fl
 
 STORIES IN SONG 
 
 AND 
 
 / 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM GRANT BROOKS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 Rev. Thomas H. Stacy, Pastor of the Cutts Avenue Free Baptist Church 
 Saco, Maine, and Author of " In the Path of Light Around the World." 
 
 Biographical Sketch by Philip C. Tapley. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 LHWISTON, MAINE: 
 
 THE HASWKI.L I RKSS, Pl BIJSHKRS, 
 
 IQOO.
 
 Kntered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1900 by 
 
 WILLIAM GRANT BROOKS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
 
 AUTHOR S FATHER AND MOTHER.
 
 STORIHS IN SONG 
 
 AM) OTIIKR 1 OKMS.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 IN MEMORY OK MY MOTIIKK, 
 
 MRS. HARRIET C. BROOKS. 
 
 Passed away Aug. 20, 1896, 
 Aged 64 years. 3 months, 28 days. 
 
 " I shall never know another. 
 
 Like ni}- dear and sainted mother ; 
 She was faithful to her family, to her neighbors, to her God ! 
 
 Her long life was freely given, 
 
 For our welfare she had striven. 
 She has earned the Christian s heritage she has gone to her reward.

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 1 1 a hook do not apologize for itself, it is in vain lor the author 
 to attempt it hy a preface.
 
 12 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Walton in his "Complete Angler" says: "Angling is somewhat 
 like poetry, men are born so." We may say that this is from the 
 standpoint of an enthusiastic angler, but we find that Bailey says: 
 
 Poetry is in itself a thing of God ; 
 He made His prophets poets; and the more 
 We feel of poesie do we become 
 Like God in love and power, under-makers." 
 
 As to the origin of poetry the angler and the poet agree; and 
 without doubt they have spoken the truth. 
 
 Poetry is a thing of God, and the poetic genius is a gift; it stirs 
 the best in our hearts, because the best has brought it forth ; it 
 stimulates to lofty deeds because it springs from lofty conceptions. 
 
 Poetry better than prose reveals the writer. Imagine if you will 
 the muse stirring the embers of thought and feeling, directing the 
 pen, but conception and expression are ever moulded and colored by 
 the writer s characteristics. 
 
 In poetry as in painting methods of expression differ widely. 
 Schools of poetry like schools of philosophy have gathered about 
 those whose productions have made them eminent. Pope, Dryden s 
 pupil, had many copyists. The Wordsworth school is still in exist 
 ence, Longfellow s style and method have many imitators, and we 
 might mention many more of whom this is true. Shakespeare and 
 Milton have had their imitators, but perhaps they have hardly been 
 at the head of a school, for the reason that they have stood alone, 
 inimitable, the one in dramatic and the other in epic poetry. 
 
 Perhaps nothing is more essential in poetry than pure and lofty 
 conceptions, expressed in simple and luminous style. Bryant speaks 
 of two wrong tendencies on the part of seekers after poetic fame; he 
 says: " One of these is the desire to extort admiration by striking 
 novelties of expression." In such cases the struggle and strain to 
 carry out this purpose is apparent and the true genius of song is 
 strangled. The other tendency is: "The ambition to distinguish 
 themselves by subleties of thought remote from the common apprehen 
 sion. Obscurity is unpoetic; while poetry brings to the surface mind 
 gems, it is limpid, light and luminous. It seems to us that Bryant 
 might have spoken of another wrong tendency, namely, simply
 
 Introduction. 3 
 
 rhyming. In much that goes for poetry the chief end seems to be to 
 make words rhyme. No doubt the makers of such verse have found 
 with Fielding that " Rhymes are difficult things they are stubborn 
 things sir." But there is poetry, beautiful, inspiring poetry that 
 does not rhyme at all, and in which there is no attempt at rhyming. 
 Metre is far more essential than rhyme and yet Emerson says: " It 
 is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem." 
 
 " The elements of poetry lie in natural objects, in the vicissitudes 
 of human life, in the emotions of the human heart, and the relations 
 of man to man," says Bryant. If he is right and he was a censor 
 " vStories in Song and Other Poems " will be of interest to the general 
 reading public, for these characteristics inhere in them ; the thought 
 is largely concerning every day experiences, the language, plain and 
 unmistakable ; with no attempt at striking novelties, the frank and 
 honest thought, betray a frank and honest heart. 
 
 For two reasons this collection will be of interest to the people 
 of Saco and Biddeford. First, because the author was born and has 
 always resided in the former city. Having won the confidence and 
 respect of his fellow citizens, they have a just pride in his musical 
 and literary achievements. Second, because many of the scenes and 
 events set forth are based upon local facts which have existed in the 
 past, or do exist at the present time. 
 
 Many will be greatly interested in Personal Poems. Poems on 
 Temperance and Patriotisim, all will appreciate the tender tributes 
 to " Mother " but it appears to us that Bill and Joe s Reunion, The 
 Fallen Oak, Warned Out, To a faded Flower and Except in August 
 are among the most attractive in the collection. May " Stories in 
 Song and other Poems " go forth to instruct, inspire and comfort. 
 
 THOMAS H. STACY.
 
 AUTHOR S BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 William (/rant Brooks was born February 26, 1869, at Saco, 
 Maine, in humble circumstances and obtained a limited education in 
 the public schools of his native place. Most of his education he was 
 destined to obtain by contact with the world for he was obliged to 
 leave school at the age of thirteen to earn his own livelihood and 
 help support the family. 
 
 At a very early age he manifested a remarkable aptitude for 
 music and at the age of twelve years could play in a creditable man 
 ner upon numerous instruments, never having had the assistance of 
 a teacher during this time. At the age of fifteen, he purchased an 
 organ and began the study of music in earnest, bat owing to limited 
 means, could take only a few lessons and after a time was forced to 
 give up his teacher and pursue his way alone, which he has ever 
 since done with notable ability and success. 
 
 In iSXS, Mr. Brooks composed a temperance song entitled "The 
 Drunkard s Child s Farewell " which was published by Oliver Ditson 
 Co., of Boston. The popularity and success of this work, encouraged 
 the author to try again and since that date he has composed many 
 works which have become known and given him a reputation far be 
 yond the borders of his native State. 
 
 Among his instrumental pieces are "Department Commander 
 Burbank s Grand March," " Governor Henry B. Cleaves Grand 
 March," "The Cavalrymen s Raid," dedicated, by permission, 
 to Major General John M. Schofield, Commander-in-Chief of the 
 U. S. A., "Governor Burleigh s Reception March," which is 
 considered by critics one of the very best Marches written in recent 
 years and "The Dirigo State (Two Step) March," which was per 
 formed by Sousa s Grand Concert Band in Saco City Hall, April 28th, 
 1897, the occasion being graced with the presence of that distinguish 
 ed vSoldier and Statesman, Major General Joshua L. Chamberlain, 
 Ex-Governor of Maine, to whom the March was dedicated and 
 Mrs. Chamberlain. 
 
 Although Mr. Brooks is best known to the world at present, 
 through his musical compositions, within the last few years he has
 
 j^ Author s Biography. 
 
 begun to attract attention as a poet and gives promise of a brilliant 
 future in this line. 
 
 His poem, entitled "The Tramp Musician" is universally 
 know and justly celebrated, being pronounced by critics a very finely 
 written poem. He/ekiah Butterworth, in a personal letter to the 
 author said of it, " This has merit. The story is admirable and some 
 of the lines are dramatic and admirably written ." From the public at 
 large he has received many testimonials of praise in regard to it. 
 His poem, " The World s Ready Helpers," has recently been pub 
 lished in China in the Chinese language. 
 
 In addition to the works named in this sketch, he has written 
 many others both musical and poetical, also a few prose works. 
 
 In person, Mr. Brooks is tall, erect and of such a generally 
 striking physique that he would attract attention among hundreds. 
 His character is of the best, the result of the training of a Christian 
 mother, to whose influence he attributes in a large measure his success. 
 He is a prominent member of the Grand Lodge of Maine Good 
 Templars, and has never tasted liquor nor tobacco in any form. He- 
 is also a member of Mavoshen Lodge. No. i, K. of P., of Biclde- 
 ford, Maine, the Royal Arcanum Sons of Temperance, and several 
 other secret orders. 
 
 The late General Neal Dow of Portland, Maine, was a warm per 
 sonal friend of Mr. Brooks, and between the two there existed a tie of 
 sympathy and regard for each other that remained unbroken until 
 the General s death, which occured at Portland, Oct. and, 1X97. 
 
 With a kind and sympathetic nature and a genial disposition. 
 Mr. Brooks makes one of the pleasantest of companions and scores of 
 his fellow townemen and others are glad to number him among 
 their friends. 
 
 PHILIP C. TAPLKY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Dedication .......... 8 
 
 Preface. . . . . . . . . . .11 
 
 Introduction . . . . . . . . . .12 
 
 Author s Biography .... 15 
 
 Contents . . . . . . . . . 17 
 
 Illustrations ......... 19 
 
 STORIKS IX SOXG. 
 
 Beacon and the Hell. The . . . . . . . 24 
 
 Hill ami foe s Reunion. ........ 30 
 
 Hero of the Sea. A . . . . . . . 4 2 
 
 Lafayette s Visit to Saco ....... 26 
 
 Moonlight on the Saco River . . . . . . -34 
 
 Tramp Musician. The ........ 21 
 
 RELIGIOUS POKMS. 
 
 Gateway, The . . . . . . . . .61 
 
 Life s Twilight and Close . ..... ^7 
 
 Looking beyond the Sunset . . . . . . . -55 
 
 Mother s Dying Prayer ........ ^2 
 
 Opportunities of Life . . . . . . . S4 
 
 Peaceful Rest ..... ... 60 
 
 Power of a Sony. The . . . . . . . 48 
 
 PATRIOTIC POKMS. 
 
 Banner of Peace. The .... . . . 6> 
 
 King of Our L iiion. The . . . . . . . 67 
 
 Memorial Day, 1893 .... .64 
 
 Nation s Treasure. The ..... . . 69 
 
 PERSONAL POKMS. 
 
 General Neal Dow. To ..... . 74 
 
 George Washington . . . . . . . . -77 
 
 In Memoriam ...... So 
 
 John Greenleal" Whittier, To . . . . . . -73 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, To ...... 72 
 
 Washington and DON ... 78
 
 i8 
 
 TEMPERANCE POEMS. 
 
 Ben Murch on the Keelev Cure ....... 90 
 
 Don t be afraid to sav "Yes" . . . . . . .86 
 
 Driving the Fatal Nails ...... -93 
 
 Mother s Favorite Hvinn . . . . . . . 87 
 
 Stain upon Our Flag, The ....... 84 
 
 Temperance Ship Sails on, The . . . . . . .82 
 
 Temperance Folks Resolve. The ...... 94 
 
 Word to the Boys, A . . . . 85 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Androscoggin s Stone Profile, The ...... 153 
 
 Artist-Season, The . . . . . . . . .167 
 
 Autumn Rain, An . . . . . . . .120 
 
 Beacon of Wood Isle, The ... . . 141 
 
 Bell of Lexington, The ..... .174 
 
 Birthdav Greeting, A . . . . . . . .114 
 
 Bridge Above the Falls, The . . 127 
 
 Chapel in the Vale, The ..... . . 162 
 
 Charity ........ . 138 
 
 Elegy Written on Laurel Hill ... . . in 
 
 Except in August ........ 133 
 
 Farewell Winter . . . . . . . .104 
 
 Fallen Oak, The. . . . 105 
 
 Glad Days of Spring . . . . . . . 145 
 
 Hope s Sweet Song . . . . . . . .124 
 
 Jim s Order ........ . 130 
 
 Lessons from Nature . . . . . . . .116 
 
 Lessons from a Life ........ 169 
 
 Lines to a Faded Flower . . .... 123 
 
 Little Hunchback, The . . . if>o 
 
 Man s Answer, A ....... 125 
 
 Man Can be Honest Though Poor, A ... . 144 
 
 Mountains, The .... . 135 
 
 Mother ....... . .133 
 
 My Old Mountain Home ..... .119 
 
 Never Wish Your Time Away . ... .117 
 
 Old Ambrose ..... . .96 
 
 Pauper, The ......... 155 
 
 Push Will Win . . 123 
 
 September Ramble, A ...... . 101 
 
 Summer Among the Hills ....... 165 
 
 Under the Chase Elms ...... . 159 
 
 Warned out. ....... 108 
 
 When the Year is Old . . 148 
 
 Where Mother is tis "Home Sweet Home" ... . 136 
 
 World s Ready Helpers. The . . . 173
 
 19 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Author s Father and Mother . . ..... S 
 
 Author s Portrait ........ 10 
 
 Birthplace of William Grant Brooks . . . . . .14 
 
 Saco River bv Moonlight (As seen from Grav s Hill. Saco. Me.) . . 35 
 Biddeford Heights hv Moonlight . . . . . . -39 
 
 Mills and Lower Main Street Bridge (Between Biddeford and Saco) . 41 
 Captain John F. Tavlor . . . . . . , .4^ 
 
 Pepperell Park. Saco. Me. 58 
 Group Picture: Park, Lakelet. A Passing Train. Pile of Rocks and Windmill. 
 
 The Water-Tower . . . . . . . .58 
 
 General Neal Dow ..... 75 
 
 Author s Stud\ ......... 100 
 
 A Country Road Scene ....... 101 
 
 - The Fallen Oak" . . 106 
 Group Picture : Old High School Building, Miss Lix/.ie E,. Gowdv, The Oak 
 
 Tree. Stump of the " Old Oak " ...... 106 
 
 View in Laurel Hill Cemetery (Main Ayenue) . . . no 
 
 Mrs. Olive Toward . ...... 113 
 
 Cataract Bridge ........ 129 
 
 A Mountain Sketch ...... .. 135 
 
 Wood Island Lighthouse ....... 140 
 
 Wood I.sland ...... . . 143 
 
 The Androscoggin Stone Profile ( Lewiston. Me.) .... 152 
 
 Under the Chase Kims ........ 158 
 
 Rev. T. Arthur Frev . . . . . . . . 170 
 
 Old Belfry at Lexington, Mass. ... ... 175
 
 THE TRAMP MUSICIAN. 
 
 \()TK. Tlie household goods of a ruined millionaire \vere being sold at auction 
 and a fashionable assembly of bidders were present. The auctioneer came 
 to a handsome grand square piano, and. as he opened it, he observed that 
 the makers catalogue price for the instrument was fourteen hundred dol 
 lars. Then he invited anv one present to trv the instrument, so that all 
 present might hear its tone. 
 
 " Xo\v, here s a strand piano! 
 Its action is complete ; 
 Xo blemish mars its polished case. 
 Its tone is pure and sweet. 
 Before I sell the instrument 
 Will someone volunteer 
 To try it, so all present 
 Its silvery voice ma}- hear? 
 
 " Come, try it," said the auctioneer ; 
 
 " I ll wait a moment more." 
 
 At this second invitation 
 
 There s a stir out by the door. 
 
 And then a man advances. 
 
 vSee his pale and haggard face ! 
 
 Amid that grand assembly 
 
 He seems strangely out of place. 
 
 Upon his thin, worn features 
 
 Dissapation s seal is se!.. 
 
 And a hungry, wild expression 
 
 Is seen in his eyes of jet. 
 
 His clothes are soiled and ragged. 
 
 His hair uncombed and long : 
 
 Vet on lie goes unmindful 
 
 Of the rich and well-dressed throng. 
 
 Straight up to the piano 
 
 He seemed a spectre from the tomb 
 
 A murmur of astonishment 
 
 Is heard around the room :
 
 22 The Tramp Musician. 
 
 At last, the whole assembly. 
 With taunting jeer and shout, 
 Rush forward, madly crying : 
 " Let s put the vagrant out ! 
 
 He hesitates one moment. 
 Then his fingers touch the keys ; 
 A few soft notes, whose power sets 
 The maddened throng at ease. 
 Then a sudden burst of melody. 
 And the throng spoke not a word, 
 Heetlioven s grandest music 
 Thrilled the souls of all icho heard . 
 
 The piano was almost speaking. 
 
 And a voice from heaven above 
 
 Seemed talking, through its trembling strings, 
 
 And telling earth of love : 
 
 The lofty strains are ended, 
 
 But the music does not cease ; 
 
 For melody follows melody. 
 
 Like a river of endless peace. 
 
 Listen ! he is improvising ! 
 
 The throng with wonder look. 
 
 As tones full of joy and sunshine 
 
 Flow on like a laughing brook : 
 
 Breathlessly they listen 
 
 To each melodious strain, 
 
 Now like the warble of singing birds, 
 
 Now like the pattering rain. 
 
 The sunlight seems to disappear. 
 And night envelopes day : 
 As slowly, a touch of sadness 
 Creeps into the melody. 
 The hearts of the throng are melted. 
 Their eyes are filled with tears, 
 And the past that looms before them 
 vSeems a life of wasted years. 
 
 And now comes the sweetest, saddest.
 
 The Tramp Musician. 
 
 Grandest song neath heaven s dome: 
 
 The air seems sweeter than ever ; 
 
 Tis the melody, "I fame Su cet Home." 
 
 vSlo\ver and softer the music, 
 
 Like the wind through treetops sighing. 
 
 Till the faintest murmur lingers. 
 
 As a soul that s sinking dying. 
 
 Now the music ceases ; 
 
 The last note dies away. 
 
 And falling across the keyboard, 
 
 All motionless he lay ; 
 
 The auctioneer touched his shoulder. 
 
 Hut the vagabond s life was done ; 
 
 With the dying notes of " Home Siceet Home," 
 
 His immortal life beoun.
 
 24 The lieacon and the /><//. 
 
 THE BEACON AND THE BELL. 
 
 T was midnight on the lonely sea. 
 
 Great storm-clouds decked the threatening sky 
 
 While up and down the rocky coast, 
 
 The milk-white spray rose high. 
 
 The vivid lightnings flashed and played. 
 Peal upon peal, the thunders rolled ; 
 And over all the mighty deep. 
 The icy winds blew cold. 
 
 A ship, with canvas hung in shreds, 
 Torn by the hurricane s rude blast ; 
 Was struggling onward through the gloom, 
 With broken spar and mast. 
 
 The tired seamen, sought to hear 
 The bell-buoy, ringing o er the main ; 
 And many times they ceased their toil, 
 To listen but in vain. 
 
 Although its ponderous brazen tongue. 
 Rang out. that night, with lusty will : 
 Its tones were lost amid the storm. 
 Whose roar was louder still. 
 
 Alas ! the ship ran on the rocks ! 
 Her crew, so noble, strong and brave. 
 Sank helpless, neath the scathing loam 
 Into an ocean grave ! 
 
 Ah ! had a beacon light stood there. 
 Upon those rocks, in that dread hour ; 
 The sailors might have seen the rays. 
 Flash from its turret tower.
 
 Tlie Heacon and the /it ll. 
 
 For. though the angry teni])est s roar, 
 All through that dark and dreary night : 
 Could drown the clanging of the bell. 
 // ne er could hide the light . 
 
 And, aided by its steady flame. 
 The ship with safety, might have passed 
 Far out beyond the dangerous reef : 
 And gain the port at last. 
 
 Oft-times we meet with needy souls 
 \Yho, drifting on life s troubled wave 
 Are like the struggling mariner, 
 With none to help or save. 
 
 And many knou ing of their a ir>t/s, 
 Along the shore will idly stand : 
 And, like the bell-buoy make a noise. 
 But gii e no he/ping hand ! 
 
 Then there are those unselfish ones. 
 Who go about from day to day : 
 Who, by their kindly acts and deeds, 
 Illumine life s dark way. 
 
 And, as the beacon s steady rays, 
 Bring cheer to sailors hearts at night ; 
 So these, with pleasant word and smile, 
 Make all our burdens light. 
 
 In aiding weary, care-worn hearts, 
 We give joy to ourselves as well : 
 So, on life s shore, better to be 
 A beacon, than a bell !
 
 26 Lafayette s I isif to Saco. 
 
 LAFAYETTE S VISIT TO SACO. 1825. 
 
 [As told hv an old man to his (i rumlchildren . ) 
 
 I ve a story lor you children listen then come 
 
 close to me : 
 
 T is no quaint old Indian Legend, nor a dark tale 
 of the sea. 
 
 Xor is it of some strange Monarch who a 
 
 ruler s scepter sways : 
 
 But a great event, that happened in old Saco s 
 earl}- days. 
 
 From a Tyrant s grasp our Country years bef ore- 
 had won release : 
 
 \Ve had gained our Independence and the bright 
 Angel of Peace, 
 
 Hovered o er a happy people o er a Nation 
 
 henceforth free : 
 Kver with increasing brightness shines her 
 
 Star of Destiny- 
 In the great struggle for Freedom from Oppression s 
 
 heavy hand : 
 
 One there was who came to aid us from a 
 distant foreign land. 
 
 History tells his noble record of great battles 
 
 fought and won ; 
 
 How he gained undying laurels, by the side 
 of Washington. 
 
 Kver through the coming ages, till the sun 
 
 no more shall set ; 
 
 Fame will crown with deathless glory the 
 great name of Lafayette !
 
 27 
 
 Yes, tis of this Patriot, children, that my story 
 
 lias to do ; 
 
 And ho\v Saco once received him, I shall now 
 relate to you. 
 
 T was a June day, bright and lovely, in the 
 
 year of 25 ; 
 
 Since then how the years have faded and 
 but few are now alive ; 
 
 Of the throng of loyal people, gathered on 
 
 that summer day 
 
 To do honor to the hero nearly all have 
 passed away. 
 
 Saco then was not the city, that your youthful 
 
 eyes behold : 
 
 Customs at that time prevailing, now would seem 
 both strange and old. 
 
 Scores of shady streets, where many of our 
 
 finest dwellings stand ; 
 
 In the days of which I m speaking were but 
 woods and pasture land. 
 
 The old bridge that spanned the river, stood 
 
 then just below the Falls; 
 
 And the highway leading to it, even now my 
 mind recalls. 
 
 Both the town and highways, over which the 
 
 people went and came ; 
 
 All are changed there s scarce a feature, that 
 today appears the same. 
 
 The whole Nation s growth and progress, has been 
 
 wonderful since then ; 
 
 Railroads were as yet unthought of. in the wildest 
 dreams of men. 
 
 All the marvels of invention, that today we call 
 
 our own ; 
 
 Which to our eyes seem so common, were in early 
 davs unknown.
 
 2S Lafa vcttc* s I isif to Saco. 1^25. 
 
 We had then no bands of music, neither did t he- 
 sound of bells 
 
 Greet the Patriot, as he entered from beyond the- 
 Plains of Wells. 
 
 But they gave him such a welcome worthy of a 
 
 Prince or King ; 
 
 They extended every honor that a loving heart 
 could bring. 
 
 In fond niem ry. ah, how often I live o er that 
 
 happy scene ; 
 
 When the school children assembled, there, upon 
 the Village Green. 
 
 And the great warm hearted soldier took each little 
 
 hand in his 
 Speaking tender words of greeting icords recalled in 
 
 after vcars. 
 
 Children, I was of that number as he held me 
 
 by the hand : 
 In my boyish fancy, never seemed a soul more 
 
 truly grand. 
 
 Such a noble manly bearing ; such a kind and 
 
 winning way ; 
 
 All the children learned to love him he had won 
 their hearts that day. 
 
 In his honor, a reception, on that eve the people 
 
 gave : 
 
 Where, among those whom he greeted were a few 
 old veterans brave. 
 
 Who had followed him in battle members of his 
 
 old command : 
 
 Tears of joy their eyelids moistened, as he clasped 
 each wrinkled hand. 
 
 There were maids and matrons, wearing the quaint 
 
 costumes of the day ; 
 There were youths and little children, there were 
 
 people old and gray.
 
 Lafayette s 1 7.v/7 to Saeo. 1825. 
 
 And the doors were thrown wide open free to all, 
 
 who might attend ; 
 That is how the old town welcomed, Lafayette, 
 
 C olumbia s / riaid . 
 
 Children, from life s stage of action long ago he 
 
 passed away ; 
 
 War s dull roar wakes not his slumbers France now 
 guards his precious clay. 
 
 Though my sun of life is setting, yet with every 
 
 fleeting breath ; 
 I would sound his wondrous praises, till my old eyes 
 
 close in death. 
 
 Here s a narrow bit of ribbon, that I wore when he 
 
 was here ; 
 Look ! his name is still upon it in bold letters bright 
 
 and clear ! 
 
 Now I leave it to your keeping guard it, children, 
 
 sacredly : 
 As a loved and sweet memento of those happy days 
 
 gone by. 
 
 In the march of time and progress, old things oft 
 
 from earth are swept ; 
 
 Hut the great house still is standing, where that night 
 the hero slept. 
 
 On Spring s Island, all undaunted amid winters wind 
 
 and storm ; 
 
 Kach succeeding day, the sunlight shines upon its 
 towering form. 
 
 There it stands ! a shrine of history ! to all who its 
 
 walls behold ; 
 
 May it serve as a reminder of eventful days 
 of old. 
 
 And alike in summer sunshine, or in winters chilling 
 
 blast 
 
 May it stand ! the link tliat ever binds the Present to 
 the Past.
 
 30 Hill and foe s Reunion. 
 
 BILL AND JOE S REUNION. 
 
 [Respectfully dedicated to my friend Mr. \V. \V. Mclntvre. S;ico. M;iine 
 
 " On what charge," asked his honor, 
 " Is this man to be tried ? " 
 "Drunk, sir, and disorderly! 
 The officer replied. 
 Within the spacious courtroom, 
 The spectators were lew ; 
 The prisoner was a soldier. 
 Dressed in the army blue. 
 
 The Judge saw on his lapel, 
 That emblem, so well known, 
 The old Grand Army button : 
 And pointing to his own 
 Said in a voice more gentle, 
 " My friend, what means this, pray 
 Speak up and tell me, comrade. 
 How came you here today ? 
 
 "I ll tell you : Please your honor. 
 
 Some fifty years ago, 
 
 Amid the hills of Cumberland 
 
 I lived with brother Joe ; 
 
 Joe was a smart young fellow, 
 
 And just before the war. 
 
 Had fitted up an office 
 
 As Counsellor at Law. 
 
 " Our parents had been buried, 
 For fully seven years ; 
 When old Abe Lincoln issued 
 His call for volunteers.
 
 So Joe and I enlisted, 
 And slpri. . d lor the front ; 
 Where with our noble comrades. 
 We bore the battles brunt. 
 
 " At the Hattle of Chickamauga 
 Our brave and valliant men 
 Charged on the Southern forces ; 
 Hut were repulsed again. 
 I tell you it was grand, sir, 
 The way those boys did fight, 
 While round em rebel bullets, 
 Were flying left and right. 
 
 " And how the cannon thundered, 
 As with each firery breath, 
 They rained upon our comrades 
 Their iron hail of death. 
 That day the blood flowed freely 
 From scores of Hoys in blue ; 
 I lost my own leg there, sir, 
 Hefore that fight was through. 
 
 " That night the rebels bore me 
 With other wounded men, 
 To Andersonville prison. 
 That filthy Southern pen ; 
 Where for a year I suffered, 
 Amid the stifling air ; 
 And lots of Union comrades, 
 Death mustered out while there. 
 
 " When they at last paroled me. 
 
 My first thoughts were of Joe ; 
 
 And back to dear old Cumberland, 
 
 I soon resolved to go. 
 
 Hut Joe had left the old home, 
 
 I did not care to stay 
 
 And feeling sort o lonesome, 
 
 I ve drifted out this way. 
 
 " Last night I met a comrade, 
 A prison chum of mine ;
 
 Bill a)id foe s Reunion. 
 
 And I ll admit, your honor, 
 We soon were feeling fine. 
 And then perhaps our singing 
 Of some old army song ; 
 Annoyed the people round us, 
 But we meant nothing wrong. 
 
 " They ve never heard those war songs. 
 Sung in true soldier style ; 
 Accompanied by the humming 
 Of bullets all the while, 
 We had no grand piano, 
 With tones so rich and sweet : 
 But sang em in the sixties, 
 To the tramp of marching feet. 
 
 " Your honor, I plead guilty 
 Of being drunk last night ; 
 But sir, I ask for mercy. 
 Please make my sentence light." 
 The Judge throughout the story 
 Sat thinking of the past ; 
 And, tremb ling with emotion 
 He rose and said at last : 
 
 " The guilty ones must suffer 
 For all their evil ways : 
 And this court hereby orders 
 That your remaining days, 
 No sir ! I will not give you 
 A chance to pay a five ! 
 But sentence you for life, sir- 
 To dwell with me and mine ! 
 
 The veteran looked bewildered : 
 But as memory helped him trace 
 The features of his brother 
 In the stern old Judge s face, 
 He stumped forward to greet him : 
 The Judge sprang from his chair ; 
 And Joe and Bill, both sobbing 
 Kmbraced each other there.
 
 ///// and Joe ,v Reunion. 
 
 The brothers left the courtroom ; 
 Their hearts with joy o er ran ; 
 And from that happy moment , 
 Bill s life sentence began. 
 Within the Judge s parlor 
 That night, while tears flowed fast, 
 They held a (irand Reunion , 
 Though thirty years had passed !
 
 34 
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE SACO RIVER. 
 
 [As Seen From the Hill at the Foot of Gray s Avenue.] 
 
 From Heaven s cloudless sea of blue, 
 The countless jeweled stars looked down ; 
 High in the east, the Harvest Moon 
 Its glory shed o er hill and town. 
 It is the quiet evening hour ; 
 Beneath the radiant beams soft glow ; 
 Alone, upon the hill I stand, 
 And watch the peaceful river flow. 
 
 In dreamy silence, moving free, 
 
 Winding on its seaward way ; 
 
 Its tranquil bosom, wide and deep. 
 
 Reflecting back each slanting ray. 
 
 Along the rough, uneven shore, 
 
 Afar to the river s marsh-bound rim ; 
 
 In dim outline upon the banks 
 
 The gaunt trees stand with leafless limb. 
 
 Near to the shore at either side, 
 
 Where long black wharves their shadows cast : 
 
 Boats, lightly resting on the tide, 
 
 Are anchored at their moorings fast. 
 
 Across the river, bright and clear. 
 
 Dotting the shore to wood-crowned Heights ; 
 
 As stars that in the darkness shine 
 
 I see the gleam of city lights. 
 
 Grim old sentinels towering high, 
 
 In stoic silence on the view ; 
 
 The buildings round about me stand, 
 
 Clad in their robes of sombre hue. 
 
 Far o er the landscape s broad expanse, 
 
 Throughout the visions widest range ; 
 
 Familiar scenes assume queer forms, 
 
 Weird, ghostly, phantom-like and strange.
 
 Moonlight on the Saco River. 37 
 
 Rising high, where the swift tide runs 
 The narrow rock-ribbed gorge between ; 
 Cutts Island Hill with rounded dome 
 Outlined against the sky is seen. 
 And ever, on the still night air. 
 Floats the solemn ceasless moan ; 
 The distant rumble of the Falls, 
 In steady low sad monotone. 
 
 Out of the Narrows, far below, 
 
 A tugboat, in the moonlight clear ; 
 
 Steams gracefully around the bend, 
 
 On its way to Island Pier. 
 
 Past Gray s Point, with measured stroke, 
 
 It sails the smoke in circles rising high ; 
 
 The sound of voices, faint and low, 
 
 Comes from the deck as it passes by. 
 
 While gazing on the moonlit scene, 
 I think of the " Long-long Ago " ; 
 When as a child I used to stand 
 And watch the boats pass to and fro. 
 Ah ! those sweet happy childhood hours ! 
 Time s fleetest wings have bourne away ; 
 To brighten all my future years 
 They ll ever live in memory. 
 
 I think, too, of the far-off days 
 When the forests and the hills around 
 To noise of hammer, saw and plane. 
 Re-echoed back the joyful sound. 
 When thick and fast, the builders axe 
 .Sent scattering the flying chip ; 
 While shaping on the giant stays, 
 The oaken timbers of the ship. 
 
 Again, I mingle with the throng 
 Of people, at the Launching* there ; 
 I hear their glad exultant shouts 
 Break forth upon the morning air. 
 I see the good ship, gliding down 
 Her slippery ways so gracefully ;
 
 Moonlight on the Saco River. 
 
 And out upon the broad deep stream 
 To breast the tempests of the sea. 
 
 But the master-builder, long ago 
 Was carried to his final rest ; 
 The rays of many moons, have sent 
 Their light upon the river s breast. 
 The Yard is empty all is still 
 We ll ne er again neath vaulted skies 
 Behold the ship upon the stays, 
 Nor see her shapely timbers rise. 
 
 When winter s snows were drifted high, 
 The bleak north winds blew strong and cold- 
 How oft around the glowing hearth 
 I ve listened as the tales were told. 
 Of savages, who with cunning stealth 
 Along the river s steep banks crept 
 And massacred families in the night, 
 As unsuspectingly they slept. 
 
 The hard)- pioneers exploits, 
 
 Their customs sufferings and needs ; 
 
 Stories of fierce battles fought, 
 
 Of strange adventures daring deeds ! 
 
 And to my boyish mind and heart, 
 
 While listening to each uttered word ; 
 
 There seemed a weird, romantic charm 
 
 Around the wondrous tales I heard. 
 
 Those dark, eventful days are passed. 
 Upon the river never-more 
 Will Indians steer their light canoe ; 
 Or in the waters dip their oar. 
 Towns and cities have risen, where 
 The red-man s wigwam used to be ; 
 And all along the stream, is heard 
 The busy hum of industry. 
 
 Flow on bright river of my youth ! 
 Thy praises I will ever sing ! 
 And unto thee with willing heart 
 My tribute of affection bring.
 
 Flow ever onward to the sea. 
 Flin^ thy ]>ure waters on its breast ! 
 Thy journey o er there thou shalt find 
 Kmluriug and eternal rest ! 
 
 May we, with thy tranquility, 
 Pass uncomplainingly through liie : 
 Surmounting obstacles in our path. 
 And with a smile meet Tiel and strife. 
 Cheerfully on to our journey s end. 
 Looking toward the goal above ; 
 Tntil, like thee, we lose ourselves 
 In one ureat sea ot endless love !
 
 A HERO OF THE SEA. 
 
 NOTE. Captain John F. Tavlor of the steamship Colima, wrecked off tin- Mexican 
 coast in the Pacific, on May 2jth. iNo.^. will he remembered amonn tin. 1 
 dead heroes of the sea. lie showed his Yankee valor and American yrit 
 in the last act of his life. The ship was foundering and had begun her last 
 plunge while Taylor stood at his post on the bridge, calmly awaiting the 
 end. Just as the final lurch came, he seixed the rope to the steamship s 
 whistle and as the vessel went down, blew three long blasts. Not since 
 the American ships went down at Samoa with their bands playing national 
 airs, has such a characteristic exhibition of self control and fearlessness 
 been seen in a sea tragedy. Captain Tavlor was only ^i years old. Nr.\v 
 YORK Si N. 
 
 Iii the glad and beauteous springtime, 
 One bright day in sunny May ; 
 From a western Port, the Colima 
 Weighing anchor steamed away. 
 
 As she glided down the harbor. 
 There arose a mighty cheer ; 
 From the throats of hundreds, watching 
 Her departure from the pier. 
 
 Passing by the rocky headlands, 
 vSailing gracefully and free ; 
 Each revolution of her sidewheels. 
 Bore her further out to sea. 
 
 With the motion of the billows. 
 She rocked gently to and fro ; 
 Keeping time to measured throbbing 
 Of her engines, down below. 
 
 Kvery one on board seemed happy. 
 Some within the cabin sat ; 
 Others on the deck were walking, 
 Or engaged in friendly chat. 
 
 As night, with its deepening shadows 
 O er the blue Pacific fell ; 
 Xot a thought of pending danger. 
 Marred the quiet evening spell.
 
 Through the gloom, a lonely beacon 
 I lashed its beams across the wave : 
 ( )r among the rocks, a bellbuoy 
 Rang out warnings to the brave. 
 
 While anon, a dismal foghorn 
 
 In sad monotones would blow : 
 
 Thus the night passed morning found them, 
 
 Off the coast of Mexico. 
 
 Suddenly, a heavy crashing 
 Comes with awful deathlike sound ! 
 And the great ship reels and staggers. 
 Then it partly wheels around ! 
 
 With her trusty rudder broken, 
 Xow the steamer drifts and balks ; 
 As a bird with broken pinions, 
 She is helpless mong the rocks." 
 
 Well the Captain knew the meaning
 
 44 A Hero of the Sea. 
 
 Of the sounds that reached his ears : 
 And with grim determination, 
 On the ship s bridge he appears ! 
 
 In a steady voice, he orders 
 
 His brave men to lower the boats ; 
 
 " vSave the women first and children 
 
 Quick lads, while the old ship floats ! 
 
 Men and women, nearly frantic. 
 Groaned and prayed with every breath ;- 
 On the Colima s bridge stood Taylor, 
 Calmly, face to face with death. 
 
 With his hands upon the railing. 
 As he looks from stern to prow ; 
 Not a trace of terror, lingers 
 On his noble manly brow ! 
 
 While the ship stands on her beam-ends. 
 E re she plunges neath the wave : 
 Fearlessly her young commander, 
 With a heart yet strong and brave. 
 
 Grasps the whistle-rope and pulls it, 
 Thrice he blows a lengthened blast ! 
 In the deep and foaming waters. 
 Man and steamship sink at last ! 
 
 Out across the wild Pacific, 
 
 The whistle sounded loud and clear ; 
 
 A salute to those who struggled 
 
 On the broken wreckage near, 
 
 Aye ! a greeting to old ocean ! 
 A salute to death as ice 11 ! 
 To the dead and to the dying, 
 T was a sad, yes final knell ! 
 
 Never braver man than Taylor, 
 Sailed upon the rolling sea ; 
 Never dwelt a nobler hero, 
 Neath the old flag of the free !
 
 ./ I fcro of the Sea. 45 
 
 You may lake the whole world s history. 
 
 All its storied pages scan ; 
 
 And you ne er will find a record. 
 
 Of a more courageous man. 
 
 Seldom has our nation witnessed, 
 Such grand sell control before ; 
 < hici. when those brave hearted seamen 
 Sank in death just off Samoa ! 
 
 Who, while yet their ship is sinking, 
 Kach man to the deck repairs ; 
 And they pass their final moments, 
 Singing patriotic airs. 
 
 With the band on deck still playing, 
 They cheer the "Banner of the Brave; " 
 Till each voice is stilled forever, 
 Xeath the ocean s restless wave. 
 
 Honor to those valiant heroes ! 
 Worthy of their native land 
 Records of such deeds, will ever 
 Through eternal ages stand ! 
 
 Surrounded by a fadeless glory. 
 High upon the " Scroll of Fame ; 
 vSide by side, with Samoa s heroes, 
 Will be found brave Taylor s name ! 
 
 And the Captain s dying signal, 
 Sounding like a muffled drum ; 
 O er the blue Pacific waters. 
 Will be heard for vears to come !
 
 Religious Poems.
 
 THE POWER OF A SONG. 
 
 As I strolled through a foreign city. 
 At the close of one Christinas day : 
 Into an old cathedral, 
 My footsteps chanced to stray. 
 And I beheld within its portals 
 A scene of splendor bright ; 
 As the chandeliers above me 
 Sent down their flood of light. 
 
 There were the massive columns, 
 And the ceiling rich and grand ; 
 On the frescoed walls were paintings. 
 Rare works of a master s hand. 
 T was a scene of classic beauty. 
 That met my wondering eyes : 
 It seemed as if I d entered 
 The gates of Paradise. 
 
 And I heard the notes of the organ, 
 
 From the choir loft above ; 
 
 As its sweet tones floated downward, 
 
 In whisperings of love. 
 
 How my heart thrilled with emotion, 
 
 At the tender, soothing sound : 
 
 In my inmost soul, the music 
 
 An answering echo found. 
 
 The chords became more stately. 
 
 As they pealed from the organ s throat : 
 
 And a sound as oi heavenly triumph. 
 
 Rang out in every note. 
 
 The sadness of earth, was pictured 
 
 In a tender minor strain : 
 
 That brought to my mind dark vision;- 
 
 Of misery, want and pain. 
 
 Then a melodv O so restful :
 
 The Po icer of a Song. 49 
 
 And my heart was soon at ease ; 
 
 For a message of God s great goodness 
 
 Poured forth from the organ keys. 
 
 Now slowly as sinks at twilight 
 
 The rays of the setting sun, 
 
 So sank the last note into silence. 
 
 And the great prelude was done. 
 
 In the choir, there rose a maiden, 
 vSo beautiful and fair ; 
 It seemed as if an angel 
 From Heaven was standing there. 
 T was the form of a lovely singer ; 
 And a hush as still as death 
 Seemed hovering o er the people 
 As they sat with bated breath. 
 
 Softly the chords of music, 
 
 In an echo far away 
 
 O er the throng came gently stealing, 
 
 Like the breath of a summer s day. 
 
 Then tones so rich and bird-like, 
 
 Floated upon the air : 
 
 In " Ave Maria s " sweet measures 
 
 T was the voice of the singer fair. 
 
 It seemed as if God was speaking 
 
 In every tone and word ; 
 
 And the heart of each hearer present. 
 
 To its inmost depth was stirred. 
 
 As triumphantly, the music 
 
 Through the old cathedral rang ; 
 
 We knew that the heart of the singer. 
 
 Was in the song she sang. 
 
 With a radiance celestial. 
 Her features were aglow ; 
 In the beauty of her presence 
 The heart forgot its woe. 
 Life s sorrows seemed to banish, 
 And the soul of that vast throng 
 Were lifted nearer Heaven,
 
 T he Pou cr of a Song. 
 By the singer and the song. 
 
 " .-/zr Maria." How sweetly 
 That heaven-inspired song : 
 Arose with its tender cadence 
 Above the listening throng. 
 It touched the very heartstrings ; 
 All eyes were bathed in tears ; 
 Strong men that night were weeping. 
 Who had not wept in years. 
 
 At the altar, the priest arising, 
 
 Brushed away th unbidden tear ; 
 
 And said, "Let s pray, dear children. 
 
 For truly God is here." 
 
 Then with a tender accent, 
 
 And a power before unknown ; 
 
 He laid the people s sorrows 
 
 Before the heavenly throne. 
 
 For years, at that sacred altar 
 He had labored long and well : 
 But that night he seemed inspired, 
 Neath the music s magic spell. 
 From his lips fell pearls of wisdom. 
 As he stood in the holy place : 
 And the light of love and kindness. 
 Beamed in the good man s face. 
 
 The final words were spoken, 
 The Benediction said : 
 A-down the aisle, the people 
 Walked with reverent, solemn tread. 
 And out beyond the portals. 
 Kach wending his way home 
 Above the moon shone brightly 
 On the cathedral s massive dome. 
 
 And not a word was uttered, 
 
 Xo sound fell on the air ; 
 
 Ah ! Xo ! Kach mind was busy 
 
 With thoughts of the singer fair. 
 
 The song in the soul of each hearer
 
 Tlic Po n cr of a 
 
 Had found a responsive chord ; 
 H sootlied tlie sorrowing spirit, 
 And brought it nearer God. 
 
 In mein ry. that song will linger. 
 
 As long as life remains ; 
 
 In affliction s darkest hour 
 
 I shall think of those sweet strains. 
 
 And when at last, earth s sunbeams 
 
 For me no longer shine : 
 
 I ll pass through death s dark valley 
 
 Cltccrcd In 1 that song divine .
 
 MOTHER S DYING PRAYER. 
 
 [Founded on the famous Hvnm, " Abide with me," hv Henry Francis L\ie. ] 
 
 The air was hushed and still ; 
 
 The silvery moon made bright the eastern sky : 
 
 Day had faded. 
 
 The shadows deepened. 
 
 As night drew nigh. 
 
 One by one, the glittering stars appeared. 
 Bright gems on the sea of blue above ; 
 No sound disturbed the stillness of the night. 
 
 Save, from the distant woodland 
 
 The whip-poor-will s song of love 
 
 The gentle moonbeams softened rays. 
 Stole through the windows of the room ; 
 They fell on the rough, unpainted floor, 
 They chased away the surrounding gloom. 
 With anxious heart I sat there, watching. 
 Listening to each deep-drawn breath ; 
 Bathing mother s throbbing temples. 
 As she lay, twixt life and death. 
 
 She awoke ! I saw her pale lips moving 
 As the moonbeams shone upon her face, 
 It assumed a new and radiant beauty ; 
 Heaven s own light seemed to fill the place. 
 I listened : just the faintest whisper 
 Fell upon my waiting ear- 
 As I watched the patient face before me, 
 I tried to check the falling tear. 
 
 Her sunken eyes were bright and glassy, 
 She looked on me with deathlike stare ; 
 Her pale lips moved and bending o er her. 
 I caught the accents of her prayer. 
 Lord be thou
 
 Mother s Dying Prayer. 
 
 My stay and guide 
 My eyes grow dim 
 Fast falls life s eventide 
 The darkness deepens 
 Lord with me abide." 
 
 The old clock slowly chimed eleven, 
 From the gray steeple on the hill; 
 And, save for mother s heavy breathing. 
 The night once more was calm and still. 
 Her thin hands lay across her bosom, 
 The blood flowed to her finger-tips; 
 In silent sympathy, the moonbeams 
 Softly kissed her trembling lips. 
 
 She woke again! she looked at me; 
 
 The mother-love shone in her eye ; 
 
 The same sweet smile played round her lips. 
 
 That I d oft-times seen in days gone by. 
 Abide with me " 
 Her lips were moving 
 "Hold thou thy cross 
 Before my closing eyes"- 
 
 Faint and fainter, her murmured praying 
 "O -light -my way 
 To - yonder skies" 
 
 While I near the surging tide 
 Through death s dark vale 
 With -me abide." 
 
 All was still; From the dark church tower. 
 
 The old bell tolled the midnight hour ; 
 I held her cold, white hand in mine, 
 1 watched the heaving of her breast; 
 
 " Abide - with me" 
 
 She closed her eyes,, 
 Dear mother s spirit was - AT REST!
 
 54 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES OF LIFE. 
 
 [Respectfully inscribed to Mrs. Charles Ilaines. Biddetbrd, Maine.] 
 
 Though our life is sometimes dreary. 
 Yet, we all possess the power 
 Of doing good to those around us, 
 As the sunshine helps the flower. 
 
 \Yeary hearts and saddened faces. 
 Greet us every where we go ; 
 Precious jewels now lie buried. 
 Xeath the dust of shame and woe. 
 
 Just a word in kindness spoken ; 
 
 Just one sympathetic tear ; 
 
 Would make the heavy heart seem lighter. 
 
 And dispel the darkest fear. 
 
 We should never shrink from duty : 
 Let us throw cold pride away. 
 And strive to do some deed of kindness 
 Ere the closing of each day. 
 
 God is pleased with noble actions : 
 Every deed that s done in love. 
 Is recorded by the angel 
 In that wondrous book above. 
 
 Let us help the weak and needy : 
 Prove a blessing to mankind : 
 Live for others and departing, 
 Leave a noble name behind .
 
 LOOKING BEYOND THE SUNSET. 
 
 [To inv friend Rev. T. II. Stacv, pastor of the Free Baptist Church, Saco. Maine. 
 and Author of " In the Path of Light Around the World."] 
 
 Merging into peaceful twilight, clay is drawing to a close. 
 Folded are the tender petals of the daffodil and rose ; 
 All the little feathered songsters are returning to their nest. 
 And the sky is bathed in splendor, as the sun sinks in the west. 
 
 Seated near the open door-way is an old man bowed with years, 
 Watching each receding color, as the sunlight disappears ; 
 And he notes the varied changes gold to purple then again 
 Deeper grows the gathering shadows, till a few bright spots remain. 
 
 Lost in silent meditation, sits he in the twilight gray, 
 Heeding not the passing moments for his thoughts are far away ; 
 lie is thinking ol the loved ones who, perhaps, in days of yore 
 Watched with him the summer sunset : Now they re gone forever- 
 more ! 
 
 As with wrinkled hand, he brushes from his eyes the falling tears. 
 
 Fair-haired Hess his little grandchild through the open door ap 
 pears ; 
 
 And she asks ol him a question, as she climbs upon his knees, 
 
 " What is there beyond the sunset, won t you tell me. grandpa, 
 please ? 
 
 " Yes. my darling, I will tell you, so that you may understand. 
 Lying just beyond the sunset, is a happy, golden land ; 
 Full ol mystery and grandeur, full of beauties, rich and rare. 
 There " Life s Tree" blooms by the river, amid jeweled mansions lair. 
 
 " When our loved ones die, a boatman rows them o er the crystal sea, 
 And upon the shore they re waiting watching there for you and me : 
 I shall soon cross o er the waters, for your grandpa s growing old. 
 Soon, dear Bessie, he ll be walking through those shining streets of 
 sold."
 
 56 Looking Beyond the Sunset. 
 
 " But," spoke up the child in wonder, "wont you. grandpa, need a 
 
 light 3 
 
 Cause you cannot see the pathway, in the darkness of the night. 
 Then the old man answered, kindly, as he stroked her silken hair. 
 " I will need no lamp, my darling, for there ll be no night up there ! 
 
 "To that land beyond the sunset, unseen hands will lead the way. 
 Guide us to that jasper city, when we leave earth s shadows gray ; 
 There, the vSavior. by His presence, will make bright each golden 
 
 street. 
 There it will be love and gladness and our rest will be complete. 
 
 " Look ! the sun, behind yon mountain, long ago has sunk to rest. 
 And the shades of night have gathered, in the east and in the west : 
 Kvery vestige of the sunset from the western sky has gone, 
 But its golden glow will brighten all the hill-tops at the dawn ! 
 
 "So, when our life s sun is sinking, death s dark night will gather 
 
 round. 
 
 And the grim and silent boatman, wrapped in mystery profound. 
 O er the wide and peaceful waters, will in safety bear us on. 
 Where we ll wake, amid the beauties of a bright and joyous morn. 
 
 " Yes, beyond the sunset glory, I ve been looking main- years. 
 I am ready, when the summons comes, to leave this vale of tears : 
 Poor old grandpa s worn and weary and he longs for sweet repose, 
 In that land beyond the sunset, -a he re the dav shall never close."
 
 57 
 
 LIFE S TWILIGHT AND CLOSE. 
 
 The scene of this poem is laid in Pepperell Park. Sae~o, Maine.] 
 
 The sun had set, a golden glory 
 Lingered in the distant west; 
 All around was calm and peaceful, 
 But my heart was not at rest. 
 
 And I sat and meditated. 
 On the changing scenes of life: 
 Wondering why some hearts are happy. 
 While so many were at strife. 
 
 And methought, the clouds could answer, 
 So I raised my searching eye, 
 But the clouds were busy, forming 
 Pictured landscapes on the sky. 
 
 Karth seemed robed in quiet grandeur, 
 As night shades began to fall, 
 And the last faint glow of sunset. 
 Shed a lustre over all. 
 
 And the dim, mysterious future 
 Seemed to me not near as fair 
 As the park that lay before me. 
 Clothed in simple beauty there. 
 
 There it lay. Its grass-grown carpet 
 Cut by devious pathways through, 
 Dotted here and there with flowers 
 Drinking in the evening dew. 
 
 All the trees rose like grim spectres; 
 Crickets trilled their evening tune; 
 And the far-away church spire, 
 Partlv hid the crescent moon.
 
 Life s Twilight and Close. 
 
 The weird water tower and windmill, 
 Draped in twilight s sombre hue. 
 With the artificial lakelet, 
 Made more charming still the view. 
 
 On the water, not a ripple 
 Rose to mar its peaceful breast : 
 E en the pile of rocks beside me 
 All save mv heart was at rest. 
 
 Soon I heard a long, sharp whistle. 
 And a sound of rumbling wheel ; 
 Then, I saw a locomotive 
 Plunging o er its track of steel. 
 
 But a second how it hurried 
 Through the darkness on and on 
 And out of sight just so time passeth, 
 The hour is here and then t is gone. 
 
 Sunburned laborers came bv me.
 
 Life s Twilight and Close. 59 
 
 Weary with the toil of day; 
 Dinner pails in hand they carried. 
 As they went their homeward way. 
 
 And each voice betrayed a sadness, 
 
 As its tones fell on the air; 
 
 And each heart, like mine, seemed heavy. 
 
 Burdened with a weight of care. 
 
 And my restless heart grew quiet 
 As a deep, smooth flowing stream ; 
 When, just then, approaching footsteps 
 Woke me from my thoughtful dream. 
 
 They passed on. From o er the river. 
 Bells as if with tongues of gold 
 From "Saint Mary s" distant tower. 
 The Angelus sweet story told. 
 
 And I bowed my head in silence ; 
 Reverently I listened there. 
 Till "Saint Mary s" bells ceased ringing 
 And the tones died on the air. 
 
 Then a voice seemed near me speaking. 
 And it whispered unto me, 
 " When thine earthlv journey s ended 
 Thou wilt know each mystery. 
 
 " Every heart must hare its trials, 
 Each one must his burdens bear ; 
 (rood and evil, joy and sorro u . 
 Every one must have his share. 
 
 "From life s morning to its noontide, 
 To the setting of life s sun, 
 Through the gathering twilight shadows, 
 E er this earthly walk is done, 
 
 " Man must meet with life s great changes. 
 
 Till the parting hour has flown; 
 
 After he has passed death s valley. 
 
 Then the t nknown will be Known ! "
 
 6o 
 
 PEACEFUL REST. 
 
 When our hearts are worn and weary. 
 Burdened with a weight of care ; 
 Thou hast bid us, Heavenly Father, 
 Seek relief of Thee in prayer. 
 Then when waves of doubt and sorrow 
 Sweep across our troubled breast : 
 Wilt thou comfort and sustain us, 
 May we find in Thee, sweet rest : 
 Sweet, happy rest, 
 
 Peaceful Rest
 
 6i 
 
 THE GATEWAY. 
 
 There s a gateway that leads to the City of Light, 
 Where chvelleth our Master and Lord; 
 And between its bright pillars, each mortal must pass. 
 Who enters the portals of God. 
 
 In that land just beyond the sweet "River of Rest," 
 We ll meet with our loved ones, we re told; 
 There amid the rich splendors of glory we ll dwell, 
 Where new beauties forever unfold. 
 
 A kind word or a smile of a loved one that s gone, 
 Our sad hearts delight to recall; 
 
 Of life s fond recollections which memory holds dear, 
 We find these are most precious of all. 
 
 Oh the comforting thought, we shall see them again, 
 Just over the river they wait 
 
 There will be no more parting, no sorrow, nor pain. 
 When we pass through the beautiful gate. 
 
 Tis said, that golden gate never is closed, 
 This is one of God s promises true 
 There are pleasures untold, there is sweet, happy rest, 
 Beyond the gate where our loved ones pass through.
 
 Patriotic Poems.
 
 6 4 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 1893. 
 
 Once again \ve give to the boys in blue 
 
 The right of way through our city street; 
 
 All trade has ceased and naught is heard, 
 
 Save the steady tramping of soldiers feet. 
 
 The martial airs as they greet the ear 
 
 Of the battle-scarred veteran is music sweet ; 
 
 And his heart once more throbs with youthful fire. 
 
 As he hears again the old drums beat. 
 
 Years ago, mid the din and smoke of battle. 
 
 The sight of " Old Glory" through his heart sent a thrill 
 
 And though his hair is white and his step be unsteady. 
 
 Yet the aged veteran loves the old flag still. 
 
 As he stands with that staff in his trembling hands, 
 
 The love of a patriot beams in his eye ; 
 
 vSee ! he watches each fold as tis swayed by the bree/e, 
 
 While it clings to its pennant between earth and sky ! 
 
 But why does he wear that emblem of mourning? 
 And why all the flowers in their beauty and bloom ? 
 And why does he march with that low steady tread ? 
 And why sound the drums like a voice from the tomb ? 
 Oh ! this day to the veteran is the day of all days ! 
 The blood thrills anew in his heart old and brave, 
 As he reverently kneels and places a wreath 
 By the wee, small flag on his dead comrade s grave! 
 
 He drops a tear on the oval mound ; 
 
 Then silently rises and turns away ; 
 
 It will not be long, ere a comrade s hand 
 
 Will place a wreath on his grave some day. 
 
 Soon for him will sound the "Taps," " Lights out ! " 
 
 And the soul of the veteran will speed away ; 
 
 And around the "Camp Fire" by the eternal hills, 
 
 In peace will asseinb/c the " Itlne and the (irav ! "
 
 THE BANNER OF PEACE. 
 
 Sherman Command. No. i. I nion Veteran s I liion. Saco, Maine. With the 
 asMirance of the author s loyally and devotion to the brave boys who wore the 
 blue and who made it possible for our country s rlatj to be what it is : " The 
 Manner of Peace." 
 
 Behold our nation s banner! 
 
 Tis the ein1)lein of the free; 
 
 It proudly waves throughout our land, 
 
 And over every sea. 
 
 Our lathers fought and bled and died. 
 
 That dear old flag to save ; 
 
 They bravely faced the cannon s mouth, 
 
 And filled a hero s grave. 
 
 It is the pride of every one 
 \Yho loves their native land ; 
 To shield that banner from disgrace, 
 They d proudly take their stand. 
 It is the noblest, grandest flag- 
 That ever was unfurled ; 
 I.ong inav it n arc triumphantly, 
 In-loved bv all the icorld. 
 
 The golden sunlight streaming down. 
 
 Mow beautiful and grand ; 
 
 The glorious colors seem to blend, 
 
 As with an artist s hand; 
 
 To see that flag bedecked with stars. 
 
 Its stripes and field of blue, 
 
 It is the grandest sight on earth, 
 
 And thrills one through and through. 
 
 It triumphed on the battle-field ; 
 
 It triumphed on the sea ; 
 
 Beneath its folds Abe Lincoln stood, 
 
 And bid the slaves go free. 
 
 How many a dying soldier 
 
 Cheered it with their latest breath;
 
 66 The Manner of Peace. 
 
 They sacrificed their lives for it 
 And now, thev sleep in death. 
 
 Beneath our banner s silken folds, 
 
 We dwell in peace today ; 
 
 And while that flag waves on its staff. 
 
 No tyrant hand can sway. 
 
 Xo traitor s foot can tread this soil 
 
 To aid a cause unjust, 
 
 While \ve have on our nation s shield 
 
 These words, "/;/ God we trust !" 
 
 Let every loyal heart rejoice, 
 
 May we be firm and true ; 
 
 Standing all unitedly 
 
 Beneath the red and blue. 
 
 May Liberty s bright crown be ours , 
 
 The sunlight ever gleam ; 
 
 Upon our land where peace prevails, 
 
 And Freedom reigns supreme !
 
 THE FLAG OF OUR UNION. 
 
 To Fred S. Gurney Post G. A. R., Saco. Maine.] 
 
 I have been to those countries, 
 
 Across the blue sea. 
 
 To Europe s far-famed shore : 
 
 I have been through the north, 
 
 I have been through the south, 
 
 I have travelled this wide world o er. 
 
 I have seen the Alps mountains, 
 
 vSo famous and high. 
 
 With their snow-capped peaks so grand ; 
 
 But I think we can boast, 
 
 Of as beautiful sights. 
 
 To be seen in our own native land. 
 
 We can boast of a Washington, 
 
 Lincoln and Grant, 
 
 Those mighty Commander-in-chiefs : 
 
 We ve an Army and Navy, 
 
 That cannot be beat. 
 
 That will come to our nation s relief. 
 
 We ve an emblem of purity. 
 
 Bright as the sun, 
 
 Xo emblem was ever so grand : 
 
 As that beautiful banner. 
 
 The " Stars and the Stripes," 
 
 That waves o er our dear native land. 
 
 We can boast of our waterfalls. 
 Mountains and rills, 
 And the wolf and the bear in his den ; 
 And our steep, rugged cliffs. 
 Have for hundreds of years. 
 Been the theme of the poets pen. 
 We have schools and colleges. 
 Free to all
 
 6S The /*/<n 
 
 And freedom and liberty grand : 
 And we ll have it 
 
 As long as the Stars and the Stripes, 
 Wave over ou r dear native land. 
 
 Then forever that "Star Spangled Banner shall \vave, 
 
 As long as in God we do trust : 
 
 Then let us stand firm and never allow. 
 
 That old banner to trail in the dust. 
 
 Let our government buildings unfurl to the breexe. 
 
 That spotless banner so grand : 
 
 To prove to the world that we re proud of the flag. 
 
 That waves o er our dear native land !
 
 6 9 
 
 THE NATION S TREASURE. 
 
 Old fla.o-. thou art the nation s treasure. 
 Wave thou o er this land so free: 
 Xo traitor s hand shall ever harm thee. 
 ICmblem oi sweet lil>erty. 
 
 1C very loyal heart adores thee, 
 \Yith a ])atriotic love : 
 While Columbia s Poets praise thee. 
 (iod approves //ice from above .
 
 Personal Poems.
 
 TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 [On his great poem "The Chambered Nautilus."] 
 
 Glancing over literature s broad field, 
 
 Dotted with so many brilliant gems of thought : 
 
 My eyes beheld a jewel brighter, fairer than the rest, 
 
 The work of a master-mind twas so divinely wrought. 
 
 With anxious beating heart I hastened on ; 
 Longing to reach this precious gem so rare, 
 And feast my eyes upon its graceful, perfect form, 
 And study each ray of thought that s shining there. 
 
 This rich gem, "The Chambered Nautilus," 
 For such it proved to be as I drew near 
 Had a peculiar charm, a beauty all its own 
 Whose every thought shone out so bright and clear. 
 
 There is sweetest music in each and every line. 
 Its rich, low melody soothes the tired soul : 
 It points us upward to a higher, nobler life, 
 And teaches us that earth is not our goal. 
 
 Great Poet ! 
 
 Thy life is crowned with kind and gracious deeds : 
 
 Good words and works have lined thy pathway all along 
 
 ( )ur hearts are happier because than hast lired, 
 
 The world is brighter and better for thy song! 
 
 A monument to thee more grand, man cannot give; 
 Were he to try. his work would be in vain : 
 For, when silver, bronze and marble shall have perished, 
 " I lie L ha inhered .\aiif/7ns" 7,v // vet remain .
 
 TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Noble bard 
 
 Thou who hast sung- so main- sweet and tender lays ; 
 Thou art enshrined in our nation s heart of hearts, 
 The world delights to speak and sing thy praise ! 
 
 The warm and generous heart that beats within thy breast, 
 
 Has ever felt a pitying love for those who are oppressed ; 
 
 T was thou who shared that glorious work. 
 
 Whereby a million slaves were made forever free; 
 
 And beneath the dear old "Stars and Stripes," 
 
 All men are equal all enjoy 
 
 The same sweet peace and liberty. 
 
 Thou hast been pure, unselfish in thy ways; 
 Search where we will. 
 A nobler life than thine we cannot find. 
 When thou art called to that bright home 
 
 beyond the skies. 
 What spotless record thou It leave behind. 
 
 May God be with thee in thy ways, 
 His richest blessings thee be given ; 
 And peaceful be thy closing days, 
 Till thou art called from earth to Heaven.
 
 TO GENERAL NEAL DOW. 1804-1894. 
 
 Written in honor of his "Ninetieth Birthday " and respecttuih insi-rilu-i to li 
 hv the an ill or. 
 
 Maine bids her sons and daughters join. 
 With those \vho dwell in distant lands. 
 In weaving fadeless garlands fair 
 With lovings hearts and willing hands, 
 To crown her favorite son. 
 
 Today we honor him whose life 
 Has proved a blessing to all men : 
 And scanning his past history 
 We find, at four-score years and ten 
 ..Ye dutv left undone. 
 
 Faithful and loyal, true to right. 
 He holds no compromise with wrong ; 
 Hut with unbounded faith in God, 
 With a purpose firm and strong 
 He champions our cause. 
 
 Hehold him in our "Capital halls: " 
 And while the world with wonder looks. 
 He pleads he fails at last he icins ; 
 And places on our statute books 
 Maine s grandest law of laws ! 
 
 Gaze on a picture, dark and drear ; 
 It is the Maine of years ago : 
 Her wretched homes her ruined farms, 
 Her bar-rooms dealing death and woe. 
 Distilleries on her soil. 
 
 From hillside, mountain, vale and plain. 
 Want spreads its gaunt and sallow wings ; 
 While hard-earned dollars are exchanged, 
 For that which poisons, mocks and stings 
 Her hardv sons of toil.
 
 To (iencral 
 
 Dou\ 
 
 /5 
 
 But Oil, how different is the change 
 Since alcohol lias ceased its reign. 
 Prosperity and happiness 
 Are known on every hill and plain, 
 Contentment now holds sway. 
 
 Where once the old distillery stood, 
 And spread its ruin and disgrace, 
 A church, a school, or home now stands, 
 And love beams in each honest face, 
 
 Maine s history the world knows well: 
 And how she strugged to be tree : 
 How when the final victory came, 
 The news flashed over land and sea, 
 "Maine s temperance laic lias passed." 
 
 And i/ob/v did our leader stand 
 
 Through those dark days of doubts and lear 
 
 Undaunted and alone, he met 
 
 The world s rebuffs, its taunts and jeers, 
 
 A /// /vV/// triumphed at last .
 
 -6 To General Ncal Dow. 
 
 Heroic soul, from myriad hearts 
 Who dwell upon Maine s sacred sod. 
 Full many an earnest prayer goes forth 
 In humble gratitude to God. 
 That them hast lived so long. 
 
 The truly great can never die ; 
 Their work is of the world a part ; 
 It needs no record carved in stone, 
 for tis enshrined in every heart , 
 Immortalized in song . 
 
 We learn from thy self-sacrifice, 
 Thy pure devotion to the truth. 
 That all may live a useful life, 
 A blessing be to man and youth ; 
 (Be that our highest aim.) 
 
 And thus like thee we ll earn the love. 
 
 And gratitude of all mankind : 
 
 And when we re called from earth away, 
 
 A noble record leave behind , 
 
 A never dying name !
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 1732-1799. 
 
 Washington ! O name immortal ! 
 Linked with our great nation s story ; 
 Touching all its wondrous pages, 
 With a rich and fadeless glory. 
 
 A world of nations bow in reverence, 
 Before thy great illustrious name ; 
 Today not one stone, can be added 
 To the temple of thy fame. 
 
 When the nation chose the ruler. 
 To grace the Presidential seat ; 
 That day, the final stone was added, 
 Thy temple of fame was made complete. 
 
 When oppression s dark, despotic power 
 Threatened our country s heart to rend ; 
 In sore distress, she found in thee 
 Her liberator -father -friend !
 
 WASHINGTON AND DOW. 
 
 [Respectfully inscribed toGeneial N eal I)o\v of Port .-md. M;n ne. 
 
 A century swift-winced, has flown 
 Since Washington s spirit passed away : 
 A foe worse than British hosts, 
 Assils the hearts of men today. 
 
 This tyrant s firm, relentless hand, 
 Robs manhood of pure virtues coal ; 
 It robs man of life s brightest hopes, 
 And makes his face to blush and bloat, 
 
 Its track shows death and desolation. 
 The greatest mind it over-throws : 
 The stoutest heart quails nealh its power. 
 As up and down the world it goes. 
 
 Xow. the temperance army follows 
 A leader, whose heart is brave and true 
 As that which beat for Washington 
 Xeath continental coat of blue. 
 
 Though our leader s gray in service. 
 Rum finds in him as bitter foe : 
 As Britons found in Washington, 
 A century or more ago. 
 
 Dow framed the law of Prohibition, 
 
 He raised her banner to the breeze ; 
 
 The grand old cause is still advancing, 
 
 From "Pine Tree State" to "Southern seas 
 
 Washington, " Father of his Coitntrv. 
 M de possible our free condition ; 
 The temperance people point with privk- 
 To /)(>u , the ** Father of Prohibition
 
 Washington and How. 79 
 
 (iod grant the Prohibition shi]), 
 
 May spread her sails o er every sea ; 
 
 And enter every port and clime, 
 
 Till earth from rum has been made free. 
 
 Dow, \vith heroes of ages past 
 Thy name will dorn the scroll of fame ; 
 And through the mist of coming years. 
 An army of mothers will bless thy name. 
 
 In memory, thy name will live 
 When life s bells have ceased to chime ; 
 And linked with our great Washington, 
 Will fdw dotcn tlic halls of time !
 
 8o 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 [Harlev E. Hanson, born April 5th, 1889, died June loth. 1893 
 
 The dimpled hands are cold and white 
 Upon the pulseless breast ; 
 With loving care, the childish form 
 Is laid away to rest. 
 
 Sealed are the lips, the voice is hushed. 
 Closed are the bright blue eyes ; 
 The one our hearts had learned to love. 
 Now dwells beyond the skies. 
 
 While innocent, ere sin s dark hand 
 Has touched and stained his soul, 
 God has called the loved one home, 
 Where Life s pure waters roll. 
 
 Mourn not that unto one so young, 
 The call, " Come Home " is given ; 
 His death, but makes the path more bright 
 That leads from earth to heaven. 
 
 Cull earth s fairest, sweetest flowers, 
 That the morning dew-drops lave ; 
 And place them with a loving hand, 
 Upon the new-made grave. 
 
 And when the graves give up their dead, 
 Each golden tie of love, 
 Will be stronger and more beautiful. 
 In that bright world above.
 
 Temperance Poems.
 
 82 
 
 "Work on! sail on! the morning comes, 
 The port ye yet shall win ; 
 And all the bells of God shall ring 
 The ship of temperance in." 
 
 From John (i. Whittier s "Temperance Ship. 
 
 THE TEMPERANCE SHIP SAILS ON 
 
 The old ship still her course pursues. 
 It heeds not wind or storm ; 
 Through waves of doubt and unbelief, 
 Past opposition s rugged reef 
 She sails! like some majestic form. 
 
 With sails of truth and right unfurled. 
 Our gallant ship will never fail; 
 But ever on time s crested wave 
 With noble seamen, true and brave, 
 She ll safely ride through every gale. 
 
 The shore is lined with brilliant lights. 
 Whose rays outshine the brightest stars : 
 They re always burning bright and clear. 
 And by their light the sailors, steer 
 The ship away from rocks and bars. 
 
 God s hand is ever at the helm, 
 We need not fear; He knows the way: 
 Our noble ship He ll safely guide. 
 And soon in her majestic pride 
 She ll enter victory s peaceful bay. 
 
 How many thousands have been wrecked. 
 How many lives are filled with gloom ; 
 The drunkard s way is sad and dark. 
 For every day, his wretched bark 
 Hut bears him nearer to his doom.
 
 The Temperance Ship Sails on. 83 
 
 \\ T ith "Faith" in God who rules us all. 
 
 With " Hope s bright star to guide and lead : 
 
 \Yith "Charity" for all mankind. 
 
 In us, the rum- wrecked soul will find 
 
 A faithful friend a friend indeed. 
 
 When victory crowns our labors here, 
 When ruin shall cease and be no more; 
 We ll join with that vast throng above 
 In one grand song of peace and love 
 We ll praise our God forevermore !
 
 THE STAIN UPON OUR FLAG. 
 
 While \ve are blessed with freedom s crown. 
 Poor souls are still in chains; 
 They are like ihe slaves ol years a^o : 
 They suffer untold pains. 
 
 If everyone, who loved their homes, 
 Would lend a helping hand ; 
 Intemperance would cease to be; 
 // e d drive it from our land ! 
 
 That dear old flaj^ we love so well. 
 Is cursed by ruin to-day : 
 It bears a stain upon its folds. 
 That might be ~<easlied tnctir. 
 
 No patriotic son ean stand, 
 ( nmored and see the shanie , 
 That brings disgraee upon our flag , 
 And blights our country s name!
 
 8.s 
 
 A WORD TO THE BOYS. 
 
 Hoyh, beware of the snares of the tempter ; 
 Grave dangers beset you on every side; 
 The waves of intemperance may sweep around you. 
 And bear you away on its perilous tide. 
 
 Thousands of boys in the past have been tempted, 
 To leave the safe path for the death-dealing bowl; 
 They ve blasted their prospects, their life has been ruined, 
 Strong drink has destroyed both body and soul. 
 
 .Strive to prepare yourselves for the future ; 
 Improve every golden hour of youth ; 
 Study the lessons of virtue and temperance. 
 And stand boldly up for the right and the truth. 
 
 He watchful when choosing your friends and companions; 
 Select only those that are manly and true ; 
 Don t shirk any duty be it ever so little, 
 He faithful and honest in all that von do . 
 
 Remember my boys, the great men of the nation. 
 Who occupy honored positions today, 
 Hegan life in youth, by a faithful devotion 
 To each little duty that came in their way. 
 
 This thought bear in mind our great men are dying; 
 And in their plaees someone inst stand : 
 That someone means von, for the time is coming 
 When the nation s affairs will be placed in vour hands. 
 
 Then prepare yourselves for the future before you ; 
 Stand up for the right what ere may befall; 
 He faithful, be loyal, be true to your country : 
 He read}" to follow where duty may call. 
 
 Stand up for the flag and help to sustain it; 
 
 Let " tn/t/i" be your watchword and "r/V///" be your cry: 
 
 This one great thought have ever before you, 
 
 Though von are bovs to-da\\ vou ll be men bv-and-bv !
 
 86 
 
 DON T BE AFRAID TO SAY "YES!" 
 
 Dear brother if you re on the wrong road to-night. 
 
 And think you are minus a friend. 
 
 Don t be mistaken, we ll help you to rise. 
 
 Our aid we are willing to lend. 
 
 We ask you to come and once more be a man : 
 
 My brother don t longer delay; 
 
 For life is so short twill soon be too late. 
 
 The time is fast passing away. 
 
 Don t think we re above you, because you are poor. 
 
 Because you ve been low down in sin, 
 
 We long to receive you, come just as you are, 
 
 Don t wait but just now enter in. 
 
 There s many a jewel now lost in the dust ; 
 
 There s many a gem that would shine: 
 
 Just say you ll be free from the demon to-night. 
 
 And freedom s bright crown shall be thine. 
 
 There s many a mind that is now steeped in drink, 
 
 That the world would be proud to own ; 
 
 There s many a thought that would shine like a star 
 
 But alas they are lost and unknown. 
 
 You are living to-day but tomorrow s not yours. 
 
 You know you are not doing right ; 
 
 Just burn all the bridges and let the past go. 
 
 And start on a new way to-night. 
 
 The harvest is ripe, there s plenty to do 
 For each one in the temperance band ; 
 Young man will you aid us by signing the pledge ? 
 And help drive the curse from our land ? 
 For you can be honest and upright and true : 
 However humble your dress; 
 We only ask you to do what is right, 
 Then don t be afraid to sav " } cs " /
 
 MOTHER S FAVORITE HYMN. 
 
 THI-: RKKORMKI) MAX S STORY. 
 
 Boy s, if you ll listen, a story I ll tell 
 In words that are simple and plain: 
 How by the demon drink I fell. 
 And how I rose again. 
 
 1 remember as though it were yesterday. 
 
 The mother of my youth: 
 
 Who taught me to regard the good 
 
 And always love the truth. 
 
 When evening shadows began to dawn 
 
 And daylight steal away. 
 
 How often we would gather round 
 
 The kitchen hearth to pray. 
 
 My mother s teachings still remain, 
 
 Within this heart of mine : 
 
 And like a jewel in the dust 
 
 They often-times would shine. 
 
 Her loving councils she would give. 
 
 And often when in drink 
 
 Her patient face would smite my heart : 
 
 And I would stop and think. 
 
 But still the demon lured me on, 
 
 I could not from it part, 
 
 I kept right on from bad to worse, 
 
 And broke my mother s heart. 
 
 .She soon fell ill. I can t forget. 
 
 I stood beside her bed ; 
 
 Just one sweet smile, and all was o er, 
 
 I knew her soul had fled. 
 
 They gently bore her toward the church. 
 
 Whose aisles she d often trod ; 
 
 Where many times in life she had stood 
 
 And testified for God.
 
 8<S Mother .s- I aron tc If yum. 
 
 The choir sang the tender strains 
 
 Like distant music, dim. 
 
 Of " Rock of Ages Cleft for Me," 
 
 My mother s favorite hymn. 
 
 They bore her out with silent tread. 
 
 Ah ! bitter day for me ; 
 
 They laid her in her narrow bed 
 
 Beneath the old oak tree. 
 
 I left off drinking for a while, 
 And tried with all my might 
 To let the dread demon alone 
 And do just what was right. 
 But e re a month, I went to sea, 
 And soon forgot the past ; 
 Each day I sank still lower down, 
 The die was nearly cast. 
 
 Our ship soon reached a foreign port, 
 
 ( I think it was Bombay, ) 
 
 The sun just rising o er the hills 
 
 Proclaimed the dawn of day. 
 
 I left the ship, and went on shore 
 
 I did not stop to think ; 
 
 But told the boys to come with me 
 
 And we would have a drink. 
 
 On our way, we saw a church 
 
 That stood just near the street ; 
 
 The boys said they d go in, il I 
 
 Would lead them to a seat. 
 
 We all went in, but hark ! What s that D 
 
 That old familiar strain ! 
 
 Tis " Rock of Ages Cleft tor Me, " 
 
 My mothers hymn again ! 
 
 It touched my heart. I could not stir ; 
 
 My thoughts began to roam ; 
 
 To the grave among " New Hampshire 
 
 And my far-off childhood home. 
 
 " Rock of Ages Cleft for Me," 
 
 Oh. God. I must give in;
 
 Mother s l- aroritc Hymn. 
 
 " Let me hide myself in thee, 
 And save my heart from sin. 
 
 And thus before my comrades there 
 
 I prayed as ne er before ; 
 
 And sin went out and peace came in 
 
 As through an open door. 
 
 Weeks to months and years have passed : 
 
 Hut I m no more rum s slave ; 
 
 And now, I ll work and snatch poor souls 
 
 From out the drunkard s grave. 
 
 Thus, you see just how it is ; 
 
 Now boys, don t drink again ; 
 
 Hut trust in Christ, He ll give you strength. 
 
 He ll surelv break the chain.
 
 BEN MURCH ON THE KEELEY CURE. 
 
 Yes, friends. I m enjoying life every day, 
 Since God in his mercy snatched me away 
 From alcohol s terrible brink. 
 I m thinking folks will be left in the lurch 
 Who suppose for a minute that old Ben Murch 
 Will ever go back to drink. 
 
 There s but little romance in my past life; 
 Tis a tale of hardship, of struggle and strife. 
 My life s a record of up s and down s 
 Few smiles but I ve had my share of frowns. 
 
 In a New Kngland village near a rugged hill, 
 Stood my boyhood home and in fancy still 
 I see my mother the guide of my youth 
 Whose life was a model of beauty and truth. 
 My mother God bless her memory to-night 
 Tis years since she passed to those mansions of light. 
 But I ve not time to tell of those memories so dear, 
 I must go on with my story and not linger here ; 
 I remember twas a beautiful day in June, 
 There was no school that afternoon. 
 And I and a schoolmate of mine named Will 
 Had planned to go up to the old stone mill. 
 The mill by degrees had been crumbling away. 
 And all around it showed signs of decay : 
 Since the old miller died the rust of years 
 Had gathered on shafting and pulley and gears; 
 And oft, when the nights were cold and damp. 
 Its moss-covered roof sheltered many a tramp. 
 At the mill we climbed the old rickety stair, 
 Which groaned neath our weight like a ghost on the air. 
 Upstairs, twas dark, and so gloomy and still 
 That a hundred goblins seemed to haunt the old mill. 
 In crossing the floor (we had almost to creep) 
 My foot touched something twas a tramp, fast asleep!
 
 Hoi Mnrch on i/ic A cr/Vj Cure. 91 
 
 Near his side a bottle of whiskey I found : 
 
 After picking it up we both turned round 
 
 And scampered down the rickety stair, 
 
 And once more out in the clear, free air 
 
 \Ye skipped the board fence and over the hill 
 
 Sped far away from the old stone mill. 
 
 We had gone a full mile, when both thought best 
 
 That we sit down and talk over matters and rest. 
 
 After awhile, Will, not stopping to think, 
 
 Just for fun proposed that we take a drink. 
 
 Ah ! twas a moment of struggle and strife : 
 
 I said "yes," but that "yes" has ruined my life. 
 
 From that day my decline was rapid and sure ; 
 
 I left all behind that was noble and pure. 
 
 And rushed madly on, never stopping to think ; 
 
 My mind seemed given up wholly to drink. 
 
 Ah ! that first glass formed an appetite 
 
 That has made my life s record as black as night. 
 
 Mother often begged me, again and again 
 
 To stop drinking, but all of her pleadings were vain. 
 
 I soon with my parents was called to part : 
 
 For both of them died of a broken heart. 
 
 The place was mortgaged, I had no home. 
 
 And friendless and penniless was forced to roam 
 
 I p and down the world nowhere now there 
 
 My clothes soiled and ragged, but what did I care; 
 
 For all of my former pride was gone. 
 
 And everyone ga/.ed at me with scorn : 
 
 Xot one word of kindness to greet my ear ; 
 
 My life seemed comfortless, barren and drear; 
 
 Twas always a sneer as folks passed me by 
 
 They said, " It were better that he should die ; 
 
 He s only a miserable drunkard at best." 
 
 But a warm heart oft beats in a drunkard s breast. 
 
 Twas a few months ago I d been drinking hard, 
 
 I was dirty and ragged, my face was scarred ; 
 
 I had grown almost tired of trying to live, 
 
 And I thought, "Oh, what would I give 
 
 If I could begin life over again. 
 
 And redeem the past?" and tears fell like rain. 
 
 Just then a stranger saw the tears on my cheek,
 
 92 /ten Mureli on the /\ee/ev Lure. 
 
 And he stepped before me and began to speak. 
 
 I remember his face all smiles and light 
 
 God bless him wherever he may be to-night. 
 
 Said he, " You re in trouble you re in need of a friend, 
 
 And with your permission, I d like to lend 
 
 My aid and help you once more be a man; 
 
 I see you re surprised, but if you will, you can 
 
 Be once more honest and upright and true. 
 
 For I ve helped many a poor fellow like you." 
 
 Then he sat down beside me ( for all I was poor) 
 
 He told me of Keeley and his wonderful cure. 
 
 Then he said. " I know your life is a wreck. 
 
 But if you ll take the cure, I ll draw my check." 
 
 I thought I had reached the end of my rope, 
 
 But his words touched my heart and filled me with hope. 
 
 They were the first kind words I had received in years. 
 
 And I only could thank him with grateful tears. 
 
 And to this very day I hardly know 
 
 How I told him. but I said I would go. 
 
 And the cure did just as the stranger said ; 
 
 From the soles of my feet to the crown of my head 
 
 I was made a new man from the drunkard s grave 
 
 I was rescued. The bonds that held me a slave 
 
 Were broken asunder, and I began life anew, 
 
 Resolved to live upright, honest and true. 
 
 God bless Dr. Keeley, for the work he has done, 
 But I believe the good work has only begun : 
 Let us live upright and redeem the past, 
 And to honor and virtue be true to the last. 
 
 The statues we rear to our heroes who die. 
 
 Xeath twinkling stars and a sunlighted sky. 
 
 In the years that s to come, with its storm and rust 
 
 Must sooner or later crumble to dust. 
 
 Then let us not rear a statue of stone, 
 
 That will stand today and tomorrow is gone, 
 
 Hut we ll honor Leslie Keeley 1 s great name 
 
 liy human monuments to his undying fame.
 
 DRIVING THE FATAL NAILS. 
 
 You arc driving a nail in your casket, young man. 
 
 When you are taking a drink : 
 
 Before your lips touch the fatal glass. 
 
 Slop a few moments and think. 
 
 You are wasting your Hie, you are losing your friends. 
 
 Then why do you not give it up? 
 
 Young man, break away from the dram-shop today. 
 
 And shun the dangerous cup. 
 
 You are not only nailing your own casket, boys. 
 
 As you heedlessly go on your way ; 
 
 You re driving your dear mother nearer the grave. 
 
 You are causing her sorrow each day. 
 
 Your gray-haired father is fast bowing down, 
 
 He feels the remorse and the shame; 
 
 Where once he was proud of his innocent child, 
 
 He now blushes when speaking your name. 
 
 Your comrades may laugh, they may scoff, they may jeer. 
 But t will give your mother s heart joy : 
 When she sees that liquor no longer can claim. 
 The soul of her own precious boy. 
 Then leave those vile dens and your manhood assert, 
 Shun the evil that lies in your way ; 
 Just stop driving nails in your casket, young man, 
 You ll fuid in f/ic aid it will pay !
 
 94 
 
 THE TEMPERANCE FOLKS RESOLVE. 
 
 Intemperance must go, friends here is the reason why. 
 The good people are rising up with this, their battle cry : 
 " King Alcohol has held his sway around us long enough, 
 And now we ll rid this land of ours of the accursed stuff." 
 
 We ll labor earnestly each day to aid the temperance cause, 
 Our ballots we will cast for men, who ll give us temperance laws: 
 We ll dash the cup beneath our feet, so all the world may know. 
 That we in truth mean what we say Intemperance must go! 
 
 Intemperance must go, friends, saloon-men are in fear, 
 They live in almost constant dread of someone watching near ; 
 They grow more watchful, as they ply their trade from day to day. 
 With careful eye. they deal out goods in stealthy, guarded way. 
 
 Then friends, work on with cheerful hearts, we soon must win the fight. 
 For God is leading us along, our cause is just and right ; 
 With mottoes and with banners, we ll hail the joyful day, 
 When the dread monarch, Alcohol, has ceased to hold its sway. 
 
 Remember, friends, in sixty-one, the soldiers, brave and true, 
 Fought years, before they gained the day beneath the red and blue : 
 Then with new courage, let us all work on till we are free, 
 And thus beneath our glorious flag we ll win the victory. 
 
 With loud hosannas on our lips we ll triumph over wrong, 
 
 The chariot of temperance we ll help to roll along; 
 
 The victory will soon be ours the sight we vet shall sec , 
 
 Beneath the "Stars and Stripes" we ll \\\Q. from dram-shops ever free !
 
 Miscellaneous Poems
 
 OLD AMBROSE. 
 
 [A tale of an old Slockadf.] 
 
 T\vas twilight s sweet and dreamy hour. 
 
 The birds to their nests were winging their flight ; 
 
 Day with its care was silently sinking 
 
 Into the shadowy arms of night. 
 
 Numberless stars in the heavens were shining, 
 
 The moonlight was entering each valley and glade, 
 
 As a gray-haired man, with tottering footsteps 
 
 Arrived at the Old Backwoods Stockade. 
 
 " You want more guards? " he asked the Sergeant, 
 
 The soldier replied, " You are most too old ; 
 
 We want a man whose hand is steady, 
 
 A man of nerve and of iron mould. 
 
 A soldier must act, when orders are given, 
 
 Without any favors what e er may befall ; 
 
 Here, no mercy is shown any prisoner 
 
 Attempting to climb the Stockade wall." 
 
 " I know I am old, but then," he faltered, 
 
 I am sure I can shoot as straight and well 
 
 As any man that e er held a rifle, 
 
 And I warrant you each ball will tell. 
 
 You may think I m too old, but I m not," he urged, 
 
 Please try me, sir, if lor only an hour ; 
 
 And I ll bring to the ground whoever attempts 
 
 While I m on guard, to escape from your power." 
 
 " I haven t much heart to do anything, sir. 
 I ve been drifting around, now here, now there ; 
 My wife is dead, my family is gone, 
 My sons are scattered I know not where. 
 Just give me the post and I ll do my duty, 
 Upon this place my old heart is set : 
 A man only has his duty before him, 
 And mv dutv never has scared me vet.
 
 Old Ambrose. 97 
 
 Neath the lighted lamp, the old man standing 
 
 His gray beard catching the moving light, 
 
 He seemed a venerable patriarch, 
 
 With his calm, set face and hair so white ; 
 
 " What is your name? " the Sergeant queried. 
 
 The old man thought for a moment or two 
 
 Then answered, " For years I ve been called Old Ambrose: 
 
 Just call me Ambrose Old Ambrose will do." 
 
 Still undecided, the Sergeant said, 
 
 " I don t know whether to take you or not ; 
 
 For several prisoners have lately escaped, 
 
 And I wish to hold the entire lot, 
 
 But I ll try you, Ambrose, and see how I like you ; 
 
 Remember, I ve stated your duty plain ; 
 
 Now, sir, this soldier will give you a tent 
 
 And when the guards change, I ll see you again." 
 
 The shadows of night grew deep and deeper, 
 
 Old Ambrose waiting, with impatient tread 
 
 Was pacing the ground, when a Corporal called him. 
 
 And to Headquarters he straightway was led. 
 
 He entered the tent, with cap in hand, 
 
 And saluting, said, " Sergeant, I await your command. 
 
 You take your post at yonder corner ! 
 Be watchful, sir, tis an important place ! " 
 " All right, sir, I ll obey your orders ; " 
 And the lines were rigid on Ambrose s face. 
 
 An hour had passed, when piercing the clouds 
 
 The moon almost changed the night into day ; 
 
 L,ook ! Look ! A prisoner bursts through the embankment 
 
 And runs for the woods a few rods away ! 
 
 " Halt! " cries Ambrose, " Halt or I fire ! " 
 
 Thrice he cries halt ; the fugitive speeds on ; 
 
 Then, quick as lightning a rifle is leveled. 
 
 And a ball upon its mission has gone. 
 
 Twas true what old Ambrose had told the Sergeant,
 
 9 8 
 
 When he said, each shot from his rifle would tell, 1 
 He had proved it, for there in the shadows 
 The man lay dead on the spot where he fell. 
 
 " I didn t mean to kill the fellow," 
 
 He said to the Sergeant, " But he would try 
 
 To get away. He stepped in a hollow. 
 
 So my bullet hit him a little high. 
 
 He should have stopped when I cried halt, but would nt 
 
 If he s dead, why tis no one s fault but his. 
 
 Sergeant, may I go over a minute ? 
 
 I d like to know who the poor fellow is." 
 
 By the Sergeant s permission, Ambrose went over; 
 On his side the man lay cold and still ; 
 The night winds were sighing a requiem, 
 Which spread over forest, valley and hill. 
 
 Ambrose looked on the still, white face before him, 
 
 Then in agony cried, " O what have I done ! 
 
 My God have pit}*! How can I survive it, 
 
 For my bullet has killed my eldest son ! 
 
 With a cry of despair, the poor man reeled forward : 
 
 And raising his hand to his old gray head, 
 
 Fell prostrate, beside the young man s body. 
 
 The shock had killed him ! Old Ambrose ercr.v dead !
 
 101 
 
 A SEPTEMBER RAMBLE. 
 
 Dedicated to inv friend and former schoolmate Philip C. Taplev, Saco, Me.] 
 
 It was a fine September day. 
 
 All cloudless was the sky ; 
 
 When through the woods and fields we roamed. 
 
 My old friend Phil and I. 
 
 
 
 Along the dusty country road, 
 Passed green and fertile farms ; 
 Through pleasant vales, o er rugged hills, 
 Kach graced with nature s charms. 
 
 We wandered on, until we reached 
 A calm secluded nook ; 
 Deep in the silvan forest s shade, 
 Close by a running brook. 
 
 And seated on the bank, we talked 
 Of happy days gone by ; 
 When we, as boys beside that stream. 
 Sat neath the summer sky. 
 
 We mentioned names of old schoolmates, 
 Bovs ne er by us forgot 
 With whom we played, in years agone. 
 Around that very spot.
 
 . / September Ramble. 
 
 There was Ivory, Roscoe and Leroy. 
 Chase reach- for a prank 
 With Eel and Jim and Chester, too. 
 And genial hearted Frank. 
 
 We wondered if they thought of us. 
 And did their memory still; 
 Revert to our old playing ground. 
 Beneath McXeally s hill 5 
 
 And thus we talked, and thought, and lived 
 The old scenes o er again; 
 Once more, as boys, we roamed among 
 Those pine-clad hills of Maine. 
 
 We followed down the narrow path, 
 Beside the winding stream ; 
 Reluctantly we left the spot 
 And ceased each boyish dream. 
 
 Through tangled maze of under-brush, 
 Mid groves of stately pine; 
 With here and there, an open space 
 Through which the sun would shine. 
 
 Now over stumps decayed by time. 
 Through marshes damp and cold ; 
 Passed many a ragged ledge of rocks. 
 Both picturesque and bold. 
 
 Twas thus on that September day. 
 Through woods and valleys green ; 
 We walked together, Phil and I. 
 Charmed with each varied scene. 
 
 We climbed a sloping hill and. Lo ! 
 A sight that thrilled us through : 
 A scene, both glorious and grand, 
 Burst full upon our view ! 
 
 Away toward the distant east. 
 
 We saw with wandering eye ; 
 
 Two cities, with their towering spires. 
 
 Outlined against the skv !
 
 ./ September Ramble. 103 
 
 There stood the cities, side by side, 
 The river flowed between ; 
 While stretching far below us. lay 
 Broad fields and meadows green. 
 
 That scene will live in memories shrine. 
 With all its wonderous grace; 
 It left impressions on our hearts. 
 Time never can efface. 
 
 I hope that you and I, friend Phil. 
 When life s journey is o er; 
 May gaxe into that "Spirit Land, " 
 Beyond this earthly shore. 
 
 And looking, view a grander scene. 
 Though not with mortal eyes 
 
 A L itv that is built, upon 
 The Hills of />a radisc /
 
 104 
 
 FAREWELL WINTER. 
 
 Winter, the bold white King of the year 
 Has departed at Spring s command : 
 And earth once more is free from the grasp. 
 Of his cold and icy hand. 
 
 He has wrapped his snow white mantle aTxmt 
 His lank and shivering form ; 
 And gone far away to a colder clime, 
 There to rule over wind and storm. 
 
 The snow that fell from his chilling hand, 
 Gives place to the dripping rain : 
 Jack Frost has long ago, drawn his last 
 Phantom form on the window pane. 
 
 The hunter no more through the forests roam 
 
 In search of the frightened hare : 
 
 Its foot-prints now, he cannot discern. 
 
 For the fields and woods are bare. 
 
 The river has burst its hermit seal. 
 And the ice has sea-ward run : 
 A million jewels now dance and play 
 On its breast, neath the glowing sun. 
 
 Old Winter, we bid you a long farewell : 
 And to Spring with its sweet, warm, rain, 
 To the beautiful flowers and twittering birds. 
 We extend our heart s greeting again.
 
 105 
 
 THE FALLEN OAK- 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to Miss Lizzie E. Gowdv, Saco, Maine, in grateful remem 
 brance of the many acts of kindness she has shown the author during his 
 earl v school da vs. 
 
 old oak tree in Pepperell Park, Saco Maine, was blown down during 
 vere gale, Julv 23nd. 1893. This was one of the oldest trees in Maine. 
 
 (io 
 
 km 
 
 circumference was sixteen feet. It broke about eight feet from the 
 mid where it was somewhat decayed. The father of Maine s first 
 ernor gathered acorns under this tree when he was a bov and it was 
 wn as Tin-: Oi.n OAK" then. 
 
 There stood upon a grassy knoll, 
 A brave old oaken tree ; 
 Whose top o er-looked the river. * 
 As it hurried to the sea. 
 By heavy storms and windy gales. 
 Its branches oft were strained ; 
 But like a hero on the field 
 Undaunted it remained. 
 
 A relic of "Old Pilgrin Days. " 
 
 When times were sad and dark ; 
 
 The record of a nation 
 
 Is inscribed upon its bark. 
 
 And when beneath its swaying boughs, 
 
 The deadt were laid to rest ; 
 
 The cold, unfeeling sod was placed 
 
 Above the lifeless breast. 
 
 Its friendly arms were spread. 
 As if in silent love and trust : 
 It stood a willing sentinel. 
 Above the sleeping dust. 
 Within the cvcle of the vears.
 
 io6 
 
 The I* all en Oak. 
 
 As Autumn-time came round ; 
 It scattered with a lavish hand. 
 Its fruit upon the ground. 
 
 And from the + school-house, standing near. 
 
 On every pleasant day ; 
 
 Went merry groups of children 
 
 Neath its branches to their play. 
 
 As the hours passed, they plucked 
 
 The acorns at its feet ; 
 
 And by the Winter fire-side 
 
 Thev found each kernel sweet. 
 
 Through my mind today, sweet streams 
 
 Of tender memories flow ; 
 
 As back again, I wander 
 
 To the days of " Long Ago." 
 
 At school with other scholars, 
 
 Once again I take my seat : 
 
 And to the teacher,}? patient heart, 
 
 My A. H. C s. repeat.
 
 The 1 : allcn (Wi\ 10 
 
 I gather at recess, again 
 Sweet acorns all the while. 
 A gilt lor her, she pays me 
 With a kind word and a smile. 
 I m sure the many she has led 
 In paths of learning sweet ; 
 All pray that violets abloom, 
 May lie beneath her feet. 
 
 Those happy school-clays now are o er 
 They all seem like a dream : 
 As with my bending oars, I pull 
 Life s boat against the stream. 
 And now the old oak too is gone ; 
 By wind to earth t was hurled ; 
 But in its rude and silent way. 
 It lived to bless the world. 
 
 May we, too. like the oaken tree, 
 
 Do all the good we can ; 
 
 Let s be unselfish, true and kind. 
 
 And help our brother man. 
 
 When strangers pass the gateway, 
 
 To the "City of the Dead," 
 
 I "pon our marble head-stone, 
 
 May this epitaph be read: 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Tlit. S;iro River. 
 
 I IJeneath this oak tree some of Saco s earlv settlers were buried. 
 
 ,: Where the Author first went to school. 
 
 >: Miss Li/./ie K. (io\vdv the Author s tirst school-teacher.
 
 io8 
 
 WARNED OUT. 
 
 I saw the landlord, Lizzie, an he told me \ve must go ; 
 When I asked if he d wait longer he only answered, " .V<? / 
 I promised him when able I d then square up the rent, 
 I d pay him every dollar an he wouldn t lose a cent. 
 
 I told him you were feeble how you had to lie abed. 
 
 But I guess twould make no dif rence to him if you were dead : 
 
 Don t be discouraged, Lizzie, for God s unfailin grace 
 
 Has led us safe through hardships an He ll help us find a place. 
 
 This old house aint a palace but it s better n none at all. 
 Although the ceilin s smokey an the paper s off the wall ; 
 An we ve found it nice in Summer, but when Winter winds would roar 
 The cold has come a stealin right through the kitchen floor. 
 
 But then we ve been contented as two peas in a pod ; 
 
 An each day through the moss-grown roof our prayers have gone to God: 
 
 An so we ve both been happy, our love has stronger grown, 
 
 No harsh word has been spoken in the long years that have flown. 
 
 It was in this very room here, you know that Autumn day, 
 How we consoled each other, when God took our child away ; 
 An as I gaze up yonder, it seems from out the blue 
 I can see our darlin baby, a beckonin me an you. 
 
 Our hair is grovvin whiter as we near that other shore, 
 But somehow it is sweeter there since baby s gone before ; 
 We d best be thankful, Lizzie, for this sweet tie of love. 
 As keeps tuggin at our heartstrings an drawin us above. 
 
 So we re warned out o the old house : I expected it would come 
 But tis hard when we re so old, to be driven from our home ; 
 But I ll find a shelter somewhere, where we can happy be, 
 An finish our life s journey, together, you an me. 
 
 You know the Bible, Lizzie, tells of " Mansions in tin Skv " 
 
 An if below we re faithful, we ll go there by an by, 
 
 An we ll meet our baby dear again, beyond the shinin strands, 
 
 An there we ll dwell together, in "./ House Xot Made \\ ith Hands."
 
 I II 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN ON LAUREL HILL. 
 
 [Dedicated to the Memorv of Mother.] 
 
 Birds unto their mates were calling. 
 
 The bright Autumn leaves were falling, 
 As I sat by mother s grave amid the trees on Laurel Hill ; 
 
 T was the Sabbath evening hour. 
 
 When a holy unseen power 
 Seemed to hover over all the earth and move my heart at will. 
 
 From my lips deep sighs were stealing, 
 
 O er me crept a saddened feeling. 
 And the thoughts that came upon me, caused my lonely heart to yearn ; 
 
 Memories of bright days came thronging, 
 
 For the past my soul was longing 
 Hut alas ! I wished for hours that would never more return ! 
 
 Mingling with the night-birds singing, 
 Came the sound of church-bells, ringing, 
 
 From the far-off crowded city, calling to the house of prayer ; 
 But their sweet and tuneful numbers, 
 Xe er could waken from her slumbers, 
 
 She, whose lifeless form was lying in the grave before me there. 
 
 .She was true to every duty. 
 
 Lived a life of Christian beauty ; 
 All her kindly ministrations to the world will ne er be known : 
 
 As the stars shone brightly o er me, 
 
 And the past came up before me, 
 My great loss I truly reali/.ed, as I sat there all alone. 
 
 I shall never know another, 
 
 Like my dear and saintly mother : 
 She was faithful to her family, to her neighbors, to her God 
 
 Her long life was freely given. 
 
 For our welfare she had striven. 
 She has earned the Christian s heritage she has yone to her reward.
 
 112 /:7<r;<^r Written on Laurel If ill. 
 
 vStretching far across the meadows. 
 
 Deeper grew the evening shadows, 
 In the western sky, above the " Heights," the moon was in the IKKVY : 
 
 All along the quiet river, 
 
 Its soft beams would faintly quiver, 
 l*p above the stars were shining night hung over all below. 
 
 Noiselessly, above the sleeping. 
 
 Like some ghostly phantom creeping. 
 
 Fell the slanting, dusky shadows, from the headstones o er each 
 mound ; 
 
 While beneath night s curtain sombre, 
 
 The great world seemed wrapped in slumber, 
 Over all the Autumn landscape reigned a solitude profound. 
 
 Mother, as your grave I m leaving 
 
 My sad heart for you is grieving ; 
 Though you ve passed away, your memory is precious to me still : 
 
 When upon my deathbed lying, 
 
 When friends whisper, " He is dying," 
 May I sleep in peace beside you, neath the trees on Laurel Hill.
 
 MRS. OLIVE TOWAKI).
 
 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 
 
 [Written for, and read hv the children of Mrs. Olive Toward of Dexter, Maine, 
 in honor of her eightieth hirthdav. April 2isr. 189^, and respecttullv dedicated to 
 her h\ the author. ] 
 
 Again we clasp our mother s hand. 
 Her form once more \ve greet : 
 As with joyful hearts, we lay 
 Love s tribute at her feet. 
 Her face so full of tenderness. 
 Though marked by lines of care ; 
 Has grown more beautiful with age. 
 And love still watches there. 
 
 We see again the cheerful smile ; 
 Her eyes bespeak love s power ; 
 Her voice is just as sweet today. 
 As twas in childhood s hour. 
 The wrinkles on her placid brow, 
 The hair of silver gray : 
 Are traces of the mile-stones passed. 
 Along life s rugged way. 
 
 In memory, we go back again 
 
 To happy hours of youth : 
 
 When by her chair, we first were taught 
 
 The laws of sacred truth. 
 
 This world is rich in gems of thought, 
 
 From many a master s pen ; 
 
 Hut mother s love does more than these. 
 
 To make us better men. 
 
 We treasure all her kindly acts ; 
 
 We feel their influence yet 
 
 The golden lessons she taught us, 
 
 We never can forget. 
 
 They serve to cheer us on life s way : 
 
 They make our paths more bright ; 
 
 And in temptation s darkest hour. 
 
 Lead us to the right.
 
 A Hirthday (i reeling. 115 
 
 \Ve gather round the family hearth, 
 
 In our accustomed place; 
 
 Hut ah ! the circle is incomplete ; 
 
 We miss the father s face. 
 
 The one who shared her earthly joys. 
 
 Her hopes, her cares and fears, 
 
 Has long since crossed the golden strand, 
 
 Heyond earth s vale of tears. 
 
 Tis but a few more weary years, 
 Of mingled joy and pain; 
 A few more shadows, dim and gray, 
 We ll meet our loved again. 
 Heyond the blue there is no night ; 
 The heart is free from care ; 
 The pilgrim enters into rest, 
 Tis joy forever there. 
 
 Then trust on, faithful soul, trust on ! 
 You ve sowed the golden grain ; 
 Twill live for aye in other hearts 
 You have not lived in vain. 
 We give a sympathetic tear. 
 A kindly word let fall ; 
 We cannot estimate the good 
 We ve done, /fit/ (iod knows all . 
 
 His wisdom is above the earth ; 
 
 He marks the sparrow s fall ; 
 
 He knows our every want and need; 
 
 He hears our every call. 
 
 And when life s journey here is o er. 
 
 He ll take us to His breast, 
 
 We ll hear these welcome words, " M ell Hone, 
 
 Enjov the Christians rest ! "
 
 n6 
 
 LESSONS FROM NATURE. 
 
 The foam-crested ocean, the- sleep rushed mountains. 
 
 The forest, the streamlet, the clear crystal spring ; 
 
 The fragrant wild-flower that blooms in the meadow. 
 
 The music we hear, as the happy birds sing. 
 
 The sun and the moon, the bright stars of evening, 
 
 The sky overhead, with its limitless space; 
 
 All these are the mirrors, in which are reflected, 
 
 Fair Nature, arrayed in her beauty and grace. 
 
 Could the human heart study the lessons of Nature, 
 
 T would inspire the mind with thoughts pure and right ; 
 
 \Ve may learn of God s grace in the flowers and sunshine 
 
 His wisdom behold in the stars of the night. 
 
 The rainbow that spans the blue arch of the heavens. 
 
 Reminds us again of His Infinite love ; 
 
 The beauties of earth are to man, but the emblem 
 
 Of those that await him in heaven above.
 
 NEVER WISH YOUR TIME AWAY. 
 
 Over a cradle at close of day, 
 
 A fond young mother stood ; 
 
 "Watching her infant as it safely lay, 
 
 (As only a mother could.) 
 
 " I wonder," she mused, as she stood there alone, 
 
 And a smile crept over her face ; 
 
 " 11 baby s life will be pleasant as mine;" 
 
 And she tried its future to trace. 
 
 Twelve years have passed and we see them again, 
 
 Though the mother is growing old ; 
 
 But the baby we saw is quite a young miss ; 
 
 Her long hair like threads of gold. 
 
 " I wish I was older," the little girl said, 
 
 " So I could dress even- day in my best ; 
 
 And be a young lady, go shopping alone, 
 
 Like the Kareweather girls and the rest !" 
 
 O er her mother s face came a look as of pain ; 
 
 The silent tears stole down her cheek ; 
 
 Her sweet voice almost choked with sobs, 
 
 As she spoke so gentle and meek. 
 
 "My daughter, when you are as old as I, 
 
 You ll sadly look back to the day ; 
 
 And think to yourself, " How foolish I ve been 
 
 To wish my time away." 
 
 Twenty more years have passed away, 
 
 And we see by the bright cottage door 
 
 The mother and daughter, but who are the rest? 
 
 For beside them are standing two more ! 
 
 One is a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man, 
 
 A bright little lad by his side; 
 
 Ah ! now I can see, it is all plain to me. 
 
 The maiden has long been a bride.
 
 Never ll is/i Your Time Au ay. 
 
 Mother, daughter, husband and son. 
 
 Presented a beautiful group; 
 
 But grandmother s face looked sweeter by far. 
 
 Though her shoulders were beginning to stoop 
 
 Her once golden hair is now turned to gray ; 
 
 The sands of life nearly are run : 
 
 Each wrinkle bold time has made on her brow, 
 
 But tells us her life is most done. 
 
 A few more years, there is one vacant chair. 
 
 The patient old face is no more ; 
 
 For grandma has long since been called from earth s scenes 
 
 To a home on the heavenly shore. 
 
 We enter the home once more and we see, 
 
 A tall handsome youth by the chair 
 
 Of an old gray-haired lady of three score-and-three : 
 
 Who once was so young and so fair. 
 
 Who d believe she once teas the babv 7<y s a -. . 
 
 The young mother standing by 
 
 It is a sad truth ! Ah ! life is so short ! 
 
 Let s remember we ve all got to die ! 
 
 There are just sixty seconds in one golden minute : 
 
 Sixty minutes in one golden hour; 
 
 The years are fast fleeting, let s throw way the thorns, 
 
 And gather each beautiful flower. 
 
 Let us fill all the seconds and minutes of ours. 
 
 In aiding the poor and oppressed : 
 
 Let us never stand idle but do all we can. 
 
 For as workers we all will be blest. 
 
 Then when we are tempted, as sometimes we are. 
 
 And long for the close of the day; 
 
 Let us think how short the longest life is. 
 
 And never icish time passed away !
 
 MY OLD MOUNTAIN HOME. 
 
 I ve been through the palace, I ve seen crystal fountains, 
 I ve heard the low music of pleasures sweet strain; 
 Hut it cannot compare with my home in the mountains, 
 
 give me the scenes of my childhood again. 
 
 How often I ve sat near the old-fashioned portal. 
 
 And watched the bright sun sink away neath the hill : 
 
 And olten I think of my dear aged mother, 
 
 Whose smiles all these years have been haunting me still. 
 
 In my dreams I go back to the old fashioned homestead, 
 And roam once again o er the meadows so green : 
 Or gather the berries that grow in the woodland. 
 Or sit by the banks of the clear running stream. 
 
 How pleasant it was, when the day s work was over. 
 The evening shadows were fast coming on. 
 To sit round the organ in one family circle, 
 And all of our voices were blended in song. 
 
 Those old happy moments have passed by forever ; 
 And all of the dear ones have gone on before; 
 Hut still in my dreams they are hovering near me. 
 And beckoning me to that beautiful shore. 
 
 1 love the old homestead, with all of its memories. 
 And never a pleasanter place shall I see ; 
 
 Until I join hands with the dear ones in heaven. 
 Then that is ill be siceeterthan all else to me .
 
 I2O 
 
 AN AUTUMN RAIN. 
 
 Dismally the east winds shriek. 
 The earth is dreary cold and bleak : 
 
 The clouds are dull and gray. 
 While all deserted seems the town, 
 
 And cheerless is the day. 
 
 Against the trees the strong winds beat. 
 And partly burying lane and street : 
 The leaves fall to the ground. 
 
 In dizzy, zigzag, circling way, 
 
 As snow-flakes whirl around. 
 
 Upon the roof and window pane. 
 Ever unwearied, drives the rain. 
 
 Through the whole day long : 
 Drip, drip, drip and pitter, patter. 
 
 Its never-changing song. 
 
 Some lives are full of rainy days. 
 
 Dark clouds obscure the sun s bright rays 
 
 Our hopes, like dead leaves, fall. 
 Vet, come what will, keep trusting on. 
 
 For (iod is over all !
 
 121 
 
 PUSH WILL WIN. 
 
 Is your daily task a burden, 
 
 As you struggle on in life? 
 
 Do you have less joy and sunshine:* 
 
 More of sorrow and of strife? 
 
 Do you have more rugged climbing 
 
 Than of going dotc/i the hill? 
 
 As the days are swiftly passing. 
 
 Does " Life s " way seem rougher still ? 
 
 If so, this should be your motto, 
 Cheering you in your distress : 
 " ( picard and forever omcard , 
 Karnest labor brim. 
 
 Have in life some great ambition, 
 Banish every thought of dread ; 
 \Yiih determined will and purpose, 
 Looking upward inarch ahead ! 
 
 He not easily discouraged, 
 } on can nci O aim too liigh ! 
 / d/- a bore the throng about YOU, 
 J^Iace voitr star of ctcstinv. 
 
 Some may sneer at your endeavors, 
 Heed them not ! Press onward still 
 Hear in mind the old-time maxim, 
 " / "oo/s innst talk and talk fhcv :r///! " 
 
 Life must surely prove successful, 
 II with "/ HS/I" and " 1-^.nergv " ! 
 \Ye but strive for high attainments. 
 Persevere from dav to dav.
 
 122 rush //"/// Win. 
 
 Fill the hours with noble actions, 
 As they glide by one by one ; 
 That you may look back with pleasure 
 On the da> just past and gone. 
 
 If you re timid, then remember 
 1 rue success is not a crime 
 It is vour* s if von < /// hair it, 
 " Push " u ill ic in it crcrv time.
 
 12 
 
 LINES TO A FADED FLOWER, 
 
 You were once a lovely flower, 
 Growing- nea1.li the summer sky ; 
 Now your glory has departed. 
 Nevermore to greet the eye. 
 
 Clothed in rich and varied beauty, 
 Von were fair as brightest gem ; 
 Filling all the air with fragrance, 
 K er I plucked you from your stem. 
 
 You are now a faded flower, 
 Dried and crumpled is each leaf ; 
 But you teach mankind a lesson, 
 By your life, so pure, though brief. 
 
 We may learn of you, sweet flower, 
 Lessons simple, true and plain : 
 Learn to live, like you, for others. 
 Such a life is not in vain. 
 
 Time is short, O gracious flower, 
 Days are passing swiftly by ; 
 Our life s stem will soon be broken, 
 \Ve. like you. must fade and die. 
 
 May we. like you. fragrant flower. 
 Spread sweet happiness around ; 
 Then, our rest will be the sweeter, 
 When death s night brings peace profound.
 
 I2 4 
 
 HOPE S SWEET SONG. 
 
 A holy stillness filled the air. 
 
 All peaceful \vas the summer clay ; 
 
 When suddenly a storm arose, 
 
 "Dark clouds obscured the sun s bright ray. 
 
 The once fair earth became so changed, 
 
 That all seemed dreary as the tomb; 
 
 Just so, in life s most happy hours. 
 
 Deep sorrows cast a sudden gloom. 
 
 Could \ve but give a pleasant smile. 
 
 Or speak a cheering word each day : 
 
 T would fill the Pilgrim s heart with hope. 
 
 And help him on in life s rough way. 
 
 Then when his courage seems to fail. 
 
 Instead of yielding to despair; 
 
 He would remembering your kind words 
 
 Keep pressing on nor falter there. 
 
 A kind word dropped unconsciously, 
 May save a brother e re he fall ; 
 We cannot tell the good we do, 
 But God the Father knows it all. 
 Then when the way grows sad and dark. 
 Still let us sing " Hope s" lofty strain : 
 That some poor weary, care-worn soul, 
 Mav hear it and take heart again.
 
 125 
 
 A MAN S ANSWER. 
 
 [In replv to Adelaide A. Proctor s poem "A Woman s (.Question."] 
 
 Aye, tliou can st " trust thy fate to me, " 
 And " place thy hand in mine ;" 
 Fear not, but "let my future, give 
 Color and form to thine. " 
 I answer that thou askest me, 
 By offering my heart to thee. 
 
 \Ve cannot know true happiness. 
 
 Life s pure joys depart 
 
 Unless it is loves golden link. 
 
 That binds us, heart to heart. 
 
 And so, dear one, >nv " faith is free, " 
 
 As that which "thou do st pledge to me." 
 
 This world, its richest joys may give. 
 Bright smiles of friendship gleam ; 
 Though visions clear and beautiful, 
 Come with each nightly dream. 
 Could I not " feel thy quickening breath; " 
 My life would seem " a living death." 
 
 Xay ! I have "kept no portion back," 
 
 My all to thee I give ; 
 
 My every thought on thee is fixed. 
 
 For thee alone I live. 
 
 A true heart is the gift of God, 
 
 T is given thee as thy reward. 
 
 My every want and need in life, 
 
 I know thou can st fulfill ; 
 
 " Xo chord lies hidden in my heart," 
 
 But "thou can st wake, or still. " 
 
 Without thy smile to cheer each day, 
 
 Mv life would " wither and decay.
 
 126 A Man s Answer. 
 
 I speak from out my inmost heart. 
 Then do not think it strange : 
 That I should offer you a love, 
 Which cannot die or change. 
 For thou, the noblest soul that lives. 
 Art worthy all true manhood gives ! 
 
 It cannot be "today s mistake" 
 
 Nor yet is fate to blame 
 
 For did not God ordain all things ? 
 
 He knows our every name. 
 
 And in His wisdom, God above, 
 
 First taught mankind the way to love. 
 
 Then as God wills, so may we live. 
 Nor from His ways depart: 
 But ever let the cords of love. 
 Unite us, heart to heart. 
 Remembering, God our love has given. 
 And that our vows are blest of Heaven.
 
 12 
 
 THE BRIDGE ABOVE THE FALLS. 
 
 Tis a dreamy summer morning, 
 
 Near the bridge that spans the river ; 
 I stand watching throngs of people, passing and re -passing there. 
 
 And how varied the expression 
 
 On the many different faces, 
 Some are smiling, bright and happy, others marked by lines of care. 
 
 See yon gray-haired man approaching ; 
 
 With the weight of years upon him; 
 Head in meditation bowed, perhaps sad thoughts his mind recalls ; 
 
 Of the Past he may be thinking, 
 
 Thinking of the long-lost loved ones; 
 As he crosses o er the river, on the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 Listen to the hearty laughter, 
 
 Sounding like the rippling waters 
 As they dance along in gladness, over pebble-bottomed streams ; 
 
 Tis the laugh of merry maidens 
 
 One holds in her hand a letter 
 
 In her winsome, sparkling blue eyes, see the tenderest love-light 
 gleams. 
 
 Tis a message she is reading 
 
 From her far-off absent lover, 
 With every line, his manly face, her glad young heart recalls; 
 
 She hears in the gentle xephers, 
 
 Whispers of a happy future; 
 As she crosses o er the river, on the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 Here s a groupe of joyous children, 
 
 Scan with me each boyish feature ; 
 Who can tell their future station, when they ve grown to man s estate ? 
 
 Careless now perhaps and noisy, 
 
 Filling all the days with pleasure ; 
 Vet among their number may ^future Statesmen good and ^ real . 
 
 To the Legislative Chambers, 
 
 Men of humble birth have risen ;
 
 128 The ttridoc Above the Falls. 
 
 Guarding well their country s honor where oppression s power 
 enthralls; 
 
 So the loud tumultuous laughter 
 
 Sounds to me like gladsome music; 
 As with light hearts they go tripping o er the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 Now a tiny carriage passes, 
 
 In it lies a precious burden ; 
 It contains a darling baby, sweetly beautiful and lair ; 
 
 Nestling on its downy cushion. 
 
 Peacefully, the infant resting ; 
 Pure as an Easter Lilly, Innocence lies sleeping there I 
 
 Entering this world of sorrow 
 
 Like a ray of golden sunlight ; 
 
 Skin of softest, pinky whiteness, cheeks as lovely as a doll s ; 
 
 And that old scene came before me 
 
 Of Christ blessing little children ; 
 As I saw the sleeping infant, on the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 See this aged, wrinkled woman. 
 
 Crowned with hair of silvery whiteness; 
 Her sad face is thin and care-worn her dark dress of mourning weeds : 
 
 Seems to tell the tender story 
 
 Of the dear ones gone before her ; 
 Gathered safe within the Home-land, free from earthly care and needs. 
 
 Bowed with years of toil and sorrow, 
 
 She is someone s precious mother ; 
 She reminds me of the one I lost tchom inemorv oft recalls ; 
 
 Slowly feebly passing onward . 
 
 Let us pay her manly tribute ; 
 As she crosses o er the river, on the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 Young and old the rich the lowly 
 
 Light and gay the heavy-hearted 
 Thus it is from early morning, to the setting of the sun : 
 
 Laborers and men of leisure 
 
 In a constant stream are passing ; 
 On the heavy-timbered flooring, falls the footsteps one by one. 
 
 But there s one whose well-loved features, 
 
 I miss in the throng of people :
 
 129 
 
 The It ridge Above the Falls. 
 
 129 
 
 One whose precious soul but lately burst its earthly prison walls ; 
 
 Dear old father who so often , 
 
 M hen in life and health and vigor ; 
 ( scd to cross this verv river, on the bridge above the Falls. 
 
 Ah ! how many of the number 
 
 Who went o er the old bridge daily ; 
 To that sleep which knows no wakening, have been gathered one by one! 
 
 On the street in church and household, 
 
 We miss dear, familiar faces ; 
 Friends whose cordial, kindly greeting, the hearts true devotion won. 
 
 Newer generations follow, 
 
 Closely in another s footsteps : 
 Time flies onward Oh so swiftly Oft the thought one s heart appalls! 
 
 We must all sooner or later, 
 
 Lay life s work aside forever; 
 Sometime we ll make our last journey o er the bridge above the Faffs.
 
 1 3D 
 
 JIM S ORDER- 
 
 This morning, sir, my mother died. 
 
 vShe passed away at one ; 
 
 Her heart has no\v ceased beating. 
 
 Her long sweet life is done. 
 
 And here, sir, is my order, 
 
 For a casket, your very best ; 
 
 I want it made of redwood. 
 
 And then in broadcloth dressed. 
 
 And have it nicely finished, 
 
 With a silver plate embossed : 
 
 Your best is not a bit too good, 
 
 For the precious one I ve lost. 
 
 Get handles of pure silver, 
 
 And place them on either side : 
 
 For I love her more than ever, 
 
 She s dearer since she died. 
 
 Be sure and line the sides, sir, 
 
 With lace as white as snow ; 
 
 What I m doing lor her, today. 
 
 She would do for me, I know. 
 
 And then I want the pillow. 
 
 On which her head is laid ; 
 
 So t will compare with all the rest, 
 
 Of soft material made. 
 
 And when you lay her in it, 
 
 Make her look the best you can ; 
 
 vSo folks will say " I low beautiful " 
 
 As her dear old face they scan. 
 
 However well the casket is, 
 
 Though jewels gleam within : 
 
 It never can compare, with what 
 
 Her loveliness has been. 
 
 Oh sir, my heart seems breaking. 
 
 When I think of her last night: 
 
 How I held her in these arms of mine, 
 
 To make her breathing light.
 
 /tin s Order. 
 
 Her weary head fell over, 
 And rested on my breast; 
 Here her farewell words were spoken, 
 
 1C re she closed her eyes to rest. 
 
 * ##### 
 
 And now her life is finished, 
 Her spirit is with God ; 
 And soon her precious body. 
 Von will place beneath the sod. 
 Don t mind about the cost, sir. 
 For my mother, old and true, 
 Shall have tlie finest bit rial , 
 Tis all tli at I can do ! 
 
 1 .11
 
 132 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Horn April 2$th 1832 -Died August 2oth 1896. 
 
 True, unselfish, faithful, loving, 
 Feeling always for another ; 
 Sympathetic and forgiving. 
 This is what I found in Mother.
 
 33 
 
 EXCEPT IN AUGUST. 
 
 In every \valk of life we meet. 
 With people who to us seem strange ; 
 They claim to love religious things, 
 Their principals seem not to change, 
 Except in August! 
 
 They know Christianity is good, 
 They think church-work is truly grand : 
 Beneath the banner of the cross. 
 You ll see them take a valliant stand. 
 Except in August! 
 
 They lend their aid to everything 
 That is of benefit to man ; 
 They read their bible, talk and pray, 
 They do just all the good they can. 
 
 Except in August! 
 
 The poor weak drunkard, too, they love. 
 They think of his wife s scalding tear; 
 To save him from his deep disgrace, 
 They gladly work throughout the year. 
 Except in August! 
 
 They love to visit the distressed, 
 Attend the sick with watchful care ; 
 Each duty, quickly they discern, 
 And of kind actions do their share. 
 
 Except in August] 
 
 The church is filled each sabbath morn. 
 With noble Christians, tried and true ; 
 And glancing o er the crowded room, 
 One cannot see an empty pew, 
 
 Except in August!
 
 134 l\,\ccpi in August. 
 
 The Kvil-spirit is at work. 
 
 His plans and schemes are very queer ; 
 
 And to accomplish his defeat. 
 
 The church must labor all the year. 
 
 I HC In ding . / iig it st! 
 
 What though the summer sun be hot, 
 Kach one should do his duty still ; 
 As Christians, all must watch and pray. 
 Work with an earnest heart and will, 
 Each week each month yes. all flic rear: 
 Including August !
 
 THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The mountains are God s monuments, 
 
 They point to Heaven above ; 
 
 Telling of His wondrous grace. 
 
 Reminders of His love. 
 
 And like those massive granite hills. 
 
 His love can never die ; 
 
 Tis reflected on the mountain side, 
 
 On earth and sea and skv.
 
 136 
 
 WHERE MOTHER IS TIS "HOME SWEET HOME. 
 
 Written the year before Mother s death. 1895. 
 
 Many thoughts of tender beauty, 
 
 In the ages that are past, 
 
 Have been written neath the skies blue vaulted dome ; 
 
 Songs of Nature, Love and Heaven, 
 
 But the sweetest of them all, 
 
 Are the songs that tell of Mother and of Home. 
 
 Through-out life s toilsome journey. 
 
 Temptations oft beset, 
 
 Our pathway, from the cradle to the grave ; 
 
 It is in that trying hour. 
 
 That we need a mother s love. 
 
 For a mother s love is strong to help and save. 
 
 You may search the wide world over. 
 
 And rare beauties you may find, 
 
 As fair and bright as evening stars above; 
 
 But like every earthly pleasure, 
 
 All is vanity and dross, 
 
 You ll find nothing that can equal mother s love. 
 
 Who is the tireless watcher ? 
 
 Who sits the long night through ? 
 
 And bends above her child so young and fair ? 
 
 And although her eyes are weary. 
 
 She refuses sleep s embrace, 
 
 Ah! you ll find it is a mother watching there ! 
 
 You may never know another. 
 
 Who to you will be so kind, 
 
 As the dear and loving one who gave you birth : 
 
 She s the sharer of your sorrows, 
 
 Of your hopes, your joys and fears. 
 
 She s the dearest friend you ll ever have on earth. 
 
 " There s no /ionic like a mother s" 
 
 The dear old motto reads.
 
 ] I /i crc Mot)i( r is / is "Home .S rrcv/ Home." 13 
 
 You ll find it true as through the world you roam . 
 
 Then protect, love and defend her. 
 
 For you soon may see the day. 
 
 When you will not have a mother and a home. 
 
 In sickness or in health, 
 
 In poverty or wealth. 
 
 You ll find this maxim true where ere you roam ; 
 
 Though your dwelling be a palace, 
 
 A humble cot, or hovel, 
 
 If tis graced by mother s presence, it is "Home Sicct t Home."
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 If some poor weak brother, stumbles, falls. 
 Do not stand and laugh to cause him pain : 
 Hut rather go to him in "( //<?;-//] ." 
 And when he sees you care for him. 
 He ll strive to be a man again.
 
 4 
 
 THE BEACON OF WOOD ISLE. 
 
 [To niv friend Mrs. A. B. Blanchard, Biddeford, Maine.] 
 
 \()TK. Wood Island is one of several islands in Sato Hav and lies just oft the 
 entrance of the River Saco. It is about eight hundred vards in length, 
 nearly covered with trees and in plain view from Biddeford Pool. Ferrv 
 Beach. Old Orchard Beach, Front s Xeck and Cape Kli/aheth. On the 
 eastern end of the Island is Wood Island Light House. The tower, which 
 is connected with the keeper s dwelling, is forty-seven feet high and its 
 revolving red light flashes everv minute. The light is sixtv-two feet ahove 
 the level of the ocean and mav he seen for a distance of thirteen miles. 
 
 United States Coast Survey. 
 
 The lighthouse on the Wooded Isle, 
 Like a sentinel lifts its tall gray form : 
 Through changing years, the massive frame 
 Has breasted wind and storm. 
 
 When round it shrieks the wintry blast. 
 Rude hurricanes, its walls assail : 
 Unmoved it stands, nor bows before 
 The fury of the gale. 
 
 Its ponderous, towering shaft by day. 
 May seem ungraceful to the eye ; 
 But ah ! As night s dark shadows fall. 
 And starless is the sky, 
 
 When over all the land and sea, 
 Is heard the tempest s sullen roar ; 
 The fierce and angry billows, dash 
 Upon the rock-bound shore. 
 
 Tis then its usefulness is felt ; 
 The sailor, ever watchful, brave : 
 With joyful heart beholds the light 
 That gleams across the wave. 
 
 Hy its bright rays, his ship, he guides. 
 Past where the hidden dangers lay : 
 And grateful for the warning given 
 Pursues his onward wav.
 
 142 The Beacon of Wood Isle. 
 
 Thus nightly, through the passing years, 
 The Island Beacon faithfully 
 Illumes the sailor s dreary course 
 Upon the trackless sea. 
 
 But where would be its usefulness. 
 Or where the Beacon s wondrous power : 
 Without the hand that feeds the flame 
 Flashing from you gray tower ? 
 
 Oft up the narrow winding stairs. 
 The keeper of the light must go ; 
 He ceases not his faithful watch, 
 Nor lets the lamp burn low. 
 
 May \ve not in the lighthouse, find 
 A useful lesson there in store ? 
 Beside life s restless sea, are we not 
 Lights along the shore ? 
 
 We too, would useless be and weak. 
 If it were not for higher ^pwers ; 
 Life s fame can only be sustained 
 By mightier will than ours. 
 
 With rays of kindly love, tis ours 
 To cheer some poor discouraged soul : 
 To help dispel the deeper gloom 
 Where waves of sorrow roll. 
 
 Withholding not the friendly hand, 
 Tis ours the erring to forgive ; 
 And by example, teach mankind 
 The better way to live. 
 
 Life s mighty tower is Character, 
 (Pure, spotless, upright, free from blame) 
 Intelligence our surest lamp, 
 True Knowledge is the flame. 
 
 The world s best thought we may possess, 
 Through it life s joy one truly finds; 
 T is our great previlege to be 
 . / light to other minds.
 
 The />ca( on of \\ ood Isle. 
 
 And so may we, while life remains 
 Make brighter every passing da) ; 
 And if perchance, from our faint lamp 
 There falls some slanting ray. 
 
 Across a toiling brother s path. 
 Less strong than \ve and weaker willed , 
 If thus we ve helped him Then is life s 
 Most cherished wish fulfilled. 
 
 1 13
 
 44 
 
 A MAN CAN BE HONEST THOUGH POOR. 
 
 On a cold winter s day. through the deep-drifted snow, 
 
 A beggar was wandering the street ; 
 
 He was ragged and weary, he d no place to go, 
 
 He was longing for something to eat. 
 
 He had tried to get food nearly all the day long. 
 
 But they turned him away from their door : 
 
 And he rather would die of starvation than steal. 
 
 He was honest, although he was poor. 
 
 His heart nigh discouraged, he wended his way 
 
 Unheeded by young or the old : 
 
 When a wonderful sight met the poor beggar s eyes. 
 
 OH the snoic lav a purse filled icith gold. 
 
 The tempter said, "Keep it, you re hungry, you know. 
 
 For the rich man has enough more :" 
 
 But the beggar said, "Xo! the right owner I ll find. 
 
 / // be honest, although I am poor!" 
 
 The keen pangs of hunger still gnawed at his breast : 
 
 How he longed for a mouthful of bread : 
 
 But they turned him away, tlio Vuv/.v for Hie last time. 
 
 Kre the morning this beggar was dead. 
 
 With naught but the stars to watch over him. 
 
 He had passed to that beautiful shore : 
 
 Where the angels, with hearts full of love r. -eleomed home 
 
 This beggar, although he u asfioor?
 
 145 
 
 GLAD DAYS OF SPRING. 
 
 When at last earth is free from the chill Winter s gloom. 
 Then the joy-laden Spring days we cheerfully hail : 
 With willing hearts welcome the flowers that bloom, 
 On mountain and hillside, in forest and vale. 
 
 Touched by the warm sunlight and slow-falling showers. 
 Each flowering shrub with a new life grows fair ; 
 What with odorous Pine, Violet and Mayflower, 
 There s a fragrance delicious pervading the air ! 
 
 From out the blue depths of the soft April sky. 
 Delightful bird music is wafted belo\v ; 
 There s a charm in the landscape, which pleases the eye, 
 There are unalloyed pleasures whereever we go. 
 
 In the cool Alder-shade, neath green pasture hill, 
 Unfettered and free runs the deep narrow stream ; 
 Past the motionless wheel of the old unused mill, 
 Its waters reflecting the sun s lurid gleam. 
 
 As a-field, with his ploughshare, the gray farmer goes. 
 Right well knoweth he tis seed-time of the year : 
 These, to him, are the days when life s cup overflows, 
 With unspeakable joy, calm, contentment and cheer. 
 
 The upper air cleaving, on tireless wing. 
 Nature s wee feathered songsters are hopeful and glad ; 
 When earth is aglow with the freshness of Spring, 
 Ah ! how can the bosom of mortal be sad ?
 
 r 4 6 
 
 SHIP ON THE RESTLESS SEA. 
 
 Leaving the Port for a far-off land, 
 vSailing away o er the billows grand ; 
 The good ship, moving gracefully, 
 Seems a thing of life on the deep, blue sea. 
 
 Bound on her mission, 
 
 Over the sea; 
 
 Like a bird on its pinions. 
 
 So graceful and free. 
 
 Storm-clouds gather o er all the deep, 
 The thunders roll, the lightenings leap ; 
 Through the darksome night, above below. 
 The winds through the rigging shriek and blow 
 Past many a cliff, whose rounded dome 
 Is white with the spray of the ocean s foam, 
 She struggles on, while her crew so brave 
 Manfully battle with wind and wave. 
 
 The storm is past, the night is o er. 
 The morning sun, on sea and shore. 
 
 Brightly gleams 
 
 On sea and shore, 
 And the brave ship faithfully. 
 From wind and tempest free; 
 Pursues her onward course 
 Over the rolling sea. 
 Breasting the foaming waves. 
 Her voyage will soon be pas:.; 
 With a faithful hand to steer and guide. 
 She ll enter the port at last. 
 
 Like a ship on the restless sea, 
 Is the storm tossed-human soul; 
 Passing temptations rocks and bars,
 
 Ship on the Restless Sea. 
 
 O er many a hidden shoal. 
 
 But there s One who our bark will guide, 
 
 A Hand that will safely guide ; 
 
 At the helm He stands, we need not fear, 
 
 He ll bear us o er life s rough tide. 
 
 Then what care we though the waves run high. 
 
 We re ever safe with our Pilot nigh ; 
 
 Then let us with joy pursue life s way. 
 
 Till dawns for us the Eternal Day ; 
 
 And we ve anchored safe in the Heavenly Bav.
 
 i 4 8 
 
 WHEN THE YEAR IS OLD. 
 
 In loving remembrance of Father Albert A. Brooks. HE " PASSED OVER THE 
 STARS" INTO "REST" December 3ist, 1899: aged 67 ve?rs. 3 months and 
 6 days. He was an HONEST man and beloved by all who knew him. 
 
 When the year is old, 
 
 And the days wax cold, 
 
 The searching North winds blow: 
 
 When earth is white- 
 All glistening bright 
 
 With Winter s drifting snow : 
 Ah ! then we think of those happy hours. 
 When the air was fragrant with scented flowers: 
 When Lilly-blooms nodded in sunshine and rain. 
 And verdant grew valley and orchard and lane. 
 The world, to our vision, glowed pleasant and fair, 
 While a wonderful charm seemed to hover in air. 
 
 But those were the days 
 
 When the year was young ; 
 
 And Winter s low dirge 
 
 As yet unsung. 
 
 Now the passing clouds are dull and gray, 
 
 And ever the chilling breeze 
 Is chanting a solemn, mournful lay. 
 In the boughs of the leafless trees. 
 
 And over and over, 
 
 The whole day long, 
 
 I hear the refrain of its sad, sad song. 
 
 The year is o/d, 
 
 And bleak and cold 
 
 Is his chill and icy breath ; 
 
 His step is sloir, 
 
 He must soon lie low 
 
 In the waiting arms of Death . ,
 
 When the Year is Old. 149 
 
 And "Echo s" soft murmur steals over the snow, 
 " Yes, the year is fading 
 And sinking low." 
 
 But listen ! a sweeter, more hopeful refrain 
 Is wafted o er hilltop and snow-mantled plain ! 
 
 And this is the song that greets the ear, 
 Dispelling the gloom of the dying year. 
 
 " Ho! After the Winter days are o er, 
 There icill come brighter hours to earth once more ; 
 All hearts irill be made to rejoice and sing, 
 Ax they welcome again the return of Spring." 
 
 When the heart grows old, 
 
 And life s tale is told, 
 
 The frost of Age appears ; 
 
 When the hair is white, 
 
 And dimmed the sight, 
 
 In the passing of the years ; 
 
 How the mind goes back to those joyous hours. 
 When "Youth s" happy pathway was strewn with flowers 
 Through the mists of past years, to life s glad vSpring-time, 
 When Hopes Golden Bells rang their merriest chime: 
 And free as the birds that were flitting in air. 
 Was the bosom of "Childhood" from sorrow and care. 
 
 But those were the days 
 
 When the heart was young ; 
 
 And the song of Age 
 
 Was as yet unsung. 
 
 Down the western sky, o er the mountains gray. 
 
 Life s sun is sinking fast ; 
 A soul sits \vaiting, at close of day, 
 
 Till twilight hours are passed. 
 
 And amid the shadows 
 Deep and long. 
 The night winds whisper a sad, sad song.
 
 150 ll /icn the } car is (lid. 
 
 "A heart has grown old, 
 Life s Story in told ; 
 Weaker each fleeting breath. 
 Feeble and slow, 
 // must noon lie loic 
 In tlie /raiting arms of Death." 
 
 And "/:V//6>" repeats the mournful lay, 
 *^1 no al faint and v:ennj 
 Is possitig an iiff." 
 
 Ever joyous and hopeful, again, yet again. 
 From Heaven there comes a sweet tender refrain ; 
 And this is the song that greets the ear. 
 Dispelling the gloom of Death s dark fear; 
 
 "0 mortal, rejoice! Grim Death aamot hold thee! 
 
 Omnipotent Arms will ftrerer enfold thee . 
 
 Though through the Dark Valley, Death * in nionn ma;/ take 
 
 Still Christ standetli near, He H ill never forsake >/ou ; 
 
 His Spirit leads on, pant the (/aten of the tomb, 
 
 To n-here Eden s sweet, flowers eternal/// bloom ; 
 
 The soul iraken to new Life, on that far. Viewless Shore, 
 
 Piissiixj over the stars, into "Rent" evermore!
 
 153 
 
 THE ANDROSCOGGirsTS STONE PROFILE. 
 
 Stern, expressionless and cold, 
 
 In the centuries untold, 
 That lace upon its granite couch has lain ; 
 
 There amid the spray and mist. 
 
 Its bold features ever kissed 
 Alike by Winter s snow or Summer rain. 
 
 Swift the seasons come and go, 
 
 Bringing happiness or woe ; 
 Time holds for man its mingled joy and blame. 
 
 Generations pass away. 
 
 The world changes day by day ; 
 Vet, like Kgypt s Sphinx that face remains the same. 
 
 Could those lips in speech be heard, 
 Ah ! how charmed each uttered word ! 
 
 Pouring fourth some thrilling tale of olden time ; 
 Legends of dark Indian days, 
 The sturdy Pioneer s quaint ways ; 
 
 The struggles of a Nation in its prime! 
 
 They could tell of these, aye! more! 
 
 Of the centuries before 
 Man ever came near river bank to dwell ! 
 
 All unmoved upon its throne, 
 
 Silence seals those lips of stone ; 
 Of the Storied Past they can no secrets tell. 
 
 As it lies, with vacant stare 
 
 Gazing on the upper air, 
 In that rugged, rough-hewn profile, all ma}- trace 
 
 God s marvellous work and skill; 
 
 He who fashioned rock and hill 
 Kver speaks to mankind in that upturned face.
 
 154 The Androscoggins Stone Profile. 
 
 Speaks of Immortality, 
 
 Of a new life yet to be ; 
 A more perfect future far beyond earth s shore. 
 
 Although man was born to die. 
 
 Nature, in the earth and sky 
 Breathes the promise of a Life Forevermore !
 
 155 
 
 THE PAUPER. 
 
 His face is thin and wrinkled : life s closing day appears, 
 Xo loving heart to comfort his few remaining years: 
 Aged now and lonely, he sits beside the door, 
 An inmate of the poor-house a Pauper nothing more. 
 
 Although they call him " Pauper," once was the glad, good time. 
 When he was loved and honored, in manhood s early prime ; 
 With mind of broadest culture, a warm and generous heart, 
 In life s affairs, once active, he bore a manly part. 
 
 Polite, erect in stature, upon his youthful face 
 The lines of honest virtue, one readily could trace ; 
 Then, friends were pleased to answer his every wish and call, 
 Were proud to give him greeting, in street, in church, or hall. 
 
 A loving wife and children made home-life sweet and fair, 
 Until , with noiseless footsteps, Death s Angel entered there : 
 And one by one the loved ones from earthly scenes had flown, 
 Leaving him in sorrow, dejected and alone. 
 
 With failure and disaster came loss of hard-earned wealth. 
 Discouragement soon followed then breaking down of health; 
 His friends no longer knew him, now that his "all" was gone. 
 Blighted were life s prospects, his heart crushed and forlorn. 
 
 In silence, now, he passes life s dreary afternoon, 
 Waiting for the summons which must come sure and soon ; 
 His white hands calmly folded, he sits from day to day 
 Half do/ing in the sunshine, dreaming the hours away. 
 
 With eyes toward the future the past which lies behind 
 Is but a saddened memory to that frail, senile mind ; 
 He heeds not how time passes he now can do no more 
 Than simply wait in patience, till the days of life are o er. 
 
 Perhaps, in tender memory, his thoughts go back again 
 To happy days of Childhood, when, free from care and pain
 
 156 The Pauper. 
 
 He felt the hand of mother rest lightly on his head, 
 In fancy, still, he sees her kneeling by his trundle bed. 
 
 Oh ! the hopes, the aspirations, that filled that mother s breast ! 
 
 As to her loving bosom, the childish form she pressed ; 
 
 Little dreaming then, the wee babe beside her knee, 
 
 Would, through sad, dire misfortune, sometime a " Pauper" be ! 
 
 Ah ! tis the same old story, repeated o er and o er, 
 We know not what the future may hold for us in store ; 
 The kindly heart of friendship, that today we lean upon, 
 May prove untrue tomorrow, its love from us withdrawn. 
 
 In the struggle for existence, the fortune of today 
 May on the coming morrow be quickly swept away ; 
 The child, born in a palace, reared in luxurious ways, 
 In poverty and sorrow may pass life s closing days. 
 
 There s a sting in that word " Pauper," tis a harsh and cruel name ! 
 Though a man is poor and friendless, he may not be to blame ; 
 In years gone by, some mother has kissed that furrowed brow ; 
 That form, though bent and weary, still bears God s image now ! 
 
 Though poor, he still is human, he has a soul to save ; 
 There s a place for him in Heaven, a rest beyond the grave; 
 His loved ones, o er the river, he hopes once more to greet, 
 To him, as unto others, God sends His promise sweet. 
 
 Then call him not a Pauper! tis a harsh, a cruel name ! 
 Poor and old and friendless, yet, him we must not blame ! 
 Sometime, beyond earth s shadows, that soul will take its flight, 
 It may pass away at noon-day, or in stillness of the night. 
 
 It is all the same to him, as he sits from day to day, 
 
 Half dozing in the sunshine, dreaming the hours away ; 
 
 His old heart longs for rest, for the time to hasten nigh, 
 
 When he will leave earth s dwelling for a home beyond the sky. 
 
 Aged now and lonely, on a bench beside the door 
 
 Sits an inmate of the poor-house a Pauper nothing more ; 
 
 Yet, sometime God s Bright Angel, in that " Land beyond the blue," 
 
 Will open the "Gates of Heaven ," while a "Pauper" passes through .
 
 159 
 
 UNDER THE CHASE ELMS. 
 
 NOTK : |ust below Lnurel Hill Cemeierv, on the road to Saco Ferrv, and overlook 
 ing the river, stand several great elms. They are known as the "CiiASE 
 ELMS" and are among the largest and most beautiful trees in York Countv. 
 Transplanted from the Ferrv to their present location, over 135 years ago 
 by Deacon Amos Chase, they are looked upon with veneration by the 
 citizens of Saco, as old landmarks silent, yet eloquent reminders of the 
 soul-stirring and thrilling incidents of the historic past. 
 
 Away from the noise of the bustling city, 
 Where verdure-clad lowlands are kissed by the tide: 
 Where the Ferry Road curves in a graceful half-crescent, 
 The old Elms stand in their grandeur and pride. 
 
 Of wonderous circumference, huge giants in stature, 
 Spreading far into space their magnificent arms; 
 With towering tops over-looking the landscape, 
 Of green fields and meadows, of forests and farms. 
 
 Half concealed by the hill-tops, the deep quiet river 
 Slowly seaward in beauty and majesty goes; 
 Where the vales intervene, now and then I catch glimpses 
 Of its silvery brightness as onward it flows. 
 
 Toward the west, where the sun through the day s closing hours. 
 
 Diffuses its gold e re it fades from our view; 
 
 I behold in the distant the tall city spires 
 
 In perfect outline gainst a background of blue 
 
 Like a crown on the brow of the fair verdant uplands, 
 Rise the tall noble forests of sweet-scented Pine; 
 While from tree-tops about me, the feathery songsters 
 Are praising their Maker in music divine. 
 
 Thus beneath these great Elms, looking out o er the landscape, 
 From far-away hills to near meadow and fen; 
 All nature is wearing the jewels of summer, 
 Suggestive of God and his goodness to men.
 
 i6o 
 
 THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 
 
 A tribute to little John Dolby, passed away at Saco, Me., February ^o, 1900. ) 
 
 Though a frail little being, all felt keen delight. 
 
 In extending him greeting, as night alter night 
 
 On the street, with papers close under his arm. 
 
 He moved through the crowds, all unmindful of harm. 
 
 Often great brawny men, with face sturdTand grim, 
 
 Would cross o er the street just to purchase of him; 
 
 And their hearts grew more tender, their eyes filled with tears, 
 
 As a soft uttered " Thank you, sir. " greeted their ears. 
 
 Brave, honest, reliant, truth shone in his eye, 
 
 As he cried, " Evening Papers, " to each passer-by ; 
 
 Respected and loved by young and the old, 
 
 Each night, e re he slept, all his papers were sold. 
 
 Though in stature deformed, still t was easy to trace 
 
 The lines of true courage on his bright, manly face ; 
 
 A weakling, amid the world s sorrow and strife, 
 
 He acted his part in the "Battle of Life." 
 
 Oft times he would go, in the long summer day, 
 To the Beach, where society s sceptre held sway ; 
 And from earliest dawn, through the afternoon hours 
 His basket o er-flowing with sweet-scented flowers 
 Happy-hearted, amid the gay throng, he would roam, 
 Karning pennies, to help his dear mother at home; 
 What an unselfish life ! A sight grand to behold ! 
 A good name he was winning, more precious than gold. 
 
 But the time must soon come, when seashore and street 
 
 Would no longer be kissed by the poor tired feet ; 
 
 When people would watch for the loved face in vain, 
 
 Or list for the voice they would ne er hear again. 
 
 The same cheerful smile, through the slow passing day 
 
 Played round the thin lips, as on sick bed lie lay; 
 
 Hope illumined his features, wan, pallid and white. 
 
 While those blue eyes still glowed with a warm, pleasant light.
 
 The Little Hunchback. 161 
 
 In calm resignation, submissive and meek, 
 No murmured complaint, through the long dreary week 
 Escaped the frail form, although weary and worn, 
 With true patience divine, was his sufferings borne. 
 All eyes looked in pity on the small wasting frame, 
 While hearts became milder at sound of his name ; 
 All were conscious, that here in this dark \vorld of greed, 
 He had done what he could to help others in need. 
 
 The pale lips are sealed, the sweet spirit has flown, 
 To that beautiful Homeland, where death is unknown ; 
 Resting peacefully, now, in the arms of God s care. 
 To mansions Eternal, a Hright Crown an heir. 
 Gaining riches above he has left riches behind, 
 A character spotless, piire, noble and kind ; 
 And unto him, now, perfect being is given, 
 He in full stature dwells in the Kingdom of Heaven.
 
 162 
 
 THE CHAPEL IN THE VALE. 
 
 NOTE : The original of "The Chapel in the Vale." is the prettv little Gothic 
 church near the track of the Grand Trunk Railway, at West Bethel, 
 Maine. 
 
 [To my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Elbridge Wheeler, West Eethel. Maine.] 
 
 Earth seems so fair neath sunlit August skies, 
 The blue-bird s song is heard in forest glade, 
 While on the hills, in calm contentment lies 
 The cattle neath the Beach trees cooling shade. 
 
 The wayside flowers lift their plumey tops, 
 A golden cup, each holds in mute delight; 
 Filled to the brim with sparkling jeweled, drops, 
 From warm and friendly dews of yesternight. 
 
 Slow, drowsily the gentle South wind blows, 
 Neath its caress the green leaves idly sway; 
 Drawing sweet nectar from the wild, red rose, 
 The busy bee pursues its droning way. 
 
 The sunlight falls aslant the river s breast, 
 Above its banks the towering hills rise high; 
 Vignetted is each tall, gray mountain crest, 
 In rounded outline gainst the azure sky. 
 
 The warm, light breeze disturbs the tasseled corn, 
 That growing makes the valley yet more fair ; 
 Peace hovers o er the land tis Sabbath morn, 
 A holy languor fills the scented air. 
 
 The little hamlet nestles mong the hills 
 Within each home, true, sincere love abides ; 
 A reverent hush, the sacred hour fills, 
 Save sound of sheep-bells from the mountain sides. 
 
 O er shadowed by the steep, bold granite cliffs; 
 On Village Green the house of worship stands ;
 
 The Chapel in the J a/e. 163 
 
 Its pointed Gothic spire upward lifts 
 A scene for Poet s pen or Artist s hand! 
 
 In measured accents, o er the mountains float 
 The dulcet music of the Chapel bell ; 
 God s voice seems speaking in each deep toned note, 
 That echoes over hilltop, field and dell. 
 
 The call to worship, far and near is heard, 
 The people haste its summons to obey; 
 With solemn mien, to hear God s preached word, 
 Along- the road they take their churchward way. 
 
 And willingly, they bow the listening ear, 
 
 With joy receive the simple Gospel tale ; 
 
 The " vStraight and Xarro\v Way, " in Godly fear 
 
 They walk by faith, though oft grave doubts assail. 
 
 Within those sacred walls, the atmosphere 
 Seems heavy with sweet incense from on high ; 
 A holy place, to Christian hearts most dear ; 
 Rejoicing in the thought that God is nigh. 
 
 The varied hues from stained glass windows glow. 
 In beauty, blending with the suns bright rays ; 
 Till floods of glory shine on all below, 
 As worshipers engage in prayer and praise. 
 
 The organist, a simple prelude plays, 
 Followed by pastor in short earnest prayer; 
 While through the open window softly strays 
 The perfumed breeze from woods and meadows fair. 
 
 How 7 fervent is the preacher s uttered word: 
 His heartfelt message tells a Savior s love: 
 Each soul before him, to its depths is stirred, 
 He leads their thoughts to holy things above. 
 
 The sermon ended, all with hearty will 
 Unite with choir in the closing hymn; 
 Whose cadence sweet, o er yonder distant hill 
 Is wafted on in faint, low echoes dim.
 
 The Chapel in the \ r ale. 
 
 One moment, near the door, the people pause 
 In little groupes to grasp the friendly hand; 
 Or speak together of God s blessed cause, 
 How He in love a great salvation planned. 
 
 Among them, I behold a saintly face, 
 Celestial light seems resting on his brow; 
 A faithful Steivard in God s Holy Place, 
 And mindful he of every sacred vozv. 
 
 Year after year, in his accustomed pew, 
 
 Each Sabbath morn has found him sitting there; 
 
 While close beside him, is one ever true 
 
 His sweet faced wife, with crown of snow-white hair. 
 
 Together they have walked life s chosen way, 
 
 From youth to age to love s strong arm they ve clung ; 
 
 Life s sunset passing nearing twilight gray, 
 
 Eyes dimmed with age but still their hearts are young . 
 
 Beloved are they by all who know true worth. 
 Their lives have been unselfish, sweet and grand ; 
 May they, when called away from scenes of earth, 
 Find just reward in that Bright Glory Land. 
 
 God bless the little Chapel in the Vale! 
 In past ral beauty, may it long abide! 
 Its influence for good can never fail, 
 Tis known beyond the hamlet far and wide 
 
 Its Gothic spire the Gospel story tells, 
 The grandest tale on Scriptures Holy page; 
 And echoed oft in joyous Easter Bells, 
 It stands supreme through every passing age.
 
 SUMMER AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 ( At Bethel Maine.) 
 
 O Summer months ! so full of gladsome cheer^! 
 Scattering thy sweets o er this broad land of ours; 
 The dearest months in all the changing year, 
 Brightening earth with lovely blossoming flowers. 
 Xeath smiling skies, the fields are green and fair. 
 
 Above, below, 
 There is beauty everywhere! 
 
 Laden with balm, light blows the morning breeze; 
 The corntops sway beneath its gentle power; 
 Its breath is cool, among the orchard trees, 
 Its soft caress woos tender bud and flower. 
 While all around, the scented apple-blooms, 
 
 Wind-swayed, send forth 
 A thousand sweet perfumes, 
 
 P^astward, the warm sun, rising bright and clear 
 Bathes the landscape in a flood of gold; 
 All glory-crowned, the mountains far and near 
 Lift towering peaks, in rugged outline bold. 
 And shafts of light pierce dreary solitude, 
 
 Dispelling gloom 
 Of mossy fen and wood. 
 
 High overhead, the Skylark and the Thrush 
 Pour forth their notes in glad melodious lays; 
 And bird-life everywhere on bough and bush, 
 Are ever rendering their Creator s praise. 
 Happy little winged musicians they ; 
 
 Skyward flitting. 
 Singing all the day. 
 
 Sun, moon and stars, the glories of the sky. 
 The Summer blooms, that perfume all the air; 
 The mountains, their grand summits rearing high,
 
 166 Summer Among the Hills. 
 
 The birds, whose song helps lighten day s dull care 
 The Season s dearest gifts, without alloy, 
 
 God created all 
 For mankind to enjoy! 
 
 Ah! Could we happy be, through the long days 
 Of all the changing seasons of the year; 
 Our souls be always filled with love and praise, 
 Each heart-beat set to music of "Good Cheer f 
 HOW T sweet for us would be life s golden chime. 
 
 If in our hearts, 
 T were Summer all the time!
 
 6 7 
 
 THE ARTIST-SEASON. 
 
 Gray Autumn time at last is here, 
 The Artist-Season of the year! 
 
 With perfect taste, unerring hand, 
 He paints in rarest tints the land. 
 
 A master, true, with light atid shade, 
 Displaying skill in field and glade. 
 
 His touch, transforming emerald green 
 Of wooded dell to golden sheen. 
 
 The far-off hillside, sloping down, 
 He touches, lo! tis scar and brown! 
 
 The leaves, he changes in a night, 
 To hues of red and amber bright. 
 
 When field and wood his touch has known, 
 All trace of summer days have flown. 
 
 No greenery, now, the eye beholds, 
 The great world Autumn s arm enfolds. 
 
 And his weird fancy often weaves 
 Strange pictures mong the tinted leaves. 
 
 Yet fair is all the land, to view; 
 Dressed in the sunsets golden hue. 
 
 While everywhere, true harmony, 
 Of blending color greets the eye. 
 
 As in summer days, the woodland stream 
 Flowed undisturbed, neath sun s bright gleam. 
 
 So the limpid waters ripple still 
 Through field and fen by mounded hill.
 
 1 68 The Artist-Season. 
 
 Hastening towards the river grand, 
 
 Its breast unchanged by Autumn s hand. 
 
 For Autumn s hand, though skilled and bold, 
 Can only change earth s green to gold! 
 
 And He, who lights the "Stars of Even " 
 Has no other power to Autumn given. 
 
 The laughing streams will run their race, 
 Till locked in Winter s cold embrace! 
 
 Twas thus, when Universe was made, 
 Nature s decrees were planned and laid. 
 
 The world moves on, in calm or storm, 
 Each season must its part perform. 
 
 As in the Past, so evermore 
 
 There s work for each laid up in store. 
 
 As of seasons, so, of man tis true; 
 All have a work on earth to do. 
 
 T is part of Wisdom s marvelous plan; 
 First formed when God created man. 
 
 Then be our station high, or low, 
 Come good or ill, come joy or woe; 
 
 Placed here, amid earth s grief and strife, 
 We all may share the toils of life. 
 
 Meet daily tasks with cheerful heart , 
 And nobly act Life s honored part!
 
 169 
 
 LESSONS FROM A LIFE. 
 
 [In tender memorv of Rev. T. Arthur Frev. late pastor of the Second 
 Congregational Church. Kiddeford. Maine. Passed a\vav at I niversity Park. 
 Denver. Colorado. January S, 1900.] 
 
 Within memory s precious casket, 
 Those loved features we enshrine ; 
 Thoughts of him, but draw us nearer 
 To the " LigM of Truth " divine. 
 Called hence from life s field of action 
 In the flush of manhood s prime ; 
 
 Silent yet he ever speaketh 
 
 With persuasive power sublime. 
 
 Called of Go:! a faithful steward, 
 Karnest, sincere, true and kind ; 
 Xoble type of Christian manhood, 
 High ideals filled heart and mind. 
 Standing niong his fellow mortals, 
 As a bright and shining light : 
 Never compromising evil, 
 Champion always for the right. 
 
 Loving all things pure and holy, 
 Witness to the "Living Truth;" 
 Both by precept and example 
 Moulding heart and mind of youth. 
 His great soul went out in pity 
 T ward those neath oppression s ban ; 
 Aiding every high endeavor 
 For the betterment of man. 
 
 Faith illumined all his teachings, 
 Prayerfully each line was wrought : 
 Earnestness marked every sentence, 
 Beau .y clothed each varied thought. 
 Purest gems of truth and wisdom 
 From his lips like pearls would roll ;
 
 170 
 
 Lessons From A Life. 
 
 To his hearers, oft revealing 
 The true grandeur of his soul. 
 
 Themes of loftiest conception, 
 All the deep emotions stirred ; 
 Speaking for his blessed Master, 
 Heart and soul was in each word. 
 Tenderly, his Christ he pictures, 
 By the waves of Galilee ; 
 Or with vividness portrays Him 
 On the Cross of Calvarv. 
 
 REV. T. ARTHUR I RKY. 
 
 Or in glorious triumph rising 
 From the grave neath Kaster skies 
 Now amid the clouds ascending 
 To His throne in Paradise. 
 Thus, he taught a " Risen Saviour, 
 Of His love so full and free ; 
 Breathing hope of future glory. 
 Preaching " Immortality."
 
 Lessons from A Life. 
 
 Bearing in this \vorld of sorrow. 
 The true Christians honored part ; 
 Face beamed as with light from heaven, 
 Joy and peace glowed in his heart. 
 Gaining strength and help and wisdom 
 From the "Fountain-head" above; 
 Firm his faith and grounded ever 
 In a gospel born of love. 
 
 A student of the Book of Nature, 
 Learning from its pages fair. 
 E en the humblest wayside iflower 
 Held for him some beaut} rare. 
 And the grand old towering forest, 
 Wherein oft his footsteps trod ; 
 Was to him a sacred temple 
 Consecrated to his God. 
 
 Breezes murmuring through the tall pines, 
 
 Sweetly sighing, low and dim ; 
 
 Was to him celestial music, 
 
 Breathings of a far-off hymn. 
 
 And to him the starry heavens. 
 
 Was a book, whose every page 
 
 Teemed with grand and wondrous mystery, 
 
 With wisdom of age on age. 
 
 How he loved the summer landscape! 
 The sweet minstrels of the air ! 
 In the woods, the fields, the flowers, 
 He found beauty everywhere I 
 And the glory of the sunset 
 That preceeds the twilight gray ; 
 Was to him, the joyous promise 
 Of a new and brighter day ! 
 
 Now beyond those gates of sunset, 
 
 To a bright and better land ; 
 
 His great soul has winged its passage. 
 
 Guided by the Feather s hand. 
 
 Far away, beyond earth s tumult. 
 
 To that distant, unseen shore ;
 
 Lcsso?is From .1 Life. 
 
 Crowed the Bar" to meet his " Pi lot" 
 Entered sweet rent evermore. 
 
 Gone but ah, forgotten never 
 
 Until life shall cease to be ; 
 
 To those hearts, that knew and loved him, 
 
 Precious is his memory. 
 
 And the light of his example 
 
 Sheds its rays about our feet ; 
 
 While his influence still tiityers, 
 
 Blessing earth like incense sweet.
 
 173 
 
 THE WORLD S READY HELPERS. 
 
 What jrood do you do bright sun as you pass 
 
 Along your \vay through the a/.ure blue? 
 Tis said, that you cheer the whole world with your beams 
 
 Pray tell me, O " King of the day," is it true ? 
 " Yes tis true, as I move from east to west. 
 
 My rays cheer homes that are gloomy and sad ; 
 I cause flowers to bloom, as the days roll by, 
 
 I make the heart of the great world glad." 
 
 Silvery moon, as the "Banner of Xight," 
 
 Over the sleeping earth is unfurled, 
 As you roll along mid the numberless stars, 
 
 Do you help to cheer and brighten the world? 
 " Yes. I guide the mariner s ship at night, 
 
 As onward it sails o er the ocean s foam; 
 And many a traveler, weary and worn. 
 
 My light has guided with safety home." 
 
 Sweet bird, from the depth of thy forest home, 
 
 Does part of this work belong to thee ? 
 " Yes, our song cheers the hearts of both rich and poor. 
 
 We flood all the earth with our melody." 
 " Yes, and I too," said a tender flower. 
 
 " By my sweet fragrance, beauty and bloom. 
 Bring cheer to the heart of some dying soul. 
 
 As it passes from earth to the tomb." 
 
 Brother and friend, as life s journey we tread, 
 
 Do we help those who are weak and sad? 
 Do we gather thorns or pluck sweetest flowers? 
 
 Are we striving each day to make some heart glad ? 
 It lies in the power of everyone 
 
 To make life sweeter, more noble and true. 
 In the work of making the world bright and happy. 
 
 The humblest heart mav find something to do.
 
 174 
 
 THE BELL OF LEXINGTON. 
 
 In the quaint belfry tower still hangs the old bell, 
 The same as of yore, on that clear April morning 
 When afar over Middlesex s valleys and hills 
 Its brazen tones rang out their terrible warning. 
 
 Spreading War s wild alarms, 
 
 Over Lexington s farms; 
 
 At the sound, every patriot son sprang to arms ! 
 They quickly assembled by roadside and plain. 
 Freedom s cause to defend and their rights to maintain. 
 
 Paul Revere, that American noble and brave, 
 Whose name is e re linked with fair Liberty s story ; 
 From Charlestown had come on that famous night ride, 
 That will ever crown him and his charger with glory. 
 
 With a voice loud and clear, 
 
 On the chill midnight air 
 
 He shouted, " Aivake men ! The Regulars are near ! " 
 And the bell clanging forth, pealing out the refrain. 
 The message re-echoed again and again. 
 
 From the farm windows, brightly the candle lights gleamed, 
 Rich and poor, old and young, heard with great consternation 
 The alarm of the messenger galloping by, 
 While the village was stirred to its very foundation. 
 
 Still that brave little band 
 
 Were determined to stand 
 And if need be to perish for liberty grand. 
 They would sacrifice all that was dearest in life, 
 Yielding not to the foenien, though bitter the strife, 
 
 The Red-Coats advancing, some eight hundred strong, 
 With Major Pitcairn at the head of the legion ; 
 Had marched all the way from Boston, to cope 
 With a handful of farmers from Middlesex region ! 
 
 When the battle-cloud broke. 
 
 With its thunder and smoke.
 
 The Bell of Lexington. 
 
 The Minute-men stood with a heart as of oak. 
 
 Till outnumbered, were forced to retreat from the place, 
 
 Leaving eight of their comrades in death s cold embrace. 
 
 For a "Principal" righteous and noble, they stood. 
 Grim earnestness marked every movement and action ; 
 United were they in one just, common cause, 
 They knew not the bold lines of party or faction. 
 But primed was the gun 
 
 *75 
 
 OLI) BELFRY AT LEXINGTON. 
 
 Of each father and son ; 
 
 Though they knew from the first victory ne er could be won 
 And History s pages the story will tell 
 Of the heroes that morn who for Liberty fell ! 
 
 Though defeated and wounded, each heart beat with hope, 
 They would yet win in battle, though greatly outnumbered 
 Independence to them was not merely a dream, 
 In their bosom the Spirit of Freedom ne er si umbered I 
 
 Amid War s clash and din, 
 
 The Britons might win ;
 
 176 The Bell of Lexington. 
 
 But they never could conquer the "feeling " within . 
 Upon Lexington Green was re-kindled anew 
 The fires of Freedom and Liberty true ! 
 
 On that historic Common, where Patriots fell, 
 Stands the Altar, to which our hearts turn with devotion ; 
 From the north to the south-land its lair fame is known, 
 It is wafted o er mountains, from ocean to ocean ! 
 
 And Americans know, 
 
 On that soil long ago 
 
 Where a handful of men faced an unequal foe, 
 The blood of those heroes, on that cool April morn, 
 Marked the spot where our glorious Xation was born ! 
 
 When the musketry rattled on Lexington Green, 
 And by old Concord Bridge, // made tvranv tremble 
 Our montains and hills the grand echoes awoke, 
 From everywhere, heroes began to assemble. 
 
 And old Lexington s bell 
 
 Rang the tyrants death knell ; 
 On American soil, soon doomed Monarchy fell ! 
 And never again will its strong chains enslave 
 The Youth of our Country, the hearts of the brave ! 
 
 O Lexington ! proud must thou be to enfold 
 
 A great Nation s birthplace within thy green border! 
 
 Guard well the fair spot, to our race ever dear, 
 
 Over each sacred shrine, stand a faithful, true warder ! 
 
 And from homes henceforth free, 
 
 Hearts will turn unto thee ; 
 
 With a sincere devotion, where-e re they may be! 
 And thy praise, far and near, will for ages resound, 
 \Vhcrc-i"i cr the child of a I^reeman is found ! 
 
 In its quaint, aged tower, hangs Lexington s bell ! 
 Though its tones mingle not with the cannons loud rattle ; 
 For the white wings of Peace hovers over our homes, 
 Nevermore rings the summons, " To .Inns" or " To /yaffle 
 
 We have Liberty grand ! 
 
 Vet, at word of command 
 ./ million would rise in defence of our land . 
 They would show the invader, who dares touch our shore. 
 That the Spirit of 75 /ires evermore!
 
 FEB 3 1986
 
 A 000 565 445 4