POEMS. BY MRS. MARCIA JANE EATON Printed, not Published. BALTIMORE: STEAM PRESS OF WM. K. BOYLE & SON. ' 1876. CONTENTS. OCCASIONAL POEMS. My Childhood's Home... I Dedication for a Sister's Album 3 I'm Sitting in the Moonlight 4 For a Friend's Album 7 My Namesake 8 A Mother's Birth-Day Gift >o Glen- Echo Home 13 My Husband's Birth-Day 15 The Sister's Death 17 Little Luna 18 The Tivin Pines 20 Dormie Darling 23 Valedictory to a Cooking Sto-ve 25 The Silver Wedding 27 The Little Empty Carriage 29 RELIGIOUS Taught of God , 32 The Dying Wife 34 Is it -well -with the Child? .^...36 Gra-vcs 38 "0 our -way, Sorroiuing" y 40 Christmas Hymn 4' Dedication Hymn 42 Another 43 Song of the Heart-Sick 44 Trust 45 PATRIOTIC. Poem for Independence Day 47 My Soldier-Son 49 When my Boy comes back 53 Dirge for a Young Soldier 55 The Old Blue Coat 56 Fort Sumter 58 The Patriot Martyr 60 COMPILER'S PREFACE. r PHIS little volume of Poems is printed by consent of the Authoress, first solicited and obtained, for distribution amongst her numerous friends and relatives, as also those of the Compiler; to all of whom it may literally be said, to be DEDICATED, and by whom it is confi- dently believed it will be received and read with high gratification, and preserved with religious care. As Mrs. Eaton is quite as well known to most of the recipients of this book as to the writer, any explanation of the circumstances under which the poems were produced, the animus prompting, or intent in writing, is deemed superfluous ; in fact, each poem tells its own story, and, together, they clearly evince the high character and noble inner life of the Authoress. OCCASIONAL POEMS. MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. MY childhood's home ! my childhood's home The cottage 'neath the hill, With all its pleasant memories. Methinks I see it still. I see it in the midnight hour, When sleep profound doth reign Through all the world, I live in dreams My childhood o'er again. Again I hear the cheerful call And join the happy throng, And play the unforgotten games, Or sing the merry song And in each shout of joyous mirth, Each well-remembered tone, I list the thrilling music heard In childhood's voice alone. And childish griefs come stealing up Before my memory now, Which vanished when my mother's hand Lay gently on my brow, My Childhood's Home. And when my father's glance of love Fell kindly on my own, My heart beat high with joyousness, And all my sorrow gone. My father ! 'twas no common love, That bound my heart to thee My father ! thou art ever shrined Deep in my memory My childhood's idol ! oh how oft I've called thee back in vain How could I bear to think that we Should never meet again ? And thou my suffering mother too Hast bowed at Death's behest, And followed to that heaven, where The weary are at rest. Now re-united, both within That happy spirit land, Say, do you with parental love Watch o'er your orphaned band? Guardians of my unconscious years ! Still be your vigils kept O'er me, your wayward child, as when In infancy I slept. Dedication for a Sister 's Album. Still let me breathe in childish trust Each sorrow and each fear, And still live o'er those happy hours To memory ever dear. DEDICATION FOR A SISTER'S ALBUM. SISTER, a precious gift I bring, Oh deem it not a worthless thing, Nor careless glance its pages o'er For many sweets it holds in store, When youth's gay scenes shall be no more. What though the page is spotless white, And leaves no impress on the sight; As years shall roll, it still may be A priceless jewel unto thee, A star of joy o'er life's dark sea. For friendship here shall love to bring Her brightest, purest offering, And many a name recorded here, Shall have its mission, oh how dear, Thy life to bless, thy path way cheer. I'm Sitting in the Moonlight. To virtue, plant of heavenly birth, To friendship, rarest gem of earth, Devote this little book of thine So shall sweet memories combine A wreath around thy heart to twine. And when loved forms and voices sweet, At memory's bidding come to greet, Recall to mind thy sister-friend, Whose hopeful prayers for thee ascend, Whose love for thee shall never end. I'M SITTING IN THE MOONLIGHT. I'M sitting in the moonlight That streams across the floor. And calling back the early days Which may return no more. A merry childish group springs up Before my mental eye, Whose streaming curls and dancing eyes Gleam 'neath the moonlit sky; And well-remembered voices now Their echoes round me fling, Like strains of softest melody, Most dear when vanishing. And joyous shouts, and bounding feet, And laughter clear and wild, I'm Sitting in the Moonlight. Are present in my memory As when I was a child And my heart goes back with longing, To those careless days of yore, As I sit within the moonlight That streams across the floor. I'm sitting in the moonlight That streams across the floor, And thinking of the flowers that strew My later pathway o'er. Oh deem not, that with early years Life's beauty all hath passed ; The advancing sun sheds brighter beams Than those his rising cast. The swelling fruit or opening flower Were but of little worth, Bereft of ripening noonday warmth, To bring their sweetness forth ; So happiness, that plant divine, As still our years increase, Is ripened by the gentle rays That flow from inward peace; While love, the gift conferred by God, Which brings us nearest heaven, In richest purest radiance To years mature is given. S'm Sitting in the Moonlight. And I mourn no more for all the joys Lost childhood might restore, As I sit within the moonlight That streams across the floor. I'm sitting in the moonlight That streams across the floor, And dreaming of the dearly-loved Upon the peaceful shore. In that sweet haven of repose, Does memory e'er turn back To us, blind, groping wanderers Upon life's darkened track ? And 'mid the joyous songs of praise, That fill the heavenly dome, Heed they the broken strains that rise Within their earlier home? Ah, well they loved us once, and through The yearning love we feel, Which time and death cannot efface, We know they love us still; And when our bark at last is launched On that dark river's tide, Their faithful hearts will welcome us, Their loving arms will guide ; And sure the heavenly life itself Will seem more deeply blest, While greeting those we left in tears, When entering into rest. For a Friend' 's Album. Oh happy thoughts ! oh glorious dreams ! They haunt me evermore, As I sit within the moonlight That streams across the floor. FOR A FRIEND'S ALBUM. WHAT is an Album's use?" quoth I, When lo, a little sprite Hovering near 'twixt earth and sky, At hearing, laughed outright And turning, whirling, down he flew Quite near my puzzled face, An Album's use? I thought you knew 'Tis folly's resting place. "Just compliment the lady fair Upon her lustrous eyes, Her dimpled cheeks and glossy hair, She'll think you wondrous wise, Possessed of strong discerning power Such beauties to perceive, Where none but she had e'er before Their presence dared believe." My Namesake, "Not so," exclaimed a gentle voice, As there appeared in sight A form to make the heart rejoice, So glorious was its light "My name is Friendship," at the word Bewitchingly serene, The sprite, Gay Satire, disappeared, And purer seemed the scene. "An Album's use let me now give," The beauteous image said, "it brings together hearts that live, And calls to life the dead Upon the dark and troubled earth It sendeth many a ray, So call it not of little worth Nor cast it quite away." MY NAMESAKE. I HAVE a little namesake, So full of joyous glee, There's not a child the wide world o'er More dearly loved than she So idolized by many hearts, More prized than wealth untold, My playful little namesake Of scarcely two years old. My Namesake. My baby-bird, my namesake, Months many have flown by, Since last I looked the depths within Of thy clear earnest eye, And saw the dawning intellect On infant brow enrolled ; My precious little namesake Of scarcely two years old. My winsome fairy namesake, Endowed with rarest grace, Methought I saw an angel's charms While gazing in thy face ; Or watching with admiring eye Thy form of beauty's mould ; My lovely little namesake Of scarcely two years old. Thy silvery voice, my namesake, Dearer than music's tone, Comes sweetly as a dream to those Who claim thee for their own Who love thee with enduring love, With hearts that ne'er grow cold, My happy, petted namesake Of scarcely two years old. io A Mother 's Birth-Day Gift. And yet, my little namesake, All charming as thou art, Thou need'st a heavenly power to keep The beauty of the heart', This only boon I ask for thee, Treasure more worth than gold, My radiant little namesake Of scarcely two years old. God grant my little namesake To walk her path in life, Calm and unsullied, through the storms Of sorrow, sin and strife ; His guardian care be over her, His mighty love enfold My little darling namesake Of scarcely two years old. A MOTHER'S BIRTH-DAY GIFT. I MIND me of a time, my boys, A pleasant time to me When you were infants in my arms And sat upon my knee. I watched you in your merry play, I watched you in your sleep, And feared that time would but destroy My happiness so -deep. A Mother's Birth- Day Gift. n But each successive year that's past Has left in you its sign, And now the eldest numbers ten, The other nearly nine And yet I know not which to choose, The infant or the boy With open brow and laughing eye, Fearless and full of joy. Ye' re very dear to me, my boys, Ye' re very dear to me, There's nought so precious to my heart As my home treasures be ; And I can cast all else aside, And with Rome's matron say, "These are my jewels," these alone God keep them bright alway ! I would into the future look, And see you grown as men Your childhood's sorrows, childhood's joys Will ne'er return again ; But though earth's honors on you wait, And wealth may be your own, You'll look back on these happy days And sigh that they are gone. J2 A Mother's Birth- Day Gift. And when the dark hour comes, my boys, As it comes to all below, And all earth's pleasant voices change To sadd'ning tones of woe, And the fervent wish finds utterance, From deep within your breast, "Oh for dove's wings that I might flee Away and be at rest In that dark hour your mother's love Will burn a living flame, Her prayers will rise, her hopes be strong, Her heart be aye the same Her arms that never yet repell'd Will open wide for ye, Her eye can ne'er look coldly on Her children's agony. Then trust her changeless love, my boys, And as ye feel its rays Fall gently on ye, think of Him To whom is due all praise Who all our pleasures, all our joys, Our very life hath given Whose wisdom e'en our sorrows guides, And fitteth us for Heaven. Glen- Echo Home. 13 God's blessing rest upon ye both, My merry-hearted sons, And by His Spirit may ye say, "Our Father's will be done" And be our lot through weal or woe While here on earth we roam, We'll be a happy family When Christ shall lead us home. GLEN-ECHO HOME. I'M thinking of a cottage In a green and quiet dell, lte .etone brown walls and lowly roof Encircled by a spell; Of the porch wherein we sat to watch The evening's gathering gloom, Of the woodbine o'er the cottage door, Of our Glen-Echo Home. I'm listening to the murmur Of the lovely little stream, That dances smilingly to meet The sun's caressing beam The stream upon whose grassy banks We loved so well to roam, Discerning nature's freshest charms In our Glen-Echo Home. 14 Glen- Echo Home. I'm longing for the wild birds, That earliest came in spring, And on the pure sweet air trilled forth Their richest offering Ah, nought of music can compare, In hall or lofty dome, With the sweet wild birds' singing there, In our Glen-Echo Home. I'm picturing the home-charm Of garden, field and tree, Which, though a stranger heeds it not, Makes paradise to me ; The sun elsewhere shines not so bright, No flowers so sweetly bloom, As those which toiling hands invite, Round our Glen-Echo Home. I'm dreaming of the future, When all our wand'rings o'er, We'll turn with gladsome steps, to greet Our cottage home once more Allured by memory's softest voice, With loving hearts we'll come, And gather 'neath the sheltering roof Of our Glen-Echo Home. My Husband's Birth-Day, 15 MY HUSBAND'S BIRTH-DAY. THE robin's song, this April morn, The sunshine on each glistening tree, The healing on spring breezes borne, Remind my lonely heart of thee ; Does the bird's song awake such thought In thee, though far from home away? Is the spring breeze with blessing fraught For thee, on this thy natal day? The birth-day ! comes not now that sound So full of hope as when of yore Youth's pulses leaped with joyful bound, And life, whose untried scenes glanced o'er, Seemed filled with love and beauty all, So heavenly radiant to the sight, Without one shadowy cloud to pall The heart-loved fancy and delight. But though past are our youthful years, And middle age around us throws The weight of toil, of cares and fears, Rich are the treasures she bestows True love, which sweetens care and toil; Children, round whom our full hearts twine; A trust in God whate'er befall, These are our blessings thine and mine. 16 My Husband's Birth-Day. With these, our cottage home shines bright As ever youthful fancy burned ; With these, advancing years grow light, As toward the close the eye is turned ; With these, as birth-days come and fly, We'll meet their dawning with a smile, Nor give one backward look and sigh For unreturning joys the while. While many a heart by death is torn, Our home has never been bereft Lone and despairing thousands mourn Our dearest blessings have been left. While lives, which once together ran, By worse than death have been estranged, The hearts of our loved household band, Through all these years remain unchanged. Bless we the Father ! every good And perfect gift by Him is given, He guides us safely in life's road, To happier birth-day still in heaven. For all the joy and sorrowing, Which past and present years record, For all the unseen future brings, Through life and death bless we the Lord. Glen-Echo Home, April id, 1859. The Sister's Death. 17 THE SISTER'S DEATH. OUR sister-band is severed By death's unpitying blow, And she, the youngest, dearest-loved, Was soonest called to go And glad the spirit bade adieu To its worn robes of clay, And clothed in garments pure and new, Soared to its home away. As fades the glowing sunlight Before our longing gaze As withers ere the night, the flower First touched by morning's rays As dies the sweetest lingering strain Of music on the ear, So soft the sound, the list'ner stills His tremulous breath to hear So dies our best and gentlest, With heart yet fresh and warm; 'Tis e'er " the bird that sweetest sings Can least endure the storm ;" The flower that blooms the loveliest Is first to fade at even, And the heart that beats the truest here Is soonest fit for Heaven. 2* 1 8 Little Luna. Yet mourn we not, dear sister, As those of hope bereft, Nor would we vainly call thee back To us in sorrow left But trusting that our Father's love All knowledge doth excel, We wait His time to follow thee, In deathless life to dwell. LITTLE LUNA. GONE from our sight the blushing flowers, Which sweet rejoicing summer woke, For one short day to grace our bowers, Ere chilled by cruel winter's stroke So from our sight, 'mid anguish deep, Her form has vanished, ah, how soon ! The darling child who fell asleep Beneath the sunny skies of June. Silent the warbling, full and clear, Of song-birds borne on every breeze, Which filled the flower-scented air With spring's enchanted melodies But deeper, sadder silence reigns Where her young voice, perchance too dear, Has ceased for aye its gladdening strains, Leaving but mocking echoes here. Little Luna. 19 Dear little Luna ! nevermore Her lips to ours in love may press, Her brief day-dream of life is o'er, And stilled in death the fond caress; But as the weary days roll by, We sometimes feel she may be near, And vainly turn with longing sigh; Her look to meet, her voice to hear. Oh ! were it not, that He who gives In taking but recalls His own, Where were our refuge when we grieve O'er earthly idols, shattered, flown? But He is Love, undying, pure And though the cherished form has fled, Guarded by Him whose word is sure. She lives in heaven, whom we call dead. Dead ! 'tis too harsh, too cold a word For her who gained a heavenly home ; Rather the Saviour's voice she heard, "To me let little children come" And thrilled with joy by music deep, Sweet echoes of a seraph's tune, In angel arms she fell asleep. Beneath the sunny skies of June. 2O The Twin Pines. THE TWIN PINES. "PWO pine trees side by side are seen, -*- Enclosed within my garden's bound, With robes of bright enduring green, And tbeir own softly murmuring sound So many years I've watched them grow, Their kindly look have daily met, That long-tried friends we seem, who know The love which never doth forget. I've sat beneath their waving shade In many a lingering summer hour, And watched the streamlet as it played In graceful eddies round the shore, And giving to my fancy play, Have questioned these my fav'rite pines, Half hoping and half jestingly, Their being's mystery to untwine. " Oh trees, that wave my head above, Some answer make, some token give Of consciousness, that I may prove How much is worth the life ye live,- Say do ye feel when friendly arm Around your rugged trunk I place, As mortals feel, with heart-throb warm, When thus they meet a friend's embrace? The Twin Pines. 21 " Where'er the wild bird sings, as now Upon your top, his clearest strains, Oh, springs there not from root to bough Deep joy within your wooded veins? And ever as that sweetest song, The shout of childhood's voice is heard, Say, as the echo thrills along Are not your tenderest pulses stirred? " The fountain throwing playfully Its sparkling burden in your sight, The sunrise tinting earth and sky With heaven's own welcome glorious light, The thunder cloud, the lightning's dart, The flowers that blossom at your foot, Methinks these all should move your heart To rapture, though the voice be mute. " 'Twere sweet to fancy that ye love And share in all the joys I see, But sweeter still to seek and prove The blessedness of sympathy In hours when sorrow bows the head, And blights the face of all below, We long for frienship's aid to shed Its precious light o'er human woe. 22 The Twin Pines. " When sickness seized our household band, Murmurs of love did you extend ? As sorrow pressed with iron hand, Did your sad boughs with pity bend ? And on that night when roused from sleep The burning homestead met our gaze, Did ghastly terror o'er you creep, As dumb, ye watched its lurid blaze ? " Upon that dark and mournful morn In which our eldest-born went forth, With manly courage girded on, To join the armies of the north The wind that sighed your branches through, Breathed it of warning or success ? Did ye waft forth a last adieu, Or safe return to happiness? " Still silent friends ! and is there yet To my fond search no answer given ? Oh never then may I forget The trusting heart's appeal to heaven." The God alone, who made them, knows The bounded powers of shrub and tree, l^QfJ*- While -oft- mortals He bestows His limitless eternity. Glen-Echo Home, August, 1862. Dannie Darling. 23 DORM IE DARLING. THOU'RT gone to rest before me, Dormie darling, Thou'rt gone to rest, my child That sleep from which no earthly power can waken. Thy weary, drooping lids hath overtaken, And death a helpless prisoner hath bound thee, And the grave's solitude and gloom surround thee, Yet from the past, as sent on wings of healing, Like sweet perfume from faded flowers stealing, Thy memory comes o'er me, Dormie darling, Comes over me, my child. Thou wert my joy and blessing, Dormie darling, My joy and blessing, child Thou hadst my senses in most holy keeping, Thy lightest tones would set my pulses leaping, And never yet, beloved, didst thou grieve me, Until at higher bidding thou didst leave me To find mid purer scenes thy home in heaven While here in loneliness from morn till even I long for thy caressing, Dormie darling, I long for thee, my child. I'm longing for some token, Dormie darling, Some token, dearest child, That though a glorious spirit, thou art near me, With gentle soothing, striving still to cheer me 24 Dormie Darling. Oh ! but to hear the softly breathed " Mother" Whispered by lips, with music like none other Oh ! but to feel thine arms' slight pressure round me Whose sweetest and most welcome fetters bound me, And read the love unspoken, Dormie darling, In thy pure eyes, my child. My life is dark and lonely, Dormie darling, I'm lonely now, my child For the blest radiance from thy presence beaming, Lighting the future with such glorious seeming, Went out with thee, and stricken down I'm groping 'Along tangled reeds, by quivering torchlight, hoping, Still hoping for that promised dawn, whose breaking Will loose the bonds which keep the soul from waking, In whose pure brightness only, Dormie darling, We meet again, my child. Our love can never perish, Dormie darling, It cannot fade, my child, Gift of the Infinite, which we inherit, As all His children, whose pure loving spirit, As shown alike in giving and recalling, Will surely keep our fainting steps from falling. So trusting on till unto us 'tis given To meet rejoicing in that glorious heaven, Life of my life, I cherish, Dormie darling, My love for thee, my child. Valedictory to a Cooking Stove. 25 VALEDICTORY. ON PARTING WITH AN OLD COOK-STOVE. WELL, thou and I must part, my trusty friend "The powers that be," desirous of a change, Have ordered it, and we must bow our heads To the stern mandate, and prepare to obey. Stand up before me let me wash the rust Off thy neglected phiz, that thou mayest go To thy new service cleaned and brightly shining, A certain token of good housewifery Or else, in this fault-finding, slanderous world, Some tongue may say, (well pleased to find a cause,) "Stove soiled like this must come from careless hand," And thus dishonor both thyself and me. And while I thus, for the last time, bestow This oft-repeated favor, let's look back Upon the' many years, whose joys and woes, And various changes, thou and I have borne In fellowship. A faithful friend thou wert, And ever ready to assistance give When I most needed help refusing never To bake, to boil or fry, when called upon For any of these duties nay, in that Most bustling, most important of all times, The preparation-day for company, Thy willingness did manifest itself. 3 26 Valedictory to a Cooking Stove. And if success crowned our united efforts, In shape of well-baked pies, light bread and cake, Thy black and shining visage glowed with pleasure, And e'en my face relaxed into a smile. And when unwelcome visitors did stop Before our door, and caught us unprepared, Thine was the ear (since thou couldst tell no tales,) That listened to my scolding and complaints And thine too was the ready sympathy To aid me in my trouble, not regarding The frown, or blow, or banging of the doors, With which my spite did vent itself on thee. Well-traveled art thou, it must be confessed, And something knowest of the world or else Thy privileges have been much abused ; For thou and I have been true yoke-fellows In many different towns and villages, And wheresoever we have pitched our tent, Thy cheerful blaze has helped to make it hofne. And last, though not the least of all thy favors, In these days of aspiring geniuses, When servants must be leaders, well obeyed, And former masters wear the yoke of bondage, Thou never hast rebelled but wond'rous fact, Myself have been the mistress thou the slave ! Well, go thy ways, old friend and worldling-like I shall forget thy services, perchance, And join the cry, "new measures and reform." The Silver Wedding. 27 Thus showing the unsatisfied desires Of all the human race and how we strive, And wear our very lives away in striving For something far beyond what now we hold And sometimes, not unlike the fabled dog, In vainly trying to attain the shadow, We lose and ne'er regain the precious substance. THE SILVER WEDDING.* OWEET autumn lends its purest light O Of golden sun and mellow skies, Its lovely landscapes glowing bright With varying tints of gorgeous dyes ; And dearest friends have gathered round To bring their offerings of love; And smiles and joy and mirth abound, While music echoes through the grove- And heaven and earth combine, to say, How blest this silver wedding-day. Think they, this middle-aged pair, Standing below the autumn wreath, With tint of silver in their hair, But tender smiling eyes beneath, * Of neighbor friends. 28 The Silver Wedding. Think they of one bright rose-hued day, When strong in youthful hope, they stood The central object for the gaze Of an admiring multitude, And spake the words, with earnest breath, Which made them one, for life, for death? _ The passing years to them have brought, As unto all of human birth, Such discipline, with anguish fraught, As makes life seem of little worth And joys so deep, so full of heaven, So overcharged with joy's excess, That strength divine must needs be given, Or the heart faints with happiness. Such destiny our Father gives, Such checkered lives His children live. Oh, it is meet, that friends should come Rejoicing in this festive hour, That gifts of love should grace the home, And music yield its thrilling power That sweetest, choicest flowers should lend Their fragrant blossoming to bless, With gleam of shining ore to blend Their smiles with nature's loveliness. One hour like this sends gilded rays Through all life's darkening future days. The Little Empty Carriage. 29 At ancient Cana's marriage -feast, Was wrought the miracle of love, vni^ttpL By the .gracious- Saviour-guest, His goodness and His power to prove Be His, to-day, the crowning gift, Which he to wedded hearts has given, Two souls as one, in love^plift, And bathe in beams of light from heaven, So making life, with sunny ray, One glorious silver wedding-day. THE LITTLE EMPTY CARRIAGE. I KNOW a little carriage, With lining soft and warm, With dainty covering to protect Its inmate from all harm : With wheels that o'er the matted floor. Or on the grassy street, When guided by a loving hand, Gave sound of music sweet Gave sound of music to the ear, And gladness to the heart Of those, who called its owner dear, In life their sweetest part. 3* 30 The Little Empty Carriage. But now the lonely carriage Stands amid silence deep, No more the little dimpled hand Clasps it in broken sleep No more the print of baby form Is left its depths among, As when his infant restlessness Was calmed by voice of song And 'neath its shading roof, no more The dark and earnest eye Catches with smiles the loving glance Of every passer-by. Alas, the empty carnage ! Alas, the aching heart ! And lives made doubly desolate By sorrow's keenest dart ! Ne'er did fairer, lovelier babe, Fill parent's heart with bliss; Ne'er did one short year yield more Of perfect happiness But passing great as was the joy, So deep is now the loss, As when the melted ore runs out, More darkly glooms the dross. The Little Empty Carriage. 31 While many a smitten household Laments its idols gone, And turns from dead to living face, To soothe its anguished moan, This little only darling one Of hearts, who, sorely tried, Had drank before this self-same cup, Closed his pure eyes and died. And by his sister's side, adorned With many a flowering wreath, They laid him in life's opening morn, Locked in the sleep of death. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, But loosened from earth's clod, The spirit springs on radiant wing And bows before its God. Father, anoint these heavy eyes And moaning hearts, to see Their new-born angel, clothed in light And happiness with Thee ; Teach them that in their children's bliss Their lives may well be blest, That earth's stern duties once fulfilled, They'll meet in heavenly rest. RELIGIOUS TAUGHT OF GOD. " And they shall be all taught of God." JOHN vi, 45. " Learn of Me." MATTHEW xi, 29. OF all the glowing promises That circle the creation broad, None so exalting seems as this, That they shall all be taught of God. What! the Creator Infinite! The High and Holy One who reigns, Uncomprehended in the height Oi vast eternity's domain ! Has He such care for mortals, weak And sinful, lost in wanderings wild, That his strong hand should reach to seek And lead the merest earth-born child ? Oh! Power supreme, incline our heart!- Oh ! Light, shine on our darkened road Teach us to seek the better part, Our souls would fain be taught of God. Taught of God. 33 He gives alike earth's hidden lore, And intellect that comprehends ; He beckons through the opening door, And to the heavens the eye ascends And scanning all the mysteries Of stars and planets as they move, The humble soul, adoring, cries, Our God is Wisdom God is Love. Yes, God is Wisdom God is Love; And yet this greatest crowning grace, We hold all other gifts above, To us He shows a Father 1 s face, A Father's heart. 'Twas this that moved This message through His chosen One, He loves our race with stronger love Than earthly parent loves his own. Dear fellow-learners in Christ's school, Perchance on earth we'll never meet, But yielding to his gentle rule, And humbly falling at His feet, We'll know in truth, this love so broad, And the vast treasures of His grace ; For they most truly learn of God, Who study Him in Jesus' face. 34 The Dying Wife. THE DYING WIFE. I FEEL thy tears upon my brow, I hear thy quivering deep-drawn sigh, And though the death-damp chills me now, And dark mists hover o'er my eye, I love thee as in bye past years We've loved, returning each caress, And smiling on our children dear, So soon to be left motherless. I've loved thee, dearest, with a love So free from taint of sinful earth. That to be felt in courts above 'Twill need no change of heavenly birth ; And now, although my weary heart Would seek its rest, I fain would bless Thy fond affection, ere I part From thee and them the motherless. Kind hast thou ever been to me, Fulfilling with a watchful care, The vow which Heaven required of thee, When we united bowed in prayer The vow to love "till death shall part," Thou didst perform, and I was blest Now new duties claim thy heart, To watch and guard the motherless. The Dying Wife. 35 Come, lay your hand so gently now In blessing their fair heads upon, And kiss the pure and open brow Of this, our lisping, youngest one, And with a father's kindly voice, In pity soothe their deep distress, And bid their sorrowing hearts rejoice Deal gently with the motherless. And when the tones of chiding fall So heavily upon their ear, And from stern looks and harsher call They shrink away in childish fear, Do thou support and comfort give, With words of love and fond caress And ever, ever, while they live, Be kind unto the motherless. And in the solemn twilight hour, When evening's shadows slowly fall, And every whispered word has power The listener's senses to enthrall, Teach them to seek for Gilead's balm, And virtue on their minds impress ; And in that holy twilight calm I'll join thee and thy motherless. 36 Is it well with the Child? Now closer clasp my hand in thine, And press thy lips upon my brow, One fond, one thrilling kiss is mine Oh, would that I could see thee now ! Who grasps my heart? 'tis death 'tis death, His icy hands my brain oppress, Receive my struggling, latest breath, Be faithful to the motherless. IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD? " Is it well with the child ? And she answered, It is well." II KINGS iv, 26. IS it well with the child, when in life's early morn, His glad, innocent smiles have thrown o'er him a spell, So pure and so holy, that guilt's cringing form Shrinks abashed from his presence? 'Tis well it is well. Is it well with the child, when blest from above With parents to guard, in whose heart he doth dwell ? When with kisses and soft murmured whispers of love, He glides into slumber? 'Tis well it is well. Is it well with the Child? 37 Is it well with the child, when beneath the fond gaze Of the friends whose affection no language can tell, He unfolds like a flower, 'neath the sun's warming rays, Into goodness and gentleness? Sure, it is well. Is it well with the child, when with sickness oppress'd, Whose dreaded approaches no art can repel ? He murmurs and groans in his troubled unrest, And with soul-piercing cries, begs for aid is it well ? Is it well with the child, when his quivering form Is thrilled with an anguish, how deep, none can tell When curdles the blood, which of late flowed so warm, And the death-pang comes o'er him ? Oh say, is it well? x Is it well with the child, when slow to the grave He is borne at the sound of the deep-tolling bell ? When his spirit returns to the Father who gave, And our home is left desolate? Oh, is it well? Is it well with the child, when he soars to the light, Which no cloud can o'ershadow, nor darkness dispel ? Ad is clothed in a garment of holiness bright, And on Jesus' own bosom finds rest it is well. Is it well with the child, when amid the bright throng He joins the full chorus which seraphim swell, And in heaven-taught language re-echoes the song ? Is it well with the child? It is well it is well. 4 38 Graves. GRAVES. SAD is the grave where the lone infant sleeps, Wrapt in soft grasses, or radiant with flowers, Where tearful, the grief-stricken mother still keeps The vigil unceasing through wearisome hours Sad, for the little mound tells of a hope, That was blasted ere its full growth was attained, Of a love, bleeding, wounded by dregs from the cup, Which, pressed to the lips, must ever be drained. But sadder 'twould be, for that mother to weep O'er the infant matured, by sin denied, And darker the grave, in the heart dug deep, By the "serpent tooth" of the "thankless child." White gleams the marble, marking the place, Where the rich and honored of earth are at rest, Close beside, sleep the poor of the self-same race, Whom pitying nature receives to her breast The earth with graves is so thickly o'erspread, So numberless mounds our vision meet, That we almost fear to harm the dead With the echoing tread of our restless feet. But deeper and sadder the grave closing round All hope of reform for the living dead, And colder the heart which utters no sound, Entombed in the darkness of trust betrayed. Graves. 39 Scattered all over our beautiful land, The lifeless forms of her soldiery lie, Brave hearts, who at pitiless duty's command, Left homes desolate, for country to die. By sickness, by prison, by bullet low laid Holds the broad earth a more sorrowful sight, Than the scarcely-grassed mounds of this harvest of dead, Who v/ere almost forbidden the funeral rite? Vet bitterer still is the exile's fate, Who, no country to die for, mourns out his days And more gloomy the death in life, which awaits The infamous wretch, who his country betrays. Oh, many a grave for the breathing dead Is colder and darker than sexton scoops, And weightiest burial-stone is laid On the hidden tomb of departed hopes. God pity the grave in the human breast, O'er which bitter tears are hopelessly shed ; And with balm from the land of heavenly rest, Give penitent hope to the living dead. Teach us, thy pupils, unapt as we are, To bury our life- burden deep in Thy love, And uttering low the Gethsemane prayer, Wait humbly the sure-coming aid from above. 40 On our way, Sorrowing "ON OUR WAY, SORROWING." OH a sad world and weary, Is this in which we live; Its paths are dark and dreary, And piercing thorns they give, As toiling on our way we go, With bleeding heart and aching brow. The seasons in their rolling, Lament for pleasures fled The church-bell, in its tolling, Bewails the passing dead And sunny smiles and sparkling eyes But show where hidden sorrow lies. To earth, our common mother, We equally do tend, Yet brother parts from brother, And friend forgets his friend, And hearts which once true union swore, Estranged and sorrowing, meet no more. If such our lot, oh Father! Thou God in whom we trust ; If such our life, oh rather We were sleeping in the dust. Released from sorrows we would be, And find ourselves at rest with Thee. Christmas Hymn. 41 CHRISTMAS HYMN.* 'AT ID Bethelem's jarring strife IVi. Angelic watch was kept, O'er where, with newly throbbing life, A Jewish infant slept. For Him the angel band Peals forth its song of praise, And Eastern sages wondering stand, And worship as they gaze. A child of mortal birth, Yet unto Him was given To lead the erring sons of earth Repentant into Heaven. The babe of Bethlehem Is Zion's Lord and King; Adore Him all ye sons of men, And loud His praises sing. The world's Redeemer He The sceptre shall maintain, Till every creature bend the knee, And God alone shall reign. Saviour, we claim a part With angel choirs above ; Inspire our every tongue and heart To chant Thine endless love. * This, and the two Hymns following, were written by request, for public occasions. 4* 42 Dedication Hymn. DEDICATION HYMN.* FATHER, although Thou needest not The tribute which Thy children raise, This temple, which our hands have wrought, We dedicate unto Thy praise. Full well we know, without Thine aid, In vain we would an altar rear, In vain are all our efforts made, Except Thy blessing meet us here. To Thee, with upraised heart and voice, We come that blessing to implore, Thy grace can make our souls rejoice, Thy mercy guide us evermore. Thou knowest, Lord, our every need, Each joy, each grief to Thee is known, Thy power alone, our souls can feed, Or soothe the wearied spirit's moan. To hear of Thee, and learn Thy ways, To know and feel Thy presence near, To worship Thee in prayer and praise, Father, we fain would meet Thee here. And oft, as in these hallowed walls, A loving, happy band we come. May Thy great love surround us all, And teach us of our heavenly home. * Cn the dedication of a Church in Essex, Vt. Dedication Hymn. 43 ANOTHER.* NOT as Thine ancient servants came To call upon Thine awful name, With fire, with victim, and with blood, To ensure Thy blessing, -mighty God. Not thus we come our offering, From joyous, trusting hearts, we bring, An altar that we child-like raise, Thy changeless care and love to praise. Accept it Father bid us come, And in Thy presence feel at home, Here let our prayers and praise ascend, And round Thy footstool sweetly blend. Here let the weary aged one, Whose race in life is almost run, Receive the foretaste of that rest He soon shall find on Jesus' breast. Here let the strong man, in his might, Submissive bow before Thy sight ; The youth, life's stormy paths untried, Gain here an everlasting Guide. And children, Thy peculiar care, Let them be taught Thy precepts here, That seeking early, they may find Thee more than earthly parent kind. * On the dedication of a Church in Barre, Vt. 44 Rest for the Heart-Sick. This house, which now we dedicate, Oh, may we find it Heaven's own gate, And henceforth, oft assembling here, In joy or sorrow, prove Thee near. SONG OF THE HEART-SICK. FOR rest the weary cry, Rest for the heart that's breaking, Sleep for the tearful eye, The sleep that knows no waking. For this my spirit longs Longs for that dreamless sleeping, Where, countless forms among, There comes no voice of weeping. Oh, who could well endure This world of toil and sorrow, Were not the night full sure Which brings the great to-morrow ? Let none around my bed Lament when I am dying No tear-drop be there shed, No sound of woe or sighing. Trust. 45 But sing for joy aloud Joy, that a weary mortal, Disburdened of his load, Enters Death's darkened portal. Joy, that the cheerless earth No longer chains the spirit; Joy, that through heavenly birth We heavenly rest inherit. Joy, that the soul no more Is exiled, tempest-driven But all its wanderings o'er, Turns to its native Heaven. TRUST. WEEP no more weep no more, Oh thou child of sorrow, Weeping 'dureth for a night, But joy comes on the morrow. As sunshine ever after rain, And spring-time follows snow, So gladness, after grief, remains To cheer us here below. 46 Trust. Weep no more weep no more, Thou for lost ones mourning, Let thy tears be changed to smiles, Be thy hopes returning. Look to Heaven with eye of faith, Which never gazed in vain, List to Jesus, when He saith, Thy friend shall rise again. Weep no more weep no more, Thou for pardon thirsting, Lying low beneath the cross, Heart with sorrow bursting Drive forever from the breast All despairing feeling, Taste the balm of heavenly rest For the nations' healing. Weep no more weep no more, Mortal weak and moaning, With daily burden overborne, Hush thy helpless groaning He, who assigned the burden place Gives strength to bear the load, And joyous trust befits the race So well-beloved of God. PATRIOTIC POEM FOR INDEPENDENCE DAY. HOW shall we celebrate the day To which our freedom owes its birth ; When firm, yet seeking no display, The patriots stood in proud array, Before the mighty ones of earth? Trusting in God, they stood alone, With dauntless front and unquelled eye, No servile fear, no sorrowing moan, As thus they braved high England's throne, And "Liberty or Death," their cry. Heaven smiled propitious on the hour, And nerved with hope the little band They bade farewell to beauty's bower, And armed with justice, clothed in power, Fought boldly for their native land. t They fought against the tyrant king, Led on by freedom's chosen son With clash of arms the valleys ring, Till loud their triumph-song they sing, Of victory and Washington. 48 Poem for Independence Day. Not all in vain their blood so free Was spilled like rain-drops o'er the earth, But gathering in one mighty sea Waters the tree of liberty, Which in each freeman's heart finds birth. How shall we celebrate the hour, Which set our own loved country free? With joyous shout in peaceful bower, With cannon's roar, and music's power, We'll hail the Nation's jubilee. Our banner, with its stripe and star, We'll keep unstained from sire to son Each breeze shall waft its folds afar, Unsullied, as when first in war It waved o'er fields of vict'ry won. We'll teach our children freedom's song, To lisp in artless joyous glee, And ever, as the strains prolong, We'll shout the echo loud and long, ' Our own America is free ! My Soldier-Son. 49 MY SOLDIER-SON.* '"PHE sweet spring comes, whose gentle hand L Unlocks the chains from shore and stream, And flushed with joy, the freed earth stands Triumphant in the morning's beam ; And songs of birds, and hum of bees, And murmuring water's lulling sound, Are borne on every passing breeze, That scatters joy and fragrance round. Life starts anew in all its forms ; The merest creeping thing that moves, Basks in the self-same ray that warms Sweet birds, that soaring chant their loves. And shall not spring unclose the eyes Of him, who weary sank to rest, And sought, from wintry storms and skies, Deep refuge in earth's sheltering breast? * Arthur G. Eaton, of the Ninth Vermont Volunteers, died Novem- ber 8th, 1862. 50 My Soldier-Son. O, loved of many hearts, awake ! Our longing souls thy presence crave, Shake off thy death-cold sleep, and break The bands and silence of the grave. Come with the sunlight wert thou here, Sunshine would reign throughout our home Come with the smiling spring to cheer The hearts that wait thee, loved one, come. O for one life-glance from those eyes, Oh for one tone of that dear voice. To quell the murmuring thoughts that rise, And bid our chastened hearts rejoice How can we longer yield thee up To the dark keeping of the grave? How can we drink the bitter cup, So deeply filled with sorrow's wave ? Is love's entreaty slow to break The chilling silence of thy rest ? O, for the eloquence to wake The patriot fire within thy breast. Thou, who didst lay on country's shrine Thy dearest hopes, thy life, thy all, The true and manly heart like thine Heard not unmoved, that country's call. My Soldier-Son. 51 What ! sleeping ere the toil is o'er, And the decisive battle won? At duty's summons sleep no more, Awake and arm, my soldier-son ! Arm thee ! for treason sows its seed And rears its form throughout the land Now is thy country's sorest need, Come to her aid with ready hand. Oh, ne'er till now hath voice of love Failed of its echo in thine own: Never till now hath duty proved Too weak to rouse thee, soldier-son ! To call thee back is more than vain, Since mightier strength than that of earth Hath bound thee with unyielding chain, And given thy spirit higher birth. A father's sorrow-stricken heart Laments, my soldier-son, with mine And brothers mourn the cruel dart, That pierced a life so dear as thine And widowed, orphaned, wail is heard, That tells of hopes untimely flown, By which life's bitterest depths are stirred And souls left quivering, bleeding, lone. 52 My Soldier-Son. Oh mocking spring! whose sunny smile Restores the lives of little worth, But weak and powerless proves the while To raise the noblest ones of earth. Oh joyous birds, whose hopeful strains Make vocal all the air with glee, Win our departed back again, Or all your songs are mockery. But yet shall come a glorious spring, Foretold by sacred pitying grace, Rich with the destinies it brings For the long-severed of our race When triumph-shouts and angel-strains Proclaim the last great victory won In that blest time we'll meet again, To part no more, my soldier-son. Glen- EC ho Home, May, 1863. When my Boy comes back. 53 WHEN MY BOY COMES BACK.* WHEN my boy comes back to me, O ! when my boy conies back to me This is the burden of the song, Whose echoes float my life along ; The language of the cherished hope, Which bears my weary spirit up, Through lonely days of sadness deep, And nights unblessed by peaceful sleep. As sweetest scents from crushed flowers rise, As stars gleam out from dark'ning skies, As rainbow through fast falling shower Gives promise of preserving power, So through the midnight cloud of war Shines forth this brightly beaming star ; So o'er the battle's roar steals up This sweetest song of deathless hope ; And yielding to its witching strain My heart beats high with joy again, And pictures of sure-coming bliss Fill up my world with happiness ; Sweet prophecies of what shall be When my boy comes back to me. * Chase Hall Eaton, of the Second Vermont Volunteers. 54 When my Boy comes back. When my boy comes back to me, Dear soldier-boy comes back to me How oft at fancy's burning shrine I light this radiant torch of mine, And revel in its glowing ray, Till darkest night is brightest day. When watching long, my straining eye At last, some moving form shall spy And in the shadowy distance see My darling, coming back to me, O, if my heart break not with joy, At sight of my returning boy, How shall my arms around him twine, How press his sun-browned cheek to mine, How shall I list his every tone, As^heaven should speak through him alone, How all the pangs of absence past, We'll part no more till death at last. My God ! alone, Thou hast the power To bring this fancied, blissful hour, To Thee I look, my child to keep Unharmed and pure, through perils deep, And bring the joyful time, when he, Brave loyal heart, comes back to 'me. Glen-Echo Home, December, 1863. Dirge for a Young Soldier. 55 DIRGE FOR A YOUNG SOLDIER, WHO DIED OF WOUNDS RECEIVED IN BATTLE. LAY him gently to- his rest, Fold his hands upon his breast, Smooth away the raven hair, Clustering round the brow so fair, Gaze upon him with a smile, Though with breaking heart the while. Bear him to his quiet grave, Gently bear him, young and brave, Lay him by his mother's side, She, who in his childhood died, Live'th still, with angel joy, Greeting now her darling boy. Song and story long shall tell How our youthful hero fell, Pitying eyes will oft grow dim, Aching hearts will yearn for him, Sleeping in his lowly bed, With the turf above his head. Give the soldier welcome home Weary feet no more will roam, Throbbing brow and suffering limb Never more will torture him Sweetly sleeping, finds he rest Pillowed on the Saviour's breast. 56 The Old Blue Coat. THE OLD BLUE COAT. TENDERLY care for the old blue coat ! Lovingly shake all its foldings out ! Private or officer, ask not to know, Somebody wore it while facing the foe Standing up firmly on Liberty's part, Dealing sure death-blows to treason's base heart, Bearing all ills a true hero can bear, Daring all deeds a stern soldier may dare, Quailing not, though the swift bullet came nigh, Striving to conquer, or bravely to die. Lonely the picket and tiresome the beat, Burdened the bosom and weary the feet, Longing eyes turning to some smiling star, Yearning thoughts resting on loved ones afar, Parent or children dear, sweetheart or wife Visions of those held more closely than life, Thronging the heart, and filling the throat, Beating so wildly beneath the old coat Mem'ries of anguish and victory too Hallow each seam of its well-worn blue: The Old Blue Coat. 57 Linger then lovingly o'er the old coat ! Cherish the visions that over it float ! Many a weary heart, ceasing to beat, Silently claims it as winding sheet ; Peacefully resting, his life's battles done, Conquered his last foe, his victory won ; Haply, while weeping ones mourn him as dead, Angels, rejoicing, wreathe crowns for his head, Cleansing all vestige of earth-bounded strife, Robing the spirit for heavenly life. Reverence pay to the garment which bears Kinship so close to the loved stripes and stars ! Emblems alike of a roused nation's might, Joined in the conflict for freedom and right, Faltering never at duty's command ; Victory smiling, with laurels in hand, Beckoned both onward, the tattered and brave, Onward, the life of the countfy to save. Planting then firmly the banner which holds Freedom to all men, inscribed in its folds, Proudly while o'er us the bright colors float, Honored and loved be the old blue coat. Glen-Echo Home. 58 Fort Sumter. FORT SUMTER. "Thanks be to God, who giveth us the Victory." RAISE high the flag, ye brave! And as its folds shake out, From spreading shore and murm'ring wave, Hark to the answering shout ! The days of deep dishonor o'er, Old Sumter is our own once more. Once more, the Union stars Have risen, ne'er to fade And every stripe the banner bears, On its broad face displayed, Like playful child, whose task is done, Leaps laughing- to the noon-day sun. Beats high the nation's heart, Swells loud the nation's voice Hoarse- throated cannon bears its part, And echoing hills rejoice, While heartfelt thanks for victory given, Silent and sweet, ascend to Heaven. Fort Sumter. 59 When first disloyal hand Dealt parricidal blow, Rousing the slumberers of the land, For treason's overthrow, Bore the proud banner, loved of old, One blood-mark on each shining fold. But Slavery's stain no more Sullies its glorious fame The God-sown seed asserts its power, To cleanse a nation's name, And manifest through all the earth, Man of one common blood has birth. With joy and deafening cheers, Rear then the flag on high ! Emblem of all we hold most dear, True life and liberty And shout, that her dishonor o'er, Old Sumter is our own once more. 6o The Patriot Martyr. THE PATRIOT MARTYR. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States, assassinated April, 1865. WHAT mean these startling bursts of woe, That echo our green hills along? A nation's tears why should they flow? But yesterday the strains of song And triumph pealed on every breeze, That wafted freshness o'er the earth, Bringing, with spring, new promises Of a free, loyal country's birth. What mean they, the sad, drooping eye? The compress'd lip? The sorrowing look? Hand clasping hand so silently ? Voice answering voice, with sobbing shook? Why, scarcely hushed, their chimes so deep, Of joy upon the ravished ear, Wail out the bells in tones that weep, Curdling the listener's blood to hear? The Patriot Martyr. 61 Those speaking drops, the tears that fall Unchecked from tender woman's eye, Nor shame the manliest cheek of all, Flow, that a friend so loved should die While black-draped flag at half-mast hung, Gives token of a people's grief. And muffled bells, with mournful tongue, Toll for the Nation's honored Chief. What, though when household forms decay, The thorns of anguish keener press, Revealing in the torturing ray To every heart its bitterness, Yet, from stern Death's remorseless bow, Never before was arrow sent Like this, so fraught with wide-spread woe, Which martyred our loved President. Loved by the good and true, his fame Enshrines itself in every heart Where honor's uncorrupted name In simple freshness shares a part Loved by the slave, whose stifled prayer Came sighing up for liberty, And pleading, gained assurance there, From one great' soul that he was free. 6 62 The Patriot Martyr. Loved by the soldier witness him Whose grateful voice was upward sent From battle-field, with eye grown dim In death, "God bless the President," Loved most by those who knew him best, And winning hearts where'er he moved, His eulogy in loyal breast, "We feared him not, we only loved." With him our cherished visions fell, We trusted that it had been he Who should redeem our Israel, And set us first among the free But in His sight who knoweth best, His life-work has been fully done, And to the Father's promised rest, We yield our Nation's noblest one. Eyes dimmed with tears are raised to Heaven, Hands wrung in anguish lifted up, Hearts bleeding, and with terror riven, Anchor on high their only hope, That He, by whose permission, comes Sorrow and joy on either hand, Wijl pilot safely through the storm To peaceful port, our stricken land. A 000 096 263 9