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 "rriHge Blossor^s, "Ty'lultum in Parvo" 
 Printed Expressly fov Miss Vienna 
 Kstella Cowan 
 
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 11, »'-.V .'«,J 
 
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 ORANGE BL 
 
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 MULTUM IN PARVO; 
 
 I'laM'Ei) ExrnE.ssi.v i<u; Miss \'ii;x.\.v Esthtja Cnw.w. 
 
 PRICE FIFTY CENTS, 
 
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 SA\ 1 UA.Ni. |S(.(> 
 ( 1 i; I i< \ 1 uMPAfjy, Stkam Hook a \ ji J <ii», P R t NTKK s , 
 
 (IS Msirkct Strvft, l)clci)v First. 
 I 8 8 . 
 
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 ■C-' •
 
 EX LIBRIS 
 
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 MULTUM IN PARVO," 
 
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 Mxtintc. 
 
 This choice selection of Poems was arrano-ed diiriiio- 
 the convalescence of Miss Vinnie from that painful 
 and so often fatal illness " I^iphtheria." "Once more 
 restored to the sweet breath of morn, and g'lad- 
 some beauty of the day," she forgets not to thank 
 the " pilotage " which guided the frail l)ark o'er 
 paiii's wild waves. Which gives the Poem "Conva- 
 lescence" a most fitting place as opening Poem of 
 this little book, the motto of which is " MuLXUJr in 
 Pakvo," " much in a little," which is beautifully 
 summed up in the touching address of the mother 
 to the one who stands l)y her "bridal- wreathed " 
 daughter. "The Three Little Graves" many persons 
 will remember having heard touchingly recited liy 
 Miss Vinnie. 
 
 To the little one in life's spring ; to the beautiful 
 in summer's bloom; to the strong in golden autumn ; 
 and the aged in gray winter, and to all lovers of the 
 jDure and good, these pages are respectfully dedi- 
 cated. 
 
 ViENXA EsTEI.T.A COWAX. 
 
 -.-^
 
 ■ / 
 
 HA 
 
 ORAXGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Conbalcsautc. 
 
 Once more drawn back l)y loving hearts and hands 
 From the dim portals of the world to come ; 
 
 Once more permitted to rejoin the bands 
 Of dear ones gathered in this earthly home. 
 
 Once more — once more — (oh, pilotage most rare, 
 To guide so worn a bark o''er stormy seas !) 
 
 Safely conveyed through surges of Despair, 
 
 And Pain's wild waves, to smiling ports of Ease. 
 
 Once more restored to the sweet breath of morn, 
 And all the gladsome'beauty of the day ; 
 
 To cheerful sights and sounds and changes born 
 In earth and air, as seasons roll away. 
 
 Dear Lord, I thank Thee for this boon of life ! 
 
 Granted again when Death stood waiting near ; 
 Still is the gift with magic sweetness rife, 
 
 Still is it good to be a dweller here. 
 
 For still this world, despite its clouded hours 
 Of care and ])ain, is woudj'ous fair to me ; 
 
 Still, in the glory of its stars and flowers, 
 And .Summer groves, Paradise 1 see. 
 
 And here, such tcndo' smiles arouud me gleam, 
 H(;re meet I hearts so warm and words so fond, 
 
 That ever into this, my earthly dreams, 
 
 Gui(l(.'S something of the llcavi.'ii that lies bevDud. 
 
 4i- 
 
 TlK'rcfore 1 fain would be a voyager still 
 Along the windings ol tins phiasant shon; ; 
 
 Thcrcfon^ I bl<!ss the Powers whose gracious will 
 Hatli gi\<!n me back to lifi' and love once moic. 
 
 .\i i;s. Iv S. S\irni. 
 
 .'511 HI 2
 
 fr 
 
 I ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 6rofouTq. 
 
 T 
 
 Throug'hout this growing season, 
 
 Of raiiiy and sun, and dew, 
 I feel a p-rowino- in me 
 
 Of all things good and true. 
 
 The green grass on the hill-toi)S, 
 The wheat-fields of the land, 
 
 The green thing's in my garden. 
 All grow up and expand. 
 
 From morning until evening. 
 
 From evening until dawn. 
 The chang-es follow — follow — 
 
 The growth goes on and on. 
 
 So in my soul and spirit 
 
 I feel a reaching- out. 
 Up over strife and wcjrry. 
 
 Up over fear and doubt. 
 
 As golden rays of sunlight 
 Draw verdure from the sod. 
 
 So by His loving kindness 
 My soul is drawn to God. 
 
 And like the heats of noontide, 
 . And like the healthful rains. 
 Have been the fires of sorrow, 
 Have been my woes and pains. 
 
 Has all this growth no purpose ':* 
 
 Who dares to say niy soul 
 Shall end on earth its mission. 
 
 And find no higher goal ? 
 
 Whiter than any harvest 
 
 That grows upon the sod 
 Are the truths within me growing. 
 
 To lay before my God. 
 
 So in the growing season 
 
 Of Summer and of youth, 
 I feel my soul aiul spirit 
 
 Reach upward after truth. 
 
 Ella Whekleij. 
 
 '^*.
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 (L j)TO ICittlc (!5rabi:s. 
 
 It was autumn, and the leaves were dry, 
 
 That rustled on the ground ; 
 The chilling winds went whistling by 
 
 With low and ])ensive sound, 
 As through the graveyard's lone retreat. 
 
 By meditation led, 
 I walked with slow and cautious feet 
 
 Above the sleeping dead. 
 
 Three little graves, ranged side by side. 
 
 My close attention drew, 
 O'er to the tall grass-bending side, 
 
 And one seemed fresh and new. 
 As lingering there I mused awhile 
 
 On death's long, dreamless sleep. 
 And opening life's deceitful smile, 
 
 A mourner came to weep. 
 
 Her form was 1)owed, luit not with years ; 
 
 Her words were faint and few ; 
 And on those little graves h(^r tears 
 
 Distilhid like evening dew. 
 A ])ratt]ing boy, some four years old, 
 
 Her trembling hand embraced. 
 And from my heart the tale he told 
 
 Will TH'ver !)(' effaced. 
 
 "■ ^huimia, you must love iiic more, 
 
 Yin- little sister is (lead. 
 And t'other sister dicil hd'oi-c ; 
 
 .\nd brother, too, you said. 
 -Mamma, wliat ma(h' sweet sister die V 
 
 She loved me when \\c |ih-i\ed ; 
 Voii tohl me, if I wonhl not erv, 
 
 \ ou 'd show me where she hiid."
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 " 'Tis here, my child, where sister lies, 
 
 Deep buried in the ground ; 
 No light comes to her little eyes, 
 
 And she can hear no sound." 
 " Mamma, won't she Ije afraid to lie 
 
 In that dark grave to-night *? 
 \Yon't she l^e very cold and cry. 
 
 Because there is no liji'ht '? 
 
 " Won't she be hungry there. 
 
 And want some food to eat ? 
 And who will give her clothes to wear. 
 
 And keep them clean and neat ? 
 Papa must go and carry some; 
 
 I 'II send her all I 've got; 
 And he will bring sweet sister home; 
 
 Mamma, now must he not ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! my child, that cannot be ; 
 
 For God, who saw her die. 
 Looked down from heaven and smiled, 
 
 And called her to the sky. 
 Let little children come to me. 
 
 Once our dear Saviour said; 
 And in his arms they '11 always be, 
 
 And He will give them bread." 

 
 ^ 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 i 
 
 ff'bc 'Cittic aiioi) that Dici). 
 
 k 
 
 [The late Dr. Chalmers is said to have been the author ot' the foHowing 
 beautiful lines, written on the occasion of the death of a youn^ son, whom 
 he greatlv loved :] 
 
 I am all alone in my chamber now, 
 
 And the midnight hour is near, 
 And the fagot''s crack, and the clock's didl tick, 
 
 Are the only sounds I hear ; 
 And over my soul in its solitude 
 
 Sweet feelino-s of sadness g-lide ; 
 For my heart and my eyes are full when I tiiink 
 
 01" the little l)oy that\lied. 
 
 I went fine night to my father's house — 
 
 Went lujine to the dear ones all, 
 And softly opened the garden g'ate, 
 
 And softly the door of the hall. 
 My mother came to meet her son — 
 
 She kissed me, and then she sighed ; 
 And her head fell on my neck as she wept 
 
 For the little boy that died. 
 
 I shall miss him when the flowers come 
 
 In tlic garden where he ])layed ; 
 1 shall miss him more by the Jireside, 
 
 \\'hen till- flowers are all decayed ; 
 I shall see his toys ainl his em])tv chaii', 
 
 And the horse he used to lidc. 
 And they will sp(!ak with a silent si)eech 
 
 Of theJittle boy that died. 
 
 We shall go home to oiu- Father's house — 
 
 To our Father's house in the skies, 
 "Where the ho]K> of sotds shall have no bliohf, 
 
 ( )iM' love no broken ties ; 
 We shall roam on the banks of the ii\-ei- n]' jieiici-. 
 
 A)id bathe in its blissfnl tide ; 
 And one of the joys of life siiall he 
 
 The little boy tJiat died.
 
 ^ 
 
 O R A X GE B LOS SO M S . 
 
 iUcmaries of tbc ^Mb ilittbcn; 
 
 '^—■^-^ J ■-■ ^ 
 
 Far back, in my musing-s, my thoug-hts have ]>een cast, 
 
 To the cot, where the hours of my childhood were passed, 
 
 I loved all its rooms, to the pantry and hall, 
 
 But that blessed old kitchen was dearest of all. 
 
 Its chairs and its table, none brig-hter could be. 
 
 For all its surrounding-s were sacred to me, 
 
 To the nail in the ceiling, the latch on the door. 
 
 And I loved every crack of that old kitchen floor. 
 
 I rememl)er the fireplace, with mouth high and wide, 
 
 The old-fashioned oven that stood by its side. 
 
 Out of which, each Thanksgiving, camG puddings and pies, 
 
 That fairly bewildered and dazzled our eyes, 
 
 And, there, too, St. Nicholas, slyly and still. 
 
 Came down every Christn^ias our stocking-s to fill. 
 
 But the dearest of memories I've laid up in store, 
 
 Is the Mother that trod that old kitchen floor. 
 
 Day in and day out, from morning till night. 
 
 Her footsteps were busy, her heart always lig"ht, 
 
 For it seemed to me then, that she knew not a care, 
 
 The smile was so gentle her face used to wear. 
 
 I remember with pleasure, what joy filled our eyes, 
 
 When she told us the stories, that children so prize. 
 
 They were new every night, though we'd heard tliem before 
 
 From her lips, at the wheel, on the old kitchen floor. 
 
 I remember the window, where mornings I'd run 
 
 As soon as the daybreak to watch for the sun. 
 
 And I thought when my head scarcely reached to the sill, 
 
 That it slept thnjugh the night in the trees on the hill. 
 
 And the small tract of ground that my eyes there could view, 
 
 Was all of the world that my infancy knew. 
 
 Indeed, I cared not to know of it more 
 
 For a world in itself, was that old kitchen floor. 
 
 To-night, those old visions come back at my will ; 
 
 But the wheel and its music forever are still, 
 
 The band is moth-eaten, the wheel laid away, 
 
 And tlie fingers that turned it, lie mouldering in clay. 
 
 '- J^
 
 Ag 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 The hearthstone so sacretl, is just as 'twas then, 
 And the voices of children ring qut there again. 
 The sun, through the window, shines in as of vore. 
 But it sees stranger feet on the old kitchen floor, 
 Shklbuexe Falls, Mass. 
 
 Sophia P. Sxow. 
 
 For the love of a woman is truly lur lilV, 
 
 And Uic faith of tlu^ woman hlooiiis out in tlic wifi- ; 
 
 And till- trust of a woman — no lioiicr thinu- 
 
 Is known in the climes where the S('ra|)hims sing, 
 
 And I wisli hiT no brighter a future to-(liiv 
 
 'i'lian the hive, I'aith and trust tli;it will never decay 
 
 Till the (hirk angel coines with his shadowy wings 
 
 And hears her awav from earth's cliaiiireahle tliinsrs. 
 
 Oh I take her, my darling, my treasure, m^^ pride. 
 For your life-long companion, your love and your bride ; 
 Take the joy and the sunshine away from my life. 
 And clasp to your bosom your angel, your wife ; 
 Take my one lily-blossom — 1 will not complain, 
 Th(mgh my mother-heart ache with intenseness of pain ; 
 Though niv life shall be darken'd without her, I know 
 'Tis a wise law of Nature — then take her and so I 
 
 1 have borne her and rear'd her in sorrow and pain, i 
 
 But the sweet compensation l)rought sunshine again, i 
 
 And the touch of her hand and the sound of hiM- voice j 
 
 SoothM ever my heart-pain and made me rejoice ; i 
 
 And I called her my lily, my violet, my dove, ' 
 
 My all that was gentlest and fullest of love ; 
 But a stranger hath won her affection away, 
 And she leaves me, my darling, she leaves me to-dav I 
 
 Oh, fold round her closely the stront; arms of love ! i 
 
 Prot(U't h{?r, caress her, my jiet laml), my dove ; 
 
 13e her strength and her shelter, be tender, lie mild, 
 
 And may God deal with you as you deal with niv rlilld ! ' 
 
 1 know her devotion, my daughter, vour wife ; i 
 
 I know that lier love is as stron<x as her life ; 
 
 I know that she gives you her heart's purest trust, ■ 
 
 Oh, ni-'er let her idol fall down in the dust ! ! 
 
 ^ * o- 
 
 '-^U^
 
 ^ 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 My darling-, no cloud would I east on your way I 
 1 WILL smile when I bid you farewell, love, to-day ; 
 But remeuiher me, dear, when your young- heart is full. 
 When the twilight sinks down with its exquisite lull, 
 When love flings around you its mystical charms. 
 And you rest all content in a husband's dear arms — 
 Give one thought to vour mother, now sittino- alone 
 With her dearest one a]>sent — her sweet sona'-bird tlown I 
 
 Go(id-bye ! may God's blessings go with you, my child,. 
 As you leave the old home, by Love's magic beguiled ; 
 God bless both my children, and keep you for aye, 
 Still fond and still loving through life's thorny way. 
 And all thoug"hts that are selfish shall siidc out of sight. 
 While your young hearts are happy — ^your morning star bright; 
 But in sorrow and pain, when your tears fall like rain, 
 This heart shall unfold to embrace you again ! 
 
 This life is all meetings and partings, I know ; 
 
 One half is of blossom, the other of snow ; 
 
 And the children we rear to maturity's flower 
 
 Must be planted afar in the stranger's home bower ; 
 
 While they, in their turn, must yield their treasures up — 
 
 Mxist taste in their turn of the same bitter cup ; 
 
 Then go, my dear children, God speed on your way, ^ 
 
 Not a cloud would I cast on your young hearts to-day 1 
 
 T 
 
 -^
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 ^IH 
 
 % |ibs at tbc g0oi\ 
 
 We were standing at the doorway — 
 
 My little wife and I ; 
 The golden sun upon her 
 
 Fell down so silently. 
 A small white hand upon my arm, 
 
 What could I ask for more 
 Than the kindly glance for loving eyes, 
 
 As she kissed me at the door '? 
 
 I know she loves with all her heart 
 
 The one who stands beside ; 
 And the years have been so joyous 
 
 Since first I called her bride. 
 We 've had so much of happiness 
 
 Since we met in years before ; 
 But the ha]){)iest time of all was 
 
 When she kissed me at the door. 
 
 Who cares for wealth, or land, or gold, 
 
 For fame or matchless power ! 
 It does not give the happiness 
 
 Of just one little hour 
 With one who loves me as her life — 
 
 She saj'S she loves^me more — 
 And I thought she did this morning, 
 
 When she kissiul me at the door. 
 
 At times it seems as all the woi'ld, 
 
 With all its wealth of gold. 
 Is very small and poor indeed, 
 
 (yompared with what T hold ; 
 And when tlie chnids lian<>: a:rim and dark, 
 
 OP? ' 
 
 1 only think the more 
 Of her who waits th(^ coming step, 
 T(j kiss me at the door. 
 
 If she lives till atre shall scatter 
 
 Its frosts upon her head, 
 I know six; '11 love iiic just the same 
 
 As the morning w(! were; w(m1 ; 
 But if the ang(;ls call li(!r, 
 
 And she goes to heaven bcfoic, 
 T shall know licr wIhmi I iiifct licr. 
 
 For she ''II kiss ni«- :il tlir door.
 
 " x\ye ; but wait, good wife, a minute 
 I have first a word to say : 
 
 Do you know what day to-day is ? 
 Mother, tis our wedding-day ! 
 
 " Jvist as now, we sat at supper 
 When the guests had gone away ; 
 
 You sat that side, I sat this side, 
 Forty years ago to-day ! 
 
 " Then what plans we laiil together ; 
 
 What brave things I meant to do ! 
 Could we dream to-day would find us 
 
 At this table — me and you ? 
 
 " Better so, no doubt— and yet I 
 Sometimes think — I cannot tell — 
 
 Had our boys — ah, yes ! I know, dear 
 Yes, He doeth all things well. 
 
 " Well, we 've had our joys and sorrows ; 
 
 Shared our smiles as well as tears ; 
 And — the best of all— I 've had your 
 
 Faithful love for forty years ! 
 
 " Poor we 've been, but not forsaken ; 
 
 Grief we 've known, but never shame — 
 Father, for thy endless mercies 
 
 Still we bless Thy Holy Name ! " 
 
 -«^
 
 I OJ^A ^' GE B LOS S O M S . 
 
 ''■- — - ■-> 
 
 A AYoMAx's Conclusions. 
 
 I said, if I niio-ht o-o Ijack ao'aiii 
 
 To the very hour that gave me l)irth ; 
 
 Mioiit have my liio whatever I chose, 
 And live it in any part of earth ; 
 
 Put j)erfect sunshine into my sky, 
 
 Banish the shadow of sorrow and doubt ; 
 
 Have all my ha])])iness multiplied, 
 And all my suU'ering- stricken out ; 
 
 If I could have known in years gone by, 
 Th(! best that a woman comes to know ; 
 
 Could have had whatever will make her blest, 
 Or whatever she thinks will make her so ; 
 
 Have found the highest and j)urest l)]iss 
 Tliat the bridal-wreatii and ring enclose ; 
 
 And gained the one out of all the world 
 That my heart as well as my reason chose ; 
 
 Ami if this had bcMMi, ami 1 stood to-nia'ht 
 Jiy my children, lying asleej) in tlieir beds, 
 
 And could count in my prayers for a rosary. 
 The shining row of thi.'ir golden heads ; 
 
 ft 
 
 Yes ! 1 said, if a mirat-le such as this 
 
 CouM bi' wroMirht for me, at mv bidilin"-, stil 
 
 I wonlil choose; to have mv |)art as it is. 
 And to let mv futiin- (!om<; as it will ! 
 
 I would not maki- the path I liavctrod 
 
 .More pleasant or ev<Mi, mori- straight ni- wide 
 
 Nor change my course the breadth of a hair, 
 'J'liis way or that, to either side. 
 
 '3 
 
 f*
 
 ^ ^ — ».^ 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. ' 
 
 My past is mine, and I take it all ; 
 
 Its weakness — its folly, if you please ; 
 Nay, even my sins, if you come to that. 
 
 May have been my helps, not hindrances ! 
 
 If I saved my body from the flames. 
 
 Because that once I had burned my hand ; 
 
 Or kept myself from a <^reater sin 
 By doing a less — you understand ; 
 
 It was better I suff"ered a little pain, 
 
 Better I sinned for a little time. 
 If the smarting- warned me back from death, 
 
 And the sting of sin withheld from crime. 
 
 Who knows its strength, l)y trial, will know 
 What strength must be set against a sin ; 
 
 And how temptation is overcome. 
 
 He has learned who has felt its power within. 
 
 And who knows how a life at the last may show? 
 
 Why, look at the moon from where we stand ! 
 ()j)aque, uneven, yovi say, yet it shines, , 
 
 A luminous sphere, complete and grand ! 
 
 So let my part stand just as it stands. 
 And let me now, as I may, grow old ; 
 
 I am what I am, and my life for me 
 
 Is the best — or it had not been, I hold. 
 
 Phebe Gary. 
 
 It might have been ! Ah me ! Ah me ! 
 
 It might liave been ! Nay, rather rest 
 Believing' that what has been is best. 
 
 The life whose sun is not yet set 
 Can find no room for vain regret, 
 
 And only folly crowns as queen 
 Its might have been. 
 
 14
 
 r^ 
 
 O R AX GE B LOS S O M S . 
 
 ^jri. 
 
 r 
 
 Jlcatb to tbc ^^qcb. 
 
 ^ — ■' ^ ^ - ■ — ^ '> 
 
 The aged too must die. They who passed safe 
 
 The perils of their tiny infancy, 
 
 Tlie dangers that lay hid amongst the flowers 
 
 Where heedless childhood gamboled, and the shafts 
 
 Of sickness that beset the paths of youth ; 
 
 They long have triumphed o'er the pains, the ills, 
 
 The saddening trials of life's downward road ; 
 
 They long have borne the aching heaviness, 
 
 The burdens various of protracted yeai's ; 
 
 But, though life's cord be yet unloosed. 
 
 Death's summons come to them, and they too die. 
 
 Death cometh to the aged, ae the night 
 
 Comes to the weary child. It is " so tired," 
 
 So heavy with the yearning of repose, 
 
 It asketh not for food, for toy, or play ; 
 
 Its only wish is to lie down and slee]). 
 
 So to the aged comes the night of tleath, 
 
 With slow, still step, and lays his shadowy hand 
 
 Softlv and reverently on their brow. 
 
 And they anew put on the robes of youth. 
 
 And meet the loved — long since accounted lost, 
 
 All radiant with celestial brightness. 
 
 And loving with the ever raptured joy 
 
 Of beatific spirits, as they welcome home 
 
 The "good and faithful servant" to his regt, 
 
 The place prepared by his ai)})roving Lord. 
 
 Tears drop, all gently, when the aged di(;, 
 
 For now their work is don(!, and they have long 
 
 Craved h(;avenly doinicilc This world, for them, 
 
 Has nothing more : mortality at ])est, 
 
 Is but a burden, a deep throe of pain : 
 
 On (!arth they laljored, loved, yet sullered oft, — 
 
 Now heavenly fruition comes. We do not weep 
 
 As wh<;ir the lovely s])ring-I)ud of life's hope 
 
 Lies cold upon its mother's lieavirig l)reast ; 
 
 \W- do not mourn as when our summer joy 
 
 Is witlK'r'd in tin; blooming ; or ;is when 
 
 Th(! fruits of iiutumu perisli, immature. 
 
 It is as when the full ripe shejif is borne, 
 
 All rich with treasure, to tlie grjuunv ; 
 
 And, therefor(!, tli<^y an; blessed who attain 
 
 The reverend estate of winter's years. 
 
 i 
 
 'S 
 
 :5ll8i2
 
 O R A NGE B L O S S OMS. 
 
 All ang-el's voice proclaimed, " Blessed are the dead 
 
 Who die ill Christ the I>ord,'" for they rest — ay, 
 
 They resti Yes, iiiouniiiig- friend! their toils have ceased : 
 
 The little one that withered in life's spring- ; 
 
 The beautiful v^^ho died in summer's bloom ; 
 
 The strong- who fell in autumn ; and the old. 
 
 Who in gray winter, went to their repose ; 
 
 They rest secure above. And if we inig'ht, 
 
 Would we recall them! — when we too approach 
 
 The throne where " crowned with llg^ht," for us they wait ? 
 
 Oh, blessed be our God, for life, for death, 
 But most for Christ and inuiiortality ! 
 
 Gather ye round me, friends ! for such ye are. 
 
 O mute companions of my thoug-htful mood ; 
 Mute, yet all-eloquent, your bright Ijows bear 
 
 The seal of welcome to your solitude. 
 Friends, who will fail me not in your high worth. 
 
 Your tones immortal thrill my raptured ear — 
 Your eyes, unaltered 'mid the change of earth, 
 
 Beam kindly on me, and I feel that here 
 Mv heart hath fovind its home. Bright beinofs of the mind! 
 
 Children of Bard and Sag-e ! Ye strang-ely gifted 
 To glorify tTie beautiful, enshrined 
 
 In my soul's temple ! — how have ye uplifted 
 With the calm radiance of your thoughts sublime. 
 
 My spirit above the ills and fleeting forms of Time. 
 
 E, Jessup Eames. 
 
 €vi. i\\\. 
 
 ^- 
 
 There comes a time, a time 
 When all our tears and toils shall cease ; 
 The bitter tears, though ready, shall be stayed ; 
 The toil, though incompleted, never shall be done ; 
 When we shall close our aching eyes, and clasp 
 Our hardened hands and be at ])eace — 
 Thank God, thank God for that ! 
 
 E. L. Bknton. 
 
 i6
 
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 GKiVF JALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 ; SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAClL|-n^ 
 
 I AA 000 416 417 4 
 
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