STACK 
 
 ANNEX 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 POEMS 
 
 Pictures in the Fire 
 
 BY 
 HILDA L. EVERETT
 
 "THOUGHTS 
 
 POEMS 
 
 Pictures in the Fire 
 
 BY / 
 HILDA L. EVERETT 
 
 ELY: 
 
 < W. JEFFERSON, 
 PRINTER AND PUBLISHER. 
 22672
 
 PICTURES IN THE FIRE. 
 
 Christmas Afternoon : A young man on his way home is met by his Grandfather 
 while the other members of the family are about their farmyard duties. 
 
 JOISTS of pearly softness linger'd 
 
 O'er the silent stretch of fen, 
 With a mute caress, a message 
 To the list'ning hearts of men. 
 
 Rutted drovelands, firm and crusted 
 
 By the frost from day to day, 
 Pasture-land and fallow acr'age 
 
 All in quiet wonder lay. 
 
 Treach'rous waterways, ice-coated, 
 Dumb between their banks of reed, 
 
 Dykes where weed and bramble mingled, 
 Check'd the travelers' hasty lead. 
 
 "Nay, my laddie, keep the drove-way, 
 Danger lurks across 'The Cut,' " 
 
 And the old eyes twinkled fondly, 
 "Travel in the same old rut." 
 
 " Aye, but Grandsire I am eager 
 
 To rejoin the family throng, 
 Oh 'twas good you came to meet me 
 
 Else the way had seem'd so long." 
 
 And the youth in budding manhood 
 
 Looked into the kind old face, 
 Linked his arm in courteous fondness, 
 
 Check'd his heedless, headlong pace. 
 
 Everywhere the mist hung deeper, 
 Trees and landmarks near to sight, 
 
 Lost their form as though in distance, 
 Wraiths within the mystic light.
 
 " Hark !" the young face looked expectant 
 As he raised a warning hand, 
 
 " Hark there's Jean among her cattle 
 Singing to them as they stand. 
 
 Teddy too, I hear his whistle 
 On the mead beyond the drain, 
 
 Hunting eggs among the grasses 
 To a Christmas time refrain. 
 
 Dad will be among his horses 
 Feeding, grooming them, and all, 
 
 Little Nan will be his helper, . 
 Will they hear me if I call ? 
 
 Half a mile or so, no further, 
 
 Then it will be 'Home, Sweet Home,' 
 With the Mater, Dad and kiddies, 
 
 Home again no more to roam." 
 
 At home the little folk are eager to welcome brother Jack. 
 
 A GLOW of ruddy brightness 
 Streamed from the casement low, 
 Where 'mong the downy cushions 
 A child danced to and fro. 
 For long the wee mite struggled 
 To clean the misty pane, 
 But dimpled, chubby fingers 
 Had rubbed and rubbed in vain. 
 
 The dancing firelight lingered 
 
 Upon the curly head, 
 
 The eyes so full of mischief, 
 
 The cheeks so rosy red. 
 
 A moment and the childie 
 
 Cried out in pure delight, 
 
 As, from the mist, the trav'llers 
 
 Came into nearer sight.
 
 A merry whoop a scramble 
 To reach the wide-flung door, 
 All heedless of remonstrance, 
 The toys upon the floor. 
 The childie from the window, 
 The little lads from play, 
 The shy small girlies reading, 
 To ' Jacko' found their way. 
 
 He caught the childie to him 
 And rode her shoulder high, 
 The boys and girlies round him 
 Forgetful to be shy. 
 And in the firelight standing 
 With Christmas love and cheer, 
 The proud fond Mother linger'd 
 To one and all so dear. 
 
 Christmas Evening, and the whole family gather round the fire. 
 
 THE quaint low-ceilinged homestead 
 
 Breathed comfort everywhere, 
 The fragrant understanding 
 
 Of love's own joy to share. 
 Bright holly scaled the wainscot 
 
 And linked the oaken beam, 
 And flow'rs in full profusion 
 
 Joined in the Christmas theme. 
 
 The lamps had long been lighted, 
 
 The window curtains drawn, 
 The fire built high and firmly 
 
 Of Yule logs newly sawn. 
 And comfy chairs and lounges 
 
 And humpys, stools and all, 
 Were drawn within the brightness, 
 
 'Way from the shadow'd wall.
 
 And one and all they gathered ; 
 
 Lads, lassies, young and old, 
 And merry chatter held them 
 
 And Christmas tales were told, 
 'Till as the bairnies tired 
 
 And nestled drowsily, 
 A tender quiet touch'd them 
 
 And each sat dreamily, 
 
 Lost in the thoughts of Christmas, 
 
 Its beauty, love and light, 
 Its hope of understanding, 
 
 Of fuller, clearer sight. 
 The Yule logs sparkled freely, 
 
 The flames leaped high and high'r, 
 And each in dream-thought followed 
 
 The ' Pictures in the Fire.' 
 
 PICTURES FOR JANUARY. 
 
 The Organist and his little Grand-daughter. 
 
 From 'Springtime Symphony.' 
 
 ALL night long the snow had fallen, 
 
 And the flakes of whiteness lay 
 Cuddled into one another, 
 
 Crisp and sparkling on the way. 
 Ev'ry path was closely hidden, 
 
 Footprints of the yesterday 
 And the new life of the dawning, 
 
 Cut and traced its onward way. 
 "Grandy," cried a gentle maiden 
 
 Turning from the casement wide 
 " Make the music of the snow-drop 
 
 That the snow had come to hide. 
 Play the great still silence Grandy, 
 
 And the bigness of it all, 
 Play the snowflake, oh so softly 
 
 That you cannot hear it fall.
 
 Life. 
 
 From ' In the Firelight.' 
 
 LIFE seemed strange, a wide, deep question, 
 
 Big strong men bent low in tears, 
 Hard unlovely faces soften'd 
 
 Smiles out-peep'd thro' cloudy fears. 
 Gladness sadness mingled softly, 
 
 Pain and pleasure, darkness, light, 
 Kindness sweetness, thought unlovely, 
 
 Wrong seem'd ever touch'd by right. 
 
 A Mother and her Boy. 
 
 From 'Fide et Amore.' 
 
 THE glad bright sunshine of the Winter day 
 
 Flooded the path, between 
 The wide flung open door, the granite wall 
 
 That girt the homestead green. 
 Upon the threshold, ling'ring in the light 
 
 To fearsome musings prone, 
 A mother stood to watch her boy go forth, 
 
 Into the world alone. 
 
 Ideals. 
 
 From 'Golden Brightness.' 
 
 AS sunlit mountain peaks, they rise into the light, 
 Strong, firm and ever unafraid of mystery and blight. 
 Worthy the dawn that breaks in silence all around, 
 And wakes the life that dormant lies, the loveliness 
 
 unfound. 
 
 PICTURES FOR FEBRUARY. 
 
 Go Deep Enough. 
 
 From ' Out of Doors.' 
 
 LOOK 'neath the pucker and the frown, 
 
 The hasty word, the slight that brings the castle 
 
 down,- 
 The cold reserve, the silence that we fear to drown.
 
 Look 'neath the laughing repartee, 
 
 The jest, the smile, the lines that break so pitif 'lly 
 
 The smooth fair brow, the words of thanks breathed 
 
 haltingly. 
 
 Little Peter. 
 
 From ' Fide et Amore.' 
 
 UP and down the wide oak staircase, 
 
 Clinging to the polished rails, 
 Dancing out into the kitchen 
 
 Dabbling 'mong the noisy pails, 
 Peeping at the fragrant cookies, 
 
 Little knowing work from play, 
 ' Peterkins' was always welcome 
 
 Never told to " run away." 
 
 The Coming of Spring. 
 
 From 'Springtime.' 
 
 FRAGRANCE wonder, new life stirreth, 
 
 Grass grows softly green, 
 Harrow'd earth, deep rich and fragrant 
 
 Throbs with power unseen. 
 
 Golden Hours. 
 
 From ' Springtime.' 
 
 ROUND the festive board we gather'd, 
 
 Then around the cosy fire, 
 Chatting gaily, deeply brightly, 
 
 Thoughts that tender love inspire. 
 Tea-cups call'd us, lamps were lighted, 
 
 Curtains all were closely drawn, 
 Laughter gladness echo'd brightly, 
 
 Softly, sweetly, gently borne.
 
 PICTURES FOR MARCH. 
 
 Everyone's Darling. 
 
 From ' Winter Sunshine." 
 
 JUST a blue-eyed little darling, 
 
 How she laughs with roguish glee, 
 When some mischief she is planning, 
 
 Coyly waiting, 'just to see.' 
 Fair soft locks just loosely ribbon'd, 
 
 Blue to match those open eyes, 
 Wide and large when gravely watching, 
 
 Held by some new glad surprise. 
 Happy temper'd--sweet, aye lovely, 
 
 Hear her lisp her little prayer, 
 Call "Goodnight" to all around her, 
 
 Then to sleep without a care. 
 
 Washing Day. 
 
 From 'A Spring Idyll.' 
 
 THE little one had tired and Nancy lass 
 
 Had borne him way to sleep, 
 
 And fondling long the sweet unconscious brow 
 
 Her thoughts flow'd wide and deep 
 
 Then light of step she left the sleeping babe, 
 
 For why 'twas 'washing day.' 
 
 A pile of fragrant linen stood, that she 
 
 Could fold and bear away. 
 
 The freshness of the Springtime air it held, 
 
 A glint of sunny light, 
 
 A sweet suggestion of the soft blue sky. 
 
 That gave the work delight. 
 
 The basket was refill'd again, again 
 
 And Nancy with a song 
 
 Upon her lips, and smile within her eye, 
 
 Work'd happily and long.
 
 The Traveller's Welcome. 
 
 From ' Fide et Amore.' 
 
 " SAY, are you all at home ? " 
 The house bell sounded thro' the silent hall, 
 
 And willing footsteps rang, 
 In loving answer to the plaintive call. 
 
 Strong kindly hands outstretched 
 With ready welcome and with hearty cheer, 
 
 They eased the heavy coat, 
 And drew him to the fire, and gently near, 
 
 Into the heart of home, 
 Where in the shaded light the wee babe slept 
 
 They linked his hand, and watched,- 
 And to his lonely heart new gladness crept. 
 
 PICTURES FOR APRIL. 
 
 Spring. 
 
 From ' Springtime Symphony." 
 
 A ND child "Spring" danced into her regal own : 
 
 With golden locks and liquid soft blue eyes, 
 Her happy presence thrill'd the silver'd air 
 With sweet surprise. 
 
 The Organist and the Blackbird. 
 
 From 'Springtime Symphony.' 
 
 THE organist with white uncovered head 
 
 Paused by the knotted five-barred gate, his hand 
 
 As e'er with gentle touch, upon the frame 
 
 That countless storms and suns had braved to stand. 
 
 A blackbird unafraid his gentle eye, 
 
 Lingered upon the budding hawthorn tree, 
 
 And reached his music-loving soul 
 
 With strains of joy and hope, full melody. 
 
 10
 
 Night-time in Hospital. 
 
 From ' Winter Sunshine.' 
 
 THE silent wards, breathe peaceful calm and rest, 
 
 Sleep lingers close, health's tonic sweet and best. 
 
 From some far home, a tender loving thought 
 
 Is softly breathed, and here by love is caught. 
 
 * * * 
 
 A door is ope'd, the silent midnight air 
 Takes up the sound, though soft with mindful care. 
 'Tis Nurse who comes on duty through the night, 
 From bed to bed she moves 'neath soft dim light. 
 A drink perchance for they who thirst, and wake, 
 
 A pillow turned, for heads that tire and ache. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The silence grows, her footsteps die away, 
 And all is still, -Night waits the coming Day. 
 
 A Twilight Fantasy. 
 
 From 'Spring Light.' 
 
 "TWILIGHT" with new graces linger'd, 
 O'er the soft sweet scented lawn, 
 
 As though breathing some fond message, 
 To await her sister "Dawn." 
 
 PICTURES FOR MAY. 
 
 The Maytime Sky. 
 
 From ' Springtime.' 
 
 THE tend'rest blue that Heaven doth know,- 
 
 Not liquid heights 
 Of some all-radiant summer day, 
 But soft and fair, the joy of May, 
 
 Mist-woven lights. 
 
 II
 
 The Little Wanderer. 
 
 From 'Beauty and Fragrance.' 
 
 A TODDLING mite fresh from his bath, 
 
 'Scaped from his Mummy's care, 
 
 Had gain'd the sunny road alone, 
 
 His fearless arts to dare. 
 
 A strong kind voice with cheery word, 
 
 O'er took the little feet, 
 
 And bribed the little wand'rer home, 
 
 With cake or tempting sweet. 
 
 Chivalry. 
 
 From 'Out of Doors." 
 
 BENT with age, and weary struggling 
 
 With the unexpected shower, 
 "Granny" shelter'd 'neath the ruins 
 
 Of the ancient Abbey Tower. 
 But her breath came slow and fitful, 
 
 For the path was rough and steep, 
 Oft she falter'd trying vainly, 
 
 'Neath the inner wall to keep. 
 But two laddies, treasure hunting 
 
 By the deep enchanted well, 
 Saw her struggle, and her danger, 
 
 Dreaded lest she tripp'd and fell. 
 Quick as thought they hasten'd to her 
 
 Greeted her with quaint respect, 
 Guided, bore her up the incline, 
 
 One of England's own elect. 
 
 12
 
 PICTURES FOR JUNE. 
 
 A Country Road in June. 
 
 From ' Rural Scenes." 
 
 ON the hillside off the roadway, 
 
 Here and there a farm doth stand, 
 Oft with ancient barns and timber, 
 
 That would joy the artist's hand. 
 Flow'rets cluster in the gardens, 
 
 Fragrance fills the sunny air, 
 Roses climb in sweet profusion, 
 
 Making cot and homesteads fair. 
 A Little Child at Play. 
 
 From ' Harvest Days.' 
 
 THRO' the quaint deep open window, 
 Where sweet jasmine held its sway, 
 
 Came the voice, the happy laughter 
 Of a little child at play. 
 
 A Lassie and her Lad. 
 
 From ' Autumn Days." 
 
 ALONG the country roadway, 
 
 Where dust lay thick and white, 
 A herd of cattle, slowly, 
 
 Moved into nearer sight. 
 The winsome lass attending, 
 
 Caressed with tender voice 
 Each grave-eyed wistful milker, 
 
 And led to grassland choice. 
 The cattle mildly grazing, 
 
 The five-barred gate made fast, 
 The lass her eyes ashading, 
 
 Wide longing glances cast. 
 A soft low whistle sounded, 
 
 That stirred a deep rose-blush, 
 An answ'ring "Coo-ee," sweetly, 
 
 A deep expectant hush. 
 
 13
 
 Moonlight. 
 
 From 'The Message of Spring.' 
 
 THE distant Church the village wrapt in sleep, 
 
 Rest 'neath its charm, 
 The lonely cot, 'way on the grassy steep, 
 
 The wayside farm 
 
 The silver'd lane, the softly lighted bower, 
 Responsive, catch the ever magic power. 
 
 PICTURES FOR JULY. 
 
 Dawn. 
 
 From ' Twelve Short Poems.' 
 
 ONE tiny gleam of daylight, peep'd softly shyly out, 
 
 And night still hung her garments, the quiet night about. 
 
 How tenderly it waken'd, like to a sleeping child 
 
 Roused from its downy pillows and 'way from sleep 
 
 beguiled. 
 Then Night her heavy mantle drew round her weary 
 
 form, 
 And with caressing kindness, bowed to the blushing 
 
 Dawn. 
 Pale sunbeams softly scatter'd their brightness over 
 
 all, 
 
 And Day with radiant gladness answered to Dawn's 
 
 sweet call. 
 
 The Village Street on a Summer Morn. 
 
 From ' Beauty and Fragrance.' 
 
 THE farmyard gates swung back and fore, 
 
 Carts rumbled on the stone, 
 Man greeted man with cheery word, 
 
 None passed the way alone. 
 
 14
 
 A herd of kine in pasturage far 
 
 Thro'-out the soft warm night, 
 Came slowly thro' the village street 
 
 Within the new clear light. 
 With gaysome step the boys and girls 
 
 'Way to the farmhouse ran, 
 Bright with the morning, fresh and glad, 
 
 High swinging jug or can. 
 
 Kindness. 
 
 From ' Wayside Pictures." 
 
 OH joy in life's kindness as grass by the way, 
 
 Or shade of the leafage above, 
 Kindness grown greater than justice and right, 
 
 Just the little bit more, that's Love. 
 
 Nancy's Ideal. 
 
 From 'A Spring Idyll.' 
 
 THE lass was ling'ring by the open door 
 
 Lost in unspoken thought, 
 The sunset sky in all its golden light, 
 
 Her fond far gaze had caught. 
 
 * * * 
 
 " Oh yes," she softly breathed, '* I want to help 
 
 The great big world to live, 
 To understand the real, the true, the glad, 
 
 And of its highest give." 
 
 PICTURES FOR AUGUST. 
 
 The New Day. 
 
 From ' The Message of Spring.' 
 
 A LOVELY pearl of creamy depths, a gem all-pure 
 Un-made by man, untouched all-real, [all-true, 
 
 With power to pain, to joy, to heal, 
 A sacred gift and true. 
 
 15
 
 A Young Apollo. 
 
 From ' Out of Doors.' 
 
 A WOODCRAFT laddie of some tender years, 
 A Tracker of St. Catherine's famous Clan, 
 Linger'd anear the homestead garden gate, 
 
 'E're for his morning dip he thither ran. 
 
 * * 
 
 Tingling and glowing, every pulse alert, 
 
 Bright pearl-drops sparkling 'mong his raven hair, 
 
 As young Apollo deeming life a joy, 
 
 He faced the day with pride to do, to dare. 
 
 Summertime. 
 
 From ' Beauty and Fragrance." 
 
 THE honey-bees are busy in the flowers, 
 Their droning hangs upon the scented air, 
 And with a sense of drowsy restfulness 
 We watch the worker buzzing here and there. 
 The dusted road, bone-coloured in the sun 
 Like corded ribbon, winds between the fields, 
 And bears upon its crown, the Summer joy, 
 The burden that the fertile fenland yields. 
 The noon-day heat hangs purple on the fen, 
 While suns ride high, majestical and grand, 
 Oh joy the Summer-time of rose-bright dreams, 
 When luscious days abloom on every hand. 
 
 Twilight o'er the Fen. 
 
 From ' Harvest Days.' 
 
 THE quiet fen 
 Within the dreamy light, lay wrapt in charm, 
 
 Her tranquil life 
 Breathed deep of peace from every cot and farm. 
 
 16
 
 PICTURES FOR SEPTEMBER. 
 
 The Cloud-Child. 
 
 From 'Springtime.' 
 
 A BILL'WY mass of snowy clouds, 
 
 Stretch'd 'cross a span of sky, 
 So soft and white, one dreamed of snow, 
 
 Piled lightly, pure and high, 
 Where little folk of tender years, 
 
 A-frolic, climb and play, 
 And search the mystic snow-built caves, 
 
 'Midst laughter bright and gay. 
 'Way on the further edge, one stray'd, 
 
 A wee maid softly clad, 
 As though a tender Thought-Child, born 
 
 To make the world more glad. 
 One little foot, outstretch'd, to touch 
 
 The depths of soft sweet blue, 
 She smiled a bright illumined smile, 
 
 All life was glad and new. 
 
 In the Cornfield. 
 
 From 'Harvest Days." 
 
 THE whit'ning oats in glitt'ring golden light, 
 
 The barley grain, 
 With soften'd bearded growth as woven silk, 
 
 Passed on the sweet refrain. 
 Backward and fore, a heaving sea of light, 
 
 Pulsing and strong, 
 A thousand thoughts, a myriad hopes upcaught, 
 
 And link'd in dauntless song. 
 With child's all simple trust, a little lass 
 
 Had strayed to hear, 
 And silent 'mong the whisp'ring grain she stood, 
 
 With 'tentive list'ning ear. 
 
 17
 
 A white hair'd veteran, bronzed with former suns, 
 
 Paused in the way 
 And link'd the little hand with his, and breathed 
 
 "There is no other way." 
 
 The Young Musician. 
 
 From 'Golden Melody." 
 
 WITHIN the soften'd fire-light glow 
 
 In poise of easy grace, 
 
 The young musician stood, and raised 
 
 His fiddle into place. 
 In softness, sweetness, shyness born 
 E'en from the depths of power 
 The loveliest strain of music broke 
 
 The silence of the hour. 
 A ling'ring pleading, softly borne, 
 A yearning, deep hope-thought, 
 'Way upward thro' the courts of space 
 
 In throbbing vastness caught. 
 
 PICTURES FOR OCTOBER. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 From 'Our Treasures.' 
 
 E'EN tho* dark shades should hover near and fall, 
 It lives with beauty still nor fades, 
 
 But lights the darkness there. 
 
 Or in the sunlight, should its beauty shine 
 'Neath skies of tender blue, 
 
 Its life yet gleams, all-pure divine, 
 
 In sweet glad sympathy. 
 
 Autumn Tints. 
 
 From 'Beauty and Fragrance." 
 
 THE amber sunlight softly fill'd the day, 
 Cool quiet hours sped lightly, tenderly, 
 Along the way. 
 
 18
 
 The fires of Autumn cast a ruddy glow 
 
 Thro' thinning trees, o'er open fenland tracks, 
 
 Lands high and low. 
 
 The hedgerow gay with myriad gems of light, 
 Gleam'd thro' the short'ning days, and thro' the clear 
 
 Autumnal night. 
 
 In Fond Memory. 
 
 (Mrs. C. M. Bearcock.) 
 
 THE mellow Autumn sunshine streamed 
 
 Around her as she stood, 
 Watching the sunset, work was o'er 
 
 And evening time seemed good. 
 Her boys pressed round her, fondly near, 
 
 Chums ever work or play, 
 Her silent look, her gentlest word 
 
 Had always won the day. 
 Their sweethearts came, their little ones 
 
 Climbed gaily on her knee, 
 She smiling caught her husband's glance 
 
 Oh life was good to be. 
 Comrades in perfect harmony 
 
 They'd pressed from year to year, 
 And friends around in tender love 
 
 Joy'd in her life, her cheer. 
 
 The Charm of the Fen. 
 
 From 'A Spring Idyll." 
 
 THE little window in the thatch, 
 
 Again was open wide, 
 The curtains, lightly draped around, 
 
 Again were held aside. 
 'Twas Nancy lass aling'ring long, 
 
 Held by the old fen charm, 
 With dark-eyed tender radiance, 
 
 At one with night's deep calm. 
 
 19
 
 PICTURES FOR NOVEMBER. 
 
 Autumn Mists. 
 
 From 'Autumn Days.' 
 
 THE Autumn day breathed sadness, 
 
 The rain drawn sky bent low 
 And wept as tho' in sorrow, 
 
 With teardrops soft and slow. 
 A breeze with tearful murmur 
 
 Stirred as a half-breathed sigh, 
 A ling'ring heartfelt yearning, 
 
 A wistful, stifled cry. 
 A grey, soft mist fast gather'd, 
 
 As tho' a host of fears 
 Enwrapping silent hedgerow, 
 
 Bright in their haze of tears. 
 The trees, as veiled in sorrow, 
 
 In depths of anxious thought, 
 Scarce murmur'd, lest a sob half breathed, 
 
 Be softly, firmly caught. 
 
 The Little Child and the Tramp. 
 
 From 'Out of Doors.' 
 
 LOOK 'neath the ragged coat, ill-worn, 
 Of him who tramps our highways, abject and forlorn, 
 We do not see the struggles that his soul have torn. 
 
 A little child with wise wide stare, 
 So unafraid the shabby coat, the grizzled hair, 
 Looked in his face and nestled in his unused care. 
 
 Country Homesteads. 
 
 From 'Autumn Days.' 
 
 'WAY from tiny well thatched home-steads, 
 Circled soft blue curls of smoke, 
 Round the cosy hearth-stones, gathered 
 
 Happy country folk. 
 
 20
 
 Childhood's Days. 
 
 From ' Fide et Amore.' 
 
 WHEN the lamps at last are lighted, 
 
 And the stars peep'd one by one, 
 From their bed of velvet darkness, 
 
 And the day's work all was done, 
 'Peterkins' so tired and happy 
 
 Climbed on Mummy's waiting knee, 
 With sweet childhood's understanding 
 
 Of that loving sympathy. 
 
 PICTURES FOR DECEMBER. 
 
 The Young Mother. 
 
 From ' Fide et Amore.' 
 
 UNCONSCIOUS to the world 
 A girlish form on tireless knee bent low, 
 
 Beside her sleeping babe, 
 Within the warming firelight's fitful glow. 
 
 She turned, as on her right, 
 The curtained door was open'd from without, 
 
 And baby's Daddy came ; 
 He link'd the hand she eagerly stretched out. 
 
 Christmastime. 
 
 From 'Our Treasures.' 
 
 LIKE a gem of deep full beauty, 
 
 Happy Christmas Day, 
 Depths of light that radiates gladness 
 
 All along the way. 
 May its lightness gently guide you, 
 
 Of its beauty give, 
 That each moment radiates Christmas 
 
 Love and joy that live. 
 
 21
 
 Their Boy. 
 
 From 'Fide et Amore.' 
 
 THE festive table laid for three, 
 
 Told of expected joy, 
 Mother and Father breathed to each, 
 
 " He'll come to-night our boy." 
 The outer gate swung on its hinge, 
 
 The gravel bore his tread, 
 And Peter grasped his father's hand 
 
 And joined the way he led. 
 Upright and strong, and true, and clean, 
 
 With ideals pure and fine, 
 He clasped his mother fondly near, 
 
 "It's alright Mother mine." 
 
 Home for Christmas. 
 
 From ' Gathered Threads.' 
 
 WITH hurrying feet, 
 
 A winsome lass with laughing eye, 
 Sped 'cross the dark and silent fen, 
 Beneath the velvet, night-deep sky. 
 
 A stream of light, 
 
 The cottage door was open'd wide, 
 And brothers, sisters, cluster'd round 
 And bore her joyously inside. 
 
 The fire flamed high, 
 
 The little kettle sang with glee, 
 
 And table spread with snow-white cloth, 
 
 Told of a long belated tea. 
 
 " Home, Mother mine ! 
 
 Home, Daddy dear! There is no place 
 Just like to home at Christmastime," 
 And Daddy touch'd the radiant face. 
 
 22
 
 A LOVING MEMORY. 
 
 (Mr. W. E. Hudson.) 
 
 THE long low-ceilinged room, with beams 
 
 Of knotted, rugged oak, upcaught 
 
 The magic of the firelight glow, 
 
 And breathed a beauty inly wrought. 
 
 "The days pull in," the fine old man 
 
 Low in his fireside cushioned chair, 
 
 Watched for a space the dark'ning sky, 
 
 "The days pull in," he spoke with care. 
 
 His daughter from the window turned 
 
 With opened letters in her hold, 
 
 And news of loved ones far away 
 
 She read aloud, or clearly told. 
 
 The lamps were lighted, curtains drawn, 
 
 Another log heaped on the fire 
 
 The snow-white cloth was laid for tea 
 
 The kettle raised a little higher. 
 
 " Now for a ' sup ' of tea and toast," 
 
 The words were gaily, brightly said 
 
 And with a fond and genial smile, 
 
 The old man watched the crisping bread. 
 
 The lamp-light with caressing touch, 
 
 Fell on the mass of snow-white hair 
 
 That crowned the healthful happy face 
 
 Which told of love and v/atchful care. 
 
 The door-latch from without was raised, 
 
 A neighbour on the threshold stood, 
 
 And smiles of welcome from the twain, 
 
 Held greeting that was warm and good. 
 
 The pride of hospitality 
 
 Shone on the kind old happy face, 
 
 And father, daughter joy'd, that home, 
 
 Should prove to all, a gladsome place.
 
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