THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 
 
 
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 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE 
 
 BY 
 
 CELESTE MAY 
 
 TOPEKA KANSAS 
 
 GEO. W. CRANE & CO. PRINTEES AND BINDERS 
 
 1886
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1886, by 
 
 CELESTE MAY, 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 i. 
 
 ACCEPT, dear parents, in token of my love, 
 This little book of poems fancies trove 
 
 From out my leisure hours. 
 And if your approbation they secure, 
 ' Twill all my trepidation reassure, 
 
 And strew my path with flowers. 
 
 Through love of thee, 'twas first I tried to write, 
 Hoping I might some pleasing lines indite, 
 
 As proof of my deep love. 
 And, if I can your hearts and ears delight, 
 I shall be always glad I tried to write, 
 
 Expressing filial love. 
 
 
 Begun, it seemed the outlet long desired, 
 
 To vent the deepest thoughts my soul acquired, 
 
 And longed to give expression; 
 Impressions that were near akin to pain, 
 Till they were made to live in words again 
 
 Words' true and highest mission. 
 
 762897
 
 4 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Each separate life its own experience lives, 
 Yet all have much in common and it gives, 
 
 Pleasure to relate it. 
 
 The poet should his own life understand, 
 And every phase of life in the broad land, 
 
 And truly should depict it. 
 
 n. 
 
 In the quiet and seclusion of my country home, 
 Many pleasant fancies of the past and future 
 come 
 
 A past-time most unique: 
 And if I can awaken, in one sad heart, the thrill 
 Of pleasures long forgotten then I shall fulfill 
 The mission that I seek : 
 
 Or reproduce to memory the trials bravely stood, 
 Inducing faith in the prophecy, that "All things 
 good 
 
 Come to those who wait " 
 Then I shall be happy, and very well repaid 
 For these simple rhymes, and the effort I have 
 made 
 
 To enter Fancy's gate. 
 
 In " Sounds of the Prairie," it is my aspiration, 
 As one who witnessed it, to give an adumbra 
 tion 
 
 Of the pioneer's privation.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 In others I have sought to faithfully portray 
 Lessons learned around us in things of every day 
 Of every caste and station. 
 
 On the stormy sea of letters, I launch my little 
 
 boat, 
 Wondering if it will sink, or sail, or float, 
 
 When loosened from its moorings. 
 Like a bird, I send this fledgling forth from the 
 
 nest, 
 
 Longing, yet dreading, to send it on its quest 
 With untried wings. 
 
 Yet of one thing I feel very confident 
 You, who always were so lenient 
 
 With my childish faults and failures, 
 Will surely judge as kindly now, of these, 
 My very first attempt my friends to please, 
 
 In soft and rythmic measures.
 
 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Muse of all the Gifts and Graces! 
 
 Though the fields around us wither, 
 There are ampler realms and spaces, 
 Where no foot has left its traces : 
 
 Let us turn and wander thither! 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 THE PIONEER. 
 
 " MARY," said John Calhoun, on one bright sum 
 mer morn, 
 
 As he was starting to plow his rented field of 
 corn, 
 
 "If you are willing, we will westward go this 
 fall, 
 
 Where the proceeds of my hard labor we shall 
 reap all. 
 
 And we can make us a home, while the children 
 are yet small, 
 
 Which will always do us honor one which we 
 all, 
 
 While they are still about us, will greatly enjoy; 
 
 And it will our youthful time and energies em 
 ploy. 
 
 It is very hard to get a start back here, you 
 know, 
 
 Where on another's land we must always reap 
 and sow."
 
 8 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 And Mary, with a sinking and throbbing at her 
 
 heart, 
 For the old associations from which she'd have 
 
 to part, 
 
 Gave quick assent; for she was always ready 
 To sacrifice herself, and unselfishly to study 
 For the good of others; though much more she 
 
 would renounce, 
 Than e'er her husband dreamed; for much more 
 
 a woman counts 
 The love of home and friends than does the 
 
 manly heart, 
 Which, ever here and yonder, contentedly, can 
 
 dart; 
 
 Nor is so closely bound by early ties and pleas 
 ure, 
 But thinks the great round world but suited to 
 
 his measure. 
 
 And so, while he industriously his crops at 
 tended, 
 
 She busily sewed, devised, repaired and neatly 
 mended 
 
 Their clothes and household goods; and made 
 all preparation, 
 
 To be in readiness for the long privation 
 
 She knew they must endure, in changing their 
 location. 
 
 The odds and ends of work were brought unto 
 completion ;
 
 THE PIONEEK. 9 
 
 The last quilt quilted, and woven the new rag 
 
 carpet gay 
 Work of the thrifty housewife's hands for many 
 
 a day. 
 For though to far-off western prairies they were 
 
 going, 
 She thought, 'mong needful things, some beauty 
 
 of bestowing. 
 
 At last the day set for their departure was at 
 
 hand; 
 Ready the great, stout team and the covered 
 
 wagon stand, 
 Equipped for the long journey; and the hour of 
 
 parting 
 From father, mother, sister, brother and friends, 
 
 starting 
 Away from so much they had loved and prized 
 
 before 
 'Twas as if on all their former lives they'd shut 
 
 the door 
 Beginning life in a new country, with new 
 
 friends; 
 'Where success on their own pluck and energy 
 
 depends: 
 So the first real grief she'd ever known was thus 
 
 entailed, 
 
 But love for those who nearest were at last pre 
 vailed. 
 
 i 
 
 2
 
 10 SOUNDS OF THE PBAIKIB. 
 
 "Within their roomy wagon, they had stowed 
 away 
 
 The things they most would need for many a 
 long day; 
 
 For little time or means to purchase them again 
 
 They'd have, when far out on their homestead 
 claim ; and then 
 
 It would seem more like home to have the self 
 same things, 
 
 For fond association to all our home things 
 clings. 
 
 Tied on top the feed box, was a coop of Ply 
 mouth Kock fowls; 
 
 The house dog, too, is with them, and at ap 
 proach of intrusion growls. 
 
 And slowly led along, as if she were loth to go, 
 
 Tied to the wagon, the favorite cow, soft-eyed 
 and slow. 
 
 For weeks, slowly but steadily westward they 
 kept their way; 
 
 Camping at night, weary, but feeling that every 
 day 
 
 Brought them nearer to their longed-for destina 
 tion. 
 
 For the children, the travel and camp fires were 
 pleasant recreation ; 
 
 And all enjoyed the victuals cooked on the glow 
 ing coals 
 
 Of a fire that's nearly burned built in little 
 scraped-out holes
 
 THE PIONEER. 11 
 
 In the ground. The fragrant, steaming coffee, 
 
 and the bowls 
 Of delicious bread and milk, refreshed their 
 
 weary souls; 
 And just as sweet their sleep, in the wagon or on 
 
 the ground, 
 As ever it was in their beds at home and just 
 
 as sound. 
 
 Beyond the marts of men, wilder grew the scene 
 
 And fewer the habitations; many miles would 
 intervene 
 
 Between the towns. And on every side, like a 
 smooth-waved sea, 
 
 A beautiful view, lay the clean-grassed, undulat 
 ing, western prairie. 
 
 A little further on, and they began the pleasant 
 task 
 
 Of choosing a location one as fine as they 
 could ask, 
 
 They were not long in finding; and at once they 
 set to work 
 
 To build a house upon it, for hard work they 
 would not shirk. 
 
 And first, the breaking plow was called in requi 
 sition, 
 
 Turning the sod in a square, about the chosen 
 position. 
 
 Not long were John's strong arms in laying up 
 the sod
 
 12 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 In four straight walls; while Mary and the chil 
 dren stood 
 Approvingly giving the assistance that they 
 
 could. 
 And then, for covering it, he sought the scanty 
 
 wood, 
 
 Found a tree well suited to his purpose, quickly 
 Felled, loaded, and hauled home; where he most 
 
 deftly 
 Constructed from its branches a great beam and 
 
 rafters; 
 These he thatched with willows, and covered 
 
 with sod. After 
 
 Some delay and much hard work, he procured 
 A shelter that seemed a home, after all they had 
 
 endured, 
 In living in their wagon, or under the broad, 
 
 blue sky. 
 For windows and doors they must wait, for there 
 
 was no place nigh 
 Where they could be procured, till a well was 
 
 dug and walled, 
 And then he'd, drive a distance back which 
 
 would have appalled 
 
 A man less resolute, and buy the windows and 
 doors, 
 
 The supplies for the winter, and lumber for the 
 floors. 
 
 Hard he worked, and steady, but late it was in 
 ' the fall, 
 
 Before he found time to plaster the black, un 
 gainly wall;
 
 THE PIONEER. 13 
 
 Then laid was the bright rag carpet, and hung 
 
 the curtains white; 
 The snowy bed in one corner in the other the 
 
 stove so bright. 
 
 A few bright prints they had brought, hung on 
 
 the whitewashed wall; 
 And white muslin for the ceiling hung high 
 
 above it all. 
 
 With real appreciation, and satisfaction keen, 
 They viewed the work of their hands proud as 
 
 any king or queen; 
 For, though without 'twas homely, it was all 
 
 their own; 
 Within, in thrifty tidiness, its home-like comfort 
 
 shone. 
 And here, reluctantly, we'll leave them feeling 
 
 sure 
 
 Such enterprise as they possess will still endure 
 The hardships incident to life on the frontier. 
 Prosperity, and health, and wealth, we wish 
 
 them, here.
 
 14 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 IN THE FALL OF 1878. 
 
 AFTER dinner, one October day, 
 
 A merry group sat chatting, 
 
 In a large stone house by the creek ; 
 
 Each one telling, in his way, 
 
 Of where he had been living, 
 
 And the home he had come to seek, 
 
 On this wide and beautiful prairie. 
 
 One had taken this claim, another that; 
 Bach dwelling on the merits of his piece, 
 And his good fortune in securing it: 
 And thus, in pleasant converse, long they sat 
 The several families who had procured a lease 
 Of this, the only house for miles about it, 
 Until afforded time to build their homes 
 
 Nor dreamed of fast-approaching ill. 
 At length "'Tis Indian summer," one re 
 marked, 
 
 "And we must to work, this autumn weather, 
 Or our fond hopes we'll not fulfill, 
 In this enterprise in which we are embarked: " 
 And so their group was broken up. Thither, 
 Each one started to his work.
 
 THE PRAIRIE FIRE. 15 
 
 Said another, on reaching the out-door air, 
 " 'Tis the smokiest Indian summer, I declare, 
 
 I ever saw must be where they're manufac 
 tured." 
 
 And another "'Tis the smoke from a prairie 
 fire! 
 
 And we must fight with zeal and ire ! 
 
 But be assured, 
 
 The women and children are safe, right here; 
 
 So let them stay and have no fear, 
 
 For all around the house 'tis clear 
 
 Of grass, and has only the clippings from 
 stone." 
 
 Away they went, on horses fleet, 
 
 "With buckets, and sacks, and all things meet, 
 
 Hoping to make the fight complete, 
 
 And save the winter's grazing. 
 
 The women, with white and ashen face, 
 
 Brought the carriages and cattle to the place 
 
 About the house, for safety. 
 
 But prairie life in this new phase, 
 
 Was not one designed to raise 
 
 Their high opinion of it. 
 
 " An Indian scare they had just passed through ; 
 Expecting, hourly, nobody knew 
 How many, or when 
 Some of the bloodthirsty clan 
 Would their scalps appraise 
 And their dwellings raze
 
 16 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 But rumor ran, 
 
 That there were thousands and the van 
 
 Was close at hand. 
 
 Many for safety sought the nearest fort; 
 
 Others, together, sought support 
 
 In numbers. 
 
 They of whom we write declared they'd stand 
 
 On their own land, 
 
 And try to save 
 
 The few possessions that they have, 
 
 And just as they thought the fiends all passed, 
 
 And hegan to breathe free again, at last, 
 
 Some of the stragglers of the band, 
 
 With savage heart and cruel hand 
 
 Mad at the soldiers lit the brand 
 
 Which desolated so much land. 
 
 Dark and darker grew the sky ! 
 The roar and crackle soon were nigh, 
 The flames and smoke ascending high, 
 In spite of all their efforts. 
 Two great burning lines of flame 
 One on either side the creek 
 Swiftly, madly, onward came, 
 As if all things it would seek; 
 Crackling, roaring, wildly rushing 
 Over tree and shrub, devouring 
 Every obstacle in its way 
 Nothing could its fury stay.
 
 THE PRAIRIE FIRE. 17 
 
 While, far back 
 
 In its blackened track, 
 
 Smouldered the back-fires sullenly. 
 
 And here and there 
 
 The lurid glare 
 
 Showed some new place, or pasture fair, 
 
 A victim to its ravages. 
 
 Fearful it was, and grand! 
 In awe the women stand, 
 Watching the burning land, 
 From their safe shelter; 
 And yet in deep suspense 
 For those, who, in defense, 
 Had gone to fight it. 
 
 Exhausted, breathless, cinder-blackened, 
 
 Seeing their efforts vain, 
 
 The men now slackened 
 
 Their arduous fight; 
 
 And the fire, in its resistless reign, 
 
 Swept on, with ruin in its train 
 
 Terrific in its might. 
 
 Sometimes, the side-fires they had held at bay, 
 
 Thinking its dreaded havoc thus to stay, 
 
 Only to retreakat last and give full sway; 
 
 For fire, on such a windy day, 
 
 Is an enemy with vantage. 
 
 Xext day, for miles and miles around, 
 Xaught but the bare and blackened ground 
 Could anywhere be seen.
 
 18 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 All the broad acres of nutritious grass, 
 
 With which the winter they had hoped to pass 
 
 Without much need of feed, 
 
 Were swept away by its greed. 
 
 And glad were they when the snow, so white, 
 
 Hid the blackened prairie away from sight. 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 AT first it tossed wildly about in the air, 
 Uncertain if it were to lodge here, or there, 
 Angrily beating like beast in its lair 
 Penetrating everywhere ; 
 Blinding and driving all in its way, 
 That fiercely cold, bleak winter's day; 
 And man or beast that chanced to roam 
 Far from shelter or from home, 
 Losing his way, was afterward found, 
 Frozen and dead, in a snowy mound. 
 
 After its first mad fury was spent, 
 Settling in quiet and content, 
 It made the earth, so black and bare, 
 A picture of beauty and pureness fair, 
 Glistening in the moonlight like jewels rare. 
 And many weeks, in its mantle of snow, 
 The earth lay enwrapped, as if to show 
 A pity for its bareness.
 
 THE SNOW. 19 
 
 All there seemed in existence was a sea of 
 
 snow; 
 
 The sky overhead, and naught below 
 But the pure, and cold, and crystalled snow. 
 And like a lone ship in the midst of the sea, 
 The little stone house, so dear to me 
 The blue smoke curling upward from its chim 
 ney, 
 
 Looked our homestead on the smooth, white 
 prairie. 
 
 Beautiful thought it was, and grand. 
 Great inconvenience, on every hand, 
 Was endured by the hardy pioneer; 
 Almost unable was he to steer 
 The ship of home through safely, here, 
 Away from roads and all supplies, 
 Under the cold and wintry skies. 
 
 Indeed, a few there were who died 
 Of cold and hunger; side by side, 
 A mother and her infant child 
 Perished from the blast so wild; 
 "While the father went to seek 
 Food and fuel, for the weak 
 And loved ones he had left at home; 
 So far and long he had to roam, 
 That, deterred, he came too late 
 To save them from their unhappy fate.
 
 20 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Like all things else, the snow at last was gone, 
 
 The warmer days of February come, 
 
 And glad were they to see the earth once more, 
 
 Though burned and blackened as before. 
 
 Very late it was before the green 
 
 Of the fire-dried prairie could be seen. 
 
 For a while the vegetation grew, 
 
 Then came the drought, and filled 
 
 Anew with dread the sinking hearts of those 
 
 Who hoped their hardships at a close. 
 
 THE DROUGHT. 
 
 THE sun beat hot upon the withered grass, 
 
 That crackled under foot like molten glass; 
 
 And there was heard 
 
 No note or call of bird; 
 
 Instead of cooling zephyrs' breath, 
 
 The southwest simoon brought but death. 
 
 Instead of gentle showers, there, 
 A white heat on the earth did glare, 
 And vegetation, brown and bare, 
 Brought forth no food 
 For man, or beast, or bird ; 
 And all about was heard 
 A cry of desolation.
 
 THE DROUGHT. 21 
 
 The streams were dry. 
 
 Above, the clear and pitiless sky 
 
 Shone, steady and bright, 
 
 From its dazzling height. 
 
 The birds had fled 
 
 The fish were dead. 
 
 Each morning, filled with dread, 
 
 Unrested from the night, 
 
 The inhabitants awoke and fed 
 
 Upon their scanty bread, 
 
 And watched, with longing eyes 
 
 And vain expectancy, the skies; 
 
 And fain would stand 
 
 Watching a cloud no larger than the prophet's 
 
 hand; 
 
 But not with equal faith that it would bring 
 From the dry heavens the longed-for rain. 
 
 Sometimes, gigantic size the clouds attained, 
 
 Yet all their life-giving bulk retained, 
 
 Till far beyond our burning sand, 
 
 They reached a happier-fated land, 
 
 And there unburdened, in kissing showers, 
 
 Upon ladened fields, and fruit and flowers. 
 
 Beautiful lakes, in mirage, oft were seen, 
 In tantalizing vision; and the green 
 Of tall trees growing close beside, 
 And cities mirrored in fictitious tide; 
 Making the people feel like they were stranded 
 Upon Sahara's desert, empty handed.
 
 22 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Oh, would it never rain ! 
 
 And ease the burning pain 
 
 Of the scorched earth, 
 
 And quench this awful dearth ! 
 
 "Would there never again come dew, 
 
 Fainting nature to renew ! 
 
 Must they abandon their prairie home, 
 
 For the antelope and buffalo again to roam, 
 
 Owners of all. They had thought it grand, 
 
 This smoothly -lying prairie land, 
 
 And had planned what beautiful homes they'd 
 
 make, 
 And how much comfort and ease they would 
 
 take. 
 
 Now, the bustle and stir of ambition all hushed, 
 Through the quiet and desolation rushed 
 Visions of once happy homes; 
 And ever and again there comes, 
 To overstrained and weary heart, 
 The longing to return ; and so depart 
 
 Many, to their former home 
 
 Glad to be gone yet leaving some, 
 
 Who could not go, 
 
 To suffer, slow 
 
 And bitter pangs of hard privation, 
 
 Amounting almost to starvation.
 
 THE RAIN. 23 
 
 But they struggled bravely on, 
 Conquering hardships, one by one, 
 Until, inured to suffering and want, 
 Nothing could their spirits daunt. 
 
 THE EAIN. 
 
 AFTER months of weary waiting 
 
 Months of heartache and of anguish 
 Months of hoping and of praying 
 
 That all nature might not languish, 
 Came the blessed rain, in torrents, 
 
 Kissing the parched earth, and cooling. 
 All the moisture held in durance 
 
 For those long months, seemed outpouring - 
 
 On the fields and plains so arid, 
 
 And the long-expectant people; 
 On the dry and dusty high road, 
 
 Came the blessed rain, so needful; 
 Filling full the creeks and rivers, 
 
 And the little streamlets glad'ning; 
 Filling full the gaping fissures 
 
 In the dry earth, open standing. 
 
 Soon again the grass was green, 
 
 Soon were heard the sweet birds singing; 
 Here and there, there soon were seen 
 
 Ploughmen with glad hearts returning:
 
 24 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Once again the fine, rich soil, 
 
 Moistened by refreshing showers, 
 
 Yields its fruitage unto toil ; 
 
 And the prairies blaze with flowers. 
 
 "With thankful hearts and steady hand, 
 
 People began to improve their homes; 
 Determined again to reclaim the land 
 
 From the wild herd which upon it roams. 
 Cottages neat, and pastures wide, 
 
 Flowering gardens and stone walls grand, 
 Young orchards and fields on every side, 
 
 Pictures of comfort and thrift, now stand. 
 
 THE WALNUT CREEK. 
 
 AND, like a bright and happy dream, 
 The beautiful, winding Walnut stream 
 
 Flows swiftly along, 
 
 "With its rippling song, 
 Where the sumac bright, and willows green, 
 Bend low to the water's silvery sheen. 
 
 Along its valley, green and wide, 
 Graze flocks and herds on every side ; 
 And at eventide 
 
 The milkmaid's song 
 
 Is wafted along 
 
 On the perfumed air, and the quail's "bob-white"- 
 Scenes of beauty, and sounds of delight.
 
 THE WALNUT CREEK. 25 
 
 The herdsman whistles contented and slow, 
 As homeward he hies, in the sunset glow; 
 
 The lowing of cows, 
 
 As they slowly browse 
 
 Along the way home, and the bleating of sheep, 
 All lend a charm and rythm deep 
 
 To the happy and peaceful scene; 
 Where a feeling of hominess, serene, 
 
 Pervades the air 
 
 So soft and fair. 
 
 Life in its simplest, happiest mood, 
 
 Is life indeed, if understood. 
 
 Softly the wind is blowing 
 Gently my muse is rowing 
 
 In calmer, smoother seas; 
 Neither caring nor knowing 
 Whither she is going; 
 
 Fanned by the gentle breeze, 
 
 Sweet, as from tropic trees. 
 
 4
 
 26 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIKIE. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 THE summer's almost done ! 
 
 And, one by one, 
 
 The crops are gathered 
 
 In the August sun. 
 
 The stack yard is complete; 
 
 Beautiful, and replete 
 
 With long ricks brown and yellow- 
 
 Of hay and grain so sweet. 
 
 The melons are ripening, 
 
 The pumpkins are yellowing, 
 
 The fruit is mellowing 
 
 In the golden sun; 
 
 The corn slowly hardening 
 
 Within its thick covering 
 
 Nature preparing 
 
 For frosts soon to come. 
 
 The cricket is singing, 
 
 The earth is ringing 
 
 With insects creaking 
 
 In great delight. 
 
 The air is luscious 
 
 With fragrance delicious 
 
 Of new-mown hay; 
 
 There are hints, suspicious, 
 
 Of autumn, in the shorter day,
 
 THE MEADOW LARK. 27 
 
 And clear, cool night, 
 Made glad by the chorus 
 Beneath us and o'er us 
 Tsip, tsip, tsip, tsee-e-e-e-e, 
 Te-reat, te-reat, te-re-e-e-e. 
 
 With repose and restfulness, 
 Peace and thankfulness 
 After days of usefulness 
 All nature seems imbued. 
 The soft and mellow sunshine, 
 And the cool fresh air, combine 
 Within us to enshrine 
 A feeling of joy, subdued. 
 
 THE MEADOW LARK. 
 
 HAPPY and free, 
 And full of glee, 
 Is thy song to me, 
 
 Sweet meadow lark ! 
 As, along the way, 
 Thy cheerful lay, 
 Like a sound of May, 
 
 Doth cheer the heart ! 
 
 Always the same, 
 Great is thy fame, 
 And blest thy name, 
 Sweet meadow lark !
 
 28 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Thy glad note teems 
 With joy, and seems 
 Part of the sun's bright beams, 
 Sweet meadow lark ! 
 
 Thy sole ambition, 
 
 And intuition, 
 
 Seem, to fill the mission 
 
 Of glad'ning the earth! 
 that we, too, 
 All this life through, 
 Might help to woo 
 
 Some sad heart to mirth ! 
 
 THE MIST. 
 
 How beautiful, at daybreak, 
 To see the mist arise 
 
 Roll itself up like a curtain 
 Bordering the skies. 
 
 And sometimes, when it's forgotten 
 To roll itself up in time, 
 
 The sunshine, catching it lingering, 
 Glistens each particle fine
 
 OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 29 
 
 Filling the air with gold dust, 
 
 And a glory most sublime ; 
 Repaid is he who beholds it 
 
 For getting up in time. 
 
 The birds are gaily twittering 
 
 Their welcome to the sun; 
 The chickens lustily heralding 
 
 That the day is begun. 
 
 How narrow seems the horizon, 
 
 Encircled by the cloud 
 Of mist, rolled back so perfectly, 
 
 Which does our view enshroud. 
 
 But the sun will soon dispel it, 
 As for centuries it has done, 
 
 Flooding the earth with his glory, 
 Widening our horizon. 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 
 
 MORNING-GLORIES, purple, red, white, and blue 
 Flowering beauties of every hue ! 
 Each morning they greet me, cheerful and bright, 
 Each day giving my heart new delight.
 
 30 SOUNDS OP THE PRAIKIE. 
 
 Entwined in their tendrils, the gay Marigold, 
 It dark red and yellow, flaunting and bold, 
 Blooms cheerily on, though the splendor of morn 
 ing 
 Vanishes quickly evanescent adorning. 
 
 Close by, in colors radiant, 
 A bed of Four-o'clocks, redolent, 
 Its fragrance sheds on the morning, 
 Picture of beauty, choice and rare ! 
 
 Old-fashioned flowers, rare and sweet, 
 Gaily blooming in quiet retreat ! 
 Dew on the grass birds in the air 
 Beauty and fragrance everywhere ! 
 
 THE CAMP-FIRE AT NESS CITY. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 16, 1885. 
 
 NOT like this, twenty years ago, 
 
 The camp-fire bright, 
 Amid friends, and peace and plenty 
 
 Shed its light 
 But on the tented field, 
 
 To tired and hungry men, 
 'Twas made to yield 
 
 Some little comfort.
 
 THE CAMP-FIRE AT NESS CITY. 31 
 
 Gloomily, in an enemy's land, 
 
 Its flickering rays shine round; 
 While, upon every hand, 
 
 The accoutrements of war are found, 
 And tired soldiers stand, 
 
 Or lie upon the hard ground. 
 
 I can see them now, 
 
 After a long and weary march, 
 Through drizzling rain and snow, 
 
 Under the heaven's leaden arch, 
 Wearily pitching their tents ; 
 
 Each striving hard to go 
 Beyond his comrade in brave endurance. 
 
 Tired, hungry and cold, 
 
 In the drear November night, 
 
 Visions of home unfold 
 
 To the weary soldier's sight : 
 
 Thoughts of the cheerful home-light, 
 
 The warm supper and the love-light 
 
 In loving eyes so bright, 
 
 Make the soldier, bold, , 
 
 Weak as a child : 
 
 As he notes the dreariness, 
 
 And eats his hardened fare, 
 
 Drinks his strong black coffee, 
 
 And wishes he were there; 
 
 And then, in weariness, 
 
 Throws himself on the ground to sleep 
 
 And dream of loved ones fair;
 
 32 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 While they their vigils keep, 
 
 In offering prayer 
 
 That God their soldier spare. 
 
 Yet, sometimes, steadier shone the light 
 Around a camp-fire blazing bright; 
 And cheerful men whistled or sang 
 With joyful note the camp ground rang; 
 Good news from home, or new-found hope 
 That soon the war would close, awoke 
 Their almost fainting hearts; and then, 
 Their loved homes they would see again. 
 
 At length, the last hard battle fought, 
 The nation freed God's purpose wrought - 
 Each one homeward took his way, 
 Proud that the right at last had sway. 
 Home to love and friends again, 
 He counted not his hardships vain; 
 But all the brighter burned the flame 
 Upon the altar fire of home. 
 
 All honor to our soldiers brave, 
 
 Who risked their health and lives to save 
 
 Our country's name 
 
 From treason's shame ! 
 
 And, as around this camp-fire meet 
 
 Comrades, who gladly each other greet, 
 
 Give a tear and a memory sweet 
 
 To those who life itself did yield 
 
 Upon a well-fought battle field.
 
 THE LITTLE SOD HOUSE. 33 
 
 THE LITTLE SOD HOUSE. 
 
 THE little sod house thatched with willows, 
 Hanging like yellow-green fringe ! 
 
 The soft, thick grass for a matting, 
 
 Doth against the fine Brussels impinge. 
 
 The walls, it is true, are ungainly, 
 But then there is comfort within ; 
 
 The fire shines as bright, burns as warmly, 
 As in palace, or cottage, or inn. 
 
 It's deep window seats bright with flowers, 
 That fragrance and beauty out cast; 
 
 0, many the glad, happy hours 
 
 That within its black walls have been passed ! 
 
 In the earth, on the earth, of the earth ! 
 
 Near nature's great heart are we, 
 When we gather around the hearth 
 
 Of the sod house, on the prairie sea. 
 5
 
 34 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 THERE is compensation for every ill, 
 For all the privations that seem to fill 
 
 Our cup to the brim; 
 If we are patient, and wait long enough, 
 Though the way seem rugged, weary and rough, 
 
 It will surely come. 
 
 To the dweller on dry and dusty plain 
 Come visions of trees and golden grain, 
 
 Sweet flowers and fruit. 
 The image, by contrast, intensifies 
 The picture dear to us ; and verifies 
 
 The truth I bruit. 
 
 Terraced gardens and ivy-green walls, 
 Ruined castles and great waterfalls, 
 
 In fancy, are ours. 
 We stand 'neath the shade of great branching 
 
 elms, 
 
 Or by the cool waters of clear-flowing streams, 
 'Mid fanciful bowers. 
 
 The poor man, who toils for his daily bread, 
 In a cottage resting his weary head, 
 
 Rests sweetly there ; 
 
 Nor envies the rich man his feverish hours, 
 As he dreams of mortgages, deeds and dowers, 
 
 And life's fitful care.
 
 PRESENTIMENT. 35 
 
 The mourner, grieving for her loved ones lost, 
 Upon a sea of sorrow tempest tossed, 
 
 Seems almost hopeless; 
 Yet the waves of trouble cease to flow, 
 Higher than hope; and she's brought to know 
 
 And love the helpless. 
 
 To those who, in exile, far from home 
 
 And well-known friends, are obliged to roam, 
 
 Friends become dearer; 
 
 The dearth of companionship, the heart so needs, 
 Makes one live in the books he reads, 
 
 And therefore grow wiser. 
 
 So with all grades of human life; 
 There is, for all its weary strife, 
 
 Some compensation 
 
 Some bright spots through the riven cloud 
 Some extra-sense with which endowed 
 
 Sweet consolation ! 
 
 PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 AH ! why do teardrops start unbidden, 
 And long-drawn sighs the bosom heave, 
 
 As if by some great sorrow riven, 
 And hope had forever taken leave.
 
 36 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 The heart seems filled with boding ill 
 With pity for itself congealed; 
 
 Like some great harm or sudden chill 
 Had come, and all love's fountains sealed. 
 
 O then it is, with sudden burst 
 
 Of realty, there dawns upon 
 Our minds the thought, that e'en the worst 
 
 That happens ere our life be run, 
 
 Cannot outlast the great Beyond, 
 Where love shall not be filled with care, 
 
 And where our lives shall not be stunned 
 By storms and withering despair. 
 
 O FIERCE storm king, stay thy hand ! 
 Blight not this our beauteous land 
 With thy desolating breath 
 Bringing naught but ice and death ; 
 Gloat not o'er our helplessness 
 Thou art conquer'r, we the vanquished; 
 Stay thy hand, whose ruthlessness, 
 Long has joy and beauty banished! 
 
 Fierce thy reign, and unrelenting 
 ~N"or by pain nor anguish softened; 
 O'er our prairies, unrepenting, 
 Thou hast man and beast encoffined,
 
 STORM. 37 
 
 In mounds of thy fierce, crystalled wrath; 
 
 Stalking through these plains, unchallenged, 
 
 taught to intercept thy path : 
 
 Surely thou art well avenged 
 
 For all the joy, or warmth, or gladness, 
 
 Earth or mortal dared to feel, 
 
 "When by south winds moved from sadness, 
 
 And from tempests that congeal 
 
 All the pulsing heart of nature, 
 
 Setting there its icy seal. 
 
 Thou, with all a north king's hauteur, 
 
 Makest us thy power feel, 
 
 And to pray for thy departure 
 
 Cold, thy biting blades, as steel. 
 
 Though thou givest us naught of pleasure, 
 In thy fierce and wild career, 
 Spare, oh spare, our best-loved treasure 
 The lives of friends we hold so dear ! 
 Blight them not by thy cold kisses 
 "Woo them not with moaning wind; 
 Fold them not in thy embraces, 
 Leaving e'en no trace behind ! 
 "We can win no promise from thee 
 Thou dost fill the heart with dread, 
 Lest, e'en now, thy cruelty 
 Takest some we love as dead! 
 
 Pity ! our hearts are rended 
 By this tempest, long unended!
 
 38 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIKIE. 
 
 God of the winds, of wave, and sea, 
 Speak, oh speak, and comfort me ! 
 From Thy throne above, on high, 
 Let Thy tender, loving eye 
 Rest on us poor, tempest-tossed 
 Pilgrims on life's sea embossed; 
 Let Thy gentle, loving voice 
 Speak the word that rules all choice 
 Of wind or storm, and quiets them ; 
 So our frail barks may ever stem 
 Both physical and mental storms, 
 That cross our path in countless swarms, 
 Filling the soul with dread alarm, 
 Lest those we love may come to harm ! 
 And when, of storms we've faced the last- 
 Life's dangerous voyage safely past 
 O then, at last, most peacefully, 
 Bring us all to heaven and Thee ! 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 JANUARY 19, 1886. 
 
 ONCE more we hail the sunshine ! 
 
 The tempest at last is passed; 
 After weeks of weary waiting, 
 
 The light has come at last. 
 
 Earth revels in the sunbeams 
 Which warm her frozen cheek - 
 
 Kissing the icy teardrops, 
 And wooing her to speak.
 
 A THAW. 39 
 
 Our hearts, too, ope with gladness 
 
 To let the sunlight in, 
 For lone, and dark, and gloomy 
 
 These stormy days have been 
 
 Filled full of apprehension, 
 For the suffering of those 
 
 "Who may, from cold and hunger, 
 Die in these fearful snows; 
 
 Or those compelled by pressure 
 Of things of life and death 
 
 To face the dreaded current 
 The storm king's icy breath. 
 
 But now, at last, 'tis over, 
 
 And all breathe free once more; 
 
 Whatever harm is wrought, 
 The sun shines as before. 
 
 A THAW. 
 
 No longer are our windows frosted o'er 
 With pleasant pictures, delicate and hoar, 
 "Of ferns and flowers of the summer time, 
 And diamond crystals wrought in jeweled rime 
 By skillful artist, through the long night-time; 
 And now we view the outer world again, 
 And watch the goings of our fellow-men, 
 Who have, like us, been housed in winter den,
 
 40 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 But now, no longer snow-bound, go abroad, 
 As is their custom like the ground-hog, thawed 
 From out his winter quarters, being wooed 
 By spring-like breezes out in search of food; 
 Right gladly, too, they once again exhume 
 Themselves, their wonted business to resume. 
 
 The great white banks, so lately frozen hard, 
 Are treacherous now and here and there the 
 
 sward 
 
 Is bare once more. The distant hills loom high, 
 In outline black and white, against the sky; 
 And on the moistened breezes sounds traverse 
 Great distances with ease. One hears the terse 
 "Whoa" as the neighboring farmer checks his 
 
 steed, 
 
 That long restrained, would gladly try his speed; 
 A murmur, indistinct, comes from the town; 
 And bark of dogs that chase the rabbit down ; 
 And joyously and clear, from far and near, 
 The lusty crowing of the chanticleer; 
 The children, long kept indoors by the cold, 
 Now fill the air with cheerful shouts, and mold 
 The melting snow in forms; the distant lowing 
 Of cattle impatient for their evening meal; 
 Or to her calf the mother-cow's soft mooing; 
 The rattle of the wagon's heavy wheel. 
 These sounds a sense of quickened life bestow 
 ing 
 Borne on the glad, moist air, upon us steal;
 
 A WINDY DAY. 41 
 
 Commingled, too, with many a laughing peal, 
 Like so many tokens of all human weal. 
 
 TO 
 
 YOUR'S the first eyes my little songs did meet ; 
 Your words of praise and appreciation sweet 
 The first my eager, anxious ears did greet, 
 As I waited in my quiet country-seat. 
 As the years pass by, like winged horses fleet, 
 May they all good things bring you, and complete 
 The measure of your lives with blessings meet. 
 And when at last, like time, you too have passed 
 Beyond life's care and work, may there be cast 
 A glittering crown' upon your heads at last. 
 Accept, kind friends, for your generous praise, 
 My warmest thanks. My ambition it did raise 
 To hope I yet may walk Promethean ways, 
 And comfort mortals by my simple lays. 
 
 A WIKDY DAY. 
 
 "'Blow,' did you say? Now you're mighty 
 
 right!" 
 
 And the farmer pulls his hat on tight, 
 As he struggles hard to unload the hay 
 He had promised and brought to town to-day. 
 6
 
 42 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 And, " O dear me ! what a dreadful plight 
 My bangs are in ! " says the beauty bright, 
 As she looks in the glass, like a laughing sprite, 
 And declares that she "Never saw such a fright." 
 
 " There, now, goes my blue umberellar!" 
 And, watching it, the old lady falls down a cellar. 
 It keeps bravely on till it strikes a poor "feller" 
 Hard in the face ; and he'd like to tell her, 
 In accents not mild, " To keep her umbrella, 
 Next time, at home when the wind does blow; 
 For 'tisn't fair for umbrellas to go 
 Sailing along through the streets so." 
 
 "Heigh-ho, my hat!" and the dignified, 
 
 Portly man, with a rapid stride, 
 
 Seeks to follow but woe betide 
 
 His dignity; for, side by side, 
 
 He and the hat together roll 
 
 Over and over, toward the north pole; 
 
 He seeking to catch it at every stretch, 
 
 But a new gust of wind takes it out of his reach. 
 
 Breathless and angry he gives up the chase, 
 
 For with such a wind he can never keep pace. 
 
 Other hats have a lop-eared expression that's 
 
 droll; 
 
 As if, of a sudden, they'd lost all control 
 Of themselves ; and their owners look a sight to 
 
 condole; 
 Just like some misfortune had happened their 
 
 soul,
 
 THE LOST NAREATIVE. 43 
 
 Or stocks had gone down of a sudden, and broke 
 The wheels of their business up, spoke by spoke. 
 Coat tails assert themselves, standing out 
 
 straight 
 
 Whether old-fashioned, or new cut and late 
 Surely things are in a very mixed state. 
 
 A housewife is battling with clothes on the line, 
 While still in the suds I've had to keep mine. 
 Late home to dinner, you'll find a cross mate, 
 For nerves will succumb, at last, to such fate. 
 Papers and boxes fly helter and skelter, 
 While doors and windows keep up such a clatter 
 One grows cross, and yet wonders what is the 
 matter. 
 
 THE LOST "NARRATIVE." 
 
 TO . 
 
 LETTEKS I've written, long and short 
 Letters of love and of retort; 
 Letters of friendship, and all sort; 
 Letters to South and letters to Nort; 
 Letters to East and letters to West 
 But never, no never, 'mong all the rest, 
 Was accused of giving, to those I love best 
 Not even to those I called but friend 
 That part of my time you call the "tail-end."
 
 44 SOUNDS OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Time flies! and, like Tarn O'Shanter's mare, 
 
 Is tailless long ere one's aware, 
 
 Or reaches the running water, where 
 
 The witches of hurry and of care 
 
 Cease annoying us, and stare; 
 
 And there is only left us, there, 
 
 The bare escape; while, everywhere, 
 
 Duties unpleasant and duties fair, 
 
 Burdens heavy and hard to bear, 
 
 Others pleasing and light as air, 
 
 Crowd, unfinished, plucking Time's hair; 
 
 Till we, in utter and blank despair, 
 
 Wonder if ever, or anywhere, 
 
 Before was seen such a tailless mare 
 
 As the flying steed, so bald and bare, 
 
 "Which the penniless writer rides with care. 
 
 So accuse me not of giving to you 
 
 The narrative to which I've lost all clue : 
 
 I've plucked from Time's forelock some moments 
 
 new 
 
 In which I could write some sentiments true ; 
 Though poorly expressed, I hope that a few 
 May revive my true image, in your heart, anew. 
 That blessings on earth and in heaven accrue 
 To your share, is the wish of adieu.
 
 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 "How long we live, not years, but actions, tell." 
 
 Heath. 
 
 "That man lives twice who lives the first life well." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 THE POET'S DESTINY. 
 
 'Tis the poet's forte to cheer; 
 And only in this sphere, 
 Is his life at all in gear : 
 
 To make men nobler, better; 
 And thus fulfill the letter 
 Of genius, without fetter : 
 
 To make men braver, truer; 
 And fit them to endure 
 Temptations which allure. 
 
 The earth, the air, and sky, 
 All, are lessons, if we try 
 To understand, as we go by : 
 
 Lessons which will work as leaven, 
 While by earth storms we are driven 
 Leading upward unto heaven.
 
 46 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Beauty on the mountain steep 
 Beauty in the fountain deep 
 Beauty from the stars doth peep. 
 
 'Tis the poet's pleasant task 
 All their beauties to unmask, 
 And in bold, clear light to bask; 
 
 Leading with him, by his zeal, 
 All the nations; and to heal 
 Many, from despair's dark seal. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 LIFE ! how bitter-sweet thou art ! 
 
 What a shaded picture ! 
 
 What a strange admixture 
 Does ebb and flow within each heart I 
 
 What restless longing after pleasure, 
 That ever eludes our grasp : 
 How harshly, on our natures, rasp 
 
 Our many sad and grievous failures ! 
 
 For disappointments sear the soul, 
 And callous all our nature, 
 Till, in each distorted feature, 
 
 Life seems a rag-a-tattered scroll
 
 LIFE. 47 
 
 That's hardly worth unrolling, 
 Unless we look beyond ourselves 
 To worthier object than ourselves 
 
 Joy thus unfolding. 
 
 The selfish heart knows little bliss ; 
 
 For if, for its own pleasure, 
 
 And life of idle leisure, 
 It lives bliss is not gained like this. 
 
 If, from the bitter, some sweet one would gain, 
 He must strive for the good of others, 
 As if all men were his brothers, 
 
 And, in this way, lasting joy attain. 
 
 He must soothe the ever-maddening pain 
 
 The restless, fevered longing, 
 
 Through so many hearts now thronging 
 Of the anxious, overburdened brain; 
 
 Must help the poor or nurse the suffering; 
 
 Teach the rich how best to use 
 
 Their wealth; and thus infuse 
 Into each life desires ennobling. 
 
 In this way, surely, may be brought, 
 Out of life's bitter, the sweet 
 Some pleasures which are meet, 
 
 To make life glad, and worth the thought.
 
 48 EDDIES OF MEMOKY. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 ONCE I dreamed of flying, 
 And a voice kept crying, 
 "Without cease or tiring, 
 "Higher, higher, higher!" 
 
 Yes, higher, higher, 
 We should aspire, 
 Till gleams the fire 
 From the golden gate; 
 
 And the angels song, 
 
 From the white-robed throng, 
 
 Is wafted along 
 
 To our raptured state. 
 
 And nevermore, 
 On that shining shore, 
 Will we deplore 
 The effort we make. 
 
 THE DEAR OLD HYMK 
 
 ONE of the sweetest memories, mother, dear, 
 
 Of all my childhood days 
 
 Pure as the moon's soft rays, 
 
 While traveling weary ways, 
 Is of seeing you sit sewing, near
 
 THE DEAR OLD HYMN. 49 
 
 The window; while, in voice so. clear, 
 And low, and sweet, you sang the dear, 
 Familiar hymn you loved so well. 
 I can find no words to tell 
 The thoughts that in my bosom swell, 
 When, far away from thee, I hear 
 The same old hymn, to me so dear. 
 
 "O Thou Fount of ev'ry blessing" 
 Is the soft refrain; 
 I can sing no further, 
 For tears that fall like rain; 
 For, thronging, comes a train 
 Of thoughts that are both pain 
 And pleasure. 
 
 "Never let me wander from Thee" 
 
 I try to sing, 
 
 But cannot bring 
 
 The words to utterance: 
 So oft I've wandered, and so far 
 So far from thee, my guiding star 
 My gentle mother ! who, with care, 
 Did guide and shield from ev'ry snare ; 
 And from whose lips, so oft, I've heard 
 The low, sweet song of "By Thy "Word 
 And Spirit guide me." And I long, 
 Again, to hear you sing that song. 
 
 Thou wert more than mother to me 
 Sweet companion, sister, friend ! 
 
 7
 
 50 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 And to all my girlish fancy 
 A sympathetic ear did lend. 
 And thy gentle hands enrobed me 
 For my haptism, and my bridal day. 
 And twice, when death almost did lay 
 His icy hand upon me, 'twas thou 
 Who nursed me back to life again ; 
 And, from my earliest memory, 
 . Thou hast lovingly forged the golden chain 
 Which binds me close to thee. Our love 
 Is eternal! "Father, guide us, then, 
 Till we reach Thy courts above." 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 BLEST content, 
 
 I woo, I covet thee ! 
 What charm is lent 
 
 By thy sweet mystery, 
 To banish care ! 
 
 What peace and joy 
 
 Thou bringest us! Pure gold, 
 Without alloy, 
 
 And pleasures manifold, 
 Thou art to all ! 
 
 Spirit, sweet and rare, 
 Thy help we invocate,
 
 TO MARIA AND MARY H. M . 51 
 
 Make life seem fair ! 
 Our natures renovate, 
 Our discontent! 
 
 TO MARIA AND MARY H. M- 
 
 O THOSE glad and happy days of childhood, 
 
 When, free from toil and care, 
 We wandered in the quiet wildwood, 
 
 Or strayed in fields so fair; 
 
 Gathering the early, fragrant spring flowers; 
 
 Swinging in the grape-vine swing; 
 Seeking the cosiest, shadiest bowers; 
 
 Listening to the brown thrush sing ! 
 
 Never so sweet have been the flowers 
 From green-house or garden rare, 
 
 As those we gathered after showers 
 Spring-beauties and blue-bells fair. 
 
 And oft we wished our hands were larger, 
 That more we might carry home ; 
 
 While already every vase and pitcher, 
 Was like a flowery dome. 
 
 Do you remember how we could hear 
 
 The voice of old Cooper's Falls, 
 Roaring and rushing, in the spring of the year, 
 
 Over its rocky walls?
 
 52 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Later, in the golden, autumn sun, 
 The brown hazel nuts we'd gather 
 
 Along the pasture fence, which run 
 West from the village border. 
 
 
 
 And after the frost, the walnuts, dun, 
 
 Were added to our measure; 
 With housewifely instinct we would sum 
 
 'Up all our winter treasure. 
 
 And then, when the village school began, 
 We brought the same glad zest 
 
 Into our studies, with which we ran 
 Upon the nutting quest. 
 
 At recess, we'd play at "Hide and seek," 
 Or "Blackman's" boisterous game; 
 
 With quickened pulses and rosy cheek, 
 Our "base" we would regain. 
 
 What glowing pictures we made, so fine, 
 Of what we'd have when grown ; 
 
 And sometimes we'd draw, in bold outline, 
 A palace for bur home. 
 
 Ah! dainty, dreamy little maidens! 
 
 How little did we know 
 Of all in life that clogs and saddens 
 
 Of its vain pomp and show.
 
 GRANT. 53 
 
 How few, of our many air castles, 
 
 We ever realized! 
 And cottages, more than castles, 
 
 In after years we prized. 
 
 But if we could bring the earnestness 
 
 To bear upon life's care, 
 "We gave to our childish playfulness, 
 
 'Twould all of it outwear. 
 
 
 GRANT, our loved hero, dead! 
 With bated breath, we read, 
 And then, with softer tread, 
 
 Pursued our daily care. 
 The silent man of deed, 
 Who knew his country's need, 
 At last, from suffering freed, 
 
 Rests from all earthly care. 
 
 O noble spirit, rare! 
 
 What joy in the realms of the air, 
 
 At the accession, fair, 
 
 Of thy dear company. 
 Great among men thou wert, 
 And great shall be thy part 
 In the deep fountain heart 
 
 Of the angelic symphony.
 
 54 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Thou wert our nation's pride ! 
 All over land and tide, 
 Honor, on every side, 
 
 And love, awaited thee : 
 For was it not to thee 
 "We owed our liberty? 
 Our nation's unity, 
 
 To thy great utility? 
 
 The power of his life, 
 With nohle deeds so rife, 
 In all the scenes of strife 
 
 Through which he bravely passed, 
 Is felt by every one ; 
 And he, his journey run, 
 Bearing life's scorching sun, 
 
 Useful to the last. 
 
 ^COMMENCEMENT AT O A. 
 
 IT is eighteen years 
 
 Since the hopes and fears, 
 Of my last commencement day ; 
 
 Yet I seem again 
 
 To breathe, as then, 
 The sweet June roses gay; 
 
 As their fragrance sweet 
 All our senses greet, 
 In delicious intoxication;
 
 COMMENCEMENT AT A. 55 
 
 And wafted along, 
 Through the joyous throng, 
 Are the voices of friends and relation. 
 
 "Wreaths and flowers 
 
 Entwine, like bowers, 
 Each column and window high; 
 
 And in each breast 
 
 Is the anxious zest 
 Of a great occasion nigh. 
 
 How fearful we feel 
 
 Lest we should fail 
 To meet our friends' expectation; 
 
 And when, at last, 
 
 Our effort passed, 
 How sweet their commendation. 
 
 The conqueror great, 
 
 Or man of state, 
 Ne'er felt the exultation ; 
 
 And ne'er attained 
 
 The bliss we gained, 
 From friends' appreciation. 
 
 And then we pressed 
 
 Hands we loved best, 
 In silent anguish parting; 
 
 One going here, 
 
 Another there 
 Each to his life work starting.
 
 56 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 I should like to know, 
 
 As old they grow, 
 What each one's fate has been ; 
 
 And whether, or not, 
 
 The true life-thought 
 Of each has been wrought in ; 
 
 And whether, at last, 
 When life's school is past, 
 
 We shall hear our Father say : 
 "Well done! Well done! 
 Thou hast laurels won!" 
 
 At the great commencement day. 
 
 TO CLARA B 
 
 DEAR CLARA: We cannot see why, all at once, 
 
 Thou should'st be so bereft; 
 Of all thy loved and cherished ones, 
 
 So very few are left. 
 
 I knew thee when a blue-eyed child, 
 
 Happy and free as a bird; 
 As a maiden, gentle voiced and mild, 
 
 Thy ringing laugh oft heard. 
 
 First was taken thy gentle sister 
 
 Pure as a lily white ; 
 And though you mourned, and sadly missed her, 
 
 This first grief was but light,
 
 TO CLARA B . 57 
 
 Compared to those thou hast endured ; 
 
 For then, thy tender mother, 
 In the midst of her own grief, soothed and cured 
 
 The grief of every other. 
 
 How much she was beloved by all ! 
 
 Possessed of the rare gift 
 Of helping up the weak, who fall 
 
 The saddened to uplift! 
 
 Patient, pure, loving, and kind! 
 
 A truly noble type 
 Of a thoughtful, gentle, womanly mind, 
 
 By Christian faith made ripe. 
 
 But just when most her company you prized, 
 
 And her sweet counsel sought, 
 She, too, was taken; and you realized 
 
 The pain that loving brought. 
 
 And then, ere many months had passed, 
 
 Father, brother, and child 
 Were summoned and you felt the icy blast 
 
 Of grief, stormy and wild. 
 
 No loving mother, then, to soothe 
 
 Thy bitter, sobbing grief! 
 No father this rough path to smooth ! 
 
 Nor yet the sweet relief 
 8
 
 58 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Of little hands at thy sad heart, 
 
 To woo thee to forget 
 Thy sore bereavements, and to start 
 
 A hope to live for yet! 
 
 Yes, surely, sad has been thy lot, 4 
 
 And sore thy chastening; 
 Thou couldst not have borne it all, hadst not 
 
 Thou sought God's strengthening. 
 
 As, out of the rude block of stone, 
 
 Thy skillful fingers bring 
 Beauty and form, from these alone, 
 
 By cutting and chiseling 
 
 So the Great Artist shapes our lives, 
 
 "Rough-hewing" to His will, 
 Till fit our souls for heaven's archives; 
 
 Then He'll bid us, " Peace! be still." 
 
 y( PATER, SALUTAMUS! 
 
 JUNE 6, 1885. 
 
 JUST sixty years have passed away, 
 Since first beheld the light of day 
 
 Our father dear. 
 
 How lightly time has touched his brow ! 
 How little wrinkled, even now, 
 
 His placid feature !
 
 PATER, SALUTAMUS! 59 
 
 Yet life to him has been no play, 
 But full of endeavor to allay 
 
 His fellows' pain. 
 For this he's toiled early and late; 
 For this, indifferent to fate 
 
 And worldly gain. 
 
 How many, many will bless thy skill ? 
 Thy lion heart, thy rousing will, 
 
 "Which nobly fought 
 The fell disease, the racking pain ! 
 New modes of healing to attain 
 
 He's ever sought. 
 
 Though not in this alone we're blest : 
 Nature gave him a rich bequest 
 
 A heart with treasure fraught. 
 Though large the place assigned his art, 
 Each of us feels we have a part 
 
 In his life thought. 
 
 Wife, children, children's children, all, 
 The old and young, the large and small, 
 
 Receive his tender care. 
 Noble, generous, gifted! Proud 
 Are we to love and honor thee ! Endowed 
 
 With gifts most rare. 
 
 Thou, too, wert blest; for by thy side 
 Has closely walked, whate'er betide, 
 So mild and kind,
 
 60 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Our gentle mother; ever near, 
 To help, inspire, comfort and cheer 
 Thy burdened mind. 
 
 May years be given thee on earth ; | 
 May cheery friends around thy hearth 
 
 Make glad thy soul ; 
 And when our Father calls thee home, 
 May we, too, hear the welcome " Come ! " 
 
 And reach the goal. 
 
 "We gather round this board, to-day, 
 With happy hearts that we can say 
 
 "We are all here 
 Father, mother, sister, brother; 
 With joy, again we greet each other, 
 
 From far and near. 
 
 Each brings some token of his love 
 Each tries his high esteem to prove; 
 
 And, with the rest, 
 Accept this tribute from the pen 
 
 Of your Celeste. 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 SWEET Sabbath morn ! how bright thou dawnest- 
 
 Night's curtain furled ! 
 What comfort, peace, and rest, thou bringest 
 
 The tired world !
 
 THE SABBATH. 61 
 
 Sweet Sabbath bells ring out for joy, 
 
 In pleasant chimes; 
 Their joyous peals bring thoughts, to enjoy, 
 
 Of olden times : 
 
 When with sweet, old-fashioned roses 
 Entwined in hat and hai,r, 
 
 A little girl's hand reposes 
 In that of her father dear, 
 As they walk to the village church. 
 
 The day is radiant and bright, 
 
 The air with fragrance ladened; 
 The sun gives a steadier light 
 
 Nature's great heart is burdened 
 
 "With joy it throbs to express, 
 
 Yet keeps its glories subdued, 
 
 This calm, sweet day of rest; 
 Earth, air and sky seem imbued 
 
 With reverence, and blest 
 
 With brightness and repose. 
 
 Who of us does not remember 
 
 Many such Sabbaths as this? 
 Our young hearts, receptive and tender; 
 
 When life itself seemed bliss 
 
 Our hope so strong and bright. 
 
 Years have dulled the brightness 
 Of this world's plans and hopes,
 
 62 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 And taken somewhat of the lightness 
 From our hearts as down life's slopes 
 We slowly, surely tread. 
 
 But, to all our cares and fears, 
 Conies the sweet Sabbath rest ; 
 
 "With its surcease from toil, it rears 
 Strength in our tired breast. 
 God grant us rest at last ! 
 
 NOBODY REALLY CARES. 
 
 Is life so cold and selfish, 
 
 So full of cynic bears ? 
 Is human nature elfish, 
 
 That nobody really cares 
 If our hearts are slowly breaking, 
 
 And unanswered are our prayers ? 
 
 Is there no true heart, loving, 
 That kindly our sorrows shares ? 
 
 JTo proffered help, thus proving 
 That somebody really cares ? 
 
 Then dark, indeed, is our pathway; 
 Despair comes unawares ! 
 
 Has no one learned the lesson, 
 In all this wide world through, 
 
 Christ taught " To love each other, 
 As I have loved you ? "
 
 TO ESTHER . 63 
 
 Ah ! this would soothe our anguish, 
 And our heart's strength renew. 
 
 Is there not within ourselves, 
 
 Some throb of tenderness, 
 Which many times impels 
 
 To deeds of generousness ? 
 Do we not really care 
 
 If a friend is in distress ? 
 
 Then rid yourself of the thought, 
 
 "Nobody really cares;" 
 Love's choicest gifts are brought 
 
 To him who nobly bears 
 The ill as well as good of life 
 
 And somebody really cares. 
 
 TO ESTHER 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 TRULY noble and rare 
 Is thy gentle care, 
 And life of sacrifice 
 
 For father and brothers dear. 
 
 Thy goodness, like a surplice, 
 
 Is thrown around all; 
 
 Thy good deeds, like an orison 
 
 Or benediction, fall 
 
 Upon all who are near. 
 
 Wide is thy horizon,
 
 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 When a field of good thou seekest; 
 Unto the poor and suffering 
 A helping hand thou richest; 
 But brightest, thy home offering. 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 UPON THE DOUBLE WEDDING OF JENNIE AND MAMIE F 
 
 GOOD luck ! good luck, all this life through, 
 To those who, under the magic horse-shoe 
 
 With its " power to charm 
 
 Away all harm" 
 
 Stood arm in arm ! 
 May their lives he fair 
 As the blonde's fair hair, 
 Deep and rich as the brunette's eyes; 
 
 Gay as each guest, 
 
 And full of zest; 
 Pure as the azure blue skies. 
 Happy their home 
 May they never roam 
 Away from kindred and friends ; 
 
 May peace surround, 
 
 And love abound, 
 May every charm which lends 
 
 Lustre and beauty, 
 
 Unto life's duty, 
 In the sweet home-life be theirs : 
 
 Patience and gentleness, 
 
 Wisdom and holiness,
 
 THE POET'S CONFUSION. 65 
 
 Guiding them safely through cares ; 
 
 And when, at last, 
 
 Life's safely past, 
 And eternity breaks on the soul, 
 
 Enjoy evermore, 
 
 On the beautiful shore, 
 Love, home, and heaven, their goal. 
 
 THE POET'S CONFUSION. 
 
 WHERE are all the fancies 
 
 That sometimes come unbidden? 
 Now I would summon them, 
 
 They all have gone and hidden. 
 
 Neither plan nor harmony 
 
 Has my mind but, void 
 Of all shape and symmetry, 
 
 Imagination toyed, 
 
 Idly, with this and that; 
 
 Darting here and yonder, 
 Like a butterfly at play, 
 
 With time and sweets to squander. 
 
 O come, my Muse, do not 
 Play hide-and-seek with me! 
 
 And I'll all things else forsake, 
 And meekly follow thee
 
 66 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Whithersoe'er thou leadest 
 To the realms of fancy fair, 
 
 To the highest mountain air, 
 Or the depths of dark despair : 
 
 Only lead thou steadily, 
 Boldly and unflinchingly, 
 
 And I'll be thy true disciple 
 Most willingly ! 
 
 COW BELLS. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO J. H. B. 
 
 ONE sound, more than all others, 
 
 Touches memory's bell, 
 Bringing thoughts of sweet-brier and clovers, 
 
 Violets and asphodel: 
 
 The slow ting-ling of the cow bells 
 Brings pictures of flowery meads; 
 
 Visions of lanes and shady dells, 
 Cool streams and flowing reeds. 
 
 As I sit in my home on the prairie, 
 With half-closed eyes, and hear 
 
 The measured sound, and cheery, 
 It brings the past so near : 
 
 A child again, I wander 
 
 Through green and shady nook, 
 
 Or through the briers clamber, 
 Along the rippling brook,
 
 COW BELLS. 67 
 
 Hunting berries and fishing, 
 
 With bucket, bait, and hook; 
 Under the tall tress resting 
 
 Beading our choicest book; 
 
 While, now and then, the stillness 
 
 Is broken by the sound 
 Of tinkling bells in the distance 
 
 Then quiet all around. 
 
 And occasionally the plashing 
 
 Of some bird or twig, apart, 
 In the cool water dropping. 
 
 Causes one to start. 
 
 As later, we homeward go, 
 
 At nearly the close of day, 
 The cows, soft eyed and slow, 
 
 We drive o'er the woodland way, 
 
 Through long lanes, green and shady 
 
 The western sky aglow; 
 Mother has supper ready, 
 
 And we are ready, too. 
 
 So, now, when I hear the measure, 
 
 The ting-ling, ting-ling slow, 
 The cows coming home from the pasture, 
 
 Backward my fancies go
 
 68 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 To the pleasant rambles of childhood, 
 My brother and I used to gain, 
 
 Along the creek in the wild wood 
 Home again through the lane. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 COOLER are the days, 
 
 And pleasanter ; 
 Softer the sun's rays, 
 
 And yellower; 
 No longer the bright blaze, 
 But a quiet restful haze, 
 O'er all nature, strays. 
 Ripened is the maize, 
 
 And perfected; 
 The farmers go their ways 
 
 Gathering it; 
 
 Bringing the pumpkins yellow, 
 And the fruit so mellow; 
 Breaking up the fallow. 
 
 Happy autumn days, 
 
 How I love you ! 
 Busy country ways, 
 
 I sing of you ! 
 And on the farm, at night, 
 Around the fireside bright, 
 A picture greets the sight:
 
 A DREAM. 69 
 
 The father, with his paper, 
 
 Sits reading it; 
 The daughter, with fingers taper, 
 
 Crocheting mits; 
 The mother, with her, knitting, 
 Her loved ones is refitting 
 For winter's winds so biting. 
 
 The son, with slate and pencil, 
 
 Is figuring; 
 And, fit for an artist's stencil, 
 
 The cat, purring; 
 Picture of comfort and rest, 
 In this quiet country nest 
 The home we love the best. 
 Simplicity and repose 
 Such pictures tell; 
 No matter how the world goes, 
 
 This part is well : 
 And while the frost king bold, 
 In icy clutch, does hold 
 The family close, behold 
 What love it doth enfold, 
 And hardy genius mold ! 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 LAST night I had a dream, 
 In which all things did seem 
 Arranged to suit my fancy.
 
 70 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 I was in some quaint old town, 
 
 With many trees; and, walking down 
 
 A quiet street, 
 
 As if by necromancy, 
 
 Beautiful and complete, 
 
 A house for princes meet 
 
 Did my wondering vision greet. 
 
 Its structure was of brick; 
 Stately its walls, and thick 
 Massive and imposing; 
 Its windows stained, 
 And, like cathedral's, arching. 
 Flowers from the tropics, 
 And the northern spruce, 
 Fountains clear and sparkling 
 All that can conduce 
 To the pleasure of the optics, 
 For beauty or utility, 
 Seemed there retained; 
 Taste joined to stability. 
 
 Sweet music filled the air; 
 And round it, everywhere, 
 The spirit of beauty fair 
 Seemed hovering. 
 
 By some good chance, 
 
 I was then invited 
 Inside this splendid manse ; 
 
 And I was there delighted
 
 A DREAM. 71 
 
 To find my husband at my side, 
 
 To be my favored guide 
 
 Through these grand halls so wide. 
 
 The house was furnished, throughout, 
 
 In elegance and taste 
 
 Intensely rich yet chaste ; 
 Harmonious within as without. 
 And it was owned, no doubt, 
 
 By some one of high caste. 
 
 Each room delighted me; 
 And I was always shown 
 The convenience of the place. 
 The last we went to see 
 Suited me specially 
 As if some one had known 
 My likings ; and its grace 
 And quiet beauty pleased me. 
 " This, if we lived here, 
 
 Should be my very own," 
 I said; "for I could riot have done 
 It more to my liking; 
 Rich it is and striking, 
 Yet full of comfort and cheer." 
 
 "It is thine own," he said, 
 
 "And all around is thine." 
 And I, as one who dreamed, or read 
 A fairy tale, scarce breathed for dread 
 Lest it should vanish. "Mine? 
 Whence this princely gift, and fine?"
 
 72 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 And while, with wondering eyes, 
 I gazed in mute surprise, 
 
 My husband laughingly 
 
 Eeplied, " My gift to thee." 
 Then, from out ev'ry corner, 
 Came my friends and former 
 Neighbors old Albia friends, 
 "Whose presence to the scene now lends 
 
 Still more enchantment; 
 They clap their hands in glee, 
 And laughingly, at me, 
 Shake their heads so pleased to see 
 
 My great astonishment. 
 
 "Do I wake or am I dreaming?" 
 Yet this very pleasant seeming 
 Holds me spellbound, with its teeming 
 Joy and gladness. Eyes are beaming 
 With true love light; mine are streaming 
 Now with grateful, happy tears. 
 
 Ah, 'tis all a dream ! 
 Vanished the house so fine, 
 And the forms divine 
 Of well beloved friends. 
 Yet it so real seemed, 
 I scarce believed I dreamed.
 
 MOONLIT CLOUDS. 78 
 
 TO SAEAH ELIZABETH A- 
 
 ( Princess) (Consecrated ) 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 A PRINCESS, indeed, thou art, 
 
 With yellow hair and hazel eyes ; 
 An impulsive and a loving heart 
 
 That is always ready, and ever tries 
 To help the needy, and heal the dart 
 Of sin and sorrow, in every heart. 
 Consecrated, too, art thou ; 
 
 For, to our Father's will, 
 Thou did'st ever meekly bow 
 
 Thine own heart still. 
 "A princess consecrated to God " 
 
 Thy name does suit thee well; 
 Thy Christian zeal thy friends all laud, 
 
 Thy noble bearing tell. 
 
 MOONLIT CLOUDS. 
 
 I LIKE the moonlit clouds, 
 
 With their ever-changing scenes, 
 Shifting as life's panorama, 
 
 Fitful as its dreams. 
 
 As I gaze, alone and enraptured, 
 All kinds of shapes they take ; 
 10
 
 74 EDDIES OF MEMOEY. 
 
 Filling the heavens with glory, 
 
 And the beautiful pictures they make. 
 
 In the south, a ship is sailing 
 
 Upon a smooth- waved sea; 
 But, like the ship of our longing, 
 
 'Tis sailing leeward from me. 
 
 Another, like a flying steed, 
 Is coursing through the air 
 
 Like a swift-winged messenger 
 To earth, from worlds so fair. 
 
 Great steeples, in bold relief 
 Mountains, and sea, and land ; 
 
 Rich-tinted pictures are they, 
 Drawn by the Master Hand. 
 
 At length a great black cloud 
 Seems to swallow up the moon, 
 
 But, like the others, restless, 
 Passes away soon. 
 
 And I noticed, as I gazed 
 
 Upon the moonlit ray, 
 It seemed to shine the brighter 
 
 When the cloud had passed away. 
 
 And so 'tis with life's troubles, 
 "Which darken and obscure 
 
 Almost the light of reason, 
 So hard they are to endure
 
 TO LILLIAN A . 75 
 
 When the cloud has passed over the soul, 
 And hope shines out once more, 
 
 The light seems brighter, steadier, 
 And purer than before. 
 
 And we are stronger from the strife; 
 
 The soul made free and pure 
 By the rugged discipline of life 
 
 And clouds will not long obscure. 
 
 TO LILLIAN A . 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 LILLIAN, so sweet and fair ! 
 So full of graceful symmetry ! 
 
 Such beauty thy smooth brow didst wear, 
 When last I saw and talked with thee 
 
 1 cannot think of thee as dead, 
 And thy beautiful, proud head 
 Laid low upon the lea. 
 
 Surely "Death loves a shining mark," 
 
 Or he had not found thee; 
 
 So fair, so beautiful and young 
 
 Thy life a poem half unsung, 
 
 And full of sweetest harmony. 
 
 All beautiful things thou didst so treasure 
 
 There may'st thou have them, in full measure !
 
 76 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 NOTHING "WORTH WHILE." 
 
 "It is hard to believe long together that anything is 
 ''worth while/ unless there is some eye to kindle in com 
 mon with our own, some brief word uttered now and then 
 to imply that what is infinitely precious to us is precious 
 alike to another mind." George Eliot. 
 
 THERE is nothing worth while 
 Unless shared by another; 
 
 What is fortune's sweet smile 
 If it glads not our brother? 
 
 It is nothing worth while. 
 
 The sweetest of song 
 
 The sirens can sing 
 Allures us not long, 
 
 Unless we can bring 
 Our best friend along. 
 
 The joy of beholding 
 
 A beauteous picture, 
 Loses half the unfolding 
 
 Of its soft-tinted feature, 
 To a lonely heart viewing. 
 
 And wisest tales known, 
 
 If they do not beguile 
 Other hearts than our own, 
 
 Are hardly worth while, 
 Though in bard's sweetest tone.
 
 HOPE. 77 
 
 The choicest of food, 
 
 To the one who prepares it, 
 Is not half so good 
 
 If nobody shares it, 
 And in silence he brood. 
 
 What a bauble is fame, 
 
 If there is none 
 To speak our own name 
 
 As the dearest one ! 
 Ah ! life is tame. 
 
 So there's nothing worth while, 
 
 If enkindles no eye 
 With a thought or a smile 
 
 At the same glad sky 
 O there's nothing worth while. 
 
 'Tis companionship sweet 
 
 The heart most craves; 
 Love's glances meet, 
 
 And the spirit laves 
 In a honeyed retreat. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 O RESTLESS, longing heart! 
 Why do the teardrops start, 
 
 At the sad thought of parting 
 From all the loved ones dear ! 
 What doubt and anxious fear,
 
 78 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 For what the future holds in store ; 
 Fear lest we shall meet no more, 
 In all life's wandering. 
 
 If this were all of life, 
 
 It would be naught but strife, 
 
 And love an idle dream. 
 All pleasure would be pain, 
 And worldly losses gain; 
 All nature incomplete 
 Only oblivion sweet 
 
 And life a stagnant stream : 
 
 ISTo light, nor love, nor hope, 
 In the universe; we'd grope 
 
 In almost total darkness. 
 Useless 'twould be to strive 
 For love, or wealth, or dive 
 Into the mines of knowledge deep; 
 If death be an eternal sleep, 
 
 This life's too short for gladness. 
 
 I'm glad it is not true 
 This picture dark I drew 
 
 From sad imaginings. 
 There is a land most vernal, 
 Where affection blooms eternal ; 
 Where all our loved ones, fair, 
 Will meet; and, freed from care, 
 
 Shall cease their wanderings.
 
 THANKSGIVING. 79 
 
 TO FRIENDS AT McPHERSOK 
 
 I MUST put away my longing 
 For those who know and love me, 
 Stifle the memories, thronging, 
 Of the past, so pleasant to me, 
 
 And most resolutely 
 
 Face life's present duty, 
 And make friends of these strangers about 
 me. 
 
 This was what I said, 
 
 "When first I came among you ; 
 
 Shrinking away in dread 
 
 From associations new; 
 But not long till hearts so warm 
 As yours had penetrated through 
 The icy mail of cool reserve; 
 
 And, very soon, I knew 
 
 And loved you all. No form 
 Of language I can use can serve 
 To show explicitly to you 
 The love I bear you, kind friends, true. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 truly thank Thee, our Father above, 
 For the manifold tokens of Thy love, 
 Which Thou, in mercy, dost bestow 
 Upon Thy creatures, high and low!
 
 80 EDDIES OF MEMOKY. 
 
 For life itself a glorious boon, 
 E'en though its flower vanish soon; 
 'Tis like a richly-flowing tune, 
 Or quiet glory of the moon. 
 
 For health of body, and of mind, 
 
 For dear friends many, true and kind; 
 
 For food and raiment, and the light 
 
 Of our loved home, this Thanksgiving night. 
 
 For country, too, we grateful are ; 
 That peace and plenty are her share ; 
 Nor strife, nor war her glory mar; 
 Her light shines out, a guiding star. 
 
 For all these blessings, we adore 
 Thy holy name ; and still implore 
 Thy gifts as rich, this coming year ; 
 And may we serve in love, not fear. 
 
 SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 
 
 How checkered is this life 
 
 By sunshine bright, and shade ! 
 
 How full of toil and strife ! 
 Of joy and pain 'tis made. 
 
 With heavy burdens rife, 
 And joys the heart to glad; 
 
 ever changeful life, 
 
 Thou art most glad and sad!
 
 THE WINDS. 81 
 
 Take comfort while thou canst, 
 
 For many ills will come; 
 The present, thus enhanced, 
 
 May help thee some 
 
 The darkest hours to bear, 
 When all the sunlight's gone, 
 
 And lit thee for the care 
 
 Which comes still further on. 
 
 Enjoy then to the fullest 
 
 The pleasures that thou hast! 
 Be glad for joys the smallest, 
 
 For aye they cannot last ! 
 
 Yet forget not, in the darkest hour, 
 Dense forests have their glade; 
 
 The sun, at length, exerts his power, 
 And penetrates the shade. 
 
 And so it is with life 
 
 God's penetrating grace, 
 Through all the toil and strife, 
 
 Will shine to darkest place. 
 
 THE WOT)S. 
 
 BLOW, winds, blow! 
 How many tales ye know 
 Of sorrow and of woe, 
 As defiantly ye blow ! 
 11
 
 82 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 How many tales of joy ! 
 As, idly, thou dost toy, 
 And flaxen curls annoy, 
 Which love's caress employ. 
 
 Blow, moist spring winds, blow ! 
 Increase the streamlet's flow, 
 And give a ruddy glow 
 To the cheeks of those who row. 
 
 Blow, gentle winds, and low, 
 So softly now, and slow, 
 That I can scarcely kctow 
 Whence or whither ye go ! 
 
 Sigh, gentle zephyrs, sigh, 
 As softly ye pass by 
 The place wherein doth lie 
 Our loved and lost ones, nigh ! 
 
 Moan, ye wild winds, moan 
 For the summer that has flown - 
 For the widow's silent groan 
 And her loneliness bemoan ! 
 
 Blow, ye swift winds, blow, 
 And quickly onward go; 
 Too many things ye know 
 Of mortals here below !
 
 CXXXVI PSALM. 83 
 
 ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIXTH 
 PSALM. 
 
 O GIVE thanks unto the Lord; for He is good: 
 
 For His mercy endureth forever : 
 Who giveth unto all abundant food, 
 
 And moves all things by His will a mighty 
 lever. 
 
 O give thanks unto the .mighty Lord of Lords : 
 
 For His mercy endureth forever; 
 He hath redeemed us from the grievous hordes 
 
 Our enemies shall trample us, no never. 
 
 To Him alone who doeth wonders great : 
 
 Whose mercy endureth forever : 
 Who remembered us when in our low estate 
 
 In tender mercy blessed His people ever. 
 
 To Him who made the sun to rule by day, 
 To give unto His creatures brilliant light ; 
 
 The moon and stars holds ever in their way, 
 To cheer and lighten up the weary night. 
 
 To Him who by His wisdom made the heaven ; 
 And by whose hand so strong, and outstretched 
 
 arm, 
 
 The waters of the Red Sea, high, were driven, 
 That, through, His people passed and feared no 
 harm:
 
 84 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 But overthrew King Pharaoh and his host, 
 When he to follow Israel did endeavor, 
 
 And thought he had o'ertaken them almost, 
 The waters high God did no longer sever. 
 
 And now His goodness and His love so great, 
 His promises do certainly assever, 
 
 Are thrown round those of high and low estate : 
 For His mercy endureth forever. 
 
 SIXTEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 I AM thinking, dear, of our wedding day, 
 
 When life all seemed so bright; 
 No shadow of care or grief had fallen, 
 
 To cast its withering blight. 
 
 O'er fond, fair dreams of the future we dreamed, 
 
 Transcendentally beautiful; 
 No place in the picture was left for shades, 
 
 For all was light and cheerful. 
 
 This world seemed so much like a fairy land, 
 
 With crystal palaces white; 
 We thought the sun would forever shine, 
 
 And there would be no night.
 
 SIXTEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 85 
 
 Bright fancies we wove, and air castles built, 
 
 Of the ideal life we would live ; 
 The home we would have, the things we would 
 do; 
 
 Brightest touches to life we would give. 
 
 Time passed. There was much of beauty and 
 
 joy- 
 Much of sorrow and care as well; 
 Our fairy picture had shades in perspective, 
 And many an air castle fell. 
 
 Our fond ideal gave place to the real ; 
 
 Thorns grew in fields Elysian; 
 ISot here, but yonder, we- have learned to turn 
 
 Our longing, tear-dimmed vision. 
 
 Yet, through all the struggles of many years, 
 
 Love's sun has never set; 
 Though clouds sometimes obscured the light, 
 
 The days are halcyon yet. 
 
 And when we cross o'er to the other shore, 
 
 Then we will realize 
 
 The fond, fair dreams we once dreamed here be 
 low, 
 
 In the beauty of the skies.
 
 86 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 THE ORPHAK 
 
 THE night is cold, and dark, and dreary, 
 And fierce and wild the wind is blowing. 
 
 Without, stands one so sad and weary, 
 "While, fast and faster, it is snowing. 
 
 "Within, are comfort and good cheer 
 The ringing laugh of mirth and gladness; 
 
 The happy circle gathered here 
 Knows naught of wretched want or sadness. 
 
 Without, benumbed by winter's blast, 
 Alone she stands as if in trance; 
 
 And, at the scene within, is cast 
 
 Her burning, hungry, longing glance. 
 
 She, too, a happy home had known, 
 Like this one full of warmth and pleasure 
 
 Ere death had come, and wealth had flown, 
 And left her naught of earthly treasure. 
 
 And long she stands and looks within, 
 And listens with strained ears to hear 
 
 Sweet sounds of music, that have been 
 Well known to her, one time, and dear. 
 
 Then, shivering, she turns away, 
 
 With bitter thoughts and aching brow; 
 
 Her attic seeks, and tries to pray 
 O God of orphans, hear her now !
 
 TIME. 87 
 
 She prays for faith and strength to see, 
 Through all her want and poverty, 
 
 God's providence and equity, 
 And why life's seeming subtlety. 
 
 Who knows what changes time may bring 
 To happiest hearts or gayest scene? 
 
 For fortune is a fickle thing 
 
 We cannot count on its gifts, I ween. 
 
 O ye who know not want nor care ! 
 
 Whose ev'ry wish by love's supplied ; 
 Who live in homes so bright and fair, 
 
 Take pity at this Christmas-tide, 
 
 And scatter gifts afar and wide. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 Too swiftly time is flying, 
 
 Ah, me ! 
 And all around me lying, 
 
 Things incomplete I see. 
 
 E'en now it is high noontide 
 
 Tome! 
 Life's morning did so swiftly glide 
 
 Into eternity!
 
 88 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 So much. I meant to do, 
 
 Undone ! 
 Noon ! and night will soon ensue 
 
 A lifetime quickly run ! 
 
 Life's sands are measured fast 
 
 Unerringly ; 
 ' Tis scarce begun till past ! 
 
 Death claims us willingly! 
 
 A BAYONET CHARGE. 
 
 WKITTEN UPON HEARING THE HON. S. R. PETERS DESCRIBE A 
 CHARGE UPON THE ENEMY'S WORKS. 
 
 0, THE dread din of battle! 
 
 The thunder of the cannon's roar 
 
 The pools of human gore 
 
 The clatter and the rattle 
 
 Of horses hoofs and musketry! 
 
 "Charge, bayonets, charge!" 
 
 For the enemy's breastworks, charge ! 
 
 Double-quick, march!" 
 
 Rang through the sunlit arch 
 
 Of the clear, blue sky above them. 
 
 One glance at the sun's bright ray, 
 And one thought of home, that may 
 Be the last they can see or give 
 For who shall die or live, 
 Not one of the great throng knows.
 
 A BAYONET CHARGE. 89 
 
 Then with bayonets fixed and glistening, 
 Each to his heart throbs listening, 
 The solid phalanx goes, 
 Even to death's last thoes, 
 Bravely, steadily, unflinchingly. 
 
 You can hear the manly shout 
 Of brave men, who all about 
 Encounter the jagged lattice 
 Of the sharp-pointed abbattis, 
 So hard to overcome. 
 
 The cruel shot and shell, 
 With a spite no tongue can tell, 
 Hew them down on right and left; 
 But the places which are cleft 
 Are quickly filled by others. 
 
 Line after line is broken, 
 And filled e'er command is spoken, 
 And at last the strong works yield; 
 But strewn is the grassy field 
 "With those who will never know. 
 
 And the men with the flush and glory 
 Of surely attained victory 
 Press on, and the battle is gained. 
 But O, the dead and maimed 
 Who have paid the dreadful price ! 
 
 The enemy's forces are scattered 
 Their strong works torn and battered ; 
 12
 
 90 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Our flag, from the parapet, 
 Waves high, ere the sun is set, 
 And victorious cheers resound. 
 
 But after the first glad shout 
 Of victory has rung out, 
 There comes a dreadful hush; 
 To the victors' hearts there rush 
 Fears for their comrades dear. 
 
 For over the fallen they charged 
 With fury and speed they had charged ! 
 And, mayhap, their own iron heels, 
 Had given the wound that seals 
 The death-doom of their friend. 
 
 " Where's John, my dearest comrade, 
 Whom last I saw press onward 
 With the courage of Achilles?" 
 And, down upon his knees, 
 He seeks him 'mong the dying. 
 
 The sun in undisturbed 
 Quiet and beauty is setting ; 
 While many a hero, unobserved, 
 Slowly his life blood is letting 
 Dying for the land he loves. 
 
 Brave, bravest of all ! 
 Even death does not appall
 
 SOMETIME. 91 
 
 The noble soldier's heart; 
 For he has borne his part 
 For his loved country's weal. 
 
 SOMETIME. 
 
 SOME day, sometime, O tired breast, 
 Above life's storm tossed, billowy crest, 
 Thou shalt have a long, sweet rest ! 
 And never again know weariness. 
 
 The knowledge sought, but unattained, 
 Shall there so easily be gained; 
 And ne'er again our hearts be pained 
 By aspirations sorely maimed. 
 
 The songs we cannot sing below 
 Shall there be given us to know; 
 And purer than the lilies' blow, 
 Our garments whiter than the snow. 
 
 Sometime, our wistful eyes shall see 
 And solve what now is mystery; 
 Why truth is captive, error free, 
 And life so full of misery. 
 
 And there, at last, our high ideal 
 
 Of love and harmony shall be real: 
 
 Our brows not wreathed with bitter cerrial, 
 
 But love's bright chaplets crowns imperial.
 
 92 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 FANTASIES. 
 
 I.-REGRET. 
 
 Too late in life, my life work has begun; 
 I feel in breathless haste, lest life be run 
 Before the half I want to do is done. 
 So late the dream of childhood is fulfilled 
 So late before my heart with rapture thrilled - 
 Or poetic ecstacy its measure filled 
 With overflowing song. 
 
 II.-APPREHENSION. 
 
 Sometimes there comes to me a dread 
 Lest I should lose the shining thread 
 
 The mystic key, 
 
 Unraveling to me 
 
 The labyrinths of the sea 
 
 Of time, in poesy ; 
 Fear, lest quickly from my heart, 
 Just as it came, it may depart. 
 
 in. 
 
 Are the gifts of the Muse unstable, 
 Like the gods of Grecian fable? 
 Bestowing favors to deceive 
 Alluring one, and then take leave? 
 
 IV.-REASSURANCE. 
 
 Thou would'st not so wicked be 
 Tempting one so fancy free, 
 And^then desert most cruelly !
 
 REPOSE. 93 
 
 I'll tune my lyre anew to thee, 
 And sing thy praise in melody, 
 And thou wilt then abide with me. 
 
 V.-SONG TO THE MUSE. 
 
 Beautiful, art thou, as Helen! 
 Like Minerva, great and wise ! 
 Working in men's hearts like leaven 
 Leading upward to the skies, 
 By the brightness of thine eyes, 
 And thy songs of home and heaven. 
 
 Thou hast forged a silver chain, 
 Which binds our hearts to thee for aye; 
 Stronger than Vulcan's mighty main 
 Seining and bright as the light of day; 
 Thou dost cheer our lone pathway 
 With music, and a roundelay, 
 As sweet as bird's notes after rain ! 
 
 REPOSE. 
 
 O GLORIOUSLY perfect day ! 
 So soft the breezes stray, 
 Caressingly, about our way; 
 And the warm sunbeams play 
 Around us, as in May. 
 
 The golden autumn sunshine 
 All nature does refine,
 
 94 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 And her brows with glory twine; 
 While joy and peace divine 
 O'er all the scene recline. 
 
 'Tis the charm of sweet repose 
 The autumn round us throws, 
 At the busy harvest's close ; 
 As to sleep Dame Nature goes, 
 Dressed in her brightest clothes. 
 
 Oh happy heart, be still ! 
 And cease thy rapturous thrill 
 For joys thy cup doth fill. 
 Soon winter's winds will chill, 
 For thou art mortal, still ! 
 
 I tremble for the gladness 
 That fills the heart to madness 
 Joy more awful is than sadness ! 
 For, even in its fullness, 
 It saddens by its fleetness. 
 
 TO ADESAH 
 
 I SHALL never forget our woodland rambles, 
 When, tired a-tramping through the brambles, 
 We sat down to rest on some huge, old log; 
 And you'd tell me stories of ships lost in fog, 
 Or plundered by pirates, with flag black and red, 
 Who, nightly, a man down their gangway led
 
 HOME. 95 
 
 And plunged into the deep; or gales 
 That veered the ships, with tattered sails, 
 Far from their course. These weird tales 
 Held me, in strong infatuation, 
 Spellbound by their strange fascination. 
 A love for the marvelous ever was thine, 
 With a memory and imagination fine, 
 And an easy, superior style of narration. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 IF one the comforts of a home would know, 
 Let him, for ten miles, face a northeast blow, 
 Across a prairie lone, and wild, and bleak; 
 No place in sight where he might even seek 
 Shelter and fire; the night approaching fast; 
 The dull November sky with clouds o'ercast; 
 The road so dim that he could scarcely see 
 Taking the wrong one through sheer anxiety; 
 Tired, nervous and cold, and weary of heart, 
 He feels, if at home, he would never again depart. 
 
 Then, ere he knows it, let the light of home 
 Brighter to him than all lights ever shone 
 Shine out its welcome o'er his darkened path; 
 Bespeaking shelter from the night wind's wrath, 
 And love of her who placed it there to guide 
 The wand'rer safely back to his fireside :
 
 96 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Then if a heart e'er gratitude does know, 
 Or e'er with thanks to God does overflow, 
 His own does now, as quickly he drives in, 
 And sees the warmth and glow that is within. 
 
 A cheerful fire, and supper smoking hot, 
 Love-light in eyes still dimmed with tears, lest 
 
 not 
 
 In safety, through the dark and stormy night, 
 Her loved one would return this cheerful sight, 
 Heaven itself, by contrast, seems to him 
 Who out in the drear November night has been. 
 He thanks his God for the comforts of a home, 
 And begs His mercy upon those who roam 
 The weary world, in darkness and alone 
 Upon whose path the light of home ne'er shone. 
 
 And so the light of heaven will, I ween, 
 Fall on our troubled vision, as between 
 This world and yon, our spirits hovering 
 Await the signal that our home we're' nearing. 
 And, as the gloom and darkness were dispelled 
 By the light, and warmth, and peace of home, 
 
 which swelled 
 
 His heart with gratitude so even then, 
 World-worn and weary, tempest tossed again, 
 We'll hail with joy the beacon light of heaven, 
 And ne'er again by earth storms will be driven.
 
 DUTY. 97 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 TO A. E. N . 
 
 "Do thy duty; that is best; 
 Leave unto thy Lord the rest." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 STEADILY, steadily toiling, 
 Frying, and baking, and boiling 
 Endless the strife and turmoiling 
 
 Of woman's life ! 
 
 Sewing, and making, and mending, 
 Her children's wants attending, 
 A round of work, unending 
 
 Perpetual strife! 
 
 Washing, ironing, and sweeping; 
 Her house in order keeping, 
 By slowly, surely eking 
 
 Her strength away. 
 Sorely the time she's needing, 
 To do some little reading, 
 For which her mind's been pleading 
 
 Many a day. 
 
 But all else must be attended, 
 The clothes all made or mended, 
 Or the garden neatly tended 
 
 She has no rest. 
 And ever something's needing; 
 Time flies so fast unheeding 
 The heart's sad, restless pleading 
 
 For its bequest. 
 13
 
 98 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 And so a lifetime's passed! 
 Still, duty is the mast 
 Which holds her, to the last, 
 
 Amid all trial. 
 Surely for her, at the gates, 
 The " blessed vision " waits ! 
 For she is strong in traits 
 
 Of self-denial. 
 
 Her hand has never stayed, 
 Nor duty been delayed ; 
 Self-sacrifice she's made 
 
 For all about her. 
 The needy at her door 
 Find bread and evermore 
 She is ready to adore 
 
 Her blessed Savior. 
 
 Sweet must be the rest, 
 When, at her Lord's behest, 
 To mansions of the blest 
 
 Her spirit soars ! 
 Around a life thus spent, 
 So earnest and intent, 
 A hallowed charm is lent 
 
 Its love outpours.
 
 A SKETCH. 99 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 THE light of love and gladness 
 
 Is in her heart to-day ; 
 The earth is filled with heauty 
 
 And a merry roundelay. 
 
 The air is soft and perfumed, 
 
 As from orchards blooming nigh; 
 
 While overhead, so calmly, 
 The fleecy clouds float high. 
 
 All life is set to music 
 
 A poem sweet and rare; 
 For the love that is in her heart 
 
 Makes all the earth so fair. 
 
 Her golden curls are loosened 
 The rose blooms in her cheeks; 
 
 And sitting, softly singing, 
 Her glance the gateway seeks. 
 
 In joyful expectation, 
 
 For the ideal of her heart 
 At the coming of whose footsteps, 
 
 Her happy pulses start. 
 
 But who is that she sees, 
 
 With step slow and unsteady? 
 
 "Why are her cheeks so blanched 
 Her welcome so unready?
 
 100 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Surely it is not he 
 
 Of whom she has been dreaming ! 
 This reeling, muttering man 
 
 And yet it has his seeming. 
 
 Hast thou ever known a sorrow 
 That like a sharp-toothed harrow 
 
 Strikes into the very soul ? 
 "Whose blighting frosts, so sere, 
 Wither each promise dear, 
 
 And shatter ev'ry idol? 
 
 With outstretched arms didst cry, 
 "Is there a God? then why 
 
 Such bitter suffering?" 
 Then only canst thou know 
 The depths of human woe, 
 
 By thine own measuring. 
 
 " Surely it is a dream, 
 
 This awful, crushing sorrow 
 Things are not what they seem 
 
 'Twill all be right to-morrow ! 
 
 "And I, in love's delirium, 
 
 So happy I could soar 
 To skies empyrean, 
 
 A few short weeks before
 
 A SKETCH. 101 
 
 "Now to suffer like this! 
 
 Suddenly to have fallen 
 Into the dark abyss 
 
 Of almost hopeless woe ! 
 'Tis like to being driven 
 
 Into Phlegethon low, 
 After a glimpse of heaven." 
 
 The years have come and gone : 
 
 And a tired woman sits 
 Wearily watching the door, 
 
 As silently she knits. 
 
 Gone is the bloom from her cheeks 
 A haggard look they wear; 
 
 No more the earth is blooming, 
 In fragrance, everywhere. 
 
 The song, so blithe and free, 
 Long ago died out of her heart; 
 
 At every sound she hears, 
 She gives a nervous start 
 
 For with fear, instead of longing, 
 His coming, now, she waits ; 
 
 Harsh words, instead of loving, 
 She now anticipates. 
 
 The sky is blue above her 
 The fleecy clouds roll high;
 
 102 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 But no longer orchard blossoms 
 Waft their sweet fragrance nigh. 
 
 For the beautiful home is gone 
 
 A sacrifice to drink; 
 And of sky and air about her, 
 
 She does not care to think. 
 
 For all the light and gladness 
 Have fled from out her life ; 
 
 And only pain and sadness 
 Remain and weary strife. 
 
 Still true to the pledge she gave him, 
 When by his side a bride 
 
 " For weal or woe I take thee, 
 "Whatever may betide." 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 AFTER many years we meet again, 
 Upon life's mighty, restless main 
 Amid other scenes and stranger ones- 
 After the cycle of many suns. 
 
 Each notes a change he cannot tell 
 In words, though analyzing well 
 The other's every tone and look, 
 As if reviewing a much-loved book.
 
 LINES TO MY MOTHER. 103 
 
 O time ! O change ! how ruthlessly 
 Thou tearest the bonds of sympathy, 
 Of hearts that did so joyously 
 Fulfill each other's moiety. 
 
 Is it that one has graver grown 
 Because his youthful hopes have flown? 
 Or has the other one grown sordid, 
 Because of treasure he has hoarded? 
 
 Ah ! both have changed, as all must change 
 "Who on time's seething tidal range ; 
 Youth's impulse warm, and hopefulness, 
 Give place to care or selfishness : 
 
 Except in natures rare and sweet, 
 Whose hearts with love are so replete, 
 That all life's storms and icy blasts, 
 Their gentle love cannot out cast. 
 
 LINES TO MY MOTHER, 
 
 WITH A WREATH OF RIPENED GRAIN, UPON HER BIRTHDAY, 
 OCTOBER 29, 1885. 
 
 THIS ripened grain fit emblem is to thee, 
 Of a life well spent and full of charity. 
 
 The wreath that encircles thy plate : 
 
 Thy endless love, innate, 
 
 For children, friends and mate.
 
 104 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 These immortelles: the influence thou hast 
 
 wrought 
 Upon our lives, which thou hast ever sought 
 
 To gently guide aright. 
 
 Surely thy crown is bright 
 
 To thee shall be no night! 
 
 May the golden Indian summer of thy life 
 Be free from toil and care and worldly strife; 
 
 Full of the sweet repose 
 
 That a godly life bestows, 
 
 E'en to life's very close ! 
 
 Accept this from thy absent, loving one, 
 
 Who'd crown thee with the brightness of the sun 
 
 If it were hers to give 
 
 And years, for thee to live, 
 
 Outnumbering the sands that sieve 
 
 The passing hours of time. 
 
 I reach my hand to thine 
 
 And greet thee, mother mine ! 
 
 Though weary miles between 
 
 Us now do intervene. 
 
 Across all time and space 
 
 I see thy smiling face ; 
 
 Our hands now interlace 
 
 Our loving hearts embrace ! 
 
 By loving ties so blest, 
 
 I am, 
 
 Your own CELESTE.
 
 NO NEW THING UNDER THE SUN. 105 
 
 NO NEW THING UNDER THE SUN. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES, FIRST CHAPTER. 
 
 THERE'S " no new thing under the sun ! " 
 
 Men are born, grow up and marry 
 
 For a little while they tarry, 
 
 And then their race is run. 
 
 And all one can say or do 
 
 Long ago has been gone through 
 
 For there's nothing new under the sun. 
 
 "Why strive we so earnestly, 
 Wrestle so arduously? 
 For life, at its best, 
 Is a little boon 
 Gone so soon ! 
 
 The rivers run to the sea, 
 
 Yet fill it not; 
 The crooked cannot straightened be 
 
 Sad is our lot ! 
 "Wisdom, itself, is vanity, 
 And fame an unreality, 
 And all a sad fatality ! 
 
 No matter if there's nothing new under the sun 
 Great things men are learning, one by one ! 
 
 And life is a blessing, 
 
 Twice worth possessing; 
 
 Then cheerfully run 
 
 14
 
 106 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Till the race is done, 
 Filling your mission 
 Then reap the fruition, 
 Of God's "Well done." 
 
 As the rivers flow into the sea, 
 Although they fill not, 
 
 They gladden most bounteously 
 The land throughout. 
 
 What though the crooked and straight 
 Together must grow ! 
 
 What though our hearts must wait, 
 Oft burdened, below ! 
 The bitter and the sweet 
 In every life must meet, 
 Till eternity we know. 
 
 Then laugh at pain, 
 
 And wisdom gain, 
 That far exceedeth folly ; 
 
 Just after rain 
 
 'Tis bright again 
 Indulge not melancholy. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 THE lamps are all shining and bright, 
 
 The house all set aright, 
 
 For he's coming home to-night
 
 WAITING. 107 
 
 The absent one so dear, 
 For whom the fire burns clear 
 And the hearth is clean and bright. 
 
 The snowy cloth is laid, 
 
 The table all arrayed 
 
 With the best things, on parade; 
 
 While viands, choice and rare, 
 
 The loving hands prepare 
 For him who's still delayed. 
 
 The doorway oft is sought, 
 With loving eyes and thought, 
 To scan the road, lest not 
 
 His coming be discerned 
 
 And oft away are turned, 
 Disappointed, seeing naught. 
 
 The flush of expectancy, 
 
 The eyes' deep brilliancy, 
 
 Tell the restless anxiety, 
 
 As the hours glide on apace, 
 
 And her heart keeps time and pace, 
 
 As the day wanes rapidly. 
 
 At last, through the even-tide 
 Twilight, there is descried 
 A carriage large and wide, 
 
 Which " surely is the ' mail ' 
 
 A-coming from the ' rail,' 
 With the loved for our fireside."
 
 108 EDDIES OF MEMOKY. 
 
 All now is bustle and glee, 
 
 To see who first will be 
 
 To greet the absentee ; 
 But the carriage goes swiftly along, 
 Leaving them standing alone, 
 
 Dejected, despondently. 
 
 The bright eyes fill with tears, 
 
 And hearts with gloomy fears 
 
 Foreboding ill appears. 
 
 "He will not come to-night 
 And what if our longing sight 
 
 Ne'er again meet his that cheers." 
 
 The brightness that's within 
 
 Seems mockery, akin 
 
 To sacrilegious sin; 
 For may be, even now, 
 The proud head's lying low, 
 
 'Mid accident's sad din. 
 
 But hark! the dog is barking, 
 Such sad thoughts interlarding 
 The whir of wheels fast coming. 
 
 Quickly the fire's replenished; 
 
 And gloomy forebodings banished; 
 "With hope the heart's high beating. 
 
 Soon a well-known voice is heard, 
 And the joy, so long deferred, 
 Is here : like a weary bird,
 
 TO MADGE. 109 
 
 She nestles in loving arms, 
 Free from sad fear's alarms 
 And thanks God her prayer was heard. 
 
 TO MADGE. 
 
 ACROSS the table at which I sit writing, 
 
 A dear brown head is bent, 
 
 So busily intent 
 Upon something she, too, is carefully writing. 
 
 Her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes bright 
 "With thoughts that seem to please her; 
 And smiles the sweet lips stir. 
 
 "What is my little girl writing to-night ? 
 
 "I am writing poems, too! 
 And one, dear mamma, just for you; 
 But not as yours, so good all through!" 
 
 Ah ! thanks my child, for your loving lays ! 
 And thank you, too, for fulsome praise! 
 I'll prize them both, through all my days. 
 God guide your feet in wisdom's ways 
 Is what a loving mother prays ; 
 And wishes, too, her little essays 
 Critics as kind might find always.
 
 110 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 DAY-DAWN. 
 
 "THE night is far spent 
 
 The day is at hand; " 
 Already is lent 
 
 A charm to the land, 
 From the roseate glow 
 
 In the eastern sky, 
 By which we may know 
 
 That the day is nigh. 
 
 The day, with its glory, 
 
 Its freedom and light, 
 Will tell a new story, 
 
 And banish the night 
 Of dark superstition 
 
 And ignorance's blight, 
 And bring to fruition 
 
 Our plans for the right. 
 
 And woman, no longer, 
 
 A chattel shall be 
 To him who is stronger, 
 
 But she shall be free : 
 By her own volition, 
 
 To her talent and taste 
 She shall choose a vocation - 
 
 ISTor time shall she waste. 
 
 Because that, forsooth, 
 A woman alone
 
 DAY-DAWN. Ill 
 
 Can attend the fine woof 
 
 And the fixtures of home, 
 Is no reason why 
 
 Whether suited or not 
 All should housekeeping try, 
 
 And choose the same lot, 
 
 Any more than at farming 
 
 All our brothers should toil; 
 "While truly alarming 
 
 Would be the turmoil, 
 If they all the same work 
 
 Were obliged to seek 
 Else be called a shirk 
 
 An existence to eke. 
 
 Let her lecture and preach 
 
 In her voice soft and sweet : 
 Let her "doctor" and teach, 
 
 With dexterity neat: 
 She will be just as kind 
 
 When you're sick or in need 
 Truest help you will find ; 
 
 Then bid her " God speed." 
 
 And, when the full noon-day 
 
 In glory shall shine, 
 'Twill show woman the true way 
 
 Her love to entwine 
 Round the inmates of home, 
 
 Whose queen she shall be 
 Her mind its great dome 
 
 And sweet sanctity.
 
 112 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 TO NELLIE E. B- 
 
 MOST precious to me, 
 Is the sweet memory 
 Of the evenings when we 
 Discussed, socially, 
 Dickens's great powers, 
 And the mellow bellfl owers ! 
 Fast flew the hours ; 
 For employment like ours 
 Lends wings to time. 
 
 The flavor of the fruit 
 
 In richness just did suit 
 
 The books we so enjoyed 
 
 And neither ever cloyed. 
 
 And thy fair, Saxon face, 
 
 Alive with thought and grace 
 
 Its violet eyes 
 
 Like deep-tinted skies 
 
 Gave coloring rich, 
 
 As, in musical pitch, 
 
 You read "Dombey and Son," 
 
 Or the "Pickwick" fun. 
 
 Companionship like thine 
 
 I would were ever mine. 
 
 Accept this little rhyme 
 
 For the sake of "Auld Lang Syne. 3
 
 CHRISTMAS. 113 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " CHRISTMAS is really coming," 
 
 Even out here in the West ! 
 And bright eyes already are summing 
 
 Up things they would like to have best. 
 
 And loving hands busy preparing 
 Gifts for chidren and friends; 
 
 For 'tis this giving and sharing 
 The charm to Christmas day lends. 
 
 Of all glad days ' tis the gladdest, 
 And fullest of joy and delight: 
 
 God pity the poor, who are saddest, 
 And help us make their hearts light. 
 
 Years ago, when the sweet superstition, 
 Of a veritable Santa Claus, kind, 
 
 "With the wand of a mighty magician 
 Who rode on the waves of the wind, 
 
 Scattering gifts everywhere as he went, 
 With his sleigh and reindeers fleet, 
 
 On his gladdening errands intent 
 Held our thoughts in thrall so sweet. 
 
 How well I remember the hurry 
 We children were in to peep; 
 
 We could scarcely wait, in our flurry, 
 For a fire in the fire-place deep; 
 15
 
 114 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 For downstairs by the chimney-side, 
 Our stockings were hung at night, 
 
 That down the flue so wide, 
 He could easily alight. 
 
 Even yet I have not outgrown 
 
 The glad curiosity, 
 Which at Christmas dawn is known, 
 
 To see what Santa Glaus brought me. 
 
 A merry Christmas greeting 
 To my many friends so true ! 
 
 "Wishing many a gladsome meeting, 
 And many things bright and new. 
 
 A WINTER SONG. 
 
 THE winter is here, 
 
 "With all its good cheer, 
 And long, pleasant evenings' delight. 
 
 The chores are all done, 
 
 And one by one, 
 Each joins the home circle bright. 
 
 "Without it may blow, 
 
 And toss the snow; 
 "Within all is warmth and light. 
 
 And joy and mirth, 
 
 Around the hearth, 
 Make happy hearts to-night,
 
 A PRAYER. 115 
 
 As, with joyous song, 
 
 Time speeds along, 
 Filled with pleasant recreation. 
 
 Long tales are read, 
 
 And lessons had 
 For the morrow's recitation. 
 
 And corn is popped, 
 
 And nuts are cracked; 
 And riddles, in prose and rhyme, 
 
 Are guessed and guessed, 
 
 Until, at last, 
 They are told it is bed-time. 
 
 The hours pass 
 
 Too fast, alas! 
 ' Tis bed-time ere they're ready. 
 
 O, happy time ! 
 
 A golden rhyme 
 Are winter's pleasures, surely. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 O THOU great, loving Heart, 
 Throbbing with tenderness, 
 
 Look down upon us now, 
 Forgive our waywardness ! 
 
 The hidden fires within 
 Our natures frighten us;
 
 116 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Like craters, bursting forth 
 From slumbering volcanoes. 
 
 With saddened hearts we throw 
 Ourselves upon Thy grace; 
 
 With choking sobs we bow 
 O let us see thy face ! 
 
 Thy works are glorious 
 This world so beautiful ; 
 
 All things declare Thy praise, 
 Only man is sinful ! 
 
 He, who should praise the most - 
 So slow Thy will to know ! 
 
 O help us keep the paths 
 We know we ought to go ! 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 THE New Year with its hopes and fears, 
 Its promises of joy and tears 
 A welcome, yet a dreaded host 
 Is waiting like a silent ghost. 
 
 O, if .we did its secrets know, 
 Whether it held more joy or woe 
 For us poor tenants here below, 
 Warmer greeting we might bestow :
 
 GROWING OLD. 117 
 
 Or else, in terror, might recoil 
 From all the sorrow and turmoil 
 We'd see for us was held in store, 
 And shrink, faint-hearted, e'en before 
 
 It was begun : so that, in this, 
 
 A state of "Ignorance is bliss." 
 
 But fair thy promises, O Year! 
 
 We'll trust thee, then, nor think of fear. 
 
 Good-by, Old Year! that just is done 
 Too quickly and full well you've run 
 Your mission here. We had our share 
 Of pleasure and we grateful are. 
 
 With high resolves, and courage true, 
 And hopefulness, we'll greet the New; 
 And pray that, sparingly, He'll deal 
 Our sorrows bountifully, our weal. 
 
 GROWING OLD. 
 
 How fast time flies ! And we're growing old ! 
 The summer's past, and the winter's cold 
 Withers the flowers along our path, 
 And we gather, instead, the aftermath. 
 
 Not so fragrant and fresh as the first glad crop 
 Of youthful hopes, in which there's no drop
 
 118 EDDIES OP MEMORY. 
 
 Of doubt or fear but the world will prove 
 All one desires, as onward we move ; 
 
 But mixed with the seeds of honest doubt 
 Whether our plans will be carried out; 
 And whether there's more of pleasure or pain, 
 Even when our best hopes we proudly attain. 
 
 The joyous enthusiasm of youth 
 Is gone but replaced by the riper truth 
 Of sober and well-earned experience; 
 And we look 011 life's failures with lenience. 
 
 The youthful glamour no longer deceives; 
 Life's earnest endeavor no longer leaves 
 Us time in a fanciful world to live : 
 For to our life's work each thought we must 
 give. 
 
 When our heads like the "almond tree shall 
 
 flourish," 
 
 And plans for this world no longer we cherish 
 May our lives be like a well-linked chain, 
 As memory goes back to trace them again. 
 
 And when, at the last, the "silver cord 
 Is loosed," and we go to our reward 
 May some noble deed we did while here 
 To our jeweled crown add one brilliant more.
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 119 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 DEAR baby Ethlyn, 
 
 My wee, sweet flower ! 
 Thy memory, even, 
 
 Is a priceless dower. 
 Ere thou wert born 
 
 I loved thee well; 
 Like the light of morn 
 
 Thy coming fell 
 Across our way, 
 
 A rosy light, 
 For a brief stay 
 
 Then all was night. 
 
 And bitter at first 
 
 Our heart-aches were ; 
 A hunger and thirst 
 
 Our souls did stir, 
 For a love as sweet 
 
 As the roses' breath : 
 It did not seem meet 
 
 That thou, death, 
 Shouldst claim so soon 
 
 Our birdling dear 
 The lovely bloom 
 
 Which would so cheer 
 
 Our lonely hearts. 
 But now, at last, 
 Though the teardrop starts, 
 The bitter is past :
 
 120 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 For, in gardens fairer, 
 
 Our flowret is blooming, 
 And a love, much rarer 
 
 Than of our bestowing, 
 Is given to her 
 
 In that realm of light 
 And we cannot demur 
 
 At her spirit's flight. 
 
 CONTRAST. 
 
 EVEN as I hear the wild winds blow, 
 
 Tossing the restless, shifting snow, 
 
 Hurling it hard 'gainst the window pane, 
 
 Dashing it here and thither again, 
 
 Moaning and howling where'er they go : 
 
 In contrast sweet, there comes a scene 
 
 Of verdant meads and forests green, 
 
 Fragrant flowers and song of birds, 
 
 Flowing waters and lowing herds 
 
 All the beauty of summer's sheen. 
 
 I see again the deep blue skies, 
 
 Fair as a maiden's azure eyes; 
 
 And hear the drowsy hum of bees, 
 
 Or gentle swaying of the trees, 
 
 As through their leaves the south wind sighs. 
 
 O can this be the same glad world, 
 Now the storm king fierce has hurled
 
 TWIN LAKES. 121 
 
 All his furious, biting blast 
 
 'Gainst our beauteous scene? and vast 
 
 Storms and tempests he has unfurled? 
 
 And so, when the storms of life beat hard 
 
 Upon the thoughtful, sensitive bard, 
 
 He wonders at the glorious dreams 
 
 That came to him with morning's beams 
 
 Waving, beckoning him fancy- ward; 
 
 And muses long on the mystery 
 
 Of life's ever-changing history 
 
 The subtle workings of love and joy, 
 
 And bitter cares which so annoy, 
 
 Later on, upon life's rough sea. 
 
 He knows that in some way the earth's renewed 
 
 By the frost, and snow, and tempests rude; 
 
 And that summer skies will come once more 
 
 With beauty and gladness as before 
 
 And all our way with flowers be strewed. 
 
 Then, when our mental sky is o'ercast 
 
 By troubles dark, and angry blast, 
 
 Let us endure; and cherish the thought 
 
 That out of it all some good will be wrought 
 
 And wintry storms will not always last. 
 
 TWIN LAKES. 
 
 VISITED AUGUST 10, 1877. 
 
 TWIN sisters recluses! 
 Fit founts for the Muses, 
 Or fair water-sprite, 
 
 16
 
 122 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Are thy cool waters bright. 
 Around thy sacred quiet 
 Spirits of beauty riot. 
 "White mountain peaks, and cold, 
 In stately grandeur, hold 
 Their constant silent watches 
 Guarding thy lovely couches. 
 
 They are vigilant warders 
 Around thy green borders 
 Whose cares never slack; 
 And you pay them back 
 By reflecting their fairness 
 Within your own clearness; 
 E'en their purple and gold 
 Your limpid waters mold 
 Into beauty fairer, 
 And a grandeur rarer : 
 
 As thy sun-kissed surface 
 
 Mirrors back the surplus 
 
 Of beauty the sky bestowed, 
 
 And fleecy, sun-lined cloud; 
 
 And the sun's own brilliance, 
 
 From thy deep waters, hence, 
 
 Scatters in golden beams, 
 
 Till the scene like heaven seems, 
 
 As slowly in our boat, 
 
 We glide o'er these waters remote. 
 
 Around, above, below, 
 
 Visions of beauty glow, 
 
 As in one's brightest dream 
 
 And silence reigns supreme.
 
 THE CITIES' POOR. 123 
 
 THE CITIES' POOR. 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER READING A SPEECH BY HON. T. B. STUART, 
 OF DENVER, COL., ENTITLED "THE WORKER'S SITUATION." 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis dawn ! The heart of the great city beats 
 "With quick'ning pulse, that has a few hours stayed 
 Its restless throbbings. In gray and misty dawn 
 The light contends with darkness, work with rest. 
 In musty cellar, and in dingy loft, 
 The weary toilers of the city wake 
 To renew again the hard, unequal fight 
 Of labor 'gainst the grim wolf at the door. 
 Pallid and careworn, in the dim March light, 
 They eat their scanty meal, and then betake 
 Themselves, unrested, to their daily toil 
 Thin-clad and pinched for want of fire and food. 
 A father and his son a lad of twelve, 
 Sad-eyed, and grown much older than his years 
 Go down into the jetty mines of coal, 
 Where, early and late, denied the blessed sun, 
 They labor hard for a mere paltry sum, 
 On which to eke a poor existence out. 
 A widow with a little, helpless brood, 
 Trudges along through damp and smoky air, 
 To leave the children at a " nursery farm," 
 While she by factory work their living earns; 
 Treading the weary way again at night, 
 To take them to her dismal upper room. 
 Another less self-sacrificing one 
 Turns them with a crust into the street;
 
 124 EDDIES OP MEMORY. 
 
 For safer there she deems her little ones, 
 Than locked in their own old, rickety room. 
 The street's poor nursery for these little waifs 
 No wonder that they learn deceit and sin. 
 And all day long these mothers toil for bread 
 With weary hands, and heads and hearts that ache. 
 Young women, and little girls of even eight, 
 Sit all day long at toil unfit for youth 
 Like flowers blighted ere 'tis time to bloom 
 Grown old and haggard at the spool and loom, 
 For just enough to poorly live upon. 
 
 n. 
 
 Can you wonder at the muttered discontent, 
 The lowering cloud grown darker with the years 
 The ills of these poor people giving vent 
 In mobs and strikes, in curses and in tears? 
 The crowded city's poor, so poorly fed 
 Can they be freemen, while they're slaves for bread? 
 Would they, like valiant soldiers, fight for homes, 
 When they have none but dim and dusty rooms ? 
 Be leal and loyal to their country's flag, 
 When they for clothes have but a flimsy rag? 
 Can we a nation build that's strong and great, 
 When the foundation stones are in this state? 
 The top must totter when the base decays; 
 And he who would build strongly first lays 
 The true and firm foundation then he builds 
 With ease and certainty against all ills. 
 While rich our land in acres broad and deep, 
 Shall these lack homes, and in confusion steep
 
 THE CITIES' POOR. 125 
 
 Our country, boasted free? Shall English earls, 
 Or corporate bodies, or old, wealthy churls, 
 In large estates, our glorious country hold, 
 "While millions of our poor, in want untold, 
 Have not a foot of ground to call their own ? 
 Then, truly, the glory of our land is flown. 
 Awake, fair land! Columbia wake, and claim 
 Your lawful right of "eminent domain!" 
 Give each a home on these broad prairies green, 
 And this the picture that will then be seen : 
 Let stout and well-paid hands both spin and 
 
 weave, 
 
 But give the million weaklings sweet reprieve; 
 And let the factory's poor and pallid ones 
 Seek the green fields, and cheering, bright'ning 
 
 suns. 
 
 The season may be spring the morning damp; 
 They rise at dawn, but not to chill and cramp; 
 You hear them singing; for their cheerful toil 
 Speaks more of lusty life than hard turmoil. 
 The father yokes his oxen; while the son 
 The once pale lad, grown stout, and brown with 
 
 tan 
 
 Attends the cow, and carries the brimming pail 
 Into the humble home; where the once frail 
 And weary mother, freshened by pure air, 
 Bestirs herself with breakfast's dainty fare 
 The rich, sweet milk, and eggs just newly lain, 
 And bread as smooth and white as porcelain. 
 The meal dispatched, they hasten to their work 
 But not through sloppy street, or city's smoke
 
 126 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 Past green wheat fields, where birds are singing- 
 loud, 
 
 To black, rich soil all ready to be plowed; 
 The sun's bright rays dispelling fast the dew, 
 All form a scene to them so bright and new, 
 They wonder if Aladdin's lamp they've found, 
 And now are living on enchanted ground. 
 Across the way, the widow and her girls, 
 With cheeks now blooming, and with tossy curls r 
 Attend the poultry and their small-fruit patch ; 
 Or train the morning-glories o'er the thatch. 
 Instead of the mill's incessant click-clack, 
 The happy hens sing, " Cut-cut, cut-cut, cut-tack; " 
 And the guineas chime in, " Pot-rack, buckwheat, 
 
 pot-rack." 
 
 They breathe, instead of greasy, smoky air, 
 Odor of fresh-turned earth and flowers fair; 
 And hail with joy the copious spring showers, 
 That fill the earth with gladness and with flowers. 
 Is not this scene of pleasant, thrifty toil, 
 Happier far than the great city's moil ? 
 And they who in the factories have stayed 
 Are better off, because they're better paid ; 
 "While thousands, who once toiled to gain their 
 
 bread, 
 
 And went half clad and homeless, poorly fed, 
 Have plenty now, and some to spare instead. 
 With homes that are their own, and grown so dear. 
 The Nation, for her safety, need not fear; 
 For if she ever needs strong, loyal hands, 
 She'll find them in these sons who till the lands.
 
 SONGS THAT WILL LIVE. 127 
 
 BALANCE ROCK, COLORADO. 
 
 THOU giant rock, 
 So neatly balanced between earth and sky ! 
 
 What fateful shock 
 Left thee a wonder to the passers by ? 
 
 How many centuries hast thou withstood 
 
 The ravages of time, and wind, and flood? 
 
 And what will be the power to make thee yield 
 
 To lay thou proud head low upon the field? 
 
 Or art so evenly balanced, after all, 
 
 That man nor time shall ever see thee fall ? 
 
 O mortal, balanced between right and wrong, 
 
 Resist all influence, however strong, 
 
 To topple thee from manhood's towering height 
 
 Into the dust and debris, far from sight! 
 
 And pray for power to discriminate 
 
 The circumstance which weakens thy estate 
 
 "Whether it be a power small or great 
 
 And changes, e'en for life and death, thy fate. 
 
 SONGS THAT WILL LIVE. 
 
 No GLITTERING array of idle words, 
 Though musical as the song of birds, 
 
 Can e'er attract the busy herds 
 Of men who labor hard to gain 
 The summit of this earthly fane, 
 
 And have no time for many words.
 
 128 EDDIES OF MEMORY. 
 
 But thoughts that glow with warmth and fire r 
 Inspiring men to climb still higher, 
 
 And on the rugged path ne'er tire; 
 These are the words that true help give, 
 And these the songs that long will live, 
 
 After all lighter ones expire. 
 
 If thou hast a yearning, then, 
 
 To live in the hearts of thy fellow-men, 
 
 Make real and useful what you pen; 
 Fill every picture with the fire and glow 
 Of thoughts and emotions that overflow 
 
 Your own soul's inmost ken. 
 
 The sympathy and help which most are prized 
 Come from those who have realized 
 
 The same great joy, or the agonized 
 Sense of suffering and bitter loss, 
 "Which separates the gold from dross 
 
 Comfort like this is well assized. 
 
 Then, with truth and all sincerity, 
 In meekness and simplicity, 
 
 And yet not with timidity, 
 Sing the songs of joy and gladness, 
 And the soft refrains of sadness 
 
 Give to each heart sympathy.
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 My object in writing this not altogether fanciful sketch, 
 has been to warn my own sex from the sin to which she is 
 most easily prone idolatry of loved ones and beautiful 
 surroundings. And, while I have instanced one blessed 
 with the greatest luxuries of life, it may be very nearly as 
 applicable to those in the humbler walks of life, as it is a 
 passion which the circumstances and ideas of the present 
 day seem to cultivate and intensify in all. Hence I dedi 
 cate this 
 
 To Woman purest, fairest of creation 
 
 The blessing or the blight of ev'ry station ! 
 Beloved of God, and angels, and of men ; 
 O see that thou love purely, wisely, then ! 
 
 CELESTE MAY. 
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 T'WAS on a spot as fair as e'er the sun 
 
 In all his warmth and splendor shone upon 
 
 The young bride found her pleasant future home, 
 
 Prepared by loving hands, ere she should come. 
 
 Its marble walls stood glist'ning through the 
 
 green 
 
 Of tropic trees, while fountain sprays were seen 
 Scattering their sparkling diamonds o'er a lawn 
 Which rivaled, in its brightness, glorious dawn. 
 17
 
 130 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 A range of mountains, in the distance, lay 
 In gold and purple shadows' bright array; 
 The lucid waters of a lake, serene, 
 Were gleaming, in the sunshine white, between; 
 And air as fragrant as the flowers' breath 
 Pervaded all the place : above, beneath, 
 "Wherever one might look- the spirit fair, 
 Of love and beauty, had its dwelling there. 
 
 To Laura, loved and loving, it all seemed 
 To far surpass all she had ever dreamed 
 E'en in her girlish and most lavish dreams 
 Of elegance combined with beauteous scenes. 
 And it was hers the gift of priceless love ! 
 O dared a spirit not yet gone above 
 Revel in beauty and a perfect love? 
 For she, though gently reared, had yet been 
 
 taught, 
 
 With Puritanic strictness, that the thought 
 Must soar above all earthly loves, lest aught 
 Of worship for them bring one's hopes to naught; 
 And, that 'twas virtue, when the soul acquired 
 Strength to refuse the things it most desired, 
 No matter what they were e'en half inspired. 
 Heroic, but a rigid, austere creed, 
 Sav'ring too much of the self-penance deed 
 Of old, ascetic monks, of whom we read. 
 
 And Laura, all her life, had been at war 
 
 With this, which seemed her great besetting sin : 
 
 The love of beauty, seen in earth or star,
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 131 
 
 The glory of the sunset cloud, or in 
 
 The bright, sweet flowers, which many a rough 
 
 place 
 
 Soften and smooth by their bewitching grace, 
 A perfect face or beautiful attire 
 All seemed to satisfy that inward fire 
 "Which burned within her heart, without desire 
 Or envious longing to possess them all ; 
 could she, by so pure a love, e'en fall ? 
 In vain herself she chided it was born 
 Within her; she could not uproot this thorn. 
 A simple child of nature one withal 
 Too rarely found ! and now, by love's sweet thrall, 
 She finds the grandeur of the earth her own; 
 And what is dearer far to her than all, 
 The noble love of one fit for a throne. 
 
 No wonder, then, that at the first a dread 
 Lest all this beauty turn her heart and head 
 Should cast a shadow o'er her happy brow : 
 For " Coming events, before, their shadows 
 
 throw." 
 
 'Twas not the nature of a mind like this 
 To long withstand the influence of such bliss 
 Where e'en the fragrant air seemed heaven's kiss. 
 Her innate love of beauty so intense, 
 Her early training was but poor defense; 
 And, half in fear, and half in defiance, 
 She thought: "Why did God such beauty then 
 
 bestow, 
 If 'tis so great a sin to love it so?
 
 132 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And why this world He with such beauty clothes, 
 
 If not to be admired and loved by those 
 
 Who dwell upon it?" and thus deeper stole 
 
 Into her heart the idol of her soul. 
 
 Ah ! happier had it been for her, by far, 
 
 If still she worshiped beauty from afar, 
 
 "With no indulgence or excess to mar 
 
 So fine an ideal of true beauty's star. 
 
 But lulled by bliss, and love, and sweet repose, 
 
 Slowly, but surely, she more careless grows 
 
 Of the true worship, which should ever flow 
 
 To the Creator of our gifts, and glow 
 
 High above every other love we know. 
 
 Her energy and being concentrate 
 
 On making her already blest estate 
 
 Happier still, and still more enchanting, 
 
 By adding every charm of artist's skill, 
 
 To touch the sense of beauty by their thrill ; 
 
 Or her own potent charm still more enhancing, 
 
 To make the love she knows already hers 
 
 Hers indissolubly, by all that stirs 
 
 The heart to admiration, and endears. 
 
 And thus the sweet idolatry enthralls 
 
 Ere she's aware, who by its spell thus falls 
 
 Into forgetfulness of former things, 
 
 As deep and sure as draughts from Lethe 
 
 brings; 
 
 Yet her enchantment should be likened more 
 To eating the sweet fruit the Lotus bore, 
 Instead of dark draughts from the infernal shore.
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 133 
 
 Months, years, elapse; and, though the fear 
 That all this wealth of pleasure, grown so dear, 
 Would sometime have an end, came far too near 
 For peace of mind or comfort, 'twas banished ere 
 One earnest thought had left its impress there. 
 Until at last, by sickness smitten down, 
 The lovely, placid brow by pain is drawn, 
 And all sweet sounds and beauty cannot drown 
 The saddened thoughts that on her mind now 
 
 dawn; 
 
 But not through selfishness this sadness came 
 Too pure for that, e'en yet, her spirit's flame 
 But O, a heart and home left desolate, 
 "Where love had reigned supreme too cruel 
 
 fate! 
 
 A yearning, tender pity filled her heart, 
 Like angels feel, who from the heavens dart, 
 On errands of mercy to poor mortals sent 
 To comfort and console, their sweet intent; 
 'Twas thus her heart though just upon the rim 
 Of ceaseless, unknown shores turned now to 
 
 him 
 
 Whose cup of sorrow's filled e'en to the brim, 
 And wishes she might stay to comfort him. 
 
 She did not worry about her own state, 
 Though, so indifferent, she had been of late 
 To all she had been taught to venerate; 
 For had she not, e'en in her infancy, 
 Been taught to love and reverence Deity, 
 And dream of long and blessed eternity,
 
 134 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Until it was, to her, a natural trait 
 
 To think of heaven's joys as her own right? 
 
 And now, the light of life was going out, 
 
 She would not let a flitting, ill-timed doubt 
 
 Her life-long hopes and expectations blight. 
 
 In all her fond, ambitious wandering, 
 
 She never to herself dared intimate 
 
 That God she was no longer worshiping, 
 
 But at a shrine she did herself create 
 
 A beautiful, but transient, earthly fane, 
 
 Which brought her, now, no strength'ning for 
 
 the pain 
 
 Of threat'ning dissolution, and the parting 
 From all her earthly loves; so, once again, 
 She turns her mind to Him, who, in her youth 
 Had been to her the Essence of all Truth; 
 And tries to summon back that restful faith, 
 To give her strength to meet death's dreaded 
 
 wraith. 
 
 Ah ! such is ever sinful man's presumption, 
 Based on the loving, holy Christ's redemption : 
 While health and beauty lavishly are given, 
 He turns his thoughts to all else but to heaven; 
 But when affliction's icy hand he feels, 
 And the warm blood, slowly, in his veins congeals, 
 He quickly turns his thoughts to the Rock riven 
 That all his wanderings might be forgiven; 
 That great and loving Heart that ever feels 
 A throb of sympathy for man, and seals 
 Our pardon, through the leniency of Heaven.
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 135 
 
 'Tis growing dark! and she no longer feels 
 The loving touch and pressure of the hand 
 Of that dear one, who by the bedside kneels. 
 She tries to speak, but can no longer make 
 A word or wish of hers articulate 
 To loving years of those who vainly try 
 Her ev'ry whispered word to understand. 
 She hears the sweep of angels' wings close by, 
 And thinks, "They've come to bear me to the 
 
 sky." _ 
 
 Sweet music faint and far, then coming near 
 Seems wafted to her from the heavenly sphere, 
 Richer than ever mortal ears could hear. 
 An intense yearning fills her soul to go 
 Where she that perfect harmony, too, shall know, 
 And revel ever in its melodious flow : 
 Surely one need not look on death with dread 
 They were the living, we on earth the dead. 
 An icy numbness all her senses drank 
 A sigh, a shiver, and then all was blank. 
 
 Long hours have elapsed, and she again 
 Awakes to consciousness; but there's no pen 
 Or words to tell the awful, burning pain, 
 Or fancies of that fever-maddened brain. 
 'Instead of heavenly vistas, brighly glowing, 
 Through which the limpid water of life is flow 
 ing, ^ 
 
 And glorious strains from angel voices sweet, 
 And golden pavements 'neath her trembling 
 feet
 
 136 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Instead of glories she had hoped to see 
 Upon the vast shores of eternity, 
 Of which she just had caught a glimmering, 
 As of alight on crystal waters shimmering 
 Accustomed things appear unto her eyes, 
 Although to shut them out, in vain, she tries. 
 For, vividly, she remembers she had died 
 Had bade, to each, a last and fond farewell 
 Had heard the rushing wings of Azrael ; 
 And had he, all these hours, so vainly tried 
 To waft her soul away from earthly-tide ? 
 The needed mystic word had not been given, 
 Which plumes the soul for its swift flight to 
 heaven. 
 
 And now, the burning pain in limbs and brain 
 
 Tells, all too plainly, that the soul again 
 
 Is close allied to suff'ring, moldering clay; 
 
 And that, of all heaven's brightness, not a ray 
 
 Could ever o'er her sinful being stray. 
 
 It seemed the home, on which she once had spent 
 
 Her ev'ry thought and energy intent 
 
 Her all of love and worship was to be, 
 
 In spite of longing prayers to heaven sent, 
 
 Her only home through all eternity. 
 
 Her fate was horrible; oblivion sweet 
 Compared to punishment like this, so meet: 
 Forever dying, yet not to die, her doom ; 
 Chained, soul and body, to this favorite room;
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 137 
 
 Hideous and loathsome, ever lying there, 
 A stagnant blot upon the once pure air 
 Of home a clog to him she'd held so dear. 
 The bitterness of her lot was made more keen 
 By the glimpses of fair heaven she had seen. 
 
 A creature neither fit for earth nor heaven 
 
 To whom no burial, even, could be given! 
 
 The home and friends that she had loved too 
 
 much, 
 
 She feared would be polluted by her touch, 
 And tried, in vain, to hide away from sight, 
 Longing for power to flee in the dark night, 
 And in the cool, clear waters, far away, 
 Her anguished, fevered body grateful lay; 
 Content to lie there and forgotten be 
 Through all the cycles of eternity, 
 If, in this way, her loved ones she might free. 
 
 O that the earth beneath her would be riven, 
 And hide her from the sight of home and Heaven 
 To which she dared not pray to be forgiven ! 
 For when life's current warm her pulse had 
 
 thrilled, 
 
 And joy and pleasure's cup had e'en been filled 
 To overflowing, how careless she had grown 
 In sending petitions to a heavenly throne; 
 And now to pray seemed mockery, akin 
 To vilest and most sacrilegious sin. 
 The voluptuous pleasures of her home, too well 
 She loved and thus, in blindly loving, fell. 
 18
 
 138 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 The idol of her heart had been her home; 
 Now, dead and living both, it was her tomb. 
 
 And thus, for weary weeks she lay and tossed, 
 Thinking herself a spirit doomed and lost. 
 Remorse stirred deep within her troubled breast 
 So weary, yet she never hoped for rest: 
 For, ever and again her mind went back 
 To "Heaven lost because of faith so slack." 
 The good things God had loaned her to be used, 
 She had, through blind idolatry, abused. 
 How plainly, now, she saw the narrow way, 
 From which, by flowers, she'd been led astray. 
 O if she could but bathe her burning brow 
 In the cool waters that through Eden flow, 
 Or look one moment on the living tree 
 That gives to all blest immortality, 
 Gladly she'd give up now all past delight, 
 For just one glimpse of this fair, heavenly sight, 
 That to her longing heart seems to enhance, 
 Now she shall never view its vast expanse. 
 
 In her sad state of mental aberration 
 / One attribute of God she had forgotten 
 His wondrous love until the sweet narration 
 Of the forgiving words the Christ had spoken 
 Unto the dying thief, who at His side, 
 Repentant, turned to Him, the Crucified 
 Dawned on her mind, as she lay deeply thinking 
 Upon God's awful justice, so unshrinking; 
 And quickly o'er the twilight darkness came
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 139 
 
 A faint but steady light of reason's flame, 
 
 Enabling her to think with more precision 
 
 Upon God's revelation unto man; 
 
 And there came thronging to her mental vision 
 
 The instances which through the Bible ran 
 
 Of wondrous, mighty things that Faith had 
 
 wrought 
 
 That loving, entire faith which ever brought 
 Fulfillment of the blessing it had sought. 
 What God had done, would He not do again? 
 Could He not speak the word, and give her, then, 
 ]STew life e'en had she died a hundred times? 
 And Faith reechoed, "Yea, a hundred times!" 
 And with the rest this trustful feeling brings 
 Come natural thoughts of man and earthly things. 
 Faith, talismanic word the Christian's sun 
 Dispelled the dark'ning shadows that had run 
 Through all her fancies; again bright reason 
 
 shone 
 
 Where long it had been tottering on its throne, 
 Enshrouded by a self-accusing gloom; 
 And reawakened memory clearly came, 
 Lighting her mind with its resplendent flame 
 She knew it all had been a feverish dream, 
 Through which awakened conscience shed its 
 
 gleam ; 
 
 Aud that it never, yet, had been God's plan, 
 In such a way, to punish sinful man. 
 
 And yet she shuddered, when she thought again 
 Of all those dreadful phantoms of the brain ;
 
 140 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And how much she had needed the lesson taught, 
 Though by such bitter, direful chast'ning wrought. 
 Henceforth her faith more steadfastly should shine 
 Through all she did; and love and faith divine, 
 Produce good works rich fruit from the true 
 
 vine. 
 
 A prayer of thanksgiving from her heart arose, 
 Like none but the truly chastened spirit knows. 
 Hope, that eternal anchor of souls, shines through 
 Her soul, as she consecrates her life anew 
 To God, the Just One, and the Loving, too. 
 
 Impatiently she waits the coming, now, 
 
 Of loved ones lately met with moody brow; 
 
 And at whose footsteps, now, her pulses bound 
 
 With happiness, and love and life new-found. 
 
 One brief but loving glance tells all the tale 
 
 That she no longer dwells within the vale; 
 
 Not only reason's light, within her face, 
 
 But radiant joy reflected, they can trace, 
 
 As if it came direct from heavenly grace. 
 
 O, if to mortals here there e'er is given 
 
 A foretaste of the light and love of heaven, 
 
 ' Tis given them, as, back from the shadowy place, 
 
 They hold their loved once more in their embrace 
 
 More beautiful than ever, as the grace 
 
 Of chastened love shines from her pale, sweet face. 
 
 And she ! no pardon to the guilty man 
 Who's saved from hanging by the merest span 
 Of seconds, ever made him happier than
 
 LOVE PURIFIED. 141 
 
 This sweet, new lease of life does her; there thrills 
 
 A loving sympathy for all the ills 
 
 And sinfulness of man, within her heart; 
 
 For she, too, of it all has had her part, 
 
 And feels related close to human woe, 
 
 In every phase that mortals ever know. 
 
 Her life, henceforth, shall be a life of love, 
 
 But not like that from which she's just been shrove. 
 
 She knows, now, that the gifts that God has given 
 
 Are ours to love, but cannot be our heaven; 
 
 And must not come between our love for Him 
 
 Before whom all must bow e'en seraphim; 
 
 ~Nor give the creature what belongs alone 
 
 To the Creator, sitting on His throne. 
 
 And now, her mind at peace, the body, too, 
 Erelong regains its wonted healthy hue, 
 And she's permitted once again to breathe 
 The outdoor air; and stand in awe beneath 
 The great, clear vault of heaven, whose tender blue 
 Seems smiling down upon her with a new 
 And purer love. ' Tis now the sweet spring-tide, 
 And clear voiced birds are singing far and wide; 
 "While ev'ry tree and shrub new beauty wears 
 Their bloss'ming fragrance borne on balmy airs 
 Like incense sweet. Earth never seemed so fair 
 To her, as now that she sees everywhere 
 The hand that made it all so bright and fair. 
 She loves the world, and all that is within, 
 With love made pure, by suffering, from sin.
 
 142 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND MRS. S- 
 
 A PRICELESS treasure is given to thee 
 
 A jewel bright and rare; 
 A cherub from the heavenly sea, 
 
 With azure eyes and fair. 
 
 'Tis right that you should highly prize it- 
 
 'Twas given thee to love; 
 Be careful not to idolize it 
 
 This darling, cooing dove. 
 
 And I, dear friend, rejoice with thee 
 
 In this thy new-found joy; 
 May the jewel long be loaned to thee 
 
 This darling, precious boy. 
 
 And when he grows to man's estate, 
 
 Most useful may he be ! 
 Fulfilling the fond hopes, elate, 
 
 Of thy dear maternity. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD. 
 
 YOUR grief, for a time, seemed my own, dear 
 
 friend, 
 
 And I longed with your own my tears to blend, 
 For a love and a life too bright to end. 
 To end did I say? 'tis just begun; 
 In a purer sphere shall his course be run,
 
 AT LAST. 143 
 
 Unfettered by time, with its cares and fears, 
 Its hopes and ambitions, and bitter tears; 
 These, fond mother are spared thy son. 
 
 Your flower will unfold in gardens above, 
 Watered and nourished by the Fountain of Love, 
 Sheltered securely, and never to rove. 
 The life, that gave promise of being so fair, 
 Schooled in heaven what height may it attain 
 
 there ! 
 Much better God's school than our best, you 
 
 know; 
 
 Then check the wild grief, and the tears that flow, 
 And think of the glory to which he is heir. 
 
 Of lone, empty arms, I, too, know the grief 
 A bright jewel loaned for a space so brief 
 A joy snatched away that seemed almost chief 
 Of the joys of life; yet I've learned to see 
 It was all for the best for her and me. 
 Thy will, Gracious Lord may thy will be done! 
 And bring us, at last, through Thy Glorious One, 
 To join all our loved ones, and dwell with Thee. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 THERE will come a morning 
 
 On which the sun will rise, 
 In wonted glory crowning
 
 144 LOVE PUKIFIED. 
 
 The hills and fields and skies; 
 But to its beauties, thronging, 
 Fast closed will be our eyes. 
 
 Our work will lie undone, 
 Unless by others wrought; 
 
 Even when high the sun, 
 
 There'll come no care or thought; 
 
 The well-trod paths we've run 
 Must be by others sought. 
 
 Unheeding all the calls 
 
 Of duty and of love, 
 Held in death's icy thralls, 
 
 We'll lie, and cannot move, 
 No matter what befalls 
 
 Those we have served in love. 
 
 Happy for us, if then 
 
 A brighter dawn shall rise, 
 
 Than known to mortal ken, 
 Or viewed by mortal eyes; 
 
 And we awake again 
 
 'i^eath heaven's glorious skies. 
 
 Happy if life's garment 
 
 Was easily thrown by, 
 To don the better raiment 
 
 Given to us on high : 
 Leaving earth-worn tenement 
 
 For "mansions in the sky."
 
 ESTRANGED. 145 
 
 ESTRANGED. 
 
 THE breath of flowers' sweet perfume, 
 
 And strains of music, fill the room, 
 
 As the swelling notes of the wedding march 
 
 Trill through the decorated arch 
 
 Of a stately church, in a Southern town, 
 
 Filled full to witness love's sweet crown. 
 
 Approaching the altar, the two now stand, 
 
 Sealing their vows with close-clasped hand. 
 
 He, in dark and manly beauty, 
 
 Vows to cherish in bounden duty 
 
 To love, protect, and shield from care, 
 
 And all his earthly goods to share; 
 
 While she, so clinging and so fair, 
 
 With azure eyes and golden hair, 
 
 Robed in a silken train of white 
 
 A vision that excels the light 
 
 Screened by a veil of fairy gauze, 
 
 Tastefully fastened with orange blows, 
 
 Promises, too, that no light cause 
 
 Shall ever set aside love's laws ; 
 
 And that she'll honor and love alway 
 
 Him at whose side she stands to-day. 
 
 Ah, loving bonds! how light they seem, 
 Securely held by love's bright beam 
 A chain that's woven of sweet flowers 
 Like fairies breathe in aerial bowers. 
 If bright are kept the links that bind, 
 These bonds may always seem as kind; 
 19
 
 146 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 But love's a flower must be tended, 
 
 Or all its beauty soon is ended, 
 
 Its fragrance lost, its brightness fled, 
 
 And it lies withered, sere, and dead. 
 
 May God forbid that these two hearts 
 
 Shall e'er suffer the fiery darts 
 
 Of jealousy or dark despair, 
 
 That comes when one has ceased to care, 
 
 Or tend the beauteous flower of love, 
 
 That makes this world like that above. 
 
 A month of unalloyed bliss 
 
 Has fled as swiftly as the kiss 
 
 "Which woke Endymion, as he lay 
 
 Sleeping, far up the mountain way. 
 
 A new household now finds its place, 
 
 In love and beauty's quiet grace, 
 
 Among other homes ; and there are none 
 
 With happier promise than this one : 
 
 For love and beauty here combine, 
 
 In this cottage where roses and eglantine 
 
 In graceful beauty intertwine. 
 
 Charles to his business devotes his powers; 
 
 In adorning their home, her leisure hours 
 
 Sweet Eva spends, or among her flowers, 
 
 Brightening and blessing, like summer showers. 
 
 And, in the evenings, the sweet home life 
 
 Refreshes his soul from the care and strife 
 
 Of the weary days ; like heaven seems 
 
 The light that from his own hearth gleams.
 
 ESTRANGED. 147 
 
 Their voices in sweet song unite, 
 Or in some rare new book delight. 
 O joy! of all life's joys the sweetest, 
 A happy home fullest, completest! 
 Would that no cloud should ever rise 
 To darken the brightness of their skies ; 
 And never the first harsh look or tone 
 Change love's summer to colder zone : 
 For love, best boon to mortals given, 
 Is both the " way and guide " to heaven. 
 O cherish it from noxious blast, 
 For to life's ship 'tis sail and mast. 
 
 As structures great, from slightest flaws, 
 Are weakened, so, from smallest cause, 
 The even tenor of one's life 
 May din, discordant, with sad strife, 
 Which might have been avoided, had 
 Th' impatient word been left unsaid. 
 Though small the breach, widening apace, 
 Like streams that great divergence trace; 
 Or, like great fires from smallest tinder, 
 The first harsh word may burn to cinder 
 Love's rarest gem if, by rude winds 
 'Tis fanned, in unforgiving rninds. 
 And often the most loving hearts, 
 Too sensitive, feel keenest, darts 
 Intended not to wound so deep; 
 But, once enlodged, will ever keep 
 Rankling within the loving breast 
 Too crucial pain to bear love's test.
 
 148 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And so, with these two hearts, close bound 
 By ties, indissolubly wound, 
 Who have, for years, through all the tide 
 Of joy and woe, walked side by side, 
 Now first, by some impatience torn, 
 Or business cares too sadly worn, 
 Bestow the angry look and tone 
 That leaves each heart bleeding and lone. 
 False pride bade each one not to yield 
 The other this, their first-fought field. 
 Pride, like that by which was riven, 
 And lost to angels, fairest heaven, 
 Loses to them the quiet peace 
 Of a loving home; and soon they cease 
 The kindly care and generous thought 
 Which love, spontaneously, brought. 
 Indifference first, and then neglect 
 Foul weeds spring up, and soon reflect 
 Their odious coarseness on the bloom 
 In love's fair garden ; and the gloom 
 Of their rank shade around is thrown, 
 And pois'nous pollen thither blown; 
 Until the garden's overgrown 
 With bitterness and discontent, 
 Where, once, a hallowed charm was lent 
 By tenderest love. Each one, intent 
 Upon his wrongs and suffering tense, 
 Knows not the others wretchedness, 
 But deems himself unloved and hence 
 They drift apart in loneliness.
 
 ESTRANGED. 149 
 
 And firmer grown in this belief, 
 
 Poor Eva seeks, as some relief, 
 
 To leave the home which now but seems, 
 
 The sepulcher of fondest dreams. 
 
 But O, how cruelly it tears 
 
 Her tender heart ! and, unawares, 
 
 Steals o'er her mind the real worth 
 
 Of one's own loved and treasured hearth. 
 
 But home it is no longer, where 
 
 The guiding hand of love's not there. 
 
 So, as the length'ning shadows fall, 
 
 She takes a last fond look at all: 
 
 "Farewell! my dear old home, 
 
 Where I so long have dwelt; 
 
 Upon whose sacred hearth 
 
 So often I have knelt; 
 
 'Neath thy kindly shelter 
 
 So long I've waked and slept; 
 
 Under thy dear old roof 
 
 So oft I've joyed and wept! 
 
 Farewell ! I must say farewell, 
 Though each sad sound's a knell 
 To every hope of pleasure; 
 Farewell, my every treasure ! 
 
 "Each corner a sacred nook, 
 Thy pictured walls my pride; 
 Where the firelight glistened and glowed 
 So oft at evening-tide !
 
 150 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 The books that ever have brought 
 Sweet company and rest; 
 The piano, where, at twilight, 
 I played the songs loved best ! 
 Now, passionately, I play 
 The old and favorite lay 
 Of ' Home, Sweet Home ' 
 A sob each measured tone. 
 
 " can I say farewell 
 To these my cherished treasures? 
 To the place that's been the scene 
 Of my success and failures? 
 For years, with best endeavor, 
 I've sought to intertwine 
 Love's choicest gifts and favor 
 Around this earthly shrine. 
 But now, a long farewell ! 
 No more am I to dwell 
 In this my much loved home 
 A wanderer, I roam ! " 
 
 And so she sang, with aching heart, 
 Her farewell, while the teardrops start. 
 She did not see where she had failed, 
 And all this misery entailed, 
 Through lack of one forgiving word 
 When first love's placid font was stirred 
 By angry words, and thoughts uncurbed, 
 Which all its waters left disturbed.
 
 ESTRANGED. 151 
 
 Now, ere the coming of the dawn, 
 
 From home and husband she had gone; 
 
 To try if thus she might forget 
 
 Her wretchedness, and live, e'en yet. 
 
 0, could she only see or know 
 
 How keenly felt this cruel blow 
 
 By him, whose love she thought was dead, 
 
 'Twould have in both hearts forgiveness plead, 
 
 And to sweet reconcilement led 
 
 These hearts that, separated, bled. 
 
 The days have lengthened into weeks 
 
 But the forgetfulness she seeks 
 
 Cannot be won. ~No matter where 
 
 She comes or goes, there greets her, there, 
 
 The silent ghost of days so fair, 
 
 Ere grief had filled her heart with care. 
 
 Unable to resume once more 
 
 The pleasures which brought joy before, 
 
 She wanders restlessly, unblest, 
 
 Away from where she might have rest, 
 
 If only she'd retrace her way, 
 
 This long and lonely summer's day. 
 
 A sudden yearning fills her breast 
 To see once more the dear home nest, 
 And look again upon the face 
 Whose ev'ry image she can trace ; 
 Its lines, by absence, gentler made,
 
 152 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And lighter less and less of shade. 
 The resolution formed, she wastes 
 No time in faltering, but hastes 
 At swiftest speed, on early train 
 Ere courage fail or day shall wane 
 Her destination, fair, to gain. 
 And, just as twilight shadow lends 
 A tender charm to all, she bends 
 Her eager footsteps to the spot 
 Where once so blessed had been her lot. 
 The door's ajar, the window raised; 
 She hears a voice, and starts, amazed 
 At hearing, in a low, sad strain, 
 Her own name breathed in soft refrain : 
 "0 Eva! come to me again! 
 
 "How desolate these bowers 
 
 That once were gay ! 
 How withered are the flowers, 
 
 Now she's away, 
 Who lovingly bestowed 
 
 The tender care 
 By which they grew and glowed 
 
 With color rare ! 
 How lonely are these walls 
 
 Their beauty gone ! 
 Startled my own footfalls 
 
 Treading alone, 
 Where two were wont to walk 
 
 At twilight's hour, 
 And in sweet converse talk 
 In this fair bower.
 
 ESTRANGED. 153 
 
 How dark and still the place 
 
 It's life all dead, 
 Since she who gave it grace 
 
 Has from it fled ! 
 A boat with but one oar, 
 
 On midnight sea! 
 I ne'er knew gloom before 
 
 Ah ! woe is me ! 
 I would that I had died 
 
 Ere first I said 
 Those angry words of pride 
 
 Swift arrows sped, 
 Unheeding what betide." 
 
 She listens, breathless, to the end; 
 Did guardian angels her thus send 
 To hear these words that tell her still 
 She's loved and missed? A happy thrill 
 Steals through her frame ; and at a bound 
 She's at his side her arms are wound 
 About his neck in sweet caress 
 And pity for his loneliness. 
 " Forgive ! " " Forgive ! " they utter, both, 
 The word they had so long been loth 
 To speak. The noblest word on earth 
 A rare, bright gem, of heavenly birth ! 
 20
 
 154 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 As AMPHION, by the music of his lyre, 
 
 Built mighty walls about the ancient Thebes, 
 
 E'en so didst thou, in beauty, build a higher, 
 
 From which all glory of the sky and glebes, 
 
 E'en by the common mind can be discerned 
 
 Guided by thy unerring, gifted pen. 
 
 The lowliest theme was never by thee spurned, 
 
 Yet heavenly fire within thy pictures burned. 
 
 " The Great Interpreter ! " well hast thou earned 
 
 The title: for, unto thy fellow-men, 
 
 Thou didst show the beauty of familiar things 
 
 So little thought of, and less understood; 
 
 Didst bring from far and near most joyful tidings, 
 
 To ev'ry human heart, in ev'ry mood ! 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 PROPHET and faithful priest of nature, thou, 
 Who didst, at woodland altars, ever bow 
 In love, and praise, and adoration sweet ! 
 Thy heart in happy unison did beat 
 With loving nature, throbbing round thy feet 
 In flowing stream, or forest's cool retreat, 
 The sky's rich tinted hues at sunsets glow, 
 Or zephyrs sighing through the leaflets, low;
 
 LIGHT. 155 
 
 The mountains all of earth, or air, or sky, 
 Their secrets yielded their true votary! 
 The glossy green of forest leaves, the blue 
 Of summer skies, the morn and eve's bright hue, 
 And ladened bee, are seen as one reads through 
 His book, as fresh and fragrant as the dew. 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 "LET there be light!" God said, "and there was 
 
 light!" 
 
 And it dispelled the chaos of the night 
 "Which long had brooded, darkling, o'er the earth, 
 From its conception till its glorious birth. 
 His own Great Spirit lighted up the deep, 
 Where darkness had, for ages, had its keep, 
 And gave unto the light the name of Day; 
 The darkness He called Night, and that their 
 
 sway 
 
 Might be divided, created, the fourth day, 
 The sun, and moon, and stars in bright array; 
 And set them in the firmament to light 
 The sun the day, the lesser ones the night, 
 And they found wondrous favor in His sight. 
 
 The sun: that splendid, luminous, central sphere, 
 Sending to far off Neptune and planets near 
 Its white and radiant, warm and cheerful beams; 
 And through whose warmth and light the earth 
 now gleams,
 
 156 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Reflecting back a beauty new and rare ; 
 
 But there are none yet to behold it, there, 
 
 Except the Lord, who " saw that it was good," 
 
 And all its use and beauty understood. 
 
 The penciled rays, through ether's vast expanse 
 
 Came warming and delighting with their glance. 
 
 The light created, now the perfect eye 
 Was made in God's own image, and, thereby, 
 The glory of the earth, and air, and sky, 
 And all created things that in them lie, 
 Were well perceived by man's immortal mind 
 Each mirrored, by reflected light, in kind, 
 Through the transparent cornea, far behind 
 Into the picture gallery of the mind. 
 
 O, why did not the intellectual eye 
 As well discern lights of the mental sky ? 
 Those great, bright lights sent hither to illume 
 The midnight darkness of the mental gloom 
 Which had, for ages, been the world's sad doom. 
 The great Gallileo, who sought to prove 
 The sun the center, and that earth did move, 
 Found recognition of these great truths slow, 
 And rack and torture had to undergo. 
 But when released from pain of inquisition, 
 Stoutly maintained his first and true position, 
 Determined that his light should brightly shine, 
 Though intolerance and ignorance should com 
 bine 
 By their opaqueness to shut out the line.
 
 LIGHT. 157 
 
 And they who first, by printing, thought to shed 
 A ray of light where all, it seemed, had fled, 
 And ignorance and darkness reigned supreme 
 The hideous nightmare of a horrid dream 
 And hoped to rend this dark and thick'ning veil, 
 And let the light of hope and truth prevail, 
 "Were deemed, by superstitious minds, in league 
 "With demons, in some new and dark intrigue. 
 These noble benefactors met, instead 
 Of love and homage, persecutions dread. 
 And yet this light shone brighter, on and on, 
 Dispelling the dark shadows, one by one, 
 Till knowledge, which so long had dormant lain 
 Through the Dark Ages, waked to life again: 
 Feeble its throbbings, first, but gaining strength 
 Until it grew, a Hercules, at length, 
 And ignorance that heavy, galling chain 
 By which the Romish Popes had held full reign 
 O'er body and soul of man, in rule profane 
 Could not 'gainst dawning light its sway maintain. 
 Like spectral shadows of the fallen foe 
 Upon the walls of Prague, were, long ago, 
 Dispelled, the legend says, by rising sun, 
 E'en so it was with this now glorious one. 
 
 Illustrious Luther gave once more to man 
 The "Word of Light, which long, by fiendish clan, 
 Had been a fountain sealed, and quickly ran 
 The influence of this light through all the land, 
 Unchaining truth and right with mighty hand. 
 The Gospel of that wondrous Light that came
 
 158 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 To be the light of men, eschewing fame 
 
 And Heaven's delights, that He might be to men 
 
 An everlasting Light and Glory, again, 
 
 The opaqueness of the mental eye removed, 
 
 Its vision thus restored and soon improved, 
 
 A great Illuminator warmed and glowed 
 
 Where long the stagnant stream of darkness 
 
 flowed, 
 
 Brooded by vultures man by man destroyed 
 By ignorance divided and destroyed. 
 This reign of terror passed, the Light of Love 
 Shines for the hearts of all who round it move, 
 Irradiating wondrous fire and glow 
 To open hearts that long the truth to know. 
 
 But why, e'en yet, will some whom God has given 
 
 His glorious Light to guide their feet to heaven, 
 
 And perfect mental vision to behold 
 
 His goodness and His glories manifold, 
 
 Still let so many objects come between 
 
 Their souls and this One Great and Glorious 
 
 Sheen, 
 
 Eclipsing all its brightness, and still walk 
 In darkened paths, where death and danger stalk? 
 Why still do ignorance and division tread 
 Life's highways where the truth should reign 
 
 instead ? 
 
 For light, if not obstructed, ever brings 
 The perfect image of beholden things. 
 O, keep the soul and mind transparent, bright, 
 That God's own Word may there reflect the light.
 
 NEVER AGAIN. 159 
 
 O NEVER AGAIN. 
 
 GONE is my youth and gladness 
 Gone is the wife of my heart! 
 
 I tread life's way with sadness 
 And with longing to depart. 
 
 In years I am not old, 
 
 But the joy of life is fled. 
 The hearth of home is cold, 
 
 Its shining light is dead. 
 
 never again, for me, 
 
 Will a hearth glow as warm and bright; 
 And never again will I see 
 
 Lamps that give out such light. 
 
 And never again shall I rest, 
 
 This side of eternity, 
 As I did in the dear home-nest, 
 
 Encouraged and soothed by thee. 
 
 Each joy was doubled by sharing 
 Each sorrow was lightened, too; 
 
 1 could fight life's battles with daring, 
 Helped by a smile from you. 
 
 But now I have no joys to share, 
 And sorrows must bear alone; 
 
 I'm weary with life's fitful care 
 My once happy lot I bemoan.
 
 160 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 O, why is there given such bliss, 
 So sweet but so short-lived, 
 
 If there's not a world beyond this, 
 Where we'll never be deprived 
 
 Of love, and rest, and home, 
 And all that makes life sweet? 
 
 Where never again we shall roam 
 With tired and lonely feet? 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 THE day has come when we again 
 Strew flowers o'er our heroes slain; 
 And, with the garlands that we weave 
 For those for whom we sadly grieve, 
 Come memories of noble deeds 
 The clash of arms, the neigh of steeds; 
 And once again our country bleeds, 
 As right with wrong so sternly pleads 
 In all dread warfare's rigid needs. 
 
 We hear once more the rousing call 
 For those who love their country, all, 
 Under her banner to enlist 
 To help dispel the rising mist 
 Which threatened to become a pall. 
 When " Rally 'round the flag boys," 
 Filled the village streets with noise;
 
 MEMOKIAL DAY. 161 
 
 Or, " Left, right ! left, right !" sounding shrill, 
 
 As officers essayed to drill 
 
 Steps that hitherto had trod 
 
 In furrows made by fresh-turned clod, 
 
 Or, peacefully, their own green sod. 
 
 "To arms! to arms!" rang through the land, 
 And answering it, a loyal band 
 Came thronging, by the flag to stand. 
 Even the children caught the fire 
 Of patriotism and holy ire, 
 And rallied 'neath the colors dear, 
 With loyal songs and words of cheer; 
 Helping in others to inspire 
 Enthusiasm, and desire 
 To save the land at any price 
 Even their lives the sacrifice. 
 
 "With bayonets glistening in summer sun, 
 The last fond word and farewell done, 
 Father, husband, brother, friend, 
 And lover, now, their voices blend 
 In rousing cheers for native land, 
 And for the dear ones left behind. 
 And then we see them march away 
 O, ever memorable day ! 
 Their hearts high-beating at the thought 
 Of freedom won by battles fought; 
 They dash away the hasty tear, 
 To glance once more back to the rear 
 To catch the last hand wave of dear 
 21
 
 162 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And loving ones. Again they cheer; 
 Seeking to drive away the fear 
 They see in the blanched faces, there, 
 Of mothers, wives, and sweethearts fair. 
 Proudly, sadly they march away, 
 Thinking of those they may never see; 
 The drum and fife sorrowf 'ly play 
 " The Girl I Left Behind Me." 
 The terrors of war as yet unknown, 
 This was its first sad undertone 
 Leaving their dear ones all alone. 
 The rallies, and dinners, and drill had been 
 Like a victor's march in triumphal din; 
 But now stern warfare they must face, 
 Till left no mark of treason's trace. 
 
 Village and farm left desolate 
 This is war's too cruel fate. 
 The gray-haired man and fair-haired youth 
 Have gone to fight for home and truth; 
 And those in prime of hope and strength 
 Have gone, until there's left, at length, 
 Scarce one to guard the town from foes 
 That hold the border land in throes 
 Of fear and deep alarm : repose 
 Becomes a thing unknown to those 
 Weary and anxious women, who 
 Eagerly watch the coming through 
 Of the daily carrier of the news 
 From the seat of war. He sadly views
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 163 
 
 The anxious group that gathers there, 
 
 Knowing the deep suspense and care 
 
 Gnawing their hearts ; and feels a fear 
 
 Lest e'en the victory, bought so dear, 
 
 Of which he brings them word, may sear 
 
 The last fond hope; for some may hear 
 
 Of loved ones fallen on battled field, 
 
 And life to them no more shall yield 
 
 Aught but loneliness and grief. 
 
 The list of names is read in brief 
 
 And eager tones. "0 God, 'tis true!" 
 
 A mother cries, " My boy in blue 
 
 In the front ranks has fallen, too ! " 
 
 And, weeping, she falls upon the breast 
 
 Of the gentle girl whom he loved best; 
 
 Together they mingle their tears and moan 
 
 For a life that was dearer to both than their own. 
 
 A wife, with eager and pallid face, 
 
 In missing or wounded list can trace, 
 
 E'en through her tears, the name of him 
 
 Without whose love life seemed so dim; 
 
 She looks in wondering baby eyes, 
 
 So like to his, and bravely tries 
 
 To summon courage to endure 
 
 The dread suspense she cannot cure. 
 
 " Wounded or missing, dying or dead : " 
 
 This was what the papers said 
 
 And life was o'er for those who read. 
 
 O "War ! dark vulture brooding o'er 
 Hearts and homes where, e'er before,
 
 164 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Love, and hope, and light had lent 
 
 A charm to life; ere treason rent 
 
 Our glorious land with dark intent ! 
 
 But, at length, the cloud is past 
 
 The Union saved; and now, at last, 
 
 They who are left betake their way 
 
 Homeward impatient at delay. 
 
 But O the thousands of proud, brave men 
 
 "Who never came back to their homes again ! 
 
 And how many have died, since then, 
 
 From health that was weakened in prison pen, 
 
 Or by exposure and hardened fare 
 
 That surrounds the soldier everywhere ! 
 
 Strew flowers strew flowers of brightest hue 
 
 Over the graves of our heroes true! 
 
 Fire the guns and muffle the drums! 
 
 Check not the tear that quickly comes, 
 
 As memories of our noble slain 
 
 Come thronging in a golden train ! 
 
 Let young and old, in one acclaim, 
 
 Attest the honor and the fame 
 
 In which we hold the soldier's name : 
 
 They whose lives were sanctified 
 
 Through love of country noble pride! 
 
 And while we lay our offerings down 
 
 Tokens of love and true renown 
 
 May God give an eternal crown !
 
 OUK COUNTRY. 165 
 
 OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 ' OUR country, 'tis of thee," 
 
 We proudly sing! 
 For thy prosperity 
 
 Best wishes bring ! 
 Blest be thy liberty 
 
 Each man a king ! 
 
 There lies beneath the sun 
 
 No fairer land 
 Than this, our loved one 
 
 United band 
 Of loyal States, begun 
 
 By justice's hand. 
 
 May it no more be rent 
 
 By aught of ill; 
 But, to its lustre, lent 
 
 Each noble thrill 
 Of loyal hearts, content 
 
 With country still. 
 
 And as, in days of yore, 
 
 Sweet liberty 
 Was prized as naught before, 
 
 E'en so may we 
 Lay up, in royal store, 
 
 Its dignity:
 
 166 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Teach all our boys and girls 
 
 Its worth to prize ; 
 And as our flag unfurls 
 
 Free to the skies, 
 So let their thoughts bright pearls 
 
 For freedom rise. 
 
 " Our country, 'tis of thee," 
 
 "We sing to-day! 
 Thou art so great and free ! 
 
 For thee we pray, 
 That free thou'lt ever be, 
 
 And blest thy sway ! 
 
 And vast eternity 
 
 Shall catch the ray 
 Of light shed out by thee 
 
 For eternal day ! 
 God bless our country, free ! 
 
 For this we pray. 
 JULY 4, 1886. 
 
 WRECK OF THE STEAMER SULTANA. 
 
 APRIL 26, 1865. 
 
 AT the wharf at Memphis the steamer lay, 
 
 IHum'ed by the sunlight's glistening ray, 
 
 At nearly the close of a sweet spring day. 
 
 In power, and beauty, and grace, 
 
 A magnificent floating palace 
 
 The pride and pomp of the river's array.
 
 WRECK OF THE STEAMER SULTANA. 167 
 
 And crowded on the decks around, 
 
 Two thousand soldiers, homeward bound, 
 
 With weakened health, and many a wound, 
 
 Stand watching the setting sun, 
 
 Thinking, ere many a one 
 Has set, the "welcome home" shall sound. 
 
 The wished for hour has come at last 
 
 Seiges and battles are things of the past; 
 
 No more will they march at the bugle's blast, 
 But be free to resume, once more, 
 The pursuits of the years before 
 
 Ere the dark cloud of war its shadow cast. 
 
 How good it seems to be free again 
 Free from the Southern prison pen 
 Free to act and think as men. 
 
 And a hope beams in the eye, 
 
 As they watch the sunset sky, 
 Of seeing home and friends again. 
 
 And many happy words are spoken 
 That all the joy of hope betoken; 
 And thus the tiresome delay is broken. 
 
 The sun at last is down, 
 
 And brilliant lights of the town 
 Shed out their gleaming ray unbroken. 
 
 At length the crew have sought repose, 
 And, wrapt in slumber, dream of those
 
 168 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 So dear to them. Now onward goes 
 
 The great boat, glidingly 
 
 And majestically, 
 Bearing its precious freight of heroes. 
 
 Enjoy thy dreams, O soldier true, 
 'Tis all that's left for thee to do! 
 The joy that's permeating through 
 
 The happy, throbbing brow 
 
 "Will be the last for now, 
 Death, instead of home, awaits you. 
 
 A loud explosion rends the air 
 
 More terrible than cannons are! 
 
 And now confusion, wild, reigns where 
 So peacefully they dreamed 
 That almost home they seemed; 
 
 And all is horror and dark despair. 
 
 The water is covered with a writhing niass- 
 A wounded, helpless, drowning mass 
 And the boats are all blown away. Alas ! 
 The hope that fanned their dreams 
 A mocking phantom seems 
 For now it can never come to pass. 
 
 Some struggle wildly with despair, 
 And shrieks for help now rend the air, 
 But all in vain no help is there. 
 The boat that proudly came 
 Is now all wreathed in flame, 
 Shedding on the scene a lurid glare.
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 169 
 
 And they who oft had faced death where 
 The bullets whistled through the air, 
 With bitter cry of offered prayer, 
 
 Leap from the burning boat; 
 
 But the waters only gloat, 
 And close again o'er a prey so fair. 
 
 The balmy morning dawns, at last, 
 
 But the struggle for life has long been past; 
 
 The soldiers awake not their eyes are fast 
 Closed in that dreamless sleep, 
 In their couch in the watery deep 
 
 Waiting the call of the last trumpet's blast. 
 
 Of all who had watched the setting sun, 
 With thoughts of home now almost won, 
 How few are left to hail this one ! 
 
 Nearer home than they thought 
 
 All of life's battles fought 
 In this, their last, hard, desperate one ! 
 
 The " Father of Waters " thy shroud and thy grave, 
 Sleep peacefully under the dark, turbid wave, 
 O soldiers, true-hearted, enduring and brave ! 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 THE angry word that's said in haste 
 Seems but a little thing; 
 
 But O the heart 's a burning waste 
 Embittered by its sting. 
 22
 
 170 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 The careless word of gossip's tongue, 
 
 Unheeding where it falls, 
 May break the finest friendship 'mong 
 
 Those whom its venom thralls. 
 
 The wine-cup raised to boyish lips 
 
 Is thought a trivial thing; 
 But 'tis not long ere fiery sips 
 
 Death and destruction bring. 
 
 One glass too much with friends imbibed 
 Robbed a nation of her king; 
 
 The history, for years inscribed, 
 Changed by this little thing. 
 
 The first wrong step quickly retraced 
 Would little trouble bring; 
 
 But if pursued, soon is effaced 
 The way to true living. 
 
 A kindly word, or look, or tone, 
 
 Given to hearts that bleed, 
 Soothes many a care and bitter moan ; 
 
 And supplements their need. 
 
 The few things learned each day we live, 
 
 And treasured up as small, 
 Do, in the end, much knowledge give, 
 
 And pave the way to all. 
 
 Each tempter foiled, each victory won, 
 Gives strength to win again :
 
 ACROSS THE FIELDS. 171 
 
 We fight life's battles one by one, 
 On mountain top or fen. 
 
 O can we call these little things, 
 
 That sway a nation's fate ? 
 Or to our lives so surely bring 
 
 A joy or woe so great? 
 
 There is no Lilliputian scale 
 
 For seeming little things; 
 For each one is a knight in mail, 
 
 Which shame or honor brings. 
 
 ACROSS THE FIELDS. 
 
 ACROSS the fields of life we stray 
 
 Gathering golden grain; 
 Gleaming and winnowing every day, 
 
 Some treasure new to gain. 
 
 The stubble, though bright, is rough to our feet, 
 
 As we follow the reapers' train, 
 Gathering up the golden wheat, 
 
 The bread of life to gain. 
 
 Hard must we glean in the fields of thought 
 
 Under the harvest sun, 
 Gath'ring up where others have wrought, 
 
 Winnowing when day is done.
 
 172 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And many handfuls of golden grain 
 
 Are left, by reapers kind, 
 To cheer and gladden the weary brain 
 
 Of the industrious mind. 
 
 Let us glean, too, in the harvest of souls, 
 
 Seeking if we may bring 
 Even one of our comrades, out of the shoals, 
 
 Unto the Harvest King. 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 JUST as the artist catches every shade 
 And richly-tinted coloring of the sky, 
 And makes them live again on glowing canvas, 
 Even so the poet-artist must imbibe 
 And catch each light and shade of passing feel 
 ing; 
 
 Each longing aspiration and each sigh 
 At failures; each bounding throb of gladsome 
 
 rapture 
 
 When high success has crowned the laboring oar; 
 The shout, the silent tear, the laugh, the moan 
 He should depict it all as if his own 
 Heart beat with fever heat with all the world. 
 
 His ear should catch the music high above 
 The harsh, discordant notes of lower air, 
 And in melodious measures sing it o'er 
 To fellow mortals struggling on the way.
 
 HOMESICK. 173 
 
 His eyes should note all beauty, everywhere, 
 
 Of spirit, or of earth and air and sky; 
 
 And he should then interpret it to man, 
 
 In words that burn and glow with heavenly fire. 
 
 HOMESICK. 
 
 IF childhood could come again, 
 With its long, bright afternoons; 
 
 The orchard, and home, and mother; 
 The restful, quiet moons 
 
 How quickly our cares would vanish, 
 And heal the deep heart wounds. 
 
 If only again we could saunter 
 Down the shady path to the well, 
 
 Or through the leafy orchard 
 Where we loved to sit so well, 
 
 How much of life's hard burden 
 We'd roll off who can tell? 
 
 O the dear, old-fashioned home, 
 
 So full of rest and peace ! 
 To thee we would gladly come, 
 
 And gain a sweet surcease 
 From cares, which, with the years, 
 
 Alarmingly increase. 
 
 O rosy, care-free childhood! 
 'No poet's pen can paint
 
 174 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 Thy free and happy pleasures, 
 Before the world's restraint 
 
 Has harshened the sweet measures 
 By its sad, selfish taint. 
 
 WHEN LIFE IS O'ER. 
 
 LIFE'S "fitful fever o'er," 
 
 We will no more deplore 
 
 The endless woes in store 
 
 For mortals here. 
 
 We'll leave all harrowing care r 
 And dwell forever where 
 God's loved and just ones are 
 When life is over. 
 
 When we shall live anew, 
 
 The good we sought to do 
 
 But did not carry through 
 
 Will then appear. 
 
 All will be understood 
 The "why" of bad and good, 
 If just the best we could 
 
 We wrought while here. 
 
 And heart shall speak to heart; 
 And ne'er be torn apart 
 By doubt, or angry dart 
 Of passion's whim.
 
 A BOUNDLESS OCEAN. 175 
 
 Life's "fitful fever o'er," 
 God grant that we may soar 
 To realms where, evermore, 
 We'll rest in peace. 
 
 A BOUNDLESS OCEAK 
 
 THE world is a boundless ocean 
 Like little boats we ride, 
 
 Driven, by circumstances, 
 In and out with the tide. 
 
 We never know when we're happy 
 Life's pleasures seem greatest when past; 
 
 Tossed hither and yon by the breakers, 
 We're engulfed by a maelstrom at last. 
 
 Would we could sail o'er life's ocean 
 
 In ships all iron-clad, 
 Pouring oil on troubled waters 
 
 Smiling, however sad ! 
 
 Ruling, not succumbing, 
 
 The angry waves of fate ; 
 And, by noble, steady doing, 
 
 Make our lives consecrate !
 
 176 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 
 
 LIFE has nothing worth giving 
 
 But love. 
 'Twould not be worth living 
 
 'Thout love. 
 
 There's naught so refining, 
 So free from repining, 
 So like stars a-shining, 
 
 As love. 
 
 Chorus: Love, love, blest love 
 
 Life has nothing worth giving 
 
 But love. 
 
 Life has nothing worth giving - 
 'Twould not be worth living 
 'Twould not be worth living 
 'Thout love. 
 
 There is nothing worth seeking 
 
 But love, 
 Through all the worlds eking 
 
 'Tis love. 
 
 Fond hearts close combining, 
 Kin souls thus entwining 
 Brings richest heart-mining: 
 
 Sweet love ! 
 
 There is naught up in heaven 
 
 But love; 
 The Rock that was riven 
 
 "Was love.
 
 LABORERS WITH GOD. 177 
 
 And there we'll be given 
 A love pure as heaven 
 Our sins all forgiven 
 
 Through love. 
 
 LABORERS WITH GOD. 
 
 FOR we are " laborers with God," 
 The great mosaic, soul, to build; 
 
 "We should make life a masterpiece 
 When aided by so high a guild. 
 
 God's not in need of our poor aid, 
 But stoops to help us as we build: 
 
 Let us be guided by His law 
 
 His hand than ours is much more skilled. 
 
 Be careful how and where we build 
 
 Make the great structure strong and pure ; 
 Build on the true Foundation Stone, 
 
 That it in beauty shall endure 
 When tried by deep adversity 
 
 The fire, and rain, and heavy storm. 
 If planned by the Great Architect, 
 
 'Twill stand in whiter, cleaner form. 
 
 23
 
 178 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 GROWING. 
 
 THE growing flower needs the sun, 
 Its fragrant beauty to unfold; 
 
 And in our lives must shine God's love, 
 Their grace and usefulness to mold. 
 
 The plant needs wind and rain, as well 
 Daylight and darkness, dew and shade ; 
 
 And so by trials hard to bear 
 
 Our souls are often stronger made. 
 
 God leads us often through the sea, 
 Or o'er the desert's burning sand, 
 
 That by this schooling we may gain 
 The power to "possess the land." 
 
 Then let us murmur not at fate 
 Contented be, whate'er betide; 
 
 If only we at last may meet 
 Our Savior on the other side. 
 
 CLEPSYDRA. 
 
 THE water steals away 
 Through the ancient clepsydra, 
 As the fleeting moments stray; 
 The notches, that tell the hours 
 On the stick, as the water lowers, 
 Show us time's passing hours.
 
 CLEPSYDRA. 179 
 
 Our life, too, steals away 
 Through Time's great clepsydra 
 It's drops we cannot stay. 
 There are notches that tell the hours, 
 The fresh or the withered flowers 
 The strong or the failing powers. 
 
 We know when it is the morn 
 By the brimming hope, new-born, 
 That all will be oil and corn 
 And love along life's highway, 
 And brilliant will be the day, 
 As the waters glide away. 
 
 "When half empty is the jar, 
 And doubt and sorrow mar 
 Our once most brilliant star, 
 We know it is high noon 
 Come to our lives too soon, 
 Ere half solved the mystic rune. 
 
 Children to men have grown ! 
 And one by one have flown 
 Old friends their graves are strewn 
 With tears and flowers sweet; 
 And here and there we meet 
 Another, with tired feet, 
 
 Like us grown old and gray, 
 His life fast slipping away 
 Toward its closing day;
 
 180 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 And we know the eve draws near. 
 
 Happy, if we may hear 
 
 The hour sound strong and clear.* 
 
 BE GENTLE. 
 
 O CURB the self-assertion 
 
 That rises quick and strong 
 
 ' Tis not the right nutrition 
 For love and peace at home. 
 
 The angry word will linger 
 
 And in each bosom burn, 
 Like bite of pois'nous stinger, 
 
 In the atmosphere of home. 
 
 And it will bring no sooner 
 
 The recognition sought; 
 For love and justice, ever, 
 
 By gentleness are brought. 
 
 And sweeter far than honey 
 
 To the hearts of those we love 
 
 Better than fame or money 
 Will the soft answer prove. 
 
 O guard the priceless treasure 
 The love within your home ; 
 
 And do not stint its measure 
 Or let its brightness gloam, 
 
 * Some of the wealthier ancients had clepsydras which sounded a musical 
 riote each hour,
 
 NOW, AND THEN. 181 
 
 Through lack of kindly favor 
 
 And gentle patient tone. 
 He who is slow to anger 
 
 Rules on the highest throne. 
 
 In all this wide world over 
 Let us make one spot so dear, 
 
 That our souls shall find safe harbor 
 From storms of doubt and fear. 
 
 NOW, AND THEN. 
 
 THE things of life seem wonderfully small, 
 Compared to those beyond and why enthrall 
 Our minds and hearts by making them our all ? 
 
 What though success our efforts does not crown 
 With joy, or love, or pittance of renown, 
 If, at the last, we gain a heavenly crown ? 
 
 What though our eager hands do fail to grasp 
 The laurel, and unfinished is our task, 
 If but, at last, our Savior's hand we clasp? 
 
 What though 'Our hearts are often sore oppressed 
 In this short life, and anguish fill the breast, 
 If, in the great hereafter, we gain rest? 
 
 What though our longing eyes may fail to see 
 The consummation of our aims, if we 
 May win, for work, heaven's vast eternity?
 
 182 LOVE PURIFIED. 
 
 What though by adverse winds our lives be driven, 
 And on time's rocky coast be sadly riven, 
 If we but anchor safe, at last, in heaven ? 
 
 Love, fame, wealth and earthly ease 
 
 O we can well afford to lose all these, 
 
 If fanned our brows, at last, by heaven's breeze.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
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