ttTTtttl 
 
 JUUJIJ. 
 
 mam
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE PHANTOM SHIP. 
 
 Strong head winds have kept her from landing 
 Till ray head is white as the snow 
 ' There she comes through the foam of the breakers 
 She'll soon be in harbor, I know."
 
 POEMS 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS : 
 CARL ON & HOLLENBEC. K 
 
 IT HUSHED KOK THE ArTIIOK. 
 
 1881.
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 WILLIAM KNOWLES. 
 1881.
 
 TO MY PATRONS. 
 
 "WHY were these poems ever written?" 
 
 Of course "not meant for publication," 
 But because I'm badly smitten 
 With a rhyming inclination. 
 
 ." Well, is it right you should indulge it, 
 
 And waste your time, and ink, and paper?" 
 
 " Aye, there's the rub" shall I divulge it, 
 Why I'm cutting such a caper? 
 
 Is it for fame? If I could win it, 
 
 'T would hardly now be worth the trouble 
 I'm old. If there were "millions in it" 
 
 'T would bust, like every other bubble. 
 
 And yet well, yes, to tell the truth 
 I know I should be "awful" glad 
 
 To hear my friends exclaim : " Forsooth, 
 Why, after all, they're not so bad." 
 
 Deal gently with me much I fear 
 You'll find a woful lack of knowledge ; 
 
 But let me whisper in your ear : 
 
 " Young man, I never went to college." 
 
 These stanzas, made of home-spun stuff", 
 
 Are f ashion'd just as fancy led ; 
 And so I trust, though pretty rough, 
 
 With kind indulgence they'll be read. 
 
 Homer, Ohio, January 1, 1882. 
 
 WM. KNOWLES. 
 
 759758
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The President's Dream, ....... 1 
 
 You and I, ..... 
 
 " Death to the Union," ...... . 5 
 
 What Makes the World Go Round ...'.... 6 
 
 Ten Thousand Men for Maine, 8 
 
 Freedom's Lament, ......... 9 
 
 What Beyond? 10 
 
 The Grey Beards, . . H 
 
 The Orphans, 12 
 
 Investigation, 14 
 
 Address to the Ague, 19 
 
 Nil Desperandum, 20 
 
 When My Ship Comes Home, ........ 21 
 
 The Poor the Poor Man's Friend 23 
 
 The Drunkard's Knell, 24 
 
 Stanzas, 26 
 
 The Power of Music, . . . . . . . . . . 2!) 
 
 Betsy and I are One, .",() 
 
 Lines Suggested by Heading Will Carlton's " Out of the Old House, 
 
 Nancy, into the New," ....:;."> 
 
 Dear Willie, 37 
 
 Sympathy, 39 
 
 The Las Decade, 39 
 
 To William K., . . 43 
 
 To A. B.C., . . . . II 
 
 Lines Written while Suffering, from a Dangerous Accident, . . r> 
 
 Morning, '. . . . . . 47 
 
 The Conqueror, . 48 
 
 A Brighter Picture, ">() 
 
 To My Boy, 53 
 
 A New Version of Yankee Doodle, 54 
 
 John Brown, ........... '>~> 
 
 The Nearer the Bone the Sweeter the Meat, :,7
 
 viii Table of Contents. 
 
 Six Feet by Two, . 58 
 
 Sunset, 58 
 
 Kesponse to "Sunset," 59 
 
 Lines Written on Board the Steamship Italy, ..... 60 
 
 Lines Written on Board the " Wyoming," ...... 61 
 
 "An Old, Old Tale" (Tail?), " 62 
 
 Sequel to "An Old, Old Tale," 65 
 
 The Flag of Our Fathers, 67 
 
 Lines on Hearing a Little Child Exclaim in her Sleep, "Thou, God, 
 
 Secst Me," 69 
 
 To Maggie, . 70 
 
 To the Ladies of the Bible Society, ......; 71 
 
 On the Death of Miss M. Henthorn, 72 
 
 To a Lady, 73 
 
 On the Death of Horace Greeley, ....'... 75 
 
 Penitential, . 76 
 
 To Mrs. Susan Morehouse on her Eightieth Birthday, . . . 77 
 
 To Mrs. Susan Morehouse on her Eighty-second Birthday, . . 78 
 
 Immortality, 79 
 
 " Lay up your Treasures in Heaven," 80 
 
 Farewell, 81 
 
 A Vale of Tears, 82 
 
 The Battle of Life, ' . 83 
 
 Hurrah! 85 
 
 CONTEIBUTED POEMS. 
 
 The Distressed Highwayman, . . 87 
 
 The Old Farm Spring, 92 
 
 Faith, 93 
 
 On the Presentation of an Umbrella, ...... 95 
 
 " Fear Not, for I am with Thee," . . . . . . 95 
 
 Decoration Day, 96 
 
 To Dear Fannie, . . 97 
 
 Whom the Lord Loveth he Chasteneth, 98 
 
 Little Things, ' . 99 
 
 Guilty or Not Guilty? ........ 101
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE PRESIDENT'S DREAM. 
 
 IN a small cottage by the ocean's side 
 
 Lies our poor President ! The ebbing tide 
 
 Of precious life had fallen very low, 
 
 And round his couch was silence, gloom and woe. 
 
 The dastard I will not write his name 
 On the same page with his of glorious fame 
 'T was hell's own agent fir'd the traitor's shot ; 
 Curs'd be his name, and may his mem'ry rot ! 
 
 But Garfield lies a dying near his end 
 
 The statesman, patriot, scholar, Christian-, friend, 
 
 The husband, father, center'd all in one ; 
 
 The nation's chief, Ohio's favorite son. 
 
 Boldly in youth he fought his way to fame ; 
 Meekly he wore his honors when they came ; 
 Bravely he met adversity's shock ; 
 Firmly his faith was resting on that rock 
 
 Which earth, nor hell, or time can move, 
 Assur'd that all is well and God is love. 
 Yet ere his spirit took its upward flight 
 To dwell with God in realms of pure delight,
 
 The Presidents Dream. 
 
 His wand'ring mind once more to Mentor flew, 
 And each familiar object pass'd in view ; 
 Dear old homestead ! into every nook 
 He takes a fond, regretful, lingering look. 
 
 His books, his pictures yes, he sees them all- 
 Aye, there is Hiram College on the wall ; 
 But more : lo ! in her old accustom'd chair 
 His honor'd mother sits with silver'd hair. 
 
 With beaming eyes and one great throb of joy 
 She presses to her heart her noble boy ; 
 Here is his gentle, faithful, precious wife, 
 And loving children full of bounding life. 
 
 No cares of state come here to mar his bliss, 
 "Tis home, sweet home, brimful of happiness. 
 Anon he sees the garden, buildings, stock, 
 His old-time neighbors and his much-priz'd flock. 
 
 There are the fields he till'd in days of yore, 
 He '11 take a ramble over them once more ; 
 The ruling passion strong in death appear'd 
 'Twas "Nature's voice, and Nature will be heard." 
 
 Who can the spirit's wond'rous flight control? 
 Where is the mystic homestead of the soul? 
 Is there among the mansions of the blest 
 A " Mentor" where the weary soul can rest 
 
 Some sweet sequester' d spot call'd home, more dear 
 Than all God's other splendid buildings there? 
 I trow there is, but yet 'tis hard to tell ; 
 Our Father knows enough. Gartield, farewell.
 
 )'on 
 
 YOU AND I. 
 
 You and I, friend A, B, C, 
 
 Have known each other twenty years ; 
 Yes, more than that, 'bout tw r enty-three, 
 
 By memory's record it appears. 
 
 Mighty changes time has wrought 
 Since first we met in Hartford town ; 
 
 Many wise plans have come to naught, 
 Some men gone up, and some come down. 
 
 But you and I are grand-dads now ; 
 
 Your beard is badly mixed with gray, 
 And my old pate's as white as snow 
 
 Our lives are flitting fast away. 
 
 The world goes round with rapid pace, 
 More than a thousand miles an hour ; 
 
 The hub's well oil'd, all things in place, 
 Showing consummate skill and power. 
 
 Some enterprising Yankee yet 
 
 (Should he meet with no disaster), 
 
 Will a " darn'd " queer patent get, 
 To make it spin a little faster. 
 
 Well, let the Yankee have his fun, 
 
 It matters not to you and I, 
 We'll take a glance at what's been done 
 
 This famous nineteenth century. 
 
 Science and art with giant hands 
 
 Have given man a jolly boost, 
 Till like a demi-god he stands, 
 
 And old ideas are gone to roost.
 
 You and I. 
 
 Electricity and steam 
 
 Annihilating time and space, 
 Have outstripp'd Phoebus' famous team, 
 
 And mixed up half the human race. 
 
 China's big front door is open, 
 
 And pig-tails swarm in San Francisco ; 
 Japan's old rusty locks are broken, 
 
 And who now wonders that it is so? 
 
 Light and knowledge marching on, 
 Are penetrating every nation, 
 
 Blending the human race in one 
 Almighty, grand conglomeration. 
 
 One brotherhood and you and I 
 (Mere atoms of the living mass) 
 
 Can't conjecture, if we try, 
 
 What wonders next will come to pass. 
 
 Man is but in his infancy, 
 
 And must work out his destiny- 
 
 Labor, progress, victory, 
 
 " Onward and upward is the cry." 
 
 glorious themes to write upon ; 
 Immortal honors will be won, 
 By future Humes, Macaulays, Gibbons, 
 As freedom's car rolls grandly on, 
 And Uncle Sammy holds the ribbons.
 
 "Death to the Union''' 
 
 "DEATH TO THE UNION." 
 
 (TOOMBS.) 
 
 " DEATH to the Union ! " hear the traitor's cry, 
 " Death to the Union ! " shout the " chivalry," 
 " Death to the Union ! " southern girls are singing, 
 " Death to the Union ! " thro' the South is ringing. 
 
 " Down with the glorious flag our fathers raised, 
 When freedom's fires in patriots' bosoms blaz'd ; 
 Down with the banner tells of equal right, 
 And quench the stars on slavery's black night ! " 
 
 Methinks I see from off their silent beds 
 Our sleeping heroes raise their wondering heads ; 
 They start they wake they rise, and once again 
 Stand marshall'd on the embattled plain. 
 
 The bugle calls ten thousand swords are flashing ; 
 The rushing squadrons to the front are dashing ! 
 The rifles crack, the thundering cannons roar, 
 And all the field is steep'd in human gore. 
 
 Brother meets brother in the fearful strife, 
 And nearest kindred take each other's life ; 
 All hell is mov'd Satan's exulting cry 
 Mingles with dying groans and shouts of victory. 
 
 Is freedom worth this bloody sacrifice"' 
 Must it be bought at this tremendous price? 
 With ^ idovvs' bitter tears and orphans' cries, 
 While pitying angels weep o'er human miseries.
 
 What Makes the World Go Round f 
 
 Were it not best to bend the supple knee 
 And meekly bow to haughty tyranny? 
 To cringe and smile all opposition cease, 
 And humbly beg the blessed boon of peace? 
 
 In thunder tones all freemen answer, No! 
 Not while the earth turns round or waters flow ; 
 Not till the glorious sun shall cease to rise, 
 Or God's own crescent shall adorn the skies. 
 
 Know that immortal freedom's priceless gem 
 I set forever in the hearts of men ; 
 Rivers of blood can't quench the sacred flame 
 It glows and burns eternally the same. 
 
 Our dauntless heroes ne'er their sires disgrac'd, 
 They nobly fought for freedom, won, and plac'd 
 The wreath of victory on Columbia's brow ; 
 Curs' 'd be the trembling coward falters now ! 
 
 WHAT MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND? 
 
 ROUND and round from west to east, 
 
 A thousand miles an hour, at least 
 
 Ever revolving, never at rest 
 
 (Such is the mighty Creator's behest) ; 
 
 Shrouded in darkness, glowing in light, 
 
 Day alternately following night ; 
 
 Summer and winter, springtime and fall, 
 
 Each with its beauties and blessings for all ; 
 
 Govern'd by laws immutably wise, 
 
 The wonder of angels, the gem of the skies ; 
 
 Well might the seraphs exult at thy birth, 
 
 Beautiful, wonderful, beautiful Earth !
 
 What Makes the World Go Round? 
 
 9 
 
 Here stand the mountains, grand and sublime. 
 
 Defying the utmost endeavors of time 
 
 To crumble them down ; 
 
 Their snowy peaks, rising for many a mile, 
 
 Look down on the storms in the clouds with a smile. 
 
 There rolls the ocean, vast, fathomless, grand, 
 
 Its billows forever are lashing the strand 
 
 Eternity's emblem, mysterious sea, 
 
 Majestic, omnipotent, boundless and free. 
 
 Here rivers, and valleys, and forests are seen, 
 
 There the cascade rushes down the ravine ; 
 
 O'er the cliff' the bright, flashing water is hurl'd 
 
 Magnificent, exquisite, glorious world ! 
 
 Countless millions of creatures, all good, 
 Roam through the forest and swim in the flood, 
 Dance in the sunbeams and creep on the ground 
 Everywhere beautiful beings are found. 
 
 Beautiful flowers are everywhere growing, 
 Beautiful water is constantly flowing ; 
 Musical birds raise their anthems of praise 
 To the Giver of Life, the Ancient of Days ; 
 And here is proud man, the lord of the whole, 
 All earth's creation beneath his control. 
 Wonderful being ! the image of God, 
 Enshrin'd in a temple that's made from a clod ! 
 What is his destiny? How came I here? 
 I know I'm immortal death I don't fear. 
 When I'm rebuilt at my spiritual birth, 
 Shall I revisit thee, beautiful earth ? 
 I know not, I care not one thing I know : 
 My Father is with me wherever I go. 
 Infinite wisdom is everywhere found, 
 Infinite love makes the world go round.
 
 Ten Thousand Men for Maine. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND MEN FOR MAINE. 
 
 " Ho ! ten thousand men for Maine " 
 The devil has broke loose again ! 
 Freemen, arm, march boldly on ; 
 Down with the tyrant, Garcelon ! 
 
 Shall our Eastern Star be blotted 
 Out of heaven by men besotted? 
 Shall liberty and justice die 
 While we stand gaping idly by? 
 
 Men of Ohio, 'tis our cause; 
 Whoever overrides the laws . 
 Of freedom, strikes a dastard blow 
 At all, and is our common foe. 
 
 Dim not the glories of the past 
 Our laurels now are fading fast 
 Shall our brothers call in vain? 
 " Ho ! ten thousand men for Maine ! " 
 
 Hark ! I hear the drum's long roll 
 Stirring each freeman's inmost soul : 
 Hurrah, brave boys ! Hurrah again ! 
 " Ten times ten thousand men for Maine ! "
 
 freedom's Lament. 
 
 FREEDOM'S LAMENT. 
 
 SWEET home of my fathers, dear land of the free, 
 Ah, why did J ride o'er the dark rolling wave? 
 
 Why tempt the wild storms of the wide western sea 
 To find a new home in the land of the slave? 
 
 For the high-soaring eagle, the first of his race, 
 Is fainting and feeble his pinions are weak ; 
 
 The owl and the buzzard the hypocrite chase, 
 
 And the motto of "Liberty" falls from his beak. 
 
 Thy banner is soil'd, its stars are all dimm'd, 
 And its ominous stripes are all sadly confus'd ; 
 
 Pale Liberty trembles, her face all begrimed, 
 
 For she feels that her name has been badly abus'd. 
 
 Indignant she cries, as she points to the west: 
 
 " Ah ! where are my prairies, once sacred to me, 
 As beauteous as Eden, the home of the blest, 
 Ere Adam his Maker's command had transgress'd, 
 Or Satan exulted, his ruin to see? " 
 
 A blast from the north now pierces my frame, 
 Whose cold icy touch almost freezes my breath ; 
 
 The south never knew me, but scoffs at my name, 
 Now loads me with curses and hopes for my death. 
 
 Ah, the Mayflower is wither'd my mission is done ; 
 
 Sad emblem ! I weep when I think of the past ; 
 It warns me, alas ! I must quickly be gone, 
 
 For there's slavery's poison in every blast." 
 
 On the old Rock of Plymouth despairing she stood, 
 One last look of anguish she cast o'er the land ; 
 
 A wild cry arose as she plung'd in the flood 
 
 Where the free waves of ocean roll over the strand.
 
 io What Beyond? 
 
 WHAT BEYOND? 
 
 AYE, what beyond ? Time takes its rapid flight ; 
 
 The day is almost gone, then comes the night. 
 
 "What of the night?" Oh faithful watchman, tell ! 
 
 "What of the night?" Oh, tell me; is it well? 
 
 Shall I lie down to peaceful, pleasant dreams, 
 
 And wake with joy when the bright morning gleams ? 
 
 Shall I escape the everlasting curse 
 
 When God's own trumpet shakes the universe? 
 
 Shall I with rapture hear the Savior say, 
 
 "Well done, my friend ;" or be a castaway? 
 
 Momentous question ! Soul-absorbing thought ! 
 
 With what tremendous consequences fraught ! 
 
 Where is the talent trusted to my care? 
 
 What is its fruit, if any ; tell me where? 
 
 What of my stewardship? Alas ! alas ! 
 
 The faulty documents will never pass, 
 
 For God's omniscient eye surveys the whole, 
 
 Probes every thought and penetrates the soul. 
 
 What shall I do? Where hide my guilty head? 
 
 No refuge left ; all hope forever fled. 
 
 Thanks be to God! a 1 ght breaks through the gloom 
 
 Whose hallow'd rays my troubled soul illume. 
 
 "All hail Immanuel!" mighty Savior, hail! 
 
 Thy blood can over all my guilt prevail ; 
 
 On Thee, on Thee alone is all my trust, 
 
 That when this body mingles with the dust 
 
 My ransom'd soul will take its upward flight 
 
 And dwell with thee in realms of endless light.
 
 The Gray-Beards. 1 1 
 
 THE GRAY-BEARDS. 
 
 THE gray-beards met in grave deliberation, 
 Devising ways to save this mighty nation. 
 Some measures they debated, and some pass'd, 
 But none were compar'd in wisdom to the last. 
 Like learned, smart, good, calculating scholars, 
 Each biped made a grab and stole five thousand dollars, 
 And laid it up against a rainy day, 
 Lest Uncle Sam should squander it away. 
 
 In the Good Book a story has been told ; 
 (If I mistake not), though the tale is old 
 Great Pharaoh's servants made a stupid blunder. 
 The king got mad and gave the scoundrels thunder, 
 And shut them up in limbo, where, it seems, 
 The butler and the baker had strange dreams, 
 Which their dull noddles could not comprehend, 
 But Joseph told them how the thing would end. 
 After three days the baker was strung up, 
 And the free butler once more bore the cup 
 Fill'd with royal liquor of most luscious flavor, 
 Which shows that "kissing always goes by favor/' 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Unlucky rogues are from the gallows swung. 
 While the chief butlqrs still remain unhung.
 
 12 The Orphans. 
 
 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 Sister. 
 
 COME, sit down beside me, dear brother, 
 And let me take hold of your hand ; 
 
 Let us talk of dear father and mother, 
 Who have gone to the heavenly land. 
 
 Dear father was handsome and strong 
 
 Before the bad fever he took ; 
 What music there was in his song ! 
 
 How pleasant and kind was his look ! 
 
 And when his long day's work was done, 
 He would take us both upon his knee ; 
 
 Oh ! didn't we have lots of fun? 
 No children so happy as we. 
 
 What nice little songs he would sing : 
 
 " Goosey Gander" or " Little Tom Horner," 
 " Robin put your head under your wing," 
 Or help us play " Puss in the Corner." 
 
 Mamma would look up from her work 
 
 Try to scold, but would laugh all the while 
 
 Call father a "noisy old Turk," 
 
 Say the neighbors could hear us a mile. 
 
 Her eyes were as black as a coal, 
 
 And her voice was so gentle and sweet ; 
 
 How quick she would mend a big hole, 
 And rock little Dot with her feet.
 
 The Orphans, 
 
 Her hair hung in curls and was shiny, 
 'T was the color of buckeyes, you know ; 
 
 Her cheeks 'most as red as a piny, 
 Her forehead almost white as snow. 
 
 And when the old clock had struck seven, 
 She would have us kneel down by her chair 
 
 And say, " Our Father in Heaven," 
 Or our other short evening prayer. 
 
 Then perhaps she would tell us of Jesus, 
 
 Who loved little children so well 
 That he came down from heaven to save us, 
 
 And other nice stories would tell. 
 
 But tell me, dear brother, I pray, 
 
 If God is so good and so kind, 
 Why take our dear parents away 
 
 And leave us poor children behind? 
 
 Oh ! Charley, I'm lonesome and sad ; 
 
 There is nobody left now but you. 
 Poor mother! I think it's too bad, 
 
 And dear little Dot is gone, too. 
 
 Brother. 
 
 Don't cry, little sister, don't cry 
 
 Come, lay your head down on my shoulder ; 
 I know you feel bad, so do I, 
 
 But then I'm a boy, and am older. 
 
 Our Father in heaven is kind, 
 
 And loves all his children, we know ; 
 
 He will shelter his lambs from the wind, 
 For you know dear mamma told us so.
 
 1 4 Investigation . 
 
 When they call'd us to kiss her good-bye, 
 And her eyes were just closing in death, 
 
 She pointed her hand to the sky 
 
 And smiled as she drew her last breath. 
 
 And now she is sleeping with father and Dot, 
 And evergreens grow near their tomb ; 
 
 We '11 plant some sweet flowers all over the spot 
 When the snow-drops and violets come. 
 
 'Mid the toil and the strife of the battle of life, 
 
 If we're faithful and true, when we die 
 We'll be orphans no more, but on Canaan's bright 
 
 shore 
 We will meet all our friends by-and-by, by- 
 
 and-by 
 We will meet all our friends by-and-by. 
 
 INVESTIGATION. 
 
 1876. 
 
 i. 
 COMPATRIOTS all who have at heart 
 
 The welfare of the nation ; 
 Come lend a hand and bear a part 
 
 In our investigation. 
 
 ii. 
 There's rotten in the State, 
 
 A poison in the air, 
 Investigate, investigate, 
 
 'Tis stinking everywhere.
 
 Investigation . 1 5 
 
 in. 
 At Gotham and at Washington 
 
 It makes an awful smell ; 
 Oh, what the deuce is going on? 
 
 Can anybody tell ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Satan's imps are getting frisky, 
 
 Out upon a bursting swell, 
 And it seems that " crooked" whisky's 
 
 Coming straight right out of well. 
 
 v. 
 If the famous witch of Endor 
 
 Were alive again to-day, 
 Rigg'd in all her pull-back splendor, 
 
 Perhaps we might obtain a ray 
 
 VI. 
 
 Of light from her dark incantation 
 
 To aid in our investigation, 
 And dispel the botheration 
 
 Which perplexes all the nation. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Great Washington is rising now ; 
 
 I see his form amid the gloom, 
 A troubled cloud upon his brow, 
 
 And in his hand a mighty broom. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Straight to the Capitol he's bound, 
 Woe to the guilty, if they're found, 
 
 They'd better stand from under, 
 For should he catch the scallawags 
 With Uncle Sammy's money-bags, 
 
 He'll give the scoundrels thunder !
 
 1 6 Investigation. 
 
 O 
 
 IX. 
 
 He's quickly purified the house, 
 
 And dusted every room ; 
 And at the door for future use 
 
 Hung up his mighty broom. 
 
 x. 
 
 Now at the White House door he knocks 
 He's shaken hands with Blaine, 
 
 Nodded to Bristow and to Cox, 
 And going home again. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But much he's urg'd to take a ride 
 And see the mammoth show, 
 
 And presently he is inside 
 The Washington depo'. 
 
 XII. ' 
 
 And now he's pulled his w r allet out 
 
 And counted o'er his dimes ; 
 Is undecided and in doubt, 
 
 And talks about " hard times." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He'd like to go, " oh yes, sir-ee, 
 
 He'd pretty soon be there, 
 But can't, unless they will agree, 
 
 To take him for half fare." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The railroad bosses all look glum, 
 
 On every side they view it, 
 At last to this conclusion come, 
 
 And guess'd they'd better do it.
 
 Investigation . 
 
 XV. 
 
 So now he's seated in the cars, 
 
 And all goes very clever ; 
 The people shout along the route 
 
 " Brave Washington forever ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Quaker City soon they gain, 
 
 And lo ! near all creation 
 Have tumbled out to see the train 
 
 Come thundering to the station. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The stars and stripes are everwhere, 
 
 The ladies, highfaluting, 
 Glad shouts of triumph fill the air, 
 
 The Continentals shooting. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And now a hundred cannons roar, 
 A hundred drums are beating ; 
 
 A hundred towers, with all their powers, 
 Ring out their joyful greeting. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'Tis all "tip top," and now we go 
 
 Amid the surging throng, 
 To see the wond'rous mighty show, 
 
 A hundred thousand strong. 
 
 xx. 
 
 A hundred tongues can not explain 
 Its grand and matchless glory, 
 
 A hundred tomes could not contain 
 One-half the wond'rous storv.
 
 1 8 Investigation . 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Here Europe, Asia, Africa, 
 
 Old China and Japan ; 
 The far-off islands of the sea, 
 
 And Brother Jonathan, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Have met together and displayed 
 The wonders wrought by man, 
 
 To show what progress art has made 
 Since time itself began. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Hail to the chief who heroes led, 
 
 A hundred years ago ; 
 Who for their country fought and bled, 
 
 And bravely met the foe ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In ecstasy, his heart brimful 
 Of glowing love, he stands, 
 
 And Lafayette and Johnny Bull 
 With him are shaking hands. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 For Justice, Faith and Liberty, 
 All boldly have outspoken, 
 
 And may we never live to see 
 
 The "three-fold cord" be broken. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But I must stop to tell it all, 
 I'd write a thousand stanzas, 
 
 Unwind of "yarn" a mighty ball, 
 Would stretch from Maine to Kansas.
 
 Address to the Ague. 19 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 For six whole days, from morn till night 
 
 (Commencing on a Monday), 
 The good old man enjoyed the sight, 
 And then, because he knew 'twas right, 
 
 Lock'd up the gates on Sunday. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 My ballad's done, my muse is tir'd, 
 
 I'll lay it on the shelf, 
 And if a longer yarn's desired, 
 
 Investigate yourself. 
 
 ADDRESS TQ THE AGUE. 
 
 . 
 
 DETESEED offspring of a rotten bog ! 
 
 Abhor'd disease ! drawn by the sickening sun 
 From slimy waters that would choke a dog, 
 
 How does thy cursed venom through me run ! 
 
 Thou shivering, burning, sweating, yellow fiend, 
 With sallow visage and with fetid breath 
 
 An uglier monster never, sure, was yean'd 
 Than thou, fell ague thou, a living death ! 
 
 The Scottish bard has told of toothache's pangs, 
 And well portrayed its sleepless agony ; 
 
 But when it sticks its sharpest fangs 
 
 Into your jaws with horrid twangs, 
 
 'Tis but a "circumstance" compar'd to thee.
 
 2O Nil Desperandum. 
 
 Some smiling dentist will, with giant fist 
 
 (When you get mad and kick the stools about), 
 
 Give, with his instrument, a gentle twist, 
 And quickly yank the offending molar out. 
 
 But, ah ! I am cold and sick 
 
 I know too well what 'tis the matter 
 
 Darnation ! you have spoil'd my rhyme, 
 
 But still my teeth will chatter, chat-ter, chat-ter, 
 c-h-a-t-t-e-r . 
 
 NIL DESPERANDUM. 
 
 TEN pair of tyes looking for bread, 
 Half a score mouths, all to be fed 
 No flour, the meat and potatoes all gone 
 Not a " shot in the locker." What's to be done? 
 Yield to despair, sit down and cry? 
 Nil desperandum! " Never say die." 
 No butter, no sugar, no, nothing at all 
 Oh, yes, there's some wood, but the pile's very small ; 
 " Borrow some meal, Maggie ; make us some mush 
 Come to the fire, children ; little ones, hush ! 
 There's some coffee, though, left ; by Aaron and Moses 
 We'll have some hot coffee to warm our cold noses ! 
 Here comes the meal, and the water is hot ; 
 Stir plenty in, wife make a good lot ; 
 Go, little daughter, and bring me the books 
 We'll have family worship while the meal cooks. 
 
 "The sixth chapter of Mark is what I have read ; 
 With two little fishes and five loaves of bread, 
 Now tell me, my children, how many were fed? 
 ' Five thousand,' you answer me, all in a chorus,
 
 When My Ship Comes Home. 21 
 
 And the same mighty Savior is still watching o'er us. 
 Turn to the hymn, wife you know where the page is, 
 But I guess we all know it ; we'll sing ' Rock of Ages,' 
 Then spend a few minutes in prayer and thanksgiving 
 To God that we're still in the land of the living. 
 
 " Now for the breakfast there's plenty for all ; 
 I'll step to the door, I hear somebody call. 
 
 Some work to be done, and 'tis wanted right 
 
 soon ; 
 
 Hurrah ! we'll have a whole v.ollar by noon ; 
 Never fear, little wife, we shall see better days 
 I wouldn't change places with President Hayes : 
 We're healthy and happy, although we are poor ; 
 Nil desperandum ! God's promise is sure. ' ' 
 
 WHEN MY SHIP COMES HOME. 
 
 I'M building a splendid castle, 
 With marble walls and dome ; 
 
 'Twill be finish'd in the summer, 
 When my ship comes home. 
 
 I'll have beautiful statues and paintings, 
 From famous old Greece and Rome, 
 
 And costly carpets and mirrors. 
 When my ship comes home. 
 
 I'll have a grand old librarv. 
 With many a rare old tome, 
 
 Where I can feast with the muses, 
 When my ship comes home.
 
 22 When My Ship Comes Home. 
 
 Til have enchanting gardens, 
 Where beauty delights to roam, 
 
 With flowers, and fountains, and grottoes, 
 When my ship comes home. 
 
 I'll have carriages, horses, and servants,. 
 
 Who all at my bidding will come ; 
 Fll have pastures for sheep and for cattle, 
 
 When my ship comes home. 
 
 The good ship Phantom sail'd 
 
 Full fifty years ago ; 
 My old friend Hope is the captain ; 
 
 She'll soon be home, I know. 
 
 She has frequently doubled the cape, 
 Where the wild hurricanes blow ; 
 
 Her crew are all brave and light-hearted ; 
 She will soon be in harbor, I know. 
 
 She is freighted with untold treasure ; 
 
 A rainbow is spanning her brow ; 
 She has been gallantly plowing the ocean, 
 
 And is homeward bound ere now. 
 
 Strong headwinds have kept her from landing, 
 Till my head is as white as the snow ; 
 
 There she comes through the foam of the 
 
 breakers ! 
 She will soon be in harbor, I know. 
 
 What hosts of kind friends then will meet me, 
 Beneath my magnificent dome ; 
 
 And beauty will smile as she greets me 
 When my wonderful ship comes home.
 
 The Poor, The Poor Mans Friend. 23 
 
 The needy shall feast on my bounty, 
 
 The wolf fly from every door ; 
 There shall not be a tear in the county, 
 
 I'll be rich in the prayers of the poor. 
 
 Oh, Fancy, thou friend of the beggar ! 
 
 On thy wings let me soar as I sing ; 
 And though poor as Job's bony old turkey, 
 
 I'm happier than many a king. 
 
 THE POOR, THE POOR MAN'S FRIEND. 
 
 WHO is the poor man's dearest friend 
 When the dark hours of sorrow come, 
 
 And want and sickness both attend, 
 
 Like haunting fiends, his humble home? 
 
 Too oft the rich, with haughty scorn 
 Or cold indifference, pass him by, 
 
 Regardless of his state forlorn 
 His helpless, hopeless poverty. 
 
 The business man, whose only thought 
 Is to add something to his store, 
 
 Has neither heart or time for aught 
 
 But Mammon's worship nothing more. 
 
 The gay, voluptuous, giddy throng 
 
 Who madly follow pleasure's maze, 
 What heed they, as they float along 
 'Mid mirth and music, dance and song. 
 The woes that curse the poor man's days?
 
 24 The Drunkard's Knell. 
 
 Alas ! full oft the saintly priest, 
 
 In fashion's'garb and mien of pride, 
 
 Shuns the poor home of the distress'd, 
 And passes on the other side. 
 
 Not so did He who came to save, 
 
 Whose potent voice could wake the dead ; 
 
 He sadly wept at Lazarus' grave, 
 But had not where to lay his head. 
 
 Mistake me not I do not mean 
 
 That all the rich are hard of heart ; 
 
 Many the God-like men, I ween, 
 Who act a noble, Christian part. 
 
 But brothers in adversity 
 
 Freely an open palm extend ; 
 
 Their souls will melt in sympathy : 
 
 The poor are aye the poor man's friend. 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S KNELL. 
 
 'T is sad to hear the passing bell 
 
 When infant life is fled, 
 And the sweet, budding, opening flower 
 
 Lies number'd with the dead. 
 
 But comfort to the mother's heart 
 
 In Christ's own words is given ; 
 She knows her darling, precious babe 
 
 Is gone to rest in heaven. 
 
 'Tis sad to hear the passing bell 
 
 When youth and beauty fall, 
 And the high-fed worm on the damask cheek 
 
 Is holding carnival.
 
 The Drunkard's Knell. 25 
 
 But youth devoted to the Lord 
 
 In glory shall arise, 
 And with fresh beauty bloom again, 
 
 Transplanted to the skies. 
 
 But, oh ! what sorrow wrings the heart 
 
 When tolls the passing bell, 
 Noting the ruin of a soul, 
 
 As rings the drunkard's knell! 
 
 How brief and vile his mad career, 
 
 By stormy passions toss'd ; 
 His troubled soul goes down to death, 
 
 Helpless, abandon'd, lost ! 
 
 Soon will the slow procession move 
 
 Into the house of God ; 
 The bearers, near the altar rails, 
 
 Put down their loathsome load. 
 
 Strange solemn silence reigns o'er all ; 
 
 (The audience sit apart) 
 No voice is heard, but choking sobs 
 
 Come from the widow's heart. 
 
 And now the preacher takes his stand 
 
 With calm but troubled look ; 
 With trembling hand he turns the leaves 
 
 A tear bedews the book. 
 
 Too well he knows there is no text 
 
 In all God's holy word 
 That to the stricken friends around 
 
 Much comfort can afford. 
 
 With faltering voice he reads and prays, 
 
 A funeral hymn is sung 
 The notes were solemn, broken, low 
 
 Heaven's harps seem all unstrung.
 
 26 Stanzas. 
 
 The sermon follows painful task 
 
 Some general truths presented : 
 " Death comes to all, and pardon, too, 
 To all who have repented." 
 
 He dwells on charity not much 
 On faith and hope is said ; 
 
 No eulogy he dare pronounce 
 He can not bless the dead. 
 
 Open the coffin gaze once more, 
 Fond mother, on thy boy ; 
 
 Father, approach that bloated form 
 Was once thy pride and joy. 
 
 Poor wife and children ! Close the lid, 
 
 Again take up the bier ; 
 The last sad rites close at the grave ; 
 
 There drop the parting tear. 
 
 Hark ! once more the measured notes 
 Fall from the tolling bell 
 
 The saddest sound that's heard on earth 
 Is the poor drunkard's knell ! 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 SEE the bright sun ! the shades of night 
 Fly trembling from his rising beams ; 
 
 The dew-drops melt in liquid light, 
 
 Which from the golden orient streams. 
 
 Gaily he mounts the azure sky, 
 Effulgent glory marks his way ; 
 
 Proudly he bears himself on high, 
 Triumphant monarch of the day.
 
 Stanzas, 27 
 
 But as he reach'd his " highest noon," 
 
 Exulting in his brightest blaze, 
 A cloud appeared, which soon, too soon, 
 
 Obscured the glory of his rays. 
 
 Increasing darkness now deforms 
 
 The scene, so beautiful before ; 
 The troubled sky is fill'd with storms ; 
 
 Now lightnings flash and thunders roar. 
 
 Alone, around, confusion reigns ; 
 
 Destruction 'mid the uproar flies 
 No sun now shines upon the plains, 
 
 But still o'erwhelming tempests rise. 
 
 Thus 'tis with man his infant days 
 Are calm and bright, and full of joy ; 
 
 No cares distract, no fears amaze 
 The heedless, artless, happy boy. 
 
 Approaching now to manhood's pride, 
 His golden hopes and joys increase ; 
 
 Nor dreams he yet of aught beside 
 A life of happiness and peace. 
 
 But ere he's reach'd the noon of life, 
 
 How chang'd the scene ! The gloomy clouds 
 
 Of care and sorrow, pain and strife, 
 Fast rising soon his glory shrouds. 
 
 Where now his halcyon early days ? 
 
 Where now, fond man ; ah, where are fled 
 Those youthful hopes, where dazzling rays 
 
 Shone like a meteor o'er thy head? 
 
 Yes, like the meteor's light they shone, 
 And fill'd his soul with prospects fair ; 
 
 Soon, like its transient blaze, are gone, 
 And naught is left save wild despair.
 
 28 Stanzas. 
 
 " Oh, why has God created man, 
 
 And dipp'd his infant soul in joy ; 
 Then, ere half his course is run, 
 
 Bid gloomy storms his bliss destroy?" 
 
 More had my tongue blasphemed but now 
 A horrid crash of thunder peaFd ; 
 
 Shudd'ring, I rais'd my eyes, when lo ! 
 A glorious vision I beheld. 
 
 Erect, upon the mystic bow 
 
 Appeared a bright, celestial form ; 
 
 Awful, but yet serene his brow, 
 Riding majestic o'er the storm. 
 
 " What ! Shall vile breathing dust," he said, 
 
 "Arraign the Sovereign of the world? 
 Mortal, forbear ! lest on thy head 
 The bolts of vengeance should be hurl'd ! 
 
 " Know the decrees of God are just, 
 
 Though far above thy feeble sight, 
 His power adore, his goodness trust ; 
 Then shall thy soul be filled with light." 
 
 " This wond'rous arch the sacred sign 
 
 Of God's eternal covenant, 
 He placed in Heaven with love divine, 
 To cheer earth's poor inhabitant." 
 
 Entranc'd I heard, with rapture gaz'd, 
 When, bursting full upon my sight, 
 
 The sun in all his splendor blaz'd, 
 The vision fled dissolved in light!
 
 The Power of Music. 29 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 WHEN fabled Orpheus touch'd his golden lyre, 
 Nature, enchanted, heard the thrilling sound ; 
 
 Through every nerve she felt the sacred fire 
 
 It rose to heaven above, it pierc'd the depths profound. 
 
 E'en tortur'd demons half forgot their woe, 
 
 Grim Pluto smil'd and gave him back his love ; 
 
 Th' Elysian Fields in richer beauty glow, 
 
 And bliss before unknown fill'd the blest courts above. 
 
 Th' exulting earth rolls on its joyous course ; 
 
 Rocks, trees and mountains from their bases rise ; 
 The foaming floods forsake their secret source 
 
 And fling their sparkling splendors to the skies. 
 
 The shaggy lion and the grizzly bear, 
 
 Meek as the gentle lamb, are fear'd no more ; 
 
 The wily serpent lends a list'ning ear, 
 Disarm'd by music's fascinating power. 
 
 When Israel's king with devils was possess'd, 
 Who o'er his spirit held their dark control, 
 
 Young David's harp could charm his grief to rest 
 And pour new light and joy into his soul. 
 
 Hark ! " Hail, Columbia" floats along the vale 
 And wakes in every breast the patriot's fire, 
 
 And the " Star-spangled Banner " tells a tale 
 That bids the soul to noble deeds aspire. 
 
 How sweet, at eve, when man's rough toil is o'er, 
 And twilight bids the hum of business cease, 
 
 To yield the soul to music's mellow'd power 
 And soothe th' excited passions into peace !
 
 30 Betsy and I Are One. 
 
 Ye fair, to whom kind Providence has given 
 The skillful hand and soft, melodious voice 
 
 Whose magic power can raise the soul to heaven 
 And teach the wounded spirit to rejoice 
 
 Sing some sweet melody that tells of love, 
 
 And " Home, Sweet Home," with all its tender joys ; 
 
 Oh ! touch a chord that lifts the soul above 
 
 The heartlesss world and all its senseless noise. 
 
 In grateful strains the harmony prolong 
 
 Attune your hearts and touch the sweetest string ; 
 
 Raise high your voices in the sacred song, 
 And upward soar upon Devotion's wing. 
 
 Hark ! Angels join, the swelling tide of praise 
 Each rolling sphere returns the joyful sound ; 
 
 The " Sons of God" unite with men to raise 
 The lofty hymn that floats the universe around. 
 
 Oh ! when at last I rest my weary head, 
 
 And God to Death has his dread mandate given, 
 
 Celestial minstrels then surround my bed, 
 
 And bear my soul, entranc'd in sound, to heaven. 
 
 BETSY AND I ARE ONE. 
 
 (SEQUEL TO WILL CARLETOK'S "BETSY AM) I ARE OUT.") 
 
 " HOLD your horses, lawyer, I've brought your paper 
 
 " back," 
 
 ' Betsy and I've agreed to take another tack." 
 Well ; what d'ye whistle for, and look so like a Jew? 
 Darn'd if I care if you do laugh, for I can whistle, too.
 
 Betsy and I Are One. 31 
 
 I'll tell you how it came about ; when parting time drew 
 
 near, 
 
 And everything was settled, we both felt mighty queer ; 
 I hitch' d my horse up to your post, but the critter had broke 
 
 loose ; 
 When I got home 'twas dinner time ; Betsy had " cook'd 
 
 a goose." 
 
 The table-cloth was clean and white, the silver spoons were 
 
 there, 
 
 Preserves were on the table, too, and her best chany ware ; 
 'Twas the last dinner we should eat under the old roof tree ; 
 We'd been together thirty years, and now we couldn't agree. 
 
 I look'd at Betsy she had on the very gown she wore 
 Our wedding day (she'd kept it nice) some thirty years be 
 fore 
 
 A faded ribbon bound her hair, but still it looked befittin-', 
 I gave it her that very day the lawyer got the mitten. 
 
 She turn'd me out a cup of tea, but neither of us spoke ; 
 I couldn't eat a single bit, but felt as though I'd choke. 
 I handed her a piece of goose and pass'd the plate of bread, 
 But Betsy had no appetite, and only shook her head. 
 
 The dinner was not touched at all, for Bub had gone to 
 
 school ; 
 
 I felt right glad he was not there to see us -play the fool. 
 I took my hat the dog looked up, but let me go alone ; 
 He smelt the goose and wonder'd why he didn't get a bone. 
 
 I wander'd over every field and fixed the gates up tight ; 
 I didn't mean to have it said the place was not left right. 
 I counted over all the sheep and salted all the stock, 
 Then look'd into the smoke-house and mended up the lock.
 
 32 Betsy and I Are One. 
 
 Next, I redded up the barn and looked the harness over ; 
 I rubb'd the horses down right clean and gave them corn 
 
 and clover. 
 By this time Bub was home from school, and bade me come 
 
 to tea, 
 But I sent word to Betsy " not to wait for me." 
 
 I call'd upon the 'squire, as previously agreed, 
 
 To come down in the morning and see us sign the deed. 
 
 When I got back 'twas pretty late, the chores had all been 
 
 done ; 
 Betsy and Bub were gone to bed and I was left alone. 
 
 I didn't feel quite satisfied that I was doing right, 
 But felt too proud and spunky to give it up to-night. 
 I went to bed, but 'twas no use, I couldn't help but think ; 
 And turnM and toss'd and roll'd about, but couldn't sleep 
 a wink. 
 
 I thought upon the pleasant days we had when first we 
 
 married, 
 
 And wonder'd how it came about that we had so miscarried. 
 How day and night, when I was sick, Betsy was at my bed ; 
 How tenderly she nurs'd me, what soothing words she said, 
 And turn'd away to hide her tears, and bath'd my aching 
 
 head. 
 
 I thought how proud I once had felt when walking at her 
 
 side, 
 
 And how we comforted each other ivhen the baby died. 
 I felt as hot as pepper and my heart set up a throbbing, 
 I heard a noise, and listened Betsy was a sobbing! 
 
 I felt a tear roll down my face the day was just a break 
 ing ; 
 I got right up and look'd abroad ; all nature was awaking ; 
 
 The birds were twitt'ring in the trees, a haze was on the 
 
 river, 
 And everything I gaz'd upon look'd beautiful as ever.
 
 Jletsy and I Are One. 33 
 
 I wished we both could live there still, but 'twas no use a 
 
 trying, 
 
 We'd often tried, and tried in vain, to stop our argufying. 
 I fed the horses, did the chores, and run the buggy out, 
 And when I saw the smoke ascend, knew Betsy was about. 
 
 I call'd to Bub to bring the grease he star'd with all his 
 
 might 
 " Why, daddy, don't you know," he said, "we greas'd the 
 
 wheels last night." 
 
 And so we had, but I forgot ; my head was almost craz'd ; 
 Our boy, who is a bright, smart lad, look'd puzzl'd and 
 
 amaz'd. 
 
 
 
 I told him I was going away to be a right good boy. 
 '"Where are you going to, dad?" says he ; says I " to Il 
 linois." 
 
 " Breakfast is ready ! " Betsy call'd, and I was ready, too, 
 To hang, or drown, or shoot myself, I felt so awful blue. 
 
 I could not tell, to save my life, when I shut up the barn, 
 Which way the world was going 'round, and didn't care a 
 
 darn . 
 
 We both went in my Sunday clothes I saw upon a chair, 
 All ready, nicely brushed and cleaned Betsy had put them 
 
 there, 
 And on them laid a bunch of flowers, tied with a lock of hair. 
 
 The parlor door was left ajar it didn't shut with ease ; 
 There, as I caught a glance within, was Betsy on her knees. 
 I heard her ask forgiveness for the hasty words we'd said ; 
 That God would bless our boy and pour his blessings on 
 
 my head. 
 3
 
 34 Betsy and I Are One. 
 
 And then she hid her face and wept ; again she prayed and 
 
 sighed ; 
 
 I couldn't stand it longer, but knelt down by her side. 
 And as we pray'd, and kissed, and vowed, ever in love to 
 
 dwell, 
 What perfect peace and joy we felt, no mortal tongue can 
 
 tell. 
 
 And so instead of going off upon the railroad track, 
 
 I clapp'd the saddle on the mare and brought your papers 
 
 back. 
 "Wont the neighbors laugh," say you ; "be hang'd if I 
 
 can tell," 
 But as for Mrs. Grundy why let her go to h ! 
 
 I didn't mean to swear, lawyer; 'tis the first time in mv 
 
 life; 
 But when neighbors will be meddling and stir up foolish 
 
 strife, 
 
 And blow the flame that's kindling to part a man and wife, 
 Till the heart is full of bitterness and you feel as though 
 
 you'd bust, 
 They're taking- part with Satan, and surely -will be cuss' d! 
 
 Come up to dinner, lawyer, and bring your wife along ; 
 We'll have a joyful gathering and right up every wrong. 
 The crops are looking finely : we're having splendid 
 
 weather ; 
 My heart's brimful of happiness, I'm lightsome as a feather. 
 
 Betsy and I will gaily sing as down life's hill we go, 
 " We'll sleep together at the foot, John Anderson, my Jo." 
 So burn the papers, lawyer, our argufying's done, 
 Come \veal or woe, in life or death, Betsy and I are one.
 
 Lines. 35 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY READING WILL. CARLTON's "OUT OF THE 
 OLD HOUSE, NANCY, INTO THE NEW." 
 
 " OUT of the old house into the new " 
 Aye, never were spoken words^more true, 
 For the prince and the peasant, the high and 
 
 the low, 
 
 All must out of their dwellings go. 
 Some are tenants a single day- 
 Are permitted to enter, but not to stay ; 
 On angels' wings they take their flight, 
 And live in palaces of light. 
 Some remain a few short years 
 'Mid storm and sunshine, hopes and fears : 
 The Landlord bids, they haste away 
 From their frail tenements of clay. 
 Others for four-score years possess 
 A dwelling in this wilderness 
 The underpinning at length gives way, 
 The joists and studding go to decay ; 
 The plaster has fallen from the walls, 
 Dreary and desolate are the halls ; 
 The windows are dim, and the thatch is irone, 
 
 O 
 
 And the poor old building stands alone. 
 Friend, you must leave ere the sun is set, 
 Though you fondly would linger a little yet. 
 Aye, all must go, a motley crew, 
 " Out of the old house into the new." 
 Who can the spirit's flight control? 
 Where is the homestead of the soul ?
 
 36 Ltnes. 
 
 What are its wants along the road? 
 
 How will it furnish its new abode? 
 
 No earthly compass can point the way, 
 
 No earthly staff can be its stay. 
 
 All our dearest earthly treasures, 
 
 All our sweetest earthly pleasures ; 
 
 Honor, and fame, and wealth, and power 
 
 All must be left in that dread hour 
 
 When Asrael bears the soul away 
 
 From its lov'd tenement of clay. 
 
 Yet, if thou hast been good and true, 
 
 Fear not, there is a home for you 
 
 In those bright palaces above, 
 
 Where all is harmony and love. 
 
 No moth devours, no rust corrodes, 
 
 In those celestial blest abodes ; 
 
 There care and sorrow enter not, 
 
 And the woes of earth are all forgot. 
 
 On wings of faith the soul shall rise 
 
 And claim a mansion in the skies ; 
 
 Hope shall its full fruition rind, 
 
 And charity to all mankind 
 
 (Bright pattern of the eternal mind) ; 
 
 Those heavenly guests who made their stay 
 
 In thy dwelling-house of clay 
 
 The sweet companions of thy way 
 
 While on earth thy footsteps trod 
 
 Shall guide thee to thy blest abode 
 
 In the Paradise of God.
 
 Dear Willie. 37 
 
 DEAR WILLIE. 
 
 AND is thy gentle spirit fled, 
 Dear little Willie ? Art thou dead ? 
 Must I no more behold my boy 
 His father's hope, his father's joy? 
 No more thy little nimble feet 
 Make haste to meet me on the street? 
 No more thine arms my neck entwine 
 Thy little cheek be press'd to mine? 
 No more the plaintive voice I hear : 
 "Father, I love you lie down here." 
 
 Oh ! I would lay me by thy side, 
 
 Sweet child, for thee I would have died. 
 
 Death, did'st thou not mistake thy mark 
 
 Thy fatal shaft launch in the dark, 
 
 When last thv poisoh'd arrow came 
 
 And pierc'd my child and I remain? 
 
 Must the green young plant be taken, 
 
 And the old tree, which storms have shaken, 
 
 Still rear its head amid the wood, 
 
 A branchless trunk? Say, is it good 
 
 Oh ! is it wise, or just, or right, 
 
 Fell tyrant, thus to shew thy might? 
 
 The " bud of promise *' must thou have 
 To lie beside his mother's grave? 
 Oh ! that my soul could understand 
 Why the Almighty's dread command 
 Sent the "Pale Archer" to destroy 
 My fondest hopes and take my boy !
 
 38 Dear Willie. 
 
 Would that to some blest saint in heaven 
 The kind permission were but given 
 To lift the veil and tell me why. 
 Dear Willie, thou wert doom'd to die. 
 
 A sweet, soft voice salutes my ear : 
 " Oh ! William, grieve not ; he is here 
 With me in heaven here to dwell 
 In bliss forever. It is well." 
 In soft response, I hear an infant voice : 
 " Father, my happy spirit does rejoice 
 In God, my Savior ; here I dwell, 
 Where pain and death are not, and all is well." 
 
 Then be it so ; great God, thy power and love 
 
 I own, 
 
 And prostrate bow before thine awful throne. 
 When the black storm is bursting on my head, 
 And all my dearest earthly joys are fled 
 Wife, children, mingled with the silent dead 
 Low in the dust my helpless soul I fling, 
 And of thy mercy venture still to sing. 
 Though sick at heart , yet sweet hope remains, 
 For Death is conquer'd where Messiah reigns. 
 Thanks be to God, though I my loss deplore, 
 Death must at last my stolen jewels restore. 
 Upheld by faith in thine eternal Son, 
 Submissive I adore my God, thy -will be done.
 
 Sympathy The Last Decade. 39 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 OH ! sympathy resistless force ! 
 Tell me from what mysterious source 
 
 Proceeds thy magic power? 
 Surely thou did'st descend from heaven. 
 The dearest boon to mortals given 
 
 In sorrow's dismal hour. 
 
 When life is joyous, sweet and bright, 
 And all the soul is steep'd in light, 
 
 Thou dost thy power impart 
 Giv'st perfect bliss without alloy ; 
 Enchantress, double all our joy 
 
 With rapture fill the heart. 
 
 THE LAST DECADE. 
 
 THK last decade, the last decade ! Well, let it come, 
 A little more of earth, and then, I'm home. 
 Yes, three score years and ten'; that is the span 
 Which God in wisdom has allotted man : 
 Enough to taste of all the joys of earth ; 
 Enough to tit him for his heavenly birth. 
 And plume his pinions for a higher Might, 
 To soar aloft 'mid fields of endless light. 
 But can it be that sixty years have pass\l 
 Since I was born? Is this the last 
 Decade of earthly care and joy?
 
 40 The Last Decade. 
 
 Why, 'twas but yesterday I was a boy, 
 
 Drinking the bliss which buoyant childhood yields ; 
 
 Chasing the butterflies o'er flowery fields. 
 
 Finding the earliest violets of the Spring ; 
 
 Or with my comrades at the rustic swing 
 
 'Neath the old apple tree, whose blossoms shed 
 
 A mimic snow-storm on my hatless head ; 
 
 Hunting for eggs in each sequester'd nook, 
 
 Or building tiny mill-dams at the brook ; 
 
 Splashing the sparkling waters all around, 
 
 A merrier urchin rarely could be found. 
 
 Each season had its own time-honor'd sport, 
 
 And what is strange the days were not so short 
 
 As they are now. 
 
 The golden sun hung longer in the west, 
 
 Ere 'mid the gorgeous clouds he sunk to rest. 
 
 Time trudg'd along childhood and youth were gone, 
 
 And then at length I numbered twenty-one. 
 
 Proud manhood's date what lofty things 
 
 Now would take place, in my imaginings. 
 
 What piles of wealth I would accumulate. 
 
 And be renown'd among the good and great ! 
 
 What patriot fire glow'd in my ardent breast ; 
 
 How \vould I raise the lowly and oppress' d ; 
 
 Should haughty tyranny o'erride the laws, 
 
 Or spurn the poor man and his righteous cause, 
 
 And faithlessly betray a people's trust. 
 
 How quickly should the despot bite the dust. 
 
 To face her foes, should e'er my country call, 
 
 How glorious in my country's cause to fall. 
 
 Poetic fancies floated through my brain ; 
 
 What honor would it be could I obtain 
 
 A hundredth part of Milton's glorious fame, 
 
 And thus immortalize my humble name ? 
 
 Oft have I wander'd o'er the dear old farm.
 
 The Last Decade, 41 
 
 And as I gaz'd on every varied charm 
 
 Which nature's bounteous hand had strewn around 
 
 (No spot so dear to me "'twas holy ground^ 
 
 With sympathy my soul was all a-glowing, 
 
 Heart full of rapture, eyes with tears o'erflowing ; 
 
 Ecstatic feelings ! sweet, but undetin'd 
 
 In love with Nature, God, and all mankind. 
 
 When twilight softly stole upon the scene, 
 
 And mingled into one each shade of green, 
 
 Slowly I took the homeward path along, 
 
 Enchanted by the nightingale's sweet song. 
 
 But I am garrulous farewell, farewell, 
 
 My native fields, dearer than tongue can tell. 
 
 Then, urg'd by fate, I cross'd the rolling sea, 
 
 And dwelt in this fair " land of liberty ; " 
 
 I mingled in the busy haunts of men, 
 
 In hopes the " almighty dollar" to obtain ; 
 
 In vain Miss-fortune (saucy jade) 
 
 Has me her favorite football made. 
 
 How strangely mutable are earthly things ! 
 
 Riches, 'tis truly said, make their own wings 
 
 And fly aw r ay. It is not wise 
 
 To build on anything below the skies. 
 
 My fondest, fairest, youthful hopes now seem 
 
 The wild illusions of a morning dream. 
 
 What have I done the last half century? 
 
 How reads my record in the Omniscient eye? 
 
 How can I bear the awful scrutiny? 
 
 What precious years to sinful w r aste have run ? 
 
 What duties half perform'd or not begun? 
 
 What errors and what follies mar the page, 
 
 Blotting the record, even to old age? 
 
 And time, regardless of man's earnest cry 
 
 To stay his pace, mocks as he rushes by. 
 
 See how his flaming chariot cleaves the sky.
 
 42 To William K- 
 
 Then what remains ? The past is gone forever ; 
 
 Soon shall I ford death's dark, rolling river. 
 
 Nil des-pcrandum ! Onward let me press 
 
 With double diligence, and win success. 
 
 I have souls to train ; I have debts to pay ; 
 
 I have bread to win from day to day. 
 
 I must gather the blossoms ere they fade, 
 
 Work! (for I see the evening's shade) 
 
 Ere my bed in the " narrow house " be made ; 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah,ybr the last decade! 
 
 TO WILLIAM K- 
 
 FRIEND WILLIAM, I have read your earnest words, 
 Written while looking down the steep decline 
 To where the western sky scarce hides from view 
 The golden gates that will ere long swing back 
 To give you entrance to a better land. 
 And I can well believe, however much 
 Of all the past seems like a fruitless task, 
 That there awaits you, when life's work is done, 
 Such riches as the world can never buy. 
 Honor, and wealth, and ease, these objects all 
 Of man's ambition, and, though seldom won, 
 Less seldom yield such pleasure as our hopes 
 Portray. The highest, purest joys of earth 
 Are not reveal' d to gaze of curious eyes 
 By any flimsy trappings pride employs, 
 And are known only to the loyal few 
 They may be sons of poverty and toil 
 Who stand down close beside their fellow men 
 And feel the throbbings of their aching hearts. 
 Your way has been along the lowly vale,
 
 To William K- 
 
 43 
 
 Your burdens such as few have borne, and yet 
 
 Your couch, though made of sjraw, is softer far 
 
 Than eider-down when purchased at the price 
 
 Of unrequited toil. Your coat, threadbare 
 
 For years, is still more fitting than the robes 
 
 That royalty puts on by trampling down 
 
 The poor. The plain gray frock worn by your wife 
 
 Is more becoming to the pure in heart 
 
 Than India's fairest silks to her who wears 
 
 Them at a price ah, fearful cost ! 
 
 That sends both soul and body down to hell. 
 
 I've stood, friend William, in the halls of fame ; 
 
 I know how mad and sad ambition is ; 
 
 I know how hollow and profane the hearts 
 
 Of those who worship at the shrine of wealth ; 
 
 I know the silly-minded butterflies 
 
 Who trick themselves in fashion's gaudy guise ; 
 
 I know saddest of all, if possible 
 
 The solemn-visaged crew who serve the Lord 
 
 One day in seven to rob the toiling poor 
 
 The other six ; and I would rather walk, 
 
 Clasped hand-in-hand, with her who loves me most, 
 
 The lowly path trod by the Nazarine, 
 
 Lending a helping hand to those in want, 
 
 With kindly sympathy for all who mourn. 
 
 And share the unbought honors of their love, 
 
 Than idly wear the regal crown of kings 
 
 And hear the hollow plaudits of a world. 
 
 'Tis only feebly, as I do confess, 
 
 That I have held the faith the fathers taught ; 
 
 I'm sick of ceremonials and creeds,- 
 
 Of craft, and cant, and smooth hypocrisies ; 
 
 Of finely-cushioned pews, prepared for saints. 
 
 Carpeted aisles where rough feet never tread. 
 
 Let those whose wish it is set this much down
 
 44 To A. B. C. 
 
 Against my name for condemnation. You, 
 Who know me well, will clasp my open palm, 
 Nor fear contamination at the touch ; 
 And if your faith is larger grown than mine 
 If, guided by the crescent or the cross, 
 You find a higher, nobler work to do 
 Still you will hold in glad remembrance one 
 Who shared the sorrows of his fellow men, 
 
 And kept a loyal heart for all his friends. 
 
 A. B. c. 
 
 TO A. B. C. 
 
 THANKS for your -kindly greeting, A. B. C. 
 
 If aught on earth can cheer the path of life, 
 'Tis surely sacred friendship's sympathy, 
 
 And the rich treasure of a bonnie wife. 
 
 True that I tread the low, sequestered vale, 
 And dark and stormy sometimes is the way ; 
 
 Yet ofttimes music floats upon the gale, 
 
 And flowers still blossom, though my footsteps stray. 
 
 "Sweet are the uses of adversity," but men abhor the 
 
 nauseous, bitter cup ; 
 
 Nature recoils, and would not take a sup, 
 But quaffs with eager lip and sparkling eye 
 The golden bowl of fair prosperity. 
 
 " There is a destiny that shapes our ends, 
 
 Rough hew them as we may " (thus writes the bard), 
 But wickedness to woe and ruin tends, 
 And virtue ever is its own reward.
 
 A Dangerous Accident. 45 
 
 If we but take the straight and narrow way, 
 
 It matters very little how we travel ; 
 You in a gilded coach with trappings gay, 
 
 And prancing horses tearing up the gravel ; 
 /, in my one-horse wagon, made to carry 
 Brooms to market, walloping old Harry. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN WHILE SUFFERING FROM A DANGEROUS ACCIDENT. 
 
 FATHER, I lift my soul to Thee, 
 
 Oh hear my humble cry ! 
 Thou only know'st my destiny, 
 
 'Tis now to live or die. 
 
 Oh gracious God, for full forty years 
 
 My life thou hast preserved, 
 Through countless storms of trials, cares, 
 
 What mercy undeserved. 
 
 With open shears see Asrael stand 
 
 To part life's feeble thread ; 
 But thy command can stay his hand, 
 
 Or call me from the dead. 
 
 The Spirit Land is full in sight 
 
 What glories I behold ! 
 What hosts of beings rob'd in white, 
 
 With crowns of shining gold. 
 
 Farther than mortal eye can reach 
 
 O'er the celestial lands, 
 Innumerable armies stretch 
 
 God's own victorious bands.
 
 46 A Dangerous Accident. 
 
 And oh, how light, intensely light, 
 Around your lofty throne, 
 
 Where high in glory and in might, 
 Sits God's beloved Son. 
 
 Now victor palms are waving high, 
 Now swells the heavenly minstrelsy, 
 
 Each ravish'd soul in ecstacy, 
 Proclaims the Savior's victory. 
 
 What dear lovd forms are those I view ? 
 
 What voices do I hear? 
 My wife, my babes, dear Willie, too, 
 
 With soft and curling hair ; 
 
 As when on earth with smiles so sweet, 
 He seems in haste to come, 
 
 With outstretch'd arms and nimble feet, 
 To -welcome father home. 
 
 That angel form in accents mild 
 Exclaims, "Not yet, my son, 
 
 Yet wait awhile, my darling child, 
 His work is not yet done. 
 
 Thy sisters and thy brother still 
 
 Require a parent's care, 
 To teach them God's most holy will 
 
 And guide their footsteps here.'" 1 
 
 Father, enough! No more I ask 
 (Nor more can well be given), 
 
 Than when I have perform'd my task, 
 To find "A.- home in heaven.
 
 Morning, 47 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 SHRILL chanticleer proclaims the approach of day, 
 And Oberon's band have ceas'd their fairy dance ; 
 
 The glimmering stars are fading fast away, 
 And hide their heads at mighty Sol's advance. 
 
 On tip-toe 'tvvixt the mountain and the sky, 
 The blushing morn now meets her glorious Lord, 
 
 He comes supreme in beauteous majesty, 
 And light and music all around are pour'd. 
 
 Now from the leafy groves and dewy fields 
 Ten thousand grateful notes of praise arise ; 
 
 Nature awake its joyful tribute yields 
 
 To Him who made the earth, the sea, the skies. 
 
 Wake, lordly man ye sons of labor, wake, 
 With vig'rous arms resume your toils again ; 
 
 " Shake oft' dull sloth," as the strong lions shake 
 The sparkling dew-drops from their shaggy mane. 
 
 Awake, ye fair, your drowsy couch forsake ; 
 Pure as a virgin's soul is morn's sweet breath 
 
 Soft as a maiden's sigh from yonder lake, 
 
 The blue mist rising forms a graceful wreath, 
 And half reveals the crystal wave beneath. 
 
 Wake helpless infancy and feeble age 
 
 (Types of the opening and the closing day), 
 
 And as the sun illumes fair nature's page, 
 Your grateful tribute to its Author pay. 
 
 Each opening day new life and joy imparts ; 
 
 His love, His truth, His bounties never fail ; 
 Receive the incense of our grateful hearts, 
 
 God of the morning ; great Creator, hail !
 
 48 The Conqueror. 
 
 THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 YES, the dread " Conqueror" is come, 
 Not with trumpet, sword, or drum ; 
 Not with banners waving high, 
 Not with shouts that rend the sky, 
 
 Proclaiming glorious victory ; 
 Not with martial plume and pride, 
 Heroes and princes by his side, 
 While gazing crowds still raise the cry 
 (Aw'd by the lightning of his eye) : 
 
 " Ride on in all thy chivalry, 
 Thou son of fame, triumphantly ! " 
 Not in regal pomp and state, 
 Followed by the rich and great, 
 Nor in statesman's borrow'd power, 
 Holding his office by the hour, 
 Or crown'd with wit or learning's bays, 
 Or poet's or musician's praise 
 Thou heedest not the voice of fame, 
 Thou carest not for scorn or shame 
 Thou tramplest on the crowns of kings 
 Amid thy saucy revelings ; 
 The proud, the valiant, and the wise 
 Are but thy common sacrifice. 
 The priest, the sage, the young, the gay ; 
 At thy approach their homage pay ; 
 So, all men shudder at thy power, 
 Indomitable conqueror ! 
 E'en beauty's self, whose beaming eye 
 Fills the lov'd youth with ecstacy, 
 Whose faultless form and glowing charms
 
 The Conqueror. 49 
 
 The coldest heart with rapture warms. 
 With soul exalted, pure, refin'd, 
 Good, generous, holy, gentle, kind 
 (Bright pattern of the eternal mind), 
 Whose power is felt by all mankind 
 She, when thou wav'st thy ebon wand^ 
 Falls prostrate at thy stern command. 
 No more the muse shall sing of thee, 
 Conqueror, void of clemency ; 
 No flowers shall strew the victor's path 
 Who comes in cruelty and wrath ; 
 No garland shall adorn his head 
 Whose name fills every heart with dread. 
 Yet ere the tyrant's kindling rage 
 O'ertake thee in thy pilgrimage, 
 Haste ! weave a wreath his brow to bind 
 The common foe of all mankind 
 The nightshade and the hemlock twine 
 With every poisonous, withering vine ; 
 With widows' tears and orphans' cries, 
 With blighted hopes, and fears, and sighs, 
 
 And all life's broken sympathies. 
 Hated Conqueror! take the wreath 
 It fits thee well, thou monster! Death !
 
 50 A Brighter Picture. 
 
 A BRIGHTER PICTURE. 
 
 (SUGGESTED BY READING CARLTON'S "OVER THE HILLS TO THE 
 POOR-HOUSE.") 
 
 " OVER the hills to the poor-house" 
 
 Is a libel on our race 
 A picture far too wicked 
 For the poet's pen to trace. 
 
 Alas- ! poor human nature 
 
 Is bad enough, I know, 
 And many's the wrong committed, 
 
 As over the hills we go. 
 
 We'll paint another picture 
 
 Look on the other side : 
 See loving sons and daughters, 
 
 A poor old mother's pride ; 
 
 Nancy, and Jane, and burly John, 
 
 Stand by the widow's chair, 
 And black-eyed Sue, with her two boys, 
 
 And Tom and Ben are there. 
 
 The funeral scene has just been closed 
 
 " Father " has left the stage ; 
 He played his part right manfully, 
 
 And reach'd Barzillia's age. 
 
 Now, as the homestead must be sold, 
 
 Commenc'd a loving strife. 
 And John, the oldest, claim'd the right 
 
 To take her home for life.
 
 A Brighter Picture. 51 
 
 But Tom, and Ben, and Nancy, too, 
 Exclaim'd, "that should not be," 
 And black-eyed Sue and Tane declar'd 
 
 */ tj 
 
 They'd rights as well as he. 
 
 'Mid showers of tears a beaming smile 
 
 Lights up the widow's eyes, 
 And, as she half forgets her woe, 
 
 In tones of love she cries : 
 
 " God bless you all ! may heaven's best gifts 
 
 Descend on every head ; 
 God bless you all, my children, dear, 
 The living and the dead." 
 
 By turns I'll spend with each of you, 
 
 My days that are to come, 
 For \vell I know there is for me 
 
 In all your hearts a home. 
 
 And so 'twas fixed ; " poor mother" went 
 
 To live with John a " spell ;" 
 Nancy and Jane then had their turn, 
 
 Then Sue, at " Hazel Dell." 
 
 Benoni was a bachelor, 
 
 And pass'd his days with Tom ; 
 " She must stay there a longer time, 
 For they were two to one." 
 
 The children counted on the time 
 When "grandma" would be there, 
 
 And when she came, lugg'd out with glee 
 The parlor rocking-chair. 
 
 What lots of cunning little socks 
 
 Came out of grandma's bag ; 
 How nice they are, and wond'rously 
 
 They tit each little leg.
 
 52 A Brighter Picture, 
 
 And there's a bigger pair for Ben, 
 
 Some " taffy" and a dolly. 
 "Just look, mamma ; look, Uncle Ben ; 
 Oh goodee, aint it jolly ! " 
 
 Thus peacefully she pass'd her days, 
 Nor dreamt of growing old ; 
 
 For though her sun on earth was set, 
 The sky was ting'd with gold. 
 
 And so the good old lady liv'd 
 Her childhood o'er again, 
 
 'Till seven more years were added 
 To her three score years and ten. 
 
 Then Asrael came and bore her off 
 
 Beneath his sable wing, 
 To dwell in that bright, happy land 
 
 Where saints with angels sing. 
 
 And now the mournful funeral group 
 The poor remains must leave, 
 
 And tiny hands will plant sweet flowers 
 Around dear grandma's grave. 
 
 'T is well oh ! " Young America ! " 
 
 Take heed to God's command : 
 " Honor thy parents, that thy days 
 Be long in this fair land." 
 
 And when th' allotted time on earth 
 Thy pilgrim feet have trod, 
 
 There'll be a happy gathering 
 In the Paradise of God.
 
 To My Boy. 53 
 
 TO MY BOY. 
 
 THE world is not a Paradise, 
 
 Though flowers are strewn around, 
 
 For sin and death have entered here, 
 And sighs and tears abound. 
 
 The world is not a wilderness, 
 
 Though thorns and weeds are found, 
 
 For Christ hath lived and died on earth, 
 And lo ! 't is holy ground. 
 
 " Put off thy shoes from off thy feet," 
 
 Bareheaded walk, with trembling joy ; 
 In love thy fellow pilgrims greet, 
 In kindly deeds thy hands employ. 
 
 Full many a pang shall wring thy heart, 
 And many a joy shall gild thy days ; 
 
 In sorrow bravely bear the smart, 
 In times of joy give God the praise. 
 
 Ne'er think, though humble be thy lot, 
 Thou art below thy Father's care 
 
 His promises are ne'er forgot, 
 
 And he has " number'd every hair/' 
 
 God and his angels mark thy way ; 
 
 Life is probation do thy best ; 
 Strength shall be equal to thy day, 
 
 And thou shalt be God's welcome guest.
 
 54 A Neiv Version of " Yankee Doodle.'" 
 
 A NEW VERSION OF "YANKEE DOODLE." 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE SIGNING OF THE TREATY OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 I'LL tell you what's the matter, boys, 
 
 There's lots of fun and glory, 
 Uncle Sam has been and gone 
 
 And married Queen Victoria. 
 
 Bluff Johnny -Bull was there in state, 
 . And gave away the bride, sir, 
 And Jonathan was there, of course, 
 And many more beside, sir. 
 
 Miss Canada was at the feast, 
 
 And this was her opinion : 
 " 'Twould prove a very happy match"- 
 Long live the New Dominion ! 
 
 Though in their young and foolish days, 
 
 They had some lovers' quarrels, 
 The Anglo-Saxon race are one 
 
 In liberty and morals. 
 
 Let the old wrong and grievance sleep ; 
 
 'Tis past, we'll never mind it ; 
 Bury the hatchet, boys, so deep 
 
 That Satan can not find it. 
 
 Henceforth in peace and harmony, 
 
 Together let us pull, sir ; 
 Hurrah for Brother Jonathan, 
 
 Hurrah for Johnny Bidl, sir.
 
 Brown. 55 
 
 The " flag that's braved a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze," 
 The " stars and stripes," invincible, 
 
 Alike on land and seas, 
 
 Shall float together round the world, 
 
 A glorious beacon light, sir, 
 To nations still in darkness, 
 
 And we'll battle for the right, sir. 
 
 Hosanna, boys ! our Union flag 
 
 Shall never more be furled, 
 Till all shall hail the "Prince of Peace," 
 
 And love embrace the world. 
 
 JOHN BROWN. 
 
 ONCE more old Winter tramps around, 
 With well-clad feet the frozen ground ; 
 A chilling blast fierce Boreas blows, 
 And fills the vales with" drifted snows. 
 Fiercer and colder comes the blast ; 
 
 " The gloomy night is gathering fast." 
 Now let us to our cot retire ; 
 Shut close the door, pile up the fire ; 
 Come, bring a chair and sit you down, 
 And let us talk of old "John Brown ; " 
 Of " old John Brown" and Harper's Ferry- 
 A tale it is mare sad than merry. 
 
 " And pray, sir, who is ' old John Brown?' 
 Is he some hero of renown?" 
 
 "John Brown, sir, was an outlaw brave,
 
 56 John Brown, 
 
 But now, he fills a traitor's grave." 
 Alexander, Philip's son, 
 Many battles fought and won ; 
 Pompey the Great, and Caesar, too, 
 Mighty kingdoms overthrew, 
 And many famous men beside, 
 In ancient times spread ruin wide ; 
 Princes and kings before them bowed, 
 Rivers of blood around them flowed ! 
 And to add lustre to their reigns 
 Whole nations groan'd in servile chains. 
 They gloried in a conqueror's name, 
 And thus achieved a deathless fame ; 
 And we have modern heroes, too 
 Such men as fought at Waterloo, 
 In Florida and Mexico, 
 And some are living now, I trow ; 
 But old John Brown, with his small band, 
 Has built his fame upon the sand ! 
 What though he whipp'd the " Chivalry," 
 He never fought for slavery ; 
 He rais'd his arm to free the slave, 
 And now he fills a traitor's grave! 
 " Freedom shriek'd when Kosciusko fell ; " 
 Another shriek, old man, shall ring thy knell ! 
 'T is done thy dust should dwell 
 With valiant rebels, such as Tell ; 
 With Sidney, Hampden, Wallace, too, 
 Who Freedom's sword all freely drew 
 Who haughty tyranny defied ; 
 Who fought, and bled and died in vain? 
 No, Liberty shall rise again! 
 John Brown, thou fill'st a traitor's grave, 
 But Freedom's fag shall o'er it wave.
 
 77*6' Nearer the Bone the Sweeter the Meat. 57 
 
 THE NEARER THE BONE THE SWEETER THE 
 
 MEAT. 
 
 'Tis jolly, when plenty is crowning the board, 
 And fortune is flinging the gifts at your feet, 
 
 And time, as he passes, increases your hoard, 
 But the nearer the bone the sweeter the meat. 
 
 Satiety, sickness and luxury falls, 
 
 Prosperity often is only a cheat, 
 But when sharpen'd by labor keen appetite calls, 
 
 If there's aught on the bone how sweet is the meat. 
 
 I ask not for riches, for fame or for power ; 
 
 I envy no mortal his splendid estate ; 
 Content in a cottage with peace for my dower, 
 
 Though coarse be the fare, if there's something to eat. 
 
 Near seventy years I have feasted on life, 
 
 And the chunk that is left is pretty close to the bone, 
 
 But with half a score bairns and a bonnie sweet wife, 
 I guess I'll feast on till the remnant is gone. 
 
 And then to crown all, there's a prospect ahead, 
 
 When at length I shall burst from this mortal control, 
 
 I may sit down and rest and eat heavenly bread, 
 
 " Where the smile of the I/ord is the feast of the soul."
 
 58 Six feet by Two. 
 
 SIX FEET BY TWO. 
 
 Six feet by two, six feet by two 
 Well, I reckon that'll do ; 
 It makes a roomy, full-sized grave, 
 And all that kings and heroes have, 
 
 Unless they're tall, like John of Gaunt, 
 And then 'tis likely that they'll want 
 (Like other giant men of yore) 
 Twelve or fifteen inches more. 
 
 But 't isn't much, at any rate, 
 Man wants for his last estate ; 
 Ten thousand acres he may have, 
 And still ten thousand acres crave 
 
 While living. When the hurly-burly's o'er, 
 And the grasping hand can grasp no more, 
 Then a very little spot 
 Suffices for his final lot. 
 
 Six feet by two there's room enough 
 To tumble in a lot of stuff 
 Beside the corpse : ambition, pride, 
 Honors, for which in vain he sighed ; 
 
 His party politics, his vote, 
 
 His seat in the Wittenagemote, 
 
 His empty wallet, all life's ills, 
 
 Doctors' prescriptions, gallipots and pills ; 
 
 His broken promises, his good intention, 
 And lots of other things too numerous to mention ; 
 Tumble them in, there's room enough 'twill do ; 
 Aye, ample space for all, in six by two.
 
 Sunset Response to "Sunset" 59 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 WRITTEN BY MRS. MARY P. KNOWLES. 
 
 I WATCH'D the sun as he sunk to his rest, 
 Till his last rays tinted the golden west ; 
 And still I gaz'd, for mv soul was fraught 
 With deep but calm and solemn thought. 
 
 I thought of the brightness, glory and power 
 Of his morning beams and at mid-day hour, 
 And now, when nobly his course he had run, 
 Gently retir'd, for his work was done ; 
 
 And a prayer arose within my breast : 
 " My God, thus peacefully may I rest 
 When I have fought the fight of faith, 
 Commending my soul to thee in death ; 
 
 " More glorious, then, again shall I rise 
 To join the seraphic choir in the skies, 
 And in one everlasting day shall raise 
 Sweet songs to my great Redeemer's praise." 
 
 RESPONSE TO "SUNSET." 
 
 BY W. KXOWLES. 
 
 YES let the hallelujahs rise 
 
 And fill with joyful praise' the skies ; 
 
 Another saint has gone to rest, 
 
 Her great Redeemer's power confess'd. 
 
 Oh sing "The Conqueror" again, 
 He whom the tyrant could not chain ; 
 Who liv'd, who died, who rose for thee, 
 
 And k ' captive led captivity ! "
 
 60 Lines Written on Board the Steamship Italy. 
 
 When I have passed the stormy sea 
 Of life and death, dear Mary, say, 
 Oh is there not a harp for me? 
 May I not join the heavenly lay? 
 
 Time passes on with rapid wing, 
 And soon my warfare will be done, 
 The evening past with thee, I'll sing 
 The glories of the " Risen Sun ! " 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON BOARD THE STEAMSHIP ITALY DURING A 
 VOYAGE TO ENGLAND. 
 
 Ho, for England ! gaily steer 
 Our gallant ship across the sea ; 
 
 Ho, for England ! England, dear, 
 Land of my nativity. 
 
 Half a life-time has gone by 
 
 Since I left old Albion's shore ; 
 Ho, for England ! ere I die 
 
 .1 shall greet old friends once more. 
 
 " Ship about ! " I hear their voices 
 
 Floating on the western wind ; 
 " Mother, when is father coming? 
 
 Why did he leave us behind? 
 
 A dozen silver cords are fasten' d 
 To my heart, and draw me back ; 
 
 Helmsman, put the ship about! 
 Captain, take another tack I
 
 Lines Written on Board the " Wyoming'' 61 
 
 All in vain ! our good ship steers 
 
 Onward, eastward, o'er the main ; 
 I must see old England's shore 
 
 Ere I can get back again. 
 
 O Thou, who rulest all creation ; 
 
 At whose command the waves are still ; 
 Give me grace, and strength, and wisdom 
 
 Give submission to Thy will. 
 
 Bless the wife thy goodness gave me, 
 Bless the children thou hast given ; 
 
 If we meet no more on earth, 
 May I greet them all in heaven. 
 
 Ho for England ! quickly steer 
 
 Our gallant ship across the main ; 
 Let me grasp the hands of friends, 
 
 Then swiftly bear me home again. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON BOARD THE "WYOMING," ON MY PASSAGE 
 FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 ONCE more our ship the ocean braves, 
 Again I ride the crested waves ; 
 Westward we go, away, away ! 
 To hail fair young America. 
 Thou, who controllest earth and sea, 
 Ruler of man's destiny, 
 Guide us through the ocean's foam ; 
 Let me taste the joys of home ; 
 Press to my heart my bonnie wife 
 And children dear, mv second life.
 
 62 An " OJd, Old Talc" (Tail?). 
 
 " From every stormy wind that blows, 
 From every swelling tide of woes, 
 Keep them, O ! keep them, King of Kings ! 
 Beneath thy own almighty wings." 
 I love the vales that lie between 
 My native hills of living green ; 
 I love her pastures and her fields, 
 Each simple plant the woodland yields 
 Her rocks, her rivers "and her soil ; 
 Her blooming daughters, sons of toil ; 
 Her quaint old homesteads, castle halls ; 
 Her ruin'd ivy-mantled walls, 
 And thousand other beauties round, 
 That make it all enchanted ground. 
 I love her cosy, rustic bowers, 
 The graceful ferns and fragrant flowers ; 
 I love her green, secluded lanes ; 
 I love her ancient, sacred fanes ; 
 I love the hearts that mingle there 
 In grateful praise and fervent prayer. 
 England, farewell ! The mighty spell 
 
 That binds me to my native land 
 Home of the free can only be 
 
 Dissolved \)y death's all-potent wand. 
 
 AN "OLD, OLD TALE" (TAIL?). 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A "PRINTER'S DEVIL.' 
 DEDICATED TO " THE FUNNY MEMBER FROM NEW YORK." 
 
 The Devil ask for poetry ! 
 
 Why, what a strange request is this ! 
 Harmonious numbers can not pierce 
 
 The bottomless abvss !
 
 An " Old, Old Tale" (Tail?). 63 
 
 There universal discord reigns, 
 
 And naught but sounds of woe resound ; 
 
 Horror, and grief, and wild despair 
 Fill all the dark profound. 
 
 The "light of other days," alas ! 
 
 They ne'er shall know again, 
 Who fought with Satan and who share 
 
 His never-ending pain. 
 
 While thus half slumbering by the fire, 
 
 I rnus'd the matter o'er ; 
 I heard, or perhaps I dreamt I heard, 
 
 A knocking at the door. 
 
 Some friend, I thought, for leave to enter, 
 
 Need not be repeated ; 
 Before I well could say " come in," 
 
 The gentleman was seated. 
 
 He blandly smil'd, and really seem'd 
 
 A fascinating creature ; 
 He knew me well, and seem'd as though 
 
 He knew all human nature. 
 
 He glibly talk'd of politics ; 
 
 How liberty is bought and sold ; 
 Of steam, of commerce, and of ships, 
 
 Of printers and of gold. 
 
 He asked " what news there was in town?" 
 
 Any cases of small-pox? 
 If corn and pork was up or down, 
 
 And when we last had seen Sam Cox. 
 
 I thought I'd seen his face before, 
 
 But could not recollect his name, 
 And to inquire I still forbore. 
 
 But merelv asked him " whence he came?"
 
 64 An " Old, Old Talc" (Tail?}. 
 
 " Why, up the river, my dear sir, 
 
 Right from the Gulf of Mexico." 
 (And then the fire began to stir) 
 
 "I don't much like your frost and snow." 
 
 " Cuba's the place for me," he cried, 
 " It suits my constitution well." 
 
 " Indeed," said I, "if you've been there 
 Perhaps you have some news to tell? " 
 
 Says he (and gave a knowing wink), 
 "There's something brewing in the air ; 
 
 (And then I heard the money chink) 
 
 They best succeed, you know, who dare." 
 
 Who cares for Russia, France or Spain, 
 Or poor old silly Johnny Bull ? 
 
 We've licked him twice, and can again 
 Aye, give them all a belly-full ! 
 
 " Remember, sir," I just began ; 
 
 "Ahab of old and Jezebel 
 " We -want it, sir!" he thunder 'd out ; 
 
 "And that's our motto, sir, in hell" 
 
 I started and cast down my eyes, 
 And as he turn'd his chair about, 
 
 I saw beneath his ample cloak 
 An ugly cloven foot stick out. 
 
 My pulse stood still, and o'er my heart 
 There crept a cold and mortal dread. 
 
 For as I rais'd my eyes again, 
 
 Lo, horns were growing on his head !
 
 Sequel to "An Old, Old Talc." 65 
 
 Next a huge pair of wings I spied ; 
 " Satan, avaunt ! " I frenzied cried ; 
 At once the door flew open wide. 
 He darted forth and clapped his wings. 
 And high into the air he springs. 
 
 Then through the darkness of the night 
 ( His forked tail stuck out so bright 
 I watch'd him by its lurid light), 
 
 His fiery course he kept right on 
 
 In a bee-line for Washington. 
 
 SEQUEL TO "AN OLD, OLD TALE." 
 
 RAP-TAP-TAP-TAP! " Oh, Lord ! Who's 
 
 there?" 
 
 Cried I, as I kick'd down my chair 
 For I had nervous grown of late, 
 Had nail'd a horse-shoe on my gate, 
 And, at th' approach of candle-light, 
 Barr'd every door and window tight, 
 To keep out ugly visitors. Rap ! tap ! "Who 
 
 knocks?" 
 
 " A traveler, sir ; your friend, Sam Cox- 
 Open the door, good sir, I pray." 
 I did so, just a little way, 
 And look'd him down from top to toe, 
 To see if all was right, you know. 
 Then let him in, and took his hat, 
 Placed him a chair, and down he sat. 
 " I'm glad to see you, Samuel : 
 I hope your family is well."
 
 66 Sequel to "An Old, Old Talc" 
 
 " They were, sir, I rejoice to say, 
 When I left them yesterday." 
 
 "Pray, what's the news in Washington? 
 How is Congress getting on? " 
 
 " Well, there's not much doing there, 
 Or else I should not now be here ; 
 In fact, there is so much division 
 We seldom come to a decision ; 
 The country's almost at a stand ; 
 To prosper, sir, we must expand. 
 I want my namesake, ' Uncle Sam,' 
 To take another little farm ; 
 There's a snug one, almost in view, 
 And full of ' likely niggers,' too ; 
 The soil and climate's very fine, 
 And then the water-power is prime ; 
 Besides, they have the 'sweetest town'' 
 The ' setting sun ' e'er shone upon ; 
 Indeed, sir, 'tis a fine estate 
 We must have that at any rate. 
 You recollect, some years ago, 
 We got a slice of Mexico ; 
 Decidedly it would be best 
 That we should soon have all the rest ; 
 I hope, too, at no distant day, 
 We shall have South America ; 
 Our energies must have more play 
 We can't be cramp'd up in this way." 
 
 " I think, sir," I rejoin'd, " that now 
 We have more land than we can plow, 
 And if we make our farm so wide 
 We can not fence it well outside, 
 And as our friends don't want to sell, 
 Pray, don't you think 'twould be as well 
 To improve what we've already got,
 
 The Flag of Our Fathers. 67 
 
 And be contented with our lot? 
 
 The fable says that ' Once a dog, 
 
 Crossing a stream upon a log, 
 
 With a piece of meat so nice and fat ' " 
 "Tut, tut ! don't bore me, sir, with that ; 
 
 You certainly must be a fool 
 
 One of the ' old fogy ' school ; 
 
 But I must go, 'tis getting late 
 
 My animal is at the gate." 
 
 Thus ended all our social chat, 
 
 For up he rose and took his hat, 
 
 Button'd his coat and out he went ; 
 
 I follow'd, out of compliment. 
 
 Soon as I saw his " creature's " head : 
 "What! Do you ride, Old Nick?" I said. 
 "Thereby hangs a TAIL," cried he, 
 
 And jump'd aboard right merrily ; 
 
 A smell of brimstone rose around 
 
 I heard a pair of wings resound 
 
 I saw them fly before the gate, 
 
 My friend astride thejfery tail; 
 
 But if they went to heaven or hell, 
 
 Good people, it is hard to tell. 
 
 THE FLAG OF OUR FATHERS. 
 
 THE glor ous old flag of our fathers 
 
 Has triumph'd on land and on sea ; 
 Beneath its broad shadow there gathers 
 The hosts of the brave and the free. 
 The glorious old flag of our fathers, 
 The glorious old flag of our fathers, 
 The glorious old flag of our fathers 
 Forever !
 
 68 The Flag of Our Fathers. 
 
 When tyrants once sought to enslave us. 
 
 And root up fair liberty's tree, 
 Our sires shed their life-blood to save us, 
 
 And hoisted the flag of the free. 
 The glorious old flag, etc. 
 
 Hosannas ascended to heaven, 
 
 When the stars and the stripes were unfurl'd ; 
 A new constellation had risen 
 
 To bless and illumine the world. 
 The glorious old flag, etc. 
 
 No poet can sing half its glories, 
 The pride of the wise and the just ; 
 
 But robbers, and traitors, and tories, 
 Would trail the old flag in the dust. 
 The glorious old flag, etc. 
 
 The nations with wonder are gazing, 
 And despots are pale with affright ; 
 
 But liberty's fire is still blazing, 
 
 And our banner's a beacon of light. 
 The glorious old flag, etc. 
 
 March on, and your children will bless you ; 
 
 Brave freemen, march on in your might ; 
 March forward and gallantly rescue 
 The emblem of truth and of right. 
 Hurrah for the flag of our fathers ! 
 The glorious old flag of our fathers 
 The glorious old flag of our fathers, 
 Forever !
 
 Lines on a Little Child. 69 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON HEARING A LITTLE CHILD EXCLAIM IN HER SLEEP, 
 "THOU GOD SEE'ST ME." 
 
 YES, my sweet child, thy Heavenly Father 
 
 Sees th.ee still ; His omniscient eye 
 
 Beholds thee in the darkness of the night 
 
 As in the blaze of day. Ere yet thy infant tongue 
 
 Could lisp His sacred name ; ere yet 
 
 Thy soft, dark eye beheld the dawning light ; 
 
 Ere yet thy tiny limbs were molded into form, 
 
 Were all thy members written in His book. 
 
 He who bade the glorious sun perform his daily task ; 
 
 Who hung the silver moon aloft in heaven ; 
 
 Who counts the stars and calls them by their names ; 
 
 He saw thee coming in the course of time, 
 
 And made thee also for his glory. O, eternal God, 
 
 Imprint upon her young and tender mind, 
 
 In characters unfading as thy love, 
 
 This awful truth : that Thou art everywhere. 
 
 Thy power, thy wisdom, and thy goodness 
 
 Fill the universe. " There is no spot 
 
 Above, around, beneath, where Thou art not." 
 
 Thou ridest on the whirlwind's furious blast, 
 
 And every balmy breeze is full of Thee, 
 
 Thou omnipresent God ! Oh, bless my child ; 
 
 Look down in pity on her tender age, 
 
 And shield her helpless head from every harm. 
 
 How calm and sweet she sleeps, 
 
 Unconscious of the raging storm without. 
 
 The rushing wind rocks our frail tenement, 
 
 The dashing rain descends,
 
 70 To Maggie. 
 
 The rolling thunder shakes the solid hills, 
 
 The lightning's flash plays on her infant features, 
 
 And her ruby lip converts it to a smile. 
 
 Oh thus in after life, when trouble comes, when 
 
 storms arise 
 (For all, alas ! of Adam's fallen race must taste 
 
 the bitter cup), 
 
 May all be calm within hallow each thought ; 
 Teach her to live as ever in thy sight ; 
 And when her earthly pilgrimage is past, 
 Then send some bright, celestial messenger 
 To bear her ransom'd spirit home to Thee. 
 
 TO MAGGIE. 
 
 DEAR MAGGIE, partner of my life, 
 My pretty little winsome wife, 
 
 May light along thy pathway shine ; 
 Long may you live in health and peace ; 
 As years roll on your joys increase, 
 
 And richest blessings aye be thine. 
 
 Much happiness is often sold 
 For paltry heaps of shining gold ; 
 
 Yet may'st thou ever have enough 
 To ward off want, and something more 
 To aid the helpless, suffering poor; 
 
 Well used 'tis mighty handy stuff'. 
 
 May friends prove constant and sincere, 
 And drop a sympathizing tear, 
 
 If sorrow should your heart invade ; 
 And may that power be thy defense 
 Whose goodness and omnipotence 
 
 Is over all His works displayed.
 
 To the Ladies of the Bible Society. 71 
 
 In God's own garden nourished, 
 The dews of heaven upon her head ; 
 
 Secure from mildew, blight and cold, 
 Our little cherub may'st thou see 
 (Your darling, sweet epitome), 
 
 Like some fair flower its leaves unfold. 
 
 And when we part, as part we must 
 (For dust will claim its kindred dust), 
 
 And up to God our spirits yield ; 
 When the^ great Master views his land, 
 And the strong reapers ready stand 
 
 To gather in his harvest field ; 
 
 May all be ready, ripe and sound, 
 Each sheaf an angel's arm surround, 
 
 And borne with joyful songs on high 
 Among the good sheaves gone before, 
 Be placed (a rich and precious store) 
 
 In God's own garner in the sky. 
 
 TO THE LADIES OF THE BIBLE SOCIETY 
 
 SISTERS, forward ! open wide 
 
 The gates of mercy to mankind ; 
 
 Forward ! till the mighty tide 
 Of Adam's race salvation find. 
 
 Lift up your eyes ; behold, the field 
 Is broken by the Plowman's hand ; 
 
 Haste, sow the seed, for soon 'twill yield 
 Rich harvests throughout every land.
 
 On the Death of Miss M. Henthorn. 
 
 Lo ! where China's myriads dwell, 
 
 And Christian priests have scarcely trod- 
 
 Empire of the powers of hell 
 
 What countless idols mock our God ! 
 
 See that fond, fanatic mother 
 Bending over Ganges' stream ; 
 
 Her drowning babe the waters cover ! 
 Heard ye not its dying scream? 
 
 Where Ham's degraded children rove, 
 Land of the poor and helpless slave, 
 
 Send out the messengers of love, 
 And tell them "Jesus came to save." 
 
 O'er many a wide and fertile region 
 
 Satan holds despotic sway ; 
 Soldiers of Immanuel's legion, 
 
 Tear his impious crown away ! 
 
 Sisters, send the heavenly manna 
 To the earth's remotest bound, 
 
 Till one joyful, loud hosanna 
 
 Rolls the ransom'd world around. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MISS M. HENTHORN. 
 
 RELEAS'D from pain, from sorrow free, 
 Peaceful thy hallow' d dust is sleeping ; 
 
 Thy spirit's in eternity, 
 
 Safe in thy mighty Savior's keeping. 
 
 Then mourn we not thy happy state, 
 
 Though memory still delights to cherish 
 
 Deep in her heart, with fond regret, 
 
 Thy name, thy love, which ne'er can perish.
 
 To a Lady. 73 
 
 Though death has power now to sever 
 The strongest ties that bind the soul, 
 
 Can he keep in chains forever 
 
 One atom 'neath his dark control? 
 
 No, ere long his dark dominions 
 
 Light shall enter ; then shall rise 
 God's living saints, with flutt'ring pinions 
 
 Soaring upward to the skies. 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 AND dost thou ask another lay? 
 
 Indeed, I can not write to-day ; 
 
 My heart is sad, my muse is mute, 
 
 My harp's unstrung, my simple lute 
 
 Is out of tune. Oh ! who can sing 
 
 When the heart's last hopes are withering? 
 
 Can nectar from the upas flow? 
 
 Is poetry the child of woe? 
 
 Can the strong eagle soar away, 
 
 And brave the blazing god of day 
 
 With crippled wings? Nay, lady, nay. 
 
 Go, ask the happy, ask the gay ; 
 
 Bid them strike the golden lyre, 
 
 Whose souls are full of youthful fire ; 
 
 Whose hearts, exulting in their gladness, 
 
 Have never known an hour of sadness ; 
 
 To whom the world is fair and bright 
 
 With promises of fresh delight ; 
 
 Or ask the talented and wise, 
 
 Who scorn the earth and seek the skies , 
 
 They can tell of the joys above,
 
 74 To a Lady. 
 
 Where all is harmony and love ; 
 Where trouble and sorrow enter not, 
 And the woes of earth are all forgot ; 
 But ask not me, whose sun is set, 
 Though here in life I'm lingering yet ; 
 Cast shipwreck'd on Time's rocky shore, 
 The surging billows round me roar. 
 Oh, that the winds that o'er me sweep 
 Would rock my weary soul to sleep ! 
 Life and its dreams will soon be o'er, 
 Few will the broken lyre deplore 
 Fair lady, I can write no more. 
 
 Wake, my slumbering muse, once more, and bring 
 
 Thy sweetest song, for Mary bids thee sing. 
 
 Oh, for some wand'ring minstrel's magic art, 
 
 To touch, to soften, and to melt the heart ! 
 
 To bid the wounded spirit seek relief 
 
 In rapturous tears, and taste the "joy of grief!" 
 
 Farewell, ye youthful dreams of earthly bliss 
 
 The world's illusions are not happiness. 
 
 Ye empty, airy bubbles, which decoy 
 
 Poor foolish man, ye have no lasting joy. 
 
 Oh ! what are glory, honor, riches, power? 
 
 The fleeting playthings of a fleeting hour ; 
 
 Yes, beauty, love, and sacred friendship, too, 
 
 Are evanescent as the morning dew ; 
 
 Like wither'd flowers, pluck'd in their sweetest 
 
 bloom, 
 
 They strew his cheerless pathway to the tomb ; 
 Their fairest promise melts in empty air, 
 And leaves him naught but heart-corroding care. 
 But hold ! I hear a gentle spirit's voice, 
 In sweetest accents, bid me still rejoice ; 
 Delicious odors are diffused around,
 
 On the Death of Horace Greeley. 75 
 
 And the glad earth appears like Eden's ground ; 
 A sweet enchantment o'er the senses steals, 
 And lo ! the parting clouds her form reveals 
 See ! see ! the dear companion of my youth, 
 Bright as a seraph, beautiful as truth ; 
 See, how she smiles, and points me to the skies, 
 And bids me still the ills of life despise. 
 
 Oh, blessed Hope ! sweet child of heaven, 
 
 That bears our souls on high ; 
 Thou richest boon to mortals given 
 
 Beneath the changing sky ; 
 
 Reviving as the vernal wind, 
 
 Thou art the breath of life, 
 And balm of every wounded mind 
 
 Engaged in mortal strife. 
 
 Thou speak' st from out the raging storm : 
 
 " Fear not, for I am here ! " 
 Though tempest veil the rainbow's form, 
 
 The promise still is there. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HORACE GREELEY. 
 
 WEEP, freemen, weep around his grave, 
 Defender of the helpless slave, 
 Who for humanity dared brave 
 
 The Southern Chivalry. 
 All who love, and all who hate ; 
 The rich, the poor, the mean, the great, 
 'Tis written in the book of Fate, 
 
 Inexorable terms.
 
 76 Penitential. 
 
 The master and his crouching slave, 
 The trembling coward and the brave 
 Are destined to a common grave ; 
 
 All, all are food for worms. 
 But justice, truth and liberty, 
 Those glorious daughters of the sky, 
 The foes of sin and slavery, 
 
 Are born of immortality. 
 Thus trebly arm'd, each freeman's soul 
 Spurns e'en the tyrant, Death's, control, 
 And Greeley's name, high on the roll, 
 
 Shall never die. 
 
 PENITENTIAL. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 OH, Thou who didst the heavens create 
 
 By Thy almighty word ; 
 At whose command the rolling world 
 
 In beauty first appeared ; 
 
 Whose glory fills the universe, 
 Whose wisdom reigns o'er all, 
 
 In love arid goodness infinite, 
 Hear me, on Thee I call. 
 
 Eternal source of light and life, 
 
 Oh, lend a list'ning ear, 
 Nor let my sins provoke thy wrath 
 
 To cast away my prayer. 
 
 In deep humility I come, 
 
 Thy judgments I confess 
 I well deserve, though ten-fold more, 
 
 By my unworthiness.
 
 To Mrs. Susan Morehouse. 77 
 
 Yet now, I pray thee, stay thy hand, 
 
 Withhold the uplifted rod ; 
 Have mercy on my guilty soul, 
 
 And spare me, O, my God. 
 
 Oh, pardon me for Jesus' sake, 
 
 Thy well beloved son, 
 Who triumph'd over sin and death 
 
 And man's salvation won. 
 
 And may the remnant of my days 
 
 Be in thy service pass'd ; 
 Thy spirit guide me safely home 
 
 To thy abode at last. 
 
 TO MRS. SUSAN MOREHOUSE, 
 
 ON HER EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 THE Lord of life hath been thy constant stay, 
 
 And brought thee to thy four score years to-day ; 
 
 Ev'n from the outset of thy pilgrimage, 
 
 His love is written on life's every page. 
 
 When youth, and health, and joy were all thine own, 
 
 His smiling presence did thy blessings crown ; 
 
 When sorrow came, in sad bereavement's hour. 
 
 His grace sustained thee with almighty power ; 
 
 In all the trials and conflicts of thy life, 
 
 Led thee triumphant through the arduous strife ; 
 
 His eye beholds thee still : his circling arm 
 
 Shall be thy refuge from all future harm. 
 
 God ever bless thee, my good, aged friend, 
 
 And when at length thy days on earth must end, 
 
 May angels bear thy ransom'd soul away 
 
 To the bright regions of eternal day.
 
 78 To Mrs. Susan Mor chouse. 
 
 TO MRS. SUSAN MOREHOUSE, 
 
 ON HER EIGHTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY. 
 
 STILL in the flesh ; still left to testify 
 That God is good, the Savior ever nigh. 
 The changing seasons, as they onward roll, 
 Obey their great Creator's wise control. 
 In the vast universe there is no spot, 
 "Above, around, beneath, where God is not." 
 Search through the world, to earth's remotest bound, 
 Still universal love is smiling round. 
 But chiefly man, his wond'rous goodness shows 
 From lisping infancy to lengthen'd life's last close. 
 For him He gave his well-beloved Son 
 That man might live forever near His throne. 
 Thy earthly spring is past, thy summer and thy au 
 tumn fled, 
 
 And the last snows of winter settle on thy head. 
 What then, my friend? These seasons as they roll 
 Are but the ante-chambers of the soul ; 
 Another spring will come, where fadeless flowers 
 Will shed their fragrance in celestial bowers. 
 We greet thee now, on this thy natal day ; 
 May peace and joy be yours while here you stay, 
 And when thy spirit takes its upward flight 
 (In God's good time, whene'er he deems it right), 
 May we all meet thee in the realms of light.
 
 Immortality. "79 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 IMMORTALITY ! Thou glorious, wond'rous, never-ending 
 
 theme ! 
 Astounding thought ! beyond the reach of all created 
 
 mind ; 
 
 The brightest spirit near the throne of God 
 The mighty mind of yonder flaming seraph, 
 Combined with all the adoring hosts of heaven, 
 May stretch their utmost powers in vain to grasp 
 A thought so lofty, fearful, solemn, and sublime. 
 How, then, can fallen man, whose feeble lamp 
 But glimmers in the socket how shall he attempt, 
 With bold, presumptuous flight to soar 
 (" His heavy wing all damp with earthly dew ") 
 Into th' eternal regions, and search out 
 The marvellous mystery of his future being? 
 Could reason demonstrate, philosophy unfold, 
 Or struggling science point to life eternal, 
 The few faint gleams of light which lingered still 
 In man's degenerate nature could but suffice, 
 k- Like lamps in sepulchres," to show 
 The awful ruin of his darken'd soul. 
 Four thousand years did universal night 
 (Save but in one small spot) o'erspread the world 
 God and his glorious attributes forgotten, 
 And Satan reign'd supreme. 
 Poor man, created in his Maker's image, 
 Pursued by hell's foul legions, walked the earth 
 In superstitious dread, and doubt, and ignorance, 
 And then went trembling to the gates of death ; 
 
 o c^ 
 
 No hope, no light, no life, beyond the grave ;
 
 80 " Lay up Tour Treasures in Heaven."" 
 
 Helpless, abandon'd, guilty, wretched, lost! 
 
 Lift up your eyes, lift up your grateful hearts, 
 
 Ye wand'ring, fainting, fearful sons of men ! 
 
 Darkness rolls back to hell, the parting clouds reveal, 
 
 High in the ethereal vault the glorious morning star ! 
 
 'Tis risen, indeed, with healing in its wings. 
 
 Rejoice, oh, earth ! The sacred omen hail ! 
 
 Let the glad tidings spread around the world : 
 
 The Savior comes! and God is reconciled to sinful man ; 
 
 Peace to the troubled earth " Hosanna in the Highest ! " 
 
 LAY UP YOUR TREASURES IN HEAVEN." 
 
 GOLCONDA'S mines may yield to thee 
 Their richest gems of living light ; 
 
 And India's priceless pearls may be 
 Display'd to thy admiring sight 
 
 And Beauty's fascinating form 
 
 And nameless graces may be thine, 
 
 And honor's wreath thy brow adorn, 
 
 And thou may'st bow at pleasure's shrine. 
 
 Yes, wealth and beauty, fame and power, 
 And youth and love may be thine own ; 
 
 Yet what avails in trouble's hour 
 
 The charm the world has 'round thee thrown? 
 
 Oh, lilt thine eyes, thy heart on high ; 
 
 See all the glorious gems of Heaven 
 View them with faith's illumined eye, 
 
 And all their wealth to thee is given.
 
 Farewell. 8 1 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 FAREWELL ! may no sad thought arise 
 To dim thine eye with sorrow ; 
 
 The luckless wretch you now despise 
 Will leave thee on the morrow. 
 
 Yet once I had a golden dream 
 Of love, and bliss, and beauty ; 
 
 A light from Heaven, whose cheering beam 
 Made light the path of duty. 
 
 Thy plighted faith I once possess'd, 
 And fondly deern'd thee mine 
 
 I scarce could clasp thee to my breast, 
 A treasure half divine, 
 
 Ere some fell demon's envious spite 
 Thy heart with coldness steeling, 
 
 Destroy'd my bliss, put out my light, 
 Quench'd all thy tender feeling 
 
 And left me but a blighted thing, 
 
 Forever doom'd to languish ; 
 No hope to bear me on her wing, 
 
 No love to soothe my anguish. 
 
 Then, fare thee well, and if no more 
 
 In this wild world I greet thee, 
 Perhaps, in a brighter, happier hour, 
 
 Hereafter, I may meet thee.
 
 82 A Vale of Tears. 
 
 May truth, and love, and joy, be thine ; 
 
 May richest, constant blessings rise ; 
 A light from Heaven around thee shine, 
 
 And guide thee to the skies. 
 
 For me no matter yet awhile 
 I '11 bear my load of sorrow 
 
 Alone, and calmly, sadly smile 
 When thinking of the morrow. 
 
 A VALE OF TEARS. 
 
 "THE world is but a vale of tears." 
 "Why, my friend, so melancholy? 
 It 's rolled for many thousand years, 
 
 And still 'tis plump and round and jolly. 
 
 " Something must be wrong within. 
 
 Art thou dyspeptic ? Got the ' blues ? ' 
 Thy liver torpid ? Out of ' tin ? ' 
 
 Or heard some awful, shocking news?" 
 
 " Why, no ; my health is pretty good ; 
 
 And as for news, why, there is none ; 
 And I 've enough of daily food ; 
 But all the world is out of tune. 
 
 " Look on every hand, and see 
 
 How sin and suffering abound ; 
 All, all is full of misery ; 
 
 No happiness on earth is found !" 
 
 "Then emigrate go to the moon, 
 
 Or get aboard some other sphere, 
 Where they keep things in better tune ; 
 'Tis good enough for me just here.
 
 The Baltic of Life. 83 
 
 " Hold up your head, and be a man ; 
 
 Thank God for all his favors given ; 
 Be happy ; do the best you can ; 
 
 And do n't go whining into Heaven." 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 
 
 COMRADES, the battle is begun, 
 
 The foe's in front and ambush'd round ; 
 Be firm and valiant every one 
 
 Yield not a single inch of ground. 
 
 We all must mingle in the strife 
 
 With foes on earth and powers infernal, 
 
 And the battle is for life ; 
 Aye, it is for life eternal. 
 
 You all have read the famous story 
 Of that mad-brain'd king of yore, 
 
 Who, to achieve a conqueror's glory, 
 Rode fetlock deep in human gore. 
 
 All the world bow'd down before him, 
 
 Yet he had no self-control ; 
 Down to hell his passions bore him, 
 
 And the wine cup drown'd his soul. 
 
 The wond'rous, mighty Corsican, 
 Ambition's modern meteor, too, 
 
 With conquering hosts he led the van ; 
 The despot's crown was full in view. 
 
 (And soon supreme in power he sits) 
 His eagles o'er the nations flew ; 
 
 But ah, the "sun of Austerlitz " 
 Went down at Waterloo !
 
 The Battle of Life. 
 
 Though Croesus' wealth were a 1 ! thine own, 
 And all the earth its tribute pour, 
 
 And thou could'st wear e'en Plutus' crown, 
 Would this avail in trouble's hour? 
 
 When the pale archer full in sight, 
 Selects thy arrow from its sheath, 
 
 Will then the diamond's radiant light, 
 Illume the gloomy vale of death? 
 
 When the siren, sensual pleasure, 
 Woos thee with her sweetest smile, 
 
 And presents her Circean treasure, 
 All thy senses to beguile ; 
 
 Oh ! beware the strong delusion 
 That would all thy soul inflame, 
 
 Lost in hopeless, dire confusion, 
 Thou art cover'd o'er with shame. 
 
 Sensual pleasure, wealth, and glory 
 
 (Th' enchanting cup full to the brim) 
 
 Satan spreads them all before thee 
 If thou wilt but worship him. 
 
 And the foes within are urging 
 (What a host in ambush lies) 
 
 Evil passions, wildly surging, 
 Bar thy pathway to the skies. 
 
 Up ! and nerve thee for the fight ; 
 
 Down, down with every treacherous foe ; 
 Up and battle for the right 
 
 "Liberty's in every blow." 
 
 Forward Charge ! the foe is nigh 
 " Destruction!' 1 '' is his battle cry ; 
 
 See the black flag waving high ; 
 Thou must conquer or must die!
 
 Hurrah ! 85 
 
 ; Up and at them ! " Ha ! receding, 
 
 Faint and powerless dost thou yield ? 
 Where's thy courage? Wounded, bleeding, 
 Hast thou lost th' inglorious field? " 
 
 Vain is all thy haughty bearing, 
 
 Vain thy vaunting and thy dash ; 
 Self-confiding, rashly daring, 
 
 Trusting in thy arm of flesh ! 
 
 Hark ! a trumpet. No surrender ! 
 
 Rescue, rescue soldiers stand ! 
 Rally round your Great Defender ; 
 
 See, our " Captain " is at hand ! 
 
 Invincible^ he comes to save ; 
 
 " Hail, Immanuel ! Savior, hail ! " 
 Fight where'r his banners wave, 
 
 And you will not, can not fail. 
 
 HURRAH ! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! the ordeal is past ; 
 A glorious battle 's won at last ; 
 Hurrah for Hayes ! and Tilden too ! 
 Hurrah for all good men and true ! 
 
 Up with the starry banner high ! 
 Hurrah for Freedom's victory ! 
 Patriots, your joyful voices raise 
 Hurrah for Tilden and for Hayes ! 
 
 No more shall hateful party strife 
 Endanger our lov'd nation's life ; 
 If freemen to themselves are true, 
 Nought shall e'er our country rue.
 
 86 Hurrah! 
 
 No widow's tears or orphan's cry 
 
 Mingle with shouts of victory. 
 
 Hurrah ! Eureka ! it is found 
 
 The freeman's home, on hallowed ground. 
 
 Not o'er foreign foes exulting, 
 Who, our country's flag insulting, 
 Forced by patriot bands to yield, 
 Died upon the ensanguin'd field. 
 
 Not o'er armies overthrown, 
 By mad ambition trampled down ; 
 That one may sit supreme in state 
 With cringing millions at his feet. 
 
 But that the love of ^poiver and -place 
 (The curse of Adam's fallen race), 
 A willing sacrifice is made 
 On freedom's altar, freely laid. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! Brother, your hand, 
 Whate'er your politics, we stand 
 For country, peace, a patriot band 
 God bless our rescued, happy land !
 
 CONTRIBUTED POEMS. 
 
 THE DISTRESSED HIGHWAYMAN. 
 
 (ANONYMOUS.) 
 
 AH ! family forlorn ! 
 
 THE sport of fortune, famine, and mankind ! 
 Compose thy grief, Louisa stop those tears ; 
 Cry not so piteous spare, O ! spare thy sire, 
 Nor quite distract thy mother. Hapless babes ! 
 What shall I do? Whichever way I turn, 
 Scenes of incessant horror strike my eye ! 
 Bare, barren walls, gloom formidably around, 
 And not a ray of hope is left to cheer ; 
 Sorrowing and sick, the partner of my fate 
 Lies on her bed of straw ; beside her, sad, 
 My children dear cling to her breasfand weep.; 
 Or, prest by hunger, hunt each nook for food, 
 And quite exhausted, climb these knees in vain. 
 How every asking eye appeals at once ! 
 Ah, looks too eloquent ! Too plainly mark'd 
 Ye ask for bread ; I have no bread to give. 
 The wants of nature, frugal as she is, 
 The little calls ahd comforts which support, 
 From day to day, the feeble life of man, 
 No more, alas ! thy father can supply, 
 Hard as the season grips. The neighborhood, 
 Busied or pleas'd, o'erlook a stranger's woe
 
 88 The Distressed Highwayman. 
 
 Scarce knows the tenant of the adjoining house. 
 
 What thin partitions shield him from the room 
 
 Where poverty has fixed her dread abode. 
 
 Oh ! fatal force of ill-timed delicacy, 
 
 Which bade me still conceal my want extreme. 
 
 Sooner, alas ! will pride new gild her coach, 
 
 Then bid the warming faggots blaze around 
 
 The hearth, where chill necessity resides. 
 
 But must, Louisa, then, our tender babes, 
 
 Must they, untimely, sink into the grave? 
 
 Must all be victims to a fate so sore? 
 
 The world will nothing give but barren frowns. 
 
 What then remains? There stands the wretched hut 
 
 I dare not enter. Heaven, befriend them all ! 
 
 What then remains? The night steals on apace ; 
 
 The sick moon labors through the mixing clouds. 
 
 Yes, that were well ; oh, dire necessity ! 
 
 It must be so. Despair, do what thou wilt ! 
 
 I faint with fear, 
 
 With terror and fatigue. This forest's gloom 
 Made gloomier by the deep'ning shades of night, 
 Suits well the sad disorders of my soul. 
 The passing owl shrieks horribly her wail, 
 And conscience broods o'er her prophetic note ; 
 Light springs the hare upon the wither'd leaf, 
 The rabbit frolics, and the guilty mind 
 Starts at the sound as at a giant's tread. 
 Ah, me ! I hear the horse along the road ; 
 Forgive me, Providence ; forgive me, man ! 
 I tremble through the heart ; the clatt'ring hoof 
 Re-echoes through the wood the moon appears 
 And lights me to my prey.
 
 The Distressed Highwayman. 8 
 
 Stop, traveler ! 
 
 Behold a being born like thee to live, 
 And yet endow'd with fortitude to die, 
 Were his alone the pang of poverty ; 
 But a dear wife now starving far from hence, 
 Seven hapless, hungry children at her side ; 
 A frowning world, and an ungrateful friend, 
 Urge him to actions which his heart abhors. 
 Assist us, save us, pity my despair ! 
 O'erlook my fault and view me as a man. 
 A fellow-mortal sues to thee for bread, 
 Invites thy charity, invites thy heart ; 
 Perhaps thou art a husband and a father : 
 Think, if thy babes, like mine, dejected lay, 
 And held their little hands to thee for food 
 What would'st thou have me do, wert thou, like me, 
 Driven to despair like mine? Oh ! then befriend 
 Make our sad case your own ; I ask no more, 
 Nor will I force what bounty can not spare. 
 Let me not take, assassin-like, the boon 
 While humbly bending at thy foot I begg'd 
 Ne'er till this night. 
 
 God speed thee on thy way ! 
 May plenty ever sit within thy house ! 
 If thou have children, angels guard their steps ; 
 Health scatter roses round each little cheek, 
 And heaven at last reward thy soul with bliss ! 
 He's gone, and left his purse within my hand ; 
 Thou much-desired, thou often sought in vain 
 Sought while the tears were swimming in my eyes 
 Sought, but not found at length I hold thee fast. 
 Swift let me fly upon the wings of love, 
 And bear the blessing to my fainting babes ; 
 Then gently take Louisa in my arms 
 And whisper to the mourner, " happier days ! "
 
 9 The Distressed Highwayman. 
 
 Hark ! what noise was that? 
 'Twas the dull bittern booming o'er my head. 
 While yet the decent dress remain'd in store, 
 To visit my Eugenius like myself; 
 Now shame, confusion, memory, unite 
 To drive me from his door. 
 
 Ah ! cruel man ! 
 
 Too barbarous Eugenius ; this from thee ? 
 Have I not screen'd thee from a parent's wrath? 
 Shared in thy transports, in thy sorrows shar'd? 
 Were not our friendships in the cradle form'd? 
 Gain'd they not strength and firmness as we grew? 
 And dost thou shift with fortune's veering gales? 
 Dost thou survey me with a critic's eye 
 And shun thy friend, because (oh, blush to truth ! 
 Oh, stain to human sensibility !), 
 Because his tattered garments to the wind 
 And every passenger more deep betray 
 The extremity severe ! Then, fare thee well ! 
 Quick, let me seek my homely shed again ; 
 Fly from the wretch who triumphs o'er my rags ; 
 On my Louisa's faithful bosom fall, 
 Hug to my heart my famish' d fondlings round, 
 Together suffer and together die. 
 
 What piles of wealth, 
 
 What loads of riches glitter through each street ; 
 How thick the toys of fashion crowd the eye ! 
 The lap of luxury can hold no more ; 
 Fortune so rapid rolls the partial shower 
 That ev'ry passion sickens with excess, 
 And nauseates the banquet meant to charm ! 
 Yet, what are all these golden scenes to me 
 These splendid, modish superfluities ;
 
 The Distressed Highwayman. gi 
 
 What are these bright temptations to the poor? 
 The raven follows her ; the dusky air 
 Thickens each form upon the cheated sight. 
 Ha ! something shot across the way, methinks ! 
 'Tis but the shadow of this stripling tree 
 That throws its baby arms as blows the gale. 
 Each object terrifies Guilt's anxious heart ! 
 The robber trembles at 
 
 What have I said? 
 
 Robber! Well may I start. O, heaven ! 
 Shall, then, Louisa live on spoil? 
 Shall my poor children eat the bread of theft? 
 And have I, at the peaceful hour of night, 
 Like some malignant thing that prowls the wood 
 Have I, a very felon ! sought relief 
 By means like these? And yet the traveler 
 Gave me what I ask'd, as if in charity ; 
 Perhaps his heart, compassionately kind, 
 Gave from an impulse it could not resist ; 
 Perhaps 't was fear lest murder might ensue ; 
 Alas ! I bore no arms, no blood I sought. 
 How knew he that? Yet, sure, he might perceive 
 The harden'd villain spoke not in my air ; 
 Trembling and cold, my hand was joined with his, 
 My knees shook hard, my feeble accents fail'd ; 
 The father's, husband's tears bedew' d my face, 
 And virtue almost triumph'd o'er despair ; 
 Yet strikes the thought severely on my heart, 
 The deed was foul. Soft, let me pause awhile ! 
 Again the moonbeams break upon the eye ; 
 Guilt bears me to the ground I .faint I fall ! 
 The means of food should still be honest means, 
 Else were it well to starve.
 
 92 The Old Farm Spring. 
 
 THE OLD FARM SPRING. 
 
 BY MISS KACHEL SIGLER. 
 
 OH, choicest water! purest rill, 
 Outspringing from the grand old hill 
 Not roaring sea, or mighty river, 
 Higher extols the gracious Giver. 
 Here thirst with bounty freely meets ; 
 Here Mother Earth unfolds her sweets, 
 And pours from her bosom's purest vein 
 Kind gifts from God to sons of men. 
 
 I view again this cherish'd spot ; 
 The years have many changes wrought 
 In house, and tree, and sheltering barn, 
 In fence and field throughout the farm ; 
 But the old spring wears its lov'd face yet, 
 As though 't would not old friends forget ; 
 And its sparkling depth is pure and cold 
 As when I quaffed in days of old. 
 
 Same cherry tree, with limbs inclin'd 
 
 O'er stony wall, with ivy lin'd ; 
 
 Fragrant ivy ! Still it clings, 
 
 Forming a curtain, while it brings 
 
 Its tendrils down, like some fond thing, 
 
 Till it drinks again from the dear old spring ; 
 
 While I list to the gurgle and murmur below, 
 
 Where the cattle drank, and old willows grow. 
 
 * 
 
 Bright, happy days revisit me ; 
 Here oft I came in childish glee, 
 Leaping and skipping at merry will
 
 Faith. 93 
 
 Each stepping stone adown the hill. 
 My tin pail fill'd, I sat me down 
 To muse here, on this mossy stone, 
 And, leaning over, aptly caught 
 Reflection of my face or thought 
 Till mother's voice fell on my ear 
 Those loved tones now I seem to hear 
 "Come quickly, child, I 'm waiting now," 
 And quickly I scal'd the slight hill's brow. 
 
 A happy household band were we ; 
 
 Brothers and sisters blithe and free ; 
 
 Our light tasks done, we knew no rein 
 
 Through fields of corn, or tangled grain ; 
 
 The farm our province braving toil ; 
 
 Fruit, grapes and nuts our lawful spoil. 
 
 Ah ! these pursuits were childhood's own ; 
 
 But have we ever sweeter known? 
 
 Our feet have turned to other fields, 
 
 Other resource its product yields ; 
 
 Of friends, and wealth, and earnest lore, 
 
 We have received a goodly store ; 
 
 Our hands, we hope, some good have wrought ; 
 
 Pleasures and blessings dearly bought 
 
 But few have proved like this " old spring," 
 
 A bliss alway without a sting. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 BY MRS. S. Z. KAUFFMAN. 
 
 BLESSED Parent, how I love thee ; 
 
 How thou dost my spirit cheer, 
 And I never can be lonely 
 
 When I feel thou art so near.
 
 94 Faith. 
 
 Thou art with me in the day time, 
 Thou art with me through the night, 
 
 And doth lovingly preserve me 
 To enjoy the morning light. 
 
 Thou hast been my kind preserver 
 In the cold and chilly past, 
 
 And I know Thy kind protection 
 Will forever, ever last. 
 
 Thou hast blessed me with Thy visits 
 In my humble cottage home ; 
 
 Thou art with me, ever with me, 
 No matter w r here I roam. 
 
 Thou the fatherless hast promised 
 That a father Thou wouldst be, 
 
 That dear promise is not broken ; 
 Thou'rt a father unto me. 
 
 Thou hast always kindly watched me, 
 And when erring Thou did'st chide ; 
 
 And Thy tender arm of safety 
 Is forever by my side. 
 
 When with gay and happy sunshine, 
 Every field is covered o'er ; 
 
 Or when gloomy clouds are gathering, 
 And when thunders loudly roar, 
 
 I can lean upon Thy bosom, 
 Be secure from every ill ; 
 
 Thou canst calm the raging tempest 
 By commanding, "Peace, be still." 
 
 For thy mercies I w r ill serve Thee ; 
 
 Fill my heart with holy fire, 
 And when done with life's sore trials, 
 
 Let me join the heavenly choir.
 
 ''Pear Not, for I Am with Thcc." 95 
 
 ON THE PRESENTATION OF AN UMBRELLA. 
 
 BY MRS. E. WALKER. 
 
 IN wintry storms or summer showers, 
 
 When threat'ning clouds in rain descend, 
 
 May this to you a shelter be, 
 
 And prove a comfort and a friend. 
 
 And may you, through the trials of life, 
 In peace and safety e'er be borne, 
 
 And evermore in Jesus find 
 
 A rest, a refuge from the storm. 
 
 "FEAR NOT, FOR I AM WITH THEE." 
 
 BY MISS MAGGIE WALKER. 
 
 I WILL not fear the path of life, 
 With Jesus for my guide ; 
 
 However great the toil and strife, 
 He's always by my side. 
 
 I will not fear the tempter's power 
 
 He can not do me harm, 
 For Jesus in temptation's hour 
 
 Will shield me with his arm. 
 
 I will not fear the darkest day, 
 When all seems sad and drear, 
 
 And earthly friends have pass'd away, 
 If Jesus still is near. 
 
 I will not fear when life shall end, 
 And death approaches fast, 
 
 For Jesus, who has been my Friend, 
 Will take mv soul at last.
 
 g6 Decoration Day, 
 
 DECORATION DAY. 
 
 BY MISS SARAH CRAVEN. 
 
 O, golden sunbeams kiss away 
 
 The tears that night has shed 
 On the low beds where sleep to-day, 
 
 Our country's honored dead. 
 
 For God be praised the night of tears 
 
 And strife has passed away, 
 And o'er these later, happier years, 
 
 Peace sheds the golden day. 
 
 No grief we bring, no sighs- we breathe, 
 
 To greet the victor's grave, 
 But fresh, sweet flowers, each breast to wreathe, 
 
 That bled our land to save. 
 
 Fair lilies twine with roses red, 
 
 Fit emblems, each the sign 
 Of martyr's souls, of blood they shed 
 
 On freedom's sacred shrine. 
 
 Above the valiant dead we kneel 
 
 And scatter blossoms fair ; 
 And may each fragrant flower reveal 
 
 The grateful love we bear. 
 
 Long as the flag they loved so well 
 
 Shall proudly wave on high, 
 Fame shall their deeds of valor tell 
 
 In words that can not die.
 
 To Dear Fannie. 
 
 Oh, may the mantle of the slain 
 
 On their survivors rest, 
 That they our rights shall dare maintain 
 
 With firm and loyal breast. 
 
 And when the Lord shall grant " His own " 
 
 The victor's palm to bear, 
 May we with them around His throne 
 
 Heaven's fadeless blossoms wear. 
 
 TO DEAR FANNIE. 
 
 BY MRS. M. E. MILLAR. 
 
 DARLING FANNIE, sister mine, 
 Love I will those eyes of thine ; 
 They're not eyes of midnight hue, 
 Nor of deep cerulean blue, 
 Veil'd 'neath silken lashes long 
 Eyes of gray to her belong ; 
 Tell-tale eyes, that oft reveal 
 Secrets thou wouldst fain conceal ; 
 Each emotion of thy soul 
 Read I well they spurn control. 
 Doth pale sorrow ever bring 
 To my gladsome heart its sting? 
 Breathe I in thy list'ning ear 
 Aught of joy, or hope, or fear? 
 Read I all my soul would know- 
 Sympathy for every woe 
 Joy, for all that's joy to me, 
 Fairest hope or mirthful glee. 
 Love, despair, by turns there reign, 
 Ofttimes pleasure, sometimes pain 
 Of countless wealth, those eyes of thine, 
 Darling Fannie, sister mine.
 
 98 Whom the Lord Loveth He Chastencth. 
 
 WHOM THE LORD LOVETH HE CHASTENETH. 
 
 BY MISS -MAGGIE WALKER. 
 
 I'M sick and ill, I can not work for God. 
 
 Why am I so? 
 
 Why does He lay on me His chastening rod 
 And lay me low? 
 
 They tell me that this heavy trial is sent 
 
 By one above, 
 And yet I thought that He was good and kind 
 
 A God of love. 
 
 Afflicted one, why murmurest thou? be still, 
 
 Thy God is good. 
 This' trial is just as needful for thee as 
 
 Thy daily food. 
 
 Enviest thou those busy, active ones 
 
 Who do His will? 
 Patience, dear Christian ! thou canst serve Him best 
 
 By sitting still. 
 
 Oh serve Him, then, by patience under trial, 
 
 By will resigned ; 
 By cheerfully taking each sad lot that is 
 
 To thee assigned. 
 
 Yes, on a patient sufferer Jesus 
 
 Loves to look. 
 He feels for thee ; because of all thy pains 
 
 He once partook. 
 
 Think it not strange, then, that thou, too, must tread 
 
 The path He trod. 
 But think of this, that each trial meekly borne 
 
 Glorifies God.
 
 Little Things. 99 
 
 Try and bear patiently whatever God 
 
 Sees fit to send ; 
 'Twill not last long, for up at heaven's gate 
 
 Thy trials end. 
 
 There is no sorrow there ; no weeping eyes, 
 
 No cry of pain. 
 In heaven the anguish of the heart will ne'er 
 
 Be felt again. 
 
 Then thou wilt see that every bitter trial 
 
 Thou hadst to bear, 
 Was only sent to make thy happiness 
 
 The greater there. 
 
 And then, methinks, with golden harp in hand, 
 
 Thou, too, wilt raise 
 Thy voice and sing with all the ransomed ones 
 
 The song of praise. 
 
 Thy song of praise shall never, never cease ; 
 
 'Twill ever be 
 Wafting its strains towards the throne of Him 
 
 Who died for thee. 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 BY MISS MAGGIE WALKER. 
 
 OH ! do not think that all the work 
 Which you do every day 
 
 Is useless toil, or wasted time, 
 Or labor thrown away. 
 
 O, no, dear child, it is the work 
 Which God has given to thee, 
 
 And all the time you're doing it 
 He says, 4i Do it for me."
 
 ioo Little Things. 
 
 Sometimes your work may seem to you 
 
 So very, very small ; 
 Perhaps it is, but yet your God 
 
 Takes notice of it all. 
 
 Your little work eould never come 
 
 To you all by itself; 
 Oh, no, that little work wa^ sent 
 
 'Twas sent by God himself. 
 
 He knows that you can serve him best 
 
 By doing little things, 
 And if they're done for him alone 
 
 What happiness it brings ! 
 
 But if, sometimes, these little things 
 Seem hard to you to do, 
 
 Remember that it is the work 
 
 Which God has given to you. 
 
 And try to do it cheerfully, 
 
 Whatever it may be, 
 For then you'll hear your Savior say, 
 
 "Ye have done it unto me." 
 
 And when you've finished all the work 
 Which God to you has given, 
 
 He'll ritl you for a better work, 
 A higher work in heaven.
 
 (riii1ty,.or Not Guilty f 101 
 
 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY? 
 
 BY MISS MAGGIE WALKER. 
 
 A MAN was once for murder caught, 
 Before a Judge that man was brought, 
 And then the words rang through the court, 
 " Found guilty." 
 
 Before the Judge I, too, must stand, 
 For sins as countless as the sand ; 
 Shall I be filled with horror, and 
 " Found guilty?" 
 
 Oh ! if my God should look at me, 
 And all my sin and misery see, 
 I know, I feel, that I should be 
 . Found guilty. 
 
 But since he looks at Jesus' blood, 
 And finds I'm washed in that great flood, 
 He sees, through Jesus, that I'm good, 
 " Not guilty." 
 
 O, God ! in that great judgment day. 
 May all my sins be washed away, 
 So that thou canst not to me say, 
 Thou'rt guilty. 
 
 O, look upon my dying Lord ! 
 Think how his blood was once outpoured, 
 And speak that reassuring word 
 ' k Not guilty."
 
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