THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 .T. P. THORNJ)VKK. 
 
 IIAIMTOIM). CONN.: 
 
 I'm >- MI I'm. CAM, LOI-K\VOMI> \ l',i: \i\ \I:D CMMI'\SV. 
 1887.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Alone, 1 
 
 A Glance Behind the Curtain, 40 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra 2 
 
 A Poet's Death Song, 39 
 
 A Respectable Lie, 33 
 
 A Woman's Conclusions, ...... 9 
 
 Black Sheep, .18 
 
 Building Upon the Sand 74 
 
 Cato on Immortality 31 
 
 Cleopatra Dying 3 
 
 Conscience and Future Judgment 72 
 
 Cowardice, 22 
 
 Deliverance 24 
 
 Enigma of Mercy 30 
 
 Few Happy Marriages 66 
 
 Fidelity of Woman 69 
 
 Flower in the Crannied Wall, !"> 
 
 Footsteps of the Angels, -'' 
 
 Good in All, I!' 
 
 (Juanl Thine Action 6 
 
 Guilty or Not (Juilty, 14 
 
 Haunted Houses :' 
 
 II.- and She 19 
 
 Hope for tlic Sorrowing 64 
 
 How Woiirlcrl'ul is Man -V.) 
 
 Humanity, 46 
 
 76-1020
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Hymn to Death, 62 
 
 Incompleteness, ........ 48 
 
 Infidelity 20 
 
 Life 58 
 
 Life's Essence, 10 
 
 Little People, 50 
 
 Love, .......... 47 
 
 Love, . .57 
 
 Love of Nature, 81 
 
 Morituri Salutamus, 82 
 
 Nearer to Thee, 44 
 
 New Thanatopsis, 84 
 
 Now, .......... 54 
 
 O, May 1 Join the Choir Invisible, . . . .41 
 
 Only a Dog, 73 
 
 Outward Bound, 61 
 
 Peter McGuire, 28 
 
 Polonius' Advice to His Son, 29 
 
 Press Onward, 70 
 
 Progress, 79 
 
 Resignation, . . ^ . . . . . . .4 
 
 Slander, 26 
 
 Slander, 27 
 
 Sonnet, 53 
 
 Sonnet, .......... 56 
 
 Soulless Prayers, 12 
 
 Thanatopsis, ......... 83 
 
 The Bridal Veil 11 
 
 The Building of the House, 21 
 
 The Children 38 
 
 The Creed 76 
 
 The Day is Done, . .7 
 
 The Darling Wee Shoe, . . . . . .77 
 
 The Eternal One 34 
 
 The Everlasting Memorial, 13
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, .... 35 
 
 The Little Grave 17 
 
 The New Church Doctrine, 71 
 
 The Old Whisperer 25 
 
 The Release 37 
 
 The Song of Seventy, 55 
 
 The Spirit Mother, 42 
 
 The Spirit of Nature, 67 
 
 The Time Has Come, GO 
 
 The Triumph of Reason, 8 
 
 The Vision of Immortality, 80 
 
 There is no Death 36 
 
 Thought, 32 
 
 Thoughts From Festus, 52 
 
 Toby 75 
 
 True Kinship, 16 
 
 Twice Boru, 78 
 
 Unnumbered Graves, 63 
 
 What I Once Thought, 68 
 
 What Makes a Man 65 
 
 What the Waves Said, 5 
 
 When the Chickens Come Home, 51 
 
 Whistling in Heaven, 15 
 
 1*
 
 Cl Me c tion afe^tj i/n^c-riftc b. 
 
 1 . . . May I live ia pulses'stirred to generosity 
 In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 
 Of miserable aims that end in se/. 
 
 Be to otter soul u tlie cup of strength 
 In s<we </ra< agony. . . . 
 />>;/' t the smiles that have n cruelty, 
 Hi the s?e< presence of a ^rood diffused."
 
 "EXCEPT A LIVING PERSON, THERE IS NOTHING MOKE 
 WONDERFUL THAN A BOOK ; A MESSAGE TO US PROM THE 
 SO-CALLED DEAD FROM HUMAN SOULS WE NEVER SAW, 
 WHO LIVED, PERHAPS, THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY, AND 
 CENTURIES AGO. AND YET THESE, IN THESE LITTLE 
 
 SHEETS OF PAPP;R, SPEAK TO us, AROUSE us, TERRIFY us, 
 
 SOOTHE US, TEACH US, AND OPEN THEIR HEARTS TO US 
 AS TRIED AND TRUSTED SOUL COMPANIONS."
 
 (1) 
 
 E. A. POE. 
 
 From childhood's hour I have not been 
 As others were I have not seen 
 As others saw I could not bring 
 My passions from a common spring. 
 Prom the same source I have not taken 
 My sorrow; 1 could not awaken 
 My heart to joy at the same tone; 
 And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone. 
 Then in my childhood in the dawn 
 Of a most stormy life was drawn 
 From the torrent, or the fountain, 
 From the red cliff of the mountain, 
 From the sun that 'round me roll'd 
 In its autumn tint of gold 
 From the lightnings in the sky 
 As it pass'd me flying by 
 From the thunder and the storm, 
 And the cloud that took the form
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (When the rest of Heaven was blue) 
 Of a demon in my view, 
 From ev'ry depth of good and ill 
 The mystery which binds me still. 
 
 (2) 
 
 atut teojratea. 
 
 GEN. LYTLE. 
 
 I am dying, Egypt, dying, 
 
 Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, 
 And the dark Plutonian shadows 
 
 Gather on the evening blast; 
 Let thine arms, Queen, enfold me ! 
 
 Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear; 
 Listen to the great heart-secrets, 
 
 Thou, and thou alone, must hear. 
 
 Though my scarred and veteran legions 
 Bear their eagles high no more, 
 
 And my wrecked and scattered galleys 
 Strew dark Actium's fatal shore;
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Though no glittering guards surround me, 
 Prompt to do their master's will, 
 
 I must perish like a Roman, 
 Die the great Triumvir still. 
 
 Let not Csesar's servile minions 
 
 Mock the Lion thus laid low ; 
 Twas no foeman's arm that felled him 
 
 'Twas his own that struck the blow, 
 His, who, pillowed on thy bosom, 
 
 Turned aside from glory's ray 
 His, who, drunk with thy caresses, 
 
 Madly threw a world away. 
 
 Should the base plebeian rabble 
 
 Dare assail my name at Rome, 
 Where my noble spouse, Octavia, 
 
 Weeps within her widowed home, 
 Seek her; say the gods bear witness 
 
 Altars, augurs, circling wings 
 That her blood, with mine commingled, 
 
 Yet shall mount the throne of kings. 
 
 And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian! 
 
 (ilorious sorceress of the Nile, 
 Liti'lii the |atli to Stygian horrors 
 
 With the splendors of thy smile.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Give the Caesar crowns and arches, 
 Let his brow the laurel twine; 
 
 I can scorn the Senate's triumphs, 
 Triumphing in love like thine. 
 
 I am dying, Egypt, dying; 
 
 Hark ! the insulting foeman's cry. 
 They are coming ! quick, my falchion ! 
 
 Let me front them ere I die. 
 Ah ! no more amid the battle 
 
 Shall my heart exulting swell 
 Isis and Orisis guard thee ! 
 
 Cleopatra, Rome, farewell! 
 
 (3) 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 Sinks the sun below the desert 
 Golden glows the sluggish Nile ; 
 
 Purple flame crowns spring and temple 
 Lights up every ancient pile
 
 CLEOPATRA DYING. 
 
 Where the old gods now are sleeping ; 
 
 Isis, and Osiris great, 
 Guard me, help me, give me courage 
 
 Like a queen to meet my fate ! 
 
 " I am dying, Egypt, dying ! " 
 
 Let the Caesar's army come 
 I will cheat him of his glory, 
 
 Though beyond the Styx I roam, 
 Shall he drag this beauty with him 
 
 While the crowd his triumph sings? 
 No, no, never ! I will show him 
 
 What lies in the blood of kings. 
 
 Though he hold the golden scepter, 
 
 Rule the Pharaoh's sunny land, 
 Where old Nilus rolls resistless, 
 
 Through the sweeps of silvery sand - 
 He shall never say I met him 
 
 Fawning, abject, like a slave 
 I will foil him, though to do it 
 
 I must cross the Stygian wave. 
 
 Oh, my hero, sleeping, sleeping 
 
 Shall I meet you on the shore 
 Of Plutonian shadows ? Shall \v<- 
 
 In death meet and love once more ? 
 2
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 See, I follow in your footsteps 
 Scorn the Caesar and his might ; 
 
 For your love I will leap boldly 
 Into realms of death and night. 
 
 Down below the desert sinking, 
 
 Fades Apollo's brilliant car ; 
 And, from out the distant azure 
 
 Breaks the bright gleam of a star ; 
 Venus, queen of love and beauty, 
 
 Welcomes me to death's embrace, 
 Dying free, proud, and triumphant, 
 
 The last sovereign of my race. 
 
 Dying ! dying ! I am coming, 
 
 Oh, my hero, to your arms ; 
 You will welcome me I know it 
 
 Guard me from all rude alarms. 
 Hark ! I hear the legions coining, 
 
 Hear their cries of triumph swell, 
 But, proud Caesar, dead I scorn you 
 
 Egypt Anthony farewell !
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 (4) 
 
 II. W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 There is no flock, however watched and tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there ! 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 
 But has one vacant chair ! 
 
 The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
 
 And mournings for the dead ; 
 The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 
 
 Will not be comforted ! 
 
 Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 
 
 Not from the ground arise, 
 But oftentimes celestial benediclions 
 
 Assume this dark disguise. 
 
 We see but'dimly through the mists and vapors; 
 
 Amid these earthly damps 
 What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 
 
 May be heaven's distant lamps. 
 
 There is no death ! What seems so is transition : 
 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is hut a suburb of the life clvsian, 
 
 Whose portal we call death.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 She is not dead, the child of our affection, 
 
 But gone unto that school 
 Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 
 
 And truth itself doth rule. 
 
 In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 
 
 By guardian angels led, 
 Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 
 
 She lives, whom we call dead. 
 
 Day after day we think what she is doing 
 
 In those bright realms of air ; 
 Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 
 
 Behold her grown more fair. 
 
 Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 
 
 The bond which nature gives, 
 Thinking that our remembrance though unspoken, 
 
 May reach her where she lives. 
 
 Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
 
 For when with raptures wild 
 In our embraces we again enfold her, 
 
 She will not be a child ;
 
 WHAT THE WAVES SAID. 
 
 But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 
 
 Clothed with celestial grace ; 
 And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 
 
 Shall we behold her face. 
 
 And though at times impetuous with emotion 
 
 And anguish long suppressed, 
 The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 
 
 That cannot be at rest, 
 
 \Ve will be patient and assuage the feeling 
 
 We may not wholly stay ; 
 I ! y silence sanctifying, not concealing, 
 
 The grief that must have way. 
 
 (5) 
 
 the uulixucs .;xitl. 
 
 BY ELLA A. BACON. 
 
 I Stood upon the rocks one summer day, 
 
 And tried to fathom what the waves did say. 
 At first I on lv c;uight the murmuring swell 
 
 or ripplea OB the beach, yet loved I well 
 
 2*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Their soft, sea music, and in passive mood 
 I waited, drinking in the grand soul food 
 Which did refresh me with its soft refrain, 
 Calming the wild unrest of heart and brain. 
 
 At last I lost their gentle murmuring swell, 
 
 But to my ear a voice like silver bell 
 
 Rang clearly forth, ' Look out on yonder beach, 
 
 And then, away as far as eye can reach, 
 
 See yonder wave, larger than all the rest, 
 
 Dashing against the rocks its silver crest; 
 
 And yet the smaller waves perform their share, 
 
 And each its silver badge doth proudly wear, 
 
 E'en baby's tiny hands are not afraid 
 
 To dabble in the spray their foam hath made, 
 
 But the great wave, the baby's soul alarms 
 
 He flies for safety to his mother's arms. 
 
 But be not like the babe, afraid to stand 
 And face the great wave as it touches land; 
 Altho' it lift you with its rushing force, 
 It shall not turn you from that straight, true course 
 Which stretches out before you. 0, then, learn 
 To tread the path with reverent feet, and spurn 
 Not the wise counsels of those gentle guides 
 Who aim to lead you safely o'er life's tides.
 
 WHAT THE WAVES SAID. 
 
 Learn of that law which guides the rolling wave, 
 Which chants its music in the Ocean caves. 
 Which shapes the mosses and the coral reefs, 
 And worketh out of human joys and griefs 
 Some grand fruition if we could but see 
 The power of Eternal Equity." 
 
 The sweet voice paused, the waves no longer spoke, 
 Tho' at my feet their gentle ripples broke, 
 "Eternal Equity," this echo said; 
 If this be true Justice cannot be dead. 
 Up, soul of mine, too long benumbed with pain, 
 Let others' joys delight thee once again; 
 For if thy feet may not tread Pleasure's way, 
 And if the night seem long e'er cometh day, 
 Let those grand voices sound within thy soul 
 And calm its wild unrest with pure control, 
 And may the blessed proof be shown to thee 
 That justice lives, and works unceasingly. 
 
 M-Iv as these tides do ebb and flow, 
 So sure will Justice measure out for w<>e 
 The equal balance of his joyful days, 
 And fill the earth-worn soul with songs of praise. 
 
 Then weary heart take hope; the way grows bright, 
 
 The ro-y dawn dispels the darkest night.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 And the deep shadows, like some frightful dream, 
 Take wings and fly, before the sunny beam 
 Of life's true purposes. Then up ! and do ! 
 Behold the path that stretches to thy view: 
 The way may lead thro' trial, fear, and pain, 
 But thro' it a grand self-hood thou shalt gam 
 Self-sovereignty is the great future crown 
 Which to humanity slopes gently down. 
 When all shall wear it, enmity shall cease, 
 And in each soul shall reign the law of peace. 
 
 (6) 
 
 hine Jictiott. 
 
 S. B. S. H. T. 
 
 When you meet with one suspected 
 
 Of some secret deed of sharne, 
 And for this by all rejected, 
 
 As a thing of evil fame, 
 Guard thine every look and action ; 
 
 Speak no heartless word of blame; 
 For the slanderer's vile detraction 
 
 Yet may spoil thy goodly name.
 
 GUARD THINE ACTION. 
 
 When you meet a brow that's awing 
 
 With its wrinkled lines of gloom, 
 And a haughty step that's drawing 
 
 To a solitary tomb, 
 Guard thine action; some great sorrow 
 
 Made that man a specter grim, 
 And the sunset of to-morrow 
 
 May have left thee like to him. 
 
 When you meet with one pursuing 
 
 I'uths the lost have entered in, 
 Working out his own undoing 
 
 With his recklessness and sin, 
 Think, if placed in his condition, 
 
 Would a kind word be in vain ? 
 Or a look of cold suspicion 
 
 Win thee back to truth again ? 
 
 There are spots that bear no flowers, 
 Not because the soil is bad, 
 
 But that summer's gentle showers 
 Never made their bosoms glad. 
 
 Better have an act that's kindly, 
 Treated sometimes with disdain, 
 
 Than, by judging others blindly, 
 
 Doom the innocent to pain. 
 
 V. A.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (7) 
 
 iz 
 
 The day is done, and the darkness 
 Falls from the wings of Night 
 
 As a feather is wafted downward 
 From an eagle in his flight. 
 
 I see the lights of the village 
 
 Gleam through the rain and mist, 
 
 And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 
 That my soul cannot resist. 
 
 A feeling of sadness and longing, 
 
 That is not akin to pain, 
 And resembles sorrow only 
 
 As the mist resembles the rain. 
 
 Come, read to me some poem, 
 Sortie simple and heartfelt lay, 
 
 That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
 And banish the thoughts of day. 
 
 Not from the grand old masters, 
 Not from the bards sublime, 
 
 Whose distant footsteps echo 
 Through the corridors of time.
 
 THE DAY IS DONE. 
 
 For, like strains of martial music, 
 
 Their mighty thoughts suggest 
 Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
 
 And to-night I long for rest. 
 
 Read from some humbler poet, 
 Whose songs gush from his heart, 
 
 As showers from the clouds of summer, 
 Or tears from the eyelids start; 
 
 Who, through long days of labor, 
 
 And nights devoid of ease, 
 Still heard in his soul the music 
 
 Of wonderful melodies. 
 
 Such songs have power to quiet 
 
 The restless pulse of care, 
 And comes like the benediction 
 
 That follows after prayer. 
 
 And the night shall be filled with music, 
 And the cares that infest the day, 
 
 Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
 And as silently steal away. 
 
 Longfellow.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GENS. 
 
 (8) 
 
 gviumplt of 
 
 Yes, superstition's had its day, 
 The clouds of doubt are flying, 
 The age of REASON holds her sway, 
 And Orthodoxy 's dying. 
 
 The poor old fellow, grim and gaunt, 
 Tries hard to stand the pressure; 
 'Tis useless trying, for he can't, 
 So let him die at leisure. 
 
 Foreordination, so they tell, 
 With Calvin, is no more; 
 And infants' skulls no more in hell, 
 Lie strewn about the floor. 
 
 The Devil, too, has had his day, 
 
 He vanished like a bubble: 
 
 He's vanquished quite by reason's light, 
 
 He'll give us no more trouble. 
 
 His home is gone, that endless hell ; 
 [To us 'tis not surprising] 
 And more will go, as prophets tell, 
 For reason's sun is rising.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF REASON. 
 
 As drowning men will catch at straws, 
 Old Orthy grabs while sinking ; 
 He retranslates God's holy laws, 
 To stop the people thinking. 
 
 As stars shine on the front of night, 
 So shines this age of reason ; 
 Its beams shine on a glowing light, 
 That points the way to heaven. 
 
 What revelation do we need, 
 But nature's open pages ? 
 What need have we to always feed 
 On stories of past ages ? 
 
 Away with these ! let in the light 
 That comes direct from heaven ; 
 'Tis brought to us by Angels bright, 
 To all 'tis freely given. 
 
 K C. PoHer.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (9) 
 
 & Woman's 
 
 PHEBE CARY. 
 
 I said, if I might go back again 
 
 To the very hour and place of my birth; 
 
 Might have my life whatever I chose, 
 And live it in any part of the earth; 
 
 Put perfect sunshine into my sky, 
 
 Banish the shadow of sorrow and doubt; 
 
 Have all my happiness multiplied, 
 And all my sufferings stricken out; 
 
 If I could have known in the years now gone, 
 The best that a woman comes to know; 
 
 Could have had whatever will make her blest, 
 Or whatever she thinks will make her so; 
 
 Have found the highest and purest bliss 
 That the bridal- wreath and ring enclose; 
 
 And gained the one out of all the world 
 That my heart as well as my reason chose; 
 
 And if this had been, and I stood to-night 
 By my children, lying asleep in their beds, 
 
 And could count in my prayers, for a rosary, 
 The shining row of their golden heads;
 
 A WOMAN 8 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 Yea! I said, if a miracle such as this 
 Could be wrought for me, at my bidding, still 
 
 I would choose to have my part as it is, 
 And to let my future come as it will! 
 
 I would not make the path I have trod 
 
 More pleasant, or even more straight or wide; 
 
 Nor change my course the breadth of a hair, 
 This way or that way, to either side. 
 
 My past is mine, and I take it all; 
 
 Its weakness its folly, if you please; 
 Nay, even my sins, if you come to that, 
 
 May have been my helps, not hindrances ! 
 
 If I saved my body from the flames 
 
 Because that once I had burned my hand; 
 
 Or kept myself from a greater sin 
 
 By doing a less you will understand; 
 
 It was better I suffered a little pain, 
 
 Better I sinned for a little time, 
 If the smarting warned me back from death, 
 
 And the sting of sin withheld from crime.
 
 SEVEN DOZEX GEMS. 
 
 
 
 Who knows its strength, by trial, will know 
 What strength must be set against a sin; 
 
 And how temptation is overcome, 
 
 He has learned, who has felt its power within. 
 
 And who knows how a life at the last may show ? 
 
 Why, look at the moon from where we stand ! 
 Opaque, uneven, you say; yet it shines, 
 
 A luminous sphere, complete and grand ! 
 
 So let my part stand, just as it stands, 
 And let me now, as I may, grow old ; 
 
 I am what I am, and my life for me 
 Is the best or it had not been, 1 hold. 
 
 (10) 
 
 RICHARD REALF. 
 
 Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle 
 
 suggestion is fairer ; 
 Rare is the rose-burst at dawn, but the secret that 
 
 clasps it is rarer ;
 
 LIFE'S ESSENCE. 
 
 Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that pre 
 cedes it is sweeter ; 
 
 And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning out- 
 mastered the meter. 
 
 Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the 
 
 growing ; 
 Never a river that flows, but majesty scepters the 
 
 flowing ; 
 Never a Shakspeare that soared, but a stronger than 
 
 he did unfold him : 
 Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath 
 
 foretold him. 
 
 Back of the canvas that throbs, the painter is hinted 
 and hidden ; 
 
 Into the statue that breathes, the soul of the sculptor is 
 bidden ; 
 
 Under the joy that is felt, lie the infinite issues of feel. 
 
 ing ; 
 Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns 
 
 the reveali)i'j. 
 
 Great are the symbols of being, but that which is sytn- 
 boled is greater ; 
 
 the create and beheld, but vaster the inward 
 creator ; 
 
 3*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN" GEMS. 
 
 Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift 
 
 stands the giving ; 
 Back of the hand that receives, thrill the sensitive 
 
 nerves of receiving. 
 
 Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the 
 doing ; 
 
 The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the heart 
 of the wooing ; 
 
 And up from the pits where these shiver, and up 
 from the heights where those shine, 
 
 Twin voices and shadows move starward, and the es 
 sence of life is divine. 
 
 (11) 
 
 glxe Initia 
 
 BY ALICE GARY. 
 
 We're married, they say, and you think you have 
 
 won me, 
 Well, take this white veil from my head and look on 
 
 me ; 
 
 Here's matter to vex you, and matter to grieve you, 
 Here's doubt to distrust you, and faith to believe 
 
 you,
 
 THE BRIDAL VEIL. 
 
 1 am all as you see. common earth, common dew, 
 Be wary and mould me to roses, not rue. 
 Ah, shake out the filmy thing fold after fold, 
 And see if you have me to keep and to hold, 
 Look close on my heart see the worst of its sin 
 ning 
 
 It is not yours to-day for the yesterday's winning. 
 The Past is not mine I am too proud to borrow, 
 You must grow to new heights, if I love you to 
 morrow. 
 
 We're married ! I'm plighted to hold up your praises, 
 As the turf at your feet does its handful of daisies ; 
 That way lies my honor, my pathway of pride ; 
 But, mark you, if greener grass grow either side 
 I shall know it, and keeping in body with you, 
 Shall walk in my spirit my feet on the dew. 
 
 We'er married ! Oh, pray that our love do not fail ! 
 I have wings flattened down and hid under my veil ; 
 They are subtle as light you can never undo them, 
 And swift in their flight, you can never pursue them, 
 And spite of all clasping, and spite of all bands 
 I can slip like a shadow, a dream, from your hands. 
 
 Nay, call me not cruel, and fear not to take me, 
 
 I am yours for my lifetime, to be what you make me.
 
 SEVEX DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 To^wear my white veil for a sign or a cover, 
 As you shall be proven my lord, or my lover. 
 A cover for peace that is dead, or a token 
 Of bliss, that can never be written or spoken. 
 
 (12) 
 
 Soulless 
 
 S. B. L. C. T. 
 
 I do not like to hear him pray, 
 On bended knee about an hour, 
 
 For grace to spend aright the day, 
 Who knows his neighbor has no flour. 
 
 I'd rather see him go to mill 
 
 And buy the luckless brother bread, 
 And see his children eat their fill, 
 
 And laugh beneath their humble shed. 
 
 I do not like to hear him pray, 
 ' Let blessings on the widow be," 
 
 Who never seeks her home to say 
 "If want o'ertakes you, come to me."
 
 SOULLESS PRAYERS. 
 
 I hate the prayer so loud and long, 
 That's offered for the orphan's weal, 
 
 By him who sees him crushed by wrong, 
 And only with the lips doth feel. 
 
 1 do not like to hear her pray, 
 
 With jeweled ear and silken dress, 
 
 Whose washerwoman toils all day, 
 And then is asked to work for less. 
 
 Such pious falsehoods I despise ! 
 
 The folded hands, the face demure, 
 Of those with sanctimonious eyes, 
 
 Who steal the earnings of the poor. 
 
 Those sainted faces that they wear, 
 To church and for the public eye, 
 
 Hide things that are not on the square, 
 And wickedness done upon the sly. 
 
 I do not like such soulless prayers ! 
 
 If wrong, I hope to be forgiven ; 
 Such prayers no angel upward bears 
 
 They're lost a million miles from heaven.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (13) 
 
 S. B. - M. F. B. F. 
 
 Up, and away, like the dew of the morning, 
 
 That soars from the earth to its home in the sun ; 
 
 So let me steal away, gently and lovingly, 
 Only remembered by what I have done. 
 
 My name and my place, and my tomb all forgotten, 
 The brief race of time well and patiently run ; 
 
 So let me steal away, peacefully, silently, 
 Only remembered by what I have done. 
 
 Gladly away from this toil, would I hasten, 
 Up to the crown that for me has been won, 
 
 Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises, 
 Only remembered by what I have done. 
 
 Up, and away, like the odors of sunset, 
 
 That sweeten the twilight as darkness comes on ; 
 
 So be my life, a thing felt, but not noticed, 
 And I but remembered by what I have done. 
 
 Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness, 
 When the flowers that it came from are closed up 
 and gone ;
 
 THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL. 
 
 So would I be to this world's weary dwellers, 
 Only remembered by what I have done. 
 
 Needs then the praise of the love-written record 
 The name and the epitaph graved on the stone ? 
 
 The things we have lived for, let them be our story, 
 We ourselves but remembered by what we have 
 done. 
 
 I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing 
 (As its summer and autumn moved silently on) 
 
 The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed in its season ; 
 I shall still be remembered by what I have done. 
 
 I need not be missed, if another succeed me 
 
 To reap down those fields which in spring 1 have 
 
 sown ; 
 He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the 
 
 reaper ; 
 He is only remembered by what he has done. 
 
 A <//"(//, but the truth that in life 1 have spoken, 
 Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, 
 
 Shall pass on to ages all about me forgotten, 
 
 Save the truili* I have spoken, the things I have 
 done.
 
 SEVEN* DOZEX GEMS. 
 
 So let my living be, so be ray dying, 
 
 So let my name lie unblazoned, unknown ; 
 Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered, 
 Yes, but remembered by what I have done. 
 
 Bonar. 
 
 (.14) 
 
 jo* 
 
 She stood at the bar of justice, 
 
 A creature wan and wild, 
 In form too small for a woman, 
 
 In features too old for a child, 
 For a look so worn and pathetic 
 
 Was stamped on her pale young face, 
 It seemed long years of suffering 
 
 Must have left that silent trace. 
 
 '' Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her 
 
 With kindly look yet keen, 
 " Is Mary McG-uire, if you please sir," 
 
 " And your age ? " "I am turned fifteen." 
 "Well, Mary," and then from a paper 
 
 He slowly an8 gravely read, 
 ' You are charged here I'm sorry to say it 
 
 With stealing three loaves of bread."
 
 GDILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 
 
 I 
 
 " You look not like an offender, 
 
 And I hope that you can show 
 The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 
 
 Are you guilty of this, or no ? " 
 A passionate burst of weeping 
 
 Was at first her sole reply, 
 But she dried her eyes in a moment, 
 
 And looked in the judge's eye. 
 
 " I will tell you just how it was, sir, 
 
 My father and mother are dead, 
 And my little brother and sisters 
 
 Were hungry and asked me for bread. 
 At first I earned it for them 
 
 By working hard all day, 
 But somehow times were bad, sir, 
 
 And the work all fell away. 
 
 " I could get no more employment ; 
 
 The weather was bitter cold. 
 The young ones cried and shivered 
 
 (Little Johnny's but four years old ;) - 
 So, what was I to do, sir ? 
 
 I am guilty, but do not condemn, 
 I too k oh, was it stealing ? 
 
 The bread to give to them." 
 
 4
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Every man in the court-room 
 
 Gray-beard and thoughtless youth 
 Knew, as he looked upon her, 
 
 That the prisoner spake the truth, 
 Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, 
 
 Out from their eyes sprung tears, 
 And out from old faded wallets 
 
 Treasures hoarded for years. 
 
 The judge's face was a study 
 
 The strangest you ever saw, 
 As he cleared his throat and murmured 
 
 Something about the law. 
 For one so learned in such matters, 
 
 So wise in dealing with men, 
 He seemed, on a simple question, 
 
 Sorely puzzled just then. 
 
 But no one blamed him or wondered, 
 
 When at last these words they heard 
 The sentence of this young prisoner 
 
 Is, for the present, deferred." 
 And no one blamed him or wondered 
 
 When he went to her and smiled, 
 And tenderly led from the court-room, 
 
 Himself, the "guilty" child.
 
 WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. 
 
 (15) 
 
 ( <&Uxistlitx0 ttx 
 
 g. B. W. R. T. 
 
 You're surprised that I should say so? 
 
 Just wait till the reason I've given 
 Why I say I sha'nt care for the music, 
 
 Unless there is whistling in heaven ; 
 Then you'll think it no very great wonder, 
 
 Nor so strange, nor so bold a conceit, 
 That unless there's a 'boy there a-whistling, 
 
 Its music will not be complete. 
 
 It was late in the autumn of '49; 
 
 We had come from our far Eastern home 
 Just in season to build us a cabin, 
 
 Ere the cold of the winter should come ; 
 And we lived all the while in our wagon 
 
 That husband was clearing the place 
 Where the house was to stand; and the clearing 
 
 And building it took many days. 
 
 So that our heads were scarce sheltered 
 ' Under its roof, when our store 
 Of provisions was almost exhausted, 
 And husband must journey for more;
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 And the nearest place where he could get them 
 
 Was yet such a distance away, 
 That it forced him from home to be absent 
 
 At least a whole night and a day. 
 
 You see we'd but two or three neighbors, 
 
 And the nearest was more than a mile, 
 And we hadn't found time yet to know them, 
 
 For we had been busy the while; 
 And the man who had helped at the raising, 
 
 Just stayed till the job was well done; 
 And as soon as his money was paid him 
 
 Had shouldered his axe and had gone. 
 
 Well, husband just kissed me and started. 
 
 I could scarcely suppress a deep groan 
 At the thought of remaining with baby 
 
 So long in the house all alone; 
 For, my dear, I was childish and timid, 
 
 And braver ones might well have feared, 
 For the wild wolf was often heard howling, 
 
 And savages sometimes appeared. 
 
 But I smothered my grief and my terror 
 
 Till husband was off on his ride, 
 And then in my arms I took Josey, 
 
 And all the day long sat and cried,
 
 WHISTLING IX HEAVEN. 
 
 As I thought of the long dreary hours 
 When the darkness of night should fall, 
 
 And I was so utterly helpless, 
 With no one in reach of my call ! 
 
 And when the night came with its terrors, 
 
 To hide ev'ry ray of light, 
 I hung up a quilt by the window, 
 
 And almost dead with affright, 
 I kneeled by the side of the cradle, 
 
 Scarce daring to draw a full breath, 
 Lest the baby should wake, and its crying 
 
 Should bring us a horrible death. 
 
 There I knelt until late in the evening, 
 
 And scarcely an inch had I stirred, 
 When suddenly, far in the distance, 
 
 A sound of whistling I heard. 
 I started up, dreadfully frightened, 
 
 For fear 'twas an Indian's call; 
 And then very soon I remembered 
 
 The red man ne'er whistles at all. 
 
 And when I was sure 'twas a white man, 
 I thought, were he coming for ill, 
 
 siiicly approach with more caution 
 
 Would come without warning and still. 
 4*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Then the sounds coming nearer and nearer, 
 Took the form of a tune, light and gay, 
 
 And I knew I needn't fear evil 
 
 From one who could whistle that way. 
 
 Very soon I heard footsteps approaching. 
 
 Then came a peculiar dull thump, 
 As if some one was heavily striking 
 
 An axe in the top of a stump; 
 And then, in another brief moment, 
 
 There came a light tap on the door, 
 When quickly I undid the fast'nings, 
 
 And in stepped a boy, and before 
 
 There was either a question or answer, 
 
 Or either had time to speak, 
 I just threw my glad arms around him, 
 
 And gave him a kiss on the cheek. 
 Then I started back, scared at my boldness, 
 
 But he only smiled at my fright, 
 As he said, " I'm your neighbor's boy, Elick, 
 
 Come to tarry with you through the night. 
 
 "We saw your husband go eastward, 
 And made up our minds where he'd gone, 
 
 And I said to the rest of our people, 
 ' That woman is there all alone,
 
 WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. 
 
 And 1 venture she's awfully lonesome, 
 And though she may have no great fear, 
 
 I think she would feel a bit safer 
 If only a boy were but near.' 
 
 " So taking my axe on my shoulder, 
 
 For fear that a savage might stray 
 Across my path, and need scalping, 
 
 1 started right down this way; 
 And coming in sight of the cabin, 
 
 And thinking to save you alarm, 
 I whistled a tune, just to show you 
 
 I didn't intend any harm. 
 
 ''And so here I am, at your service; 
 
 But if you don't want me to stay, 
 Why, all you need do is to say so, 
 
 And should'ring my axe, I'll away." 
 I dropped in a chair and near fainted, 
 
 Just at thought of his leaving me then, 
 And his eyes gave a knowing bright twinkle 
 
 As he said, "I guess I'll remain." 
 
 And then I just sat there and told him 
 How terribly frightened I'd been, 
 
 How his face was to me the most welcome 
 Of any 1 had ever seen;
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 And then 1 lay down with the baby, 
 And slept all the blessed night through, 
 
 For I felt I was safe from all danger 
 Near so brave a young fellow and true. 
 
 So now, my dear friend, do you wonder, 
 
 Since such a good reason I've given, 
 Why I say I sha'n't care for the music 
 
 Unless there is whistling in heaven ? 
 Yes, often I've said so in earnest, 
 
 And now what I've said I repeat, 
 That unless there's a boy there a-whistling, 
 
 Its music will not be complete. 
 
 (10) 
 
 Is true kinship a matter of birth, 
 
 A component part of muscle and bone ? 
 
 Or is it above the bondage of earth, 
 
 A spirit untrammeled, a kingdom alone ? 
 
 May we not live in the presence for years 
 Of those whose bodies are close to our own, 
 
 Who still are as strange to our feelings and fears 
 As if we were living alone ?
 
 TRUE KINSHIP. 
 
 Foreign they are to all in our hearts; 
 
 Foreign to want and to need; 
 Alien to life, in all of its parts; 
 
 Alien to thought and to deed. 
 
 Like a breath of cold, wintry air, 
 
 They touch us with tension and pain, 
 
 They freeze the soul's floiu'rets there, 
 They soil our pure motives with stain. 
 
 And others may come, strangers, unknown, 
 That sway us with unspoken grace, 
 
 Whose spirit and gesture, greeting and tone 
 Reveal the real kinship of race. 
 
 From the spring on the height streamlets divide, 
 Some to the east and some to the west, 
 
 Whilst all on their missions peacefully glide, 
 As each in itself deemeth best.' 
 
 '/7/cre's a kinship that passeth the earth, 
 That soareth above the portals of clay, 
 
 The soul centred kinship of worth, 
 
 That planteth its feet in one chosen way.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (17) 
 
 "It's only a little grave," they said, 
 
 " Only just a child that's dead "; 
 And so they carelessly turned away 
 
 From the mound the spade has made that day. 
 Ah ! they did not know how deep a shade 
 
 That little grave in our home had made. 
 
 I know the coffin was narrow and small, 
 
 One yard would have served for an ample pall: 
 
 And one man in his arms could have borne away 
 The rosebud and its freight of clay. 
 
 But I know that darling hopes were hid 
 Beneath that little coffin lid. 
 
 I knew that a mother had stood that day 
 With folded hands by that form of clay; 
 
 I know that burning tears were hid, 
 
 ' Neath the drooping lash and aching lid; 
 
 And I knew her lip, and cheek, and brow, 
 Were almost as white as her baby's now. 
 
 T knew that some things were hid away, 
 The crimson frock and wrappings gay,
 
 BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 The little sock and half -worn shoe, 
 
 The cap with its plumes and tassels blue; 
 
 An empty crib with its covers spread, 
 As white as the face of the sinless dead. 
 
 ' Tis a little grave, but O, beware ! 
 
 For world- wide hopes are buried there; 
 And ye perhaps, in coming years, 
 
 May see like her, through blinding tears, 
 How much of light, how much of joy, 
 
 Is buried with an only boy ! 
 
 (18) 
 
 CARRIE E. 8. TWINO. 
 
 Out in the pasture cool and green, 
 Where the murmuring brook is seen, 
 
 Hurrying its way in its noisy glee 
 To mingle its waves with the dark blue sea, 
 
 I sit and watch, while the shadows creep, 
 The quiet ways of a flock of sheep.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 I watch tbeir ways as they slowly pass, 
 Stopping to pluck at the tender grass, 
 
 And my thoughts go back to the fields once trod, 
 By him who is styled the "Lamb of God," 
 
 To the sweet words uttered and dear commands 
 'Mongst which was this one, " Feed my lambs." 
 
 But as I sit in the waning light 
 
 1 notice the sheep are not all white, 
 There are two black sheep with their white wooled 
 
 brothers, 
 But they mix with the flock and eat grass with the 
 
 others, 
 And as I glance from left to right 
 
 I wonder if sheep know black from white. 
 
 But list ! there comes from among the sheep 
 A voice that sounds both low and sweet, 
 
 And it says, we sheep can ne'er decide, 
 For the blackest sheep are like white inside. 
 
 So we go by this, "judge not thy brother," 
 And dwell in peace and love each other. 
 
 In the pastures green of this world of ours 
 There are many thistles and many flowers, 
 
 And the time ne'er'll come 'till we sleep our last sleep, 
 When a flock will be found without its black sheep.
 
 "HE AND SHE. 
 
 I've wondered sometimes if in that last day 
 When the good and the bad shall go their way, 
 
 We'll not be astonished and doubt our sight, 
 To see our black sheep turn out white. 
 
 (19) 
 
 "ge ami ^txe." 
 
 S. B. E. S. B. 
 
 " She is dead! " they said to him; ' come away ; 
 Kiss her and leave her, thy love is clay ! " 
 
 They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair ; 
 On her forehead of stone they laid it fair; 
 
 Over her eyes, that gazed too much, 
 They drew the lids with gentle touch; 
 
 With a tender touch they closed up well 
 The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell; 
 
 About her brows and beautiful face 
 They tied her veil and her marriage lace, 
 
 Ami drew on. her white feet her white silk shoes 
 Which were the whitest no eye could choose 
 
 5
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 And over her bosom they crossed her hands. 
 "Come away ! " they said; "God understands." 
 
 And there was silence, and nothing there 
 But silence, and scents of eglantere, 
 
 And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; 
 
 And they said, " As a lady should lie, lies she." 
 
 And they held their breath till they left the room, 
 With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom. 
 
 But he who loved her too well to dread 
 The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead, 
 
 He lit his lamp, and took the key 
 
 And turned it alone again he and she. 
 
 He and she ; but she would not speak, 
 
 Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek. 
 
 He and she ; yet she would not smile, 
 
 Though he called her the name she loved erewhile. 
 
 He and she ; still she did not move 
 To any one passionate whisper of love. 
 
 Then he said: "Cold lips and breasts without breath, 
 Is there nQ voice, no language of death*?
 
 "HE AND SHE." 
 
 " Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, 
 But to heart and to soul distinct, intense ? 
 
 "See now; I will listen with soul, not ear; 
 What was the secret of dying, dear ? 
 
 " Was it the infinite wonder of all 
 That you ever could let life's flower fall ? 
 
 " Or was it a greater marvel to feel 
 The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? 
 
 " Was the miracle greater to find how deep 
 Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep ? 
 
 " Did life roll back its records dear, 
 
 And show, as they say it does, past things clear ? 
 
 " And was it the innermost heart of the bliss 
 To find out so, what a wisdom love is ? 
 
 "Oh! perfect dead ! Oh! dead most dear, 
 I hold the breath of my soul to hear ! 
 
 <l I listen as deep as to horrible hell, 
 
 As high as to heaven, and you do not tell. 
 
 " There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, 
 To make you so placid from head to feet !
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, 
 
 And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed, 
 
 "I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid 
 His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. 
 
 "You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, 
 Which of all deaths was the chief est surprise, 
 
 "The very strangest and suddenest thing 
 Of all the surprises that dying must bring." 
 
 Ah, foolish world ! Oh, most kind dead ! 
 Though he told me, who will believe it was said ? 
 
 Who will believe that he heard her say, 
 
 With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way: 
 
 " The utmost wonder is this, I hear 
 
 And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear ; 
 
 " And am your angel, who was your bride, 
 And know that, though dead, 1 have never died," 
 
 Arnold.
 
 TO ONE WHO SAID " HE S ONLY AN INFIDEL. 
 
 (20) 
 
 go one xuho said" He's only an nf ifljel I" 
 
 S. B. C. F. A. 
 
 An infidel ! how easy said, 
 
 But wherefore comes the name ? 
 What is an infidel ? I ask, 
 
 And is it cause for shame ? 
 Is it to take for truth and right 
 
 What reason has weighed well, 
 To prove all things hold fast the good ? 
 
 Then, am I infidel. 
 
 Ts it to trust with fearlessness 
 
 The God within the soul ? 
 Heeding the voice that speaks therein, 
 
 Spurning all false control ? 
 Trusting to inspiration past, 
 
 To inspiration now ? 
 Selecting wheat from out the chaff, 
 
 Where'er it comes, or how ? 
 
 Believing Heaven oft fills the soul, 
 With promptings pure and high ? 
 
 If this, all this, be infidel, 
 Then infidel am I. 
 
 5*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Unflinchingly I face the scorn, 
 
 Freely accept the shame, 
 For if an infidel mean this, 
 
 I glory in the name. 
 
 With angel breathings round me oft, 
 
 With hope most high to cheer, 
 With aspirations after truth, 
 
 I cannot stoop to fear; 
 Tho' oft I meet with those I deem 
 
 Fast bound in error's thrall, 
 I pray that charity be mine, 
 
 For we are erring all. 
 
 With love to God and love to man, 
 
 To justice, truth, and right, 
 Heaven grant I ne'er be infidel 
 
 To past or present light; 
 To creed-bound dogmas, false, tho' old, 
 
 I've bid a last adieu, 
 Your fetters ne'er can bind my soul, 
 
 I'm infidel to you. 
 
 If only in the angels' sight 
 
 ] do my duty well, 
 To falsehood, malice, hate, and fear, 
 
 I shall be infidel.
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 With nature singing to my soul, 
 
 Around, below, above, 
 1 never can be infidel 
 
 To honor, truth, and love. 
 
 (21) 
 
 giittxUng of tfxe 
 
 I have a wondrous house to build, 
 
 A dwelling humble, yet divine ; 
 A lowly cottage to be filled 
 
 "With all the treasures of the mine. 
 How shall I build it strong and fair, 
 
 This noble house, this lodging rare, 
 So small and modest, yet so great ? 
 
 How shall I fill its chambers bare 
 With use, with ornaments, with state ? 
 
 Nature hath given the stone and clay ; 
 Tis I must fashion them aright 
 
 Tis I must mould them day by day, 
 And make my labor my delight. 
 
 This cot, this palace, this fair home, 
 This pleasure-house, this holy dome, 
 
 Must be in all proportions fit,
 
 SEVEN DOZEX GEMS. 
 
 That heavenly messengers may come 
 
 To lodge with him who tenants it. 
 No fairy bower this house must be, 
 
 To totter at each gale that starts, 
 But of substantial masonry, 
 
 Symmetrical in all its parts ; 
 Fit, in its strength, to stand sublime 
 
 To seventy years of mortal's time, 
 Defiant of the storm and rain, 
 
 And well attempered to the clime. 
 In every cranny, nook, and pane 
 
 I'll build it so that if the blast 
 Around it whistle loud and long. 
 
 The tempest, when its rage has passed, 
 Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. 
 
 I'll build it so that travelers by 
 Shall view it with admiring eye, 
 
 For its commodiousness and grace ; 
 Firm on the ground, straight to the sky, 
 
 A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. 
 Thus noble in its outward form, 
 
 Within I'll build it clean and white 
 Not cheerless cold, but happy, warm, 
 
 And ever open to the light. 
 No tortuous passages or stair, 
 
 No chambers foul or dungeon lair,
 
 COWARDICE. 
 
 No gloomy attic shall be there, 
 
 But wide apartments, ordered fair, 
 And redolent of purity. 
 
 Such is the house that 1 must build, 
 This is the cottage, this the dome, 
 
 And this the palace treasure-filled 
 For an immortal's earthly home, 
 
 Oh, noble work of toil and care ! 
 Oh, task most difficult and rare ! 
 
 Oh, simple, but most arduous plan I 
 To raise a dwelling-place so fair, 
 
 The sanctuary of a man !" 
 
 (22) 
 
 S. B. F. J. S. T. 
 
 The veriest coward upon earth 
 
 Is he who /ears the world's opinion ; 
 
 Who acts with reference to its will, 
 His conscience swayed by its dominion. 
 
 Mind is not worth a feather's weight 
 
 That must with other minds be measured.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Self must direct, and self control, 
 
 And the account in heaven be treasured. 
 Fear never sways a manly soul, 
 
 For honest hearts 'twas ne'er intended; 
 They, only they, have cause to fear 
 
 Whose motives have themselves offended. 
 What will my neighbors say, if I 
 
 Should this attempt, or that, or t'other ? 
 A neighbor is most sure a foe 
 
 If he prove not a helping brother. 
 That man is brave who braves the ivorld 
 
 When o'er life's sea his barque he steereth, 
 "Who keeps the giliding star in view, 
 
 A. conscience clear, which never veereth. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 (23) 
 
 of 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 When the hours of Day are numbered, 
 And the voices of the Night 
 
 Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
 To a holy, calm delight ;
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
 And, like phantoms grim and tall, 
 
 Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
 Dance upon the parlor wall ; 
 
 Then the forms of the departed 
 
 Enter at the open door ; 
 The beloved, the true-hearted, 
 
 Come to visit me once more ; 
 
 He, the young and strong, who cherished 
 Noble longings for the strife, 
 
 By the road-side fell and perished, 
 Weary with the march of life ! 
 
 They, the holy cnes and weakly, 
 Who the cross of suffering bore, 
 
 Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
 Spake with us on earth no more ! 
 
 And with them the Being Beauteous, 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 
 More than all things else to love me, 
 And is now a saint in heaven.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 Comes that messenger divine, 
 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
 Lays her gentle hand in mine. 
 
 And she sits and gazes at me 
 
 With those deep and tender eyes, 
 
 Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
 Looking downward from the skies. 
 
 Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 
 Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
 Breathing from her lips of air. 
 
 0, though oft depressed and lonely, 
 All my fears are laid aside, 
 
 If I but remember only 
 
 Such as these have lived and died !
 
 DKL1VERANCE. 
 
 (24) 
 
 ilcUucvuncc. 
 
 Joy ! all joy ! my chains are broken, 
 
 Cant and bigotry are fled, 
 Words of reason I've heard spoken, 
 
 Which have filled my mind instead. 
 Farewell now to supposition, 
 
 Farewell now to creeds and sects, 
 Farewell baseless superstition, 
 
 Reason's light my path directs. 
 
 Once 1 feared a God offended, 
 
 Once I dreaded fire of hell, 
 Now such childish fears are ended, 
 
 Now I've shaken off the spell. 
 Thou I thought my best employment 
 
 Was in constant praise and prayer. 
 Now I find that pure enjoyment 
 
 Is this world's best gift to share. 
 
 1' nests and clergy, you who tell us 
 We are lost, without, your aid, 
 
 1'ivarh aloud so stern and zealous 
 Man was for damnation ma<le. 
 
 6
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Say, why should your God of Heaven 
 
 Doom a man to endless pain, 
 Blast the life Himself hath given, 
 
 Making his creation vain? 
 
 Unbelieving, you would damn him, 
 
 Send him to the lowest hell, 
 While the threats with which you cram him. 
 
 Damp his life on earth as well. 
 Quit such doctrines, let them perish, 
 
 We would teach a Letter creed, 
 Love to all mankind we cherish. 
 
 Helping all in time of need. 
 
 We prefer to think that Reason 
 
 Is a truer guard and guide, 
 And in every time and season, 
 
 With its light we're satisfied. 
 Soon may all its dictates follow 
 
 (This must be the wiser plan, ) 
 Scorning doctrines false and hollow, 
 
 Live a life befitting Man. 
 
 Phi/os.
 
 THE OLD WHISPERER. 
 
 (25) 
 
 The foul-mouthed whisperer told a tale 
 Which made the face of honor pale. 
 At once with zeal that made them dizzy 
 Were rumor's swiftest tongue-pads busy. 
 Hither and thither hurrying fast, 
 With mouths aglow and eyes aghast ; 
 The freshest listeners hotly seeking, 
 On every tongue to utterance reeking 
 " Well ! who would think it ! can it be ! 
 Was ever villian smooth as he ?" 
 And busily worked the fiendish thirst 
 Of those who love to think the worst. 
 By such self consciousness they knew 
 The slimy story must be true. 
 
 How sad that stirs of quick delight 
 Should blind the heavenly sense of right 
 In any soul, and put the sway 
 Of loving kindness quite away. 
 When scandal blows her trumpet loud 
 Till answering furies round her crowd, 
 And bids her giMiering demons dim 
 A shining name and ninke it swim
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS.^ 
 
 In slander's spilth until they drown 
 The light of stainless honor's crown, 
 How many tremble through and through, 
 Lest scandal's story prove untrue. 
 They love to feed the fattening lie, 
 For, if it fail, their pleasures die. 
 
 Oh ! slander's crew for victim's raving, 
 And honor's sweetest life-blood craving, 
 Fear every tale and hint they try 
 May soon become to every eye 
 An undisgiiised and baffled lie. 
 Before the radiant shield of truth 
 The shriveling demons howl and whine 
 To see a name escape their fangs 
 And far above their malice shine. 
 
 Scrap Book. 
 
 (26) 
 
 'Twas but a breath 
 And yet a woman's fair fame wilted, 
 And friends, once fond, grew cold and stilted ; 
 And life was worse than death.
 
 SLANDER. 
 
 One venomed word, 
 That struck its coward, poisoned blow 
 In craven whispers, hushed and low, 
 
 And yet the wide world heard. 
 
 'Twas but one whispered one 
 That muttered low, for very shame, 
 That thing the slanderer dare not name, 
 
 And yet its work was done. 
 
 A hint so light, 
 
 And yet so mighty in its power, 
 A human soul, in one short hour, 
 
 Lies crushed beneath its blight. 
 
 (27) 
 
 This is her grave, the sexton said. 
 As he knelt and bowed his withered head 
 And he pushed back the flowers whicli overgrew 
 The mound which covered the friend I knew. 
 
 She, sir, was murdered ! No ! not by a man ! 
 But by seeming friends who tried to scan 
 In her innocent actions, thoughtless and free, 
 
 A something in which they, guilt could see. 
 6*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Failing in this, they began to talk, 
 Wink, and insinuate where'er she'd walk, 
 And say, "'tis strange!" and, "one so winning, 
 To be so sought after, must be sinning." 
 
 Thus the gossip gossiped 'till it reached her ears, 
 But none would own as she asked through her tears 
 To point to a single act in her life 
 That was not in accord with a blameless life. 
 
 They <: had heard," they said, but they didn't know 
 
 where, 
 
 And exactly what they didn't care, 
 To be catechised in by the "likes of her," 
 Tho' they didn't believe she'd exactly err. 
 
 The poison worked she drooped and died, 
 And some of the same "friends" came here and 
 cried. 
 
 But I thought as I saw some try to weep 
 That the Recording Angel in his book doth keep 
 The names and the sins of those who pander 
 To heaven's arch enemy and that is slander. 
 
 Atlanta Constitution.
 
 PETKR M'GUJRE; OR NATURE AND GRACE. 
 
 (28) 
 
 111 cOSutae ; ov lattitc and (Grace. 
 
 LIZZIE DOTEN. 
 
 It has always been thought a most critical case 
 When a man was possessed of more Nature than 
 
 Grace. 
 
 For theology teaches that man, from the first, 
 Was a sinner by nature, and justly accurst ; 
 And " Salvation by Grace " was the wonderful plan 
 Which God had invented, to save erring man : 
 Twas the only atonement he knew how to make 
 To annul the effects of his own sad mistake. 
 
 Now, this was the doctrine of good Parson Brown, 
 Who preached, not long since, in a small country- 
 
 town, 
 
 He was zealous and earnest and could so excel 
 In describing the tortures of sinners in hell, 
 That a famous revival commenced in the place, 
 And hundred of souls found "Salvation by Grace" ; 
 Hut lie ftjlt that he had not attained his desire 
 Till 1m had converted one Peter McGuiiv. 
 
 This man was a blacksmith, frank, fearless, and bold, 
 With great brawny sinews like Vulcan of old :
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 He had little respect for what ministers preach, 
 And sometimes was very profane in his speech: 
 His opinions were founded in clear common sense ; 
 And he spoke as he thought, though he oft gave 
 
 offense: 
 
 But however wanting, in whole or in part, 
 He was sound and all right when you came to his 
 
 heart. 
 
 One day the good parson, with pious intent, 
 To the smithy of Peter most hopefully went; 
 And there, while the hammer industriously swung, 
 He preached and he prayed, and exhorted, and sung, 
 And warned, and entreated poor Peter to fly 
 From the pit of destruction before he should die, 
 And to wash himself clean from the world's sinful 
 
 strife, 
 In the blood of the Lamb and the River of Life. 
 
 Well, and what would you now be inclined to expect 
 
 Was the probable issue and likely effect ? 
 
 Why, he swore "like a pirate," and (what do you 
 
 think ?) 
 
 From a little black bottle took something to drink ! 
 And he said "I'll not mention the blood of the 
 
 Lamb ; 
 But as for that river, it aren't worth a "
 
 I'KTKH M QUIRE; OR NATURE AND GRACE. 
 
 Then pausing, as if to restrain his rude force, 
 He quietly added, " a mill-dam, of course." 
 
 Quick out of the smithy the minister fled 
 
 As if a big bomb-shell had burst near his head ; 
 
 And, as he continued to haste on his way, 
 
 He was too much excited to sing or to pray: 
 
 But he thought how that some were elected by grace 
 
 As heirs of His kingdom made sure of their place ; 
 
 While others are doomed to the pains of hell-fire ; 
 
 And, if e'er there was one such, 'twas Peter McGuire. 
 
 That night, when the Storm-King was riding on high, 
 And the red shafts of lightning gleamed bright 
 through the sky, 
 
 The church of the village, "the temple of God," 
 \\ as struck for the want of a good lightning-rod ; 
 And, swiftly descending, the clement dire 
 Set the minister's house, close beside it, on fire, 
 While lie peacefully slumbered, with never a fear 
 < >f the terrible work of destruction so near. 
 
 There were Mary and Hannah, and Tommy and Joe, 
 All sweetly asleep in the bedroom below ; 
 While their father was near, and their mother at rest, 
 (Like the wife of .John Rogers, with "one at the 
 
 Invest " : )
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 But Alice, the eldest, a gentle young dove. 
 Was asleep all alone in the room just above ; 
 And, when the wild cry of the rescuer came, 
 She only was left to the pitiless flame. 
 
 The fond mother counted her treasures of love ; 
 When lo ! one was missing ! "O Father above ! "- 
 How madly she shrieked in her agony wild ! 
 " My Alice ! my Alice ! oh ! save my dear child ! " 
 Then down on his knees fell the parson and prayed 
 That the terrible wrath of the Lord might be stayed. 
 Said Peter McGuire, ' Prayer is good in its place ; 
 But then it don't suit thin particular case." 
 
 He turned down the sleeves of his red flannel shirt 
 To shield his great arms, all besmutted with dirt ; 
 Then into the billows of smoke and of fire, 
 Not pausing an instant, dashed Peter McGuire. 
 Oh, that terrible moment of anxious suspense ! 
 How breathless their watching ! their fear how 
 
 intense ! 
 
 And then their great joy, which was freely expressed, 
 When Peter appeared with the child on his breast ! 
 
 A shout rent the air when the darling he laid 
 
 In the arms of her mother, so pale and dismayed ;
 
 POLONIUSS ADVICE TO HIS SON. 
 
 And as Alice looked up, and most gratefully smiled, 
 lie bowrd down his head and he wept like a child. 
 
 Oh ! those tears of brave manhood that rained o'er 
 
 his face 
 Showed the true Grace of Nature, and the Nature of 
 
 Grace : 
 
 "i'was a manifest token, a visible sign, 
 Of the indwelling life of the Spirit Divine. 
 
 Consider such natures, and then, if you can, 
 Preach of "total depravity " innate in man. 
 Talk of blasphemy ! why, 'tis profanity wild 
 To say that the lather thus cursed his own child. 
 Go learn of the stars and the dew-spangled sod 
 That all things rejoice in the yooilncss of God ; 
 That each thing created is good /// its place, 
 And Nature is but the <.i///rWiw of Grace. 
 
 (80) 
 
 ii'olcmius's .JUUncc to his- 
 
 SIIAKKSI-KAUK. 
 
 Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unprop<.rtioned tin-light Ins act. 
 Hi- :hoii familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thoii hast, and their adoption tried.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; 
 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 
 Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 
 Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, 
 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; 
 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 
 But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; 
 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be: 
 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 
 This above all, to thine own self be true ; . 
 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 
 Thou canst not then be false to any one. 
 
 (30) 
 
 5gni0ma uf 
 
 FRANK FELT. 
 
 Amen ! hallelujah ! forever 
 
 The Lord in his righteousness reigns ! 
 The chosen are saved, and the many 
 
 Are lost as his goodness ordains.
 
 TMK KNIUMA OF MKHCY. 
 
 The almighty boss won the battle, 
 
 ( Md Satan's put under his feet, 
 Ami smoke-clouds of anguish arising 
 
 Kill heaven with aroma sweet. 
 
 There stands a big bellows in heaven, 
 
 Right back of Jehovah's throne. 
 With air-pipes strung from its nozzle 
 
 Way down to the fiery zone; 
 And sometimes an angel gets lazy, 
 
 And rusts for the want of use, 
 His bright wings all flopping and twisted, 
 
 Mis harp-strings all dangling and loose; 
 Then Michael says: "Here, you dull loafer ! 
 
 Just jump these 'ere bellows a spell, 
 And warm up your poor old mother, 
 
 A-shivering away down in hell." 
 
 There are those in this heavenly kingdom 
 With friends in the torment below; 
 
 Hut the cords that had bound them when mortal 
 Are broke, and the burden of woe 
 
 That sympathy bears for another 
 I lest s never upon them again, 
 
 Km- conscience is freed from the kiiidin 
 
 That made them do good unto men. 
 7
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 A sweet little angelic cherub, 
 
 All rosy and smiling and bright, 
 With joy written over his forehead 
 
 In the glow of eternity's light, 
 Comes up from the beautiful river 
 
 With ecstasy sweet and unshammed, 
 So send a blast down on a sister 
 
 Who went to a dance and was damned. 
 
 A father and mother together 
 
 Come up in ineffable joy, 
 To force down a whiff of pure justice 
 
 For the flames round a dear little boy, 
 Who laughed by mistake when the deacon 
 
 Broke down with a cough in his prayer, 
 And died with the crime unforgiven, 
 
 To go down to hell and despair. 
 
 'All washed in the blood arid made whiter 
 
 Than snow," and with purity crowned, 
 A murderer swung from the gallows 
 
 Comes joyfully walking around; 
 And creak goes the powerful engine, 
 
 And downward the rich stream is driven, 
 To blow up the coals that are roasting 
 
 The wife that he killed unforgiven.
 
 THE KNIGMA OF MERCY. 
 
 A pious, angelical deacon, 
 
 Who once distilled whisky on earth, 
 And sold it around to his neighbors 
 
 For thrice what it really was worth, 
 Takes hold of the handle and turns it 
 
 On one who from godliness fell 
 By drinking his orthodox whisky, 
 
 To burn in an orthodox hell. 
 
 beautiful rest for the weary! 
 
 joy that shall be to all men ! 
 beautiful scheme of salvation, 
 
 That saves about one out of ten ! 
 Sweet message of love from the ages ! 
 
 Sin<>ct story that ever is new ! 
 "Believe, or be damned " to perdition! 
 
 1 believe! rU be dinn/n// if I do!
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (31) 
 
 ClPatcr jcm ttue Inxmovtatiti) of tlxc 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 It must be so ; Plato, thou reason'st well, 
 Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 
 This longing after immortality ? 
 Or whence this secret dread and inward frorror 
 Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
 
 - 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us, 
 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
 And intimates Eternity to man. 
 Eternity ! thou pleasing dreadful thought ! 
 Through what variety of untried being 
 Through what new scenes and changes must we pass 
 The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. . . . 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and natui'e sink in years; 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
 The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 Thou01xt. 
 
 C. P. CRANCH. 
 
 Thought is deeper than all speech, 
 Feeling deeper than all thought ; 
 
 Souls to souls can never teach 
 
 What unto themselves was taught. 
 
 We are spirits clad in veils ; 
 
 Man by man was never seen ; 
 All our deep communing fails 
 
 To remove the shadowy screen. 
 
 Heart to heart was never known ; 
 
 Mind with mind did never meet ; 
 We are columns left alone 
 
 Of a temple once complete. 
 
 Like the stars that gem the sky, 
 Far apart though seeming near, 
 
 In our light we scattered lie ; 
 All is thus but starlight here. 
 
 What is social company 
 
 But the babbling summer stream ? 
 What our wise philosophy 
 
 But tin- u-biiii-iii^ of a dream ? 
 7*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Only when the sun of love 
 
 Melts the scattered stars of thought, 
 Only when we live above 
 
 What the dim-eyed world hath taught; 
 
 Only when our souls are fed 
 
 By the fount which gave them birth, 
 And by inspiration led 
 
 Which they never drew from earth ; 
 
 We, like parted drops of rain, 
 Swelling till they meet and run, 
 
 Shall be all absorbed again, 
 Melting, flowing into one. 
 
 (33) 
 
 LIZZFE DOTEN. 
 
 "A respectable lie, sir ! Pray what do you mean ? 
 Why the term in ifsetfis a pl.iin contradiction. 
 A lie is a lie, and deserves no respect, 
 But merciless judgment, and speedy conviction. 
 It springs from corruption, is servile and mean, 
 An evil conception, a coward's invention,
 
 A RESPECTABLE LIE. 
 
 And whether direct, or but simply implied, 
 
 Has naught but deceit for its end and intention." 
 
 Ah, yes ! very well ! So good morals would teach ; 
 
 But fads are the most stubborn things in existence, 
 
 And they tend to show that great lies win respect, 
 
 And hold their position with wondrous persistence. 
 
 The small lies, the white lies, the lies feebly told, 
 
 The world will condemn both in spirit and letter ; 
 
 But the great bloated lies will be held in respect, 
 
 And the l(tr;/er and older a lie is, the better. 
 
 A respectable lie, from a popular man, 
 
 On a popular theme, never taxes endurance; 
 
 And the pure golden coin of unpopular truth, 
 
 Is often refused for the Jtrass of assurance. 
 
 You may dare all the laws of the land to defy, 
 
 And hare t<> the truth the most shameless relation, 
 
 But never attack a respectable lie, 
 
 \ f you value a name, or a good reputation. 
 
 A li<; well established, and hoary with age, 
 
 I.Vsists I lie assaults of the boldest seceder ; 
 
 While he is accounted the greatest of saints, 
 
 Who silences reason and follows the leader. 
 
 Whenever a mortal has ilnml to be wise, 
 
 And sci/.e upon Truth, as tin- soul's " Magna ("harta," 
 
 lie al\v:iys ii.-is won from the lover of lies,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 The name of a fool, or the fate of a martyr. 
 
 There are popular lies, and political lies, 
 
 And "lies that stick fast between buying and selling," 
 
 And lies of politeness conventional lies 
 
 (Which scarcely are reckoned as such in the telling). 
 
 There are lies of sheer malice, and slanderous lies, 
 
 From those who delight to peck filth like a pigeon ; 
 
 But the oldest and far most respectable lies, 
 
 Are those that are told in the name of Religion. 
 
 Theology sits like a tyrant enthroned, 
 
 A system per se with a fixed nomenclature, 
 
 Derived from strange doctrines, and dogmas, and 
 
 creeds, 
 At war with man's reason, with God and with 
 
 Nature ; 
 
 And he who subscribes to a popular myth, 
 Never questions the fact of divine inspiration, 
 But holds to the Bible as absolute truth, 
 From Genesis, through to St. John's Revelation. 
 We mock at the Catholic bigots at Rome 
 Who strive with their dogmas man's reason to fetter ; 
 But we turn to the Protestant bigots at home, 
 And we find that their dogmas are scarce a whit 
 
 better. 
 
 We are called to believe in the wrath of the Lord 
 In endless damnation, and torments infernal ;
 
 A RESPECTABLE LIE. 
 
 While around and above us, the Infinite Truth, 
 Scarce heeded or heard, speaks sublime and eternal. 
 Jt is sad but the day-star is shining on high, 
 And Science comes in with her conquering legions ; 
 And every respectable, time-honored lie. 
 Will fly from her face to the mythical regions. 
 The soul shall no longer with terror behold 
 The red waves of wrath that leap up to engulf her. 
 For Science ignores the existence of hell 
 And Chemistry finds better uses for sulphur. 
 We may dare to repose in the beautiful hope 
 That an Infinite Life is the source of all being ; 
 And though we must strive with delusion and Death, 
 We can trust to a love and a wisdom all-seeing ; 
 We may dare in the strength of the soul to arise, 
 And walk where our feet shall not stumble or falter; 
 And, freed from the bondage of time-honored lies, 
 To lay all we have on Truth's sacred altar.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (34) 
 
 tmrnX (One. 
 
 MOODY CURRIER. 
 
 Oh, tell me, man of sacred lore, 
 Where dwells the Being you adore ? 
 And where, oh man of thought profound. 
 Where can the Eternal One be found ? 
 Throughout the realms of boundless space 
 We seek in vain his dwelling place. 
 
 He dwells where'er the beams of light 
 Have pierced the primal gloom of night ; 
 Beyond the planet's feeble ray ; 
 Beyond the comet's devious way ; 
 Where'er amid the realms afar 
 Shines light of sun or twinkling star. 
 Above, below, and all around, 
 Th' encircling arms of God are found. 
 Where'er the pulse of life may beat 
 His forming hand and power we meet. 
 While every living germ of earth 
 That sinks in death or springs to birth 
 Is but a part of that great whole. 
 Whose life is God, and God the soul.
 
 THE ETERNAL ONE. 
 
 From plant to man, below, above, 
 
 The power divine still throbs in love. 
 
 He is the life that glows and warms 
 
 In tiniest mote of living forms, 
 
 Which quick'ning nature bring to birth, 
 
 To float in air, or sink in earth ; 
 
 And every shrub, and plant, and flower, 
 
 That lives an age, or blooms an hour, 
 
 Has just as much of God within 
 
 As human life, or seraphim : 
 
 For all that bloom, and all that shine, 
 
 Are only forms of life divine ; 
 
 And every ray that streaks the east, 
 
 And every beam that paints the west, 
 
 With every trembling gleam of light, 
 
 With every gloom that shades the night, 
 
 Are but the trailing robes divine 
 
 Of one whose garments ever shine. 
 
 The human soul may bend in love 
 
 And seek for blessings from above, 
 
 As well in busy haunts of men, 
 
 In forest gloom, in silent glen, 
 
 As in the altar's solemn shade, 
 
 Bunejith the domes that men have made; 
 
 As well may seek a Father's love, 
 
 Ami ask assistance from above,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Amid the ocean's solemn roar, 
 Or on its barren waste of shore, 
 As in some distant promised land, 
 Where sacred fanes and temples stand. 
 The soul that beats in sweet attune 
 Finds in itself the Eternal One, 
 Nor needs to seek for other shrine 
 Than God's great temples all divine. 
 
 (35) 
 
 ttxat !l0jcfes tfeu OTvadU." 
 
 S. B. M. F. B. F. 
 
 They say that man is mighty, 
 
 He governs land and sea, 
 He wields a mighty sceptre 
 
 O'er lesser powers that be ; 
 But a power mightier, stronger, 
 
 Man from his throne has hurled, 
 " For the hand that rocks the cradle 
 
 Is the hand that rules the world." 
 
 In deep, mysterious conclave, 
 'Mid philosophic minds,
 
 ''THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE." 
 
 Unraveling knotty problems, 
 His native forte, man finds ; 
 
 Yet all his "ics" and "isms" 
 
 To heaven's four winds are hurled, 
 
 " For the hand that rocks the cradle 
 Is the hand that rules the world." 
 
 Behold the brave commander, 
 
 Stanch 'mid the carnage stand, 
 Behold the guidon dying, 
 
 With the colors in his hand. 
 Brave men they be, yet craven, 
 
 When this banner is unfurled, 
 "The hand that rocks the cradle 
 
 Is the hand that rules the world." 
 
 Great statesmen govern nations, 
 
 Kings mold a people's fate, 
 Hut the unseen hand of velvet 
 
 Tnese giants regulate. 
 The iron arm of fortune 
 
 With woman's charm is purled, 
 " For the hand that rocks the cradle 
 
 Is tlm hand that rules the world." 
 
 8
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (36) 
 
 is QQ gcath. 
 
 LORD LYTTON. 
 
 There is no death ! The stars go down 
 To rise upon some fairer shore : 
 
 And bright in Heaven's jeweled crown 
 They shine forevermore. 
 
 There is no death ! The dust we tread 
 Shall change beneath the summer showers 
 
 To golden grain or mellowed fruit, 
 Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 
 
 The granite rocks disorganize, 
 
 And feed the hungry moss they bear ; 
 
 The forest leaves drink daily life, 
 From out the viewless air. 
 
 There is no death ! The leaves may fall, 
 And flowers may fade and pass away ; 
 
 They only wait through wintry hours, 
 The coming of the May. 
 
 There is no death ! An Angel form 
 Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ; 
 
 He bears our best loved things away ;. 
 And then we call them " dead.''
 
 THERE IS NO DEATIL 
 
 He leaves our hearts all desolate, 
 
 He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers ; 
 
 Transplanted into bliss, they now 
 Adorn immortal bowers. 
 
 The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones, 
 Made glad these scenes of sin and strife, 
 
 Sings now an everlasting song, 
 Around the tree of life. 
 
 Where'er he sees a smile too bright, 
 Or heart too pure for taint and vice, 
 
 He bears it to that world of light, 
 To dwell in Paradise. 
 
 Born unto that undying life, 
 
 They leave us but to come again ; 
 
 With joy we welcome them the same, 
 Except their sin and pain. 
 
 And ever near us, though unseen, 
 The dear immortal spirits tread ; 
 
 K"or all the boundless universe 
 Is life there are no dead.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (37) 
 
 [As a tribute of love to his many friends, these lines are sent out 
 through the mediumshlp of Mrs. K. R. Stiles, under the inspi 
 
 ration Of SPIRIT I. P. GREENLEAF.] 
 
 At length, through Nature's law, my soul is free, 
 Thou earnest not unbidden, Death, to me ; 
 No '-King of Terrors," nor with visage grim, 
 But as a mother, singing a sweet hymn. 
 
 I waited for thee as one waits a guest ; 
 
 For I was weary, and I longed for rest ; 
 
 At last so gently didst thou come, oh ! Death, 
 
 Scarce did I know when thou didst claim my breath. 
 
 1 followed thee, and thou didst lead me where 
 The breath of flowers perfumed the summer air ; 
 Their fragrance soothed me like a healing balm, 
 While o'er my senses stole a heavenly calm. 
 
 As in a dream I heard the glad refrain 
 
 Of low, soft voices, singing " Home again ! " 
 
 I turned to see from whence the sweet sound came, 
 
 And as I turned, lo ! some one spoke my name.
 
 THE RELEASE. 
 
 It \\ns my mother's voice I knew it well 
 It fell upon my ear with magic spell : 
 " Mother !" I cried, and at that single word 
 All the deep fountains of my life were stirred. 
 
 Jn tender tones she said : " My darling son ! 
 Fought is the weary fight, the victory won ; 
 Thou hast been faithful and thou shalt be blest : 
 Yonder behold thy home enter, and rest." 
 
 Scarce could I speak, so great was my surprise, 
 
 But as I looked I saw before me rise, 
 
 As by some magic power, a mansion fair : 
 
 " Enter," my mother said, "and rest thee there." 
 
 I passed, and lo ! the beauteous sight 
 
 Filled all my being with intense delight ; 
 
 Here Nature spread her charms, and Art combined 
 
 To form a pleasing picture for the mind. 
 
 " Now rest thee here awhile," my mother said, 
 The while with tender touch she stroked my head, 
 'T was sweet to lie thus pillowed on her breast ; 
 No thought had I, but Mother, Home, and Rest. 
 8*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 
 
 How long I know not there in sleep I lay, 
 When to my ear there came from far away 
 A sound of sorrow, like a sigh or moan, 
 And words low-whispered, in a broken tone : 
 
 " He rests at length," I heard a soft voice say ; 
 And then I watched them robe the lifeless clay 
 Watched as one watches ofttimes in a sleep, 
 Scarce knowing if 't were best to smile or weep. 
 
 At length I woke to perfect consciousness ; 
 Awoke to feel my mother's fond caress ; 
 Awoke to find that the long night was o'er, 
 And that life, health, and strength, were mine once 
 more. 
 
 Farewell, old body ! house of clay, farewell ! 
 Apart from thee my spirit now rhust dwell ; 
 Yet would 1 linger for the moment near 
 To give to thee the tribute of a tear. 
 
 'T was through thy windows that my soul did view 
 The outer world, and faces fond and true ; 
 But I shall look through them no more no more ! 
 For they are barred, and bolted is thy door.
 
 THE CHILDREN. 
 
 So fare thee well, old house of clay, farewell 
 What fate awaits thee time alone can tell. 
 For me the present thought is that I live ; 
 And whatsoe'er the future hath to give, 
 
 I will accept with thankful, trusting heart, 
 Asking but this : That I may still bear part 
 In deeds of love to thwart each human ill 
 Of earth's great family be member still ! 
 WORCESTER, MASS., Aug. 14, 1884. 
 
 (38) 
 
 'I' he 
 
 BY RICHARD REALF. 
 
 Do you love me, little children ? 
 
 Oh sweet blossoms that are curled 
 (Life's tender morning-glories) 
 
 Round the casement of the world ! 
 Do your hearts climb up toward me 
 
 As my own heart bends to you, 
 In the; beauty of your dawning 
 
 And the brightness of your dew?
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 When the fragrance of your faces, 
 
 And the rhythm of your feet, 
 And the incense of your voices 
 
 Transform the sullen street. 
 Do you see my soul move softly 
 
 Forever where you move, 
 With an eye of benediction 
 
 And a guardian hand of love? 
 
 Oh, my darlings, I am with you 
 
 In your trouble, in your play, 
 In your sobbing and your singing, 
 
 In your dark and in your day, 
 In the chambers where you nestle, 
 
 In the hovels where you lie, 
 In the sunlight where you blossom, 
 
 And the blackness where you die. 
 
 Not a blessing broods above you 
 
 But it lifts me from the ground ; 
 Not a thistle barb doth sting you 
 
 But I suffer with the wound ; 
 And a chord within me trembles 
 
 To your slightest touch or tone, 
 And I famish when you hunger, 
 
 And I shiver when you moan.
 
 THE CHILDREN. 
 
 Can you tell me, little children, 
 
 Why is it I love you so ? 
 Why I'm weary with the burdens 
 
 Of my sad and weary woe ? 
 Do the myrtle and the aloes 
 
 Spring blithely from one tree ? 
 Yet, 1 love you, oh, my darlings ! 
 
 Have you any flowers for me ? 
 
 I have trodden all the spaces 
 
 Of my solemn years alone, 
 And have never felt the cooing 
 
 Of a babe's breath near my own. 
 But with more than father passion, 
 
 And with more than mother pain, 
 I have loved you, little children 
 
 Do you love me back again ?
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (39) 
 
 [A ]X)em written by Col. Realf on the day previous to his death.]* 
 " De mortuis nil nisi bonum." When 
 
 For me the end has come, and 1 am dead, 
 And little voluble, chattering daws of men 
 
 Peck at me curiously, let it then be said 
 By some one brave enough to speak the truth, 
 
 Here lies a great soul killed by cruel wrong. 
 Down all the balmy days of his fresh youth 
 
 To his bleak, desolate noon, with sword and song, 
 And speech that rushed up hotly from the heart, 
 
 He wrought for liberty ; till his own wound, 
 (He had been stabbed) concealed with painful art 
 
 Through wasting years, mastered him, and he 
 
 swooned, 
 
 And sank there where you see him lying now, 
 With that word " Failure " written on his brow. 
 
 But say that he succeeded. If he missed 
 
 World's honors and world's plaudits, and the wage 
 
 Of the world's deft lackeys, still his lips were kissed 
 Daily by those high angels who assuage 
 
 The thirstings of the poets for he was 
 Born unto singing and a burden lay
 
 A POET S DEATH SONG. 
 
 Mightily on him, and he moaned because 
 He could not rightly utter to this day 
 
 What God taught in the night. Sometimes, nathless 
 Power fell upon him, and bright tongues of flame, 
 
 And blessings reached him from poor souls in stress; 
 And benedictions from black pits of shame ; 
 
 And little children's love ; and old men's prayers ; 
 
 And a Great Hand that led him unawares. 
 
 So ho died rich. And if his eyes were blurred 
 
 With thick films silence ! he is in his grave. 
 (I really ho suffered ; greatly, too, he erred ; 
 
 Yet broke his heart in trying to be brave. 
 Nor did he wait till freedom had become 
 
 The popular shibboleth of courtiers' lips; 
 Hut smote for her when God himself seemed dumb, 
 
 And all his arching skies were in eclipse, 
 lie WHS a-woary, but he fought his fight, 
 
 And stood for simple manhood ; and was joyed 
 To sec the august broadening of the light, 
 
 A ml new earths heaving heavenward from the void. 
 He loved his fellows, and their love was sweet 
 Plant daisies at his head and at his feet. 
 
 *S\s I-'KANCI-O, <)ci. -.".I'll. Cul. i; ; i-li:inl licalf committed suicide at 
 tin 1 Wimlcnr House. O;ikl:iinl, l;i*t ni.u'ht, liy the uwof morphine ])c- 
 i CMIUC In Tr ico'iitlv from Pit i >>l)Mr'_ r . mid took a position in a 
 minr. The sim-iik' is attributed l<> ill ht-altli and domestic (litliniltieo.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (40) 
 
 We see but half the causes of our deeds, 
 Seeking them wholly in the outer life, 
 And heedless of the encircling spirit world, 
 Which, though unseen, is felt, and sows in us 
 All germs of pure and ivorld- wide purposes. 
 From one stage of our being, to the next, 
 We pass unconscious on a slender bridge, 
 The momentary work of unseen hands, 
 Which crumbles down behind us; looking back 
 We see the other shore, the gulf between, 
 And, marveling how we won to where we stand, 
 Content ourselves to call the builder Chance. 
 
 No man is born into the world, whose work 
 
 Is not born with him; there is always work, 
 
 And tools to work withal, for those who will; 
 
 And blessed are the horny hands of toil ! 
 
 The busy world shoves angrily aside 
 
 The man who stands with arms akimbo set, 
 
 Until occasion tells him what to do; 
 
 And he who waits to have his task marked out 
 
 Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled.
 
 A GLANCE BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 
 
 Our time is one that calls for honest deeds: 
 
 Reason and Government, like two broad seas, 
 
 Yearn for each other with outstretched arms 
 
 Across this narrow isthmus of the throne, 
 
 And roll their white surf higher every day. 
 
 One age moves onward, and the next builds up 
 
 Cities and gorgeous palaces, where stood 
 
 The rude log huts of these who tamed the wild, 
 
 Rearing from out the forests they had felled 
 
 The goodly framework of a fairer state: 
 
 The builder's trowel and the settler's axe 
 
 Are seldom wielded by the self -same hand : 
 
 Ours is the harder task, yet not the less 
 
 Shall we receive the blessing for our toil 
 
 From the choice spirits of the after time. 
 
 My soul is not a palace of the past 
 
 Where outworn creeds, like Rome's gray senate, 
 
 Quake, hearing afar the Vandals' trumpets hoarse, 
 
 Then shakes old systems with .a thunder fit. 
 
 Truth is firiHi!. but her effluence, 
 
 With endless change, is litu-d to the hour; 
 Her mirror is turned forward t<> relleet 
 The promise of t he fut ///, nl the jmxi. 
 lie who would win the name of truly great 
 J
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Must understand his own age and the next, 
 
 And make the present ready to fulfill 
 
 Its prophecy, and with the future, merge 
 
 Gently and peacefully, as wave with wave. 
 
 The future works out great men's destinies; 
 
 The present is enough for common souls, 
 
 Who, never looking forward, are indeed 
 
 Mere clay, wherein the footprints of their age 
 
 Are petrified forever ! better those 
 
 Who lead the blind old giant by the hand 
 
 From out the pathless desert where he gropes, 
 
 And set him onward in his darksome way. 
 
 I do not fear to follow out the truth, 
 
 Albeit along the precipice's edge. 
 
 Let us speak plain: there is more 
 
 Force in names than most men dream of: 
 
 And a lie may keep its throne a whole age longer, 
 
 If it skulk behind the shield of some/<nV seeming name. 
 
 Let us call tyrants tyrants, and maintain 
 
 That only freedom comes by grace of Nature, 
 
 All that comes not by her grace must fall; 
 
 For men in earnest have no time to waste 
 
 In patching fig leaves for the naked truth. 
 
 Lowell.
 
 '(I MAY 1 .!(>I\ TIIK CHOIR INVISIBLE. 
 (41) 
 
 CO IflUui % $0ht tlxc (Their 
 
 8. B. - E. S. B. 
 
 ill ad titnpiix, qnum nan era ' 
 magi* me nutn-t, ijuam line i.riyw/m." 
 
 Cicero, ad Alt., XII. 18. 
 
 may I join the choir invisible 
 
 Of those immortal dead who live again 
 
 In minds made better by their presence. 
 
 Live 
 
 In pulses stirred to generosity, 
 In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 
 For miserable aims that end with self, 
 In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 
 And with their mild persistence urge man's search 
 To vaster issues. 
 
 So to live is heaven: 
 To make undying music in the world, 
 Hninthiiiir as beauteous order that controls 
 With growing sway the growing life of man. 
 So we inherit that sweet purity 
 Km- which we struggled, failed, and agonized 
 With widening retrospect that bred despair. 
 Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 A vicious parent shaming still its child 
 Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; 
 Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, 
 Die in the large and charitable air, 
 And all our rarer, better, true self, 
 That sobbed religiously in yearning song. 
 That watched to ease the burthen of the world, 
 Laboriously tracing what must be, 
 And what may yet be better saw within 
 A worthier image for the sanctuary, 
 And shaped it forth before the multitude 
 Divinely human raising worship so 
 To higher reverence more mixed with love 
 That better self shall live till human Time 
 Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky 
 Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb 
 Unread forever. 
 
 This is life to come, 
 
 Which martyred men have made more glorious 
 For us who strive to follow. May I reach 
 That purest heaven, be to other souls 
 The cup of strength in some great agony, 
 Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
 Beget the smiles that have no cruelty 
 Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
 
 TIIK SPIRIT-MOTHER. 
 
 And in diffusion ever more intense, 
 
 So shall I join the choir invisible 
 
 Whose music is the gladness of the world. 
 
 George Eliot, 1867. 
 
 (42) 
 
 gttc ^piv 
 
 8. B. 8. R. N. A. G. C. 
 
 Through our lives' mysterious changes, 
 
 Through the sorrow-haunted years, 
 Runs a law of compensation 
 
 For our sufferings and our tears. 
 And the soul that reasons rightly, 
 
 All its sad complaining stills, 
 Till it learns that meek submission, 
 
 Where it wishes not nor wills. 
 
 Thus, in Sorrow's fiery furnace 
 Was a faithful mother tried, 
 
 Till, through Love's divinest uses, 
 All her soul was purifi<-l. 
 
 < > vc sorrow-stricken mothers ! 
 
 Ye whose weakness feeds your pain ! 
 
 1 -isten to her simple story 
 
 Listen ! and be strong .-igaii:. 
 9*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 "It was sunset and the day-dream 
 
 Of my life was almost o'er; 
 For my spirit-bark was drifting 
 
 Slowly, slowly from the shore. 
 Dimly could I see the sunlight 
 
 Through my vine-wreathed window shine, 
 Faintly could I feel the pressure 
 
 Of a strong hand clasping mine. 
 
 " But anew the life-tide started, 
 
 At my infant's feeble cry ; 
 Back my spirit turned in anguish, 
 
 And I felt I could not die. 
 Deeper, darker fell the shadows, 
 
 Like the midnight's sable pall, 
 And that infant cry grew fainter 
 
 Fainter fainter that was all ! 
 
 " Suddenly I heard sweet voices 
 
 Mingling in a tender strain 
 All my mortal weakness left me, 
 
 All my anguish and my pain. 
 On my forehead fell in glory 
 
 Of the bright, celestial morn, 
 I was of the earth no longer, 
 
 For my spirit was re-born.
 
 THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 
 
 " Pure, sweet faces bent above me, 
 
 Tenderly they gazed and smiled, 
 And my Angel-Mother whispered, 
 
 ' Welcome, welcome home, my child ! ' 
 Then, in one melodious chorus, 
 
 Sang the radiant angel band, 
 ' Welcome ! thou weary pilgrim ! 
 
 Welcome to the Spirit Land ! ' 
 
 " But, o'er all those glad rejoicings, 
 
 Rose again my infant's cry, 
 For my heart had borne the echo 
 
 Through the portals of the sky. 
 And I murmured, ' U ye bright ones ! 
 
 Still my earthly home is dear ; 
 Vain are all your songs of welcome, 
 
 Ktr I am not happy here. 
 
 "'Strike your harps, ye white-robed angels! 
 
 Hut your music makes me wild, 
 For my heart is with my treasure, 
 
 Heaven is only with my child ! 
 Let me go, and whisper comfort 
 
 To my little mourning dove 
 Life is cold; 0, let me shield him 
 
 With a mother's tenderest love ! '
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " Swift there came a pure, white angel, 
 
 Through the glory, shining far, 
 In her hand she bore a lily, 
 
 On her forehead beamed a star, 
 Very beautiful and tender 
 
 Was the love-light in her eyes, 
 Like the sunny smile of summer 
 
 Beaming in the azure skies. 
 
 " And she said, ' 0, mourning sister ! 
 
 Lo ! thy prayer of love is heard, 
 For the boundless Heart of Being 
 
 By thine earnest cry is stirred. 
 Heaven is life's divinest freedom, 
 
 And no mandate bids thee stay ; 
 Go, and as a star of duty, 
 
 Guide thy loved one on his way. 
 
 " ' Life is full of holy uses, 
 
 If but rightly understood, 
 And its evils and abuses 
 
 May be stepping-stones to good. 
 Never seek to weakly shield him, 
 
 Or his destiny control, 
 For the wealth that grief shall yield him, 
 
 Is the birthright of his soul. 1
 
 THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 
 
 "Musing deeply on her meaning, 
 
 Turned I from the heavenly shore, 
 And on love's swift wings descending. 
 
 Sought my earthly home once more. 
 There my widowed, childless sister 
 
 Sat with meek and quiet grace, 
 With her heart's great wasting sorrow, 
 
 W ritten on her pale sweet face. 
 
 " And she sang in dreamy murmurs, 
 
 Bending o'er my Willie's head, 
 ' Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed,' 
 Soft I whispered, 'Dearest sister 
 
 Darling Willie I am here,' 
 Sweetly smiled the sleeping infant, 
 
 And the singer dropped a tear. 
 
 "Thenceforth was my soul united 
 
 To that life more dear than mine; 
 And I prayed for strength to guide me, 
 
 From the source of Life Divine. 
 Slowly did I see the meaning 
 
 In life's purposes concealed 
 All the uses of temptation, 
 
 Sin and sorrow, stood revealed.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " Through my loved one's youth and manhood, 
 
 In the hour of sinful strife, 
 I could see the nobler issues, 
 
 And the grand design of life. 
 I could see that he was guided 
 
 By a mightier hand than mine, 
 And a mother's love was weakness 
 
 By the side of Love Divine. 
 
 "Then I did not seek to shield him, 
 
 Or his destiny control 
 Life, with all its varied changes, 
 
 Was the teacher of his soul. 
 Nay, I did not strive to alter 
 
 What I could not make nor mend, 
 For the love so full of wisdom, 
 
 Could be trusted to the end. 
 
 " I could not give him strength and courage 
 
 From the treasures of my love 
 I could lead his aspirations 
 
 To the holy heart above; 
 I could warn him in temptation, 
 
 That he might not blindly fall; - 
 I could wait with faith and patience 
 
 For his triumph that was all.
 
 THE SPIRIT-MOTIIER. 
 
 "Mid the rush and roar of battle, 
 
 In the carnival of death, 
 When the air grew hot and heavy, 
 
 With the cannon's fiery breath, 
 First and foremost with the bravest, 
 
 Who bad heard their country's call, 
 With the stars and stripes above him, 
 
 Did my darling Willie fall. 
 
 " Onward onward rushed his comrades, 
 
 With a wild, defiant cry, 
 As they charged upon the foeman, 
 
 Leaving him alone to die. 
 Faint he murmured, '0, my mother ! 
 
 Angel-mother ! art thou near ? ' 
 And he caught the whispered answer, 
 
 'Darling Willie, I am here! 
 
 " ' O, my loved one ! my true-hearted ! 
 
 Soon your anguish will be o'er; 
 Then, in heaven's eternal sunshine, 
 
 We shall dwell for evermore.' 
 Swiftly o'er his pallid features, 
 
 Gleams <>!' heavenly brightness passed, 
 And my NVillir's noble spirit 
 
 Met me face to face at last.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 
 
 " In a soldier's grave they laid him, 
 
 Underneath the sheltering pines, 
 Where the breezes made sweet music, 
 
 Through the gently swaying vines. 
 Now in heaven our souls united, 
 
 All their aspirations blend 
 And my spirit's holy mission 
 
 Thus hath found a joyful end." 
 
 Through our lives mysterious changes, 
 
 Through the sorrow-haunted years 
 Runs a law of Compensation 
 
 For our sufferings and our tears ; 
 And the soul that reasons rightly, 
 
 All its sad complaining stills, 
 Till it gains that calm condition, 
 
 Where it wishes not, nor wills.
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 
 
 (43) 
 
 All houses, in which men have lived and died, 
 Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 
 
 The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
 With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 
 
 We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, 
 Along the passages they come and go, 
 
 Impalpable impressions on the air, 
 
 A sense of something moving to and fro. 
 
 There are more guests at table, than the hosts 
 
 Invited ; the illuminated hall 
 Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 
 
 As silent as the pictures on the wall. 
 
 The stranger at my fire-side cannot see 
 
 The forms 1 see, nor hear the sounds I hear ; 
 
 He but perceives what is; while unto me 
 All that has been, is visible and clear. 
 
 We have no title deeds to house or lands ; 
 
 Owners and occupants of earlier dates 
 From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, 
 
 And hold in mortmain still, their old estates. 
 
 10
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 The spirit-world, around this world of sense, 
 Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere 
 
 Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense, 
 A vital breath of more ethereal air. 
 
 Our little lives are kept in equipoise 
 
 By opposite attractions and desires ; 
 The struggle of the instinct that enjoys. 
 
 And the more noble instinct that aspires. 
 
 These perturbations, this perpetual jar 
 Of earthly wants and aspirations high, 
 
 Come from the influence of an unseen star, 
 An undiscovered planet in our sky. 
 
 And, as the moon from some dark gate of cloud, 
 Throws, o'er the sea, a floating bridge of light, 
 
 Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd 
 Into the realm of mystery and night, 
 
 So, from the world of spirits, there descends 
 A bridge of light, connecting it with this, 
 O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, 
 
 Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. 
 
 / 
 Longfellow.
 
 NEARER TO THEE. 
 
 (44) 
 
 to 
 
 The following Poem was given at the conclusion of a lecture on "The 
 Present Condition of Theodore Parker in Spirit-Life." 
 
 " Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer to Thee ! " Parker's Favorite Hymn. 
 
 Yes, I am nearer Thee ! for flesh and sense 
 Have been exchanged for an eternal youth; 
 
 My spirit hath been born anew, and hence 
 I worship Thee "in spirit and in truth." 
 
 Yes, I am nearer Thee ! Though still unseen, 
 Thy presence fills my life's diviner part. 
 
 Now that no earthly shadows intervene, 
 I feel the deeper sense of what Thou art. 
 
 Yes, I am nearer Thee ! Thy boundless love 
 Fills all my being with a rich increase, 
 
 And soft descending, like a heavenly dove, 
 I feel the benediction of Thy peace. 
 
 Yes, I am nearer Thee ! All that I sought 
 Of Truth, or Wisdom, or Eternal Right, 
 
 Is clearly present to my inmost thought, 
 Like the uprising of a glorious light.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Yes, I am nearer Thee ! 0, calm and still, 
 And beautiful and blest beyond degree, 
 
 Is this surrender of my finite will 
 Is this absorption of my soul in Thee. 
 
 " Thou ! whom men call God and know no more! "" 
 When they shall leave the worship of the Past, 
 
 And learn to love Thee rather than adore, 
 All souls shall draw thus near to Thee at last. 
 
 Doten* 
 
 (45) 
 
 in tfte 
 
 Flower in the crannied wall, 
 
 I pluck you out of the crannies ; 
 
 Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 
 Little flower but if I could understand 
 
 What you are, root and all, and all in all, 
 I should know what God and man is. 
 
 Tennyson^
 
 HUMANITY. 
 
 (40) 
 
 Humanity. 
 
 S. B. F. J. S. T. 
 
 1 would not enter on my list of friends 
 (Though graced with polished manners and 
 Fine sense, yet wanting sensibility), the man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
 That crawls at evening in the public path ; 
 But he that has humanity, forewarned, 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 
 And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes, 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
 The chamber, or refectory, may die ; 
 A necessary act incurs no blame. 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 
 And guiltless of offense, they range the air, 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious fields; 
 There, they are privileged ; and he, that hurts 
 ( )r harms them there, is guilty of a wrong, 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, 
 Who, when she formed, designed them an abode ; 
 10*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 The sum is this: if man's convenience, 
 Health, or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
 Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
 Else they are all the meanest things that are, 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 
 As Nature was free to form them at the first, 
 Who, in her sovereign wisdom, made them all. 
 Ye therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 To love it too. Wm. Cowper* 
 
 S. B. F. J. S. T. 
 
 True Love is but a humble, low-born thing, 
 And hath its food served up in earthen ware ; 
 It^is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, 
 Thro' the every-dayness of this work-day world, 
 Baring its tender feet to every roughness. 
 Yet letting root one heart-beat go astray 
 Prom Beauty's law of plainness and content ; 
 A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile 
 Can warm earth's poorest hovel to a home ;
 
 LOVE. 
 
 "Which, when our autumn cometh. as it must, 
 
 And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless, 
 
 Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youth 
 
 In bleak November, and, with thankful heart, 
 
 Smile on its simple stores of garnered fruit 
 
 As full of sunshine to our aged eyes 
 
 As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring. 
 
 Such is true love, which steals into the heart 
 
 With feet as silent, as the lightsome dawn 
 
 That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark, 
 
 And hath its will through blissful gentleness, 
 
 Not like a rocket, which with savage glare, 
 
 Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night 
 
 Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; 
 
 A love that gives and takes, that seeth faults, 
 
 Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle points, 
 
 But loving-kindly even looks them down 
 
 With the o'er-coming hope of meek forgiveness ; 
 
 A love that shall be new and fresh each hour, 
 
 As is the golden mystery of sunset, 
 
 Or the sweet coming of the evening star, 
 
 Alike, and yet most unlike, erery day, 
 
 And seeming ever best and fairest now ; 
 
 A love that doth not kneel for what it seeks, 
 
 But faces Truth and Beauty as their peer,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Showing its worthiness of noble thoughts 
 
 By a clear sense of inward nobleness ; 
 
 A love that in its object findeth not 
 
 All grace and beauty, and enough to sate 
 
 Its thirst of blessing, but, in all of good 
 
 Found there, it sees but Heaven-granted types 
 
 Of good and beauty in the soul of man, 
 
 And traces, in the simplest heart that beats, 
 
 A family-likeness to its chosen one, 
 
 That claims of it the rights of brotherhood. 
 
 For love is blind but with the fleshly eye, 
 
 That so its inner sight may be more clear; 
 
 And outward shows of beauty only so 
 
 Are needful at the first, as is a hand 
 
 To guide and to uphold an infant's steps ; 
 
 Great spirits need them not: their earnest look 
 
 Pierces the body's mask of their disguise, 
 
 And beauty ever is to them revealed. 
 
 Behind the unshapliest, meanest lump of clay, 
 
 With arms outstreched and eager face ablaze, 
 
 Yearning to be but understood and loved. 
 
 Lowell.
 
 INCOM PLETENESS. 
 
 (48) 
 
 8. B. - F. J. S. T. 
 
 Nothing resting in its own completeness 
 Can have worth or beauty ; but alone 
 
 Because it leads and tends to further sweetness, 
 Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. 
 
 Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, 
 Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; 
 
 But is hidden in her tender leaning 
 
 To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. 
 
 Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly 
 Into Day, which floods the world with light; 
 
 Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy 
 Just because it ends in starry Night. 
 
 Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow 
 From strife, that in a far-off future lies; 
 
 And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) 
 Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. 
 
 Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
 Towards a truer, deeper Life above; 
 
 Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth 
 To a more divine and perfect Love.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Learn the mystery of Progression duly; 
 
 Do not call each glorious change Decay ; 
 But know we only hold our treasures truly, 
 
 When it seems as if they passed away. 
 
 Nor dare to blame Nature for incompleteness; 
 
 In that want their beauty lies; they roll 
 Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, 
 
 Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 (49) 
 
 in alt 
 
 S. B. N. A. G. C. 
 
 Tis a beautiful thought, by Philosophy taught, 
 That from all things created some good is outwrought; 
 That each is for use, and not one for abuse, 
 Which leaves the transgressor no room for excuse. 
 
 Thus 'the great, and the small, and the humblest of 
 
 all, 
 
 To action and duty alike have a call ; 
 And he does the best, who excels all the rest, 
 In making the lot of humanity blest.
 
 GOOD IN ALL. 
 
 As Jonathan Myer sat one night by the fire, 
 Watching the flames from the embers expire, 
 O'er his senses there stole, and into his soul, 
 A spell of enchantment he could not control. 
 
 The wind shook his door and a terrible roar 
 
 In his chimney was heard, like the waves on the 
 
 shore. 
 
 In wonder, amazed, old Jonathan gazed 
 At the huge oaken back-log as fiercely it blazed. 
 
 The flames of his fire leaped higher and higher, 
 
 And out of its brightness looked images dire; 
 
 'Till at length, a great brand straight on end seemed 
 
 to stand, 
 And then into human proportions expand. 
 
 Old Jonathan said, with a shake of his head, 
 ' There's nothing in Nature I've reason to dread, 
 For my conscience is clear, and I'd not have a fear, 
 Should Satan himself at this moment appear." 
 
 " Ha ! your words shall be tried," quick the demon 
 replied, 
 
 ' For, lo ! / am Satan, here, close by your side. 
 
 Men should never defy such a being as I, 
 
 For when they least think it, behold I am nigh."
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Said Jonathan Myer, as he stirred up the fire, 
 "Your face nor your figure I do not admire, 
 But, if that is your style, why, it isn't worth while 
 For me to find fault or your Maker revile. 
 
 " Now don't have a fear, lest it should appear > 
 That you're an intruder I welcome you here ! 
 So pray take a seat, and warm up your feet, 
 For I think I have heard that you're partial to heat." 
 
 " Well, you are either a fool or remarkably cool," 
 Said Satan accepting the low wooden stool 
 " But before I depart, I will give you a start 
 Which will send back the blood with a rush to your 
 heart." 
 
 " Well, and what if you should ? It might do one 
 good, 
 
 For a shock sometimes helps one so I've under 
 stood. 
 
 But just here let me say, that for many a day 
 
 I've been hoping and wishing you'd happen this way. 
 
 "So give us your hand, and you'll soon understand, 
 What a work in the future for you I have planned." 
 Satan's hand then he seized, which he forcibly 
 squeezed, 
 
 At which the arch-fiend looked more angry than 
 pleased.
 
 GOOD IN ALL. 
 
 A puzzled surprise looked out of his eyes, 
 
 Which was really quite strange for the "father of 
 
 lies." 
 "Come," said he. ''this won't do /am Satan, not 
 
 &>*," 
 Said Jonathan Myer, " Very true, very true. 
 
 " Now don't get perplexed, excited or vexed, 
 At what I'm about to present to you next, 
 Your attention please lend, or you'll see in the end, 
 That Jonathan Myer, at least, is your friend. 
 
 " J've been led to suppose, in spite of your foes, 
 That you are far better than any one knows. 
 Now, if there is good, in stock, stone, or wood, 
 I'm bound to get at it, as every one should. 
 
 "So I'll not have a fear though you seem sort 
 
 o' queer 
 
 But what all your goodness will shortly appear, 
 Fact 1 know that it will, though too mingled with 
 
 ill, 
 So so don't get restless be patient sit still. 
 
 '< Now I long since agreed, that there was great need 
 Of a Devil and Hell in the Orthodox Creed. 
 All things are for use, and none for abuse, 
 
 {And the same law applies to a man or a goose), 
 n
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " So they'll keep you in play till the Great Judg 
 ment Day, 
 
 When the Saviour of sinners will thrust you away. 
 But then, don't you see, they and I don't ajrree; 
 So you'll not be obliged to play Satan to me. 
 
 " Even now, in your eyes, does there slowly arise 
 A look, which no lover of good can despise. 
 So open your heart and its goodness impart, 
 ~For now there's no need you should practice your 
 art." 
 
 Oh, strange to'relate ! all that visage of hate, 
 Which wore such a fearful expression of late, 
 Grew gentle and mild as the face of a child, 
 Ere the springs of its life have with doubt been 
 defiled. 
 
 And a voice, soft and low as a rivulet's flow, 
 Said gently, " I was but in seeming your foe, 
 Man ever will find in himself or his kind 
 Either evil or good, as he makes up his mind. 
 
 "As God is in all, so he answered your call, 
 And the evil appearance to you is let fall. 
 This truth I commend to you as a friend, 
 That evil will all change to good in the end."
 
 LITTLE PEOPLE. 
 
 Then Jonathan Myer sat alone by his fire, 
 
 'Till he saw the last light from the embers expire. 
 
 And he thoughtful!^ said, as he turned towards his 
 
 bed, 
 "I will banish all hale and put love in its stead" 
 
 " I will DO, and not DREAM I will BE and not SEEM, 
 And the triumph of goodness I'll take for my theme. 
 Great Spirit above ! I have learned through thy 
 
 love, 
 That the Serpent has uses as well as the DOVE." 
 
 (50) 
 Hitttc 
 
 A dreary place would be this earth, 
 Were there no little people in it; 
 
 The song of life would lose its mirth, 
 Were there no children to begin it. 
 
 No little forms, like buds to grow, 
 
 And make the admiring heart surrender; 
 
 No little hands on breast and brow, 
 
 To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " So they'll keep you in play till the Great Judg 
 ment Day, 
 
 When the Saviour of sinners will thrust you away. 
 But then, don't you see, they and I don't agree; 
 So you'll not be obliged to play Satan to me. 
 
 " Even now, in your eyes, does there slowly arise 
 A look, which no lover of good can despise. 
 So open your heart and its goodness impart, 
 ,-For now there's no need you should practice your 
 art." 
 
 Oh, strange to'relate ! all that visage of hate, 
 Which wore such a fearful expression of late, 
 Grew gentle and mild as the face of a child, 
 Ere the springs of its life have with doubt been 
 defiled. 
 
 And a voice, soft and low as a rivulet's flow, 
 Said gently, " I was but in seeming your foe, 
 Man ever will find in himself or his kind 
 Either evil or good, as he makes up his mind. 
 
 ''As God is in all, so he answered your call, 
 And the evil appearance to you is let fall. 
 This truth I commend to you as a friend, 
 That evil will oil change to good in the end."
 
 LITTLE PEOPLE. 
 
 Then Jonathan Myer sat alone by his fire, 
 
 'Till he saw the last light from the embers expire. 
 
 And he thoughtfully said, as he turned towards his 
 
 bed, 
 "I will banish all hale and put love in its stead." 
 
 " I will DO, and not DREAM I will BE and not SEEM, 
 And the triumph of goodness I'll take for my theme. 
 Great Spirit above ! I have learned through thy 
 
 love, 
 That the Serpent has uses as well as the DOVE." 
 
 (50) 
 L'ittlc 
 
 A dreary place would be this earth, 
 Were there no little people in it; 
 
 The song of life would lose its mirth, 
 Were there no children to begin it. 
 
 No little forms, like buds to grow, 
 
 And make the admiring heart surrender; 
 
 No little hands on breast and brow, 
 
 To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 The sterner souls would grow more stern, 
 Unfeeling nature more inhuman, 
 
 And man to stoic coldness turn, 
 
 And woman would be less than woman. 
 
 Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm, 
 Were there no babies to begin it; 
 
 A doleful place this world would be, 
 Were there no little people in it. 
 
 (51) 
 
 ttue Mjcfcjen 
 
 You may take the world as it comes and goes, 
 
 And you will be sure to find 
 That fate will square the account she owes, 
 
 Whoever comes out behind ; 
 And all things bad that a man has done, 
 
 By whatsoever induced, 
 Return at last to him, one by one, 
 
 As the chickens come home to roost. 
 
 You may scrape and toil, and pinch and save, 
 While your hoarded wealth expands, 
 
 Till the cold, dark shadow of the grave 
 Is nearing your life's last sands;
 
 WHEN THE CHICKENS COME HOME. 
 
 You will have your balance struck some night, 
 And you'll find your hoard reduced, 
 
 You'll view your life in another light, 
 When the chickens come home to roost. 
 
 You can stint your soul, and starve your heart 
 
 With the husks of a barren creed, 
 But you will know if you play a part, 
 
 Will know in your hour of need; 
 And then as you wait for death to come 
 
 What hope can there be deduced 
 From a creed alone ? you will lie there dumb 
 
 While your chickens come home to roost. 
 
 Sow as you will, there's time to reap, 
 
 For the good and bad as well, 
 And conscience, whether we wake or sleep, 
 
 Either in heaven or hell. 
 And every wrong will find its place, 
 
 And every passion loosed, 
 Drifts back and meets you face to face 
 
 When the chickens come home to roost. 
 
 Whether you're over or under the sod 
 
 The result will be the same; 
 You cannot escape the hand of God, 
 
 You must bear your sin or shame: 
 M*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 No matter what 's carved on a marble slab, 
 
 When the items are all produced 
 You'll find that Old Peter was keeping "tab," 
 
 And that chickens come home to roost. 
 
 (52) 
 
 torn ' 
 
 We shall lack nothing, having love ; and we, 
 We must be happy everywhere, we two; 
 For spiritual life is great and clear, 
 And self-continuous as the changeless sea. 
 
 . . . . As is the sea's, 
 So is the life of spirit, and the kind. 
 And then, with natures raised, refined, and freed 
 From these poor forms, our days shall pass in peace 
 And love ; no thought of human littleness 
 Shall cross our high, calm souls, shining and pure 
 As the gold gates of heaven. 
 
 This life, this world, is not enough for us; 
 They are nothing to the measure of our mind. 
 We live in deeds not years; in thoughts not breaths;
 
 SONNET. 
 
 In. feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
 
 We should count time by heart-throbs. He most 
 
 lives 
 
 Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 
 We never can be deathless till we die. 
 
 (53) 
 
 There never yet was flower fair in vain, 
 Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; 
 The seasons toil that it may blow again, 
 And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; 
 Nor is a true soul ever born for naught; 
 Wherever any such hath lived and died, 
 There hath been something for true freedom wrought, 
 Some bulwark leveled on the evil side: 
 Toil on, then, Greatness ! thou art in the right, 
 However narrow souls may call thee wrong; 
 Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight, 
 And so thou shalt be in the world's erelong; 
 For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may, 
 From man's great soul one great thought hide away. 
 
 Lowell.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (54) 
 
 S. B. - W. C. S. 
 
 Rise ! for the day is passing, 
 
 And you lie dreaming on ; 
 The others have buckled their armour, 
 
 And forth to the fight are gone ; 
 A place in the ranks awaits you, 
 
 Each man ha* some part to play ; 
 The Past and the Future are nothing, 
 
 In the face of the stern To-day. 
 
 Rise from your dreams of the Future, 
 
 Of gaining some hard -fought field ; 
 Of storming some airy fortress, 
 
 Or bidding some giant yield ; 
 Your Future has deeds of glory, 
 
 Of honor, (God grant it may !) 
 But your arm will never be stronger, 
 
 Or the need so great as To-day. 
 
 Rise ! if the Past detains you, 
 Her sunshine and storms forget ; 
 
 No chains so unworthy to hold you 
 As those of a vain regret ;
 
 THE SONG OF SEVENTY 
 
 Sad or bright, she is lifeless now ; 
 
 Cast her phantom arms away. 
 Nor look back, save to learn the lesson 
 
 Of a nobler strife To-day. 
 
 Rise ! for the day is passing ; 
 
 The sound that you scarcely hear 
 Is the enemy marching to battle ; 
 
 Arise ! for the foe is here ! 
 Stay not to sharpen your weapons, 
 
 Or the hour will strike at last, 
 When, from dreams of a coming battle, 
 
 You may wake to find it past ! 
 
 Adelaide Proctor. 
 
 (55) 
 
 of ^ 
 
 8. B. N. E. 8. 
 
 I am not old I cannot be old, 
 Though three score years and ten 
 
 Have wasted away, like a tale that is told, 
 The lives of other men.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 I am not old : though friends and foec 
 Alike have gone to their graves, 
 
 And left me alone to my joys or my woes, 
 As a rock in the midst of the waves. 
 
 1 am not old I cannot be old, 
 
 Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray ; 
 Though my eyes are dim. and my marrow is 
 
 Call me not old to-day. [cold, 
 
 For early memories round me throng, 
 
 Old times, and manners, and men, 
 As I look behind on my journey so long, 
 
 Of three score miles and ten. 
 
 I look behind, and am once more young, 
 
 Buoyant, and brave, and bold, 
 And my heart can sing, as'of yore it sung, 
 
 Before they called me old. 
 I do not see her the old wife there 
 
 Shriveled, and haggard, and gray, 
 But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair, 
 
 As she was on her wedding-day'! 
 
 I do not see you, daughters and sons, 
 In the likeness of women and men. 
 
 But I kiss you now as I kissed you once, 
 My fond little children then !
 
 THE SONG OF SEVENTY 
 
 And as my grandson rides on my knee, 
 
 Or plays with his hoop or kite, 
 I can well recollect 1 was merry as he 
 
 The bright-eyed little wight ! 
 
 'Tis not long since it cannot be long, 
 
 My years so soon were spent 
 Since I was a boy, both straight and strong, 
 
 Yet now am 1 feeble and bent, 
 A dream, a dream it is all a dream; 
 
 A strange, sad dream, good sooth; 
 For old as 1 am, and old as I seem, 
 
 My heart is full of youth. 
 
 Eye hath not seem, tongue hath not told, 
 
 And ear hath not heard it sung, 
 How buoyant and bold though it seem to grow 
 
 Is the heart, forever young. [old, 
 
 Forever young, though life's old age 
 
 Hath every nerve unstrung ; 
 The heart, the heart is a heritage 
 
 That keeps the old man young. 
 
 Tupper.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (56) 
 
 The old world is effete ; there man with man 
 Jostles, and. in the brawl for means to live, 
 Life is trod under foot, Life, the one block 
 Of marble that's vouchsafed wherefrom to carve 
 Our great thoughts, white and Godlike, to shine down 
 The future, Life, the irredeemable block, 
 Which one o'erhasty chisel dint oft mars, 
 Scanting our room to cut the features out 
 Of our full hope, so forcing us to crown 
 With a mean head the perfect limbs, or 
 Leave the god's face glowing o'er a satyr's trunk, 
 
 Failure's brief epitaph. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 (57) 
 
 S. B. - N. A. G. C. 
 
 World ! somewhat I have to say to thee. 
 
 sin-sick, heart-sick, soul-sick, love-sick World ! 
 
 So ailing art thou, both in part and particle, 
 
 That solid truth thy stomach ill digests. 
 
 Yet, since thou art my mother, I will love thee, 
 
 And heedless of thy frowns, "will speak right on."
 
 LOVE. 
 
 That which lielongs to all men is least prized ; 
 
 The thing most common is least understood. 
 
 That which is deep and silent, is divine ; 
 
 And there is nought on earth so craved, so common, 
 
 So misunderstood, or so divine, as Love. 
 
 When meted in proportion to man's need, 
 " Measure for measure," it doth purify, 
 Exalt, and make him equal with the gods. 
 He feeds upon ambrosia, and his drink 
 Is nectar ; high Olympus cannot yield 
 Delights more grateful to his soul and sense. 
 
 Parnassus fails his rapture to express, 
 
 And Helicon hath less of inspiration, 
 
 But, prithee, should he chance to drink too deep 
 
 Of the exhilarating draught, should plunge 
 
 Him head and ears into this 'wildering flood, 
 
 Mark, then, what marvelous diversions 
 
 From the center of his gravity ensue. 
 
 Judgment is scouted sober common sense 
 Yields to imagination's airy flights ; 
 Upon a swift-winged hippogriff he mounts, 
 To seek the fair Arcadia of his dreams. 
 He builds him castles basks in moonshine feeds 
 12
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Among lilies pours his passion forth 
 
 In amorous canticles and burning sighs 
 
 Makes him a bed of roses, and lies down 
 
 To revel in his rainbow-colored dreams 
 
 Until some turn, some ill-begotten chance, 
 
 Most unexpectedly invades his peace, 
 
 And castles, moonshine, roses, rainbows fly, 
 
 And leave him to the stern realities of life. 
 
 Alas, poor Human Nature ! Even fools 
 
 Must learn through sad experience to grow wise. 
 
 Love is the highest attribute of Nature ; 
 And he who loves divinely is most blest. 
 It purgeth passion from the soul and sense, 
 And makes the man a unit in himself ; 
 Head, eyes, hands, heart, all work in unison,. 
 And beasts, and savages, and rudest hinds, 
 All feel alike its exercise of power. 
 
 Ambition cannot walk with it ; for he 
 Who learns to live and love aright, loves all, 
 And finds preferment in the general weal. 
 Though, Proteus like, it taxes a thousand forms, 
 It doth o'ercome all evil with its good, 
 Casteth out devils sensuality, and sin,
 
 LOVE. 
 
 And green-eyed jealousy, and hate ; and like 
 Chrysostom, golden -mouthed, it doth attune 
 The words of common speech to sweet accord, 
 And gives significance to simplest things. 
 
 It buddeth out in tender infancy, 
 
 Like fresh blown violets in the early spring, 
 
 And giveth form and fashion to all life, 
 
 For, by its character, it doth decide 
 
 \Vliut elements and essences the soul 
 
 Shall draw from contact with material things. 
 
 As roses draw their blushes, lilies whiteness, 
 
 Violets their azure, from the same dull earth, 
 
 So Love extracts the sweetness of Life, 
 
 And doth so mingle all within her crucible, 
 
 That she creates the difference between 
 
 Immortal souls. The fiery heart of youth, 
 
 Full of high aims and generous purposes of good, 
 
 Swells like the ocean waves beneath the moon, 
 
 And brooketh no restraint, until it finds 
 
 Its living counterpart, and mergeth all 
 
 It hath of truth, and manliness, and might, 
 
 Into a second and a dearer self. 
 
 So goes the world ! and strong necessity 
 Creates the law of action, whose results
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Join issue with the love of Truth itself. 
 
 O jealous, wanton, ill-conceited World ! 
 
 How little dost thou understand the deep 
 
 Significance and potency of Love! 
 
 Thou has defiled thyself with gross perversions, 
 
 Till purity of love is but a jest, 
 
 Or reckoned with the fantasies of fools. 
 
 0, I would take thee, dear Humanity, 
 
 And set thee face to face with perfect Love. 
 
 She is thy mother! Love and Wisdom met 
 
 United by Eternal Power. The worlds 
 
 Sprang forth from chaos; and the love which 
 
 brought 
 
 Them into being doth sustain them still. 
 The monad and the angel rest alike 
 Within its all embracing arms ; and life, 
 And death, with all that makes our mortal state, 
 Are cradled at the footstool of this power. 
 Then, sweet Humanity, thou favored child 
 Lcok up ! An everlasting chain 
 Doth bind thee to the mighty heart of all. 
 Love's labor never can he lost. 
 
 And that, which hath such poor expression here, 
 Shall find fruition in a brighter sphere. 
 
 Uo.'en.
 
 LIFE. HOW WONDERFUL IS MAN! 
 
 (58) 
 
 ***. 
 
 Life. I know not what thou art, 
 
 But know that thou and I must part; 
 
 And when or how or where we met, 
 
 I own to me 's a secret yet. 
 
 Life, we Ve been long together 
 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather. 
 
 1 Tis hard to part when friends are dear; 
 
 Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 
 
 Then steal away, give little warning; 
 
 Choose thine own time; 
 Say not good-night, but in some brighetr clime 
 
 Bid me good-morning. 
 
 Anna L. Barlauld, 1743-1825. 
 
 (59.) 
 
 Hour tK'lomlcvfxtt is 
 
 How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 How complicate, how wonderful, is man I 
 How passing wonder that which made him such, 
 That centered in our make such strange extremes, 
 
 12*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 From different natures marvelously mixed, 
 Connection exquisite of distant worlds, 
 Distinguished link in being's endless chain, 
 Midway from nothing to Infinity ! 
 A beam ethereal sullied, and absorpt ! 
 Though sullied and dishonored, still divine ! 
 Dim miniature of greatness absolute, 
 An heir of glory, a frail child of dust, 
 Helpless immortal, insect infinite ! 
 A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself. 
 And in myself am lost, at home, a stranger. 
 
 An angeTs arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
 Regions of angels can't confine me there. 
 
 This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
 The twilight of our day, the vestibule. 
 Life's theater as yet is shut ; and death, 
 Strong death, alone, can heave the massy bar, 
 This gross impediment of clay remove, 
 And make us embryos of existence free 
 
 Edward Young,
 
 THE TIME HAS COME. 
 
 (60.) 
 
 'i'hc 
 
 The time has come to stand erect, 
 In noble, manly self-respect ; 
 To see the bright sun overhead, 
 To feel the ground beneath our tread, 
 Unled by priests, uncursed by creeds, 
 Our manhood proving by our deeds. 
 
 The time has come to break the yoke, 
 Whatever cost the needed stroke ; 
 To set the toiling millions free, 
 Whatever price their liberty : 
 Better a few should die, than all 
 Be held in worse than deadly thrall. 
 
 The time has come for men to find 
 Their Statute-book within the mind; 
 To read its laws, and cease to pore 
 The musty tomes of ages o'er : 
 Truth's golden rays its page illume ; 
 Her fires your legal scrolls consume. 
 
 The time has come to preach the soul; 
 .Y" i/i-iiji-i sJired, the manly whole.
 
 SEVEN DOZEX GEMS. 
 
 Let agitation come : who fears ? 
 We need a flood : the filth of years 
 Has gathered round us. Roll, then, on : 
 What cannot stand had best be gone. 
 
 Denton. 
 
 (61) 
 
 S. B. - M F. B. F. 
 
 It was midnight dark, when I launched my bark 
 
 On a wild, tempestuous sea; 
 The lightnings flashed, and the white waves dashed 
 
 Like steeds from the rein set free. 
 'Twas a fearful night, and no beacon-light 
 
 O'er the waste of waters shone ; 
 On the wide, wide sweep of the angry deep, 
 
 Alas ! I was all alone. 
 
 I had left behind the faithful and kind, 
 
 The 'gentle and true of heart ; 
 O God above ! from their clinging love, 
 
 It was hard, it was hard to part. 
 0, why did I leave such hearts to grieve, 
 
 And haste from my home away ? 
 'Twas the chosen hour of a mighty power, 
 
 Whose summons 1 must obey.
 
 OUTWAKD BOUND. 
 
 1 had heard the call which must come to all, 
 
 And I felt, by my quickened breath, 
 I must leave that shore to return no more, 
 
 For the name of that sea was Death. 
 Thus Outward Bound, with a dizzy sound 
 
 Like waves in my troubled brain, 
 1 drifted away like "a soul astray, 
 
 For 1 felt that to strive was vain. 
 
 Like the brooding wing of some grewsome thing, 
 
 The darkness around me spread; 
 The wild winds roared, and the tempests poured 
 
 Their fury upon my head. 
 Anon through the nights, like serpents bright, 
 
 The quivering lightnings came, 
 Or an instant coiled where the white waves boiled, 
 
 To moisten their tongues of flame. 
 
 In the giddy whirl, in the greedy swirl, 
 
 I felt I was sinking fast, 
 When an arm, as white as the opal bright, 
 
 Was firmly around me cast. 
 And a well-known voice made my heart rejoice 
 
 " Fear not ! for the strife is o'er ; 
 To your resting-place in my warm embrace, 
 
 Do I welcome you back once more."
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Twas ray mother dear spake those words of cheer, 
 
 Whom I met with a glad surprise, 
 For 1 thought she slept where the willows wept, 
 
 Till the day when the dead should rise. 
 I had passed away from my form of clay, 
 
 But not to a distant sphere ; 
 Like a troubled dream did the struggle seem, 
 
 For my spirit still lingered here. 
 
 I had weathered the storm, but my mortal form 
 
 Like a wreck in my presence lay; 
 They said I was dead when my spirit fled, 
 
 And with weeping they turned away. 
 Then the dearest came, and she sobbed my name. 
 
 But how could those pale lips speak ? 
 She bent o'er my form like a reed in the storm, 
 
 As she kissed my clay-cold cheek. 
 
 I was with her there, and with tender care 
 
 I folded her close to my breast, 
 Till the heart's wild throb, and the bursting sob, 
 
 Were silenced arid soothed to rest. 
 O human love ! there is naught above, 
 
 That ever will rudely part 
 The sacred tie, or the union high, 
 
 Of those who are one in heart.
 
 OUTWARD BOUND. , 
 
 A bridge leads o'er from the heavenly shore, 
 
 Where the happy spirits pass, 
 And the angels that stand with harp in hand, 
 
 On the " sea, as it were, of glass," 
 Play so soft and clear, that the human ear, 
 
 And the spirits who love the Lord, 
 Can catch the sound through the space profound. 
 
 And join in the sweet accord. 
 
 Oh, what is death ? Tis a fleeting breath 
 
 A simple but blessed change 
 'Tis rending a chain, that the soul may gain 
 
 A higher and broader range. 
 Unbounded space is its dwelling place, 
 
 Where no human foot hath trod, 
 But everywhere doth it feel the care 
 
 And the changeless love of God. 
 
 O, then, though you weep when your loved ones 
 sleep, 
 
 "When the rose on the cheek grows pale, 
 Yet their forms of light, just concealed from sight, 
 
 Are only behind the veil. 
 With their faces fair, and their shining hair 
 
 With blossoms of beauty crowned, 
 They will also stand, with a helping hand 
 
 When you shall be Outward Bound. 
 
 Doten.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (62) 
 gttjmrt to gcixtlx. 
 
 S. B. N. A. G. C. 
 
 Oh ! could I hope the wise and pure in heart 
 
 Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem 
 
 My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, 
 
 I would take up the hymn to Death, and say 
 
 To the grim power: The world hath slandered thee 
 
 And mock'd thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow 
 
 They place an iron crown, and call thee king 
 
 Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world. 
 
 Deadly assassin, that strikest down the fair, 
 
 The loved, the good that "breathest on the lights 
 
 Of virtue set along the vale of life, 
 
 And they go out in darkness. I am come, 
 
 Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers, 
 
 Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear 
 
 From the beginning ; I am come to speak 
 
 Thy praises. True it is, that I have wept 
 
 Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again, 
 
 And thou, from some I love, wilt take a life 
 
 Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell 
 
 Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee 
 
 In sight of all thy trophies, face to face,
 
 HYMN TO DEATH. 
 
 Meet is it that my voice should utter forth 
 Thy nobler triumphs; I will teach the world 
 To thank thee. Who are thine accusers ? Who ? 
 The living ! They who never felt thy power, 
 And know thee not. The curses of the wretch 
 Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand 
 Is on him, and the hour he dreads is come, 
 Are writ among thy praises. But the good 
 Does he whom thy kind hand dismiss to peace, 
 Upbraid the gentle violence that took off 
 His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell ? 
 Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer ! 
 
 Thou dost avenge, in thy good time, the wrongs of 
 
 those who know 
 
 No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose, 
 Only to lay the sufferer asleep, 
 Where be who made him wretched, troubles not 
 His rest thou dost strike down his tyrant too. 
 Oh, there is joy when hands, that held the scourge,] 
 Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. 
 Thou, too, dost purge from earth its horrible 
 And old idolatries ; from the proud fanes 
 Each to his grave their priests go out, till none 
 Is left to teach their worship; then the fires 
 
 13
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss 
 O'er creeps their altars; the fallen images 
 Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, 
 Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind 
 
 Shrieks in the solitary aisles 
 
 But, oh, most fearfully 
 
 Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when thy 
 
 shafts 
 
 Drink up the ebbing spirit then the hard 
 Of heart and violent of hand restores 
 The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. 
 Then, from the writhing bosom, thou dost pluck 
 The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed, 
 Are faithless to their dreadful trust at length, 
 And give it up; the felon's latest breath 
 Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime; 
 The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, 
 Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged 
 
 To work his brother's ruin 
 
 Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found 
 
 On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee, 
 
 Had been too strong for the good ; the great of earth 
 
 Had crushed the weak forever 
 
 Bryant.
 
 UNNUMBERED GRAVES. 
 
 (63) 
 
 ol u ix u m b c vjert (Ova w cs. 
 
 Yon hillside with its shafts of gleaming white, 
 
 Bathed in the glory of the setting sun, 
 Holds many a grave, where, hidden from our sight, 
 
 Some loved one sleeps, life's toil and labor done. 
 But there are graves o'er whose slumbering mould 
 
 No polished marble rears its stately head, 
 And where no fragrant flowers above unfold, 
 
 To awaken pity for the quiet dead. 
 
 These are the graves deep down within our hearts, 
 
 Where lie the hopes and dreams of early years, 
 Buried from sight, but signaled by such marks 
 
 As only can be made by blood and tears 
 Some early love that crowned us in our youth, 
 
 And made life glorious for a short sweet hour 
 Some cherished promise, robbed of strength and truth, 
 
 Crushed in the morning of its new-born power. 
 
 Here is the spot where memory has engraved 
 Tim form and face of one we called a friend, 
 
 One for whose welfare we would e'en have braved 
 Censure and heartache to the bitter end.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 But twas not wisely done, and so we draw 
 Before the treachery of the smiling eyes 
 
 A heavy veil. The cold world if it saw 
 Would proffer pity in a thousand lies. 
 
 So life goes on. We lay the forms away 
 
 Of things we loved not wisely but too well, 
 And in the lapse of years we learn to stay 
 
 The fretted chanting of their funeral knell. 
 We learn to smile before the smiling throng, 
 
 Although the adder's fangs be deeply set; 
 And join, perhaps, our voices in the song, 
 
 To sooth the pain we never can forget. 
 
 And thus we learn to envy the calm rest 
 
 Of those who sleep beneath the silent sod, 
 Bound with life's galling chains, we know 'tis best 
 
 To bow our heads and pass beneath the rod; 
 And when we see some mourners heavy clad 
 
 In robes of black, haggard, with tear-dimmed eye, 
 We know their lives would be more bright and glad 
 
 Could they but reason it is life to die. 
 
 Mourn not the slumbering dead, but rather say 
 Blest are the sleepers. Years may come and go; 
 
 Heads that are brown and gold may turn to gray; 
 But they are done wiih earth and tears and woe.
 
 HOPE FOB THE SORROWING. 
 
 Somewhere, we know, beyond the world of stars, 
 They will at last have found sweet Lethe's stream; 
 
 Sometime will meet them in the "over there," 
 Where life is love, and love, one long true dream. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 (64) 
 
 fov tlxc 5>ovvciunnc}. 
 
 This was delivered at the funeral service of Henry L. Kingman of 
 North Bridgewater, Maes., November, 1862. 
 
 BY LIZZIE DOTEN. 
 
 Ye holy ministers of Love, 
 
 Blest dwellers in the upper spheres, 
 
 In vain we fix our gaze above, 
 For we are blinded by our tears. 
 
 0, tell us to what land unknown 
 The soul of him we love has flown ? 
 
 He left us when his manly heart 
 
 With earnest hope was beating high ; 
 
 Too soon it seemed for us to part ; 
 Too soon, alas ! for him to die. 
 
 We have the tenement of clay, 
 I'M it aye the soul has passed away. 
 
 13*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Away, into the unknown dark, 
 
 With fearless heart and steady hand, 
 
 He calmly launched his fragile bark, 
 To seek the spirit's fatherland. 
 
 Say, has he reached some distant shore, 
 To speak with us on earth no more ? 
 
 \Ve gaze into unmeasured space, 
 
 And lift our tearful eyes above, 
 
 / 
 To catch the gleaming of his face, 
 
 Or one light whisper of his love. 
 O God ! angels ! hear our cry, 
 Nor let our hope in darkness die ! 
 
 Hark ! for a voice of gentle tone 
 The answer to our cry hath given, 
 
 Soft as ^Eolian harp strings blown, 
 Responsive to the breath of even 
 
 " I have not sought a distant shore, 
 Lo ! lam with you weep no more. 
 
 " Aye ! Love is stronger far than death, 
 And wins the victory o'er the grave; 
 
 Dependent on no mortal breath, 
 Its mission is to guide and save. 
 
 Above the wrecks of Death and Time, 
 It triumphs, changeless and sublime.
 
 WHAT MAKES A MAX. 
 
 " Still shall my love its vigils keep, 
 True as the needle to the pole, 
 
 For Death is not a dreamless sleep, 
 X<>r is the Grave man's final goal. 
 
 The larger growth, the life divine, 
 All that I hoped or wished, are mine." 
 
 Blest spirit ! we will weep no more, 
 But lay our selfishness to rest ; 
 
 Condition's laws which we respect 
 Have ordered all thing for the best. 
 
 Life's battle fought, the victory won, 
 To nobler toils pass on ! pass on ! 
 
 oolhut inuhcs \\ lUan. 
 
 Not years that crown a lengthened life; 
 Not numerous children and a wife; 
 Not pins, nor chains, nor glittering rings, 
 Nor any other trumpery things; 
 Not poisonous pipe nor vile cigar, 
 l-'roin those true manhood stands afar; 
 Not coat, nor boots, nor stove-pipe hat, 
 A dainly vest, or trim cravat;
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Not Latin, Greek, nor Hebrew lore, 
 For thousand volumes rambled o'er; 
 Not general, reverend, count, nor squire, 
 For manhood's titles must be higher; 
 Not ancestry traced back to Will, 
 Who went from Normandy to kill; 
 Not judge's robes, nor mayor's mace, 
 Nor crowns that deck the royal race; 
 Not all the power great Csesar had, 
 "Whose smile could make a nation glad; 
 Not all the wealth beneath the sun, 
 Nor all the fame Napoleon won; 
 These, though united, never can 
 Avail to make a full-grown man. 
 An upright spirit, cultured mind; 
 A soul in love with all mankind, 
 That never stoops to gain its ends, 
 And blesses both its foes and friends; 
 A spirit firm, erect, and free, 
 That never basely bends the knee; 
 That truly speaks from God within, 
 And never makes a league with sin; 
 That snaps the fetters despots make, 
 And loves the truth for its own sake; 
 That for it would most freely die, 
 And ready stands to smite a lie;
 
 FEW HAPPY MARRIAGES. 
 
 That trembles at no tyrant's nod, 
 A soul that fears not even God, 
 And thus can scorn the bigot's ban, 
 That is the soul that makes a man. 
 
 Denton. 
 
 (00) 
 
 <Eeiu Hupj.ni Ttluvviarjcs. 
 
 BY ISAAC WATTS, D.D., AUGUST, 1701. 
 
 Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, 
 To whom my sweetest joys belong, 
 
 And who the happy pairs 
 Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, 
 Find blessings twisted with their bands, 
 
 To soften all their cares. 
 
 Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains 
 That thoughtless fly into the chains, 
 
 As custom leads the way ; 
 If there be bliss without design, 
 Ivies and oaks may grow and twine, 
 
 And be as blest as they.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Not sordid souls of earthly mould 
 Who draw by kindred charms of gold 
 
 To dull embraces move ; 
 So two rich mountains of Peru 
 May rush to wealthy marriage too, 
 
 And make a world of Love. 
 
 Not the mad tribe that hell inspires 
 With wanton flames, those raging fires 
 
 The purer bliss destroy; 
 On ^Etna's top let furies wed, 
 And sheets of lightning dress the bed 
 T' improve the burning joy. 
 
 Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms. 
 None of the melting passions warm, 
 
 Can mingle hearts and hands; 
 Logs of green wood that quench the coals 
 Are married just like stoic souls, 
 
 With osiers for their bands. 
 
 Not minds of melancholy strain, 
 Still silent, or that still complain, 
 
 Can the dear bondage bless; 
 As well may heavenly concerts spring 
 From two old lutes with ne'er a string, 
 
 Or none beside the .bass.
 
 FEW HAPPY MARRIAGES. 
 
 Nor can the soft enchantments hold 
 Two jarring souls of angry mould, 
 
 The rugged and the keen; 
 Sampson's young foxes might as well 
 In bands of cheerful wedlock dwell, 
 
 With firebrands tied between. 
 
 Nor let the cruel fetters bind 
 A gentle to a savage mind, 
 
 For Love abhors the sight; 
 Loose the fierce tiger from the deer, 
 For native rage and native fear 
 
 Rise and forbid delight. 
 
 
 Two kindred souls alone must meet, 
 
 Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, 
 
 And feeds their mutual loves; 
 Bright Venus on her rolling throne 
 Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, 
 And Cupids yoke the doves.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (67) 
 of 
 
 LIZZIE DOTEN. 
 
 'The bond which unites the human to the divine is Love, and Love 
 is the longing of the Soul for Beauty: inextinguishable desire which 
 like feels for like, which the divinity within UP feels for the divinity 
 revealed to us in Beauty. Beauty is Truth." Plato. 
 
 I have come from the heart of all natural things, 
 Whose life from the Soul of the Beautiful springs; 
 You shall hear the sweet waving of corn in my voice r 
 And the musical whisper of leaves that rejoice, 
 For my lips ha.ve been touched by the spirit of prayer r 
 Which lingers unseen in the soft summer air; 
 And the smile of the sunshine that brightens the skies, 
 Hath left a glad ray of its light in my eyes. 
 
 On the sea-beaten shore 'mid the dwellings of men 
 In the field, or the forest, or wild mountain glen; 
 Wherever the grass or a daisy could spring. 
 Or the musical laughter of childhood could ring; 
 Wherever a swallow could build 'neath the eaves, 
 Or a squirrel could hide in his covert of leaves, 
 I have felt the sweet presence, and heard the low call, 
 Of the Spirit of Nature, which quickens us all.
 
 THE SPIRIT OF NATl'HE. 
 
 Grown weary and worn with the conflict of creeds, 
 I had sought new belief for the soul with its needs, 
 When the love of the Beautiful guided my feet 
 Through a leafy arcade to a sylvan retreat, 
 Where the oriole sung in the branches above, 
 And the wild roses burned with their blushes of love, 
 And the purple-fringed aster, and bright golden-rod, 
 Like jewels of beauty adorned the green sod. 
 
 O, how blessed to feel from the care-laden heart 
 All the sorrows and woes that oppressed it, depart, 
 And to lay the tired head, with its achings, to rest 
 On the heart of all others that loves it the best; 
 O, thus is it ever, when, wearied, we yearn 
 To the bosom of Nature and Truth to return, 
 And life blossoms forth into beauty anew, 
 And we learn to repose in the Simple and True. 
 
 No longer with self or with Nature at strife, 
 The soul feels the presence of Infinite Life; 
 And the voice of a child, or the hum of a bee 
 The somnolent roll of the deep-heaving sea 
 The mountains uprising in grandeur and might 
 The stars that look forth from the depths of the night 
 All sprak in one language, jx^rsuasive and clear, 
 To him who in spirit is waiting to hear. 
 U
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 There is something in Nature beyond our control, 
 That is tenderly winning the love of each soul; 
 We shall linger no longer in darkness and doubt, 
 When the Beauty within meets the Beauty without. 
 Sweet Spirit of Nature ! wherever thou art, 
 O, fold us like children, close, close to thy heart ; 
 Till we learn that thy bosom is Truth's hallowed shrine, 
 And the Soul of the Beautiful is the Divine. 
 
 (08) 
 
 xnxjce 
 
 I once thought that heaven was made for the few; 
 That God was as vengeful as Moses the Jew; 
 That millions were doomed at his bidding to dwell 
 Within the dark bounds of a terrible hell 
 Where hope never enters, but ring on the air 
 The weepings and wailings of endless despair. 
 
 1 once thought the Bible was God's holy Word ; 
 
 That reason, opposing, should never be heard: 
 
 I made it my study, my every-day care; 
 
 Its falsehoods were truth, and its curses were prayer; 
 
 To doubt was a crime, that could ne'er be forgiven, 
 
 And faith was the lever that raised us to heaven.
 
 WHAT I ONTE THOUGHT. 
 
 I once thought Jehovah Creator and Lord, 
 And, bowed at his footstool, I feared and adored : 
 The deeds that a devil might blush to commit 
 Believed he had done, for the Lord thought it fit. 
 The law of right-doing, I never dreamed then 
 Applied unto gods, even more than to men. 
 
 I once thought that death was a monster accurst, 
 
 Of evils tho greatest, the last, and the worst; 
 
 His maw, so insatiate, swallowed our race. 
 
 And left, of their beauty and glory, no trace; 
 
 The grave was a shadow-land, cheered by no spring, 
 
 Where, sat on his ice-throne, a skeleton king. 
 
 I once thought that earth was a valley of tears, 
 A wilderness-world, full of sorrows and fears; 
 That God's curse had blasted its beauty and grace, 
 And poisoned the fairest and best of the race. 
 I wept, as I thought of this horrible ban, 
 And sorrowed that God should have made me a man. 
 Fond Tallies of childhood ; my hope in you fled : 
 Y<- lit' in the tomb, with the dust-covered dead. 
 
 Den ton.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 (09) 
 
 of 
 
 Though the day of my destiny 's over, 
 
 And the star of my fate hath declined, 
 Thy soft heart refused to discover 
 
 The faults which so many could find; 
 Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted 
 
 It shrunk not to share it with me, 
 And the love which my spirit hath painted 
 
 It never hath found but in thee. 
 
 Then when nature around me is smiling, 
 
 The last smile which answers to mine, 
 I do not believe it beguiling, 
 
 Because it reminds me of thine; 
 And when winds are at war with the ocean, 
 
 As the breasts I believed in with me, 
 If their billows excite an emotion, 
 
 It is that they bear me from thee. 
 
 Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, 
 And its fragments are sunk in the wave, 
 
 Though I feel that my soul is delivered 
 To pain it shall not be its slave.
 
 FIDELITY OF WOMAN. 
 
 There is many a pang to pursue me : 
 
 They may crush, but they shall not contemn 
 
 They may torture, but shall not subdue me 
 'Tis of thec that 1 think not of them. 
 
 Though human, thou didst not deceive me, 
 
 Though woman, thou didst not forsake, 
 Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, 
 
 Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, 
 Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, 
 
 Though parted, it was not to fly, 
 Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, 
 
 Nor mute, that the world might belie. 
 
 Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 
 
 Nor the war of the many with one 
 If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 
 
 'Twas folly not sooner to slum: 
 And if dearly that error hath cost me, 
 
 And more than I once could foresee, 
 I have found that whatever it lost me, 
 
 It could not deprive me of thee. 
 
 Since the wreck of the psisl, which h;ith perished, 
 
 Thin much 1, ;it le.-ist,, inay recall, 
 It has taught mo that which I most cherished, 
 
 to l>c <lr:uv<t of ;ill: 
 14*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 In the desert a fountain is springing, 
 In the wide waste there still is a tree 
 
 And a bird in the solitude singing, 
 Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 (70) 
 
 Wherefore, 0, ye sons of sorrow ! 
 
 Do ye idly sit and borrow 
 
 Care and trouble for the morrow 
 
 Filling up your cup with woe ? 
 Leave, 0, leave your visions dreary ! 
 Hush your doleful miserere ! 
 
 See the lilies how they grow 
 
 Bending down their heads so lowly, 
 As though heaven were far too holy, 
 Growing patiently and slowly 
 
 To the end that Good designed. 
 In their fragrance and their beauty, 
 Filling up their sphere of duty 
 
 Each is perfect in its kind.
 
 TRESS ONWARD. 
 
 Deeper than all sense of seeing, 
 Lies the secret source of being, 
 And the soul with truth agreeing, 
 
 Learns to live in thoughts and deeds. 
 For the life is more than raiment, 
 And the earth is pledged for payment 
 
 Unto man, for all his needs. 
 
 Nature is your common mother, 
 Every living man your brother ; 
 Therefore love and serve each other ; 
 
 Not to meet the law's behest, 
 But because through cheerful giving 
 You will learn the art of living ; 
 
 And to love and serve is best. 
 
 Life is more than what man fancies 
 Not a game of idle chances, 
 But it steadily advances 
 
 Up the rugged steeps of time, 
 Till man's complex web of trouble 
 Kvcry sad hope's broken bubble, 
 
 Hath a meaning most sublime. 
 
 More of practice, li-ss profession. 
 More of firmness, less com-,-.^,',,,,. 
 .IA-/V (}{ /'n'ii/i, m, /c.s.v oppression,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 
 
 In your Church and in your State ; 
 More of life, and less of fashion, 
 More of love, and less of passion 
 
 That will make you good and great. 
 
 When true hearts, divinely gifted, 
 From the chaff of Error sifted, 
 On their crosses are uplifted, 
 
 Shall your souls most clearly see 
 That earth's greatest time of trial 
 Calls for holy self-denial 
 
 Calls on men to do and be. 
 
 But, forever and forever, 
 Let it be your soul's endeavor, 
 Love from hatred to dissever ; 
 
 And in whatsoe'er ye do 
 Won by Truth's eternal beauty 
 To your highest sense of duty, 
 
 Evermore be firm and true. 
 
 Doten.
 
 THE NEW CHURCH DOCTRINE. 
 (71) 
 
 glcxxr TuivcTx Jloctvinc. 
 
 There's come a sing'lar doctrine, Sue, 
 
 Into our church to-day; 
 These cur'us words are what the new 
 
 Young preacher had to say : 
 That literal everlastin' fire 
 
 Was mostly in our eye ; 
 That sinners dead, if they desire, 
 
 Can get another try ; 
 He doubted if a warmer clime 
 
 Than this world could be proved ; 
 The little snip I fear some time 
 
 He'll get his doubts removed. 
 
 I've watched my duty, straight an' true, 
 
 An' tried to do it well ; 
 Part of the time kept heaven in view, 
 
 An' part steered clear o' hell; 
 An' now half of this work is naught, 
 
 If I must list to him, 
 An' this 'ere devil I have fought 
 
 Was only just a whim;
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Vain are the dangers I have braved, 
 
 The sacrifice they cost; 
 For what fun is it to be saved 
 
 If no one else is lost ? 
 
 Just think ! Suppose, when once I view 
 
 The heavens I've toiled to win, 
 A lot of unsaved sinners, too, 
 
 Comes walkin' grandly in ! 
 An' acts to home, same as if they 
 
 Had read their titles clear, 
 An' looks at me, as if to say, 
 
 " We're glad to see you here ! " 
 As if to say, " While you have been 
 
 So fast to toe the mark, 
 We waited till it rained, an' then 
 
 Got tickets for the ark ! " 
 
 Yet there would be some in that crowd 
 
 I'd rather like to see : 
 My boy Jack it must be allowed 
 
 There was no worse than he ! 
 I've always felt somewhat to blame, 
 
 In several different ways, 
 That he lay down on thorns o' shame 
 
 To end his boyhood's days;
 
 THE NEW CHURCH DOCTRINE. 
 
 An' I'd be willin' to endure, 
 If that the Lord thought best, 
 
 A minute's quite hot temperature, 
 To clasp him to my breast. 
 
 Old Captain Barnes was evil's son 
 
 With heterodoxy crammed; 
 I used to think he'd be the one 
 
 If any one was damned ; 
 Still, when I saw a lot o' poor 
 
 That he had clothed and fed, 
 Cry desolately round his door 
 
 As soon as he was dead, 
 There came a thought I couldn't control, 
 
 That in some neutral land, 
 IM like to meet that scorched-up soul 
 
 An' shake it by the hand. 
 
 1'oor Jennie Willis, with a cry 
 
 Of hopeless, sail distress, 
 Sank sudden down, one night, to die, 
 
 All in her ball-room dress; 
 Sin- had a precious little while 
 
 To pack up an' away; 
 She even Irft her sweet good smile 
 
 'Twas on the face next day ;
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Her soul went off unclothed by even 
 
 One stitch of saving grace; 
 How could she hope to go to heaven, 
 
 An' start from such a place ? 
 
 But once, when I lay sick an' weak, 
 
 She came an' begged to stay; 
 She kissed my faded, wrinkled cheek 
 
 She soothed my pain away; 
 She brought me sweet bouquets of flowers 
 
 As fresh as her young heart 
 Through many long and tedious hours 
 
 She played a human part ; 
 An' ere I long will stand aroun' 
 
 The singin' saints among, 
 I'll try to take some water down, 
 
 To cool poor Jennie's tongue. 
 
 But tears can never quench my creed, 
 
 Nor smooth God's righteous frown, 
 Though all the preachers learn to read 
 
 Their Bibles upside down. 
 I hold mine right side up with care 
 
 To shield my eyes from sin, 
 An' coax the Lord, with daily prayer, 
 
 To call poor wanderers in;
 
 CONSCIENCE AND FUTURE JUDGMENT. 
 
 But if the sinners won't draw nigh, 
 
 An' take salvation's plan, 
 I'll have to stand an' see 'em try 
 
 To dodge hell if they can. 
 
 Will Carleton. 
 
 (72) 
 
 ami gntnvz 
 
 I sat alone with my conscience, 
 
 In a place where time had ceased, 
 And we talked of my former living 
 
 In the land where the years increased, 
 And I felt I should have to answer 
 
 The question it put to me, 
 And to face the answer and question 
 
 Throughout all eternity. 
 The ghosts of forgotten actions 
 
 Came floating before my si^ht. 
 And things tliut I thought were dead tilings 
 
 Were alive with a terrible might, 
 And the vision of all my past life 
 
 \V;is an awful thing to face. 
 Alone with my conscience sitting 
 
 In that solemnly silent place. 
 II
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 And I thought of a far-away warning, 
 
 Of a sorrow that was to be mine, 
 In a land that then was the future, 
 
 But now is the present time. 
 And I thought of my former thinking 
 
 Of the judgment-day to be; 
 But sitting alone with my conscience 
 
 Seemed judgment enough for me. 
 And I wondered if there was a future 
 
 To this land beyond the grave; 
 But no one gave me an answer, 
 
 And no one came to save. 
 Then I felt that the future was present, 
 
 And the present would never go by, 
 For it was but the thought of my past life 
 
 Grown into eternity. 
 Then I woke from my timely dreaming, 
 
 And the vision passed away, 
 And I knew the far-away warning 
 
 Was a warning of yesterday, 
 And I pray that I may not forget it 
 
 In this land before the grave, 
 That 1 may not cry in the future, 
 
 And no one come to save. 
 And so I have learned a lesson, 
 
 Which I ought to have known before,
 
 ONLY A DOG. 
 
 And which, though I learned it dreaming, 
 
 I hope to forget no more. 
 So I sit alone with my conscience, 
 
 In the place where the years increase, 
 And I try to remember the future 
 
 In the land where time shall cease; 
 And 1 know of the future judgment, 
 
 How dreadful so e'er it be, 
 THAT TO SIT ALONE WITH MY CONSCIENCE 
 
 WlLL BE JUDGMENT ENOUGH FOR ME ! 
 
 (73) 
 
 a 1)00. 
 
 8. B. X. E. 8. 
 
 Only a dog." You wonder why 
 I grieve so much to see him die. 
 
 Ah ! if you knew 
 1 low true a friend a dog can be, 
 Ami what a friend he was to me 
 
 When friends were few.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " Only a dog a beast," you sneer; 
 " Not worthy of a sigh or tear," 
 
 Speak not to me 
 
 Such falsehood of my poor dumb friend 
 While I have language to defend 
 His memory. 
 
 Through ups and downs, through thick and thin, 
 My boon companion he has been 
 
 For years and years. 
 He journeyed with me miles and miles, 
 I gave him frowns, I gave him smiles, 
 
 And now, sad tears. 
 
 Before my children came, his white 
 Soft head was pillowed every night 
 
 Upon my breast. 
 So let him lie just one time more 
 Upon my bosom as before, 
 
 And take his rest. 
 
 And when a tenderer love awoke, 
 The first sweet word my baby spoke 
 
 Was "M-a-t." Poor Mat ! 
 Could I no other reason tell, 
 My mother's heart would love you well, 
 
 For only that.
 
 ONLY A DOG. 
 
 Together boy and dog have laid 
 Upon my lap, together played 
 
 Around my feet, 
 
 Till laugh and bark together grew 
 So much alike, I scarcely knew 
 
 Which was most sweet. 
 
 Ah! go away, and let me cry, 
 For now you know the reason why 
 
 I loved him so. 
 
 Leave me alone to close his eyes, 
 That looked so wistful and so wise, 
 
 Trying to know. 
 
 At garden-gate or open door 
 You'll run to welcome me no more, 
 
 Dear little friend. 
 
 You were so kind, so good and true, 
 I question, looking down at you, 
 
 Is this the end ? 
 
 la there for you no " other side ?" 
 No home beyond Death's chilly tide 
 
 And heavy fog, 
 Where meekness and fidelity 
 Will meet reward, although you be 
 
 Only a dog ? 
 15*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 " He has no soul." How know you that? 
 What have we now that was not Mat, 
 
 Save idle speech ? 
 If from the Bible I can read 
 Him soulless, then I own no creed 
 
 The preachers preach. 
 
 My dog had love, and hope, and joy, 
 As much as had my baby boy 
 
 Intelligence ; 
 
 Could smell, see, hear, and suffer pain, 
 What makes a soul if these are vain? 
 
 When I go hence 
 
 'Tis my belief my dog will be 
 Among the first to welcome me, 
 
 Believing that, 
 
 I keep his collar and his bell, 
 And do not say to him farewell, 
 
 But good-bye Mat, 
 
 Dear faithful Mat. 
 
 Pearl Rivers.
 
 BUILDING UPON THE SAND. 
 
 (74) 
 
 iiUuUUnn mpon the 
 
 8. B. X. E. S. 
 
 Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed, 
 
 For so the world has done 
 Since myrtles grew and roses blew, 
 
 And morning brought the sun. 
 
 But have a care, ye young and fair, 
 
 Be sure ye pledge with truth ; 
 Be certain that your love will wear 
 
 Beyond the days of youth. 
 
 For if ye give not heart to heart, 
 
 As well as hand for hand, 
 You'll find you've played the " unwise part," 
 
 And "built upon the sand." 
 
 'Tis well to save, 'tis well to have 
 
 A goodly store of gold, 
 And hold enough of sterling stuff, 
 
 For charity is cold.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 But place not all your hopes and trust 
 
 In what the deep mine brings; 
 We cannot live on yellow dust, 
 
 Unmixed with purer things. 
 
 And he who piles up wealth alone 
 
 Will often have to stand 
 Beside his coffer-chest, and own 
 
 Tis "built upon the sand." 
 
 'Tis good to speak in kindly guise, 
 
 And soothe whate'er we can; 
 For speech should bind the human mind, 
 
 And love link man to man. 
 
 But stay not at the gentle words; 
 
 Let deeds with language dwell; 
 The one who pities starving birds 
 
 Should scatter crumbs as well. 
 
 The mercy that is warm and true 
 
 Must lend a helping hand; 
 For those who talk, yet fail to do, 
 
 But "build upon the sand." 
 
 Eliza Cook.
 
 TOBY. 
 
 (75) 
 
 BY FLORENCE PERCY. 
 
 He was my fondest friend and he is dead 
 Dead in the ripened fullness of his prime, 
 Lost to my seeing for all coming time ; 
 Now, ere oblivion close above his head, 
 Let me look back across our mingled years, 
 And count if he was worth this heartache and these 
 tears. 
 
 Purer devotion, steadier truth than his, 
 
 Not even the most exacting heart could crave; 
 Demanding little, all he had he gave, 
 Nor wronged his love by doubts and jealousies, 
 But kopt his constant faith unto the end, 
 Kind, loyal, trusting, brave, a true ideal friend. 
 
 I ! never joined the venial sordid race 
 Of politicians mad with selfish gree<l; 
 He never did a vile, uncleanly deed 
 
 To in fin or \v<>man; envied no one's place, 
 
 Nor \vrongeil u mortal of a penny's worth. 
 
 Should he not rank among the rare ones of the earth?
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 He never sought the revels of the gay, 
 
 Nor strayed where fatal follies spread their snare ; 
 
 He loved the home-light, and the fireside chair, 
 When daytime's crowding cares were shut away. 
 And there, with all he loved in easy reach, 
 lie talked with soft brown eyes more eloquent than speech. 
 
 Yet scores of wise men argue and declare 
 
 That this, my friend, was but a pinch of dust; 
 That his warm heart of constancy and trust 
 
 Has gone out like a bubble in the air; 
 
 That his true soul of love and watchful care 
 
 Is quenched, extinct, and lost, and is not anywhere. 
 
 "He had no soul," they say. What was his power 
 Of love, remembrance, gratitude, and hope? 
 Do these not triumph over time and death, 
 
 And far outlast our lifetime's little hour? 
 
 Affection, changeless though long cycles roll, 
 
 Integrity and trust do these not make the soul ? 
 
 If these high attributes in sinful men 
 Make up the sum of immortality, 
 Outlive all life and time, and land and sea, 
 Unfading, deathless wherefore is it, then, 
 They are contemned by church and synagogue, 
 When they inspire and warm the bosom of a dog ?
 
 THE CREED. 
 
 If baser spirits last, can it be true 
 
 That his dissolved to nothing when he died ? 
 Wherever love lives, must not his abide ? 
 
 Where hope dwells, shall his hope not enter too ? 
 
 True hearts are few, and heaven is not so small. 
 
 Oh ! fond and faithful friend, but it can hold them 
 all! 
 
 I have lost many a friend, but never one 
 So patient, steadfast, and sincere as he, 
 So unforgetful in his constancy; 
 
 Ah, when at last my long day's work is done, 
 
 Shall I not find him waiting an of yore, 
 
 /,'"'/.T, expectant, glad to meet me at the door .' 
 
 (76) 
 
 ELLA WHKKLEH. 
 
 \\'/>cvcr was begotten ly jn/n- 
 And caiiu 1 <//*//<</ and welcome into ' 
 /> of uiuiKicnlati' conception, !!> 
 
 Whose h.-art is full of tenderness and truth, 
 Who loves mankind more than lie loves Himself, 
 And eaniio lin.l room in his heart for hate,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 May be another Christ. We all may be 
 The saviours of the world, if we believe 
 In the divinity which dwells in us 
 And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, 
 Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, 
 Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all, 
 Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns, 
 And lends new courage to each fainting heart, 
 And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad, 
 He, too, is a redeemer, son of God. 
 
 (77) 
 
 ee 
 
 DOAR SHAW. 
 
 ' Twas a morning in June, and the roses, each one, 
 Turned up its soft cheek for a kiss from the sun ; 
 And the violet, wooed by the breeze that stole by, 
 Purpled over with shame, while a tear in its eye 
 Seemed its only reproof, and it bowed to the sod 
 Asa worshiper bows at the name of his God 
 When a maiden, with fingers bejeweled with, dew, 
 Stooped to fasten the strings of her darling wee shoe. 
 Oh, the maiden was lithe and the maiden was fair ; 
 The laburnum was dim to the gold of her hair ;
 
 THE DARLING WEE SHOE. 
 
 And the pale-faced lily, if it could but speak, 
 Would say how it envied the rose of her cheek ; 
 And the lark, 'mid his song, would fold up his brown 
 
 wing, 
 
 To list her glad voice with its mellow-toned ring ; 
 And the fragile mimosa no tremor e'er knew 
 At the fall of that foot in its darling wee shoe. 
 < Hi, that foot was so slender, that foot was so small ! 
 Soft as voices of air was the sound of its fall, 
 And, as it drew nearer, a strange nameless fear 
 Then thrilled through my heart, till its throbs I could 
 
 hear, 
 
 And blushes, like lightning flashed up to my cheek, 
 When this maiden so fair, ope'd her red lips to spe-tk, 
 And begged me to bind, what the breeze would undo, 
 The ribbons which fastened that darling wee shoe. 
 Of that task were eti.-mioivd my lingers, I ween, 
 F<>r they linger full long o'er those fetters of sheen 
 Which fluttered like birds but just caught, in a snare, 
 While more silent and calm grew the maiden so fair ; 
 She smiled me her thanks, and turned from the spot 
 With a look in her blue eyes I never forgot, 
 For it seemed to say in a language too true : 
 "Tliou'st fettered thy heart in the strings of my 
 
 shoe ! " 
 
 Well. I loved and I wedded this maiden so fair ; 
 16
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 But the cold dews of Death fell one night on her hair, 
 And dimmed its bright gold ; and they fell on her 
 
 cheek : 
 Silent grew the dear lips that such fond words could 
 
 speak. 
 
 " My feet are aweary," it seemed as she'd say, 
 "That have trod with thee, darling, life's flowery 
 
 way ; 
 
 Oh, stoop thee again, and. 1 prithee, undo 
 My feet are aweary the strings of my shoe." 
 Oh, that foot was so slender, that foot was so cold ! 
 Not the rose-tinted thing that had charmed me of old ; 
 I bathed it with tears but 1 could not restore 
 Its motion so bounding ; nay, its fleetness was o'er ; 
 Nevermore would it meet me at morning, at night, 
 Or wander 'mong flowers that loved it like light, 
 For together stooped Death and myself to undo 
 The ribbons that fastened that darling wee shoe. 
 Calm she sleeps in the grave-yard, this maiden so fair. 
 And her favorite flowers are blossoming there: 
 There the sweet lady-slipper springs up in its pride, 
 Pitting type of the wee one who lay by my side ! 
 Did I say in the church-yard she sleeps? No, ah, no ! 
 For star-crowned in heaven she clwelleth, I know ; 
 And light, silvery sandals, which Death cannot undo, 
 She weareth in the place of that darling wee shoe.
 
 TWIN-lioKN. PBOOB 
 
 (78) 
 
 lie wlio po>sesses virtue at its best, 
 
 Or !( ';iii icss in the true sense of the word, 
 
 I IMS oni' day started even with that herd 
 
 Whose swift feet now speed, but at sin's behest. 
 
 It is the same force in the human breast 
 
 Whicli makes men gods or demons. If we gird 
 
 Those strong emotions by which we are stirred 
 
 With might of will and purpose, heights unguessed 
 
 Shall draw for us ; or if we give them sway 
 
 We can sink down and consort, with the lost. 
 
 All virtue is worth just the price it cost. 
 
 Black sin is oft white truth, that missed its way, 
 
 And wandered oil' in paths not understood. 
 
 Twin-born I hold great evil and great good. 
 
 Ella \\'h,'<in: 
 
 (7H) 
 
 Let there lie many windows to your soul, 
 That all the glorv of the universe 
 May beautify it. Not the narrow pane 
 Of one poor creed can catch the radiant ray-
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 That shine from countless sources. Tear away 
 The blinds of superstition ; let the light 
 Pour through fair windows broad as 
 Truth itself and high as God. 
 
 Why should the spirit peer 
 
 Through some priest-curtained orifice and grope 
 Al,ong dim corridors of doubt, when all 
 The splendor from unfathomed seas of space 
 Might bathe it with the golden waves of Love ? 
 Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths ; 
 Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs, 
 And throw your soul wide open to the light 
 Of reason and of Knowledge. Tune your ear 
 To all the wordless music of the stars 
 And to the voice of Nature, and your heart 
 Shall turn to truth and goodness, as the plant turns 
 
 to the sun. 
 
 A thousand unseen hands 
 Reach down to help you to their peace-crowned 
 
 heights, 
 
 And all the forces of the firmament 
 Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid 
 To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole. 
 
 Ella Wheeler.
 
 THE VISION OF IMMORTALITY. 
 
 [80] 
 
 The 'iHsion of Immo 
 
 E. P. WESTON. 
 
 I who essayed to sing in earlier days, 
 The 'riiniKttiijmis and Tin' Hi/mn in Death, 
 Wake now (lie Hymn to Immortality! 
 Yet once again, oh ! man, come forth and view 
 Tin 1 haunts of nature: walk the waving fields, 
 Knter the silent groves, or pierce again 
 The depths of the untrodden wilderness, 
 And she shall teach thee. Thou hast learned before 
 One, lesson and her Hymn of Death hath fallen 
 With melancholy sweetness on thine ear, 
 Yet she shall tell thee with a myriad tongue 
 That, ///' is there life in uncounted forms 
 Stealing in silence through the hidden roots, 
 In every liranch that swings in the green leaves 
 And waving grain, and the gay summer flowers 
 That gladden the Leholder. Listen now, 
 And she shall teach thee that, the dead have slept 
 I'ut. to awaken in more glorious forms 
 And that the mystery of the seed's decav 
 Is hut the promise of the coming life. 
 16*
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 They of immortal fame, and they whose praise 
 
 Was never sounded in the ears of men, 
 
 All the vast concourse in the halls of death, 
 
 Shall waken from the dreams of silent years 
 
 To hail the dawn of the immortal day. 
 
 Aye, learn the lesson ! Though the worm shall be 
 
 Thy brother in the mystery of death, 
 
 And all shall pass, humble and proud and gay 
 
 Together, to earth's mighty charnel-house, 
 
 Yet the immortal is thy heritage ! 
 
 The grave shall gather thee: yet thou shalt cotne, 
 
 Beggar or prince, not as thou wentest forth, 
 
 In rags or purple, but arrayed as tho < ^ 
 
 Whose mortal put on immortality ! ^ 
 
 Then mourn not when thou markest 
 
 Of nature, and her solemn hymn of d 
 
 Steals with a note of sadness to thy heart. 
 
 That other voice, with its rejoicing tones, *^ 
 
 Breaks from the mould with every bursting Trower, 
 
 " O grave ! thy victory ! " And thou, oh, man ! 
 
 Burdened with sorrow at the woes which 
 
 Thy narrow heritage, lift up thy head 
 
 In the strong hope of the undying life, 
 
 And shout the Hymn to Immortality. 
 
 The dear departed that have passed away
 
 THE VISION OF IMMORTALITY. 
 
 To the still house of death, leaving thine own, 
 The gray-haired sire that died in blessing thee, 
 Mother, or sweet-lipped babe, or she who gave 
 Thy home the light and bloom of Paradise, 
 They shall be thine again, when thou shalt pass 
 At God's appointment, through the shadowy vale, 
 To reach the sunlight of the Immortal Hills. 
 And thou that gloriest to lie down with kings, 
 Thine uncrowned head no lowlier than theirs. 
 Seek thou the loftier glory to be known 
 A king and priest to God ! when thou shalt pass 
 Forth from these silent halls to take thy place 
 With patriarchs and prophets and the blest 
 ( lone up from every land to people heaven. 
 So live, that when the mighty caravan, 
 Which halts one night-time in the vale of Death, 
 Shall strike its white tents for the morning march, 
 Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills, 
 Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed 
 Like the strong eagle's for the upward flight!
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 (81) 
 
 In man 1 love all that is noble and great; 
 
 But war, and oppression, and falsehood I hate; 
 
 And oft has my spirit burst forth into song 
 
 Against ev'ry species of riot and wrong. 
 
 I'm a pleader for Freedom in every form, 
 
 For my country I feel patriotic and warm ; 
 
 Yet still I've no wish to disorder the land 
 
 By the flame of the torch, or the flash of the brand. 
 
 I 'm for movements more gentle, more certain, in oooth 
 
 The movement of morals, the triumph of truth ; 
 
 And my hopes are that men, who are toiling and 
 
 grieving, 
 May make this old earth like the Heaven they believe 
 
 in. 
 
 My religion is love; 'tis the best and the purest ! 
 My temple the universe, widest and surest ! 
 I worship my God through his works, which are fair, 
 And the joy of my thoughts is perpetual prayer ! 
 I wake to new life with the coming of spring, 
 When the lark is aloft with a fetterless wing, 
 When the rainbow of April expands o'er the plain, 
 And a blessing comes down in the drops of the rain.
 
 LOVK uK NAT! KK. 
 
 When Summer, in fullness of beauty is born, 
 I love to go forth at the first blush of morn, 
 To pause in the field where the mower so blithe 
 Keeps time with a song to the stroke of his scythe. 
 In the calm reign of Autumn I'm happy to roam. 
 When the peasant exults in a full harvest home ; 
 When the boughs of the orchard with fruitage incline, 
 And the clusters are ripe on the stem of the vine. 
 Kven Winter to me hath a thousand delights, 
 With its short gloomy days, and its long starry nights ! 
 And I long to go forth, ere the dawn, to inhale 
 The health-giving freshness that floats on the gale, 
 When the Spirit of Nature has folded its wings 
 To nourish the seeds of all glorious things, 
 Till the herb, and the leaf, the fruit and the flower, 
 Shall awake in the fullness of beauty and power ! 
 There's a harvest of knowledge in all that I see, 
 For a stone, or a leaf, is a treasure to me. 
 There's the magic of music in every sound, 
 And the soft arms of beauty encircle me round, 
 Till the soft-swelling joy that I fancy and feel 
 Is more than the language of song can reveal. 
 Did ( !d set His fountains of light in the skies. 
 That man should look up with tears in his eyes?
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Did God make this earth so abundant and fair 
 That man should look down with a groan of despair ? 
 Away with so heartless, so joyless a creed, 
 The soul that believes it, is darkened indeed 
 
 J ('rich ley Prince. 
 
 (82) 
 j&tUttitmujs. 
 
 Let him not boast who puts his armor on 
 
 As he who puts it off, the battle done. 
 
 Study yourselves ; and most of all note well' 
 
 Wherein kind Nature meant you to excel, 
 
 Not every blossom ripens into fruit; 
 
 Minerva, the inventress of the flute, 
 
 Flung it aside, when she her face surveyed, 
 
 Distorted in a fountain as she played; 
 
 The unlucky Marsyas found it. and his fate 
 
 Was one to make the bravest hesitate. 
 
 Write on your doors the saying wise and old, 
 
 " Be bold ! be bold ! " and everywhere "Be bold ; 
 
 Be not too bold ! " Yet better the excess 
 
 Than the defect; better the more than less;
 
 MOR1TURI SALUTAMI S. 
 
 1 letter like Hector in the field to die, 
 
 Than like a perfumed Paris turn and ily. 
 
 . . . . Nothing is too late 
 
 Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. 
 
 Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles 
 
 Wrote his grand .Edipus, and Simonides 
 
 IJore off the prize of verse from his compeers 
 
 When each had numbered more than fourscoie 
 
 years. 
 
 And Theophrastus. at fourscore and ten, 
 I hul but begun his Characters of Men; 
 Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales, 
 At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales, 
 Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, 
 Completed Faust when eighty years were past. 
 These are indeed exceptions; but they show 
 How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow 
 Into the arctic regions of our lives, 
 Where little else than life itself survives. 
 As the barometer foretells the storm 
 While still the skies are clear, the weathei warm, 
 So something /// //.v, as old age draw/, near, 
 lid rays tin- pressure of the atmosphere; 
 The nimble mercury, ere we are aware, 
 De.-celids the elastic ladder of the air; 
 The telltale blood in artery ami vein,
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Sinks from its higher levels in the brain; 
 Whatever poet, orator, or sage 
 May say of it, old age is still old age. 
 It is the waning, not the crescent morn, 
 The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon; 
 It is not strength, but weakness; not desire, 
 But its surcease ; not the fierce heat of fire, 
 The burning and consuming element, 
 But that of ashes and of embers spent, 
 In which some living sparks we still discern, 
 Enough to warm, but not enough to burn. 
 What then ? Shall we sit idly down and say 
 The night hath come; it is no longer day? 
 The night hath not yet come; we are not quite 
 Cut off from labor by the failing light; 
 Something remains for us to do or dare; 
 Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear ; 
 Not (Edipus Coloneus, or Greek ode, 
 Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode 
 Out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn, 
 But other something, would we but begin; 
 For age is opportunity no less 
 Than youth itself, though in another dress, 
 And as the evening twilight fades away 
 The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. 
 
 Longfelloiv.
 
 TIIAMATOPSIS. 
 
 Thunutopsis. 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 To him, who, in the love of Nature, holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
 Into his darker musings with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy that steals away 
 Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, 
 Go forth unto the open sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air 
 < 'miies a still voice; Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 
 Whore thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 17
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
 
 Thy growth to be resolved to earth again, 
 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 
 To mix forever with the elements; 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
 
 And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
 
 Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills, 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales, 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
 The venerable woods; rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
 That make the meadows green; and, poured round 
 
 all, 
 
 Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
 
 THANATOPS1S. 
 
 Arc shining on the sad abodes of death 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
 .Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there. 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep; the dead reign (here alone. 
 So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw 
 In silence from the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
 His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and tbeir employments, and shall come 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
 The bowed with age, the infiint in the smiles 
 And beauty of its innocent :ige cut off 
 Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 By those who in their turn shall follow them. 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan that moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 WM. II. HOLCOMBE. 
 
 Beneath the glory of a brighter sun 
 
 Than that which keeps this moving globe of dust 
 
 True to its orbit, and with vision fed 
 
 By spiritual light and wisdom sent from God, 
 
 I sought for death throughout the universe 
 
 If haply I might note the dreaded being 
 
 Who casts such awful shadows on our hearts, 
 
 And seems to break, with his discordant step, 
 
 The harmonies of nature. But in vain
 
 XK\V THANATOPSIS. 
 
 I scanned the range of substance infinite 
 
 From God to Angels, and through men to earth. 
 
 To beast, bird, serpent, and the ocean tril>es, 
 
 To worms and flowers, and the atomic forms 
 
 Of crystalline Creations. Change had been. 
 
 /'<Tjfu<if n-iihi/inn and fresh life, 
 
 And metamorphoses to higher states 
 
 An orderly progress, like the building up 
 
 Of pyramids from earth's material base 
 
 Into the fields of sunlight BUT NO DKATII. 
 
 With deep solemnity akin to fear, 
 
 I pondered o'er the elemental world, 
 
 That seeming chaos, but its bosom held 
 
 No embryonic forms but those of life; 
 
 Nor did the spiritual origin of things 
 
 Elude my recognition in the ma/.e 
 
 Of chemic transformations. Then 1 rend 
 
 The geologic leaves of stone sublime, 
 
 Immortal book in an immortal tongue, 
 
 /-'ill/ f nii/xti-riniis life. And then 1 looked 
 
 Into the dark mausoleums of the past, 
 
 And up the swift and shadowy stream of Time. 
 
 Upon whose banks nations and mm ;in- said 
 
 To have perished. And I turned the teeming soil 
 
 Of all the battle-fields of every age. 
 
 Peered into charnels, tracked the desolate
 
 SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 
 
 Of plague and famine, and surveyed with awe 
 The secrets of the sea but FOUND NO DEATH. 
 To spirits, the veil of whose material temple 
 Is rent in twain, and who are capable 
 Of purer thought and more interior life, 
 His name and nature are alike unknown. 
 Throughout the choral harmony of things, 
 And all the vast economy of God, 
 He has no place or power. THERE is NO DEATH ! 
 God, God alone, is Life; and all our life, 
 And all the varying substance of the world, 
 From Him derived, and vitalized by Him; 
 And every change which we ascribe to Death 
 Is but a change in form or place or state, 
 Of something which can never cease to live,. 
 Insensate matter is the base of all, 
 The pedestal of life, the supple mould 
 Through which the vital currents come and go. 
 The universe, with its infinity, 
 Is but the visible garment of our God ; 
 The sun is but the garment of our heavens ; 
 The body is the garment of our soul. 
 The coarse material out-birth of its life, 
 Its medium for a time, a shell which keeps 
 Within its curves the music of the sea
 
 NEW THANATOPSI8. 
 
 A wondrous tiling ! which seems to live, but does not, 
 For nothing lives but God, and all in Him. 
 The Spirit is a substance, a pure form 
 Of immaterial tissue, finely wrought 
 Into the human shape, unseen in this 
 Our physical existence, but the cause 
 Of all its motions' and its very life. 
 When ripened for a more exalted sphere, 
 The soul exuves its earthly envelope, 
 And leaves the atoms of its chetnic dross 
 (() never, never more to he resumed)! 
 For worms or weeds, or flowers to animate, 
 While it withdraws to more august abodes, 
 Happier beyond comparison, than those 
 Who pass in joy from hovels all forlorn 
 To palaces imperial. 
 
 None have died 
 From earth's first revolution to the present, 
 
 BUT ALL ARE LIVING WHO HAVE EVER LIVED. 
 
 /''i///i has indeed no monuments of Deuili, 
 Hut < i nl i/ 'V.S//V//-.S 1 of Iliose who passed 
 'I'liinnijli /I/is iitfi-ifable vale of shadows, 
 Ami /<// bi'lilml the //riiits of bust/ lmti</x, 
 That are still busier now, and songful echoes 
 Of frii-nilli/ voices that are sinyiny sti//.
 
 SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
 
 In gloom and darkness was the poet lost 
 Who calls this earth the mighty tomb of man; 
 'Tis but his temporary habitation, 
 His cradle and his school of discipline 
 The dark, cold ground in which the seed is sown, 
 That, struggling upward, slowly germinates 
 Until it bursts into the shining air. 
 Not Christ alone has risen, but all have risen ; 
 The stone is rolled from every sepulchre; 
 The grave has nothing it can render back. 
 When we ascend to our eternal homes, 
 We leave no living fragments of ourselves. 
 \\'e do not pass from nature to the grave ; 
 But nature is our grave, from which we rise 
 At seeming death, our real resurrection, 
 Into the world of spirits. And the tomb, 
 With all its grief, and tenderness, and shadoio, 
 Is the creation of our sluggish minds, 
 By kindly memories and sweet suggestions, 
 To cherish and prolong the love of friends, 
 Gone, but not lost ; unseen, but nearer stiU, 
 In beauty and in glory, to our life, 
 Which lives in God, immortal as himself.
 
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