Samuel Xeasfc 
 
 1bis Booh 
 
 ntbou art borrowed by a 
 friend, 
 
 Right welcome shall be be 
 to read, to study, not to lend, 
 But to return to me 
 
 not tbat imparted knowl- 
 edge dotb 
 
 Diminish learning's store, 
 But books, T find, if often lent, 
 Return to rt*e no more 
 
POETRY AND SONG. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES GOWDY CLARK. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. 
 
 FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS. 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. 
 
 BOSTON ; 
 
 COMPOSITION AND BLBCTROTYPING BY 
 C. F. MATTOON AND COMPANY. 
 
ps 
 
 CIZ3 
 
 To 
 
 JENNIE CLARK JACOBSON, 
 ST. PAUL, MINN. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THESE rhymes have been developed at intervals, and 
 thrown off at random, during the past thirty-five years of 
 a somewhat busy public life, involving almost constant 
 travel, unaccompanied, until within the present year, by 
 any serious view to their ultimate collection in a volume 
 by themselves. 
 
 With the exception of the last poem in the book, 
 which is my latest production, and in which I attempt to 
 give voice to the universal and "Divine Energy" that 
 acts in unison with the Supreme Mind, they are, as a 
 rule, arranged without regard to the order in which they 
 were first written. 
 
 A number of them are already familiar to the public 
 through repeated appearance in the newspapers; and, 
 with others less familiar, are now for the first time 
 organized into a separate literary colony at the earnest 
 request, not only of old and valued friends, but of stran- 
 gers in all parts of the land. 
 
 No less than forty of the lyrics have been wedded to 
 the author's own music, and to the music of other com- 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 posers, and issued in sheet form ; and a few of these 
 written long ago treat of themes that, perhaps, would 
 not have been chosen later on in life, while others are 
 by no means up to the author's present standard ot ex- 
 pression. But even these have friends who have sung, 
 or heard them sung, in times past, and who would miss 
 them, and be dissatisfied, were their favorites to be 
 excluded from the collection. 
 
 JAMES G. CLARK. 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS, MINN., June, 1886. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE x 
 
 THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS .... 5 
 
 NOVEMBER 9 
 
 MY MOTHER is NEAR 12 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S SIGNAL 14 
 
 OCEAN MUSINGS . 16 
 
 THE SILVER PILGRIM . 18 
 
 THE WOOD ROBIN 21 
 
 OUTCAST 24 
 
 BY THE BORDERS OF THE SEA . . . . 25 
 
 SWEET RUTH 27 
 
 DR. JAMES C. JACKSON 29 
 
 ART THOU LIVING YET? 30 
 
 PATRIOTIC AND NATIONAL. 
 
 THE BIRD OF WASHINGTON ..... 32 
 
 STAR OF THE NORTH 33 
 
 A PROPHECY 35 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 FAGF 
 
 FREMONT'S BATTLE HYMN ...... 37 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE BATTLE-FIELD . 41 
 
 MINNIE MINTON 43 
 
 FREEDOM'S DEAD. ....... 54 
 
 SOUGHT, BUT NEVER FOUND . . . . .46 
 
 WHEN You AND I WERE SOLDIER BOYS. . . 48 
 
 SCOTLAND, I LOVE THEE 50 
 
 AMERICA AND IRELAND 51 
 
 Two CONQUERORS 53 
 
 SONGS AND BALLADS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 THE OLD MOUNTAIN TREE 55 
 
 THE ROVER'S GRAVE 57 
 
 THE ROCK OF LIBERTY 58 
 
 MEET ME BY THE RUNNING BROOK .... 60 
 
 THE EXILE'S RETURN ....... 61 
 
 JOYS OF MY CHILDHOOD 62 
 
 OH ! TAKE ME FROM THE FESTAL THRONG . 63 
 
 MOONLIGHT AND STARLIGHT 65 
 
 OREANNA 66 
 
 WE CANNOT GIVE THEE UP -67 
 
 THE CAPTIVE 69 
 
 SONG OF THE INDIAN MOTHER 70 
 
 MOONLIGHT HOURS ....... 72 
 
 HARY O'LANE 74 
 
Contents. ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tis SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED .... 76 
 
 SLEEP, ROBIN, SLEEP . . ..... 78 
 
 LET us LOVE WH-ILE WE MAY 79 
 
 MARION MOORE 80 
 
 LORD, KEEP MY MEMORY GREEN . . . 82 
 
 SPIRITUAL LYRICS. 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE 84 
 
 THE DAWN OF REDEMPTION 86 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL HILLS 88 
 
 PROPHET OF NAZARETH 90 
 
 WHERE THE ROSES NEVER WITHER .... 92 
 
 MY PRAYER 94 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE BY AND BY 96 
 
 BEAUTIFUL ANNIE 98 
 
 CHILDREN'S DAY ........ 100 
 
 LOOK UP 102 
 
 LEONA 103 
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL . . . . . . 107 
 
 GOING HOME 108 
 
 LOVE SONGS AND POEMS. 
 
 OUR DREAM BY THE RIVER in 
 
 THE PICTURE . . .112 
 
 COMPLETENESS 113 
 
x Contents. 
 
 PAGR 
 
 THE GOLDEN DREAM 114 
 
 LOVE'S MORNING CALL 116 
 
 I CARE NOT FOR THIS WORLD WITHOUT THEE . .118 
 
 NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE 120 
 
 LOVE'S IMMORTALITY 122 
 
 JUNE DAYS 125 
 
 THE WOMAN IN THE MOON 127 
 
 OUR LOVE SHALL NEVER DlE 128 
 
 VENUS 130 
 
 I WILL BE WITH YOU 131 
 
 MISCELLANEO US. 
 
 THE BOATMAN'S DREAM 132 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL YEARS OF OUR LOVE . . . 138 
 
 FLOWERS ARE DYING 140 
 
 ON THE BEACH 142 
 
 A FRAGMENT 143 
 
 LUTHER OF PIETY HILL 144 
 
 A WESTERN TARR 146 
 
 ODE ON A CRACKED BELL 147 
 
 THE EAST AND THE WEST 149 
 
 To MY MOTHER'S SPIRIT IS 1 
 
 DAWN 152 
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL 153 
 
 THE INFINITE MOTHER 156 
 
POETRY AND SONG. 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 SWING inward, O gates of the future ! 
 
 Swing outward, ye doors of the past, 
 For the soul of the people is moving 
 
 And rising from slumber at last ; 
 The black forms of night are retreating, 
 
 The white peaks have signalled the day, 
 And Freedom her long roll is beating, 
 
 And calling her sons to the fray. 
 
 And woe to the rule that has plundered 
 
 And trod down the wounded and slain, 
 While the wars of the Old Time have thundered, 
 
 And men poured their life-tide in vain ; 
 The day of its triumph is ending, 
 
 The evening draws near with its doom, 
 And the star of its strength is descending, 
 
 To sleep in dishonor and gloom. 
 
 Though the tall trees are crowned on the highlands 
 With the first gold of rainbow and sun, 
 
2 The Voice of the People. 
 
 While far in the distance below them 
 
 The rivers in dark shadows run, 
 They must fall, and the workmen shall burn them 
 
 Where the lands and the low waters meet, 
 And the steeds of the New Time shall spurn them 
 
 With the soles of their swift-flying feet. 
 
 Swing inward, O gates ! till the morning 
 
 Shall paint the brown mountains in gold, 
 Till the life and the love of the New Time 
 
 Shall conquer the hate of the Old ; 
 Let the face and the hand of the Master 
 
 No longer be hidden from view, 
 Nor the lands he prepared for the many 
 
 Be trampled and robbed by the few. 
 
 The soil tells the same fruitful story, 
 
 The seasons their bounties display, 
 And the flowers lift their faces in glory 
 
 To catch the warm kisses of day; 
 While our fellows are treated as cattle 
 
 That are muzzled when treading the corn, 
 And millions sink down in Life's battle 
 
 With a sigh for the day they were born. 
 
 Must the Sea plead in vain that the River 
 May return to its mother for rest, 
 
 And the Earth beg the rain clouds to give her 
 Of dews they have drawn from her breast ? 
 
The Voice of the People. 
 
 Lo ! the answer comes back in a mutter 
 
 From domes where the quick lightnings glow, 
 
 And from heights where the mad waters utter 
 Their warning to dwellers below. 
 
 And woe to the robbers who gather 
 
 In fields where they never have sown, 
 Who have stolen the jewels from labor 
 
 And builded to Mammon a throne ; 
 For the snow-king, asleep by the fountains, 
 
 Shall wake in the summer's hot breath, 
 And descend in his rage from the mountains, 
 
 Bearing terror, destruction, and death. 
 
 And the throne of their god shall be crumbled, 
 
 And the sceptre be swept from his hand, 
 And the heart of the haughty be humbled, 
 
 And a servant be chief in the land, 
 And the Truth and the Power united 
 
 Shall rise from the graves of the True, 
 And the wrongs of the Old Time be righted 
 
 In the might and the light of the New. 
 
 For the Lord of the harvest hath said it, 
 
 Whose lips never uttered a lie, 
 And his prophets and poets have read it 
 
 In symbols of earth and of sky : 
 That to him who has revelled in plunder 
 
 Till the angel of conscience is dumb, 
 
2 The Voice of the People. 
 
 While far in the distance below them 
 
 The rivers in dark shadows run, 
 They must fall, and the workmen shall burn them 
 
 Where the lands and the low waters meet, 
 And the steeds of the New Time shall spurn them 
 
 With the soles of their swift-flying feet. 
 
 Swing inward, O gates ! till the morning 
 
 Shall paint the brown mountains in gold, 
 Till the life and the love of the New Time 
 
 Shall conquer the hate of the Old ; 
 Let the face and the hand of the Master 
 
 No longer be hidden from view, 
 Nor the lands he prepared for the many 
 
 Be trampled and robbed by the few. 
 
 The soil tells the same fruitful story, 
 
 The seasons their bounties display, 
 And the flowers lift their faces in glory 
 
 To catch the warm kisses of day ; 
 While our fellows are treated as cattle 
 
 That are muzzled when treading the corn, 
 And millions sink down in Life's battle 
 
 W r ith a sigh for the day they were born. 
 
 Must the Sea plead in vain that the River 
 
 May return to its mother for rest, 
 And the Earth beg the rain clouds to give her 
 
 Of dews they have drawn from her breast ? 
 
The Voice of the People. 
 
 Lo ! the answer comes back in a mutter 
 
 From domes where the quick lightnings glow, 
 
 And from heights where the mad waters utter 
 Their warning to dwellers below. 
 
 And woe to the robbers who gather 
 
 In fields where they never have sown, 
 Who have stolen the jewels from labor 
 
 And builded to Mammon a throne ; 
 For the snow-king, asleep by the fountains, 
 
 Shall wake in the summer's hot breath, 
 And descend in his rage from the mountains, 
 
 Bearing terror, destruction, and death. 
 
 And the throne of their god shall be crumbled, 
 
 And the sceptre be swept from his hand, 
 And the heart of the haughty be humbled, 
 
 And a servant be chief in the land, 
 And the Truth and the Power united 
 
 Shall rise from the graves of the True, 
 And the wrongs of the Old Time be righted 
 
 In the might and the light of the New. 
 
 For the Lord of the harvest hath said it, 
 
 Whose lips never uttered a lie, 
 And his prophets and poets have read it 
 
 In symbols of earth and of sky : 
 That to him who has revelled in plunder 
 
 Till the angel of conscience is dumb, 
 
4 The Voice of the People. 
 
 The shock of the earthquake and thunder 
 And tempest and torrent shall come. 
 
 Swing inward, O gates of the future ! 
 
 Swing outward, ye doors of the past, 
 A giant is waking from slumber 
 
 And rending his fetters at last ; 
 From the dust where his proud tyrants found him, 
 
 Unhonored and scorned and betrayed, 
 He shall rise with the sunlight around him, 
 
 And rule in the realm he has made. 
 
The Mount of the Holy Cross. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 
 
 The " Mount of the Holy Cross," the principal mountain of the Saguache 
 Range, Colorado, is 14,176 feet above tide-water. The Cross is located near 
 the top, facing the east, and consists of two crevices filled with snow summer 
 and winter. The crevices are about fifty feet wide, and the snow in them 
 from fifty to one hundred feet in depth. The perpendicular arm of the Cross 
 is some fifteen hundred feet long, and the horizontal arm seven hundred feet. 
 The Cross can be seen at a distance of thirty or forty miles. 
 
 THE ocean divided, the land struggled through, 
 And a newly born continent burst into view ; 
 Like furrows upturned by the ploughshare of God, 
 The mountain chains rose where the billows had 
 
 trod; 
 
 And their towering summits, in mighty array, 
 Turned their terrible brows to the glare of the day, 
 Like sentinels guarding the gateway of Time, 
 Lest the contact with mortals should stain it with 
 
 crime. 
 
 The ocean was vanquished, the new world was born. 
 Its headlands flung back the bold challenge of morn ; 
 The sun from the trembling sea marshalled the mist 
 Till the hills by the soul of the ocean were kissed ; 
 And the Winter-king reached from his cloud-castled 
 
 height 
 To hang on each brow the first garland of white ; 
 
6 The Mount of the Holy Cross. 
 
 For the crystals came forth at the touch of his wand, 
 And the soul of the sea ruled again on the land. 
 
 Then arose the loud moan of the desolate tide, 
 As it called back its own from the far mountain side : 
 " O soul of my soul ! by the sun led astray, 
 Return to the heart that would hold thee alway ; 
 The sun and the silver moon woo me in vain, 
 By day and by night I am sobbing with pain ; 
 Oh, loved of my bosom ! Oh, child of the Free, 
 Come back to the lips that are waiting for thee ! " 
 
 But a sound, like all melodies mingled in one, 
 Came down through the spaces that cradled the 
 
 sun. 
 
 Like music from far-distant planets it fell, 
 Till earth, air, and ocean were hushed in the spell : 
 " Be silent, ye waters, and cease your alarm, 
 All motion is only the pulse of my arm ; 
 In my breath the vast systems unerringly swing, 
 And mine is the chorus the morning stars sing. 
 
 " 'Twas mine to create them, 'tis mine to command 
 
 The land to the ocean, the sea to the land ; 
 
 All, all are my creatures, and they who would give 
 
 True worship to me for each other must live. 
 
 Lo ! I leave on the mountain a sign that shall be 
 
 A type of the union of land and sea, 
 
 An emblem of anguish that comes before bliss, 
 
 For they who would conquer must conquer by this." 
 
The Mount of the Holy Cross. 7 
 
 The roar of the earthquake in answer was heard, 
 The land from its solid foundation was stirred, 
 The breast of the mountain was rent by the shock, 
 And a cross was revealed on the heart of the rock ; 
 One hand pointing south, where the tropic gales 
 
 blow, 
 
 And one to the kingdom of winter and snow, 
 While its face turned to welcome the dawn from afar, 
 Ere Jordan had rolled under Bethlehem's star. 
 
 The harp of the elements over it swung, 
 In the wild chimes of Nature its advent was rung, 
 Around it the hair of the Winter-king curled, 
 Against it in fury his lances were hurled, 
 And the pulse of the hurricane beat in its face 
 Till the snows were locked deep in its mighty em- 
 brace, 
 And its arms were outstretched on the mountain's 
 
 cold breast, 
 As spotless and white as the robes of the blest. 
 
 Then the spirit of Summer came up from the south 
 With the smile of the Junes on her beautiful mouth, 
 And breathed on the valleys, the plains, and the 
 
 hills, 
 While the snow rippled home in the arms of the 
 
 rills ; 
 
 The winter was gone, but the symbol was there, 
 Towering mutely and grand, like the angel of prayer, 
 
8 The Mount of the Holy Cross. 
 
 Where the morning shall stream on the place of its 
 
 birth 
 Till the last cross is borne by the toilers of earth. 
 
 It will never grow old while the sea-breath is drawn 
 From the lips of the billows at evening and dawn, 
 While heaven's pure finger transfigures the dews, 
 And with garlands of frost-work its beauty renews ; 
 It was there when the blocks of the pyramid pile 
 Were drifting in sands on the plains of the Nile, 
 And it still shall point homeward, a token of trust, 
 When pyramids crumble in dimness and dust. 
 
 It shall lean o'er the world like a banner of peace 
 Till discord and war between brothers shall cease, 
 Till the red sea of Time shall be cleansed of its gore, 
 And the years like white pebbles be washed to the 
 
 shore ; 
 
 As long as the incense from ocean shall rise 
 To weave its bright woof on the warp of the skies, 
 As long as the clouds int*> crystals shall part, 
 That cross shall gleam high on the Continent's heart. 
 
November. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 THE red sun gathers up his beams, 
 
 To bid the withered earth farewell, 
 And voices from the swelling streams 
 
 Are mingling with the evening bell ; 
 The cold lake sobs with restless grief, 
 
 Where late the water-lilies grew, 
 While autumn fowl, and autumn leaf, 
 
 Are sailing down the rivers blue. 
 
 Forsaken are the woodland shrines, 
 
 The bluebird and the wren have fled, 
 And winds are wailing through the pines 
 
 A dirge for summer's glorious dead ; 
 E'en man forsakes his daily strife, 
 
 And muses on the bright things flown, 
 As if in Nature's changing life 
 
 He saw the picture of his own. 
 
 I often think, at this sad hour, 
 
 As evening weeps her earliest tear, 
 
 And sunset gilds the naked bower, 
 
 And waves are breaking cold and clear, 
 
IO November. 
 
 Of that glad time, whose memory dwells 
 Like starlight o'er life's cloudy weather, 
 
 When side by side we roved the dells 
 Of dear New England's coast together. 
 
 'Twas on old Plymouth's rock-famed shore, 
 
 One calm November night with thee, 
 I watched the long light trembling o'er 
 
 The billows of the eastern sea ; 
 The weary day had sunk to rest 
 
 Beyond the lines of leafless wood, 
 And guardian clouds, from south to west, 
 
 Arrayed in hues of crimson stood. 
 
 We climbed the hill of noble graves, 
 
 Where the stern patriarchs of the land 
 Seemed listening to the same grand waves 
 
 That freed them from the oppressor's hand ; 
 We talked of spirits pure and kind, 
 
 With gentle forms and loving eyes, 
 Of happy homes we left behind, 
 
 In vales beneath the western skies. 
 
 A few brief days, and when the earth 
 
 Grew white around the traveller's feet, 
 And bright fires blazed on every hearth, 
 
 We parted never more to meet 
 Uni.il I go where thou art gone, 
 
 From this dark world of death and blight, 
 And walk with thee above the sun 
 
 That sank upon thy grave to-night. 
 
November. 1 1 
 
 I hear the muffled tramp of years 
 
 Come stealing up the slope of Time ; 
 They bear a train of smiles and tears, 
 
 Of burning hopes and dreams sublime : 
 But future years may never fling 
 
 A treasure from their passing hours, 
 Like those that come on sleepless wing, 
 
 From memory's golden plain of flowers. 
 
 The morning breeze of long ago 
 
 Sweeps o'er my brain with soft control, 
 Fanning the embers to a glow 
 
 Amidst the ashes round my soul ; 
 And by the dim and flickering light 
 
 I see thy beauteous form appear, 
 Like one returned from wanderings bright, 
 
 To bless my lonely moments here. 
 
12 My Mother is Near. 
 
 MY MOTHER IS NEAR. 
 
 SWEET mother, the birds from our bowers have fled, 
 
 The reaper has gathered his sheaves, 
 The glorious summer lies silent and dead, 
 
 And the land like a pale mourner grieves ; 
 But the garden of mem'ry is blooming to-day 
 
 With flowers and leaves ever new, 
 And the birds and the fountains around it that play 
 
 Are singing, dear mother, of you. 
 
 Like green shores receding beyond the blue seas 
 
 Seem the years by your tenderness blest, 
 And youth's merry music grows faint on the breeze 
 
 That is wafting me on to life's west ; 
 Yet beautiful seems the mild glance of your eye, 
 
 And the blessing your fond spirit gave, 
 As the mists of the valley hang bright in the sky 
 
 Though the mountains are lost in the wave. 
 
 I wonder, sometimes, if the souls that have flown 
 
 Return to the mourners again, 
 And I ask for a sign from the trackless unknown 
 
 Where millions have questioned in vain ; 
 
My Mother is Near. 13 
 
 I see not your meek, loving face through the strife 
 That would blind me with doubting and fear, 
 
 But a voice murmurs " Peace " to the tumult of life, 
 And I know that my mother is near. 
 
 The cold world may cover my pathway with frowns, 
 
 And mingle with bitter each joy ; 
 It may load me with crosses, and rob me of crowns, 
 
 I have treasures it cannot destroy : 
 There's a green, sunny isle in the depths of my soul 
 
 Whose roses the winds never strew, 
 And the billows and breezes around it that roll 
 
 Bring tidings of heaven and you. 
 
14 The Captains Signal. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S SIGNAL. 
 
 I AM safe in port, but I watch and wait 
 For another boat to bring my Mate, 
 The faithful Mate, who, in calm and strife, 
 Had cruised with me o'er the seas of life. 
 I left our crew at the close of day, 
 It is hardly a cable's length away, 
 And stepped ashore in a quiet bay ; 
 A silver cloud on the lowlands lay, 
 And through the mist, by a radiant band, 
 I was borne across o'er the border land. 
 
 And my Mate sits gazing out through tears, 
 
 For her heart goes back to our youthful years, 
 
 When all the storms of the ocean wide 
 
 Might beat and break o'er the good ship's side, 
 
 And never a sturdy spar or mast 
 
 Would yield at the rage of tide or blast, 
 
 And never a sail at the storm-king's frown, 
 
 Like a frightened bird would flutter down, 
 
 And never a spar nor a timber start 
 
 From her maintop high to her oaken heart. 
 
The Captains Signal. \\ 
 
 Mate of my life ! though hid from view 
 By the silver mist, I am guarding you, 
 And will linger near till the day is done, 
 And the white sail furled in the western sun ; 
 When the boat-keel grates on the golden strand, 
 Ere the hulk sinks down in the shifting sand, 
 
 1 will welcome you to the bright green land, 
 You shall see my face, you will grasp my hand, 
 And wander with me the New Realm o'er, 
 Where the dreams of youth can be lost no more. 
 
1 6 Ocean Musings. 
 
 OCEAN MUSINGS. 
 
 THE sun has hid his fiery eye 
 'Neath quiet evening's jewelled brow, 
 
 And from her yellow casement in the sky 
 The musing moon is gazing now : 
 The clear, soft glimmer of her crown 
 Behind us paves the waters wide, 
 
 While, from their distant walls, her guards look down 
 To see their faces in the tide. 
 
 A spell of tranquil glory binds 
 The bosom of the voiceless deep, 
 
 And, gently dimpled by the powerless winds, 
 The waves in laughing beauty sleep : 
 And, basking 'neath the dreamy smiles 
 Of mingled shade and misty light, 
 
 Lie the dim summits of our native isles, 
 Reposing in the arms of night. 
 
 Slowly our bark, to realms more new, 
 Moves on before the moving moon, 
 While we look back to take our lingering view, 
 Through night's mysterious summer noon, 
 
Ocean Musings. 17 
 
 Of happy scenes forever flown, 
 Scenes which now beam from yon loved shore, 
 More bright than when we deemed them all our own, 
 And time flew lightly, gayly o'er. 
 
 Thus, when the sun of Hope's bright day 
 Sinks down behind Life's lonely main, 
 
 Will the mild moon of memory lend her ray, 
 Disclosing those fair scenes again, 
 Where sleep the smiles of youth's lost dream : 
 And manhood's eye with tears shall fill, 
 
 To see the waves of vanished glory gleam 
 More lovely and enchanting still. 
 
1 8 The Silver Pilgrim. 
 
 THE SILVER PILGRIM. 
 
 WE knew him many years ago, 
 
 One of a band of noble boys, 
 
 On old Chautauqua's grassy plains, 
 
 A stranger to life's bitter pains, 
 
 Before his deep eyes caught the glow 
 
 Of manhood's graver aims and joys : 
 
 Before ambition's fever dream 
 
 Had launched him on the restless stream 
 
 Of human lives, that surged and rolled 
 
 Across the world in search of gold, 
 
 The stream whose bed is filled with graves 
 
 Of thousands strangled in the waves 
 
 While looking out with eager eyes 
 
 Toward the ever-flitting prize, 
 
 The stream whose noisy billows chase 
 
 Around the Rocky Mountains' base, 
 
 Then rolling on, with tumult fills 
 
 The silver city of the hills, 1 
 
 Whence leap the ocean's new-born rills, 
 
 The mountain city of the West, 
 
 A hammock swung from crest to crest, 
 
 A hammock hung to fast'nings rude 
 
 Up in the awful solitude 
 
 1 Leadville, Colorado. 
 
The Silver Pilgrim. 19 
 
 Where twice ten thousand souls abide 
 Ten thousand feet above the tide 
 That kisses with its foamy lips 
 The keels of fifty thousand ships, 
 And clutches with its briny hands 
 The outlines of a thousand lands. 
 
 The years rolled by, his feet had pressed 
 
 The trails that cross the high divide 
 That sends its fountains east and west, 
 
 To inland sea and ocean wide ; 
 And still the same unrest remained 
 
 That chafes in every earnest soul 
 Which strives for objects unattained, 
 
 Yet knows that earth holds not the goal. 
 
 And when, at last, " his time had come," 
 
 Before the years that mark man's prime 
 Had fallen from the boughs of time, 
 It found him where the busy hum 
 Of stranger voices rose and fell, 
 While yet a parent's late farewell, 
 From hearts that were too full to speak, 
 Was lingering fresh on lip and cheek. 
 
 On one of those soft summer's days 
 Which only mountain regions know, 
 
 Where earth is like a hymn of praise, 
 
 And heaven seems list'ning near and low, 
 
 They brought him to the "miner's rest," 
 
 With fever in his weary breast, 
 
2O The Silver Pilgrim. 
 
 But in his soul that holy trust 
 
 Which comes at last to cheer the just. 
 
 There knelt beside that sacred bed 
 But two from all the household band, 
 
 And when the last low words were said, 
 A sister's lips, a brother's hand, 
 
 Were softly laid on cheek and head, 
 As if to waft across the land, 
 
 O'er mountains vast and deserts drear, 
 
 The signs which all would wish to hear. 
 
 The August moon was fair and young, 
 Its crescent o'er Mt. Massive hung, 
 And touched with silver-tinted lines 
 The solemn canyons, rocks, and pines; 
 And midnight stars look softly down 
 Upon the Mammon-haunted town, 
 As though they viewed with mournful ken 
 The griefs that cloud the homes of men. 
 
 Without a struggle or a sigh, 
 To hint that death was passing by, 
 He joined the angels from the sky, 
 And calmly crossed the border-line 
 
 Beyond life's crest of rock and snow, 
 And saw the hills immortal shine, 
 
 And heard the fountain's heavenward flow, 
 Where peace shall crown the weary heart 
 
 With sweeter rest than mortals find, 
 And never from the eye shall start 
 
 The tears that prove the troubled mind. 
 
The Wood Robin. 21 
 
 THE WOOD ROBIN. 
 
 How calmly the lingering light 
 
 Beams back over woodland and plain, 
 
 As an infant, ere closing its eyelids at night, 
 Looks back on its mother again. 
 
 The wood robin sings at my door, 
 
 And her song is the sweetest I hear 
 From all the sweet birds that incessantly pour 
 
 Their notes through the noon of the year. 
 
 'Twas thus in my boyhood time, 
 
 That season of emerald and gold, 
 Ere the storms and the shadows that fall on our 
 prime 
 
 Had told me that pleasures grow old ; 
 
 I loved, in the warm summer eves, 
 
 To recline on the welcoming sod, 
 By the broad spreading temple of twilight and 
 leaves, 
 
 Where the wood robin worshipped her God. 
 
22 The Wood Robin. 
 
 I knew not that life could endure 
 
 The burden it beareth to-day, 
 And I felt that my soul was as happy and pure 
 
 As the tones of the wood robin's lay. 
 
 Oh beautiful, beautiful youth, 
 
 With its visions of hope and love, 
 How cruel is life to reveal us the truth, 
 
 That peace only liveth above 1 
 
 The wood robin trills the same tune 
 From her thicket in garden and glen ; 
 
 And the landscape and sky, and the twilight of 
 
 June, 
 Look lovely and glowing as then. 
 
 But I think of the glories that fell 
 
 In the harvest of sorrow and tears, 
 Till the song of the forest bird sounds like a knell, 
 
 Tolling back through the valley of years. 
 
 Sweet bird, as thou singest, forlorn 
 
 Though the visions that rise from the past, 
 
 The deep of the future is purpling with morn, 
 And its mystery melting at last. 
 
 I know that the splendor of youth 
 
 Will return to me yet, and my soul 
 Will iloat in the sunlight of beauty and truth, 
 
 Where the tides of the Infinite roll. 
 
The Wood Robin. 23 
 
 Oh ! I fain would arise and set sail 
 
 From the lowlands of trouble and pain ; 
 
 But I wait on the shore for the tarrying gale, 
 And sigh for the haven in vain. 
 
 And I watch for the ripples to play 
 
 And tell me the breezes are nigh, 
 Like a sailor who longs to be wafted away 
 
 To the lands that lie hid in the sky. 
 
 But the whippoorwill wails on the moor, 
 
 And day has deserted the west ; 
 The moon glimmers down through the vines at my 
 door, 
 
 And the robin has flown to her nest. 
 
 Adieu, gentle bird ! Ere the sun 
 
 Shall line the green forest with light, 
 Thou'lt wake from thy slumber more merry than one 
 
 Who heard thee and blest thee to-night. 
 
24 Outcast. 
 
 OUTCAST. 
 
 ALAS for her who sits alone 
 
 Beside the sepulchre of hope, 
 With none to roll away the stone 
 
 And bid the flowers that lined life's slope 
 Return once more, and fill the gloom 
 With sweeter life and fresher bloom : 
 Better for her the voiceless tomb, 
 Without a sign to mark the spot 
 Except the blue forget-me-not, 
 That sits upon the lap of spring 
 Before the robins come to sing, 
 
 Or bluebirds pipe their flute-like tunes ; 
 Before the icy chains are riven 
 
 That fetter fountain, lake, and river, 
 And from the snows that chill the sod 
 Looks up to greet the eye of God, 
 
 A promise of celestial Junes, 
 When in the quickening light of Heaven 
 
 Our dead shall live and bloom forever. 
 
By the Borders of the Sea. 25 
 
 BY THE BORDERS OF THE SEA. 
 
 BY the borders of the sea, 
 
 On his couch the Ruler lay, 
 With death's twilight slowly creeping 
 Through the noontide of his day ; 
 And the waves' complaining moan, 
 And the breathing of the spray, 
 Drifted upward from the bosom 
 Of the bay. 
 
 From that window looking out 
 
 O'er the ocean's ebb and flow, 
 How his weary heart goes backward 
 
 To the land of long ago, 
 Where a little cabin stands, 
 
 While the trees wave to and fro, 
 And his mother's voice is singing 
 Sweet and low. 
 
 And that mother prays alone 
 
 When the toil of day is done, 
 That the struggling boy may conquer 
 In life's battle just begun ; 
 
26 By the Borders of the Sea. 
 
 But she dreams not of a time 
 
 When, with shouts of victory won, 
 All the nation shall be turning 
 To her son. 
 
 From that quiet cabin home 
 
 To the marble halls of state 
 Is a life-track winding upward, 
 
 'Neath the golden star of fate ; 
 At the end a sorrowing race 
 
 With bowed hearts in silence wait, 
 While immortal hands swing open 
 Glory's gate. 
 
Sweet Ruth. 27 
 
 SWEET RUTH. 
 
 THE summer will soon be here, sweet Ruth ; 
 
 For the birds of brighter bowers 
 Are singing their way from the balmy south 
 
 To the land of opening flowers. 
 But the summer will fade, and the flowers will die, 
 
 And the birds from bank and plain 
 Go mourning back to a warmer sky, 
 
 While I wait for thee in vain. 
 
 Oh ! many a heart and many a hand, 
 
 I have prized in pain and bliss, 
 Have found that rest in a better land 
 
 Which they never knew in this ; 
 And of all the forms that have fled with thee, 
 
 From a kingdom fraught with tears, 
 There are none that seem like thine to me 
 
 Through the golden mist of years. 
 
 But I never have wished thee back, sweet Ruth, 
 In the years that since have rolled ; 
 
 And I guard the memory of thy truth 
 As a miser would his gold : 
 
28 Sweet Ruth. 
 
 The loneliest glens of my being know 
 How the birds of peace may sing, 
 
 And the darkest waves have caught the glow 
 From a guardian angel's wing. 
 
To Dr. James C. Jackson. 29 
 
 TO DR. JAMES C. JACKSON. 
 
 GRAND Prophet of Life, when thy sun shall go down, 
 And clouds fade in glory that gathered in frown, 
 And the lives thou hast blessed with thine own life 
 
 and light 
 
 Shine forth like the stars in the dome of the night, 
 Thou shalt look o'er the labor-worn track of the 
 
 past, 
 
 And thy spirit rejoice in its travail at last ; 
 The crown of the victor shall rest on thy brow, 
 And mortals behold thee as angels do now. 
 
3O Art Thou Living Yet? 
 
 ART THOU LIVING YET? 
 
 Is there no grand, immortal sphere 
 
 Beyond this realm of broken ties, 
 To fill the wants that mock us here, 
 
 And dry the tears from weeping eyes ? 
 Where Winter melts in endless Spring, 
 
 And June stands near with deathless flowers, 
 Where we may hear the dear ones sing 
 
 Who loved us in this world of ours ? 
 I ask, and lo ! my cheeks are wet 
 
 With tears for one I cannot see : 
 
 mother, art thou living yet, 
 
 And dost thou still remember me ? 
 
 1 feel thy kisses o'er me thrill, 
 Thou unseen angel of my life ; 
 
 I hear thy hymns around me trill 
 
 An undertone to care and strife ; 
 Thy tender eyes upon me shine, 
 
 As from a being glorified, 
 Till I am thine and thou art mine, 
 
 And I forget that thou hast died : 
 I almost lose each vain regret 
 
 In visions of a life to be : 
 
Art Thou Living Yet? 31 
 
 But, mother, art thou living yet, 
 And dost thou still remember me ? 
 
 The Springtimes bloom, the Summers fade, 
 
 The Winters blow along my way ; 
 But ovr every light or shade 
 
 Thy memory lives by night and day ; 
 It soothes to sleep my wildest pain, 
 
 Like some sweet song that cannot die, 
 And, like the murmur of the main, 
 
 Grows deeper when the storm is nigh : 
 I know the brightest stars that set 
 
 Return to bless the yearning sea, 
 But, mother, art thou living yet, 
 
 And dost thou still remember me ? 
 
 I sometimes think thy soul comes back 
 
 From o'er the dark and silent stream, 
 Where last we watched thy shining track, 
 
 To those green hills of which we dream ; 
 Thy loving arms around me twine, 
 
 My cheeks bloom younger in thy breath, 
 Till thou art mine and I am thine, 
 
 Without a thought of pain or death : 
 And yet, at times my eyes are wet 
 
 With tears for her I cannot see : 
 O mother, art thou living yet, 
 
 And dost thou still remember me ? 
 
32 The Bird of Washington. 
 
 THE BIRD OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 WHEN the winds are unchained o'er the plains of the 
 world, 
 
 And clouds burst their bonds on the hills, 
 When the banner of storm o'er the deep is unfurled, 
 
 And terror the human heart thrills, 
 'Tis then that I fly to my aerie on high, 
 And gaze on the battle of billow and sky : 
 I laugh in my glee while the elements rave, 
 And they call me the bird of the Brave. 
 
 When Liberty looks on the woes of the world 
 Through clouds of oppression and crime, 
 
 When tyrants and knaves from their high thrones 
 
 are hurled, 
 And men break the fetters of Time, 
 
 'Tis then that I rise on the death-rolling night, 
 
 And strike for the brave in the battle of Right : 
 
 I laugh as the legions of tyranny flee, 
 
 And they call me the bird of the Free. 
 
Star of the North. 33 
 
 STAR OF THE NORTH. 
 
 STAR of Freedom burning high 
 In the cold, dark northern sky, 
 See the suff'rer turn to thee, 
 Guide him safe from slavery. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Star of the North, we follow thee, 
 We follow thee to Liberty, 
 Nor dread the snows of Canada, 
 With freedom's blood to warm our veins, 
 And freedom's fire to melt our chains. 
 
 When our hearts, bowed low with toil, 
 Bleed upon a tyrant's soil, 
 Through the gloom of slavery's night, 
 Star of Freedom, pour thy light. 
 
 When the bloodhound's angry howl 
 Thrills with fear the faltering soul, 
 When for life we struggling pray, 
 Star of Freedom, gild the way, 
 
34 Star of the North. 
 
 When we drop the galling chain, 
 When the promised land we gain, 
 When we dwell where men are free, 
 Still, bright star, we'll turn to thee. 
 
A Prophecy. 35 
 
 A PROPHECY (1832). 
 
 How glorious, how grandly bright 
 
 Above the dark and suffering Earth, 
 The Sun comes forth in deathless might ! 
 
 He has a smile for every hearth, 
 And shines alike on scenes of crime 
 
 And paths of angel purity, 
 But never on a fairer clime 
 
 Than that from which a slave must flee 
 To find the boon his spirit craves, 
 Yet cannot find where proudly waves 
 
 The starry banner of the Free. 
 Children of Afric's burning skies, 
 
 Columbia's eagle yet will rise, 
 And spread above your bleeding forms 
 
 The pity of his sheltering wings, 
 Wings that have braved the raging storms 
 
 Which rock the thrones of despot kings ! 
 For Hope looks from the clouds above, 
 
 And Liberty's clear bells are ringing, 
 And generous hearts, like flowers of love, 
 
 From every mountain-side are springing. 
 From California's yellow sands 
 
 To old Niagara's mighty fall, 
 
36 A Prophecy. 
 
 Where the broad lakes of Northern lands 
 Leap madly from their mountain wall, 
 
 They come, they come in robes of light, 
 With Freedom's lightning blazing o'er them : 
 
 They're bursting through Oppression's night, 
 And tyrants fly in dread before them. 
 
Fremont's Battle Hymn. 37 
 
 FREMONT S BATTLE HYMN. 
 
 OH, spirits of Washington, Warren, and Wayne 1 
 
 Oh, shades of the heroes and patriots slain ! 
 
 Come down from your mountains of emerald and 
 
 gold, 
 
 And smile on the banner ye cherished of old ; 
 Descend in your glorified ranks to the strife, 
 Like legions sent forth from the armies of life ; 
 Let us feel your deep presence as waves feel the 
 
 breeze, 
 When white fleets like snowflakes are drowned in 
 
 the seas. 
 
 As the red lightnings run on the black, jagged cloud, 
 Ere the thunder-king speaks from his wind-woven 
 
 shroud, 
 
 So gleams the bright steel along valley and shore, 
 Ere the conflict shall startle the land with its roar : 
 As the veil which conceals the clear starlight is 
 
 riven 
 When clouds strike together, by warring winds 
 
 driven, 
 
 So the blood of the race must be offered like rain, 
 Ere the stars of our country are ransomed again. 
 
38 Fremont's Battle Hymn. 
 
 Proud sons of the soil where the palmetto grows, 
 Once patriots and brothers, now traitors and foes, 
 Ye have turned from the path which our forefathers 
 
 trod, 
 
 And stolen from man the best gift of his God, 
 Ye have trampled the tendrils of love in the 
 
 ground, 
 Ye have scoffed at the laws which the Nazarene 
 
 found, 
 Till the great wheel of justice seemed blocked for 3 
 
 time, 
 And the eyes of humanity blinded with crime. 
 
 The hounds of Oppression were howling the knell 
 Of martyrs and prophets at gibbet and cell, 
 While Mercy despaired of the blossoming years 
 When her harpstrings no more shall be rusted with 
 
 tears ; 
 
 But God never ceases to strike for the right, 
 And the ring of His anvil came down through the 
 
 night, 
 Though the world was asleep and the Nation seemed 
 
 dead, 
 And Truth into bondage by Error was led. 
 
 Will the banners of morn at your bidding be furled, 
 When the day-king arises to quicken the world ? 
 Can ye cool the fierce fires of his heat-throbbing 
 
 breast, 
 Or turn him aside from his goal in the west ? 
 
Fremont's Battle Hymn. 39 
 
 Ah! sons of the plains where the orange-tree 
 
 blooms, 
 Ye may come to our pine-covered mountains for 
 
 tombs, 
 
 But the light ye would smother was kindled by One 
 Who gave to the universe planet and sun. 
 
 Go strangle the throat of Niagara's wrath, 
 Till he utters no sound on his torrent-cut path ; 
 Go bind his great sinews of rock-wearing waves, 
 Till he begs at your feet like your own fettered 
 
 slaves ; 
 
 Go cover his pulses with sods from the ground, 
 Till he hides from your sight like a hare from the 
 
 hound ; 
 
 Then swarm to our borders, and silence the notes 
 That thunder of Freedom from millions of throats. 
 
 Come on with your chattels, all worn, from the soil 
 Where men receive scourging in payment for toil ; 
 Come, robbers ! come, traitors ! we welcome you all, 
 As the leaves of the forest are welcomed by fall : 
 The birthright of manhood awaits for your slaves, 
 But prisons and halters are waiting for knaves ; 
 And the blades of our freemen are longing to rust 
 With their blood who would bury our stars in the 
 dust. 
 
 They fade unlamented from life and from sight 
 Whose lives are but shadows on Liberty's light ; 
 
40 Fremonfs Battle Hymn. 
 
 They slumber unblest by fraternity's star 
 Who have blocked up the track of humanity's car ; 
 Regarded, when dead, by the wise and the good, 
 As shepherds regard the dead wolf in the wood, 
 And only unhated when Heaven shall efface 
 The memory of wrong from the souls of the race. 
 
 The streams may forget how they mingled our gore, 
 And the myrtle entwine on their borders once more ; 
 The song-birds of Peace shall return to our glades, 
 And children clasp hands where their fathers clashed 
 
 blades ; 
 
 Columbia shall rise from her trial of fire 
 More pure than she came from the hand of her sire ; 
 But Freedom will point the cold finger of scorn 
 When History tells where her traitors were born 
 
The Children of the Battle-field. 41 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE BATTLE- 
 FIELD. 
 
 UPON the field of Gettysburg 
 
 The summer sun was high, 
 When Freedom met her haughty foe 
 
 Beneath a northern sky. 
 Among the heroes of the North 
 
 That swelled her grand array, 
 And rushed like mountain eagles forth 
 
 From happy homes away, 
 There stood a man of humble fame, 
 
 A sire of children three, 
 And gazed within a little frame 
 
 His pictured ones to see : 
 And blame him not if, in the strife, 
 
 He breathed a soldier's prayer, 
 " O Father ! shield the soldier's wife, 
 
 And for his children care." 
 
 Upon the field of Gettysburg, 
 
 When morning shone again, 
 The crimson cloud of battle burst 
 
 In streams of fiery rain : 
 
42 The Children of the Battle-field. 
 
 Our legions quelled the awful flood 
 
 Of shot and steel and shell, 
 While banners, marked with ball and blood, 
 
 Around them rose and fell : 
 And none more nobly won the name 
 
 Of champion of the Free 
 Than he who pressed the little frame 
 
 That held his children three ; 
 And none were braver in the strife 
 
 Than he who breathed the prayer, 
 " O Father ! shield the soldier's wife, 
 
 And for his children care." 
 
 Upon the field of Gettysburg 
 
 The full moon slowly rose, 
 She looked, and saw ten thousand brows 
 
 All pale in death's repose ; 
 And down beside a silver stream, 
 
 From other forms away, 
 Calm as a warrior in a dream, 
 
 Our fallen comrade lay ; 
 His limbs were cold, his sightless eyes 
 
 Were fixed upon the three 
 Sweet stars that rose in memory's skies 
 
 To light him o'er death's sea. 
 Then honored be the soldier's life, 
 
 And hallowed be his prayer, 
 "O Father! shield the soldier's wife, 
 
 And for his children care." 
 
Minnie Minton. 43 
 
 MINNIE MINTON. 
 
 MINNIE MINTON, in the shadow 
 
 I have waited here alone, 
 On the battle's gory meadow, 
 
 Which the scythe of death has mown, 
 I have listened for your coming 
 
 Till the dreary dawn of day, 
 But I only hear the drumming, 
 
 As the armies march away. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Minnie ! dear Minnie, 
 
 I have heard the angel's warning, 
 
 1 have seen the golden shore ; 
 
 I will meet you in the morning 
 Where the shadows come no more, 
 Nevermore, nevermore. 
 
 Minnie Minton, I am wounded, 
 And I know that I must die, 
 
 By a stranger host surrounded, 
 And no loved one kneeling nigh ; 
 
 And I fain would hear you whisper 
 In the twilight cold and gray, 
 
44 Minnie Minton. 
 
 But I only hear the tramping 
 As the armies march away. 
 
 Minnie Minton, I am weary, 
 
 And I long to reach my goal ; 
 Yet the billows of old Erie 
 
 Blue upon my memory roll ; 
 And I pause to hear you singing 
 
 By the waters of the bay, 
 But I only hear the bugles 
 
 As the armies march away. 
 
 Minnie Minton, I've been dreaming 
 
 Of those moments gone before, 
 Ere I saw the sabres gleaming 
 
 On the fields of death and gore ; 
 And I thought that you were kneeling 
 
 O'er the turf whereon I lay, 
 But I woke to see the banners 
 
 As the armies march away. 
 
 Minnie Minton, I am dying. 
 
 As the world recedes from view, 
 I can see the old flag flying 
 
 O'er the rebel rag of blue ; 
 I behold the heroes saintly 
 
 Who have fallen in the fray, 
 And their bugles warble faintly 
 
 As they beckon me away. 
 
Freedoms Dead. 45 
 
 FREEDOM'S DEAD. 
 
 AH ! green their glory long will be 
 
 Who give their lives to liberty ; 
 
 Their names will linger broad and bright 
 
 When other names are lost to sight ; 
 
 Their memory will dearer grow 
 
 While sounding seas and rivers flow ; 
 
 And, though the world is black with crime, 
 
 Their fame shall live, a light sublime, 
 
 A pillar of deliverance burning, 
 
 To which th' oppressed, for Freedom yearning 
 
 May turn, as Israel turned of yore, 
 
 And view from far the Promised Shore. 
 
46 Sought but Never Found. 
 
 SOUGHT BUT NEVER FOUND. 
 
 WE'LL sing to-night of other times 
 
 That bloomed along the years 
 Ere war had clanged its iron chimes, 
 
 And filled our homes with tears ; 
 And we'll recall a gallant form 
 
 That sleeps among the slain, 
 And dream that, safe from shot and storm, 
 
 Our brother lives again. 
 
 We know the flag for which he died 
 
 May never more be furled ; 
 We know our land, though crucified, 
 
 Will rise and bless the world, 
 But hearts must bleed while lands rejoice, 
 
 And States forget their strife : 
 We long to hear our brother's voice 
 
 Blend with the sounds of life. 
 
 The God of Peace rolls back the gloom, 
 
 And stills the combat's roar, 
 And bursting shell, and cannon's boom, 
 
 Are heard in wrath no more ; 
 
Sought but Never Found. 47 
 
 But who may count their distant graves, 
 
 Unmarked by name or mound, 
 Who, 'mid the home-returning braves, 
 
 Were sought but never found ? 
 
48 When You and I were Soldier Boys. 
 
 WHEN YOU AND I WERE SOLDIER 
 BOYS. 
 
 OH, the stormy times we knew, 
 
 In our suit of army blue, 
 When you and I were soldier boys together, Will ; 
 
 Ere they laid you in the soil, 
 
 Where a glory crowns your toil 
 As the springtime crowns the gloomy winter weather, 
 Will. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, gallant, gallant Will, 
 
 Your noble heart is still 
 Where the river waves roll in the sun ; 
 
 You never more will thrill 
 
 At the wild bugle's trill, 
 Nor wake at the roar of the gun, 
 
 Nor march to the war drum rolling, 
 
 Nor march to the war drum rolling, 
 
 Nor march to the war drum rolling, 
 Nor shout when the battle is won. 
 
 Ah ! we loved each other more 
 For the trials that we bore, 
 
When You and I were Soldier Boys. 49 
 
 When you and I were soldier boys in battle, Will ; 
 And our hearts the stronger grew 
 For the dangers we passed through, 
 
 'Mid cannons' crash and rifles' deadly rattle, Will. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Though my fighting time has passed 
 Like a storm upon the blast, 
 And I walk no more among the dead and dying, 
 
 Will, 
 
 I recall the days with pride 
 When we battled side by side, 
 And the stripes and stars above our heads were 
 flying, Will. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And I still remember you, 
 
 Of the many tried and true, 
 Who slumber now in southern glen and valley, Will ; 
 
 And sometimes in a dream 
 
 Will the old flag o'er me stream, 
 While the spirits of the brave around it rally, Will. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
5O Scotland, I Love Thee. 
 
 SCOTLAND, I LOVE THEE. 
 
 SCOTLAND ! I love thee : I cling to thee yet, 
 As a young maiden clings to her lover ; 
 
 1 love thy gray mountains, and never forget 
 The glens which their dark shadows cover; 
 
 I know that the long weary leagues of the main 
 Now hide thy green valleys from me, 
 
 And I know that I never may tread them again, 
 Yet, Scotland, I'm dreaming of thee. 
 
 O Scotland, I love thee : I turn to thy shore 
 
 With a song for each scene of my childhood, 
 As a bird o'er the billow where rough waters roar 
 
 Will turn to her nest in the wild wood : 
 Then give me the storm-braving headlands that 
 stand 
 
 Like sentinels guarding the sea, 
 The homes and the hearts of my dear native land, 
 
 O Scotland ! I'm dreaming of thee. 
 
America and Ireland. . 51 
 
 AMERICA AND IRELAND. 
 
 WE will not forget thee, old Ireland, now 
 
 That the storm-cloud hangs over thy borders, 
 And the sigh of submission expires in a vow 
 
 To be free as thy girdle of waters : 
 The leaves of the shamrock are spreading afar, 
 
 And we honor the heroes who bore them, 
 When Sheridan, Mulligan, Corchran, and Meagher 
 
 Like pillars of fire went before them. 
 
 The roar of the lion is heard in the night, 
 
 As he drinks from the depths of thy fountains ; 
 But the eagles are pluming their pinions for flight 
 
 On the crags of Columbia's mountains. 
 They will fall on the lion with talons of steel, 
 
 When the war-cry is raised by their brothers ; 
 They will strike, and the power of the tyrant shall 
 reel 
 
 'Neath the pangs he has meted to others. 
 
 Forget not the time when the spirit of Moore 
 Like a tropic breeze moved in thy bowers, 
 
 And warmed every garden and glen of thy shore 
 Till they blossomed with liberty's flowers ; 
 
52 America and Ireland. 
 
 But languish not now for the summer of song, 
 Lo ! the autumn wind over thee rages ; 
 
 The fields are all ready, the reapers are strong, 
 And they rush to the harvest of ages. 
 
 O Erin ! thy glorious hair mingles with gray, 
 
 And thy blue eyes are swimming in sorrow, 
 But the millions who mock at thy visions to-day 
 
 Shall view thee in wonder to-morrow : 
 Thou shalt rise from the anguish now rending thy 
 breast, 
 
 And hurl on the scoffer thy scorning ; 
 Thy night shall be lit by the stars of the West, 
 
 Till it breaks into Freedom's full morning. 
 
Two Conquerors. 53 
 
 TWO CONQUERORS. 
 
 'TWAS midnight on the tented plain, 
 
 The din of strife had died away, 
 And, tangled in the lion's mane, 
 
 The captive Corsican eagle lay ; 
 No more, 'mid shouts of victory won, 
 
 His pinions climbed the morning light, 
 The splendor of his noonday sun 
 
 Was quenched in swift and awful night ; 
 They bore him in his iron cage 
 
 To stern Helena's rock-walled shore, 
 To beat the bars with baffled rage 
 
 In answer to the ocean's roar. 
 There, haunted by the orphan's shriek, 
 
 The widow's curse, the mother's moan, 
 With battered wings and muzzled beak 
 
 The bird of doom was left alone ; 
 And when he died the pent-up wrath 
 
 Of Nature burst in flame and flood, 
 As if to cleanse his blackened path 
 
 Whose rule was born of woe and blood : 
 And Freedom will his name record 
 
 With those who bore her name in vain, 
 
54 Two Conquerors. 
 
 Who raised on high the victor's sword, 
 But forged for man a tyrant's chain. 
 
 Oh, silent man, whose mighty deeds 
 
 Awoke the land from dumb despair, 
 Who rose responsive to our needs 
 
 In answer to a nation's prayer, 
 Whose trustful manhood, warm and true, 
 
 Through every act and impulse ran, 
 Till foes whom war could not subdue 
 
 Surrendered to the kindly Man. 
 Oh, Master of each storied field 
 
 Where mortal man with thee has striven, 
 Till death itself was forced to yield 
 
 And fly before thy faith in heaven : 
 When every battle-flag is furled, 
 
 And love has wiped away our tears, 
 When songs of peace shall thrill the world, 
 
 Thy life shall tower above the years 
 Like some calm mountain, crowned with snows 
 
 Which o'er the storms of summer shine, 
 From whose green heart a river flows, 
 
 And o'er whose feet the myrtles twine ; 
 And Freedom's hand shall write thy name 
 
 Among the few bright names of Time 
 That glow with all a conqueror's fame, 
 
 Unclouded by a conqueror's crime. 
 
The Old Mountain Tree. 55 
 
 THE OLD MOUNTAIN TREE. 
 
 OH ! the home we loved by the bounding deep, 
 
 Where the hills in glory stood, 
 And the moss-grown graves, where our fathers sleep, 
 
 'Neath the boughs of the waving wood ; 
 We remember yet, with a fond regret 
 
 For the rock and the flowery lea, 
 Where we once used to play through the long, long 
 day, 
 
 In the shade of the Old Mountain Tree. 
 
 We are pilgrims now, in stranger lands, 
 
 And the joys of youth are passed ; 
 Kind friends are gone, but the old tree stands 
 
 Unharmed by the warring blast : 
 The lark may sing in the clouds of spring, 
 
 And the swan on the silver sea, 
 But we long for the shade where the wild bird made 
 
 Her nest in the Old Mountain Tree. 
 
 The time went by like a tale that's told, 
 
 In a land of song and mirth, 
 And many a form in the churchyard cold 
 
 Finds rest from the cares of earth ; 
 
56 The Old Mountain Tree. 
 
 And many a day shall wander away 
 O'er the waves of the western sea, 
 
 And the heart will pine and vainly pray 
 For a grave by the Old Mountain Tree. 
 
The Rover's Grave. 57 
 
 THE ROVER'S GRAVE. 
 
 THEY bore him away when day had fled, 
 
 And the storm was rolling high, 
 And they laid him down in his lonely bed 
 
 By the light of an angry sky ; 
 The lightning flashed, and the wild sea lashed 
 
 The shore with its foaming wave, 
 And the thunder passed on the rushing blast, 
 
 As it howled o'er the Rover's Grave. 
 
 No longer for him like a fearless bird 
 
 Yon bark floats under the Lee, 
 No longer his voice on the gale is heard 
 
 When its guns peal over the sea ; 
 But near him the white gull builds on high 
 
 Her nest by the gleaming wave, 
 And the heaving billows groan and die 
 
 On the sands of the Rover's Grave. 
 
58 The Rock of Liberty. 
 
 THE ROCK OF LIBERTY. 
 
 A SONG for the rock, the stern old rock, 
 That braved the blast and the billows' shock ; 
 It was born with Time on a barren shore, 
 And laughed with scorn at the breakers' roar 1 
 'Twas here that first the Pilgrim band 
 Came weary up to the foaming strand ; 
 And the tree they reared in those days gone by, 
 It lives, it lives, and ne'er shall die I 
 
 Thou firm old rock, in the ages past 
 Thy brow was bleached by the warring blast ; 
 But thy wintry toil with the wave is o'er, 
 And the billows beat thy base no more ! 
 Yet countless as thy sands, old rock, 
 Are the hardy sons of the Pilgrim stock ; 
 And the tree they reared in the days gone by, 
 It lives, it lives, and ne'er shall die! 
 
 Then rest, old rock, on the sea-beat shore, - 
 Our sires are lulled by the ocean's roar ! 
 'Twas here that first their hymns were heard, 
 O'er the startled cry of the white sea-bird ! 
 
The Rock of Liberty. 59 
 
 'Twas here they lived, 'twas here they died, 
 Their forms repose on the green hill's side ; 
 But the tree they reared in the days gone by, 
 It lives, it lives, and ne'er shall die ! 
 
60 Meet me by the Running Brook. 
 
 MEET ME BY THE RUNNING BROOK. 
 
 MEET me by the running brook, 
 
 Where the drooping willows grow ; 
 Meet me in the shady nook, 
 
 Where the silver waters flow. 
 Friends we loved are broken-hearted, 
 
 Smiles have flown and tears have started 
 Since the time when last we parted, 
 
 In the days of long ago. 
 
 Meet me when the starlight plays 
 
 O'er the wavelets bright and low ; 
 Tell me of our youthful days, 
 
 E'er the heart knew pain or woe. 
 Joy will come to charm and leave us, 
 
 Lingering hope will still deceive us ; 
 Life had nothing dark to grieve us, 
 
 In the days of long ago. 
 
The Exile s Return. 61 
 
 THE EXILE'S RETURN. 
 
 MY mountain home, my own green hills, 
 
 I see your long-lost glories rise, 
 I hear the birds and gushing rills 
 
 That roam beneath your clear blue skies ; 
 Ah ! here I dwelt in early years, 
 
 When hopes were high and hearts were true, 
 Ere love's bright dream w.as dimmed with tears, 
 
 And life had lost its rainbow hue. 
 
 My mountain home, sweet home of yore, 
 
 I left your paths in life's fair May, 
 And as I view their scenes once more 
 
 I wipe the starting tear away : 
 They greet me not, the young, the old, 
 
 The early loved of boyhood's bloom, 
 For years have rolled and hearts grown cold, 
 
 And friends are sleeping in the tomb. 
 I see my home on yonder hill, 
 The woods are waving o'er it still, 
 While far below the torrent shines 
 Like silver through the tow'ring pines. 
 
62 Jy s f my Childhood. 
 
 JOYS OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 JOYS of my childhood, 
 
 Vanished forever, 
 
 Days oft remembered which never return, 
 Flowers in the wildwood 
 
 Path by the river, 
 
 Long will their memory linger and burn. 
 
 Dear was the home of my father and mother, 
 
 There have I played with my sister and brother, 
 
 There have I roamed by the side of another, 
 
 Happy and pure in my life's merry morn. 
 
 Friends of my childhood, 
 
 Tender and loving, 
 
 Scattered like leaves o'er the desolate plain, 
 Dreams of my childhood, 
 
 Where are ye roving, 
 Never to gladden my pathway of pain ? 
 Morning that burns on the brow of the billow, 
 Driving the mist from the mariner's pillow, 
 Waking the lark from her nest 'neath the willow, 
 Brings not the light of my lost youth again. 
 
Oh I take me from the Festal Throng. 63 
 
 OH! TAKE ME FROM THE FESTAL 
 THRONG. 
 
 OH ! take me from the festal throng, 
 
 Where loving hearts grow false and cold, 
 And let me hear one burning song 
 
 That thrilled my soul in days of old. 
 I may not feel that kindling flame, 
 
 The trembling hope, the inward glow, 
 For dreams of beauty, love, and fame, 
 
 Are faded lights of long ago. 
 
 There's not a tone in Nature's voice, 
 
 There's not a ray by noon or night, 
 But lights the shrine of buried joys, 
 
 Or tells a tale of lost delight, 
 The morning sun, the moon's pale beam, 
 
 The stars that shine with fainter glow, 
 And bird and breeze, and lake and stream, 
 
 Bring back the forms of long ago. 
 
 Then take me from the festal throng, 
 Where loving hearts grow false and cold, 
 
 And let me hear one burning song 
 That thrilled my soul in days of old. 
 
64 Oh ! take me from the Festal Throng. 
 
 I cannot trace those winding ways 
 
 Where life's young flowers no longer grow, 
 
 But, oh ! I feel beneath thy gaze 
 The morning light of long ago. 
 
Moonlight and Starlight. 65 
 
 MOONLIGHT AND STARLIGHT. 
 
 FAR over ocean, o'er moorland and lea, 
 
 Moonlight and starlight are beaming : 
 Wake from thy slumber, and wander with me 
 
 Down where the roses are dreaming. 
 Come to the hills, 
 Sing with the rills, 
 
 Roam where the river is shining ; 
 Oh, may our hopes, like the stars o'er the sea, 
 
 Live when our day is declining. 
 Moonlight and starlight, silently beaming, 
 
 Gilding the mountain, silving the wave, 
 Moonlight and starlight, tenderly streaming 
 
 Over the beautiful, over the brave. 
 
 Daylight has flown to the caves of the deep, 
 
 Mars o'er the mountain is burning ; 
 Rise ere the song-birds awake from their sleep, 
 Come ere the dawn is returning ; 
 Sing me the lays 
 Breathing of days 
 Radiant with memories olden, 
 
 Sweet as the flowers where the night shadows weep, 
 Pure as the moonbeams golden. 
 
 Moonlight and starlight, etc. 
 
66 Oreanna. 
 
 OREANNA. 
 
 THE moon is on the sea, Oreanna, 
 I'm dreaming still of thee, Oreanna ; 
 
 The stars are in the skies, 
 
 But I'm thinking of the eyes 
 That were more than all the stars of heaven tc me. 
 
 Shall I meet thee, Oreanna, 
 When life's evening shadows meet eternal day ? 
 
 Wilt thou know me, Oreanna, 
 In that morning light that never turns to gray ? 
 
 Oreanna, Oreanna. 
 
 The summer days go by, Oreanna, 
 The winters veil the sky, Oreanna ; 
 
 But winter's chilling gloom 
 
 Cannot quench the light and bloom 
 Of that climate where the lilies never die. 
 
 Shall I meet thee, Oreanna, 
 When life's weary winter melts in endless May ? 
 
 Wilt thou love me, Oreanna, 
 In that glowing spring that never dies away ? 
 
 Oreanna, Oreanna. 
 
We cannot give Thee up. 67 
 
 WE CANNOT GIVE THEE UP. 
 
 RETURN, dear one, return to-night, 
 
 And cheer our lonely fold, 
 Bring back those hours of glad delight 
 
 More dear than fame or gold. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We cannot, cannot give thee up, 
 
 We will not let thee go 
 To drown thy soul, and drain the cup 
 
 Of ruin, shame, and woe. 
 
 Nay, by those bright departed days 
 
 That gild our home no more, 
 That shine through memory's tender haze 
 
 From memory's golden shore, 
 We cannot, etc. 
 
 By Him who prayed and died for man, 
 
 On Calvary's storied height, 
 Who took the hand of Magdalen 
 
 And led her to the light, 
 We cannot, etc. 
 
68 We cannot give Thee up. 
 
 The days seem dark when thou art gone, 
 The nights are filled with tears ; 
 
 Return, dear one, and bring the dawn 
 Of happier, nobler years. 
 We cannot, etc. 
 
The Captive. 69 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 I AM dreaming of my home, 
 Of the valley where the torrent dashes by, 
 
 Where the eagle and the wild deer love to roam, 
 And the mountains hang their shadows in the sky. 
 
 I am grieving for the maid 
 Who will linger for her warrior in vain, 
 
 She will listen for my signal in the shade, 
 And the footsteps that will never come again. 
 
 I am bleeding far away 
 From the glories of my native mountain sky, 
 
 And I'm longing in my bondage for the day 
 When the foe shall lead their captive forth to die. 
 
 In my slumber I am free, 
 And, in dreams, again I grasp the bended bow ; 
 
 But I waken in my solitude to see 
 The vision melt in fetters and in woe. 
 
70 Song of the Indian Mother. 
 
 SONG OF THE INDIAN MOTHER, 
 
 GENTLY dream, my darling child, 
 Sleeping in the lonely wild ; 
 Would thy dreams might never know 
 Clouds that darken mine with woe ; 
 Oh ! to smile as thou art smiling, 
 All my hopeless hours beguiling 
 With the hope that thou mightst see 
 Blessings that are hid from me. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Lullaby, my gentle boy, 
 Sleeping in the wilderness, 
 
 Dreaming in thy childish joy 
 Of a mother's fond caress, 
 Lullaby, lullaby. 
 
 Sleep, while gleams the council fire, 
 Kindled by thy hunted sire : 
 Guarded by thy God above, 
 Sleep and dream of peace and love : 
 Dream not of the band that perished 
 From the sacred soil they cherished, 
 
Song of the Indian Mother. Ji 
 
 Nor the ruthless race that roams 
 O'er our ancient shrines and homes. 
 
 Sleep, while autumn glories fly, 
 'Neath the melancholy sky, 
 From the trees before the storm, 
 Chased by winter's tyrant form : 
 Oh ! 'tis thus our warriors, wasted, 
 From their altars torn and blasted, 
 Followed by the storm of death, 
 Fly before Oppression's breath. 
 
 Sleep, while night hides home and grave, 
 Rest, while mourn the surFring brave, 
 Mourning as thou, too, wilt mourn, 
 Through the future, wild and worn ; 
 Bruised in heart, in spirit shaken, 
 Scourged by man, by God forsaken, 
 Wandering on in war and strife, 
 Living still, yet cursing life. 
 
 Could thy tender fancy feel 
 
 All that manhood will reveal, 
 
 Couldst thou dream thy breast would share 
 
 All the ills thy fathers bear, 
 
 Thou wouldst weep as I am weeping, 
 
 Tearful watches wildly keeping, 
 
 By the silver-beaming light 
 
 Of the long and lonely night. 
 
72 Moonlight Hours. 
 
 MOONLIGHT HOURS. 
 
 WHEN moonlight hours in beauty beam 
 
 Along the midnight shore, 
 I wander by the waves and dream 
 
 Of hours that shine no more ; 
 And then the tide of by-gone years 
 
 Returns o'er life's blue sea, 
 Till from the rolling mist appears 
 
 Each scene I loved with thee. 
 
 The moonlight hours may wane and fade 
 
 From yonder changing sky, 
 The light of youth may turn to shade, 
 
 And friendship's taper die, 
 But let the skies be dark or bright 
 
 That bend o'er life's blue sea, 
 My heart will view through day and night 
 
 Each scene I loved with thee. 
 
 When moonlight hours their beams unite 
 
 Along the murmuring main, 
 I dream beneath their melting light 
 
 Of hearts that meet again : 
 
Moonlight Hours. 73 
 
 The world may smile, and glory fling 
 
 Its glance o'er scenes to be, 
 But still my heart will turn and cling 
 
 To all I loved with thee. 
 
74 Harry O' Lane. 
 
 HARRY a LANE. 
 
 THE sunlight was streaming through woodbine and 
 
 willow, 
 
 The clover was blooming on meadow and plain, 
 And a bark floated off like a bird o'er the billow, 
 The morning I parted from Harry O'Lane, 
 Dear Harry O'Lane, lost Harry O'Lane. 
 
 The heavens grew dark, and I heard the wild warn- 
 ing 
 
 That tells of a storm coming down on the main, 
 And I knew in my heart that the last golden morning 
 Had dawned on the world for my Harry O'Lane, 
 Dear Harry O'Lane, lost Harry O'Lane. 
 
 The wing of the blast o'er the ocean came sweeping, 
 I knelt to the God of the sailor in vain, 
 
 And I dream of a form on the red coral sleeping, 
 Where foundered the bark of my Harry O'Lane, 
 Dear Harry O'Lane, lost Harry O'Lane. 
 
 The morning winds play through the bright golden 
 
 willows, 
 I hear the glad music of waters again, 
 
Harry O* Lane. 75 
 
 But never shall morning, nor breezes, nor billows, 
 Bring back the glad voice of my Harry O'Lane, 
 Dear Harry O'Lane, lost Harry O'Lane. 
 
'Tts Sweet to be Remembered. 
 
 'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. 
 
 OH ! 'tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 In the merry days of youth, 
 While the world seems full of brightness, 
 
 And the soul retains its truth ; 
 When our hopes are like the morning beams 
 
 That flash along the sea, 
 And every dream we know of life 
 
 Is one of purity ; 
 Tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 As the spring remembers earth, 
 Spreading roses in our pathway, 
 
 Filling all our hearts with mirth. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 In the summer-time of life, 
 Ere we reach the burning summit 
 
 With our weight of woe and strife ; 
 To look backward through the shadows 
 
 Where our journey first begun, 
 And the golden flowers of memory 
 
 Turn their faces to the sun ; 
 Tis sweet to be remembered, 
 
 As the breeze remembers day, 
 
'Tis Sweet to be Remembered. 
 
 Floating upward from the valley, 
 O'er the pilgrim's weary way. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 When our life has lost its bloom, 
 And every morning sun we meet 
 
 May leave us at the tomb ; 
 When our youth is half forgotten, 
 
 And we gaze with yearnings fond 
 From a world where all is dying 
 
 To a deathless world beyond ; 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered, 
 
 As the stars remember night, 
 Shining downward through the darkness, 
 
 With a pure and holy light. 
 
78 Sleep, Robin, Sleep. 
 
 SLEEP, ROBIN, SLEEP. 
 
 SLEEP, Robin, sleep, 
 
 While mother watches o'er you, 
 And bright starry skies 
 
 Bend o'er the sleeping land. 
 Rest, birdie, rest ; 
 
 The world is all before you, 
 And pleasure and pain 
 
 Go ever hand in hand. 
 
 Sleep, Robin, sleep, 
 
 With mother's wing above you, 
 And soft angel eyes 
 
 To guard your sleeping form. 
 Rest, birdie, rest ; 
 
 May angels ever love you, 
 And walk by your side 
 
 In sunshine and in storm. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sleep, Robin, lullaby ; 
 Rest, birdie, lullaby; 
 Sleep, sleep, Robin, lullaby. 
 
Let us Love while we May. 79 
 
 LET US LOVE WHILE WE MAY. 
 
 LET us love while we may, for the storms will arise 
 
 As we sail o'er the blue waves of Time, 
 And the hopes of to-day may be hid from our eyes 
 
 By the noon-clouds that darken our prime. 
 We may look for the lost hills of morning, and 
 grieve, 
 
 But the soft hush of twilight will come, 
 And our souls on the rose-tinted billows of eve 
 
 Float calmly away to their home. 
 
 Let us love while we live, and our mem'ry will rise 
 
 Like a halo of light from the grave, 
 As the day from the deep lends a glow to the eyes 
 
 That are guarding the gloom of the wave. 
 There's a life in the soul that is better by far 
 
 Than the glitter of glory and gold, 
 It may fade in the noon, but will shine like a star 
 
 When the proud world is darksome and cold. 
 
So Marion Moore. 
 
 MARION MOORE. 
 
 GONE art thou, Marion, Marion Moore, 
 Gone like the bird in the autumn that singeth, 
 Gone like the flower by the wayside that springeth, 
 Gone like the leaf of the ivy that clingeth 
 
 Round the lone rock on a storm-beaten shore. 
 
 Dear wert thou, Marion, Marion Moore, 
 Dear as the tide in my broken heart throbbing ; 
 Dear as the soul o'er thy memory sobbing. 
 Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing, 
 
 Wasting is all the glad beauty of yore. 
 
 I will remember thee, Marion Moore, 
 I shall remember, alas, to regret thee ; 
 I will regret when all others forget thee ; 
 Deep in my breast will the hour that I met thee 
 
 Linger and burn till life's fever is o'er. 
 
 Gone art thou, Marion, Marion Moore, 
 Gone like the breeze o'er the billow that bloweth, 
 Gone as the rill, to the ocean that floweth, 
 Gone as the day from the gray mountain goeth, 
 
 Darkness behind thee, but glory before. 
 
Marion Moore. 8* 
 
 Peace to thee, Marion, Marion Moore, 
 Peace which the queens of the earth cannot borrow, 
 Peace from a kingdom that crowned thee with sor- 
 row : 
 Oh ! to be happy with thee on the morrow, 
 
 Who would not fly from this desolate shore ? 
 
82 Lord, keep my Memory Green. 
 
 LORD, KEEP MY MEMORY GREEN. 
 
 MY feet approach life's western slope : 
 
 Above me bend the noonday skies, 
 Beyond me spreads the realm of hope, 
 
 Behind, the land of memory lies ; 
 I know not what the years may bring 
 
 Of dangers wild, or joys serene; 
 But, turning to the east, I sing, 
 
 " Lord, keep my memory green." 
 
 land of winter and of bloom, 
 
 Of singing bird, and moaning pine, 
 Thy golden light, thy tender gloom, 
 
 Thy vales and mountains, all are mine ! 
 The holy loves of other years, 
 
 With beck'ning hands toward me lean, 
 And whisper, through their falling tears, 
 
 " Lord, keep my memory green." 
 
 Dear Memory ! whose unclouded gaze 
 Can pierce the darkest wilds of space, 
 
 1 see her morning watch-fires blaze, 
 I feel her breezes fan my face ; 
 
Lord, keep my Memory Green. 83 
 
 I would not give the light she flings 
 Across my future's landscape scene 
 
 For all the pomp and power of kings, 
 " Lord, keep my memory green." 
 
 Let Memory near my soul abide, 
 
 With eye and voice to warn and win, 
 Till Hope and Memory, side by side, 
 
 Shall walk above the tides of sin, 
 Till from life's western lakes and rills 
 
 The angel lifts the sunset sheen, 
 And hangs it o'er the eastern hills, 
 
 " Lord, keep my memory green." 
 
84 The Mountains of Life. 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE. 
 
 THERE'S a land far away mid the stars, we are told, 
 Where they know not the sorrows of time ; 
 
 Where the pure waters wander through valleys of 
 
 gold, 
 And life is a treasure sublime : 
 
 'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul, 
 
 Where ages of splendor eternally roll, 
 
 Where the way-weary traveller reaches his goal 
 On the evergreen mountains of life. 
 
 Our gaze cannot soar to that beautiful land, 
 But our visions have told of its bliss ; 
 
 And our souls by the gales from its gardens are 
 
 fanned 
 When we faint in the deserts of this ; 
 
 And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose 
 
 When our spirits were torn with temptations and 
 woes, 
 
 And we've drunk from the tide of the river that flows 
 From the evergreen mountains of life. 
 
 Oh ! the stars never tread the blue heavens at night 
 But we think where the ransomed have trod ; 
 
The Mountains of Life. 85 
 
 And the day never smiles from his palace of light 
 
 But we feel the bright smile of our God. 
 We are travelling homeward, through changes and 
 
 gloom, 
 
 To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom, 
 And our guide is the glory that shines through the 
 
 tomb, 
 From the evergreen mountains of life. 
 
86 The Dawn of Redemption. 
 
 THE DA WN OF REDEMPTION. 
 
 SEE them go forth like the floods of the ocean, 
 
 Gathering might from each mountain and glen ; 
 Wider and deeper the tide of devotion 
 
 Rolls up to God from the bosoms of men ; 
 Hear the great multitude singing in chorus, 
 
 Groan as they gaze from their crimes to the sky, 
 Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er us, 
 
 When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh ? " 
 
 " Look on us wanderers, sinful and lowly, 
 
 Struggling with grief and temptation below ; 
 Thine is the goodness o'er every thing holy, 
 
 Thine is the mercy to pity our woe ; 
 Thine is the power to cleanse and restore us 
 
 Spotless and pure as the angels on high, 
 " Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er us, 
 
 When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh ? " 
 
 Gray hair and golden youth, matron and maiden, 
 Lovers of mammon and followers of fame, 
 
 All with the same solemn burden are laden, 
 Lifting their souls to that one mighty name, 
 
The Dawn of Redemption. 87 
 
 " Wild is the pathway that surges before us, 
 On the broad waters the black shadows lie ; 
 
 Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er us, 
 When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh ? " 
 
 Lo ! the vast depths of futurity's ocean 
 
 Heave with the pulse of the Infinite breath, 
 Why should we shrink from the billows' commotion ? 
 
 Angels are walking the waters of death ; 
 Angels are blending their notes in the chorus, 
 
 Rising like incense from earth to the sky, 
 " Father, the billows grow lighter before us, 
 
 Heaven with its mansions eternal draws nigh." 
 
88 The Beautiful Hills. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL HILLS. 
 
 OH ! the Beautiful Hills where the blest have trod 
 
 Since the years when the earth was new : 
 Where our fathers gaze from the fields of God 
 
 On the vale we are journeying through : 
 We have seen those hills in their brightness rise 
 
 When the world was black below, 
 And we felt the thrill of immortal eyes 
 In the night of our darkest woe. 
 Then sing of the Beautiful Hills, 
 
 That rise from the evergreen shore ; 
 Oh ! sing of the Beautiful Hills, 
 Where the weary shall toil no more. 
 
 The cities of yore that were reared in crime, 
 
 And renowned by the praise of seers, 
 Went down in the tramp of old King Time, 
 
 To sleep with his gray-haired years ; 
 But the Beautiful Hills rise bright and strong 
 
 Through "the smoke of old Time's red wars, 
 As on that day when the first deep song 
 
 Rolled up from the morning stars. 
 Then sing of the Beautiful Hills, etc. 
 
The Beautiful Hills. 89 
 
 We dream of rest on the Beautiful Hills, 
 
 Where the traveller shall thirst no more ; 
 And we hear the hum of, a thousand rills 
 
 That wander the green glens o'er. 
 We can feel the souls of the martyred men 
 
 Who have braved a cold world's frown ; 
 We can bear the burdens which they did then, 
 
 Nor shrink from their thorny crown. 
 Then sing of the Beautiful Hills, etc. 
 
 Our arms are weak, yet we would not fling 
 
 To our feet this load of ours. 
 The winds of spring to the valleys sing, 
 
 And the turf replies with flowers ; 
 And thus we learn on our wintry way 
 
 How a mightier arm controls, 
 That the breath of God on our lives will play 
 
 Till our bodies bloom to souls. 
 
 Then sing of the Beautiful Hills, etc. 
 
Prophet of Nazareth. 
 
 PROPHET OF NAZARETH. 
 
 SWEET prophet of Nazareth, constant and tender, 
 
 Whose truth like a rainbow encircles the world ; 
 The time is approaching when wrong shall surrender, 
 
 And war's crimson banners forever be furled ; 
 When the throat of the lion no longer shall utter 
 
 Its roar of defiance in desert and glen, 
 When the lands will join hands, and the black can- 
 non mutter 
 
 Their discords no more to the children of men. 
 As breaks the gold sunlight, when heroes and sages 
 
 Were rising and falling like meteors in space, 
 A new glory broke on the gloom of the ages, 
 
 And love warmed to life in the glow of thy face ; 
 The wars of the Old Time are waning and failing, 
 
 The peace of the New Time o'erarches our tears, 
 The orbs of the Old Time are fading and paling, 
 
 The sun of the New Time is gilding the years. 
 
 The mist of the ocean, the spray of the fountain, 
 The vine on the hillside, the moss on the shrine, 
 
 The rose in the valley, the pine on the mountain, 
 All turn to a glory that symboleth thine ; 
 
Prophet of Nazareth. 91 
 
 So I yearn for thy love as the purest and dearest 
 
 That ever uplifted a spirit from woe, 
 And I turn to Thy life as the truest and nearest 
 
 To Infinite Goodness that mortals may know. 
 
 Soul of the Orient, peerless and holy, 
 Enthroned in a splendor all angels above, 
 
 1 would join with the singers that raise up the lowly, 
 
 And praise Thee in deeds that are Christlike in 
 
 love. 
 
 Let my words be as showers that fall on the high- 
 lands, 
 
 Begotten in shadows, expiring in light, 
 While Thine are the billows that sing to life's islands 
 In numbers unbroken, by noonday and night. 
 
92 Where the Roses never Wither. 
 
 WHERE THE ROSES NEVER WITHER. 
 
 WHERE the roses ne'er shall wither, 
 Nor the clouds of sorrow gather, 
 
 We shall meet, we shall meet : 
 Where no wintry storm can roll, 
 Driving summer from the soul ; 
 Where all hearts are tuned to love, 
 On that happy shore above. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Where the roses ne'er shall wither, 
 Nor the storms of sorrow gather, 
 Angel bands will guide us thither, 
 Where the roses ne'er shall wither. 
 
 Where the hills are ever vernal, 
 And the springs of youth eternal, 
 
 We shall meet, we shall meet : 
 Where life's morning dream returns, 
 And the noonday never burns ; 
 Where the dew of life is love, 
 On that happy shore above. 
 
Where the Roses never Wither. 93 
 
 Where no cruel word is spoken, 
 Where no faithful heart is broken, 
 We shall meet, we shall meet : 
 Hand in hand and heart to heart, 
 Friend with friend, no more to part, 
 Ne'er to grieve for those we love, 
 On that happy shore above. 
 
94 My Prayer. 
 
 MY PRAYER. 
 
 FATHER, bend Thine ear and hear me 
 
 While I call to Thee in prayer, 
 Let Thine angels linger near me 
 
 In my time of grief and care, 
 Like the sun upon the river 
 
 Let thy love upon me shine, 
 Till my life shall sing forever 
 
 In the boundlesss deep of Thine. 
 
 Father, when my lips are pleading 
 
 For the weary march to end, 
 Homeless, lonely, torn, and bleeding, 
 
 Let me find in Thee a friend ; 
 When like leaves my hopes are falling, 
 
 And despair has filled my breast, 
 Let me hear Thy low voice calling, 
 
 " Come, and I will give you rest." 
 
 Father, let Thy spirit guide me 
 
 Through the darkness and the blast, 
 
 Let Thine angels walk beside me, 
 Till temptation's power be past, 
 
My Prayer. 95 
 
 Till I view the heights supernal 
 Tow'ring o'er life's changing sea, 
 
 Till I tread the vales eternal, 
 Where the blest are led by Thee. 
 
96 The Isles of the By and By. 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE BY AND BY, 
 
 WE shall meet again in the By and By, 
 Where the mountains gleam in the morning sky, 
 We shall meet again in the land of Love, 
 Our Father's home above. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We shall meet again, we shall meet again, 
 In the beautiful Isles of the By and By, 
 
 We shall meet again, we shall meet again, 
 In the Isles of the By and By. 
 
 In the balmy Isles where the angels roam 
 By the crystal seas of our Father's Home, 
 There are forms of grace and of beauty rare, 
 And the ones we have lost are there. 
 
 We must part in tears when the twilight dies 
 On the far-off hills of our evening skies ; 
 We shall meet in joy where our dear ones stand 
 In the gates of the Morning Land. 
 
The Isles of the By and By. 97 
 
 We shall fall asleep where the autumn grieves 
 O'er the fading flowers and the falling leaves ; 
 We shall wake again where the angels sing 
 In the bloom of eternal spring. 
 
98 Beautiful Annie. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL ANNIE. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Gone ere thy light heart knew sorrow and woe ; 
 
 Beautiful Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Oh, how we miss thee no mortal may know ! 
 
 Sweet is thy song, though the world may not hear it ; 
 
 Bright is thy home, with the angels to cheer it ; 
 
 Oh, for one view of thy glorified spirit, 
 Free from the fetters that bind us below ! 
 
 Beautiful Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Gone ere thy young life a shadow might feel ; 
 Beautiful Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Green is thy memory in sorrow and weal : 
 Thine is the splendor of joy undeceiving, 
 Ours be the love to thy memory cleaving, 
 Ours be the faith which is blest in believing 
 All the fond visions the angels reveal. 
 
 Beautiful Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Gone from our pathway in life's early May ; 
 
 Beautiful Annie, silver-voiced Annie, 
 
 Smile on our home from thy glory-lit way. 
 
Beautiful Annie. 99 
 
 Glide round the hearts that so oft were thy pillow, 
 Sing in our gloom like the bird in the willow, 
 Come to our night like the star to the billow, 
 Gilding the wave with a promise of day. 
 
ioo Children s Day. 
 
 CHILDREN'S DAY. 
 
 THE wintry winds have flown away 
 
 To colder lands than ours, 
 And summer brings this joyous day 
 
 With all its wealth of flowers ; 
 We come in many a happy throng, 
 
 We meet in every clime, 
 To crown with love and cherful song 
 
 The dearest name of Time. 
 
 REFRAIN. 
 
 We come, we come, 
 
 Amid the bloom of June ; 
 Our hearts are light, 
 Our faces bright, 
 
 Our voices all in tune ; 
 We come, we come, 
 
 Our love for Him to prove 
 Who took the children in His arms, 
 
 And blest them with His love. 
 
 Let lilies breathe and roses fling 
 Their fragrance on the air, 
 
Children s Day. 101 
 
 And all the birds of summer sing 
 
 In one melodious prayer ; 
 Let mountain, river, rill, and lake 
 
 Give praises to His name, 
 And every voice of Nature wake 
 
 Our hearts to holy flame. 
 
IO2 Look Up. 
 
 LOOK UP. 
 
 LOOK up, look up, desponding soul, 
 
 The clouds are only seeming, 
 The light behind the dark'ning scroll 
 Eternally is beaming. 
 Wait on, hope on, 
 Work with heart and hand ; 
 Make room in your life for the angel throng 
 From the beautiful morning land. 
 
 The warmth and glow of deathless youth 
 Shall crown the true endeavor ; 
 
 The tide of God's immortal truth 
 Climbs up and on forever. 
 
 There is no death, there is no night, 
 
 Nor life nor day declining; 
 Beyond the day's departing light 
 
 The sun is always shining. 
 
 Could we but pierce the rolling storms 
 That veil the pathway sunward, 
 
 We'd see a host of shining forms 
 Forever beckoning onward. 
 
Leona. 103 
 
 LEONA. 
 
 LEONA, the hour draws nigh, 
 
 The hour we've awaited so long, 
 For the angel to open a door through the sky, 
 That my spirit may break from its prison and try 
 Its voice in an infinite song. 
 
 Just now, as the slumbers of night 
 
 Came o'er me with peace-giving breath, 
 The curtain, half lifted, revealed to my sight 
 Those windows which look on the kingdon of light 
 That borders the River of Death. 
 
 And a vision fell solemn and sweet, 
 
 Bringing gleams of a morning-lit land ; 
 I saw the white shore which the pale waters beat, 
 And I heard the low lull as they broke at their feet 
 Who walked on the beautiful strand. 
 
 And I wondered why spirits should cling 
 
 To their clay with a struggle and sigh, 
 When life's purple autumn is better than spring, 
 And the soul flies away like a sparrow, to sing 
 In a climate where leaves never die. 
 
IO4 Leona. 
 
 Leona, come close to my bed, 
 
 And lay your dear hand on my brow ; 
 The same touch that thrilled me in days that are 
 
 fled, 
 
 And raised the lost roses of youth from the dead, 
 Can brighten the brief moments now. 
 
 We have loved from the cold world apart ; 
 
 And your trust was too generous and true 
 For their hate to o'erthrow: when the slanderer's 
 
 dart 
 
 Was rankling deep in my desolate heart, 
 I was dearer than ever to you. 
 
 I thank the Great Father for this, 
 
 That our love is not lavished in vain ; 
 Each germ, in the future, will blossom to bliss, 
 And the forms that we love, and the lips that we 
 kiss, 
 
 Never shrink at the shadow of pain. 
 
 By the light of this faith am I taught 
 
 That death is but action begun ; 
 In the strength of this hope have I struggled and 
 
 fought 
 
 With the legions of wrong, till my armor has caught 
 The gleam of Eternity's sun. 
 
 Leona, look forth and behold ! 
 
 From headland, from hillside, and deep, 
 The day king surrenders his banners of gold ; 
 
Leona. 
 
 The twilight advances through woodland and wold, 
 And the dews are beginning to weep. 
 
 The moon's silver hair lies uncurled, 
 
 Down the broad-breasted mountains away ; 
 Ere sunset's red glories again shall be furled 
 On the walls of the west, o'er the plains of the world, 
 I shall rise in a limitless day. 
 
 Oh ! come not in tears to my tomb, 
 
 Nor plant with frail flowers the sod : 
 There is rest among roses too sweet for its gloom, 
 And life where the lilies eternally bloom, 
 
 In the balm-breathing gardens of God. 
 
 Yet deeply those memories burn 
 
 Which bind me to you and to earth ; 
 And I sometimes have thought that my being would 
 
 yearn, 
 
 In the bowers of its beautiful home, to return 
 And visit the home of its birth. 
 
 'Twould even be pleasant to stay, 
 
 And walk by your side to the last ; 
 But the land-breeze of Heaven is beginning to play, 
 Life's shadows are meeting Eternity's day, 
 
 And its tumult is hushed in the past. 
 
 Leona, good-by. Should the grief 
 That is gathering now ever be 
 
io6 Leona. 
 
 Too dark for your faith, you will long for relief ; 
 And, remember, the journey, though lonesome, is 
 brief, 
 
 Over lowland and river, to me. 
 
The Guardian Angel. 107 
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 I COME not from the weeping willow-tree : 
 
 I sing of climes where pleasures ever thrill, 
 I bear a message of a life to be, 
 
 When spheres dissolve, and warring waves are 
 
 still ; 
 I guard thee in the early morning light, 
 
 The noonday glare, the glow that paints the west ; 
 I gaze upon thee in the lonely night, 
 
 And mark each sigh that stirs thy sleeping breast. 
 
 'Tis mine to hover near thee every hour ; 
 
 To note the cares that shade thy troubled face, 
 Till life anew shall lift the fallen flower, 
 
 And crown with deathless bloom each fading 
 
 grace. 
 
 Though life seems dark, and hope shines dim and 
 far, 
 
 Faint not ; I never leave thee long alone : 
 The golden light that speaks from star to star, 
 
 Is far less fleet than love that claims its own. 
 
io8 Going Home. 
 
 GOING HOME. 
 
 Kiss me when my spirit flies, 
 Let the beauty of your eyes 
 Beam along the waves of death 
 While I draw my parting breath, 
 And am borne to yonder shore 
 Where the billows beat no more, 
 And the notes of endless spring 
 Through the groves immortal ring. 
 
 I am going home to-night, 
 Out of blindness into sight, 
 Out of weakness, war, and pain, 
 Into power, peace, and gain, 
 Out of winter gale and gloom 
 Into summer breath and bloom ; 
 From the wand'rings of the past 
 I am going home at last. 
 
 Kiss my lips nnd let me go : 
 Nearer swells the solemn flow 
 Of the wondrous stream that rolls 
 By the borderland of souls ; 
 
Going Home. 109 
 
 I can catch sweet strains of songs 
 Floating down from distant throngs, 
 And can feel the touch of hands 
 Reaching out from angel bands. 
 
 Anger's frown and envy's thrust, 
 Friendship chilled by cold distrust, 
 Sleepless night and weary morn, 
 Toil in fruitless land forlorn, 
 Aching head and breaking heart, 
 Love destroyed by slander's dart, 
 Drifting ship and darkened sea, 
 Over there will righted be. 
 
 Sing in numbers low and sweet, 
 Let the songs of two worlds meet, 
 We shall not be sundered long, 
 Like the fragments of a song, 
 Like the branches of a rill 
 Parted by the rock or hill, 
 We shall blend in tune or time, 
 Loving on in perfect rhyme. 
 
 When the noontide of your days 
 Yields to twilight's silver haze, 
 Ere the world recedes in space, 
 Heavenward lift your tender face ; 
 Let your dear eyes homeward shine, 
 Let your spirit call for mine, 
 And my own will answer you 
 From the deep and boundless blue. 
 
no Going Home. 
 
 Swifter than the sunbeam's flight 
 I will cleave the gloom of night, 
 And will guide you to the land 
 Where our loved ones waiting stand, 
 And the legions of the blest 
 There shall welcome you to rest ; 
 They will know you when your eyes 
 On the isles of glory rise. 
 
 When the parted streams of life 
 Join beyond all jarring strife, 
 And the flowers that withered lay 
 Blossom in immortal May ; 
 When the voices hushed and dear 
 Thrill once more the raptured ear, 
 We shall feel, and know, and see, 
 God knew better far than we. 
 
Our Dream by the River. in 
 
 OUR DREAM BY THE RIVER. 
 
 'TWAS here that we wandered when winter was over, 
 
 And saw the white apple-blooms falling like snow, 
 The birds in the trees and the bees in the clover 
 
 Were tuning their notes to the water's soft flow; 
 The earth was awaiting the birth of her roses, 
 
 When all her sweet voices in harmony sing. 
 I shall never forget, till the day of life closes, 
 
 Our dream by the river that morning in spring. 
 
 The soul of that morning still lingers in splendor, 
 
 The song of the water still rings in my ears, 
 That look in your eyes, half reproachful yet tender, 
 Has haunted my life through a long night of 
 
 years ; 
 On the vast rolling plains where the rivers pressed 
 
 onward 
 
 For freedom and rest in the fetterless blue, 
 On the wonderful heights where the mountains swept 
 
 sunward 
 I've paused to remember that morning and you. 
 
112 The Picture. 
 
 THE PICTURE. 
 
 IT was only a symbol in soft light and shade 
 Which the sun looking down in his glory had made, 
 But the sight of it touched me that morning in May 
 As a billow is touched by the birth of the day ; 
 The landscape of Life at my feet lay unrolled, 
 Its rivers of silver, its sunsets of gold ; 
 I heard the spring torrent rush down from the hill, 
 And, faint from the lowlands, the wood-robin's trill. 
 
Completeness. 113 
 
 COMPLETENESS. 
 
 O LOVE that all my being warms ! 
 
 O love that shields my life from storms ! 
 
 O love that every impulse wills, 
 
 And every flitting fancy fills ! 
 
 love that shines through all my dreams 
 Like starlight through the summer streams ; 
 That thrills with melody my days, 
 
 And rounds all discord into praise ! 
 
 1 lean my face upon thy breast 
 As bends my noon-ray to the west, 
 And calmly, in my open boat, 
 
 I floating sing and singing float. 
 I wait no more by wayside lakes, 
 To dally with the reeds and brakes ; 
 Behind me fade the mountain snows, 
 And in my face the June wind blows, 
 While strong and wide the currents sweep 
 Toward the ever-calling deep. 
 
 love that rocks me in its arms, 
 And makes me brave amidst alarms ! 
 
 1 know not where thy stream may lead, 
 Through rocky pass or flowery mead, 
 
 I only feel that I am blest ; 
 I only know I am at rest. 
 
H4 The Golden Dream. 
 
 THE GOLDEN DREAM. 
 
 THE golden dream of all my life 
 Is framed in soft September's ray, 
 
 And rises o'er long leagues of strife 
 Like some blest island far away ; 
 
 Its memory has haunted me, 
 
 When love seemed like a leafless tree, 
 And charmed away my pain, love, 
 And sung within my brain, love, 
 
 Like music from a moonlit sea. 
 
 O queen of all my royal hours, 
 
 Before your glance all sorrow flies, 
 
 Your face looks out from stars and flowers, 
 And lends new grace to hills and skies ; 
 
 No more I tread the barren strands, 
 
 Through lonely wastes of burning sands, 
 I walk no more in gloom, love, 
 My life is glad with bloom, love, 
 
 And all its wealth is in your hands. 
 
 My every thought, in woe or weal, 
 Across your soul some token rlings, 
 
The Golden Dream. 115 
 
 And every new-born hope you feel 
 In my own spirit soars and sings ; 
 
 The love that leaps from soul to soul 
 
 Whose impulse Fate could not control, 
 Shall conquer Time and Art, love, 
 Shall hold us heart to heart, love, 
 
 When Time's brief years no longer roll. 
 
 My life is yours, your life is mine ; 
 
 Like crystal waters interwove, 
 No mortal will can fix a line 
 
 To part the mingled tides of love : 
 The storms that vex the ocean's face, 
 Can only mar its outward grace, 
 
 While calm below its crest, love, 
 
 Deep down within its breast, love, 
 The waves are lulled in love's embrace. 
 
n6 Loves Morning Call. 
 
 LOVE'S MORNING CALL. 
 
 COME over the valley, my darling, my own, 
 
 The flowers are waking in gladness and dew, 
 The spirit of night has deserted its throne, 
 
 There's a blush of delight on the mountain's dark 
 
 blue; 
 The arrows of morning are winging their way 
 
 From a quiver of gold on the billow's broad 
 
 breast, 
 The isles of the ocean are purpling with day, 
 
 The moon lies asleep at the gates of the west. 
 
 I've seen the wild waters encompass your form 
 
 As you reached in the darkness for comfort and 
 
 light, 
 I've heard your low call in the din of the storm, 
 
 And felt your soft touch in the stillness of night ; 
 Your life shall forget all the anguish it bore 
 
 When adrift and alone on a desolate deep ; 
 The phantom of sorrow shall haunt you no more 
 
 'Mid the cares of the day nor in visions of sleep. 
 
 Oh ! love is of being the glory and grace, 
 
 The power, the impulse, the voice, and the breath ! 
 
Loves Morning Call. 1 1 7 
 
 It can rest in the light of a dearly loved face, 
 Yet is stronger than edict and ruler o'er death ; 
 
 If planets and systems between us should roll, 
 And our paths by the spaces be sundered apart, 
 
 I should know when a shadow swept over your soul, 
 And be swayed by the innermost pulse of your 
 heart. 
 
 Come out from the lowlands, my beautiful one, 
 
 I've crossed the dark mountains that hid you 
 
 from me ; 
 The young morning's laugh ripples up from the sun, 
 
 And dimples with smiles the sad face of the sea ; 
 From the highlands of gold to the valleys of green 
 
 The voices of summer are singing in tune, 
 And roses are waiting to welcome the queen 
 
 With their red lips upturned for the kisses of 
 June. 
 
n8 / Care not for this World without Thee. 
 
 I CARE NOT FOR THIS WORLD WITH- 
 OUT THEE. 
 
 I CARE not for this world without thee, 
 
 Apart from thee all life is pain, 
 The flowers that bloom and breathe about me, 
 
 If thou art gone, unfold in vain : 
 The sun and the moon, the twilight, the dawn, 
 Grow dim if the light of thy love be withdrawn ; 
 Ah ! never can my spirit doubt thee 
 While hope and trust and life remain. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh ! hear me, hear me when I call thee, 
 When the moon is on the mountain beaming, 
 Or the stars are dreaming 
 
 Where the billows roll, 
 111 cannot befall me 
 
 While thou art near my soul. 
 
 Let other friends betray and leave me, 
 
 And tears of bitter anguish fall, 
 I know one light will not deceive me, 
 
 I know one ear will hear my call : 
 
/ Care not for this World without Thee. 1 19 
 
 The sun may expire, the bright stars decay, 
 But thou wilt draw nearer while worlds fade away, 
 Ah ! never more can mortal grieve me, 
 While dwells thine image over all. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Oh ! hear me, etc. 
 
I2O Night on the Prairie. 
 
 NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 I AM here again, where the prairies sweep 
 Like the rolling tides of a shoreless deep ; 
 And I eastward turn, while the clear, bright eyes 
 Of the planets flash in the midnight skies ; 
 For dearer than all the orbs that shine 
 From the Milky Way to the world's low line, 
 Is one whose eyes are awaiting me 
 Behind the gates of the eastern sea. 
 
 Far up and away in the starry heights 
 Are the changing spires of the wild north lights, 
 As they form and fade, then gather again, 
 Like the sheen of spears on the battle plain, 
 Like the gleam of crests through the awful gloom 
 Where the Arctic monsters crash and boom, 
 And the uncurbed ice-steeds plunge and tramp 
 O'er the sentry lines of the storm-god's camp. 
 
 I am all alone in the waning night : 
 
 I have lingered here in the growing light 
 
 Till the stars have paled, and the skies turned gray 
 
 In the westward march of the coining day ; 
 
Night on the Prairie. 121 
 
 And lo ! my beautiful Morning Star 
 Climbs over the brown horizon bar 
 And beckons to me from the verge of space 
 With the soul of day in her tender face. 
 
122 Loves Immortality. 
 
 LOVE'S IMMORTALITY. 
 
 OH, the gladness and glory 
 
 Of life and of time 
 When love's dual story 
 Is told in one rhyme ! 
 
 When one face is pictured on brain and on eye, 
 And one name is written on rainbow and sky ; 
 When the robins sing love through all seasons and 
 
 changes, 
 
 And waves whisper love in the arms of the night ; 
 When the years rise before us like green mountain 
 
 ranges, 
 Whose cedars and myrtles are bathed in one light. 
 
 Like the rose by the fountain 
 
 That mirrors its hue, 
 Like the rain on the mountain 
 
 That hungers for dew, 
 
 So your life in the stream of my life saw its own, 
 So your presence brought flowers where no flowers 
 
 had blown. 
 
 Oh, the clasp of our souls was the glory of living ! 
 We shared with each other in pleasure and pain, 
 
Loves Immortality. 123 
 
 For the wealth of our love was the rapture of giving, 
 And all that we gave was the sweetest of gain. 
 
 Like the sun to the ocean 
 Where two vessels glide, 
 
 Keeping time to one motion 
 
 Of breeze and of tide, 
 
 Was the spell of our love to life's billow and air, 
 And in sorrow and shadow we knew it was there : 
 We knew it at midnight by stars shining o'er us, 
 When mist hid the deep, by a voice and a breath 
 Floating ever above and behind and before us, 
 A presence in darkness, in trial, and death. 
 
 How it sang through all weather 
 
 In mind and in heart ! 
 How it willed us together 
 When sundered apart ! 
 How the sweet star of Hope cast her smile on the 
 
 strife 
 Where the surges of fate shook the headlands of 
 
 life! 
 
 The landscapes of time have their Junes and De- 
 cembers, 
 
 And rivers of beauty between them that roll, 
 But of all that my spirit beholds or remembers, 
 Our love is the warmth, and the light, and the sou\. 
 
 It may pass like the shower 
 That watered the earth ; 
 
124 Loves Immortality. 
 
 It may fade like the flower 
 
 That springtime gave birth ; 
 
 The sun may go down on its gladness and bloom, 
 And the winter storm shroud it in drift and in gloom ; 
 But the rain shall live on in the heart of the river, 
 The rose tint ascend to the cloud and the sky ; 
 And the love that is ours shall enfold us forever, 
 When fountain, and river, and ocean are dry. 
 
June Days. 125 
 
 JUNE DAYS. 
 
 THE Queen of all the year 
 
 Once more walks land and sea; 
 Her days of bloom are here, 
 
 To tell my soul of thee : 
 The dearest days of all I know 
 
 In summer shade or shine, 
 For in their soft light long ago 
 
 A soul was born for mine. 
 O royal June ! 
 Sweet flowering June ! 
 Her song is in the rill 
 
 That to the valley flows, 
 Her tender eyes 
 Light earth and skies, 
 
 Her cheek with beauty glows, 
 Her breath perfumes the hill, 
 
 Her lips are in the rose. 
 
 And though we walked apart 
 Till life's brief May was o'er, 
 
 The summer of the heart 
 Is ours forevermore. 
 
126 June Days. 
 
 And so the Junes are ever new, 
 And filled with glad surprise, 
 For all their bloom, their light and dew, 
 Are blended in thine eyes. 
 O royal June ! 
 Sweet flowering June ! 
 Her song is in the rill 
 
 That to the valley flows, 
 Her tender eyes 
 Light earth and skies. 
 
 Her cheek with beauty glows, 
 Her breath perfumes the hill, 
 
 Her lips are in the rose. 
 
The Woman in the Moon. 127 
 
 THE WOMAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 MOON ! that from your starry height 
 Looks down on river, lake, and sea, 
 
 Go seek her eyes whose tender light 
 Is more than star and sun to me ; 
 
 Reflect on thine the radiant face 
 That cheered my way when all was dark, 
 
 And send the picture down through space 
 To light the tide that bears my bark. 
 
 Ah, moon ! I see her image now 
 
 Reflected on thy silver shield, 
 It sways before my vessel's prow, 
 
 The fairest wave and sky can yield. 
 
 1 see her face in beauty rise, 
 
 And, o'er the changing glance of thine, 
 The steadfast glory of her eyes 
 Is beaming fondly into mine. 
 
128 Our Love shall never Die. 
 
 OUR LOVE SHALL NEVER DIE. 
 
 No matter where my feet may stand, 
 On silent plain or noisy strand, 
 On sailing ship or solid land, 
 In lowly ways or mountains grand, 
 
 My soul is close to you, love, 
 
 My soul is close to you. 
 
 No matter what my lips may say 
 To turn the questioning world away, 
 In moments sad, in moments gay, 
 In clouded night or cloudless day, 
 
 My life to you is true, love, 
 
 My life to you is true. 
 
 The morning suns may lose their gold, 
 The bright warm noons turn pale and cold, 
 And all bright things we now behold 
 In earth and air and wave, grow old, 
 
 And fade from brain and eye, love, 
 
 And fade from brain and eye. 
 
 But in the gloom of deepest night 
 A rose shall wave in beauty bright, 
 
Our Love shall never Die. 129 
 
 A star shall hail the morning light, 
 A bird shall sing across the night, 
 
 " Our love shall never die, love, 
 
 Our love shall never die." 
 
130 Venus. 
 
 VENUS. 
 
 WHEN Venus rises from the deep 
 With morning glory in her face, 
 
 And all her train have gone to sleep 
 Behind the paling dome of space, 
 
 Sweet mem'ries through my being sweep 
 Of one whose rare and loving grace 
 
 Flung o'er my dark and lonely way 
 
 A promise of the coming day. 
 
 When Venus from her throne of blue 
 Stoops down to touch the western sea, 
 
 Before her train appears in view 
 From out the calm Immensity, 
 
 I turn to her, and think of you, 
 Whose love is life and light to me, 
 
 Whose touch controlled my troubled breast, 
 
 And gave me peace for wild unrest. 
 
/ will be with You. 131 
 
 I WILL BE WITH YOU. 
 
 )>e with you when daylight is ending, 
 And' sunset's rare glories have died on the plain, 
 When 1 ove's evening star from her throne is descend- 
 ing, 
 To lave her sweet face in the foam of the main. 
 
 I will be with you when cold dews are falling, 
 And song-birds have ceased to remember the day, 
 
 When dark rolling waves through the midnight are 
 
 calling 
 For stars to come down and illumine the way. 
 
 I will be with you when daylight is breaking, 
 
 And dawn's tender promise is kindling the skies, 
 When Love's morning star in the east is awaking 
 With new life and light in her beautiful eyes, 
 I will be with you, 
 I will be with you, 
 On sea and shore, 
 I will be with you, 
 I will be with you, 
 Forevermore. 
 
132 The Boatman s Dream. 
 
 THE BOATMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 WITH long arm o'er the prairies tossed, 
 
 And feet that bathed in tropic spray, 
 And head all white with Northern frost, 
 
 The mighty Sire of Waters lay : 
 His fingers gleamed with priceless mines, 
 
 Or watered herds along the plains, 
 And lowly grass and lofty pines 
 
 Drew life and grandeur from his veins. 
 
 The June winds left their mountain towers 
 
 Which guard the Valleys of the West, 
 With odors from a million flowers 
 
 To soothe the sleeping giant's rest ; 
 They danced along his pulsing form, 
 
 With many a quaint and charming grace, 
 And threw their kisses, sweet and warm, 
 
 In dimples on his quiet face. 
 
 It was the time when human souls 
 Their visioned thoughts of Heaven renew, 
 
 And inspiration o'er us rolls 
 
 From rising star and falling dew : 
 
The Boatman s Dream. 133 
 
 The hour when higher aims have birth, 
 And passion's wildest tides are still, 
 
 When angel pinions fan the earth, 
 And men may feel them if they will. 
 
 An humble boatman viewed the scene 
 
 In silence from his crew apart, 
 As, slowly through the twilight sheen, 
 
 His rude craft sought the Southern mart ; 
 And o'er him swayed a form of light, 
 
 Unseen, but felt in soul and mind ; 
 As lightning glimmers through the night, 
 
 Vivid and clear, yet undefined. 
 
 A black man hummed a careless air, 
 
 And toiled to swell a white man's gains, 
 And little dreamed the boatman there 
 
 Would yet redeem his race from chains. 
 With folded arm and pensive eye 
 
 The boatman gazed upon the stream ; 
 And, lo ! the spell of prophecy 
 
 Stole on his senses like a dream. 
 
 And, like the sound of far-off floods, 
 
 When ocean choirs majestic roll 
 Their wild psalms through the mellowing woods, 
 
 A low voice murmured to his soul. 
 And sweeter than the hymns of birds 
 
 Which thrill the springtime of the year, 
 That low voice, melting into words, 
 
 Thus sank upon his dreaming ear : 
 
134 The Boatman's Dream. 
 
 " O'er highlands green and billows blue 
 
 I bear the banner of the Free, 
 I am the Genius of the True, 
 
 The glorious Maid of Liberty ; 
 I led the Pilgrim to the rock, 
 
 I tuned the soul of William Tell ; 
 I live in every battle shock 
 
 That rings the key to Slavery's knell. 
 
 " God gave a New World to thy sires, 
 
 When despots trampled on the Old ; 
 And I in Truth's eternal fires 
 
 Baptized a nation for my fold : 
 I took it from the lion's grasp, 
 
 And fondly nursed its wondrous charms : 
 I held it with a mother's clasp, 
 
 And guided it through war's alarms. 
 
 " And I have loved it since the time 
 
 Of Lexington and Bunker Hill ; 
 I've warned it of the Old World's crime, 
 
 I pray that God may shield it still ; 
 But God is just, and time is sure, 
 
 And vengeance will arise at last, 
 To crush the crime it cannot cure, 
 
 In sword and fire and cannons' blast. 
 
 " What though the palm tree smite the pine, 
 And Saxon's first recoil with pain ? 
 
 The Serpent of the South will twine 
 Around the Eagle's nest in vain. 
 
The Boatman s Dream. 135 
 
 Its folds shall know the squadrons' tread, 
 The burning town, the combats' glare, 
 
 While Mercy bows her golden head, 
 And shuts her blue eyes in despair. 
 
 " Go forth, sad man of thought and care, 
 
 Of weary nights and anxious morns ; 
 'Tis thine to toil, and wait and wear, 
 
 Mid sneers and taunts, the crown of thorns. 
 But those who curse thee most shall bow 
 
 And bless thy work in brighter hours ; 
 The crown shall blossom on thy brow, 
 
 And all its thorns be changed to flowers. 
 
 " Thy people do not know thee ; yet, 
 
 In yon black night that looms afar, 
 When all thy earthly hopes have set, 
 
 Thy name will be their morning star : 
 And by its light a race of slaves 
 
 Will march as did the slaves of yore, 
 Unfettered through the Red Sea waves, 
 
 Triumphant to the Promised Shore." 
 
 The full moon climbed the skies of June 
 
 To hang her shield on lake and stream ; 
 The river played a pleasant tune, 
 
 And woke the boatman from his dream. 
 And when the Junes of many years 
 
 Had bloomed and ripened in the land, 
 A nation placed, mid hopes and fears, 
 
 Its sceptre in the boatman's hand. 
 
136 The Boatman s Dream. 
 
 With life unsullied from his youth 
 
 He meekly took the ruler's rod ; 
 And, wielding it in love and truth, 
 
 He lived, "the noblest work of God." 
 u He knew no fierce, unbalanced zeal, 
 
 That spurns all human differings, 
 Nor craven fear which shuns the steel 
 
 That carves the way to better things. 
 
 And in the night of blood and grief, 
 
 When horror rested on the Ark, 
 His was the calm, undimmed belief 
 
 That felt God's presence in the dark. 
 Full well he knew each wandering star 
 
 That once had decked the azure dome, 
 Would tremble through the clouds of war, 
 
 And like a Prodigal come home. 
 
 He perished ere the angel Peace 
 
 Had rolled war's curtain from the sky ; 
 But he shall live when wrong shall cease, 
 
 The great and good can never die ; 
 For, though his heart lies cold and still, 
 
 We feel its beatings warm and grand, 
 And still his spirit pulses thrill 
 
 Through all the councils of the land. 
 
 The flag of strife at length is furled, 
 Rebellion drops the gory knife, 
 
 The spring of peace glides up the world, 
 Its buds are bursting into life : 
 
The Boatman's Dream. 137 
 
 Beneath the death-clouds, low and dun, 
 The serpent shrinks in black despair, 
 
 We lift our eyes to freedom's sun, 
 And see the eagles hovering there. 
 
 Oh, for the hosts that sleep to-day, 
 
 Lulled by the sound of southern waves : 
 The sun that lit them in the fray 
 
 Now warms the flowers upon their graves, 
 Sweet flowers that speak like words of love 
 
 Between the forms of friends and foe: 
 Perchance their spirits meet above, 
 
 Who crossed their battle blades below. 
 
 'Twas not in vain the deluge came, 
 
 And systems crumbled in the gloom ; 
 And not in vain have sword and flame 
 
 Robbed home and heart of life and bloom : 
 The mourner's cross, the martyr's blood, 
 
 Shall crown the world with holier rights ; 
 And Slavery's storm and Slavery's flood 
 
 Leave Freedom's ark on loftier heights. 
 
138 The Beautiful Years of our Love. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL YEARS OF OUR 
 LOVE. 
 
 I STOOD by that stream where the wild roses grew 
 In the green bloom of summer when Nature looked 
 
 new, 
 And I thought of the time that I roamed there with 
 
 you, 
 
 In the beautiful years of our love. 
 We were poor, but the pearl of affection was ours, 
 And we loved the glad world with its sunshine and 
 
 showers, 
 
 For life was a wayside of fountains and flowers, 
 In the beautiful years of our love. 
 
 Now far from that valley I wander, and dream 
 
 Of the raptures that perished with love's morning 
 
 gleam ; 
 And day is more lonely than night used to seem 
 
 In the beautiful years of our love : 
 For I miss your affection, the rose, and the stream 
 That murmured its tune by the moon's mellow 
 
 beam: 
 Ah ! pleasure seemed real, and life a bright dream, 
 
 In the beautiful years of our love. 
 
The Beautiful Years of our Love. 139 
 
 There are isles in Life's ocean we cannot forget 
 Till the light of its sun in the billow has set, 
 And our souls never turn but with longing regret 
 
 To the beautiful years of our love : 
 For we dreamed of the pleasure, and saw not the 
 
 woe, 
 Which Time o'er the scenes of the future might 
 
 throw, 
 And we hoped for the joys that we never should 
 
 know, 
 In the beautiful years of our love. 
 
 As the exile looks back from the waves of the deep 
 To the blue-fading hills where his forefathers sleep, 
 Oh, thus when the waves of the present time sweep 
 
 O'er the beautiful years of our love, 
 Do our souls from the future look backward through 
 
 tears 
 
 To that shore where the splendor of youth disap- 
 pears, 
 
 And weep o'er the graves of those time-buried years, 
 The beautiful years of our love. 
 
142 On the Beach. 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 O IMOGENE, loved Imogene ! 
 
 I stand upon the beach to-day, 
 And watch the white sails fading dim 
 O'er the blue deeps that lie serene 
 
 Against the low sky far away, 
 And wonder if you think of him 
 Who vainly waits for tide and gale 
 
 To bring his treasures from the main, 
 Whose hopes went forth like ships that sail, 
 
 And come not back to port again. 
 
A Fragment. 143 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 OH, keels that cleft the seas of long ago ! 
 
 Oh, sails that drifted in the morning light, 
 Till, lost behind the line of ice and snow, 
 
 They gleamed no more upon our longing sight ! 
 What golden waters now around them roll, 
 
 Where isles of beauty sleep in living bloom ? 
 What glories draw them to the Eternal Pole, 
 
 Whose headlands glimmer through the north night 
 gloom ? 
 
142 On the Beach. 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 O IMOGENE, loved Imogene ! 
 
 I stand upon the beach to-day, 
 And watch the white sails fading dim 
 O'er the blue deeps that lie serene 
 
 Against the low sky far away, 
 And wonder if you think of him 
 Who vainly waits for tide and gale 
 
 To bring his treasures from the main, 
 Whose hopes went forth like ships that sail, 
 
 And come not back to port again. 
 
A Fragment. 143 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 OH, keels that cleft the seas of long ago ! 
 
 Oh, sails that drifted in the morning light, 
 Till, lost behind the line of ice and snow, 
 
 They gleamed no more upon our longing sight ! 
 What golden waters now around them roll, 
 
 Where isles of beauty sleep in living bloom ? 
 What glories draw them to the Eternal Pole, 
 
 Whose headlands glimmer through the north night 
 gloom ? 
 
144 Luther of Piety Hill. 
 
 LUTHER OF PIETY HILL. 
 
 LUTHER lived among maples on " Piety Hill," 
 If out of perdition, he's living there still ; 
 His body is lengthy and lanky and lean, 
 His virtues are leaner and far between ; 
 His soul if he has one is narrow and mean; 
 If he has a good impulse, it seldom is seen, 
 For wilfulness covers it up like a screen. 
 Oh, the sanctified sinner of "Piety Hill!" 
 
 Like the surly Missouri, all muddy and wild, 
 The stream of his being forever is " riled ; " 
 Abounding in sunken and dangerous snags, 
 He storms and he sputters, he "jaws " and he nags ; 
 His tongue like the tail of a terrier wags, 
 Though the tail only waggles when doggie is glad, 
 While the tongue wags the loudest when Luther is 
 
 mad. 
 Oh, the dismal old deacon of " Piety Hill ! " 
 
 I wonder sometimes what his " new name " will be . 
 It is hard to find names for such compounds as he. 
 
Luther of Piety Hill. 145 
 
 If his heart were more mellow, he might be called 
 
 hog, 
 
 Though he acts like a vulture, and sings like a frog 
 That croaks at the moon from the brink of a bog; 
 And he prays like a 'possum, yet inwardly swears, 
 His professions are false as the wig that he wears. 
 Oh, the pious old pirate of " Piety Hill ! " 
 
 In the cycles long past so the oracles say 
 An angel determined to have his own way, 
 And the effort developed, oh, shocking to tell! 
 A tail he has worn since the day that he fell 
 Like a fiery comet from Heaven to hell, 
 And it follows him yet through the darkness of sin, 
 A token of rage that was burning within 
 When he tried to be ruler on " Piety Hill." 
 
 Now, the moral adorning the barb of this " tail " 
 Is, that charity liveth though prophecies fail : 
 Let Luther discern from poor Lucifer's fate 
 That love lifts the latch of the Beautiful Gate ; 
 The pathway to woe leads through malice and hate ; 
 That we carry the signs of tte discord we make, 
 Though we "pay for the Gospel," and pray for 
 
 " Christ's sake," 
 And live among maples on " Piety Hill." 
 
146 A Western Tarn. 
 
 A WESTERN TARN. 
 
 Lo ! the Queen of midnight moveth 
 Where the tacturn lake-fowl looneth, 
 
 Where the Frenchman's dinner jumps, 
 
 Where the Frenchman's diet humps, 
 
 And the owlet whoops and dumps ; 
 Where the ancient teal carooneth, 
 And the bashful duckie spooneth 
 
 Round the "tarn "-al " thunder pumps ; " 
 Where the ultimated polly- 
 
 Wog, resigning "tad" and "pole," 
 Leaps a wayward, frisky, jolly 
 
 Frog that whistles at control, 
 Hops and croaks at polly's folly, 
 
 Fog and slough and marish hole, 
 Laughs " kerchung " at polly's folly, 
 
 Bogulated in that hole, 
 
 Prisoned in that pokey hole. 
 
Ode on a Cracked Bell. 147 
 
 ODE ON A CRACKED BELL. 
 
 HEAR the parish chapel bell, 
 Fractured bell, hear it swell, 
 Like a drunken Indian's yell ; 
 How the frantic demon rings, 
 With a crazy wheezy jangle, 
 Ending in a triple tangle, 
 Breaking in on song and prayer, 
 Almost moving saints to swear. 
 
 "Hang the bell, 
 
 Whang the bell, 
 
 Bang the bell, 
 
 Dang the bell. 
 Blast the bell, bell, bell ! " 
 
 How it swings, 
 
 How it clings 
 
 To the ever-shrieking belfry ; 
 How it jingle, wrangle, dings, 
 And, like souls in torment, sings 
 Of unutterable things ! 
 How long, O Lord, how long 
 Must that phantom of a gong, 
 Of a heathen Chinese gong, 
 
148 Ode on a Cracked Bell. 
 
 Wheeze and bray, night and day, 
 AnH to meek dissenters say, 
 When they try to sing or pray, 
 " Apostolical succession, 
 Apostolical succession," 
 With diabolical obsession, 
 And with infamous expression, 
 And a damnable transgression 
 Of all feeling, sense, and sound ? 
 
The East and the West. 149 
 
 THE EAST AND THE WEST. 
 
 LAND where the bright day dies 
 
 On the empire's rugged breast, 
 Where the river sources rise, 
 
 And roll to the east and west, 
 We hail thee, we hail thee, 
 
 From our high and massive walls, 
 Where the mighty soul of commerce 
 
 To the " star of empire " calls, 
 We hail thee, we hail thee 
 
 From many a tender shrine 
 Where our loving mothers slumber 
 
 In the shade of oak and pine, 
 From many a field of battle 
 
 By the blood of heroes blest, 
 Where the eagles fought together 
 
 For the grand old parent nest. 
 
 Land of the morning light, 
 Of the pine and drifting snow, 
 
 Of the dark green mountain height, 
 And rivers that dawnward flow. 
 
 We hail thee, we hail thee, 
 
 From our prairies broad and free, 
 
150 The East and the West. 
 
 Where the fields of grain are waving 
 
 Like the billows of the sea. 
 We hail thee, we hail thee, 
 
 From our western summits bold 
 Where the rocks are tied together 
 
 With yellow threads of gold, 
 Where the awful shadows linger 
 
 In our canyons wild and grim, 
 And the torrent god is singing 
 
 His everlasting hymn. 
 
To my Mother's Spirit. 151 
 
 TO MY MOTHER'S SPIRIT. 
 
 COME to my weary heart, wancTring from duty, 
 
 Spirit that guarded my pathway in youth, 
 Come in the beams of thy glorified beauty, 
 
 Smile on a soul that is struggling for truth ; 
 Thou hast been with me when pleasures were fleeing, 
 
 Silv'ring the nighttime of sorrow with love, 
 Floating like light through the clouds of my being, 
 
 Come to me now from thy dwelling above. 
 
 Come to my couch when the wide world reposes, 
 
 Watch o'er the slumbers and visions of night, 
 Rest on my hopes like the dew on the roses ; 
 
 Bring all the budding ones forth to the light. 
 True as the stars o'er the mountain storm playing, 
 
 Faithful through trial, temptation, and pain, 
 Thou hast been true when my spirit was straying. 
 
 Come, and I never will grieve thee again. 
 
j 52 Dawn. 
 
 DAWN. 
 
 VENUS ! lift your face once more 
 Above the surging of the main. 
 
 1 stand upon a troubled shore 
 
 And look and long for you in vain ; 
 I hear the ocean sob and call, 
 
 Like some great life by love unblest ; 
 I see the waters rise and fall 
 
 Like warring passions in the breast ; 
 The foreheads of the far-off isles 
 
 Are bathing in the springs of dawn : 
 O Venus ! lift your face in smiles, 
 
 And tell me that the night is gone. 
 
The Woman and the Angel. 153 
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 SHE sat on the side of the mountain, 
 
 The cataract thundered below ; 
 Above her the roofs of the ages 
 
 Were lifting their thatches of snow ; 
 The landscape was swimming in glory, 
 
 The sky and the earth were in love, 
 And the great peaks seemed hanging like anchors 
 
 Cast out from the planets above. 
 
 'Twas the land where the pale lips of winter 
 
 To the ripe lips of August are pressed ; 
 Where the dead, frozen heart of the rain-drop 
 
 Revives on the lily's white breast ; 
 The cool tide of summer poured round us, 
 
 The bird in the aspen sang sweet, 
 And the cedar-ribbed shaft of the miner 
 
 Yawned darkly and deep at our feet. 
 
 She had turned from the vision of splendor, 
 Which Nature before us had spread, 
 
 To a form that went down and ascended 
 By the windlass that wound overhead; 
 
154 The Woman and the Angel. 
 
 Then her face, for a moment averted, 
 Was raised to the blue of the skies, 
 
 And I saw the white soul of the woman 
 Shine out through the blue of her eyes. 
 
 Unmoved by the voices without her, 
 
 She hearkened to voices within, 
 And I know that the angels had spoken 
 
 To save her from anguish and sin. 
 Two spirits contended above her, 
 
 One fierce and malignant, one mild ; 
 One strove for a treacherous lover, 
 
 One plead for a passion-swayed child. 
 
 Then she stooped, as our voices grew louder 
 
 In converse, in music and mirth, 
 And traced, with her delicate finger, 
 
 Strange lines in the dust of the earth ; 
 She knew not their language or import : 
 
 A spirit directed her hand, 
 And Heaven alone might interpret 
 
 Those characters written in sand. 
 
 She ceased, for the conflict was over, 
 
 The glory had gone from her face ; 
 And a look, half despairing, half loving, 
 
 Came forth, and was throned in its place ; 
 And a storm, broken loose from the mountain, 
 
 Swept over the vale in its flight ; 
 And the sweet bird that sang in the aspen 
 
 Fluttered downward in dumbness and fright. 
 
The Woman and the Angel. 155 
 
 She descended that night to the valley, 
 
 Oppressed with confusion and pain ; 
 The tempter had conquered the tempted, 
 
 The angel had pleaded in vain : 
 And the will of her captor surged 'round her 
 
 Like the tide that encircles the bark, 
 Which, rudderless, crewless, and helpless, 
 
 Drifts out in the desolate dark. 
 
 But the angel will follow her footsteps 
 
 O'er mountains, in cities and ships : 
 She will hear its low call in the midnight, 
 
 And awake to the touch of its lips ; 
 And her soul from the spell shall be lifted, 
 
 For the woman illumines it still ; 
 And the spirit that conquered the tempest 
 
 Shall strengthen the links of her will. 
 
156 The Infinite Mother. 
 
 THE INFINITE MOTHER. 
 
 I AM mother of Life, and companion of God, 
 I move in each mote from the suns to the sod, 
 I brood in all darkness, I gleam in all light, 
 I fathom all depth and I crown every height ; 
 Within me the globes of the universe roll, 
 And through me all matter takes impress and soul. 
 Without me all forms into chaos would fall, 
 I was under, within and around, over all, 
 Ere the stars of the morning in harmony sung, 
 Or the systems and suns from their grand arches 
 swung. 
 
 I loved you, O Earth, in those cycles profound, 
 When darkness unbroken encircled you round, 
 And the fruit of creation, the race of mankind, 
 Was only a dream in the Infinite mind ; 
 I nursed you, O Earth, ere your oceans were born, 
 Or your mountains rejoiced in the gladness of morn, 
 When naked and helpless you came from the womb, 
 Ere the seasons had decked you with verdure and 
 
 bloom, 
 
 And all that appeared of your form or your face 
 Was a bare, lurid ball in the vast wilds of space. 
 
The Infinite Mother. 157 
 
 When your bosom was shaken and rent with alarms 
 I calmed and caressed you to sleep in my arms, 
 I sung o'er your pillow the song of the spheres 
 Till the hum of its melody softened your fears, 
 And the hot flames of passion burned low in your 
 
 breast 
 
 As you lay on my heart like a maiden at rest ; 
 When fevered, I cooled you with mist and with 
 
 shower, 
 And kissed you with cloudlet and rainbow and 
 
 flower 
 
 Till you woke in the heavens arrayed like a queen, 
 In garments of purple, of gold and of green, 
 From fabrics of glory my fingers had spun 
 For the mother of nations and bride of the sun. 
 
 There was love in your face, and your bosom rose 
 
 fair, 
 
 And the scent of your lilies made fragrant the air, 
 And your blush in the glance of your lover was 
 
 rare 
 As you waltzed in the light of his warm yellow 
 
 hair, 
 
 Or lay in the haze of his tropical noons, 
 Or slept 'neath the gaze of the passionless moons, 
 And I stretched out my arms from the awful un- 
 known 
 
 Whose channels are swept by my rivers alone, 
 And held you secure in your young mother-days, 
 And sung to your offspring their lullaby lays, 
 
158 The I 71 finite Mother. 
 
 While races and nations came forth from your 
 
 breast, 
 Lived, struggled, and died, and returned there to 
 
 rest. 
 
 All creatures conceived at the Fountain of Cause 
 Are born of my travail, controlled by my laws ; 
 I throb in their veins and I breathe in their breath, 
 Combine them for effort, disperse them in death ; 
 No form is too great or minute for my care, 
 No place so remote but my presence is there. 
 I bend in the grasses that whisper of spring, 
 I lean o'er the spaces to hear the stars sing, 
 I laugh with the infant, I roar with the sea, 
 I roll in the thunder, I hum with the bee ; 
 From the centre of suns to the flowers of the sod 
 I am shuttle and loom in the purpose of God, 
 The ladder of actiori all spirit must climb 
 To the clear heights of Love from the lowlands of 
 Time. 
 
 'Tis mine to protect you, fair bride of the sun, 
 Till the task of the bride and the bridegroom is 
 
 done; 
 
 Till the roses that crown you shall wither away, 
 And the bloom on your beautiful cheek shall decay ; 
 Till the soft golden locks of your lover turn gray 
 And palsy shall fall on the pulses of Day ; 
 Till you cease to give birth to the children of men, 
 And your forms are absorbed in my currents 
 
 again, 
 
The Infinite Mother. 159 
 
 But your sons and your daughters, unconquered by 
 
 strife, 
 
 Shall rise on my pinions and bathe in my life, 
 While the fierce glowing splendors of suns cease to 
 
 burn, 
 
 And bright constellations to vapor return, 
 And new ones that rise from the graves of the old, 
 Shine, fade, and dissolve like a tale that is told. 
 
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