach, wrapped up from top 
 
 to toe. 
 
 His hampers used to be replete with bottled drinks and 
 
 lemons, 
 Whose car seemed largely loaded now with grapes and 
 
 water-melons, 
 His trunks and boxes would not close, packed tight with 
 
 woollen stuffs. 
 And rugs and flannel underwear, and boas, and gloves, 
 
 and muffs. 
 
 In a motor car, indeed, for he has to go the pace. 
 
 And against want and sorrow run, for once, a winning 
 
 race, 
 With wearables, and eatables, and drinkables galore, 
 And Noah's arks, and dolls, and books, as in the days of 
 
 yore. 
 
 The same kind merry twinkle still sparkles in his eye ; 
 I thought I caught the flash of it, as he went whistling 
 
 by. 
 
 But just then Sam said dryly, "Your sight is failing fast! 
 That was not Father Christmas, but Brown that hurried 
 past." 
 
 And I, brought back from distant scenes, and day> of 
 
 auld lang syne, 
 Explained myself, as best I could, to prosy friend of 
 
 mine ; — 
 " Was that Ben Brown, big-hearted Brown ? Well, he 
 
 must surely be 
 His modern representative, and local deputy !"
 
 58 REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 Here and in the following section Mr. Midgley is at his best. 
 His subjective note is strong and true. There is a fine analysis of 
 feeling ; a rare appreciation of the better things : and the poet 
 brings to his sonsr that exquisite tone which puts a charm on the 
 commonplace. " Charity " contains five verses of very simple 
 beauty. "Thoughts at the Graveside " might have been written 
 by Young, or Montgomery, or Coleridge. " Goodly Fellowship " 
 is a daring, but quite reverent, recital. " The Far Spent Day " 
 breathes deep faith in its quiet lines — lines that have the ease of 
 genuine art, and the simplicity ot eternal truth. " Diversity of 
 Operations," and "The Pruning of the Vine" have almost the 
 personal note of autobiography. The two longer poems that close 
 this section move like some winding willow-fringed river, with no 
 babble of the brook or roar of the ocean in them, but noiseless and 
 deep, reflecting the poet's thought even as the branches are 
 mirrored in the placid surface. 
 
 I'bc §nr\ thinking. 
 
 " We spend our years as a tale that is told."— Ps. 90: 9. 
 I've been thinking, often thinking, of the years for ever 
 
 fiown ; 
 Of the scenes I've played a part in, the comrades I 
 
 have known ; 
 And I fancy I am nearing: the final scene of all, 
 And soon the lights will be turned out, the curtain soon 
 
 will fall. 
 
 I've been thinking, sadly thinking, I might have played 
 
 my part 
 With touches true to nature and impromptu from the 
 
 heart. 
 Intrusted with portrayal of some traits of manly worth, 
 Evoking emulation, and provoking smiles and mirth, 
 
 I've been thinking, rightly thinking, 'tis useless to regret ; 
 And wiser, in the closing scenes, to aim at winning yet 
 The " Well done !" of the Author, and the plaudits of the 
 
 throng 
 By playing well my minor part, and snatches of sweet 
 
 song.
 
 I'VE BEEN THINKING— CHARITY. 59 
 
 I've been thinking, gladly thinking, that this is after all 
 Only a brief rehearsing time, and when the final call 
 Shall come and end the story, it may have proved to 
 
 be 
 The very best of training for strolling players like me. 
 
 (Jlhaviti). 
 
 these three ; 
 
 " And now abideth Faith, Hope, and Charity, 
 but the greatest of these is Charity." — I. Cor. 13 . 13. 
 
 She is the homeliest of the three, 
 Her tender eyes show signs of tears, 
 
 Her hands, inured to ministry, 
 
 Like Martha with her cares and fears. 
 
 Faith sings a more exultant song, 
 
 Hope has more radiant brow and eyes. 
 
 But Love with love is brave and strong- 
 With solace even in her sighs. 
 
 They are the handmaids, she the queen, 
 But, sister-like, and hand in hand, 
 
 Like equals they are sometimes seen, 
 As they go singing through the land. 
 
 They treasure up the gifts of God, 
 But she distributes of her store. 
 
 She moves in haunts by them untrod, 
 And cheers and succours evermore. 
 
 They fairest are of human birth. 
 But she is like her Lord divine. 
 
 And in her heart the best of earth. 
 And heaven's best meet and combine.
 
 6o REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 gai) Ento gau. 
 
 Day unto day brings pressure of new need ; 
 The common round, or quest of greater good ; 
 Recurring hunger, and insistent greed 
 Deferring hopes of human brotherhood. 
 
 We sometimes fret and think there is excess 
 In our proportion of the common care ; 
 And in good truth our burdens would be less, 
 Did we not carry needless threefold share. 
 
 We bear them thrice — anticipating them ; 
 In morbid mem'ries after they have ceased ; 
 And, often, in participating them, 
 The present pressure proves to be the least. 
 
 Let us go forth from morning until night 
 With willing hands prepared to do our best ; 
 Nor quite forget, even in the noontide light 
 The night is coming, when we all shall rest. 
 
 Not quite forget ; for see, in busy streets 
 With slackened speed men hurry to and fro ; 
 The closing stream the funeral cortege meets ; 
 They, one by one, the way of all flesh go. 
 
 gtUcrsitp of ©jjcratiotts. 
 
 He used to ask that he might surely tell, 
 By some indubitable voice within. 
 
 That with his soul all was secure and well, 
 And feel forgiven his repented sin. 
 
 No answer came, such as he thought to hear, 
 Clear and distinct as a corporeal sense, 
 
 No declaration audible and clear, 
 No demonstrative inward evidence.
 
 DIVERSITY OF OPERATIONS. 6i 
 
 But his repentance was not short or vain, 
 In doing right he showed its needful fruits, 
 
 And unto him one thing at least was plain — 
 The will of God controlled all his pursuits. 
 
 But more he craved ; rapture, and ecstasy ; 
 
 Of which he had sometimes heard others speak ; 
 And thought some sore defect there needs must be, 
 
 His motives wrong, or else his faith too weak. 
 
 Rest came to him at last ; as guidance came ; 
 
 He read the precepts and the promises ; 
 No other record does he seek or claim. 
 
 Enough for duty and for peace are these. 
 
 ^oobli) JcllolDship. 
 
 Was I lonely, while you left me to myself an hour or so. 
 And together in the evening to the house of God did go ? 
 Did the unwonted stillness of each room oppress my 
 
 heart, 
 When I heard you close the garden gate, and saw you all 
 
 depart ? 
 
 Well, yes, loved ones. At first I felt when you had gone 
 away. 
 
 That I would fain have gone with you, with you to 
 praise and pray, 
 
 As I watched you in the gloaming 'til you were out of 
 sight, 
 
 I longed, with ardent longing, to have gone with you to- 
 night. 
 
 Then seated by the doorway the church lights I could 
 
 see, 
 I heard you sing, and I joined in, and sang " Abide with 
 
 me." 
 And as the darkness deepened fast a blessed thing befel, 
 More mystical and beautiful than I have words to tell.
 
 62 REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 I was gazing at the crescent moon, and starry hosts on 
 
 high, 
 And all the things unseen seemed real and imminently 
 
 nigh, 
 And then it was, or seemed to be, soon after you were 
 
 gone,— 
 I had a visit from, and talked with, the disciple John. 
 
 And sweet was the communion which we together took. 
 He told me things the Master said, not written in the 
 
 Book, 
 While I indeed said little, being half afraid to speak, 
 Lest I the precious time should waste, or I the spell 
 
 should break. 
 
 But just before he rose to go, I ventured to inquire, — 
 " Beloved One ! Of Jesus' words you never seem to tire ; 
 The precious sayings of the Lord, on which we love to 
 
 dwell, — 
 How came it that you heard the most, and have the most 
 
 to tell ? " 
 
 And then I thought I saw him smile, in gentle, kindly 
 way, 
 
 And clear, and musical, and low, I heard, or felt him 
 say,— 
 
 In tones which seemed to blend somehow with service- 
 closing hymn, 
 
 " They hear the most, who love the most, and keep most 
 close to Him." 
 
 thoughts at the ^rabteibc. 
 
 I too must yield — how soon, unknown- 
 Must yield this fleeting breath, 
 Give all life's projects to the wind. 
 Leave all I claimed on earth behind, 
 When I am claimed by Death.
 
 THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVESIDE 63 
 
 Palatial hall, or peasant's cot, 
 
 May be in life my home, 
 But to a narrow house of clay, 
 I too ere long must move away, 
 
 The tenant of a tomb. 
 
 And what is all our earthly hope, 
 
 Adorn it as we will ? 
 Let poets sing, and sages say. 
 Adorn it with what charms we may, 
 
 Hope is delusive still. 
 
 There is a hope of higher flight. 
 
 That smiles, and soars, and sings, 
 When other hopes have had their day, 
 And perish in the grave's decay, 
 
 With foiled and folded winsrs. 
 
 %\\z griming of the ^ine. 
 
 As yet no form or comeliness is seen ; 
 
 'Tis bent and twisted, rough, and gnarled, and bare ; 
 Whence can there come the leaves of burnished green, 
 
 Tendrils, and bloom, and clustering bunches fair ? 
 Who tells it when September days are here, 
 
 How does it draw its juices from the earth. 
 Until ere long the ripened grapes appear, 
 
 Rich in refreshment and in latent mirth ? 
 
 Luxuriant growth of the last season's prime, 
 
 The husbandman, I see, has cut away, 
 Not wantonly, but thinking all the time 
 
 Of better fruit, some brighter future day ; 
 Like many lives that would have fruitless been, 
 
 Had not the Pruner freely used the blade ; 
 The noblest natures that the world has seen, 
 
 Hav'e often been through suffering perfect made.
 
 64 REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 Pain is not good, nor grief, nor want, nor loss, 
 
 We only mock men if we say they are ; 
 There is no joy enduring in a cross. 
 
 The good and joy are higher, nobler far ; 
 When patience, goodness, and compassion grow 
 
 In fruits abundant, 'neath the Pruner's hand, 
 The use of ills we then begin to know. 
 
 The Pruner's art we almost understand. 
 
 ^hc Jjar Spent gay. 
 
 Come, fellow way-farer, and rest 
 Beneath this sheltering shade ! 
 
 WHaile sinks the sun towards the west, 
 And day begins to fade. 
 
 See in the past, now growing dim. 
 The way that we have trod, 
 
 And let us sing some dear old hymn 
 Of gratitude to God. 
 
 From Memory Land we journey on. 
 
 The Land of Hope to gain. 
 Thankful for what is past and gone, 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain. 
 
 Beyond those hills that lie before. 
 
 Beyond yon setting sun, 
 God has some better thing in store, 
 
 When pilgrimage is done. 
 
 One shadowed valley still remains, 
 
 Just at the journey's end. 
 One shallow stream, then sunlit plains, 
 
 And home, sweet home, my friend !
 
 SABBATH EVENING. 65 
 
 §abbath (Bbcning. 
 
 Hark ! o'er the verdant vale, 
 
 At peaceful close of day, 
 
 Now rings the church-going bell aloud, 
 
 Then gently dies away. 
 
 The mellowed cadence makes 
 
 Sweet music in the air, 
 
 Reminding men of better things, 
 
 And scenes more wondrous fair. 
 
 Up to the House of God, 
 Through pastures rich and green, 
 The eager young, the chastened old, 
 Wending their way are seen ; 
 Answering the welcome call. 
 They hitherward repair. 
 To raise the voice in grateful song, 
 And penitential prayer. 
 
 What is there on this earth, 
 What scene so near to heaven, 
 So full of peace, akin to joy. 
 As a calm Sabbath even ? 
 When nature seems to bask 
 Beneath God's cloudless smile, 
 And man seems to his Paradise 
 Restored a little while. 
 
 "i^oto Mtc fvnolu iit }3art." 
 
 My little maid, not four years old, will sometimes startle 
 
 me 
 With questions that are causing her profound perplexity ; 
 And I reply with answers which are but the truth in 
 
 part, 
 Adapting them, as best I can, to her young mind and 
 
 heart.
 
 66 REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 Already, on her flower-strewn path, some fleeting shadows 
 
 fall ; 
 Pain, sorrow, tears, arrest her mirth ; she wonders at 
 
 them all. 
 And asks me, why ? and how ? and where ? when weary 
 
 of her play ; 
 And oftentimes I hardly know what is the best to say. 
 
 It is not that my scores of years have nothing with them 
 
 brought 
 Of clearer insight, higher hopes, and more maturing 
 
 thought ; 
 Though meagre is the total of my harvest here below 
 I know much more than I can tell, or little child can 
 
 know. 
 
 And I think that it is so, and will be so all our days — 
 In our searching to find out all God's mysterious ways; 
 For He cannot yet impart what we cannot comprehend, 
 The meaning of the journey, 'til we reach the journey's 
 end. 
 
 Have we not grown, and changed, and learnt, from child- 
 hood up to age ? 
 
 Has not the book unfolded more with each succeeding 
 page? 
 
 We know enough for us to hope that we shall know 
 much more, 
 
 Enough to hope God has for us some better things in 
 store. 
 
 And as my little maid, tired out, sinks peacefully to rest, 
 Enfolded by protecting arms, pressed to a loving breast — 
 So may I rest in stronger arms, from fear of evil free, 
 Assured, like as I pity her, so does God pity me.
 
 JKm 1 1 -
 
 THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. 67 
 
 ^hc Jourucp of ^ifc. 
 
 An Allegory. 
 In the crimson-tinted morning the journey was begun, 
 The team was fresh and eager, the coach was light and 
 
 new ; 
 All the land was roseate in the rising of the sun, 
 And fragrant were the flowers that by the wayside grew. 
 With bells a-ringing, bugles blowing, Innocence and 
 
 Trust 
 Hardly felt their collars as they rattled o'er the track, 
 While Wonder and Impatience in the traces spurned the 
 
 dust. 
 And young life laughed at everything, and everything 
 
 laughed back. 
 
 But long before the noontide, commenced the second 
 
 stage; 
 Steeds were changed and scenes were changed with hardly 
 
 a regret, 
 For the road passed pleasant places from youth to 
 
 middle-age. 
 And on broad plains past pinches 'twas easy to forget. 
 Now Duty and Ambition pulled together with goodwill, 
 Together bearing bravely the burden of the day. 
 Reaching the grander prospects of each surmounted hill, 
 While Love and Emulation with light feet led the way. 
 
 And if sometimes they stumbled, 'twas not weariness but 
 
 haste 
 That caused a moment's break in the rhythm of the 
 
 road; 
 When it was past meridian there was no time to waste. 
 The first faint-falling shadows would soon be dark and 
 
 broad : 
 And ever and anon, perchance, borne on the vibrant air, 
 Loud thunder in the distance fell on the listening ear, 
 And the big rain drops betokened that soon the landscape 
 
 fair 
 Would be o'ercast by clouds, which the storm was bring- 
 ing near.
 
 68 REFLECTIVE POEMS. 
 
 So passed the changing day, and soon the eventide drew 
 
 nigh, 
 In silence and with shadows the gloaming fell apace, 
 And the cross of stars serenely its symbol raised on high, 
 Its light and meaning shining upon each upturned face ; 
 The converse grew subdued and low, but Patience and 
 
 Content, 
 With Faith and Hope as leaders, as under charm or 
 
 spell. 
 Trod safely in the darkness, as adown the hill they went, 
 Nor ever swerved or stumbled — they knew the road so 
 
 well. 
 
 Then came the bridgeless river, at the journey's utmost 
 
 bound. 
 Rolling between the lowland and the lofty further shore ; 
 The water in the sedges, with plaintive sobbing sound 
 Flowed deep and dark on either hand, and deep and 
 
 dark before, 
 Save where the rippling surface reflected gleams of light. 
 That fell upon the river from pearly gates afar. 
 Making a radiant pathway of tessellations bright, 
 To the eternal city where many mansions are. 
 
 Conbalcsccnt. 
 
 Thank you, dearest, now I'm ready 
 
 For the big veranda chair ; 
 Leaning on your arm to steady, 
 
 I can totter there, with care ; 
 Talk of angels ! Angels never 
 
 Could more good and gentle be — 
 Or more patient, than you ever 
 
 In dark days have been to me. 
 
 Comfortable ? Yes, delicious ! 
 
 Head and heart, and limbs at rest, 
 Air, and earth, and sky propitious, 
 
 Every sense revived, refreshed ;
 
 CONVALESCENT. 69 
 
 Breezes with their balm of healing — 
 
 Loving loved ones near at hand — 
 Oh ! how glorious is the feeling, 
 
 Oh ! how lovely all the land. 
 
 Hope revives and joy in living 
 
 After weariness and pain, 
 All the world seems bent on giving 
 
 Zest to dear old life again ; 
 Ferguson was ploughing yonder. 
 
 Just before I took my bed ; 
 After clouds, and rain, and thunder, 
 
 Tasselled corn waves overhead. 
 
 Now I cease my childish chatter : 
 
 Read to me a short, sweet psalm, 
 Anyone, it does not matter 
 
 So it be serene and calm ; 
 Or a song that tells of gladness, 
 
 Pride abased, and trust renewed. 
 Leaving little room for sadness 
 
 When the chastening? is reviewed. 
 
 6, — ^0cms 0f 43cmacraci>. 
 
 Through very many of Mr. Midgley's poems, in other sections 
 than this, there can be felt the thrill of sympathy with all who 
 struggle and suffer. He sees, as clearly as all must see who think 
 at all, that earth is not yet heaven, that there are traces still of the 
 ape and tiger in man, that there are many wrongs which could 
 easily be put right if only " men to men would brothers be." But 
 he does not propose any heroic transformation of society by a 
 species of stage conjuring. He aims at reform through individual 
 action -the individual leaven that is to purify and uplift the mass.
 
 70 POEMS OF DEMOCRACY. 
 
 Charity one to another ; help to lame dogs getting over stiles ; 
 thoughtfulness, and industry, and thrift, and a higher aim in life — 
 these are some of the aids towards establishing the kingdom of 
 heaven among men. A little that a righteous man hath (so runs 
 the teaching of " Aim High ") is better than the treasures of the 
 wicke,d. Mr. Midgley does not deal with the changing machinery 
 of the caucus or ballot box ; he believes that inward principles are 
 more potent than outward restraints, and that a reign of love is 
 better than a reign of law. 
 
 i0l\3 #UCll ®tXIC5t ^hou? 
 
 '• Freely ye have received, freely give." — Matt. lo : 8. 
 
 Your worldly-wise philoposophy 
 
 Is wrong, if Christ be right ; 
 No cynic maxims justify 
 
 The arrogance of might. 
 
 The old wrongs to perpetuate 
 
 Is an ignoble task ; 
 Your doctrine bears no Christian date ; 
 
 Throw off your frowning mask ! 
 
 Because you suffered want of old, 
 
 And had an uphill fight. 
 No reason is why you should hold 
 
 Your hand so close and tight. 
 
 If you by sordidness have gained, 
 
 Humanity has lost ; 
 Some tender heart may have been pained — 
 
 Some better purpose crossed. 
 
 Now that in comfort you can live. 
 
 No longer labour driven, 
 With a good heart, and good grace, give 
 
 As God to you has given.
 
 WHAT I^ YOUR LIFE? 7i 
 
 miv^i is Bouv Jifc? 
 
 '* A living dog is better than a dead lion." — Ecdcs. g: 4. 
 
 He idly boasts of an illustrious name, 
 
 Patrician birth and ancient family, 
 
 His social rank and old ancestral fame, 
 
 Whose own career has been, in guilt and shame, 
 
 A long descent from true nobility. 
 
 A lion prone, and po-.verless, and dead, — 
 
 What boots his mane, and once majestic head ? 
 
 The foundling lad, whose dark sinister bar, 
 
 No deed of his serves to perpetuate, 
 
 To whom the struggle is severer far, 
 
 To make a name, that others did but mar, 
 
 And from his shield the bar obliterate. 
 
 Though treated as some meaner quadruped, 
 
 Is nobler than the noblest lion dead. 
 
 So is it also in more sacred things, 
 
 Men mourn the men they knew, the times they've seen, 
 
 And nothing good to them the present brings, 
 
 They spend their days in doleful murmurings. 
 
 And pine and whine for things that once have been ; 
 
 Strange that such lions, once so freely fed. 
 
 Grow up so lean, they seem as good as dead. 
 
 Can he be said to live whose soul is dead. 
 Reduced to dross in furnace fires of lust. 
 Whose reverence for womanhood is fled. 
 Whose faith in God and man has perished. 
 Whose heart has starved on ashes and on dust ? 
 Ah, no ! though of some ducal house a scion, 
 His aptest likeness is a lifeless lion.
 
 72 POEMS OF DEMOCRACY. 
 
 ^he talents. 
 
 " Every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this 
 manner aad another after that." — I. Cor. 7 : 7. 
 
 Few in number though they be, 
 
 Larger share I dare not ask ; 
 
 Nor some grander, greater task 
 Think should be assigned to me ; 
 
 Talents, buried in the dust, 
 
 Gifts in indolence that rust. 
 Only add unto the sum 
 Of the reckoning to come. 
 
 Discontented with my lot, 
 
 Shall I in resentment say — 
 
 " Let the Giver take away 
 Gifts so few they profit not ?" 
 
 Why so meagre is my share 
 
 Of the treasures rich and fair ? 
 Beauty, genius, wealth and skill, — 
 He, withholding, served me ill ! 
 
 Born of envious discontent. 
 
 Sordid, selfish is the greed, 
 
 More than it can use or need — 
 Pining for, and petulant : 
 
 Blessings better far than wealth — 
 
 Sight and hearing, speech and health, 
 Strong of heart and sound in brain, 
 Who, so blest, should still complain ? 
 
 Let us use the talents lent ; 
 
 Service in the past so poor. 
 
 Should restrain from asking more ; 
 Gracious was the whole intent. 
 
 He knows best what to withhold 
 
 Of His treasures manifold ; 
 Mercy gave us all our store, 
 Mercy wisely gave no more.
 
 "HARDEN NOT YOUR HEARTS," 73 
 '' Sjav^cn ^ot lour |]wrts." 
 
 We stand appalled at evils vast, 
 Plague, famine, pestilence and war ; 
 In dark days think our lot is cast, 
 And wonder why such scourges are ; 
 But so it was, and even so. 
 Men wondered centuries ago. 
 
 What if earth's ills grow more acute. 
 The tribes outgrown, the place too strait ? 
 Averted eyes and lips turned mute 
 The trouble will but aggravate ; 
 But for brave hearts and helping hands. 
 Darker would be the darkest lands. 
 
 The hard, defiant, angry mood 
 Becomes us not, and profits not ; 
 Resentments cherished, unsubdued. 
 And old-time feuds not yet forgot, 
 Can only serve to petrify 
 All tender, kindly sympathy. 
 
 And whoso looks with stony gaze. 
 When pity from his eyes should fall, — 
 And whoso in his prosperous days 
 Can spare no gleaning ears at all. 
 Shall, when at last the field he leaves, 
 Have poor and blighted harvest sheaves. 
 
 " Aim high, but let integrity and uprightness always preserve 
 thee." 
 
 So spoke a father to his son, as on his head he placed 
 A hand that ne'er, in fraud or fear, the record had dis- 
 graced 
 Of manliness and nobleness, with which the world he 
 faced.
 
 74 POEMS OF DEMOCRACY. 
 
 It trembled now, but his clear eyes, and hair like spotless 
 
 fleece. 
 And placid brow and accents low, told of the perfect 
 
 peace 
 Of one who trod life's ways with God, contented with his 
 
 lease. 
 
 In years, but not in heart, grown old, no grudge the world 
 he owed ; 
 
 In strength and health, and inward wealth, he reaped as 
 he had sowed, 
 
 And more and more, the ample store, in blessings over- 
 flowed. 
 
 Aim high, and nothing deem too great or good to be at- 
 tained, 
 
 But yet refuse a means to use by which the soul is 
 stained. 
 
 For evil done, whaLe'er is won, is a^! loo dearly gained. 
 
 Better than skill, and strength, and speed, is manly 
 
 chivalry ; 
 Better defeat, than with deceit win a false victory ; 
 Better than wealth, obtained by steallli, is honest 
 
 poverty. 
 
 The prizes now and yet to come are neither few nor 
 
 small. 
 And better far aim at a star, than have no aim at all, 
 And waste the years in doubts and fears that coward 
 
 hearts appal. 
 
 Choose thou, my lad, whate'er betide, the good, and 
 
 straight and right. 
 Nor e'en in thought let deed be wrought that will not 
 
 bear the light ; 
 The last bell rings, and parting brings — Good night, my 
 
 son, good night.
 
 THE MISER— THE CONCLUSION. 75 
 
 vLhc .iftiscr. 
 
 His worst mishap was the first pound he saved ; 
 
 It lit the fire that better things destroyed, 
 The hist of gain, that grew on what it craved 
 
 And filled his heart and all his powers employed. 
 
 The fell disease pervaded soul and brain ; 
 
 The noxious weed o'erran and killed the flowers ; 
 He gave no joy to others in their pain ; 
 
 His hoarded gold brought him no golden hours. 
 
 His downcast eyes were filled with furtive fear. 
 
 His anxious thoughts were filled with needless care; 
 
 Who asked his help were answered with a sneer, 
 Or angry snarl, that he had nought to spare. 
 
 His body starved on worse than beggar's fare, 
 
 His mind was dwarfed in less than brutish bounds, 
 
 His home was loveless and its walls were bare, 
 And strangely absent v/ere all pleasant sounds. 
 
 His bank broke not, for its reserves were vast ; 
 
 Thieves did not steal ; he lightly slept, and armed ; 
 But he lost all when came a voice at last. 
 
 That called his soul, reluctant and alarmed. 
 
 ^Uihc (Jlonclusioit. 
 
 " What dcth the Lord require of thee but to do justly, and 
 to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God ? — Micah 6 : 8. 
 
 The laws of God are holy, just, and good ; 
 
 Not harsh demands of an exacting will, 
 Eut loving precepts of God's fatherhood, 
 
 In m.ercy meant to save the soul from ill. 
 
 Not galling fetters, but an anchor chain, 
 To save from shipwreck on the hidden reef; 
 
 Each link essential for the stress and strain. 
 Each made to save from suffering and grief.
 
 76 POEMS OF DEMOCRACY. 
 
 And this the sum and substance of them all, 
 Justice and mercy and the fear of God ; 
 
 A yoke so easy should no shoulder gall, 
 A road so plain should be alertly trod. 
 
 Be just and true, be merciful and kind, 
 Let the Divine control the human will. 
 
 Let failures lead to lowliness of mind, 
 
 All thoughts controlled by love that works no ill. 
 
 All that is best in all the written word. 
 All that is right for man to do and be, 
 
 The wisest counsel ever taught, or heard. 
 Have here their essence and their summary. 
 
 ;. — Bi^tscrnal ^0cms. 
 
 These few poems are grouped in one section rather from the 
 fact that they each have a personal theme than from any similarity 
 of thought orof treatment. Both in " Barnardo" and " Beethoven" 
 there is again shown the poet's gift of sympathy ; the verses on 
 W. H. Browne are in a strong democratic note ; " A Living Wit- 
 ness" teaches tolerance, because " the wheat of most religions is 
 the same — it is only the chaff which men fight about," and 
 Christianity is something far better than a mere struggle among 
 creeds. The other poems have subtle touches, evincing a character 
 analysis that is far from superficial. 
 
 " A tiny girl came to the superintendent on Monday with two- 
 pence in her hand, ' Please, that's to buy a wreath for Dr. 
 Barnardo.' A young woman hurried in late, after working hours. 
 ' Don't shut the Castle for a minute yet, sir. I want to run and 
 buy some flowers for him.' Amid the banks of rich blossoms, and 
 mingling with the scents of lily and rose, I saw on Sunday and 
 Monday many a little offering of love." 
 
 Like One who wept when He the city saw. 
 Nor wept alone, but lost ones sought to save, 
 
 So did he from life's pleasant ways withdraw, 
 And to his life work all he had he gave.
 
 BARNARDO— BEETHOVEN 77 
 
 All the great powers of the mind that planned, 
 
 All the great pity of his loving heart, 
 The strength and guidance of a willing hand, 
 
 And world-wide help, won with persuasive art. 
 
 Children forsaken, homeless, fatherless, 
 
 He found and sheltered, clothed, and fed, and trained, 
 And thousands mourn in filial distress 
 
 The friend from whom their higher hopes they gained. 
 
 The children's cry was ever in his ears. 
 
 For them he lived, and toiled, and pleaded hard ; 
 
 Then, in the fulness of laborious years, — 
 He took his rest, and went to his reward. 
 
 ^cethobcii. 
 
 "Beethoven in his late years was deaf. Xo whisper of sound 
 reached his consciousness." 
 
 He whose delight was in harmonious sound, 
 Ended his years in solitude profound, 
 Nor heard again from throat or pipe or string 
 Sweet symphony or blended chorusing. 
 
 Who would expect the sunshine-loving lark 
 To soar and sing when all above was dark ? 
 Who would have thought the great musician's skill, 
 That lived on sound, would live when all was still ? 
 
 He might have said, " INIy minstrel days are done, 
 My work is ended and my laurels won ;" 
 Or mourned, resenting such a loss should fall 
 On him whose hearing was his all in all. 
 
 But music in him triumphed o'er control. 
 He thought it, wrote it, felt it in his soul ; 
 A greater master of sweet harmonies. 
 Because his heart rehearsed his melodies.
 
 78 PERSONAL POEMS. 
 
 The things for service most essential thought, 
 Are sometimes soon to desolation brought, 
 Health, home and love, -the man of these bereft 
 Is so bereaved that there seems nothing left. 
 
 For self indeed small may the remnant be, 
 But for the sorrowing, deeper sympathy, 
 More tenderness of touch to soothe and bless 
 Hearts that have not srrown used to their distress. 
 
 In (iflemoriam, SI '§. f rotone. 
 
 Died 1 2th April, 1904. 
 
 To a friend he acknowledged his mortal weakness. "It is 
 hard," he said, " to have striven all one's life to reach ideals, and 
 upon attaining the power to give them expression, to be called 
 away." 
 
 The brave heart in the fragile form 
 
 Grew weary and was still ; 
 O'erburdened by the stress and storm 
 
 Of years of human ill. 
 
 Could but the feeble flesh have borne 
 
 Its share in life's great task, 
 Not yet awhile, oh ! friends forlorn, 
 
 Had been the need to ask — 
 
 Who is there left to take his place. 
 
 Courteous, but firm as he, 
 Blending in one the strength and grace 
 
 Of manly chivalry ? 
 
 His gentle eagerness to earn 
 
 The weary toiler's trust, 
 Shall still survive, nor now return 
 
 To darkness and to dust.
 
 W. H.BROWNE— A LIVING WITNESS. 79 
 
 For as this rich autumnal rain, 
 
 Now falling, chill and cold, 
 Shall fertilise each parched plain 
 
 To growth a hundredfold, 
 
 So shall our sorrow fruitage bear; 
 
 In new and high resolve, 
 To take our part, and do our share, 
 
 Life's mysteries to solve. 
 
 We make his ideals, his bequest ; 
 
 The flag falls not with him ; 
 Nor seek we an ignoble rest, 
 
 Nor let the lights grow dim. 
 
 We only leave his body here ; 
 
 Nothing can bury thus 
 The soul, that yet for many a year 
 
 Shall tarry still with us. 
 
 To teach us how to bear and do. 
 
 In pain and loss and wrong. 
 And in a noble life work true, 
 " To suffer and be strongs." 
 
 Jl pbing eEitncss. 
 
 Passing through the squalid courts and by-ways of the 
 
 town. 
 You may often see the Father, just as the sun goes down, 
 Returning from his visits to the suffering and the poor ; 
 As I have often seen him, for thirty years or more. 
 
 When he came to the parish he was ruddy, young and 
 
 strong, 
 And light of foot when he began these streets to walk 
 
 along ; 
 But now his locks are turning white, his footsteps slow 
 
 and lame, 
 Yet those who know him best declare his heart is still 
 
 the same.
 
 PERSONAL POEMS. 
 
 But in the best of service the most willing servants know 
 The weariness and weakness that force them to go slow ; 
 We have our best of treasures in earthen vessels still, 
 And the weak flesh helps but feebly the spirit and the 
 will. 
 
 Father Curphy takes no part in the bitterness of strife, 
 He has seen so much to pity in his pilgrimage through 
 
 life 
 That his preaching and his teaching and daily life reveal 
 The spirit of the Master who went about to heal. 
 
 We are strangers to each other, but his gentle kindly 
 
 face. 
 And devotion to his life work, are as a means of grace, 
 Reminding of the Healer ; Father Curphy is to me 
 One of His living witnesses whene'er his face I see. 
 
 Jl giUiQhIcr of Jlorcas. 
 
 ©' 
 
 Gone, so soon gone, thou good and gentle guest, 
 So well beloved by those who knew thee best ; 
 Serene and saintly in our midst of late. 
 As one who seemed expectantly to Avait 
 A looked-for summons to av.-aiting rest. 
 
 Richly adorned Vv^ith every gentle grace. 
 Beauty of soul made beautiful thy face ; 
 Thine were the charms of angel's gentleness. 
 Of helpful sympathy and tenderness. 
 Which beautified their fragile dwelling-place. 
 
 We find it hard to think of thee as dead. 
 That thy good spirit from our midst has fled ; 
 All, all too few on earth are such as thou. 
 And such our loss, so great our grief, that now 
 We scarce can bow submissively the head.
 
 A DAUGHTER OF DORCAS.-JACOB. 8i 
 
 We think what looks of love from thy soft eyes, 
 What words of cheer, what smiles of sweet surprise, 
 Might have made glad for years some happy home. 
 Or won back those from narrow ways that roam, 
 Or soothed and hushed the hungry children's cries. 
 
 Ah ! could we but a few brief moments be 
 Where we who weep thy radiant soul could see, 
 The tears would dry, the tremor leave the voice,. 
 The will of God would be our utmost choice, 
 Could we but see how well it is with thee. 
 
 Jacob. 
 
 In every land, 'neath every star. 
 His modern imitators are, 
 Who nothing see in human need. 
 But opportunities for greed ; 
 Repelling suppliants with a frown. 
 And striking when their man is down. 
 
 Distrust the man who deals in cant 
 
 And is at heart a sycophant ! 
 
 Who thinks that wrongs can righted be 
 
 By gifts of scheming policy. 
 
 And speaks and acts as if he thought 
 
 Even God's favour can be bought. 
 
 Beware the man who lightly speaks 
 Of upright men ! the man who seeks 
 With flippant tongue, but furtive eyes, 
 To disrate truth, or defend lies ! 
 For as he speaks 'tis plain to see 
 So in his inmost heart is he. 
 
 The home life is a crucial test ; 
 
 Who reverence most, will serve the best: 
 
 But when a father, old and worn, 
 
 Is treated falsely, or with scorn. 
 
 Then all concerned should learn in time, 
 
 Such sins are close akin to crime.
 
 82 PERSONAL POEMS. 
 
 Better no altar, church, or creed, 
 
 Than these, mixed up with fraud and greed ; 
 
 Truth in a mansion, hut, or tent, 
 
 Is more than rite or sacrament ; 
 
 Living episties do far more, 
 
 Than pulpit sermons by the score. 
 
 Old Jacob suffered much, but chief 
 
 Of all was his domestic grief, 
 
 His evil traits he lived to see 
 
 Transferred to his own family, 
 
 And felt the truth, which most distressed, 
 
 He most had wronged those he loved best. 
 
 8. — |)jocms 011 JldigioiT. 
 
 It is in this section Mr. Midgley utters his best notes. In al" 
 most every poem there is a realism of feeling, and a devoutnes^ 
 that could only come from one whose spiritual experiences have 
 been varied, searching and intense. " Restoring the Soul " is 
 doubtless a bit of autobioofraphy, dressed in a choice parable. 
 " The Compensation " includes a beautiful simile with a lesson 
 well worthy of the mental picture. " God over All," and 
 " Dedication " deserve to find their way into recognised collections 
 of Christian hymns, while there are lines in " Holy Ground" that 
 even Whittier might have written. The reverent spirit of "The 
 Still Small Voice " — and in fact of all the poems in this section — is 
 beyond any criticism. There is not a suggestion anywhere of cant, 
 or of morbid egoism. Mr Midgley's hymns neither fall into un- 
 natural gloom, nor is their spirit one of cheap and unsustained 
 happiness. There is rather the peace that flows as a river, the 
 quiet steadying faith that can see ultimate good beyond every pre- 
 sent ill, and that can in life's extremity still triumph and say 
 " Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." Perhaps the noblest 
 lines in all this section of matured spiritual thought are those en- 
 titled " In the Quarry." Verses such as these are worth being 
 written on warm human hearts as well as being printed in cold 
 type— 
 
 " We see men in their triumph, and we join in the acclaim, 
 When preacher, painter, poet, is enshrined in niche of fame ; 
 But the noblest that was in them, was in the quarry drest. 
 Where years of toil did something, and suffering did the rest."
 
 DAWN'S MESSAGE.-IN THE QUARRY. 83 
 
 " In the morning I will direct my prayer unto Thee, and will 
 look up." — Ps. 5:3 
 
 Last night, as often in the nights before, 
 The day's review caused some disquietude; 
 I almost said, " Lord, I will strive no more ; 
 I have failed so oft in each beatitude." 
 
 The prayer I breathed was mixed with sighs and tears, — 
 The old, old, story of illusive good, 
 So oft repeated in the bygone years, — 
 Would God still hear ? I doubted if He would. 
 
 But morning came, with upward hopeful look, 
 I gazed abroad on hills, and skies, and seas. 
 And I from them the daring solace took, — 
 My wants and sins are small compared with these. 
 
 The vital air, the all-pervading light. 
 
 The depths unfathomed, and the heights untrod, 
 
 And all the marvels of the starlit night, 
 
 And all the greatest, grandest works of God 
 
 But show His plans and purposes in part. 
 But feebly serve for syml3ols and for signs ; 
 They may wax old, and perish, and depart, 
 But not His mercy and its vast designs. 
 
 in the 'J^iuitrg. 
 
 •' And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone, 
 made ready before it was brought thither ; so that there was neither 
 hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house when it 
 was in building " — I. Kings 6:7. 
 
 In the quarry in the hills, there was toil, and stress, and 
 
 strain, 
 Sound of sledges on the wedges, of chisel, bar, and 
 
 chain ; 
 The shouts of gangers calling to the hosts of delving 
 
 men, 
 And a sound of many voices, like Babel o'er again.
 
 84 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 In the dust and heat and turmoil the rocks were rent 
 
 apart, 
 And artificers took them and wrought with curious 
 
 art— 
 With the hammer and the chisel, the measure and the 
 
 square, 
 They were fashioned for their places with lavish skill 
 
 and care. 
 
 The solitude was broken where Hiram's workmen 
 
 sang, 
 And swarthy teamster's whip and cry amongst the cedars 
 
 rang, 
 As the slovz-paced teams of oxen and escorts guarding 
 
 them 
 Took the finished blocks of masonry to old Jerusalem. 
 
 And some for strength intended, and some for beauty 
 
 planned. 
 But all beneath the guidance of a master builder's hand, 
 And some for the foundations, and some for outward 
 
 grace,— 
 Each finished stone was fitted for, and fitted in, its place. 
 
 Oh, the delving and the hewing ; oh, the burdens and the 
 
 care ; 
 Oh, the purpose, and the patience, of the preparation 
 
 there ; 
 Oh, the cutting, and the shaping, in the quarry far 
 
 away — 
 Before the crowning glory of the dedication day. 
 
 We see men in their triumph, and we join in the ac- 
 claim — 
 
 When preacher, painter, poet, is enshrined in niche of 
 fame ; 
 
 But the noblest that was in them was in the quarry 
 drest, 
 
 Where years of toil did something, and suffering did the 
 rest.
 
 THE QUARRY— THE VINEYARD. 85 
 
 Dear saint of God, with tranquil heart and cahn uplifted 
 
 brow. 
 The hammer and the chisel's work will soon be ended 
 
 now, 
 And the iron in the soul shall no longer pierce and pain, 
 And the things that we thought lost shall be the temple's 
 
 lasting gain. 
 
 In the ^incgarb. 
 
 " Go work in my vineyard ! " 'tis the Maker's request, 
 No call is so urgent, 'tis the Viner's behest ; 
 Though fallen they be, and prone, and down -trod. 
 The hearts of all men are the vineyards of God. 
 
 Work, each one as we can, and each one in his sphere, 
 Our day will soon vanish, and night will be here ; 
 Where sorrow and sin are needing us so, 
 And calling so loud, let us cheerfully go ! 
 
 Go, but in going, let thy motive be pure. 
 
 Let love be thy prompter, and be firm to endure ; 
 
 Have faith in God, and His promises trust, 
 
 In lifting the tendrils that trail in the dust. 
 
 For pity divine, and compassionate care. 
 And meekness, gentleness, patience, and prayer 
 Are needful to raise the vineyard down-trod 
 And make it bear fruit to the glory of God. 
 
 ''I Mill Jear ^0 (Sbil." 
 
 If at the last my beloved ones go with me 
 And in the shadows keep me company 
 Far as they may, nor e'er let go my hands 
 Till they are grasped by other greeting bands ; 
 Though warm and free may flow my good-bye tears. 
 Love, trust, and hope, shall have no room for fears.
 
 86 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 Why should I fear, who through life's pilgrimage, 
 Through youth, and manhood, and maturing age, 
 From God himself, and those He gave to me, 
 Have nought but good received continuously, 
 The love that failed not in the chequered past 
 Shall soothe, and cheer, and strengthen, to the last. 
 
 I^cstoring the §oul 
 
 " No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous but 
 grevious : nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of 
 righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby." — Hebrews 
 12 : II. 
 
 We thought the tree was dead, because each branch was 
 
 brown and bare. 
 Nor springtime bud, nor summer leaf, nor autumn fruits 
 
 were there; 
 Nor pleasant shade, nor song of birds, nor any sign to 
 
 show 
 That latent loveliness lived still in shrivelled root below. 
 
 *' The sun has shone too brightly in cloudless skies o'er- 
 
 head, 
 The days have been too beautiful," we sorrowfully said ; 
 " Month after month of light and warmth, no sombre days 
 
 of rain, 
 The tree is dead," we sadly said, "and cannot live again." 
 
 We thought his heart was dead and cold, for years he 
 
 gave no sign 
 That aught he cared for human ills, or for the will 
 
 Divine ; 
 He lived for self, and freely fared, and did as pleased him 
 
 best — 
 His life a long continuance of an ignoble rest.
 
 RESTORING THE SOUL. 87 
 
 But Mercy then, in dark disguise, sent wind, and storm, 
 
 and rain, 
 The lightning flashed, the tempest blast swept fiercely 
 
 o'er the plain ; 
 The sef.rching moisture found again the almost lifeless 
 
 roots. 
 The branches were adorned once more with foliage and 
 
 fruits. 
 
 And so it was with him, my friend, when prema- 
 turely old, 
 
 And in life's ills he'd lived to prove the impotence of 
 gold; 
 
 Where other Avays of love had failed, beneath the 
 chastening rod. 
 
 His life in darker days bore fruits of love to man and 
 God. 
 
 *' Jlicli in iHcvu).— fveabp to Joi'Qibe." 
 
 Brief words, but all sufficient for those in search of rest. 
 For those whose hearts are contrite, whose souls are sore 
 
 distressed ; 
 Like sea-shells, in which sometimes, we think, distinct 
 
 and clear 
 The sound of ocean's waves far off falls on the listening 
 
 ear. 
 
 All other hopes, all other pleas, we give up in despair ; 
 Complacent eulogy of self, and all self- pitying prayer, 
 Knowing with whom we have to do dare we plead 
 
 innocence ? 
 Or strong constraining circumstance, or fatalist pretence ? 
 
 We have to do with self, with conscience that arraigns, 
 With memory Avhich the records keeps of losses and of 
 
 gains ; 
 Self, all alone with thoughts and fears that darkest 
 
 shadows cast 
 On the future that shall follow an unforgiven past.
 
 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 And more than self, or fellow-men, we have to do with 
 
 Him 
 Who counteth not as holy angelic seraphim. 
 But notices the tears that fall from downcast weeping 
 
 eyes, 
 And unto whom a broken heart is pleasing sacrifice. 
 
 Oh, sweet and grand the music that lingers in the shells ! 
 Deep unto deep responding of boundless mercy tells ! 
 And the music, and its meaning, are felt on every shore, 
 Where men who have found mercy, show mercy more 
 and more. 
 
 P^iQlitcousncss, Peace, anb Jog. 
 
 When sorrow sobs in every prayer, 
 
 And sighs in every song. 
 
 Beware my soul, take care my soul ! 
 
 There must be something wrong. 
 
 Where righteousness and peace are found, 
 
 Joy will sometimes appear. 
 
 As hidden springs that overflow 
 
 In fountains bright and clear. 
 
 With secret sin and cherished doubt 
 
 Joy has no fellowship ; 
 
 With things of darkness joy can have 
 
 No glad companionship ; 
 
 It cannot breathe in tainted air. 
 
 It soars the while it sings, 
 
 With inspiration in its notes, 
 
 And healing in its wings.
 
 THE CELESTIAL ZION. 89 
 
 alHc CCclccitiiil Zion. 
 
 " And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to 
 Zion with soni>s, and everlasting joy upon their heads ; they shall 
 obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." — 
 Isaiah 35 : 10. 
 
 The last, best hope of all the human race ; 
 Creation's climax, God's chief dwelling place ; 
 Life's most sublime and loftiest ideal, 
 That man can think, or God to man reveal. 
 
 Our faith depends not on a written creed, 
 It is the life breath of our deepest need ; 
 Nor do our noblest aspirations grow 
 On things we think we understand and know. 
 
 Where is this heaven of the saints of God ? 
 What eye hath seen, or who its streets hath trod ? 
 Locate, define, describe, what mortal can 
 The Home of God, the highest hope of man ? 
 
 Nor trouble we — except to find the way 
 That leads from hence into the perfect day, 
 The path in which the just serenely go. 
 Walking by faith, since He has willed it so. 
 
 For He who made those shining orbs of light, 
 Like scattered beads, that sparkle in the night, — 
 A score of which, from the profusion wild, 
 Would scarce suffice for necklace for a child, — 
 
 Could nothing lack, if such His sovereign will, 
 Of power, resource, and wondrous, boundless skill, 
 To make this Zion sinless, deathless, bright, 
 And thither bring those precious in His sight. 
 
 Oh ransomed hosts ! yon city passing fair 
 Is no mere mirage on the desert air ; 
 It is a City with foundations strong, 
 And all its gates are open all day long.
 
 go POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 ^he OTompeusatton. 
 
 " A far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." — I. Cor, 4 : 17' 
 
 How glorious was the sunset, each burnished, rainbow 
 
 hue 
 Blending before the background of arch of ambient blue ; 
 Earth's exhalations mingling with sunbeams from 
 
 above — 
 Symbol of saintly sorrows, transformed by heavenly 
 
 love. 
 
 If from a few spent sunbeams — thus I wonderingly 
 
 thought — 
 And a few fleecy cloudlets, such beauty can be 
 
 wrought, 
 What then shall be the splendours of that far-oft Better 
 
 Land 
 Made by Him who, in its making, had all things at 
 
 command ? 
 
 Nay, think it not so far away ; for far as it may be, 
 'Tis near enough for earth to know angelic ministry ; 
 And it may be they happiest are, on mercy missions 
 
 sent, 
 When they return, and tidings bear of loved ones that 
 
 repent 
 
 To those to whom life's morning v"s soon with clouds 
 
 o'ercast, 
 And life's meridian glories have vanished in the past — 
 May ,such sunsets be a token adorning all the West, 
 That life's last hours to them shall be the brightest and 
 
 the best. 
 
 ^he (Emmaus Jounug. 
 
 " But we trusted that it had been He which should have re- 
 deemed Israel." — Luke 24: 21. 
 
 We please not God by being in aught untrue, 
 Weekly dissembling change of thought and view ; 
 Here, or hereafter, they have nought to fear, 
 When search for truth is humble and sincere.
 
 THE EMMAUS JOURNEY. gi 
 
 Interpretations that have served their day 
 
 For something better sometimes pass away ; 
 
 We thought we knew, but knowledge grew with 
 
 thought — 
 Something we lost, while something more we sought. 
 
 An Israel and Redemption there may be — 
 Greater and better than they once could see, 
 Whose eyes, bedimmed by ignorance and sin, 
 Distorted, let the heavenly vision in. 
 
 But come what may, and be it loss or gain, 
 All things are ours if He with us remain — 
 Himself revealing as the Light and Way, 
 And with His blessing closing every day. 
 
 " Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself and saith 
 unto Him, Eabboni."— Jo/i/i 20: 16. 
 
 When last she saw His face 'twas marred with pain, 
 More marred than face of man had ever been. 
 
 Nails, spear, and thorns, with scars and crimson stain — 
 With breaking heart the Magdalen had seen ; 
 
 Perhaps, like balm, her tears fell as she bowed. 
 
 And helped to wrap Him in His linen shroud. 
 
 When last she heard His voice He cried, " I thirst," 
 Mocked and forsaken in His dire distress. 
 
 His mortal agony had reached its worst. 
 Forsaken, and in utter loneliness ; 
 
 And she who at His feet with joy had knelt, 
 
 Only the anguish of the helpless felt. 
 
 In life's great sorrows do we ever see 
 
 The radiant face of Him we love the best ? 
 
 Even the truth is v/rapped in mystery. 
 And faith and hope are oft put to the test ; 
 
 What God could do, we sometimes think He should. 
 
 And, when He does not, doubt if he is good.
 
 92 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 Oh ! let us cease to knock at closed doors, 
 
 Since mercy's door has been thrown open wide ! 
 
 The soul that listens, watches, and adores 
 Shall find Him near this blessed Easter-tide ; 
 
 "Who love Him much how much they cannot tell, 
 
 Shall hear His voice, the voice they know so well. 
 
 " They heard the voice oi the Lord God walking in the garden 
 in the cool of the day."— Gen. 3 : 8. 
 
 They greatly err who suffer toil and care 
 To leave no time for solitude and prayer, 
 Nor thoughts of things eternal and unseen, 
 Or sorrow for the good that might have been. 
 
 Not in the haunts of hurrying human feet. 
 Where men in conflict or in commerce meet, 
 Are seen the footprints which His feet have trod, 
 Or heard the secret searching voice of God. 
 
 When daylight fades let earthly turmoil cease, 
 And let the heart be grateful and at peace ; 
 Some sad regrets commingling, it may be. 
 When the day's deeds in different light we see. 
 
 'Neath myriad tokens of His mighty power, 
 Each night brings with it its reflective hour ; 
 And though, sometimes, it brings reproof and fear, 
 The still, small voice falls on the listening ear. 
 
 " His name shall endure forever." — P$. 72 : 17. 
 
 Not blazoned forth from minaret or dome, 
 Nor borne by some old city of the East, 
 
 Not merely chiselled on some ancient tomb, 
 Or the endorsement of a fast or feast.
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, & FOREVER. 93 
 
 City and shrine, and massive pyramid 
 By process slow are crumbling away, 
 
 And what hands built them, and the deeds they did,- 
 Who is there knows, or cares to Icnow, to-day ! 
 
 He needs them not ; for every wayside flower, 
 And child, and bird, and everything that is 
 
 Brings some reminder of Him every hour, 
 Unto His hosts of living witnesses 
 
 Who bear His name deep-graven on their hearts, 
 
 The synonym of all that is the best, 
 The burden of a song of many parts, 
 
 Whose sweet refrain is peace, goodwill, and rest. 
 
 Mhen gecp §lccp dljalldh nn .i^Tcn.' 
 
 The window lights have gone out one by one, 
 And young and old are lulled by kindly sleep ; 
 
 And who from now until the rising sun 
 
 Remains in charge, and watch and ward doth keep ? 
 
 Even we, who chide our children for their fears, 
 Love not the darkness and its solitude ; 
 
 Life's mysteries deepen with maturing years, 
 And midnight hours augment their magnitude. 
 
 And we, perforce, must leave this hemisphere. 
 To find its way back to the morning light ; 
 
 We have no power the course to set, or steer 
 From midnight gloom to mid-day glory bright. 
 
 For we, the wisest, are but at the best 
 
 Like those who journey o'er the trackless deep, 
 
 And leave the deck, and soon turn in to rest, 
 And trust themselves to those who vigils keep.
 
 94 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 "Dolg Srounb." 
 
 ' Keep back Thy servant also from presumptuous sins." — Ps. 19: 13. 
 
 O God, in all my thoughts of Thee, 
 
 And of Thy Fatherhood, 
 Familiar names and terms must be 
 
 With reverence understood ; 
 For other attributes belong 
 
 To Thee the Lord most high, 
 The Lord of Hosts, the great and strong. 
 
 Filling immensity. 
 
 Only so far to me revealed — 
 
 As finite sense can bear. 
 To me in darkness lies concealed — 
 
 More than is yet made clear ; 
 How should I know the infinite 
 
 Being, and might of Him — 
 Whose unapproachable dread light 
 
 Dazzles the seraphim ? 
 
 If in untempered, erring zeal, 
 
 As if I all things knew, 
 My words but wound when I would heal. 
 
 Distorting what is true. 
 Teach me that Thou dost not require 
 
 The untrained hand of youth, 
 Or falling of revengeful fire, 
 
 To save the cause of truth. 
 
 The things of life and death are Thine 
 
 Beyond my skill or care ; 
 The trustful, reverent heart be mine. 
 
 And humble praise and prayer ; 
 Heart, hand, and tongue, thought, word, and deed, 
 
 Guide in my offerings. 
 Lest I Thy mercy most should need 
 
 In my most holy things.
 
 GOD OVER ALL. 95 
 
 6ob (Oucr ^\\, ^Icsscb for ^bcvmorc. 
 
 God over all, blessed for evermore, 
 With awe profound I reverently adore. 
 Well-nigh o'erwhelmed is each poor finite sense — 
 With thoughts of Thee, and Thine omnipotence. 
 
 God over all the awful silences, 
 
 God over all the appalling distances 
 
 Of time and space ; pervading yet apart ; 
 
 Where all things are, and nothing is, Thou art. 
 
 God over all ; the angel hosts on high — 
 Dwelling in light that dazzles seraph's eye — 
 The highest creatures understand not God, 
 Thy hoHest place no creature's foot hath trod. 
 
 God over all, eternal and supreme, 
 Man's highest thought, his reason's grandest theme, 
 And yet how dimly known, at best, Thou art. 
 When reason only rules the mind and heart. 
 
 God over all, I ask that I may be 
 True unto that which is the truth to me ; 
 I know enough to trust Thee, and adore, 
 God over all, blessed for evermore ! 
 
 Jrom Qlarmcl to the Cabc, 
 
 I. K'mcjs. : 18-19. 
 What doest thou here, repining at thy lot ? 
 All trust in right in thoughts of wrong forgot ; 
 In gloomy cavern, a morose recluse. 
 Pleading for thy retreat some poor excuse. 
 
 Forgetting all that God for thee hath wrought. 
 Does all the past now count with thee as nought ? 
 What is the meaning of the plaintive moan — 
 ** Lord in Thy service I stand all alone ! "
 
 §6 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 The world is not abandoned to the bad, 
 There are brave hosts in God's whole armour clad ; 
 And thou art here, instead of in the field 
 Helping to force the wavering foe to yield. 
 
 Gird up thy loins, go back to thy Jezreel ! 
 No fear of man the man of God should feel ; 
 Go, ere too late lamenting thy disgrace, 
 God sends some young Elisha in thy place. 
 
 gebicatioii. 
 
 For praise, for fellowship, and prayer, 
 
 And preaching of Thy word, 
 This hallowed house, Avith pious care, 
 
 We offer Thee, good Lord ; 
 It is not equal to our thought, 
 
 Not worthy of Thy feet, 
 Vain is the work our hands have wrought, 
 
 'Til Thou establish it. 
 
 Oh, come Thyself and beautify 
 
 Thy house, Thou Fairest One ! 
 Nothing these courts can sanctify 
 
 If Thou from them art gone. 
 Organ, and arch, and floral wreaths, 
 
 And beauties manifold. 
 Without Thee are but vanities, 
 
 Ichabod writ in gold. 
 
 But Bethel, Beulah shall it be, 
 
 If here to us are given 
 Communings of our souls with Thee, 
 
 And glimpses into heaven. 
 Be pleased, in mercy, Lord to give 
 
 Heart tokens even now ; 
 Our offerings Thou wilt receive, 
 
 And our requests allow.
 
 DEDICA TION, 9T 
 
 And more we need and ask for yet ; 
 
 May this an Elim prove, 
 Where faces towards Zion set, 
 
 Shall glow with hope and love ! 
 A place where weary ones shall rest, 
 
 Where thirsty ones shall drink. 
 And souls within Thy temple blest, 
 
 Shall of Thy kindness think. 
 
 ^hc i^lastcr is Come aub Calleth fov^'olhcc. 
 
 When all is said some mystery must remain, 
 O'ershadowing all earth's misery and pain ; 
 God has not made us that He can impart 
 His every thought to every human heart ; 
 Prayer has its limits, wide though they may be. 
 Reason, o'ertaxed, leads to despondency ; 
 The risen dead could not the veil withdraw, 
 Nor leave on record what he heard and saw. 
 
 This we may know, in things not yet made clear, 
 The Master's voice is calling everywhere. 
 Where'er we move, in each succeeding stage. 
 In youth, in manhood, and maturmg age ; 
 But in distress we are more quick to hear 
 His voice and footstep as He draweth near ; 
 When sinks the sun the shadows needs must fall, 
 But in the shadows clearer comes the call. 
 
 'Tis well with them, who, whatsoe'er their lot, 
 
 In Nazareth workshop, or its lowly cot, 
 
 In Cana joys, and glad festivities. 
 
 In Bethany's friendly hospitalities ; 
 
 And in the darker, sterner scenes to come, 
 
 In griefs supreme, in desolated home. 
 
 In life, and death, can feel and understand 
 
 Enough to knov/ the Master is at hand.
 
 POEMS ON RELIGION. 
 
 Just gpeak ii Morb for #lc. 
 
 Old friends on earth, whom seldom now 
 
 It is my joy to see, 
 When at the mercy-seat ye bow, 
 
 Just speak a word for me ! 
 And pray that one who sorely failed 
 
 To serve God when he might, 
 May find that suffering has availed 
 
 To lead him to the light. 
 
 Friends who have joined the ransomed throng, 
 
 If such a thing may be, 
 When pausing in your glory song 
 
 Just speak a word for me ! 
 If with the angels ye may share. 
 
 In visits from above, 
 Commend me to the Father's care ; 
 
 jBring tokens of His love ! 
 
 "But best of friends, the sinner's Friend, 
 
 I put my trust in Thee, 
 Whose intercessions know no end ; 
 
 Oh, speak a word for me ! 
 iPray that the Comforter Divine 
 
 May bring Thy words to mind, 
 And in each promise, Lord, of Thine, 
 
 May I some solace find. 
 
 (Dur father. 
 
 In mere submission to Thy sovereign will 
 I cannot rest ; 
 
 I want to feel, in all of good or ill. 
 Thy will is best ; 
 
 And, though Thou slay me, to be conscious still- 
 Trust bears the test.
 
 OUR FATHER. 99 
 
 This sad solicitude for loved ones dear 
 
 Oppresses me ; 
 I see each promise through a blurring tear ; 
 
 I long to be 
 Able to leave them, without doubt or fear, 
 
 Father, to Thee. 
 
 Thrice blessed thought ; this yearning love of mine, 
 
 I think I see, 
 Is but, at best, a feeble type of Thine 
 
 To them and me ; 
 Lulled like a child, I find, in love divine, 
 
 Tranquillity. 
 
 9--^0ems for nictitation; 
 
 Some of these have already beeu recited — and encored — on the 
 public platform. "An Army Strategist" and "Mr. Michael 
 Maloney " win applause, not only for the incidents themselves, 
 but also for the absolute good humour that pervades them. Mr, 
 Midgley's fun is never ill-natured ; it may not be boisterous, but it 
 pleases all the same, and the lines will bear reading more than 
 once. " Felix " and " Too Good " have no special pretensions, but 
 in each there is the quiet touch and the homely environment that 
 is not unattractive. "Hanging Judges" is an experiment, far 
 below the work of Hood or Ingoldsby, but it is a happy tritie 
 worth preserving. In " The Churl " a tragic note is struck, and one 
 could wish for a better ending ; but there the story is, as repulsive 
 as it is doubtless quite true. Some of the poems in other sections 
 have been recited with success, notably " In the Quarry " (p. 83), 
 " The Wattles are in Bloom Again " (p. 19), " Coo-ee" (p. 20), 
 " The Miserable Crow " (p. 30), " The Hustling Westerlies" 
 (p 32), " A Bit of Maize " (p. 38., "A Bush Idyl " (p, 39), " Very 
 Like Him " (p. 57), " Goodly Fellow.ship" (p. 61) ; and there are 
 many others which a well-trained voice and a discerning mind 
 would make most acceptable items at a church festival or public 
 competition. 
 
 Jin <^rmg Strategist. 
 
 Lot Grasper lived retired on his rents and paying shares, 
 But he was always growling about taxes, rates, and fares ; 
 Grasper had the reputation of being comfortably off, 
 And was the sort of customer men like to label "tough."
 
 100 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 His home was in a suburb, two or three miles from town, 
 And one day he got in the train and banged the windows 
 
 down ; 
 " It is a burning shame," he said, " it's cruel, hard, and 
 
 wrong, 
 To charge so much for tickets to the city from Solong." 
 
 And as he fumed and fretted, a Salvation lassie, trim, 
 When he sat down beside her, seemed to sympathise 
 
 with him ; 
 And something she gently whispered in Grasper's ear 
 
 attent ; 
 And he, all eager, looked at her, and asked her what she 
 
 meant. 
 
 Then said the artful strategist, in guarded tones and low, 
 " I often travel ticketless, and if you'd like to know 
 How 1 manage to go in and out, and never pay a cent. 
 And how you, too, may safely do this beastly Govern- 
 ment : 
 
 " If you'll give me for the secret, for our rescue work in 
 
 town, 
 A cash-down contribution of at least a half-a-crown, 
 I'll tell you how I do it ; it's so simple, so secure ; 
 Is it a bargain ? Glory ! Thank you very much, I'm 
 
 sure ! " 
 
 For Grasper by the wily one was clean thrown off his 
 
 guard. 
 And parted with the precious coin although he felt it 
 
 hard ; 
 And to himself he said, said he, with a sardonic grin, — 
 " To do as does an Army lass can surely be no sin." 
 
 And then she said demurely, " It's such a simple way 
 In which I travel to and fro, when not a cent I pay, 
 Sometimes, when funds are getting low— don't let them 
 
 hear us talking — 
 I go round by the river road, and find it pleasant 
 
 walking."
 
 AN ARMY STRATEGIST. loi 
 
 The train drew up, and she got out, retreating but 
 
 exultant, 
 She said, " Good day," and marched away, with victor's 
 
 spoils triumphant ; 
 And as for Grasper, he confessed she had manceuvered 
 
 neatly, 
 '* The blessed Amazon," he growled, " out-generalled 
 
 me completely." 
 
 Jl Song of Uhrccpcuce. 
 
 Little Patrick Jason was hurrying through the street, 
 With no hat on his head, and no shoes upon his feet, 
 The day was cold and dismal, and as he onward sped 
 His hand was tightly holding a threepenny bit, for bread. 
 
 A pageant or procession came with quick march along. 
 With flags and bands of music, and somehow in the 
 
 throng 
 Patrick got bewildered ; as o'er the s'reet he crossed, 
 He was jostled, and, alas, the lad the precious three- 
 pence lost. 
 
 He searched for it in vain when the crowd had hurried by, 
 Then woman-like, as men would say, he had a " real 
 
 good cry," 
 For threepences were precious, and mother was severe — 
 No supper and a hiding were what he had to fear. 
 
 A lady passing noticed him and came to his relief; 
 She handed Paddy threepence, and banished all his grief, 
 And a sudden revelation illumined all her mind 
 Of the folly of her hoardings, which she must leave 
 behind. 
 
 "•Rich, widowed, childless," thus she mused, " why 
 
 should I defer 
 Duties that belong to me to some executor ? 
 If giving only threepence could give such joy to me. 
 My own hands of my ample wealth shall my almoners be."
 
 I02 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 gkkcj} anb 1. 
 
 He only weighs an ounce or two, but sometimes he and I 
 Together from our narrow bounds in fancy free we fly ; 
 Revisiting the scenes we knew when both of us were free, 
 And we are not near so lonely as we may seem to be. 
 
 For Dick in his small cage, and I wheeled out on pil- 
 lowed chair, 
 
 Are objects still of someone's daily loving thought][and 
 care ; 
 
 We cannot toil or spin now, but we need not fearful fret 
 
 Lest they who placed us where we are their captives 
 should forget. 
 
 I note, and noting something learn, when parrots home- 
 ward fly — 
 
 Or when magpies or when sparrows in noisy mirth 
 sweep by — 
 
 A transient look of envy, a brief pause in the song, 
 
 A fluttering at the iron bars, a sense of something wrong. 
 
 But the fretting is soon over, and he gives himself a 
 
 shake. 
 And he seems to try his hardest joy's topmost note to take; 
 He does not nurse his grief, and pine, but sings, or eats, 
 
 or drinks, 
 And maybe, in his little way, " things might be worse," 
 
 he thinks. 
 
 No creature of environment or circumstance is he, 
 
 His little life is one sweet song of gushing melody ; 
 
 With all God's works that praise Him, he takes a cheer- 
 ful part, 
 
 For the cage is full of sunshine, and gladness fills his 
 heart.
 
 FELIX. 103 
 
 Wee Felix was not welcome : there were five before he 
 
 came 
 To share the scanty victuals and the squalid shelter claim 
 Of overcrowded dwelling, in courtyard by the quay, 
 And the Christian name they gave him seemed a sort of 
 
 irony. 
 
 But little baby Felix did not seem to mind a bit ; 
 
 Or, if he noticed it at all, he never mentioned it, 
 
 For he had made himself at home, and, "he's come to 
 
 stay," they said, 
 And no one missed the baby's share of thinly-treacled 
 
 bread. 
 
 So laughing, little Felix grew up worthy of his name, 
 For rain, or shine, or smile, or frown, to him were much 
 
 the same ; 
 He wakened with the dawning, with a croon of deep 
 
 delight. 
 And through his hours of sunshine made hay with all his 
 
 might. 
 
 Bright, fair-haired, fragile Felix, his sunshine soon was 
 
 past ; 
 His big and beautiful blue eyes grew dim and overcast ; 
 In childhood's early morning, when the world is at its best, 
 He was stricken down with fever, — and need I tell the 
 
 rest ? 
 
 How he rallied and recovered, but has never seen the 
 light 
 
 Since then, and thirty years have been one long, unend- 
 ing night, 
 
 A night of deepest darkness ; but you could hardly tell, 
 
 For Felix with a big brave heart bears his great loss so 
 well.
 
 I04 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 Brave, gentle, manly Felix never murmurs or complains ; 
 With skilful hands at wicker work, his livelihood he gains ; 
 He loves to read, by tender touch ; or else, the while he 
 
 sings, 
 His hands glide o'er the organ keys, or tuneful fiddle 
 
 strings. 
 
 Ah ! Felix, happy Felix, he has often put to shame 
 His friends whose light afflictions seem hardly worth the 
 
 name ; 
 He lives to some good purpose, who lives to bless and 
 
 cheer, 
 And bears his cross so nobly ; ours seems less hard to 
 
 bear. 
 
 Through thirty years no vision of earth, or sea, or sky. 
 Yet Felix has been happier, perhaps, than you or I ; 
 'Tis beautiful, and wonderful, and if you ask the cause — 
 He smiles, and says, " God's grace at work in compen- 
 sating: laws." 
 
 ^hc pilgrim iint) the §hrinc. 
 
 After long years she crossed the deep once more. 
 And, as the mists of morning cleared avv^ay. 
 
 Saw o'er the waves the well-remembered shore, 
 Bathed in the glory of the dawning day. 
 
 She tarried not in busy London town ; 
 
 Its wondrous sights could not a day detain ; 
 They well could wait, but ere the sun went down 
 
 She fain must see her mother's grave again. 
 
 The graves had grown in number, but she found 
 The one she looked for, and with reverence knelt ; 
 
 And warm tears fell upon the holy ground. 
 And new grief, mingled with the old, she felt.
 
 THE PILGRIM AND THE SHRINE. 105 
 
 For frost, and heat, and moisture day by day, 
 Like ghostly Goths, the tombstone had defaced ; 
 
 By process slow of crumbling decay. 
 
 Her mother's name had well-nigh been erased. 
 
 And as she knelt, she kissed the fading name, 
 Reluctant from the graveside to depart ; 
 
 Then from her lips the grateful utterance came, 
 " The best of records is a loving heart. 
 
 " The sculptured stone may slowly turn to dust. 
 Or fall unheeded on the yielding clay ; 
 
 But from my heart the memory of the just. 
 Cherished and blest, shall never fade away. 
 
 "As it has been, so shall it be to me, 
 
 An inspiration, long as life shall last. 
 That I, like her, by those I love may be 
 
 To memory dear, when I from them have passed." 
 
 A throstle warbled in the leafy trees. 
 
 The air was laden with the breath of flowers ; 
 
 And often in her Southern home she sees 
 
 The shrine where she spent sweetly solemn hours. 
 
 ^000 ^ight aub (^oob ittonting. 
 
 All ready for the ocean wide. 
 
 From ropes and chains delivered. 
 
 The ship rode on the midnight tide. 
 Where wharf and ship lights quivered. 
 
 And two I saw who, I could tell. 
 With grief were nigh heart-broken ; 
 
 A mother's and a son's farewell 
 With faltering lips were spoken. 
 
 The gangways up, the hatches down, 
 
 The ship for sea was ready. 
 And whistling left the slumbering town, 
 
 And bore away her Teddy.
 
 io6 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 " Good night my son, farewell, be good ; 
 
 Write soon, and long, and often ; " 
 And, from the deck, he cried he would, 
 
 And tried her grief to soften. 
 
 She turned to me and gently said, 
 As if her tears explaining — 
 
 " A long sea voyage ! For my Ted 
 Was all the hope remaining." 
 
 He came not back ; she went to him. 
 And found her place made ready ; 
 
 And smiling, as her eyes grew dim. 
 She said, " Good morning, Teddy ! " 
 
 Hncciunlli} Johcb 
 
 " Is there anything new in the paper. Jack ? " Janet will 
 
 sometimes say 
 To her goodman, as he sits and reads, in a taciturn sort 
 
 of a way ; 
 And laconical Jack, in morbid mood, the normal mood of 
 
 his life — 
 In this style often answers his optimistical Janet, his 
 
 wife : — 
 
 " Is there anything new ? Well, yes and no ; for the 
 
 latest news seems stale. 
 Only that things are growing worse ; it's the same old 
 
 horrible tale. 
 For the world is full, and the paper is full, of things that 
 
 shock and scare ; 
 Enough to make the bravest man go and suicide in 
 
 despair."
 
 UNEQUALLY YOKED. 107 
 
 Janet says, " Do you think, Jack, that things are worse 
 
 than they were long ago ? 
 Or is it the fuller record given that makes them appear 
 
 to be so ? 
 When comparing the past with the present times we 
 
 need to understand 
 That the news of the world is wired each day from every 
 
 distant land. 
 
 "And I noticed just now Jack, as you read, to yourself 
 you sighing said, 
 
 In an undertone, ' Dear me, I see poor old Tom Nobble 
 is dead ;' 
 
 But you don't read out the weddings, and births, the 
 jokes and bits of fun, 
 
 And the hopeful fight for right going on, and the vic- 
 tories nobly won." 
 
 Then Jack looks over his glasses and says, " My girl, I 
 
 think you are right ; 
 I look too much on the shady side, but you always look 
 
 on the bright ; 
 We two are like Ned and Nancy, when they come to the 
 
 foot ot a hill, 
 Ned seems to wonder why hills were made, Nancy goes 
 
 up with a will." 
 
 ^itnging Jubgcs. 
 
 Not that they ever hanged themselves, 
 
 Remorseful, in a tether, — 
 Save that in cases of appeal 
 
 They mostly hung together. 
 
 Their milder or severer moods 
 
 Left little room to choose 
 'Twixt penal servitude for life 
 
 Or else the running noose.
 
 io8 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 The line of argument they took 
 
 Was that of least resistance ; 
 " To law and order, a rope end," 
 
 They said, " lent great assistance. 
 
 When some poor wight, by hunger driven, 
 
 Robbed cover, field, or barn, 
 Extenuating circumstance 
 
 They treated as a yarn. 
 
 And struggling ones to whom, submerged, 
 
 No lifeline e'er was handed. 
 Seizing some flotsam in despair. 
 
 Were hauled up high, and stranded. 
 
 And ribald court crowds oft recoiled, 
 
 When, in their gruesome wit, 
 They spoke of " lines of long descent," 
 
 Or " hoped the cap would fit." 
 
 To victims whose environment 
 
 To crime predestinated. 
 To raise them law and judges said — 
 
 " Let them be elevated." 
 
 It mattered not, or young or old. 
 
 However tried and tempted, 
 The law was law, and from its maw 
 
 They must not be ex hemp-ted. 
 
 Ah, good old days, a long so-long ! 
 
 My play on words is ended ; 
 The hanging judges and the laws 
 
 Are nearly all suspended. 
 
 And both, thank God and God's good men, 
 
 Have sympathies far wider, 
 Man's justice now is more divine. 
 
 Since mercy adds a rider.
 
 MR. MICHAEL MOLONEY 109 
 
 Jtr. clHichacl jVlalouci). 
 
 A Sketch. 
 
 Mr. Michael Maloney was fond of a drop, 
 But he knew when to stop. 
 He was brimful of fun ; whenever he spoke 
 You expected a joke. 
 
 His favourite drink was a drop of good gin 
 With some sugar mixed in ; 
 A little hot water the last thing at night, 
 Michael said, was " all roight." 
 
 But work had been scarce and the times had been bad, 
 (" They had, so bedad ! ') 
 
 And, to say nothing of drink, for something to eat 
 He was almost dead beat. 
 
 And just at worst of his very worst days, 
 (As just happens in plays) 
 Two rather strange things to Maloney befel, 
 Which I hasten to tell. 
 
 The weather was wet and bitterly cold, 
 
 And poor Michael had sold 
 
 Or pawned at the corner Avhat could be ill spared 
 
 And from this they had fared. 
 
 For Michael was married, and Nora to him, 
 And his little boy Tim, 
 
 Were the mainspring of toil, the sunshine of life — 
 Michael's son and his wife. 
 
 " There is work waiting for ye," said Nora, " my lad," 
 When her Michael, ill-clad 
 
 And hungry and cold, had returned home one day 
 Without work, without pay.
 
 no POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 *' Mrs. Marmaduke Little has sent down to say 
 As their well's given way, 
 She wants ye to-morrow to bail out the mud 
 And to make the leak good." 
 
 Mike grafted all day, and he did his work well. 
 It is needless to tell. 
 
 And the great Mrs. Little doled out a small sum 
 And a drop of cold rum. 
 
 For Mike, you may judge, was in terrible plight, 
 As indeed he well might. 
 
 He sneezed and he coughed and he shivered galore, 
 And I've heard that he swore. 
 
 She measured it out, did the lady herself. 
 As she doled out the pelf; 
 About half an inch, and to Michael did pass 
 This mere drop in the glass. 
 
 And then as she put the decanter away 
 
 This great lady did say : 
 
 " This rum is the best and will keep out the cold. 
 
 It is fifteen years old," 
 
 Mike, all of a shiver, eyed the glass for awhile, 
 Then he said with a smile : 
 
 " Well, madam, you're speaking the truth, I'll engage, 
 But it is small for it's age !" 
 
 Mike's slumbers that night were sound and serene. 
 
 And he dreamt that the Queen 
 
 Had invited him up to her palace to view 
 
 All her works of virtu. 
 
 He came down to breakfast with look rather sad, 
 For he felt rather bad. 
 
 And Nora inquired, " Is there anything wrong 
 That your face is so long."
 
 MR. MICHAEL MOLONEY. m 
 
 Mike told her, his darlin<^, his wonderful dream ; 
 How the ladylike Queen 
 
 Had shown him her gardens, her works of virtu, 
 And her wine cellars, too. 
 
 How they came to a cask, and the Queen said to him : 
 *' This is ten years' old gin," 
 
 *' Will you take a drop, Michael," her Majesty said, 
 "Or some whisky instead. 
 
 ** She asked me so kindly I could not say no ; 
 Then, turning to go, 
 
 She asked me, would I have my gin hot or cold ? 
 And myself made so bold 
 
 " To answer the Queen in my ignorant way, 
 " • Well, ma'am, if I may 
 Make so free as to choose, if it matters not. 
 Well, I like it best hot.' 
 
 " And hot it shall be," she answered and laughed ; 
 Then she drew a good draught. 
 And ordered a servant with sugar and spice — 
 *' Go and make it real nice." 
 
 Ah, Nora, dear, I made a mighty mistake, 
 
 For just then I did wake. 
 
 And I wished when coo late I had not been so bold, 
 
 But had taken it cold. 
 
 ^hc (Churl. 
 
 *' There's Dingo Downs head station," as we rode on 
 together. 
 
 Said my comrade, as he pointed to some buildings just 
 in sight ; 
 
 And as we've come so far in this bleak west-windy 
 weather, 
 
 In this bit of sheltering scrub I propose we camp to- 
 night."
 
 112 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 He'd travelled on that road at least a hundred times 
 
 before, 
 With mail coaches, or bullock teams, or cattle in his 
 
 charge ; 
 So I found him well acquainted with all the wayside 
 
 lore, 
 On convicts, blacks, and bushrangers, he could for hours 
 
 enlarge. 
 
 And that was how it happened, having hobbled up each 
 
 steed. 
 And made up a good fire — for the night was piercing 
 
 cold — 
 O'er a billy of hot tea, and the fumes of fragrant weed, 
 With many a running comment my mate this story told. 
 
 " It's twelve years since last December, or thirteen — let 
 
 me see — 
 'Twas in my first year's contract for the carriage of the 
 
 mails, 
 That was eighteen eighty five, so that thirteen it must be 
 Since Sandy Saunders closed the road, and fastened down 
 
 the rails. 
 
 "He'd only just found out, he said, there was no right of 
 
 way 
 Through that portion of his run, to the nearest country 
 
 town ; 
 And he nailed up a notice to that effect that day ; 
 And the sliprails, as I've said, he securely fastened down. 
 
 It was a road not often used, and harm was never done 
 To Sandy's standing timber, to his cattle, or his grass, 
 By settler's axe or dog, or traveller's match or gun ; 
 But Sandy, all the same, begrudged to see a swagman 
 pass. 
 
 The settlers' homes were lonely, being few and far 
 
 apart. 
 Hemmed in by wire fences, by gully and ravine. 
 And when Tyler saw the notice it gave him quite a start, 
 No previous intimation had been either heard or seen.
 
 THE CHURL. 113 
 
 His wife and he were driving, very slowly, in a dray 
 To Littlethorpe ; and Tyler was anxious, for her sake, 
 They should reach the distant township before the close 
 
 of day, — 
 Expecting, just as usual, the shortest road to take. 
 
 He read the penal notice ; then he walked up to the 
 
 house ; 
 And asked Sandy, as a favour, the use of the short road ; 
 But old Sandy in a passion began to curse and rouse, 
 And used very sultry language, in vivid Scotch and 
 
 broad. 
 
 Tyler tried to reason with him, remonstrate and explain 
 
 In delicate allusions to his wife's feeble state, — 
 
 How it might be harmful to her, if caught in teeming 
 
 rain— 
 And a storm seemed to be coming, and it was getting 
 
 late. 
 
 He might as well have reasoned with the posts of iron- 
 bark. 
 
 Or pleaded for compassion with each intercepting rail ; 
 
 So at last he turned away ; but his brow was stern and 
 dark, 
 
 His lips compressed, his eyes aflame, trembling, and 
 ghastly pale. 
 
 He spoke soothingly to Sarah, his fragile, frightened 
 
 wife ; 
 But he swore a solemn oath, in the great Almighty's 
 
 name. 
 That if anything went wrong with the idol of his life 
 Or with the little one unborn, Saunders must bear the 
 
 blame. ^-eii^v 
 
 And everything went wrong, for soon the storm came on 
 
 apace, — 
 A tornado of fierce thunder, of lightning and of rain ; 
 And in the vivid flashes he saw her pallid face. 
 As she told him of her anguish and the premature dread 
 
 pain.
 
 114 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 A twenty-mile bush journey, made careful, and slow, and 
 
 sure. 
 Beneath the shade of sheltering trees, the girl wife might 
 
 have borne, 
 But twice that, and the fearful storm, was too much to 
 
 endure ; 
 Her babe was born that night, but both were cold in 
 
 death next morn. 
 
 A week afterwards, and Tyler, with heart as cold as 
 
 stone, 
 Drove up to the closed sliprails, and walked up to 
 
 Saunder's door. 
 He was returning homewards, wifeless, childless, and 
 
 alone ; 
 And in the interval had aged a dozen years or more. 
 
 He had hardly tasted food, nor ever soundly slept, 
 Since he had closed her eyes, and pressed a last kiss on 
 
 her brow ; 
 He had hardly said a word, nor had ever sighed or wept. 
 With eyes distraught and glaring, he spoke to Saunder's 
 
 now : — 
 
 "My wife is dead!" said Tyler. Saunders answered, 
 
 " So I hear !" 
 " You killed her !" Tyler said again. Saunders thundered 
 
 *' You're a liar !" 
 " I say you did !" said Tyler, " and now, by God I swear. 
 Ten seconds' grace is all I'll give; then, on my oath, I'll 
 
 fire! 
 
 ** Run, like a cur, run anywhere, while I am counting 
 
 ten !" 
 -And he clenched a new revolver, and spat on him, and 
 
 hissed. 
 And seeing Tyler meant it, Saunders ran towards his 
 
 men, 
 And Tyler finished counting ; then wildly fired — and 
 
 missed !
 
 THE CHURL. 115 
 
 It wouldn't make a novel, mate, this truthful yarn of 
 
 mine, 
 For the cross-grained churl lived on, and prospered 
 
 year by year ; 
 And deranged, heart-broken Tyler, while doing penal 
 
 time. 
 Died in jail, for slightly singeing that Sandy Saunder's 
 
 ear. 
 
 ^00 Soob. 
 
 A fine girl ! I should say so, and as good as ever lived ! 
 I say it, and I know it, and I may be believed ; 
 She is very near perfection ; I hope I'm understood 
 When I say she always has been, if anything, too good ! 
 
 She will be eighteen next birthday, — come pass your 
 
 empty plate, — 
 I'm telling Dawson, Martha, about our daughter Kate ; 
 That we think she is the fairest that human eyes have 
 
 seen, 
 And saying that, if anything, too good she's always been. 
 
 You are a judge of beauty, so, old friend, we'll let that 
 
 pass. 
 Come now, it is our wedding day, fill up that empty 
 
 glass ! 
 But when I say our daughter ranks with the first and 
 
 best 
 I mean not only for her looks but any other test. 
 
 We only have this one child, and could she have been 
 
 spoiled 
 The purpose of the Giver we might easily have foiled ; 
 But in her little head she holds good store of common 
 
 sense. 
 Leaving small room, if any, for conceit and vain pretence.
 
 ii6 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 But we nearly lost her, Dawson, when she was eight 
 
 months old, 
 Not with mumps or scarletina, not with fever or with 
 
 cold ; 
 In fact, we did lose her awhile, which bears out what I 
 
 say. 
 She was too good at that time, and used to sleep all day. 
 
 But she's bringing in the pudding, and it is just as well 
 That I've finished the short preface now to what I have 
 
 to tell. 
 For while no thought of evil ever yet has flushed her 
 
 cheeks, 
 She blushes when her doting dad her well-earned 
 
 praises speaks. 
 
 Well, my wife's only sister, Jane, had fixed her wedding 
 
 day, 
 And we three were invited ; 'twas on the twelfth of May ; 
 I did not own this store, then, but travelled with a'van, 
 And was looked on by my friends as a pushing rising 
 
 man. 
 
 So I got the van new covered, the harness clean and 
 bright. 
 
 And we started on the eleventh, and stopped there over- 
 night ; - ^ 
 
 But the ceremonies over, I drove round to Tate and 
 Tate, 
 
 And hurriedly laid in new stock, and bought a cot for 
 Kate. 
 
 The bride and bridegroom, guests and maids all said 
 
 " She is too good !" 
 She wakened up a bit and crooned as if she understood ; 
 We put her in her little cot, then placed her safe inside, 
 And wife and I got up in front and homeward we did 
 
 ride.
 
 TOO GOOD. 117 
 
 We had thirty miles to travel, and with his heavy load 
 We let Horatius take his time, the first half of the road, — 
 I called my horse Horatius because I'd found he would 
 With " with all his harness on his back " cross any 
 creek in flood. 
 
 And when we reached the Round Lagoon, we let him 
 
 drink and graze, 
 And made and drank a cup of tea, and talked of other 
 
 days ; 
 It was winter time but bracing and beautiful and bright, 
 And when the daylight failed we knew there'd be a 
 
 moonlit nicjht. 
 
 " That precious baby," my wife said, " I'll take her out 
 
 a bit 
 And I'll but her 'neath these bushes while here awhile 
 
 we sit ; 
 Those new goods smell so stuffy, she will need some 
 
 cool fresh air." 
 So she took her out, and wrapped her up, and gently 
 
 placed her there. 
 
 We talked and tarried rather long, then harnessed up in 
 haste. 
 
 And in the van the things we'd used we carefully re- 
 placed ; 
 
 But each trusting to the other, by some strange freak of 
 fate. 
 
 Hidden beneath the bushes, we forgot our baby Kate. 
 
 We hurried home but, now and then, midst talk of many 
 
 things. 
 We blessed the precious baby, " the dear angel without 
 
 wings ;" 
 And when at last Horatius before our sliprails stood 
 We both said, for the twentieth time, " Well, hasn't she 
 
 been good !"
 
 ii8 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 It was awful, I can tell you ! I never shall forget 
 
 My wife's face in the moonlight, o'er the empty bassinet ; 
 
 " I made sure you'd put her in, George !" " I don't 
 
 know who's to blame," 
 I said in desperation, " but I thought you did the same !" 
 
 We soon had old Horatius out, and Postboy in instead, 
 And back Vv^ent tearing through the bush in silence and 
 
 in dread ; 
 We reached the Round Lagoon again, the stillness was 
 
 profound. 
 And the spot where we had left her we very quickly 
 
 found. 
 
 And there she was, and wide awake, with little soft 
 
 white fist 
 Trying hard to make up somehow for what she must 
 
 have missed, 
 She smiled and crooned as usual and seemed somehow 
 
 to think 
 That it was very funny, and then had a glorious drink. 
 
 Matdimen, Mh.it of thc^ight? 
 
 Ho ! watchmen, what of the night ? 
 
 Have the dark hours well nigh worn ? 
 And the first pale beams of light 
 Brought news of the coming morn ? 
 " There is much to make us hopeful 
 That the worst is nearly o'er ; 
 That midnight has been reached and passed- 
 Passed to return no more ! " 
 
 Ho ! watchmen, what of the night ? — 
 
 Again we wait your reply. 
 Have the black clouds of sin ta'en flight ? 
 Are the hope-stars yet in the sky ? 
 " There is much that confirms the promise 
 Of a bright and glorious day ; 
 The mountain-tops have a golden flush, 
 And the valley mists melt away."
 
 WATCHMEN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT. 119 
 
 Ho ! watchmen, what of the night ? 
 Are ye hopeful in your endeavour 
 To gain for mankind every right, 
 And banish oppression for ever ? 
 Ye who stand, firm and devoted. 
 Pleading for downtrodden man — 
 Are the oppressors relenting ? 
 What signs of day do ye scan ? 
 
 Ho ! watchmen, what of the night — 
 The night of a sin-cursed world ? 
 Is the sword still bared for the fight, 
 And the banner of strife unfurled ? 
 Have nations yet learnt forbearance, 
 Peace, and goodwill to each other ? 
 Have men found in all, black or white, 
 In each man, a friend and a brother ? 
 
 Ho ! watchmen, watch through the night 1 
 Toil on in your tasks of love ! 
 Watch, till ye hail the mid-day light 
 Flooding the world from above ! 
 Watch on— till the darkness is gone. 
 And broken is every fetter ; 
 Hope on — for a world made perfect; 
 Toil on — to make it better ! 
 
 ^ke (Dlb lOillagc €liurdt. 
 
 On a little, woody hillock, a gently rising ground, 
 
 The old church stood, and might be seen from many a 
 
 mile around ; 
 Its quaint, square, ivied tower, standing high above the 
 
 trees. 
 Its ever-changing weather-vane, turning with every 
 
 breeze ; 
 And day and night, all the year round, the big bell used 
 
 to chime. 
 Reminding all who heard it of the ceaseless flight of 
 
 time.
 
 I20 POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 
 Whene'er I hear the city bells sounding o'er many a 
 
 street — 
 Not half so sweet their music seems as that we used to 
 
 greet 
 With calm and Christian gladness, on the happy Sabbath 
 
 day, 
 From that jubilant bell-tower in the village far away : 
 So clear, so full of music, and the never-changing tune — 
 As joyous in December, as the sunny days of June. 
 
 And through its Gothic arches, with careful, reverent 
 
 tread, 
 We walked, o'er sacred ashes, on the grave-stones of the 
 
 dead. 
 The records, worn by footsteps and the crumblings of 
 
 decay, 
 Telling how all man's glory here, is doomed to pass away : 
 Teaching this solemn truth — sermons in tones they 
 
 were — 
 We are but short-lived mortals ; " strangers and pilgrims 
 
 here !" 
 
 How heavenly was the music, soothing the troubled 
 
 breast ! 
 We could but think of a better world, its peace, and joy, 
 
 and rest. 
 The soft and mellow light, with tints of varied glow. 
 Streamed through the pictured windows, upon the aisles 
 
 below. 
 There we sat and silent listened, as words of cheer and 
 
 truth 
 Gave comfort to the aged ones, and counsel good to 
 
 youth. 
 
 Little, wee babes were brought and duly christened there ; 
 Young children on its green sward held festival each year ; 
 There the proud rustic lover his blushing sweetheart led, 
 And many an honest couple within its walls were wed ! 
 And then, when life was done, and all its changes o'er, 
 The old church still befriended, as in the years before.
 
 THE OLD VILLAGE CHURCH. i2i 
 
 We reverenced that old fabric ; associations dear 
 Were started in our childhood, and firmly centred there ; 
 And now I feel their power, wherever I may roam, 
 Reminding me of holy things and happy days at home — 
 Reminding me of those I loved, long years since passed 
 2? ? away, 
 
 Some in the verdant Spring of life, some in the Winter 
 grey. 
 
 lo— Ulisccllancous '^ocms. 
 
 Some of these were written in England where the "snow," 
 the " homeless poor," are not poetic fancies. " Scarborough " is 
 a vivid description. "Appreciations" was written after Mr. 
 Midgley had been contributing two columns per week for a year 
 to the DaiUj Mail — in fact most of the poems in this collection 
 appeared first in the Press. "Their Native Village" relates a 
 common enough experience, and the pathos of it is perennial. 
 "The Talking Gum " is a longer effort, not without considerable 
 merit. 
 
 Jl Bmb Calm. 
 
 The sea is still ; no crested waves 
 Now chase us o'er the heaving deep : 
 The full-orbed moon looks calmly down, 
 And a few stars their vigils keep. 
 
 No need to watch ; lash up the wheel ! 
 No need to toil ; leave sail and rope ! 
 So rest we now, — but 'tis the ease 
 Which knoweth neither fear nor hope ! 
 
 Such are life's calms ! they lull to rest ; 
 But then we speed not while we sleep ; 
 We speed the fastest on life's main, 
 In stormy winds, o'er stormy deep !
 
 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 '' gpcs non Jracta," 
 
 The sun shines on ; flowers germinate and bloom ; 
 Life rises, even from the silent tomb. 
 
 While the heart beats, and while its streams do flow, 
 New hopes may spring — more lasting beauties grow. 
 
 A faded rainbow seems that transient past — 
 Broken, destroyed, with the first tempest's blast ! 
 
 But while the sea rolls, streams will have their flow ; 
 Where roots are left, fresh roses yet will blow. 
 
 And while God lives, and blesses from above, 
 I still have left, One I can trust and love ! 
 
 m\ ! Conlb I §x\i fibe €)'er Jlgain. 
 
 " Oh ! could I but live o'er again," 
 
 I heard a fair one say, 
 " I would not cause such bitter pain, 
 
 Nor cast such love away ; 
 I would not play that double part. 
 
 That wanton, strange deceit. 
 Which crushed as loving, faithful heart 
 
 As ever yet did beat. 
 
 •* Oh ! come back, come back years of youth ! 
 
 I know now how to prize 
 A proudly noble mind of truth, 
 
 That could false vows despise : 
 I know what soothes the spirit now, 
 
 I know what chafes and frets ; 
 I know that they who folly sow, 
 
 Reap anguish and regrets."
 
 THE SNOW STORM. 123 
 
 ^Iic .Suolu ,§tonu. 
 
 Noiseless in the Winter night ; 
 Silent as an angel's flight ; 
 Spotless as their robes of white — 
 The snow flakes fall. 
 
 On the mountain's rugged brow, 
 Where the stunted fir-trees grow ; 
 On the shepherd's hut below — 
 Down comes the snow. 
 
 Every frosted silver grain, 
 Falling on the barren plain, 
 Makes it like a crystal main — 
 Cold, clear, and still. 
 
 And, like phantom ships, the trees 
 Wave their white spars in the breeze ; 
 Straining, creaking, ill at ease — 
 Up in the shrouds. 
 
 Drifting here, drifting there ; 
 Filling pitfalls everywhere : 
 'Twill make the woodman walk with care 
 Across the moor. 
 
 At morn, the lads, with wild delight, 
 Will rush to greet the welcome sight 
 Eager to join the harmless fight — 
 With cheeks aglow. 
 
 Scarborough. 
 
 The sun set late, mid clouds of crimson bright, 
 
 Tinging the sea with red ; 
 Evening has melted into star-lit night, 
 
 The moon sails overhead.
 
 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Only a milder day seems such a night, 
 
 Under a milder sun ; 
 Which, like a daring prince, had claimed its right 
 
 Before its chief had gone. 
 
 The linking wavelets tell their secrets still — 
 
 Secrets man may not know ; 
 And coloured lights from mansions on the hill. 
 
 Shine on the beach below. 
 
 From open windows in the crowded town. 
 
 Bright eyes gaze o'er the deep ; 
 And strains of music sweet come floating down 
 
 To lull the waves to sleep. 
 
 But like those hearts which some great grief have known, 
 
 They cannot tranquil be ; 
 But, grateful for the kindly pity shown, 
 
 Mourn on more silently. 
 
 Pale ship-lights glimmer on the sea afar — 
 
 Stars in a lower sky ; 
 Masts, sails, and cordage, every beam and spar 
 
 Revealed as they pass by. 
 
 And, glad with spoil, the loaded fishing crafts 
 
 Come with their sails spread wide ; 
 Borne homeward by the gentle breeze that wafts, 
 
 Helped by the landward tide. 
 
 And on the beach the pleasure-loving throng 
 
 Yet linger, loth to part ; 
 The ringing laughter and the merry song 
 
 Telling their joy of heart. 
 
 Over the rocks, over each shingly bay, 
 
 In Summer garments light, 
 Young, happy wanderers dream the hours away 
 
 Of this warm, lovely night.
 
 SCARBOROUGH. 125 
 
 While a few favoured children, with their hands 
 
 As busy as can be, 
 Are building fast their breakwaters of sand, 
 
 In hopes to check the sea. 
 
 Through every cleft, into each rock-worn cave, 
 
 With steady, certain speed, 
 On comes the restless tide, wave after wave, 
 
 Tossing the floating weed. 
 
 SEintcr. 
 
 Hark ! how the Winter wind 
 Howls through the dismal street ! 
 How well his piercing voice proclaims, 
 Blest is the spot where comfort reigns. 
 Where peace and plenty meet. 
 
 Just draw the blinds aside, 
 
 And peer into the gloom ! 
 See Cynthia pale, with clouds o'ercast — 
 Dark sullen clouds, that hurry past 
 
 Like culprits to their doom. 
 
 List to the teeming rain ! 
 
 With low and plaintive wail, 
 It rattles at the window-frame ; 
 As though 'twould fain admission gain, 
 
 And shun the driving gale. 
 
 No sounds salute the ear, 
 Save those borne by the storm ! 
 And save the measured tramp of feet — 
 The watchman on his nightly beat ; 
 Lone sentinel till morn. 
 
 Enough ! draw round the fire, 
 That friend on friend may gaze. 
 Though bleak old Winter rave aud shout, 
 Our castle-home can keep him out — 
 Stir up a cheerier blaze !
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 God help the homeless poor ! 
 
 This thought alloys our bliss — 
 Alas ! too true that thousands roam, 
 Without a friend, without a home, 
 
 In such a night as this. 
 
 God give us thankfulness, 
 
 Reverent humility ! 
 And may each blessing Thou hast given- 
 Each joy of earth and hope of heaven — 
 
 Incline our hearts to Thee ! 
 
 Jlppvedations. 
 
 Thanks, from my heart, I send to those 
 
 Who have, from day to day. 
 Sent me their thanks since I began 
 
 My rhyming by the way. 
 
 From friends of old, from friends unknown, 
 
 From places far and near. 
 The messages that cheered have come. 
 
 Through all my minstrel year. 
 
 A year begun with little hope 
 
 That any song from me 
 Would catch the ear and touch the heart 
 
 Of those who chanced to see. 
 
 For I had spent so much of life 
 
 In haunts of toil and trade, 
 That I had almost come to think 
 
 That man for these was made. 
 
 Until, grown weary, from the ranks 
 
 With faltering feet I fell, 
 And found when I no more could do, 
 
 Something remained to tell.
 
 APPRECIA TIONS. "7 
 
 The fountain by tlje dusty way 
 
 Had long since ceased to flow, 
 But deep beneath the drifted sands 
 
 I found the spring below. 
 
 From which I draw, in loving cup. 
 
 The draughts with which I try 
 In fellow-feeling to refresh 
 
 The weary passers-by. 
 
 (Dlb Setters. 
 
 I keep them locked in a casket, 
 
 I deem them most precious lore. 
 
 Memorials of departed ones 
 
 Gone where they wander no more. 
 
 And in my solitude musing, 
 
 With writers so long since fled, 
 
 Over these old letters poring— 
 I converse oft with the dead. 
 
 The words grow fainter and fainter, 
 Time-worn and faded with tears. 
 
 But each one has been engraven 
 Deep on my heart for years. 
 
 Some tell of the days of childhood— 
 Repicturing far back scenes ; 
 
 Others of youth and prime manhood. 
 Full of bright, hopeful dreams. 
 
 A few I open with trembling. 
 
 And the tears will not keep back. 
 
 When I look on the names surrounded 
 Within deep borders of black. 
 
 Breathings of early friendship, 
 
 And plighted love and truth— 
 
 Warm yet with the life and the heart-glow, 
 The frankness and spirit of youth.
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Written from far foreign places, 
 
 Dated in far remote times, 
 Recalling old voices and faces 
 
 From torrid and temperate climes. 
 
 For me they are full of meaning, 
 Though most unpoetic they be ! 
 
 Magic mirrors, revealing, reflecting 
 What none but my eyes can see. 
 
 And they cause me to think of that meeting 
 With those who have passed on before- 
 
 Where ocean, or death, or distance. 
 Shall never divide us more. 
 
 I will not leave them to any ; 
 
 But ask that these letters may be 
 Placed on my breast in the coffin, 
 
 And quietly buried with me. 
 
 "(Tluir S-dt'm tillage. 
 
 " No thank you, cabby, we will walk ; we know the way 
 
 of old, 
 But you can take our boxes to the ' Yellow Marigold,' " 
 " The old inn is pulled down, sir, and the old landlord is 
 
 dead. 
 His son, twelve years since, built and runs the ' Cyclist's 
 
 Rest,' instead." 
 
 " Ah yes, for sure, I think I heard, but I had quite forgot, 
 I'm thinking of things as they were at Little Nethercot : 
 Well, take them to the ' Cyclist's Rest,' and tell the host 
 
 that we 
 Are going round by the Stepping Stones, the water mill 
 
 to see."
 
 THEIR NATIVE VILLAGE. 129 
 
 ** Why bless my heart ! how long is it since you were 
 
 here before ? 
 The Stepping Stones and Mill are gone, this twenty 
 
 years or more ; 
 A small-arms factory has been built, where once the 
 
 grist-mill stood, 
 And Little Nethercot is joined by bridge to Nettlewood." 
 
 (The cabman took their luggage, and took their generous 
 
 pay, 
 " They seem the happiest couple I've seen for many a day, 
 But Winkle and his Gretchen will much astonished be. 
 At many things in Nethercot, Avhen they the changes 
 
 see.") 
 
 ** Come take my arm, dear wife, in the good old-fashioned 
 
 way, 
 Just as you did when we were young, before we sailed 
 
 away ; 
 We walked these lanes as lovers, Avhen life before us 
 
 spread, 
 And walk them now, in love the same, though forty years 
 
 have fled. 
 
 ** Have you forgotten, darling, our long walks in this 
 
 lane ? 
 And don't you wish, Naomi, for those young years again ? 
 See yonder is the village church, where you and I were 
 
 wed. 
 And from yon tower the wedding bells pealed merrily 
 
 o'erhead. 
 
 ** But where now is the smithy shed, where many a 
 
 winter night 
 The smith would lift me on the hearth, to sing and to 
 
 recite ? 
 And I, with the latest ditties, and monologues from town, 
 Delighted rustic audiences, and ' brought the houses 
 
 down.'
 
 I30 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " And where is now the schoolhouse, where we together 
 
 went, 
 And shared our tarts and pasties, and books and pencils 
 
 lent ? 
 Some modern structure now adorns the top of Fish 
 roTC Pond Lane :— 
 Ah ! darling I am sorry now, that we came back again. 
 
 " For no one seems to know us now, or smiles, or says 
 
 * good day.' 
 Kindred, schoolmates, comrades, have gone, or passed 
 
 away. 
 The streets are lonely; house and hill and pasture 
 
 altered seem, 
 And all we loved long years ago has passed as in a 
 
 dream." 
 
 Jleolu0. 
 
 ^olus, in his stormy car, drives furiously along ; 
 Lashing the foaming billows, singing his wild war-song. 
 He dashes through the ocean — his chariot wheels turn 
 
 o er 
 
 The waters of the briny deep, with deaf ning din and roar. 
 
 -But hark ! his strength increases ; more furious now his 
 
 speed — 
 As one who lays the stinging lash across a willing steed — 
 He shrieks in at the port-holes, and drives the teeming 
 
 rain 
 On the hardy sons of Neptune who struggle on the main : 
 
 Then o'er the bleak and rugged rocks, right round our 
 
 sea-girt isle, 
 He rides ; nor thinks the circuit more than we might 
 
 think a mile : 
 He mounts up from the beach, away 'cross mount and 
 
 moor ; 
 Nought cares he for the lordly rich, nor for the peasant 
 
 poor.
 
 ^OLUS. 1^1 
 
 Around the castle-tower he sweeps — whistling loud and 
 
 clear — 
 Whirling the weather vane about with many a dubious 
 
 veer. 
 He visits the lone grave-yard — ghost-like among the 
 
 stones — 
 Turning that changing voice of his to shrieks or stifled 
 
 groans. 
 
 Still on and on, with greater speed, he rushes in the dark, 
 Across the rolling river, and o'er the leafless park ; 
 Over the fallow fields and past each lonely farm, 
 He hies him, with unbated speed, towards the slumbering 
 town. 
 
 He gives no gentle warning, but rushing through the 
 
 streets 
 He shouts and deals a rough salute, to everyone he meets : 
 He is a careless fellow ; he knows not rein or curb. 
 But hurrying like a phantom past, his weird wild voice 
 
 is heard. 
 
 §cath of John Ijampbeit. 
 
 John Hampden was the leader of the popular party in the reign of Charles I. 
 •nd ever memorable because of his refusal to pay the arbitrary and illegal 
 imposts of the King. Clarendon states that he was regarded by the people as 
 their Pater Patriae. He was fatally wounded while leading a charge against 
 Prince Rupert at Chalgrove Field, 1643. 
 
 Oh ! how we mourned that day 
 When Chalgrove Field was lost, 
 And wept in sad and sore dismay 
 At what that skirmish cost. 
 
 We fought 'gainst fearful odds ; 
 And Essex, all too slow, 
 Marched on the field when all was done. 
 And Hampden was laid low. 
 
 Hot, fierce, and hard till then, 
 We struggled hand to hand ; 
 We charged the whole of Rupert's force, 
 Then made a desperate stand.
 
 132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But when our Chief turned rein, 
 And left the hard-fought field, 
 We had no heart to charge again — 
 We could but fly or yield. 
 
 That bullet did great work ; 
 For when, with drooping head, 
 We saw him cross the crimsoned brook, 
 For once we turned and fled. 
 
 We could not tell our loss 
 When our brave Leader fell — 
 He who in tent, or court, or field 
 Had led our cause so well. 
 
 John Hampden fell and died ! 
 But soon the nation said. 
 Never a nobler patriot breathed. 
 Nor braver soldier bled. 
 
 But mournful was that day. 
 When Chalgrove Field was lost ; 
 We wept in sad and sore dismay 
 At what that skirmish cost. 
 
 €rcction of the fling's gtiinbnrb at 
 (i^ottingham. 
 
 The Hon showed his teeth at last, sharp-pointed, strong, 
 
 and keen ; 
 And he, who would have tamed the beast, began to 
 
 doubt, I ween, 
 When North, and South, and East, and West, was 
 
 heard the mighty cry 
 Of thousands who had sworn to God to free the land 
 
 or die.
 
 ERECTION OF KING'S STANDARD. 133 
 
 And so, for King or Parliament, the Commons or the 
 
 Crown, 
 Each city took at once its side — and every port and town; 
 Old swords were taken down again from where they long 
 
 had stayed. 
 And sharpened, pointed, polished bright, to join the new 
 
 crusade. 
 
 No more debate, no more delay, but bullets, blades, and 
 pikes 
 
 Must free from thrall a king-cursed land, and force dis- 
 puted rights. 
 
 As great heat brings the thunder storm, so did each 
 burning wrong 
 
 Arouse its own destroying power, and felt the shock 
 ere long. 
 
 The haughty, mad, impulsive King, with all too-eager 
 
 speed, 
 O'er Nottingham his standard raised ; and, so that all 
 
 might read. 
 The words were blazoned on the flag, and in the wind 
 
 they blew. 
 Claiming a Caesar's rights, forsooth, and claiming Caesar's 
 
 due ! 
 
 Out streamed the royal standard, above the goodly town. 
 And some looked up with sickly smile, and some with 
 
 sturdy frown ; 
 It floated from the Castle Tower, and showed its sign 
 
 afar. 
 The signal of the bursting storm — that long, fierce 
 
 bloody war. 
 
 Some hailed it with a shout of joy, and rallied neath the 
 
 flag ; 
 But others as a murderous sign, a hateful Popish rag ! 
 And through the streets went singing the lightsome 
 
 Cavaliers, 
 Receiving, as they cantered past, a few faint-hearted 
 
 cheers.
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But that same night, the whistling wind, as if in sport 
 
 or spite. 
 The standard pole asunder snapped, and hurled it from 
 
 its height ; 
 And King and courtiers, the next morn, were startled and 
 
 dismayed 
 To see the flag they perched so high, such dire descent 
 
 had made. 
 
 They fear the most who sin the most, and have most 
 cause to fear : 
 
 That low-laid ensign seemed to tell of some worse down- 
 fall near ; 
 
 And Charles's men, and Charles himself, oft cursed the 
 rotten stick, 
 
 Or tried to laugh the whole thing off, as some mad Round- 
 head's trick. 
 
 ^hc talking ^um. 
 
 The old gum tree which stood in Roma-street and was looked 
 upon as one of the land marks of Brisbane, was at last removed 
 to make waj' for the electric trams. 
 
 My years of vernal growth have gone, 
 
 My sluggish sap begins to fail ; 
 Gone are the days of mirth and song 
 
 And bursts of laughter in the gale. 
 
 Such tongue and speech as Nature gave 
 I use but seldom ; but in thought 
 
 I ponder problems sad and grave, 
 And muse o'er what the years have wrought- 
 
 Of good and ill, of light and shade, 
 
 In their alternate ebb and flow. 
 Of havoc that the storms have made 
 
 And giants by the axe laid low.
 
 THE TAL KING GUM. i35 
 
 Fair was the dawn of life to me, 
 
 With comrades close on every hand, 
 Ten thousand kindred saplings we 
 
 Stood slim and strong o'er all the land. 
 
 Our roots drank nectar from the pool 
 
 Round which in peaceful shade we stood, 
 
 And by its waters clear and cool 
 We grew apace and life was good. 
 
 Good, when the sudden sunlight streamed 
 
 On tree- tops that above us towered 
 Where myriad silvery dewdrops gleamed 
 
 And mixed with blossoms on us showered. 
 
 While shrill-voiced parrots whirled around 
 
 And cockatoos renewed their quest, 
 Where bees and birds in blossoms found 
 
 The honeydew they loved the best. 
 
 No sombre, saucy sparrows then 
 
 Mingled with theirs, their hungry cry, 
 
 Types of a race of starving men 
 And toil hard pressed by poverty. 
 
 In summer noon and winter night ; 
 
 Through calm and storm, through drought and 
 flood; 
 Young seedlings grew to giant height 
 
 A legion-numbered brotherhood. 
 
 The only pain we knew was when 
 
 The lightning smote some stately trunk, 
 
 Or when by hands of savage men 
 Deep notches in our bark were sunk. 
 
 So passed our fresh young years away 
 
 Nourished in liberty and light, 
 Growth and expansion came each day, 
 
 Rest and reflection came at night.
 
 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Then came new sounds betokening" change, 
 Harsh jangling of the bullock bell, 
 
 Barking of dogs and bleating strange. 
 Upon the startled night air fell. 
 
 When daylight dawned, there* moving past, 
 Were herds of kine and flocks of sheep — 
 
 Forerunners of the changes vast — 
 
 More strange than strangest dreams of sleep. 
 
 Primeval solitude was o'er ; 
 
 The ancient order passed away ; 
 When moved far inland from the shore 
 
 The heralds of the white man's sway. 
 
 What boots the change ? I ponder well 
 O'er all that I ha^e heard and seen, 
 
 And which were best 'twere hard to tell — 
 Things as they are or long had been ? 
 
 So long, indeed, no tongue can tell — 
 No speech of man or beast or tree — 
 
 When first upon the land there fell 
 The order that has ceased to be. 
 
 Around me now on every hand 
 
 Stretch busy streets, and in their midst 
 
 A lonely sojourner I stand 
 
 And w-atch men's struggles to exist. 
 
 Pale faces, worn with toil and care 
 Pass to and fro from morn to night, 
 
 Showing no sign that earth is fair, 
 Or life to them is sweet and bright. 
 
 Treasures untold of soil and mine. 
 Of fruitful earth and teeming flood. 
 
 Of Nature's stores and genial clime 
 Monopolised, misunderstood !
 
 THE TALKING GUM. 137 
 
 Trees of my tribe enough to build 
 
 All homeless ones a dwelling place : 
 And virgin plains which ploughed and tilled 
 
 VVould clothe and feed a starving race ! 
 
 Sombre the shadows of the hills 
 
 Sombre the shadows of the trees, 
 l->ut the dark shades of human ills 
 
 Are only feebly typed by these. 
 
 The lust of wealth, of unearned gain, 
 Has found new fields of wider range ; 
 
 The fruitful seed is golden grain ; 
 
 The men that reap — the men " on 'Change." 
 
 Fair Southern land doomed at the first. 
 
 Penal abode of old-world crime, 
 Shall it by old-world greed be cursed. 
 
 And arrogance of feudal time ? 
 
 Men have not learned to live like trees, 
 Each with his share of fruitful earth, 
 
 Each with his share of sun and breeze 
 Each with his share of toil and mirth. 
 
 The master and the man are here 
 Where only both in one should be — 
 
 Each man the master of his share 
 Of toil and rest and liberty. 
 
 1 >hare man's joy o'er battles won 
 
 But wonder, when the strile I see, 
 When man's millenium shall come, 
 
 \\'hen Paradise restored shall be. 
 
 My sap runs cold when past my feet 
 Stagger besotted drunken men, 
 
 Supplying details that complete 
 Pictures of old-world woes again.
 
 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The helpless habit, maudlin tongue, 
 The speech polluted and profane, 
 
 Irreverence of old and young, 
 To the great God and His great name. 
 
 But see, the sparrows seek their nest» 
 The swallows twitter and depart. 
 
 The evening shadows soothe to rest 
 The mournful musings of my heart. 
 
 The breeze that dipped in ocean wave 
 And felt the splash of silvery spray 
 
 Comes with the solace that I crave 
 And whispers hope of brighter day. 
 
 The myriad stars of heaven look down 
 Upon a slumbering hemisphere. 
 
 On silent bush and sleeping town 
 Expanding wider year by year. 
 
 yEolian music, low and sweet, 
 The breezes in the starlight play 
 
 And ancient promises repeat 
 
 Maturing still through long delay. 
 
 By process slow, but fixed and sure 
 My trunk and limbs expanded grew. 
 
 And so must grow the good and pure 
 In human life — the just and true. 
 
 The laws that shelter human life 
 
 Shall shelter each man's right to live ; 
 
 Nor by the scanty bread of strife 
 Nor by the dole the rich may give. 
 
 The day shall come, when I am gone. 
 When hoarded wealth shall be unknown 
 
 When men shall live by bread well won 
 From seed and soil and sheaf their own.
 
 THE TA LKING O UM. 
 
 Knowledge of truth and right has grown, 
 And, as the years their courses run, 
 
 The heart shall learn the truth to own — 
 The will to use the knowledge won. 
 
 And love deep rooted and widespread 
 Shall flourish like a mighty tree 
 
 Whose fruit shall be a nation's bread 
 Whose leaves shall leaves of healing be. 
 
 139
 
 140 NOTES.— pp. 15-28. 
 
 Notes. 
 
 Page. 
 
 15. a silent shor«. In 1770 Captain Cook sailed along tho 
 Queensland coast ; Flinders followed in 1799 ; Oxley arrived 
 in Moreton Bay in 1823. Trie settlement then contained a 
 few soldiers, some convicts, and perhaps 50,000 aborigines. 
 Since then the magic wand of civilisation has changed the 
 face of the land. Queensland became a self-governing 
 colony in 1859 (pop. about 30,000) : and a " State " of the 
 Commonwealth in 1901 (pop. 503,266), Along its coast to- 
 day from Brisbane (cap. , pop 120,000) to Thursday Island 
 are numerous progressive ports and settlements ; and in 
 place of Cook's " silent shore " is a highway of busy traffic, 
 coastal and oversea, 
 mines, e.f/., Gympie, Mount Morgan, the Towers, Cloncurry, 
 and many others; plains, e.g., the far-famed Darling 
 Downs ; plantations of sugar-cane, e.g., in the districts of 
 Moreton, Bundaberg, Mackay, etc. 
 varied wealth. In 1905 there was exported wool (£2,649,751), 
 gold (£2,627,096), and sugar (£1,448,845), live stock 
 (£1.132,081), meat (£841,607), hides and skins (£430,356) ; 
 and the "browsing kine " are giving Quensland a butter 
 industry that is expanding beyond any poet's dream- 
 peaceful acquisition, except for occasional skirmishes with 
 the " blacks " no blood was shed. 
 16. platform, etc., alliteration, as frequently elsewhere. 
 
 blessedness. "It is more blessed to give than to receive." 
 
 (Acts 20 : 35). 
 doing good. " The luxury of doing good." 
 victories. " Peace hath her victories no less renowned than 
 war." 
 
 18. darkness . . . dust ; blade . . . bioom ; alli- 
 
 teration is freely used. cf. tiny, tufted ; braving . . . 
 blustering (p. 19) ; true to time and tint and taste 
 
 (p. 20) ; and so, frequently throughout the poem. 
 crowns . . . years, cf. Psalm 65 : 11. 
 
 19. by bread alone, cf, Matthew 4: 4. 
 
 20. floral dial, i.e., the regular succession of differing flowers that 
 
 mark the different twelve months of the year, like tho 
 
 figures on a twelve-division dial. 
 Coo-ee. "A peculiar prolonged whistling sound made by 
 
 the Australian aboriginals as a call or signal." Many a 
 
 dweller in the Queensland " bush " can imitate the call 
 
 admirably. 
 sep'rator, i.e., cream separator.
 
 MIDOLEY'S POEMS. 141 
 
 21. bole, i.e., tree-trunk. 
 
 loveliness does not rhyme, of couree, with loneliness; 
 lovely dress would be a cheap emendation, but the author 
 is not exacting with rhymes, provided they do not offend 
 the ear. 
 
 22. or, i e., either. 
 
 red blooms, red roses typifying sacrifice; goldcn-hued dahlias 
 for mercy ; immortelles for the pare Life Beyond. 
 
 A Bush Grave. In this, as in Jacob (p. 81) and other poetrs, 
 the author regards the title as an intimate part of the 
 poem to be supplied in sense throughout the piece; e.ij., 
 whose (in line 4) i.e., "whose grave." 
 
 23. wonga pigeons — found in the Australian "bush." 
 curlew. " A wading bird, remarkable for its long, slender 
 
 curved bill " and its mournful weird cry. 
 
 24. Afterthoughts of God. " He made tlie grass," writes one, 
 
 " and saw it was good, and smiled ; when, lo ! there sprang 
 
 up everywhere flowers." Longfellow has said: — 
 " Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
 
 One who dwelleth by the castled llhine. 
 When he called the flowers blue and golden. 
 
 Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine." 
 
 25. Peach blossoms. This poem has many defects of rhyme, 
 
 e.g., winsome and welcome, whispers and sisters, spring and 
 blossoming, desponding and responding, maidenhood and 
 hardihood ; but the thoughts are so winsome and innocent 
 that one hardly notices the rhyme. What could bo 
 prettier, for instance, than the quaint conceit that ends 
 the first verse? 
 toil and spin. r/. Matthew 6 : 28. 
 
 26. prune, i.e.. preen. 
 
 laughter in their eyes, i.e., the sunshine that dances in the 
 
 dew of their petals. 
 moaning evermore. One writes: — 
 
 " Tell me thy secret, lone sobbing sea ! 
 Dost thou weep for the unwept in wandering graves, 
 A requiem low for the lost in thy waves, 
 Whose home is the darkness of shell-spangled caves ? 
 Tell me thy secret, tell me 1" 
 comforted <■/. " The heart of Rachel, for hor children crying 
 
 Will not be comforted." 
 threefold explained in the following verse. 
 
 27. unconsumed perhaps hardly a scientific truth. 
 
 27. care for us not the anthropocentric view of the universe so 
 
 much as the view embodied in the question :— If God so 
 clothe the grass, shall He not much more clothe you ? 
 
 28. celestial galaxy the milky way.
 
 142 NOTES.— pp. 29-66. 
 
 29. drop . . . fatness. Psalm 66 : 11. 
 
 31. coat the note of exclamation should be placed after " sun- 
 
 shine." 
 Poe Edgar Allen Poe b. 1809 d. 1849 ; one of his many 
 poems ia called " The Eaven." 
 
 32. livings . . . live Philosophers from Horace downwards 
 
 have laughed at the folly of those who in their eagerness to 
 get a grand living squander all that makes life at all worth 
 while {vivendi perdere causas). 
 
 35. meek and mild the author uses phrases reminiscent of verses 
 from Scripture or from hymns, but the use is too frank and 
 appropriate to be called plagiarism. Here the line from the 
 well-known hymn is doubtless used deliberately to recall 
 tender associations. 
 
 35. mural, i.e , belonging to unfeeling walls, in contrast to the 
 
 sympathy from living hearts. 
 
 36. more keen cf. " A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering 
 
 happier things." 
 specs, familiar English for " spectacles." 
 
 40. banana boys. The Queensland native born young men some- 
 
 times are good-humoredly styled "Banana-landers," by 
 residents in other States ; perhaps from the height of the 
 banana-tree, perhaps because Queensland bananas are so 
 famous and plentiful, perhaps because some Queenslanders 
 can eat bananas (an acquired taste) so heartily ! 
 
 fags, i.e., fatigues. 
 
 breaking, i.e., "breaking in," used of inuring young or wild 
 horses to the saddle. 
 
 not near . . . for care surely the aurea mediocritas, 
 the ideal contentment that wants neither poverty nor 
 riches, but rejoices to work for daily bread. 
 
 41. good stewardship c/. Matthew 25: 21. 
 
 pressed . . . breast, the author maintains the line 
 rhyme throughout the verses, in the third and seventh linee. 
 the love that gave cf. Job 1: 21. 
 
 46. the future held in store cf. "Whose little hands uncon- 
 
 scious hold the keys of darkness and of morn." 
 cord and bowl and wheel cf. Eccles. 12: 6 and following 
 verses. The picture of old age there has suggested many 
 of the similes in the present poem. 
 
 47. behold thy mother cf. Matthew 12 : 47. 
 
 48. that perishes cf. John 6: 27. 
 toilest not cf. Luke 12 : 27, 
 made of such cf. Mark 10 : 14. 
 
 50. higher spheres, a probable reference to the music of tho 
 spheres— music that dies not day or night. 
 
 '50. stabling, the word is kept, despite the poor rhyme, because of 
 the association with Luke 2:7.
 
 MIDOLEYS POEMS. i43 
 
 51. Ruiso-Japanose War: Commenced February, 1904 ; peaco 
 signed October 14, I'JOo. 
 
 51. gained or lost. The same sentiment of the inutility of war is 
 
 felt in " The Battle of Blenheim, " which was, in Caspar's 
 eyes, " a famous victory," but little else. 
 Zuyder-Zee, an allusion to the Hague Conferences. The first 
 took place in 1899. In September, 1906, the Milan Peace 
 Congress made proposals for the arrest of armaments, to be 
 discussed at the second Hague Conference, held in 1907. 
 The " lipbt " that is to " win its way " is perhaps from the 
 windows oi Mr. Carnegie s Palace of Peace, destined for the 
 purposes of the Court of Arbitration at the Hague. 
 
 52. a nation's will delete comma after " will." 
 
 53. Earthquake. The losses by shock and fire in San Francisco 
 
 in the terrible disaster of April 18, 1906, were enormous. 
 The fire losses approximated £50,000,000. 
 brotherhood of men — contributions from sympathetic pursaa 
 oversea soon came to San Francisco, but were in most casoj 
 declined, in grateful independence. 
 
 54. lean kine cf. Genesis 41 : 27. 
 searching cf. Job 11 . 7. 
 
 55. scatters cf. Prov. 11: 24. 
 
 56. sting cf. I. Cor. 15: 55. 
 
 57. wearables, an obvious coinage on the design of "eatables." 
 
 58. scenes, throughout the poem the author maintains the meta- 
 
 phors from stage-land; "lights turned out," "curtain," 
 "impromptu," "plaudits,"' "minor part," "rehearsing," 
 " final call," etc. 
 
 60. closing, perhaps "enclosing," or "at closing time of day." 
 
 61. "Abide with Me." H. F. Lyte's familiar hymn. 
 
 63. smiles and soars and sings, only one of many felicities 
 
 in the short poem. 
 latent mirth, the wit and laughter that is sometimes associated 
 with wine. 
 
 €4. far spent day '/. Mark 6 : 35. 
 shadowed cf. Psalm 23 : 4. 
 
 64. hitherward repair cf. the whole of Psalm 84. 
 Paradise restored an allusion to Milton's work. 
 
 65.- "Know in Part" cf. I. Cor. 13: 9. 
 
 €6. Why 7 and How? the line contains the old riddles of 
 humanity. 
 
 searching cf. Job. 5 : 9 and Pwoman 11 : .'JS. 
 
 know much more " Let knowledge grow from more to mora." 
 
 pity me cf. Psalm 103 : 13.
 
 144 NOTES.— p.p. 6^-i 
 
 67. erimson-tinted '/. Homer's line: — " When rosy-fingered 
 
 Dawn, child of the morning, appeared." 
 roseate . . . rising . . . sun . . . alliteration. 
 life laughed— 
 
 " Laugh, and the world laughs with you, 
 
 Weep, and you weep alone ! 
 For this poor old earth raui^t borrow its mirth, 
 
 It has sorrow enough of its own ! " 
 
 pinches, sharp rises in the road. 
 
 68. cross of stars, i.e., the Southern Cross. 
 
 down the hill. Christina Kossetti's picture of Life's road 
 winding " up hill all the way " is not less poetic. 
 
 bridgeless river — 
 
 " One more river, and that's the river Jordan ! 
 One more river, there's one more river to cross ! " 
 
 pearly gates of the New Jerusalem. 
 
 eternal city. Gibbon's " eternal city " as told by Hall Caine 
 is Rome ; here the reference is to the city whose buiidt^i 
 and maker is God— the New Jerusalem, " that would u.u 
 pass away." 
 
 many mansions cf. John 14: 2. 
 
 69. Ferguson, doubtless a neighbouring farmer. 
 chastening, Hebrews 12 : 11. 
 
 71. sinister bar, a term popularly, but erroneously, used loi l.,ii<>h, 
 
 a mark of illegitimacy. In heraldry the " sinister '' (iefti 
 eide of an escutcheon is the side which would be on the 
 left of the bearer of the shield, and opposite the right-hand 
 of the beholder. The "bar" is borne "sinister," acro.s.s 
 the shield, as a mark of bastardy. 
 
 men mourn. The laudator temjjoris acti flourishes still. Tlie 
 poet believes that the best is yet to be, that men's wisdotn 
 grows with the process ot the suns, and that throujih all 
 life runs the one increasing purpose. 
 
 ashes, the Dead Sea fruit. 
 
 72. buried cf. Luke 19 : 20. The whole poem expresses in inetre 
 
 the teaching of the parable of the talents. 
 
 73. brave hearts, the two lines are an encouragement i" all 
 
 workers. There is to be no magic transformation ..f 
 humanity; the far-off divine event " to which the wliol*- 
 Creation moves " is to be compasstd by many method .s ; 
 and just as Nature works to her end by awful volcanoes as 
 well as by the silent unfading dew so man is to move up- 
 ward by social cataclysms no less than by viewless spi,iin:<,l 
 forces.
 
 MIDGLEY'S POEMS. i45 
 
 integ^rity cf. Psalm 25: 21. 
 
 73. 8[old . . . goldan, an efYactive play. 
 
 saarl, the very word " cynicism " finds its origin in the Oreek 
 word denoting " dog." 
 
 called his soul, ice Luke 12 : 20. 
 
 yoke . . . Easy rf, Matthew 11 : 30. 
 
 road . • . plain cf. Isaiah 35 ; 8 ; and Prov. 15: 19. 
 
 76. Barnardo Dr. T. J. Barnardo (b. 1846 d. 1905) late of Mossford 
 
 Lodge, Ilford, Eng. , was born in Ireland, studied medicine 
 in Edinburgh, where he became F.R.CS. in 1876 ; has been 
 for forty years founding and developing philanthropic insti- 
 tutions for the benefit of child waifs ; has rescued over 
 61,000 children (to 30th Sept., 1906), and placed 18.700 in 
 happy circumstances in Greater Britain. Present director, 
 William Baker, M.A., LL.B., 18 to 26 Stepney Causeway, 
 London E. 
 
 77. Beethoven 1770-1827. Perfected the symphony. In music 
 
 he expressed all the emotions of th« human soul. With 
 Bach (1685-1750), Handel (1685-1759), and Mozart (1756- 
 1791) he forms an immortal quartette of musicians. 
 
 78. sympathy the thought is that only those who have suffere*^ 
 
 can truly sympathise with others. "He jests at scars who 
 never felt a wound." It is only when the box (of spikenard) 
 is broken that the sweetness of its fragrance fills the room. 
 Bruised hearts often breathe healing out of their woes, even 
 as plants that only exude their healing odours when bruised. 
 
 W. H. Browne born, Pimlico, London 1846; served in Royal 
 Navy and mercantile marine ; came to Australia ; miner in 
 1866, on Australian gold-field (N,S W.), and subsequently 
 in Tasmania and many parts of Queensland ; elected 
 president of Amalgamated Miners' Union ; lived at Croydon 
 seven years ; returned as its Parliamentary representative 
 in 1893, 1896, 1899, 1902 ; won great respect in and out of 
 Parliament ; Secretary for Mines and Secretary for Public 
 Instruction in the Dawson Ministry (December, 1899); 
 Leader of Labour Party ; unmarried ; died April, 1904. 
 
 80. earthen vessels iee 2 Cor. 4 : 7. 
 went about see Acts 10 : 88. 
 
 81. utmost choice this line is well set in a memorable verse that 
 
 has almost borrowed a glow from immortality itself. 
 
 Inmost heart cf. Prov. 23 : 7. 
 
 82. transferred cf. Ezek. 18 : 2, 
 
 83. prayer the line reaalls — 
 
 "Then when on earth I breathe no more, 
 The prayer oft mixed with tears before." 
 
 (C. Elliott, 1789-1871).
 
 146 NOTES— pp. 83-98. 
 
 wax old cf. Psalm 102 : 26. 
 83. In the Quarry, a poem of lofty tone, describing well the build- 
 ing of the famous Temple. It is almost impossibU not to 
 see in the last verse a touch of autobiography. 
 
 85. vineyard the frequent simile of Isaiah and Jeremiah. 
 88, tears cf. Psalm 56 : 8. 
 sacrifice cf. Psalm 51 : 17, 
 found mercy cf. Pope's lines— 
 
 " Teach me to feel another's woe 
 
 To hide the faults I see 
 That mercy I to others show 
 That mercy show to me." 
 
 88. n» glad companionship cf. II. Cor. 6: 15. 
 
 89. eye . . . seen c/. I. Cor. 2 : 9. 
 the path . . . just cf. Prov, 4 : 18. 
 with foundations cf. Hebr. 11 : 10: 
 
 91. knowledge, " a beam in darkness ; let it grow ! " (Tennyson). 
 
 93. pyramid , . . crumbling. The present height of Cheops 
 
 (the greatest pyramid and one of the three in the Memphis 
 
 group) is 451 feet, as against 481 feet originally. Its base 
 
 covers 13 acres. 
 peace . . . rest Bethlehem's peace on earth, and good-will 
 
 to men; the " rest " is that promised to " all that labour 
 
 and are heavy-laden." (Matthew 11 : 28). 
 " When deep sleep." Four verses exceptionally beautiful 
 
 in thought, 
 
 94. seraphim cf. Isaiah 6:2. 
 
 fire cf. II. Thess. 1 : 8, and Luke 9 : 54. 
 
 95. " awful silences " i.e., in the " intense, clear, star-iown 
 
 vault of heaven " (Arnold's " Self-Dependence "), aa well 
 as in the " long voids of unrecorded man." 
 
 appalling distances seated on a ray of light we could reach 
 the moon in less than two seconds ; the sun in eight 
 minutes ; alpha centauri (one of the nearest stars) in about 
 3J years ! A ray of light travelling at the rate of 176,000 
 miles a second, day and night without ceasing, would take 
 14 years to reach one of the smallest stars visible to the 
 naked eye ; yet this appalling distance is only a river's 
 breadth to the Atlantic ocean when compared with our dis- 
 tance from other world's of light that the telescope reveals — 
 " if you were to travel for ever you would only then be half 
 way! "
 
 MIDOLEY'S POEMS. 147 
 
 pervading cf. Pope (Essay on Man). 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous whole 
 Whose body Nature is, and God the soul 
 That, changed in all, and yet in all the same, 
 Great in the earth as tn the ethereal frame, 
 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
 Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. 
 
 Thou establish r/. Psalm '.'0 : 17. 
 
 Ichabod, i.e. "The glory has departed " cf. I. Bam. 4: 21. 
 
 Bethel, " The house of God" cf. Genesis 28: 29. 
 
 Beulah " married " cf. Issiah 62 : 4. 
 
 97. Ellm, oak-trees ; cf. Exod 15 : 27. 
 
 " In Elim were twelve fountains of water, and three Bcore 
 and ten palm trees " (Numbers 9 : 33). 
 
 weary . . . " Come unto Me . . . and I will give you 
 rest " (Matth. 11 : 28. " If any man thirst, let him come 
 to Me and drink " (John 7 ; 37). " We have thought of Thy 
 loving kindnese " (Psalm 48 : 9. 
 
 risen dead i.e. Lazarus (John 11 : 44.) 
 
 sinks calls recalls Tennyson's lines — 
 
 " Sunset and evening star, 
 And one clear call for me." 
 
 Nazareth, etc. The references are to the familar incidents in 
 our Lord's life ; the " workshop" being where Joseph, the 
 carpenter, wrought ; its " lowly cot " recalling the childhood 
 of Jesus ; " Cana joys " referring to the marriage feast 
 (John 2 : 1-11); "Bethany's hospitalities" referring to the 
 home of Martha, Mary and Lazarus, where our Lord spent 
 80 many evenings ; the " darker scenes " being the lonely 
 Gethsemane and sacrificial Calvary of many a human life. 
 
 98, Intercessions recalls C. Wesley's lines — 
 
 " He ever lives above 
 For me to intercede," 
 
 " He ever liveth to make intercessions for them " (Hebrews 
 7: 25). 
 
 Slay me cf. Job 13 : 15. 
 
 tranquility the single word is the effectiveacss of the line. 
 For the thought cf. Keble's verse : — 
 
 '• Lord my God, to Thou Thy holy will— 
 
 I will be Btill ; 
 I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm 
 
 And break the charm, 
 Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast, 
 
 In perfect rest."
 
 148 NOTES. — pp. 100-139 
 
 100. beastly innocent slang for " obnoxious" or " disagreeable." 
 
 101. Amazons — originally a race of female warriors who founded an 
 
 Empire on the river Thermodon, in Asia Minor. They cut 
 off their right breast (the word " amaaon " means " without 
 one breast") so that it might not incommode them in shooting 
 and throwing the javelin. Later, the term was applied to some 
 American females, who joined their husbands in repelling 
 the Spaniards on the banks of the Maranon (afterwards 
 called the " Amazon "). The word, generally, denotes a 
 strong warring woman. 
 
 hiding i.e., a whipping: perhaps because it was done with a 
 cow-hide or a horse-hide ; or because it was administered to 
 the " hide " of refractory youth ; or because the punished 
 delinquent prefered to " hide " himself from public gaze for 
 a while after the ordeal. 
 
 103. Felix, i.e. happy, fortunate, blessed. 
 
 105. Goths — one of the ancient Teutonic races ; regarded as 
 
 barbarians. The term is sometimes now applied to persons 
 defective in taste. 
 
 106. Teddy, perilously near to bathos, but the picture of the mother's 
 
 eyes, dim with a great joy, just saves it. 
 
 107. Hanging Judges. Punning in humorous verse is common 
 
 enough ; in Hood, Ingoldsby, Sir William Gilbert, and a 
 host of smaller men. Was it not the first-named who de- 
 clared that he had to make his pen fly for a "lively Hood"? 
 
 112. match or gun— the careless lighting of a pipe, or camp fire, 
 
 might easily start ruinous bush-fires; the " gun " handled 
 carelessly, could soon cause damage to both stock and grass. 
 
 113. rouse to " rouse " in harmless slang, means to utter loud (i.e. 
 
 rousing) npbraidings at all and sundry. The "s" is not 
 pronounced like "z," but short, as in the noun " house." 
 
 118. what of the night, cf. Isaiah 21: 6. 
 
 120. Strangers, cf. Psalm 39: 12. 
 
 122. Spes non fracta i.e. " a hope not broken.'' 
 
 124. the "milder sun" is, of course, the moon. 
 
 124. Cynthia i.e. the moon. Apollo (whose type is the sun) and 
 Artemis (the Grecian Diana or moon goddess) were both born 
 at CynthuB, a mountain in Delos. 
 
 126. my minstrel year. Mr. Midgley during 1904 and 1905 sent 
 
 a weekly contribution of three columns "For Sunday " to a 
 Brisbane newspaper, and in it appeared many of the verses 
 collected in this volume. 
 
 127. Winkle. " Rip van Winkle " (a character, created by Washing- 
 
 ton Irving in the Sketch Book) has come to mean any 
 hopelessly out-of-date citizen, who has gone to sleep while tha 
 world has rushed on.
 
 MIDGLEY'S POEMS. 149 
 
 130. Aeolus is the god of the winds. The word in Greek, meana 
 
 " changeable." 
 
 Neptune the god of the sea. 
 
 131. our sea-girt isle this poem was written in England. 
 leafless i-e. it is winter time for the trees. 
 
 un bated for unabated. 
 
 careless i.e. free from care or anxiety. 
 
 132. at Nottingham i.e. August 23rd, 1642. 
 
 135. notches perhaps made with a stone axe, to blaze a track, or 
 for the purpose of getting bark for humpies. 
 
 137. penal abode referring to the early settlements in 1824. The 
 
 pioneering party of thirty convicts, in the brig "Amity" were 
 first located at Eedcliffe Point, but soon afterwards were 
 removed to the present site of Brisbane. In 1884 penal 
 establishments were abandoned in the Moreton Bay District, 
 and "a community of settlers replaced the goal and the 
 chain-gangs," 
 
 138. /Eolian — the seolian harp was a musical instrument, so named 
 
 from its producing its wild and often exquisite strains 
 merely by the action of the wind (.Eolus — the god of the 
 winds). 
 
 139. leaves of healing cf. Bev. 22 : 2 ; "and the leaves of the 
 
 tree were for the healing of the nations." 
 
 Addendum, 
 p. 16, 1. 36 omit " and " after " blessings,"
 
 R. G. GiLLixs, 
 III Queen St., Brisbanb.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 20j?i-7,'67(H3149s4)
 
 PR9619.3.M59 A17 1908 
 
 y 
 
 L 009 566 568 3 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 liliililllillliilllll:;l:IIIIJllll;||ili 
 
 A A 001 410 541 5