~ X p. - .,. . ^^M^^-^i^^-:v^ L '^ ^iF^i^^!%^F^:i^ ^a^fDJA; &jtf *' ^tt.'i^dibL ^% ; ,^>: ^!i@@i 17\ ,T3 I7V/T1 ., ^P ^j'^^ditx/ ^tc^^Tps .^_ _^^-^jd bL'iv^l MV^.M:\*d'fc^.d o^fflit l! ^^i^& ; ^/^ ir OE CALIF. LIBBABY, LOS ANGEIX5 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. POEMS BY MARIA BALLARD IIOLYOKE. CHICAGO : MILLS & SPINING, PUBLISHERS. 1888. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S80. by MARIA BALLARD HOLYOKE, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. MILLS & SHINING. PRINTERS, S4, 86 AND 88 FIFTH AVE., CHICAGO. IEDI6ATI0N. To my kindred by ties of blood or relationship; to cherished friends, akin by ties of affection and congeniality, to the several peoples among whom I have labored, as the wife of a pastor, in the precious work of the Gospel ; with whom lias been my home until now ; where also these songs sprang into being, to the great, imforgotten multitudes of hearers and noble co-laborers in the five hundred and fifty towns, from Massachusetts pines to California's Golden Gate, where I have spoken in behalf of Tem- perance and Christian work, and to the public, who may find herein suggestiveness or strains accordant with its thought and feeling, this book is affectionately Dedicated. At many of your firesides or friendly boards 1 have sat, and by your ministries been strengthened for life's battle. My heart sings of you, as the shell of the sea. Some of the earlier verses were written from a sick bed while conva- lescing ; many while pressed with arduous labors and responsibilities. With more of opportunity, I might have accomplished something more worthy. Forty-six of these children of my brain have already made their bow to the public through the pages of various magazines and the columns of the secular and religious press many of them unaccompanied by my name. The kindness of their reception has encouraged me to gather together my stray waifs into a permanent home, adding to them sixty poems, the work of my maturer years, and never before published. While it is true " we learn in suffering what we teach in song" (and some of these lines were written as with blood-drops, " Two Life Pictures " being composed from a sick-bed, while my babe lay in her coffin, not yet folded away in the grave), I would guard against that which has annoyed other writers with respect to their own productions, namely, the inference that each poem is a fact in the author's life. Such inference is unwarranted. It is the province of a biographer to narrate facts; of a poet, to picture thoughts and emotions, which may be the fruit either of his intuition, ima- gination, experience, or observation of others, the only requisite being that they be true to nature and of an elevating tendency. In listening to the inward voice, it is not always possible to distinguish it from the faint reverberation of some bell of memory. I have sought to bring to the public the songs which first sung themselves in my own soul, the boquets and knots of flowers which, if less beautiful than many anoth- er's, grew in my own little posy-bed, watered and nourished by my care, love and tears. Little book, companion of many earnest hours, go forth on thy mission in this great world. M. B. H. 60NTENTS. THE SINGER'S APOLOGY 7 AN IDYL OF THE OLD ROOF-THEE 9 MOTHERHOOD, n MlRAGB, 13 MY (JRKED, is AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES, 17 THE BATTLE-CALL, 19 GOLD-SEEKERS 21 HEAVEN is HERE 22 TWO LIFE-PICTURES, ... 24 THE POETS' SYMPOSIUM , 27 WE DON'T FORGET You, DARLING 37 Ocu JEWELS 39 LIVES THAT ARE POEMS, 40 KEEPSAKES, . . 41 THE PSALM OF DOG STAR DAYS, . 43 WHAT THE DEWDHOP TOLD ME, .... 45 THE ROMANCE OF A FLUTE, ... 47 EXPECTATION, - 50 EYES OF BLUE 52 ANGELS OF THE HOME, . 53 A TEMPERANCE LYRIC 56 REFRAIN, . . . 57 WHICH WAY ? 58 THE OTHER SIDE, 58 GOOD TIMES 61 ALMOST HOME 63 THE FLOWERS, ..... 64 TOKENS OF GOD 66 MOSSES OF BRIGHT MEMORIES, 67 To THE OLD STONE-QUARRY, 70 DEEDS, 71 BE STRONG IN VIRTUE AND IN GOD 72 MOONLIGHT IN WINTER, 73 SUMMER MOONLIGHT 74 GOD'S WAY, 76 INVOCATION OF WATER, .... 77 A TEST 78 OLD AGE 79 THE VILLAGE BELL, . . -so OLD FATHER TIME, 82 WHAT is LOVE? 84 FOUND AT AN INN, 86 PARTING, SH FOUR VOICES OF LIFE, 90 GRUMBLE ALLEY AND THANKFUL STRKKT, Ste THE CHANCE MEETING tw THE DREAMER, "= HER POSTSCRIPT, INTERROGATION. ESTRANGED, 101 SING TO ME NOW OF JESUS los SHIPWRECK 1. One awoke a golden song, , Sang of deathless love and duty, Sang each true and sang them long. English skylark, Mrs. Browning, Though she held Italia dear; Trilled "Aurora, " De Proftindis," Trilled her " Sonnets " crystal clear, Sweet as honey. Fondest lover Ne'er confessed in tenderer lay. Over Nature's wildering keyboard Flew her hand in skillful play. None more worthy of the Bay-crown; Never nobler soul had breath. THE POETS' SYMPOSIUM. 31 Be her name an inspiration. On her grave I lay this wreath. TRIBUTE TO TENNYSON. Green thy brow with fadeless laurel, England's Laureate, Tennyson. Touch of thine recalls the lyrist Who with song did move the stone. Clear thou seest with prophet vision, Faultless wieldest Fancy's wand. Driftest us through seas of silver Nigh a music-haunted land. " In Memoriam " it voiceth All who tender grief have wed. Locksley Hall 's a martial band-burst, After happy love has fled. Of all lofty thought and feeling Grand Interpreter art thou. Madrigal and " Idyl " charm us, Sweet as roses, pure as snow. TRIBUTE TO WORDSWORTH. First, O philosophic Wordsworth, Read I thee in days of youth, With wide-open eyes, that noted Pearls of beauty, gems of truth. Dear as flowers in childhood gathered, Still I hold in Memory's cells "We are Seven" "She was a Phantom:" Stars of heaven thus shine from wells. 32 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Ministering priest of Nature! Though within her heart didst look, Caught'st her daisy-printed secrets. Sung by skylark, gushed by brook; Golden-writ on evening primrose, Wind- breath' d over woodland fount, Rural life thou limnest nobly, Artist-Seer of Rydal Mount. TRIBUTE TO BURNS. Hark ! one singeth, heartsome ringeth "Auld Lang Syne" and "a' that." k * The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king of men for a' that." Robbie Burns ! dear Robbie Burns, Stout defender of the lowly ! Each brave thought, each deed well wrought, Helps the cause that 's pure and holy. From Bonnie Doon was hushed too soon The voice that wooed sweet Highland Mary O Scotia ! when will bard again Wake strains so ravishing and faery ? TRIBUTE TO SHAKSPEARE. In the galaxy of genius Shineth one transcendant star; Bright, mysterious, commanding, In the centuries' Blue afar. All unite to him reverence, All delight to own him king. THE POETS' SYMPOSIUM. 33 Shakspeare ! universal poet ! Many spirits in him sing. By what mother formed and nourished Came those great, surpassing powers ? By what teacher trained and tempered In his youth's impetuous hours? Ask the grave! It cannot hear thee. Mute as' Sphynx on Egypt's sands. Monument unique and peerless Stands the work of Shakspeare's hands. TRIBUTE TO COLERIDGE. Many methods had the harpers, Grave or jocund, fond or gay ; But the pain, the bliss of loving Ever seemed the favorite lay. Exquisite that strain by Coleridge, Heard from tender lips at eve, How he breathed his fervent passion, How he won his " Genevieve." TRIBUTE TO HOOD. Twin with Love is Charity. When entwined the sisters stand, One in M T hite and one in crimson, Fairer vision hath no land. Charity's the pure-robed daughter Of the great forgiving King. She was near, inspiring angel, When our Hood began to sing. 34 VIOLETS, EARLY AXD LATE. Genial Hood, whose changeful fancy Dimpled like a windswept lake! Quick and generous his pity For the wretched poor, who quake When the hungry wolf is glaring At the open cottage door; For the erring whom the scornful Spread no kindly mantle o'er. Hood 's the poet for the million. Who knows not his " Bridge of Sighs ? " Yet he learned in pain the music Which with tears has filled our eye>. TRIBUTE TO MRS. HEMANS. Fixed in Fame's cerulean, Among the stars of England's glory, Shines serenely Mrs. Hemans, After life's untranquil story. " Breaking waves dashed high " above her, Made her song the sadder, sweeter, Could not dim the poet eyes That have vision now complete r. " Answer, burning stars of night ! " Keeping watch until the morn, Do no human nightingales Sing divine, unpierced by thorn ? In the bright symposium Fancy-pictured round my board, - THE POETS 1 SYMPOSIUM. 35 Thus from Helicon they come, And the rare elixir 's poured. Here for thund'rous brows of Genius There are thought-illumined Books ! Here the merry feast is Reason ! And the Poets are the cooks ! Here they lie, all night on bookshelves ; Never wrangling sound is heard. You will find no envious mock-elves Generous welcome is assured. Other poets with the Purple Oft the diapason swell : Dr. Young with praise of Friendship, Massey with Babe Christabel ; Dante, loved of Beatrice, From Cimmerian darkness led ; Milton awful from Olympus, Laurel-wreathed about his head. In this charmed, magic circle From the New World there belong Bryant, Whittier, Longfellow, Grand Triumvirate of Song. Holland, too, whose bell of silver Tolled life's epic, "Bitter Sweet." Loved of earth and loved of Heaven, Aureoles for these are meet. 36 VIOLETS, EARLY A\I> LATE. " When a blow was struck for Freedom," When our sky was overcast, Lowell's crisis-words were drumbeats, Loudly rang his clarion blast. In the symphonies of poets Time would fail me to rehearse All the robins, finches, thrushes Heard in cadences of verse. Sometimes fell amid the pauses Of the older nightingales. Sudden gush of limpid pathos, Deep as when the north wind wails. Sweet as breath of tuberoses ; (Love, thou wert too sweet to die), Then with trills and thrilling close-, Sudden ceased, and ceased for aye ! Conway, Work, H. II., they perished, When their sun of fame was high. Shrined in hearts, they will be cherished With the names not soon to die. So I dream, amid the gloaming, Of Arcadia come again, When the tuneful Nine went roaming. And the gods conversed with men ! 'e I3on'b f^orgeb YOU, Darlipg, WE don't forget you, darling, Though many months have flown, And the turf upon your little grave Has green and grassy grown. The earth has still its summer grace, And crowds move thoughtless on ; But O we long for your winsome face, Our dewy rose unblown ! Men dream it oft a trifling wo When a young infant dies ; But countless weeping Rachels know The soul's deep agonies. Torn from the trusting babe that lay Long nestled near the heart, Life ever has a vacancy Unfilled by human art ! We don't forget you, darling O no, we still are true Each frail memento is most dear That once was linked with you. At night, in dreaming slumbers bound, You are again our own, Again our arms entwine you 'round, We wake, to mourn alone [37] 38 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Through thee all children seem more fair. Sweet sound their tripping feet Their birdlike voices on the air Light laughter in the street. God has ordained that evermore Love makes the world akin ! One babe unlocks the heart's wide door, That all may enter in! We don't forget you, darling, Safe in the Lovely Land ; Perhaps a crown is on your brow, A harp within your hand. We long again to greet you, When earthly toils are done. O bliss untold, to meet you ! O joy, when Heaven is won ! Till then we'll ever meekly strive Our duties to fulfill; Teaching the erring how to live, Loving our Father's will. But we won't forget you, darling, Though far hence we rove. You still will be our polar star, Pointing to realms above. up A MOTHER took the fragile toy, Too rich and rare for infant hands, And kept it for her darling boy, Where, though unseen, secure it stands. Unconscious thus that love was shown, The grieving infant wept in pain, Nor knew when old and wiser grown He should receive his own again. God, like a careful mother, takes A treasured jewel of the heart A babe, a wife, whose presence makes The mighty tides of feeling start. And we, like children, murmur sore When yielding up each precious gem ; Nor think to find, when years are o'er, Each link safe in God's diadem ! [39] liitfes bhiab ai^e Poerrjs, SWEET Poesy! thou gift divine, Twin sister unto Song ! Love's priceless legacy to man ! An angel 'mid earth's throng! Favored are they who know thy spell, And wield thy magic wand. A thousand hearts with rapture thrill, Touched by their magic hand. Yet other souls unknown to Fame Have caught the immortal spark. They wear no Poet's honored name : They carve no shining mark. Theirs is the long and weary night Of sorrow and of care ; Keeping the homelight warm and bright- No time to string the lyre. Then deem not that with those alone A poet's spirit dwells, Whose touch awakes the slumbering tom> From Music's thousand cells. For other hearts are fraught will) song, Though heard by mortals m-vt T. Life's Poem they write out in Deeds Of love and goodness ever ! [40] I. ONLY a little posy-knot, Yet long 't will treasured be, The first my sprightly laddie brought, And smiling gave to me! lie is a bearded man today, And has his nestlings three; But still I see with this boquet My Boy that used to be. II. Only a faded, fragrant bloom, Recalling orange grove, Again I bask in sweet perfume, Again by foothills rove : Or ride beside the sunset sea, Where light waves kiss the shore, Or float on ocean flowing free, And view the old scenes o'er. III. Only a faded leaf and flower, That with my dead have lain, Mementoes of a tender hour That ne'er will come again. O baby hands ! O snowy brow ! O sunny rings of hair! [41] 42 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Too beautiful for death wert thou; Now, thou art angel fair. IV. Only some English violets, That caught the sunshine's gold, And paid in wondrous sweets the debt, These bring the dream of old ; The tender days whose speech is dumb; Such hours of pleasure-pain As some have wished had never come Or else were here again ! V. Only some letters tied with blue, And yellow now with years ; Once christened with the honeydew Of kisses and of tears. The lines still seem electric life, As in the days of yore ; The rapture that is felt but once, Alas ! if e'er 't is o'er ! Psalrp of I3ogsbai? Days, The poets string the lyre to sing The tender beauty of the Spring, The splendid grace of Autumn's face, Who sings the Fsalm of Dogstar Days V SUMMER'S scorching heats have come. Springtime's singing-birds are dumb. Snowy lily, rare-red rose Perfumed sweets no more disclose. Droop we in the shady bower, For the Dogstar rules the hour. Through the glowing heavens higher Rides the Sungod's car of fire. From his eyes shoot burning glances, Bannered hosts of gleaming lances. Tipped with flame, that burn their way All the sweltering Dogstar Day. Not a moment's cooling breeze ! Not a leaf stirs in the trees ! Nature seems to make a pause ; E'en the hours forget their laws, Dragging leaden-weighted feet, Hours that erst were light and fleet. Fainting, gasping, nigh to death, Cry we for one cooling breath. [43] 44 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Blow from Northern snows, O gale, Touch electric ! thee we hail Kinder friend than tyrant-lover, Whose hot kisses burn us over. Soul ! O soul ! art thou aweary Of the fever-heat of life ? Fainting with the endless struggle? Bruised with the needless strife ? In thy secret depths dost moan ' True hearts dead, and false ones flown ? ' In thy zodiac of duty Rains the Dogstar's baleful fire? From thy rosebush fall the roses? From thy nerveless hand the lyre ''. Pantest thou for breath divine, Re-inspiring life of thine ? Deem not strange the allotted ways. Whitest souls have saddest days. All thou feelest is the heat, Thee to shape in beauty's mold. Lo ! yon emerald sea of wheat Dogdays ripe to sea of gold ! Everywhere one law controls Realm of sense and realm of souls. Had there been no blaze of sun, Harvest-plenty there were none. Patience ! after blinding light Comes the cool and pleasant night. August 1, 1885, mercury 98 degrees in the Wlpab blpe Deft/drop Told TWINKLING little Dewdrop, Slumbering in the rose, Broidering as with jewels Every leaf that grows, What can a thing so tiny Do for the world that 's good, Compared with flashing fountains Or the thundering flood ? Think of the deep, broad river, Where gallant navies ride ! Behold the sweep of ocean ! Pray, what are you beside? Then in the purple gloaming The answer met my ear, Sweet as a bell of silver Tingling in crystal sphere. ' The tender, all-wise Father Maketh both great and small , Each has a heaven-born mission, A love-work is for all. ' I and my myriad sisters Are Nature's nursing-band; [45] 46 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. And with unceasing service Through the long night wi- stand. ' The face of earth aweary With healing kiss we press, And all things faint and drooping Our silent presence bless. ' I brood all night with flowers, Bathing their violet eyes. Cooling their cheeks' red satin, Deep'ning their gorgeous dyrs. ' The stars watch in their marches Our footprints o'er the green; Only the daydawn's splendor Shows man where we have 'T was still ; the f ull-orb'd sunrise With amber glory shone. The air with life grew ringing, The dew exhaled and gone. Long mused I on its lesson: Call nothing mean o> small. Fulfill thy lot, though lowly, For God hath use for all. RorpcmGe of a Flute, '"THE moon is scudding through the sky 1 All in a boat of white, And making in her starry wake A firmament of light. A flood of splendor bathes the world, And shimmers through the trees, And music's silver cadences Come floating on the breeze. Beside my open casement low I watch the crimson bars Of sunset fade to pearly gray, And wait the shining stars ; And see the landscape fill with light Bewilderingly fair, As if some wondrous \vitchery Were in the evening air. Come sit beside me, darling boy, And lay your palm in mine, And hear the lovely music float Upon the sweet moonshine, And as you drink the beauty of The silent evening hour, [47] VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Your eyes shall speak the language that Your lips have not the power. Ah ! now those orbs grow eloquent ! Yet eyes as bright I knew In other moonlights long ago That seemed to pierce me through, In moonlights radiant as this, When earth like Eden lay, One made the night enchanted with A Flute he used to play. Hark! . . there's the very strain he bn-athcd,- A plaintive, melting air, 'T is like a wounded heart's appeal, A lover's pleading prayer. I wrote a tender ballad once, To give the theme a tongue : A benediction and farewell The saddest ever sung. Like martial music now it peals ' Anon, like sighing gales, It winds a requiem for the brave Whose fate the Flute bewails. I 've heard far finer harmonies, And played by master hands ; But naught that stirred me like that lay In other days and lands. But mother mine, the dark-eyed One, O who and where is he?' THE ROMANCE OF A FLUTE 49 I know not where. You touch the red Rose-heart of mystery. 'T was best we said Goodbye for aye, Though he was brave and true; T have no woman's weak regrets. I 've much to love and you. % Yet when that strain is played again In moonlights clear as this, I feel a thrill steal o'er me still, Words cannot all express. Ah ! now it comes adown the wind, It rises sweet and clear, In liquid tones, that sink to moans, And die upon the ear. Behind a cloud, as in a shroud, The moon pales in affright; The hour grows wild we '11 kiss, sweet child, Speak low, and bid Good-night! Expecbabiop, [Many years ago, my grandmother had a son who sailed for the Wr>t Indies. The ship put in for repairs at Cape llatteras, left port, and \vas nevermore heard from. The fate of the young man remained a mystery. though, doubtless, he, with all on board, was engulfed in the sea. Yet long years after, my grandmother, with a mother'* undying love, would look from her window for his possible return.] A MOTHER sat by the window, With heart o'erburdened and sore, While the purple tide came moaning in, And broke on the craggy shore. In the silent, glimmering twilight The white-winded ships went by. She tearfully mused on her darling boy, O where did he linger, and why? He had gone in his glorious manhood, With youth's unshadowed glee, His mother's blessing on his ear, On the smiling, treacherous si a. Wild music rang in the thicket, And pearls with roses were lain ; And the sky was aglow in the Long Ago, When he sailed on the shimmering main. Ten laggard years went over, Yet came he nevermore; But still she harks for his footfall sweet To ring on the old manse floor. [50] EXPECTATION. 51 O where is that noble brow lying, Those clustering curls of hair, Those soulful eyes, and that manly form, 'Mid reefs of wet coral, is 't there ? Was it for this she had borne him, Her heart's most affluent dower? The fruit of fervid affection's past, Love bursting into flower? What dreams her fancy had painted When the babe lay in cradled repose, Of him as the sun of her happy life, And the evening star of its close ! Perhaps a mariner shipwrecked He lives on a foreign shore, And by those fond maternal arms May be tenderly clasped once more. Thus by the old manse window She keepeth love's vigil vain, For many a year may come and go, But he ne'er will return again. We, too, are watchers expectant Upon life's seagirt beach. Like apples of Tantalus, some sweet joys Will ever elude our reach. Some plans of our life will be thwarted, Some ties that are dearest be riven,. Till chastened we look for perfect bliss In Heaven- alone in Heaven ! Eues oF Blue ^J L I. EYES of black or brown may sparkle, Laughing or with tender light, Eloquent with mighty passion, Or mysterious as the Night Wild and wildering as the Night. II. Brilliant hazel orbs entrance us, Hold us with a mystic spell. All the heroes of romances With dark eyes their love-tales tell- Use their killing glances well. III. Black eyes oft, like darkened windows, Baffle when we look within , Hide the thought in secret chambers, Lock the door and give no sign Speak no tongue and soulless shine. IV. Eyes of gray belong to genius, Strong of purpose, clear of thought. Piercing dark eyes, eyes that haunt us, JVIay be fickle trust them not. Ere they fool thee, spurn the spot. [52 | EYES OF BLUE. 53 V. Blue eyes are the ones for feeling; Blue eyes are the ones for truth. Constant ever, roaming never, Faithful to the dream of youth; Welling o'er with generous ruth. of blpe (Morris. [Written in loving remembrance of the noble men and women of our country who have given the writer entertainment and succor in her many years of lecture-work in the sacred cause of Temperance.] I. I HAVE seen them! I have seen them Minister in many homes, From the land of Pilgrim memories To Francisco's stately domes. Some were by the Eastern seaboard, Some were in the land of Penn; Hosts were in the cornclad prairies, Many on the Western plain ; In the Rockies, in the plateaus, In the stirring mining-camps; 54 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Past where tall and snow-kissed mountains Glistened like electric lamps; '.Mid the groves of golden orange, "NY here old Ocean laps the shore, Everywhere I found God's angels, And I bless them o'er and o'er. II. Everywhere they bade me welcome, Clasped my hand and drew mi> in ; Oft refreshed with royal bounty, Till my call was ' On ! ' again. True, no aureole revealed them, Snowy pinions there were none. They were pure and gentle women ; They were stalwart, noble men ! But they guarded little children, Ministered at hearth and home, Stayed up hands of Temperance herald, Sought to win the feet that roam; And 'gainst Bacchus and Gambrinus Waged a just and holy war; Leading in the thick of battle, Like brave Henry of Navarre! III. Clear I traced their highborn lineage, Children of the Heavenly King, And I felt them household angels, Pluming then the snowy wing. Oft, while up the crumbling stainvay Of the years I've climbed since then, Memory's corridors were ringing ANGELS OF THE HOME. 55 With their kindly steps again. Oft their presence flits before me, With some generous deed or word, And by tender recollections Deep my grateful soul it* stirred : And I pray the blessed Father, Who doth note the sparrow's fall, To repay each noble action, And safe Home to guide them all. IV. O thou great and grand ! my country ! Ever be such homes thy own; Multiply as stars of heaven, Be thy firm foundation stone. Homes of virtue, homes of freedom, Where Love's sacred incense burns, Where Religion builds her altar, Here the patriot hopeful turns. For a people's best protection Is the hearth where true hearts dwell. They are more than standing army, Arsenal or moated wall. And where Church and Home and SchooTjouse Face the enemy's attack, Let the haughty tyrant tremble ! Let him send his minions back ! Lyric, Tune" The inoon is beaming o'er the lake." I. TTARK! hark! what pealing anthems ring L 1 From mountain unto main ? Columbia's sons are marshaling To free the land again! Refrain. O comrades, shout the chorus out, Chorus rolling grand and free! O Temperance' starry flag stream out ! Lead on to victory ! At Temperance' call we're rallying all, United heart and hand, And this our battle-cry, " For God, And Home, and Native Land." II. Our cause is just, succeed we must, Rum's legions soon will quail. Their impious host will bite, the dust, Heaven will not let us fail. Refrain. O comrades, shout, etc. m. We '11 rout base men from seats of power, We '11 shield our homes from stain. We '11 guard what we have won in war, And all men's rights maintain, [56] A TEMPERANCE LYRIC. , 57 O comrades, shout the chorus out, Chorus rolling grand and free. Oh, Temperance' starry flag stream out! Lead on to victory ! At Temperance' call we are rallying all, United heart and hand, And this our battle-cry, "For God, And Home and Native Land." Refraip, To the " Song of a Thousand Years." "TD ING out thy bells, my own Columbia ! L* Flash forth thy signal new unfurl'd, Glorious flag of Prohibition ! Banner of Freedom for all the world ! THE crisis is here and the issue is cli-ar. Will you vote for rum license and legalized ruin, Or vote for your HOMES and vote as you PRAY? Shall we barter the Boy for the gold of the dramshop No, never ! I say. Home protection alway ! One ballot just one may win us the day! So I solemnly ask, O Christian, O voter, " Which way is your musket a-pointin' today ? " Oblpep Side, I. jrpWAS quickly done! A low-voiced talk _L To ears that drank undoubting in! Henceforth with dimmer fame must walk One who was pure within. [58] THE OTHER SIDE. 59 II. 'T was quickly done ! A letter flew, Bearing a soon-penned tale afar: Unquestioned, were it false or true? 'T was poison in the air ! III. On careless tongues the story grew. Malignance helped to spread it wide. Of all those whisperers scarce one knew Or asked the Other Side ! IV. The Other Side ! Oh, had they known The simple truth from first to last, Mayhap their hearts had round her grown And fondly held her fast ! V. Misjudg'd, misunderstood ; and so Sharply misstated. This was all. O gentle women ! where the robes Your charity lets fall? VI. Had ye but asked her, ' How is this ? ' Told her the tale ye told elsewhere, Ye would have seen she walked in white, Ye would have found her heart sincere. VII. Unjust, if well-wrought work of years Weigh naught against unchallenged breath. 60 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. And can suspicion's dart pursue An honest soul till death? VIII. Suspend your judgments. Ye may need That others wait ere they decide. The grace you hope for, give. Take heed! There is Another Side. Good Tirpes, WE dream of the By-and-by, When the children older be, When our ships in the harbor lie, Now rocking in far-off sea; When our schemings have well matured, When the new house we are in ; When fortune and fame are assured, Then our GOOD TIMES will begin. Today is hurry and toil; Scarce time for carol and prayer; We labor by midnight oil, Till our brows are furrowed with care. And sometimes the petulant word Or the quick retort of sin Our nearest and loved have heard, And we fail their hearts to win. We mean in the By-and-by, When our Good Times shall have come, That Love shall illume the eye, And Wisdom direct our home. We will give to the poor a token, We will visit and cheer the ill. When, sudden, our thread is. broken ! And the loom of our life is still! [61] 62 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Oh! alas! for the hearts not cherished! Alas, for the good not done! Poor dreamers we were, who perished Ere the promised goal was won. O trust to no doubtful future, Nor live so fast, I pray. By kindness and meek forbearance Make Good Times of Today! Oh, 't is not from wealth or leisure That good times chiefly come. The sunny heart is a treasure, And maketh around it a home. Defer not thy good till tomorrow; Exhale a sweet spirit today, No need from the future to borrow, Thy Good Times shall be alway! Almost it be that tomorrow, or perhaps today, \J I shall cease from sorrow and pass away ? From the burning fever, from racking pain, To wake o'er the River to sweet rest again ! Have the sands in my hourglass to emptiness run ? Is the web of my life-work woven and done ? From doubting and fearing, from sighing and tears, Can it be I am nearing the shadowless years ? From haste and from labor, from passion and strife, How sweet to enter where love is life ! Where words are all tender, where hearts are all true, Where the long rent asunder each fondly shall view ! I have known both summer and wintry days. I do not murmur, but give God praise. Not dark nor all dreary the way I have come, Yet, Lord, I am weary. Am I almost home ? * Not yet, O my child.' (Sweet, sweet was the voice.) ' A mission is thine on the earth. Rejoice ! The crucible's heat was thy gold to refine. Now gather me pearls from the deep-sea brine ! 4 Fear not. I will help thee. Each life is a plan. Some day 'twill appear how my love through it ran; How tears turned to jewels : how tangles of gold And scarlet were roses, when th' pattern 's unrolled.' [68] I. Flowers! they are an alphabet JL Of Beauty writ by God ; In field and wood and valley set, And by the dusty road, That lord and lady, rich and poor, And tawny rover wild May read the lovely lesson o'er, With every little child. II. The Flowers are gracious thoughts from God To tender woman sent. By couch of pain, 'neath coffin-lid, Their voice is eloquent. They bid despairing hearts look up, To losses reconciled ; For He who tints the floweret's cup Cannot forsake His child. III. The Flowers are fairies on the lea. The violet is meek; The lily white is purity; The rose hath love's own cheek. The sunflower turns about her face, But ever seeks her god : [64] THE FLOWERS. 65 The purple asters bend with grace To greet the golden-rod. IV. The Flowers are subtle poetry, God writes upon the meads; And he is wise who rev'rently The Master-poem reads. The flowery balm is like the psalm Of holy, well-spent hours. Oh, earth were robbed of wondrous grace Were there no flowers, sweet flowers. V. When bird and bee go forth to woo Amid the fragrant dells, The Flowerets offer cups of dew, They 're such cold-water bell(e)s. And when the sunsc-t flag unfurls, And crimsons all the west, The blossoms deck themselves with pearls, And are with glory drest. IN Nature's face I love to look And trace, as in an open book, From starry orb to flower -gemmed sod, The worthy tokens of a God. Who formed for joy each living thing That swims the sea, that soars on wing, Who paints the dawn, the sunset's gold, Who formed for sight th' admiring eye, Who fills with life the field, the wold, Who guides the birds that southward fly, Whose every work is perfect found, Who meted out creation's bound ; Who in their orbits holds the sphero , Who bids the varying seasons move; Whose harvest plenty crowns the years, Is surely Wisdom, Truth and Love ! His tenderest care for Man shall be Man imaged like to Deity. Believe, His every law is still A father's, not a despot's, will. Obedience assures thy weal. But who the ways of God refuse Their own unhappiness do choosr. My King! Thou art so kind and good, I mourn my willful, wayward mood. O sheltering Ark ! from seas of sin Take a repenting wanderer in ! [66] losses of Bright I. OTHE moss, this beautiful moss ! Relic of land of the Chinee and Joss ! It grew in the vale by the sunset sea; It festooned the boughs of a live-oak tree. Pendulous, Swinging, Graceful it fell, Like the filmy mesh of a lady's veil. It brings back a rare and a radiant day, When, after a sail o'er the smooth, bright Bay, Through foothills to GEYSERS I took my way. Oh, gay as a garden the long valley lay. II. Sweet springtime and beauty were weaving their spells. What a blaze of wild flowers ! what soft green in dells ! The live-oaks wore garlands of mosses as fair As are wrought by the hand, with a lacemaker's care. Springing, Galloping, Flying around The mountain's steep edge, our steeds spurned the ground. A failing bolt or a frightened leap Had launched us over the awful steep. Our angels guarded from harm and loss. Our guide drew rein by a moss-hung tree, [67] 68 VIOLETS, EARLY A\I> LATE. And a snap of bis whip brought down to me This ciirious, beautiful, treasured moss. III. Southward we turn, the Coast Range cross. Observe this delicate Monterey moss. Yonder sits Monterey, bride of the sea, With the rime of the years where the cypress be. Draping, Drooping, Clinging, the green Of the fringing moss in low woods is seen. Again on its wisp are memories strung, Of the May when I roamed its old haunts among; Of the picnic we held in the balm-dropping woods; Of the voices that rang in the charmed solitudes, Where, centuries gone, the Spaniard and Brave Had heard, as I heard, the low-breaking wave. IV. Oh, this odorous, gold-green moss The giants of Mariposa wear; Those ancient redwood kings that toss Their boughs three hundred feet in air. Odorous, Emerald, Brilliant, see A moss that has dwelt in high company. Gathered from cedars that were not young When Shakspeare played, when Dante sung; Anear Yosemite's wondrous vale. What mighty secrets they could tell Of changes which that coast befell ; MOSSES OF BRIGHT MEMORIES. 69 Those monarchs o'er whose stately head Eight solemn centuries have sped ! V. Oh, this beautiful, trailing moss, Pluckt where it thickly grew across An ancient and ancestral grave, Near where Atlantic's waters rave. Creeping, Creeping, Night and Day, Over the spot where my kindred lay. My mother's mother! twine, sweet vine. Noiseless trail, and creep, and twine Over the dust where a sweet saint lies. Guard till immortal it shall arise ! Live, like true love, that never dies ! [The crest of Ashton mentioned below is the highest point in Lee County, Illinois.] I, T)LEASANT 't is on summer morning, When dew -diamonds deck the spray, Slumber's drowsy languor scorning, O'er the hills to bound away; Quaff from spring refreshing nectar, Breathe large draughts of crystal air; View the speaking face of Nature, Night-refreshed, more charming fair. Something of the outer beauty Steals within the willing soul. Something of the balm and gladm-^ Makes the wounded spirit whole. II. Tis my favorite, frequent fancy, Ere the breakfast signals sound, To the old, deserted quarry O'er the hill to wind my round. Up through avenues of maples, Interlacing arms of shade, Meeting on her milky errand, Pail in hand, a star-eyed maid ; Up the emerald billow climbing Pause on Ashton's lofty crest. [70] TO THE OLD STONE-QUARRY. 71 Grand the prospect! Gaze far northward, Then look eastward, south and west. III. Lo ! a vast and fertile valley ; Fields on fields of heavy corn ; Mead and pasture, stream and woodland, Fattening herds of hoof and horn. Miles on miles the landscape stretches, Further still yon ridges blue. Now look down. The Old Stone-Quarry's Excavation meets your view. Deep, deserted ! miniature of Mighty valleys we have seen. There unrolls the living Present, Here 's a grave of What Has Been ! Deeds, JH" 1 'IS wisdom's course the truth to know, 1 'T is wiser far the truth to live. 'T is kind to shed the tear for wo, But still more kind, relief to give. Like to Pygmalion's statue, cold And white and dead, are WORDS alone, DEEDS are as when the life-tides rolled, And maiden-love blushed in the stone. Be Sfcronq in Vir?bue and in God, -j / t / "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them." Bible. OH, fear not, though invidious arts Be aimed against thee thick and fast ; Though Envy hurl her poisoned darts, The battle will not always last. The raging billows yet will cease; The sea be hushed to perfect peace. Strengthen thy spirit to endure. Then shall affliction's withered leavi s Enclose a rich, a lovely flower, And nature smile, while yet she grievo. The soul, in meek submission bowed, Beholds the rainbow in the cloud. As buds, when crushed in fatal hour, Exhale their sweetest fragrance then, So trials of the spirit's power Reveal its quenchless founts within. And life's dark clouds, that o'er us fleet, Make the successive light more sweet. And deem not, if no answering tone From kindred souls responds to thee, That no heart beateth like thine own, That no lute sounds in harmony. [72] BE STRONG IN VIRTUE AND IN GOD. 73 This wide world may contain the strain Responsive to thine own again. Be strong in virtue. Ne'er depart From out that radiant zone of light. Guard every action, word and thought, Pray God to keep thee in the right. Then fearlessly and firmly move. Thy course sublime Heaven will approve. n Wipber, TTOW wondrous beautiful, 'neath Cynthia's light, 1U. The landscape, with its snowy veil, tonight ! In bridal vesture robed, Queen Earth appears, Oblivious of her recent mood of tears. On time-browned piles caressing moonbeams rove, Like maiden's white arms round some wreck of love, The wind is still, the scene 's surpassing fair. Tonight is Nature's coronation hour. Oh, world of beauty ! time of sweetest bliss ! Was ever moonlight beautiful as this ? Hours of poetic fancy, as ye roll Impart some talisman unto my soul. 74 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Listen, my heart ; the benison is given ; It leads thy raptured thoughts to things in Heaven. If so transcendant fair the world thou 'st trod, How glorious, then, the Paradise of God ! Summep /Aoonlighb, T\ /TOONLIGHT over bright vales and 1V1 Moonlight over the jasmine bowers; Moonlight over the laborer's head Moonlight over the slumbering dead. Moonlight lay on the shining rill, Wooed by the strain of the nightingale. Moonlight shimmered amid the trees, And danced with the leaflets in the breeze. On diamonded grass and crystalline spring Moonlight rested her gossamer wing; Penciled with beauty each turret brown, And hung her white flag over village and town. Her silvery sheen in magnificence lay Where light waves of ocean were leaping at play, And myriad lamps shone brilliantly there, For every bright billow reflectdl a star! SUMMER MOONLIGHT. 75 Moonlight unfurled her luminous tent In the azure court of the firmament; And her radiant zone, with its gems of light, Was a jeweled crown on the brow of night. So beauteous the scene, so witching its power, It almost seemed, in that mystical hour, That the windows of Heaven were open thrown, And a glimpse of its glory to mortals was shown. The maiden mild and the convict of crime Felt each the spell of that hallowed time. Oh, if there be moments when Mercy and Peace With balm-dropping sandals e'er tread the green earth, Bidding the clamors of Passion to cease And saintly affections to spring to their birth , When guardian angels are hovering round us, Sundering fetters that downward have bound us ; When the Right should exert its holiest power, 'T is in sweet summer-time, at the moonlight hour. rod's W ay, in" 1 IS said that when the mother-bird 1. Would teach her young to use its wings, She bears it, perched upon her back, Beyond the nest, and from it springs. The startled birdling flutters down, Like windblown leaf, unto the ground. But soon, with pinions stronger grown, Its glorious power to soar has found. So, Lord, from out the well-loved nest, Thy providence hath borne Thy child, And dropped her where it pleased Thee best, Though weak of heart, scarce reconciled. And she hath found, once and again, That thus Thou ledst to larger things. The wider vision, fuller strain, More heavenward flight of spirit wings. [76] I. HAIL, crystal Water! Bright, bright and free. Ho ! son and daughter, Here 's the draught for thee. Bubbling in the foiintain, Singing through the lea; Laughing in the mountain, Booming in the sea ! Hail, sparkling Water! Clear, bright and free, Ho ! son and daughter, Here's health for thee. II. Hail, blessed Water! Type of Purity. Quaff, son and daughter, From the fountain free. Now it glows a rainbow, In the magic sun ; Now it sleeps in rose-heart, When the day is done. Hail, blessed Water! Lave the debauchee, Smiling son and daughter, Here 's wealth for thee. [77] 78 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. III. Pledge with crystal Water! Speed the jubilee, When each son and daughter From rum's curse is free. Leave the brimming beaker ! Serpents ambush there ! Leave the winecup's revel, 'T is madness and despair! Hail, crystal Water! Bright, bright and free. Ho! son and daughter. Here 's the glass for thee ! IF Penitence and Charity Be strangers to thy heart, Though fair thy outer life may be, Think not the gates of pearl for thee Will promptly spring apart. With deep distress the Publican Confessed and was forgiven. The Pharisee was free from stain, But, haughty to a brother-man, Was not approved of Heaven. A PLEASANT fire and an easy chair, Set where the light falls clearly, Plain, nourishing food, with converse good, And a soft, clean bed for the limbs and head,- These make Old Age go cheerly. A treasured book for the sunny nook, Anon the friendly letter ; The outdoor walk, the genial talk, The kindly deed to a soul in need, These make Old Age completer. But Age must give as well as take, Must bear some ills serenely ; Must wear no frown, nor seek its own, But hope and love, unfailing on, Till crowned in Heaven, queenly. [79] Village Bell, SWEETLY peals from its ivied tower Yon deep-toned Bell, at the vesper hour. Lingering echoes seem to say, Thoughtless spirit, haste and pray ! Come, where voices in praise are blending; Come, thy knee in penitence bending. Life is flying and death is near. Wayworn traveler, worship here. Mirny a year that bell has swung, And a thing of life is its tireless tongue Nmv it thrills with a tender mood, Anon it thunders over the wood. It calls to school and the swarming street, Rings with a troop of pattering feet. When furious flames are towering high, It sounds the tocsin, and men fly ! A sacred thing is that old church bell. 'T is freedom's herald and slavery's knell. When the baleful star of rebellion arose, And brothers to brothers grew deadliest foes, When the groans of defeat men trembled to hear, Its peans of triumph rang grandly and clear, And deepened and swelled when tyranny's chain Was struck from the necks of three millions of men ! A vision comes of a well-known time, When the church bell rang with a wedding chime. [80] THE VILLAGE BELL. 81 Sweet flowers breathed on the ambient air, And the fairest Flower of all was there. There flashed a glimmer of satin and lace, As the bridal cortege took its place. The vow was breathed and the twain made one, And life looked bright as the hues of the sun. A five-month passed, and the village bell Mournfully tolled a funeral knell. O joy and grief, ye were quickly allied. 'Neath that sable pall was the saintly bride! A weeping train laid her tenderly down To her dreamless rest, while the bell tolled on. And I think, as it vibrates so solemn and slow, Some day they will toll it, and lay me low. me, n~iHE year rolls by. How ceaselessly 1 Old Father Time speeds on ! In heat, in cold, by day, by night, His march is never done. When weeping eyes are closed in sleep, And hearts forget their care, Old Time ascends some distant steep, Or treads in fields of air. From whence he came, or where lie goes, No mortal eye hath seen. No wavelet of the trackless air Reveals where he has been. No rustle of mysterious wings Betrays his rapid flight, lint naught can check his course sublime, Through regions veiled from sight. No storm-cloud with o'ershadowing pall, No light of roseate sky, No joy, nor grief, nor prayers detain Yon traveler rushing by. There comes a deep, mysterious roar, As of a mighty sea, L82J OLD FATHER TIME. 83 That tells us Time is near the shore Of vast Eternity, Where each must launch a little barque Arid sail through endless years, Poor children wildered in the dark, Beleagured with our fears. Yet all we 've felt of human love, Or learned of the divine, Assures, beyond God's pitying care, We cannot cross the line. Only the unrepenting still No port of peace shall win; Self-doomed to hell, the stubborn will That still prefers to sin. Oli, Traveler Time! whose flight sublime Was from creation's birth, Teach me true wisdom, as I climb With thee the steeps of earth. Wbab is Lotfe 7 I. QlINCE first the stream of Time began, O When earth was young, When to sweet Eve the primal man His love-tale sung, In every age, in every zone, The blind and prankish god has thrown His darts the swains among. And countless Psyches have confessed The pleasure-pain that thrilled their breast. II. It comes, the bright, all-conquering flame, To high, to low, To shepherd lad, to titled name, Hot blood, and slow. No armor doth 'gainst Love prevail. More eloquent the one old tale Than dulcet Music's flow. Its power the hardest heart can move. Yet many differ, WHAT is LOVE ? III. Is it the spell which beauty weaves O'er lover's eye ? A fever in young blood, that leave-: When time steals by? [84] WHAT IS LOVE f 85 The magnetism of man and maid ? Will 't end when Hymen's vows are said, Demanding liberty ? Is 't born of kisses, finger-tips, Forgot at parting from the lips ? IV. Is it a mystery quite apart From Reason's sphere? Have noble virtues of the heart Small influence here ? Are pure devotion, sentiment, Frail shadows from Love's substance sent, Not its best cheer? Are souls by true affection moved, Whose fondest dream 's but to be loved ? V. Nay ! Heaven-born love seeks others' bliss, Not self-attent. It grows sublime with sacrifice, A sacrament. 'T will give its all, as well as take- Counts labor sweet for dear ones' sake, Its largess free, unspent. Once loved, upon life's highest plane, Is loved forever without wane. ah ap nnWINKLED and glowed on the murky air 1 The great red eye of the inn; And while we mused by the evening fire, Our host a scroll brought in. Whether 'twas dropped by a lady fair, Or a sad, regretful man, No clue was there to the secret rare, But thus the stanzas ran : THE SCROLL. I. This letter is written from home, Hal, I have been long away. The shadows at last are lengthening fast, With me it is not May. I have returned to the dear old friends. And the old-time haunts as well, The campus, the chapel, and once have lu-ard The peal of its musical bell. II. memories ! how ye come surging up, As wave on wave of the sea ! 1 think of the glorious future we dreamed, And muse on the beings we be ! Back, back to your cells, nor fashion your spells Over my fancy again ! [86] FOUND AT AN INN. 81 Can ye unwrite the tale of a life, And make me a glad girl again ? III. This morning the heavens were azure, Hal, The bluebirds sang on the bough. All golden the air, and nature as fair As twenty long summers ago. My course I took over willowy brook Along the white-clover blooms, Through pastures green that lay between My home and the old college rooms. IV. Sure you will remember the footpath, Hal, That led from the house on the hill, Through thicket with sumac and maple aflame, Where the plaint of the turtle-dove fell. O'er billowy fields whose broad crown yields To a brook in a valley of shade, Along whose brim, as a Bluebeard grim, A hoarse-throated watchdog bayed ! V. Near a little brown house the foot-trail ran. There often, 'neath sunset skies, A maiden passed on ; and a deep-voiced man Followed the girl with his eyes. They met each day in the old college hall ; They studied the same old books, And the tender inflections of omo grew From words to tenderer looks. 88 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. VI. It all came back to my memory, Hal, Though twenty long summers ago. The world without and the world within Have altered somewhat, I trow. The tangled thicket 's a well-trimmed grove, The field is a fairground now ; The tiny green path is a deep-cut road, Where rumbling horsecars go. VII. The little brown house is still on the slope, But the charm of the meadow is gone. The soon-parted twain met scarcely again ; Their youth and its poem are flown. You toy with the curls of your baby boy, Hal, The maid you remember no more, And she can glance at a dead romance, Smile softly, and say, ' It is o'er ! ' Papbing. FRIEND, fare thee well ! stern Fate doth sever True hearts that could live in smiles forever. With pitiless, grasp he wrenches in twain The glittering clasps of affection's chain. He scattereth blossoms from Love's bright tree. He severeth friends with changeless decree. Drops from one source may dissevered become. In lines diverging their channels may run. And when, O when, will they mingle in one? They meet in the ocean. 'T is thus with our life. We 're parted by earth's commotion and strife-. But oh, may Love's compass from Jesus be given, To guide o'er the foam-capped billows to Heaven, And there in a happier clime may we dwell. Till then, dear heart, fare thee well! farewell! [89J Voices of Life, [For parlor or Sunday-school entertainments. To be impersonated with full tableau in conclusion. Has been successfully used in Chicago.] I. CHILDHOOD. MOSS-ROSE ! Red-rose ! White-rose so fair, Give me your sweet buds to bind in my hair. Buttercup ! Buttercup ! lend me thy gold. Rainbow ! Rainbow ! I would thee enfold. I '11 speed like the wind Thy pillars to find, And thy gold pots to hold. White Cloud ! Snow Cloud ! what hast thou done With thy banners of crimson aflaunt in the sun ? Hast sailed with the angels that float in the air? And where is Heaven ? Pray, tell me where. II. YOUNG MAIDENHOOD. Childhood is o'er, a fast fading shore, Its joys and its pastimes can hold me no more. I have dreampt of Fame, but Fame is strife. I have longed for Wealth, but Love is Life ! This hour I wait For my hero, my fate And alas! he is late. Come life, come death, T will love him more Than ever maiden oved man before! Come hither to me, by the old elm-tree; The stars are watching and winking for thee ! [90] FOUR VOICES OF LIFE. 1 JI While thou dost delay, the moon sinks low The red rose faints that was pluckt for thee now The nightingale stops her song on the bough. O hark ! by that sign he is coming, I know. Yet hide thy joy, O heart of mine. Too quickly won may quickly pine ; And he must be true, my Man of men ! III. MATERNITY. My pretty one, my precious joy ! Blessings upon thee, cherub boy. Thy father sails the trackless sea, And toils afar for thee and me. Oh, when to riper stature grown, Say, wilt thou in the ships be gone? Nay! nay! in manhood's proud estate, At home thou shall be wise and great; This dimpled hand work well its part; This voice be music in my ear; This eye subdue some girlish heart, And beam upon thy nestlings dear. Sleeps ! sleeps ! my baby sleeps, And Love its sacred vigil keeps, My dove so mild, my undefined! A woman's crown is her sinless child. IV. A GOLDEN OLD AGE. All is ended, the joy and the sorrow. No fire of life's passions can kindle my morrow. All that were dearest are parted from me, One in the churchyard and one in the sea. Yet often their spirits seem round me still. We shall meet some day in God's sweet will. 92 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. All I 've to live for is serving my race. All men are my brothers ; a sister I trace In the face of each woman, whatever she be. The heart that has suffered is nearest to me. Here's a hand for the fallen ! for sorrow a tear. Here 's a smile for the happy ! for all I Ve a prayer. The One who never can fail us, I know, Was smitten with grief and acquainted with wo. To Him, O my sisters, O friends, let us go. Thus living and loving, from out of earth's fire, To the home of the soul I aspire ! I aspire ! "Gpum^le fllley and Tbapkful Sbpeeb," pOME out of "Grumble Alley," come into "Thankful \j Street." Stay not in darksome valley, where Gloom and Anger meet. Sit not stone-blind to Beauty, brooding thy grief and hate, But mount the hills of Duty, and nobly meet thy fate. Dost bend with burdens double ? True grace will help thee bear. Dost dread impending trouble? Perhaps 't will melt in air. Bemoanst thy small resource? Think, sonic ln-sidc their dead Would part with golden purse to bring back sunny head. "GRUMBLE ALLEY AND THANKFUL STREET." 93 Bewailst thy single talent ? Safe thou from Envy's stings ; From jarring dissonance of harp of thousand strings. Is thy good work unmarked ? thou slighted and passed by ? Just recompense is sure. One noted from on high. Look out. The world is bright; the birds sweet strains prolong. Turn from thy bosom's night, and join great Nature's song. Oh, tossed and full-of-cares ! a good God reigns o'er all. Trust Him who counts thy hairs and marks the sparrow's m fall. Take up thy nearest duty, with stout and hopeful heart. Speak words of love and beauty. Uo well thy lowly part. Heroic patience rally and Peace thy t>oul will greet, And lead from Grumble Alley to cheery Thankful Street. If, from the fields Elysian, we saw our earthly lot ; That clearer, juster vision would still oft-fretting thought. Since "all things work together" to make for glory meet. Then welcome, stormy weather ! All 's well in Thankful Street. The Ghdpce WE met in youth's bright springtime Its 'blossoms in our hands ; Us sunshine in our laughing eyes, Its mirage o'er our lands. We ranged the field of letters ; We gathered fancy's flowers. We found a mutual sympathy That charmed the passing hours. Such dainty missives came and went As rhyme or reason sends. We glanced at deeper sentiment, And then we parted friends. We drifted long and far apart. A score of years went o'er. And who was wed, or who was dead, We knew and thought no more. Till lately down this strange, great town I went my stormy round. The frost-wind cut like steel without, The snow lay on the ground. I sat beside an office fire. A gentleman was there. [94] THE DREAMER. 95 Long-bearded, portly, . - . an M. D.? Professor, ... by his air. We passed some commonplace remark ; lie went bis distant way, And neither guessed what friends had met, And parted, too, that day ! D reamer. I. AH ! you picture an artist's studio, Hair raven, eyes like the night, You think of Phidias, Raphael, Angelo, Wtth masterful hand and thought-heavy brow. Ah, no- You read not my riddle aright. II. What then ? some glorious scholar Toiling in midnight cell ? A Radical leaving ancestral halls, Splendors and titles and sculptured walls ? 'T were well. But simpler the story I tell. 96 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. III. Not even a maiden's pure chamber, Snowily, vestally white ; With incense of flowers borne in on the breeze, With rapture of bird-song flung in from the trees,- Beautiful, bright : Our sketch hangs in different light. IV. Only a homely brown building, Set deep in the heart of the town ; Twelve girls at work; and the master's eye, Urging the business silently, On, ever on, Till darkness her curtain lets down. V. Work, work, from the dewy morning, And work till daylight is o'er. But youth is elastic, and girls are gay, And labor is mingled with chatter and play, The livelong day, With " Bleachery " over the door. VI. Their words, while their fingers are flying, Are the froth of the o'erfoaming glass; The moment's fancy ; the tint of a rose ; The droop of your hat; the style ol their beaux; Alas ! ulas ! For the free, careless talk of a THE DREAMER. 97 VII. Why sitteth fair Rosabel silent, With look of some far-away sphere? Nor joins in the ripple of laughter sweet, Nor heeds the passer-by over the street? Not here, I fear, Is her heart, though her service is here. VIII. For Love, the wonderful charmer, Has touched the maid with his wand ; And she dwells in a land of enchantment now, And her sky is lit with a beautiful glow, A glamour I know, And his zephyrs her senses have fanned. IX. Oh, the wondrous illusions of Love ! Oh, the whitest day that is o'er! The miracle by all ages approved, Wlien first we believe we love and are loved! Earth hath no more Transcendent bliss to add to our store ! X. So Rosabel dreams of her lover, The hero so brave to her view; Of tenderest husband and faithfullest wife, Ennobling and blessing a mutual life. My friend, think you Her visions will ever come true ? 98 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. XI. O Destiny, what of this Dreamer? Whisper it softly and slow. The twain that love fondly will soon be divided, And each to another be solemnly wedded. Soon, dreamless and low, The maiden will sleep where the myrtles blow.' (Her Posbscripb, I. I KNOW my words are simple, But I love you night and day ; And whether comes storm or sunshine, I '11 love you ever, I say. II. I never tire repeating These words so sweet to me. Oh ! could they utter the ardor, The depth of my feeling to thcc ! III. 'T is said Love's chains are silken. They arc not chains to me ; HER POSTSCRIPT. 99 But as a glad bird seeks her mate, So flies my heart to thee. IV. My name, that seemed so homely, You breathed 't is prettier grown, And yours I think the sweetest That I have ever known. V. Yes, I will wait for you, dearest, Through years of good or ill ; This thought will make them half divine We love each other still! ^Ipberrogabiop, I. HAS change crept o'er thy spirit yet? In one brief hour is love forgot ? I wait for thee at noon at night Till hope expires thou comest not! If thou dost love, how canst thou live So near and yet so long apart ? Nor send one word or sign to flash 100 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Electric heat from heart to heart ? Are not our souls attuned as one ? Then is my pain my pain alone ? II. I 've scorned to doubt. I 've held such thoughts Disloyal, and I bade them go. And yet, were I a man like thee, I could not treat my true love so. Thou badst me read thy troth sincere, In all thy acts. The proof is blurred; The explanation 's locked from me ; Thou hast the key. I wait thy word. But, O my king! if thou shouldst be Unkind or false, 't were death to me. III. Too late, when fondest hearts are fled, Deep sighs to breathe, sad tears to shed. When Paradise, we prized too late, Is barred, and angels guard the gate. Then hasten, dear, fly straight to me ! While ghostly terrors of the night Fold up their tents and trooping flee, Fill thou my life with love and light. If thy dear love be all my own, Come, and our bliss will be begun ! Estranged, T\EAD ! yet not dead ! ah me, \J That it is so! 'T was all so different One year ago, Oft I recall the blissful hour, When life burst forth in perfect flower! There beamed new brightness in the air, There streamed enchantment everywhere. December seemed as gay as June, The runnels purled a merry tune, The founts of joy did so o'erflow, My very heart did bud and blow ! To music danced the feet of Time, For One was near, and One was mine ! And I was brave, whate'er befall, For One was near, and One was all! Ah me ! What ecstasy, lost Love, with thee ! Meth ought I never lived before. Alas ! 't is death, if love be o'er. What pure communion, just control, Marked the discourse of soul with soul ! Yet what endearing words were said, While each for each a heaven made ! All other joys sank in eclipse [101] 102 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. At final meeting of the lips! Today it seems so long ago . . . So many tears since then I 've shed, My heait's so heavy now, I know 'T is I am dead ! Sipg bo MB |*loti/ of (Jesus, QING us a song, my daughter,' O A tremulous old man said. 'T was the still hour, made for music, The sun had sunk to his bed. And all in the pensive gloaming The darkness deepening fell, And naught was heard save one lone bird, With his plaint of Whip-poor-Will. Then in the large old farmhou-M', To the organ's solemn chords. The maiden sang, and the night-air rang To the theme of tender words. Perhaps 't was Annie Laurie, Or the Emigrant's Lament, SING TO ME NOW OF JESUS. 108 And " It may be for years and it may be forever," Whose charm with the sweet hour blent. Intently the aged one listened To the strains that rose and fell, To the dreamful voice of his daughter dear, And lie felt the musical spell. " Those songs are sweet," he murmured, " But I seem to miss one name. Oh, sing to me now of Jesus ; I am longing to hear of Him." He was nearing the swelling river, Which each must cross alone. He was nearing the Realm of Spirits, The world unseen, unknown ; Nearing the awful secrets Beyond the night so drear, He wanted fast hold of Jesus, - He longed for the heavenly cheer. ^v Then the old hymns, sweet and holy, She sang till he went to rest, And the peace of God on his soul was shed, And soothed the troubled breast. Oh ! hymns we heard in childhood, Beside our mother's knee, Repeat them gently when we shall stand On the verge of the solemn sea. I. CALM was the eve, and wondrous bright, O'er silver lake and town. Queen Dian rode a car of light, And dropped her smiling glances down, O'er slumbering Michigan, A silent glory white. II. Oh, who could guess from night so fair The rising, deadly gale? The carnival of sprites in air, The cruel surge, the flapping sail, The cheek with terror pale, The faltered, gasping prayer? III. On shore they slept, undreaming bale; Some to embark at morn. But ere day broke, began to wail Uncanny winds, with sounds forlorn, To whisper, shriek and moan, With weird and ghostly tale. IV. At dawn the Fiends are mustering, Wild clouds shut in the sky; C104] SHIPWRECK. 105 Big raindrops fall with startling ring, The marshal'd winds like furies fly, Waves lift their hands on high, The Storm, the Storm is King! V Now fiercer rage the powers of air, The vast lake heaves and boils. Wo ! for the luckless boat caught there, Where brave Alpena frantic toils Deep ! thou wilt have fresh spoils, Nor for their anguish spare. VI. The flashing whitecaps mount the skies, The engulfing channels yawn She sinks, doomed ship no more to rise, Her host to watery grave have gone. Moan ! moan ! blast sweeping on, With deep and mighty cries. VII. Three days the hurricane prevailed, Lashing the lake and shore. Whatever craft the waters sailed Was wrecked or madly driven o'er. Such awful gale before To find the oldest memory failed. VIII. With thunderous roar, winds grappled rock ; On shore smote giant trees. They fell like pipe-stems at the shock, Or troops mown down by batteries. 106 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. The wreck-strewn forest lies Like towns where earthquakes rock- IX. At length the elemental burst, Resistless, gloomy, bold, Had spent its force and wrought its worst. But oft in vision wives behold Those billows mountain-high Spray blinding rock and sky. Uplotfed, OH, give me love, true love alone My yearning spirit cries. Silent I wait for an answering tone, For tender and sweet replies. In vain. There's dew for the thirsty ground, Sunshine for the buds unblown; Each wild bird its mate hath found. Only my heart is lone. Yet have I dreampt of a manly form, And a spirit strong and true ; And a sunny nook unreached by storm, Where sweetest home-joys grew. UNLOVED. 107 I 've seen, alas ! those hopes decay, And yet for love I sigh; Chasing as desert-travelers may The mirage in the sky. For wealth or fame can never still An aching heart's unrest, Nor void in woman's nature fill ; Unloved, she is unblest. Then give me love ; for it I pine As the captive in his cell ; As the bird encaged for the soaring range Of the woods he loved so well. Only an echo-sound replies, And the whispering air is still! The half -born hope within me dies, And the night grows dark and chill. Still for affection's sacred boon My anguished prayer will rise, Will it ne'er wake an answering tone, With tender and sweet replies? /Aopody of Dolotposa, I. AM alone worn and alone,' To herself she said ; ' No tender voice when day is done, No soft caress of a loving one, Though I am wed. II. ' These tasteful rooms I dress with care For whom, aye, whom ? For smiles that bless me on the stair? For a heart that holds me ever fair? Alas ! my doom. III. * I 've been a wife full many a year, Helpful and true; Sure all his griefs and burden to share. Are food, a roof and something to wear A wife's full due? IV. ' Can creature-comforts gauge the reach Of the spirit's wants ? The converse sweet, the softened speech- The flow of heart from each to each For these it pants. [108] THE MONODY OF DOLOROSA. 109 V. ' The sympathy of kindred souls, The ways of Love . . . The generous preference that controls, The clasp that saith, while it enfolds, Rest here, my dove! VI. ' He will not . . . perhaps cannot . . . speak What lovers frame. He deems me foolish, willful, weak. His words are blows that rudely break My life's fond dream. VII. ' I stifle in these prison walls As in a tomb. No childhood patters through these halls. Nor baby prattle softly falls To break the gloom. VIII. ' Great God ! are hearts so little worth Grown wild with pain, That men may tread them in the earth, And then walk confidently forth, And wear no stain ? IX. ' Oh, would he say ' Forgive, forgive,' My love would live ! ' And then her voice sank to a moan; ' But no ! I feel I must go on Alone ! alone ! ' apd Polly, I. SOMETIMES the young indulge in scorning The older people's sober warning, That he who " drinks " gets soft and mellow, And yield an ear To what they hear From some gay, plausible young fellow. My lads, 't is wise To take your seniors' good advice. II. Jack was a confident gallant, Who, after day's work, often went Some miles to woo a farmer's daughter. Their homes between A pool was seen A long, wide marsh of muddy water. Jack, starting early, Walked round the pond to see Miss Polly III. One night, attired in all his best, White linen suit and gorgeous vest, He reached the hollow marsh belated. 'T was miles around. Now, why not bound Across, and soon to Poll be mated? [110] JACK AND POLLY. Ill " Waist-deep ! waist-deep ! " The old frogs croak, the old frogs peep. IV. " Waist deep ? O pshaw ! " Jack quickly said. " I better know with half a head. 'T is shallow ; one could wade across 't. I '11 well prepare, And soon be there, And gain the full hour I have lost." " Knee-deep ! knee-deep ! 'T is but knee-deep ! " the young frogs peep. V. Jeck took the younger frogs' advice, Rolled up his garments in a trice, And, wading in, soon learned his folly. The waters rose Waist-deep he goes ! Oh, he has spoiled his fine white clothes! He was a sight to laughing Polly. Ashamed and cold, His love untold, He homeward sneaked, no longer bold ; And at the pool The frogs all screamed, " Old fool ! Old fool! old fool!" Vesper DAY'S crimson flush has faded. The silence broodeth all. The lovely earth is shaded By night's o'erhanging pall. Star after star is beaming, I heed no more their ray. I dreaming, fondly dreaming, My heart is far away. I think of words thou 'st spoken, Words spoken once to me. Oh, with a love unbroken, I think of thee of thec ! [112] A Lowers RemonsbranGB bo [His Dear, I. T AST month your letters blossomed out j_j In words the Love-God sends; But yesternight there fell a blight, ' Hereafter write as friends.' II. I conned it o'er, amazed and sore. The arrow pierced my heart. By silence pride the wound would hide, But deep remained the smart. III. For I have loved you truly, sweet, And hung on ' Yours till death/ You seemed the soul of constancy. Oh, was it only breath ? IV. I yield henceforth to your decree, Will write but friendly letters. I give you back your fealty. I hold you by no fetters. V. If on another you can smile, Allow some happier man [113] 114 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. T<> wear the heart I held awhile, I '11 bear as best I can. VI. I would not on your happiness . A grief or shadow cast. You filled my heart with heavenly bliss. Alas! it did not last. VII. Oh, wherefore is the limit set ''. If I have erred, reveal. I cannot yet your troth forget ; , I have some tokens still. VIII. And I will strive so pure to live, So grandly, squarely do, You '11 write, though late,- ' Behold, I wait For you, love, only you ! ' Epded, dream of the heart, it hath fled as the shade *JL That moves like a phantom o'er mountain and glade. Yet even the shadows so airy and gray Have a rare grace exceeding the beauty of day. Return, dear Dream ! come back to me yet. Thy wondrous enchantment I cannot forget. The visits of angels methinks could not be So charmed and divine as thy visions to me. No more ah, no more ! too wild was the blast. The Dream of the years is entombed with the past. My long-cherished hopes a moment must quiver, Like a lute's broken strings, then be voiceless forever! Though stars have been beaming with silvery light, Yet tears are now dimming those eyes of the night ; And clouds, "with their gloomy and desolate frown, Like high tides of ocean now swiftly come on. The fond heart still flutters, a bird in the rain, Vainly beating its wings 'gainst the flame-lighted pane. It must hence from the vision of comfort and cheer, And enter the tempest. Its rest is not here. Yet, Love, hadst thou perished, but tender and true, I had loved thee forever, had loved only you. [115] 1.16 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATI.. Thy mem'ry I 'd cherished still green in my heart, And felt thou wert still of my being a part. But wo to the soul whose idol was clay, Alone o'er its wreck to wrestle and pray. The halo is flown, the false prop is gone, The world spins around, and it sinks in a *\voi>n! osaiG-Wor^crs, I. SOME built with massive piles of stone The Pyramids, the Pantheon, Through centuries to endure, The glory of the ages gray, The marvel of our world today, Of fadeless fame secure. And some with colored bits, and small, Built tessellated, pictured wall, And rare Mosaic floor. Alone, each fragment worthless seemed ; Combined, the work with genius gleamed ; And flower and star and order grew Beneath their workmanship so true. Alike the great, the small Have made the Art-world beautiful. MOSAIC-WORKERS. 117 II. Among the poets of all time A royal few wrought verse sublime. Like giant trees they stand, That nigh a thousand years ago In Mariposan groves did grow, Or like cathedrals grand. Did they exhaust the epic themes? Our age not unheroic seems, Whose sons for Native Land, And God, and Home and Liberty Went forth to bravely do or die! Many, Mosaic-Workers be, Weaving their ballads skillfully. They, too, with patient toil, Create the Fair, the Beautiful. III. Our lives are all Mosaics rare, No two alike, each planned with care By Artist infinite. Some rosy pink, some gold and white, Some gray, and some like solemn night, Each fitted bit to bit. The pattern oft we fail to see, And careless mar the symmetry, And dull the marbles white. We are as children larger grown; W T e spoil the plan, we break the stone, And o'er the wreck we moan and cry. But pity fills our Father's eye; And when we all to Him resign, He makes the dimmed Mosaics shine ! A Dream oF '/\rGadi|, I. A MAN of cares, no longer young, I dwell amid the busy town. My clerks may note, with gallant tongue. The willowy form, the silken gown ; May walk the dreamy lanes of love. And drain the brimming cup of joy. Far otherwise my destinies move, Far other themes my thoughts employ! As men, when banished Eden see, I view my lost, fair Arcady! II. Yet I have known Love's alphabet, The smile, the blush, the sigh, the tear; The ecstasy of love returned. 'T is o'er, alas! and I am hen-. But sometimes, bending o'er my book, I see instead a wistful face, In whose true eyes I used to look And all its tender heaven to trace ! And for a moment comes to me A blissful glimpse of Arcady. III. Last eve, when riding up the street, I saw a modest, youthful pair t~* * n~* A DREAM OF ARCADY. 119 A manly youth, a lassie sweet. I smiled, but envied. Love was there ! What was a costly boarding-place To welcomes . . such as I had known ? The fond exclaim, the arms' embrace, The eyes that told a heart my own ! The constant soul ; true sympathy ; While each for each made Arcady ! IV. Home altars have been wrecked by change, And incompatibility. I '11 ne'er believe I would have tired Of her, or she of me. Forever shrined in one true heart, Undimming, her ideal lives. We would have walked in naught apart, She proved the model of all wives. Whate'er betide, our barque should glide O'er silver tide in Arcady! V. Come back the music of thy voice! Come back the days when by my side ! Come back, the heaven of our joys, In God's good time, come, and abide ! Yet, mayhap, better prayer would be, (Her memory sacred in my breast,) Lord, I refer it back to Thee; Whate'er Thou dost, it is the best. But let Thy love around her be, Whom once I knew in Arcady. >be SupdoWp Sea, L OH, the Sunset Sea! Oh, beautiful Sea! Mighty, limitless, vast and free- ! I stand on the shore of the golden lands, Where the white curling waves lap silvery sands, And list to the measured shock and speech Of billows that break on the sounding beach. And, gazing as far as the sight can go, See the liquid stretch and the ceaseless flow. And never the shimmer and .gray glimmer dies Till the blue of the sea meets the blue of the II. Oh, the Sundown Sea, ever bounding and free ! Unfettered and bold in thy grand majesty ! Yon good ship rides on thy heaving breast To the spicy green isles of the purpling West. Ah! many have stood by the smiling Bay, And seen their argosies sailing away ; And waited and watched at the Golden Gate, For their ship that was due their ship that Mas late. Oh, wonderful, trackless, treacherous Sea! Deep mysteries gulfed in thy bosom be! III. Oh, the moaning Tide ! Oh, the waters wide ! Rocked in thy cradle I love to ride. THE SUNDOWN SEA. 121 Tempest and grave in thy surges may be; Terror and charm have their home with thee. Thou 'rt a spirit of light, when dimples thy face ; Thou 'rt a monarch of might, in thy rushing embrace ; Thou art motion and life deep music, wild glee, Thou art vast and sublime, type of Infinity. Unaltered thou rolledst when earth-life began, When the mystical garden held maiden and man. IV. Of the deep, deep Sea, of all souls I dream. We have launched our ships on youth's warm stream. Rich freighted with hopes, they traversed the main, .Some rudderless ones came never again. We bend to our tasks, but at gloaming of day We muse on our treasures afloat far away. We watch for the gleam of the snow-white sails. The storm-wind careers, and the last beam pales. We weep and we pray then submissively wait, And lo ! our good ship safe enters the Gate ! V/abGlpcd blpe Supseb, I. LONG time they watched the sunset fill With molten glory all the vale, The purple light of wooded hill, The snowy gleam of distant sail; The well-marked mountain-path that wound From rock and forest far away ; Two wee ones tripping hand in hand, With glowing cheeks from romp and play. The man's stern visage gentler grew; The book lay in his hand unread ; The low-voiced lady nearer drew, And turned her wistful face, and said: II. We twain have trod life's paths together In sweet June fields where roses blow, Through summer's fire; through autumn weather, Unto the chill of coming snow. A long, long way ; with many a tangle ; With thorns that pierced our weary feet; But side by side we 've turned each angle, Entered the wide and smoother street. [122] THEY WATCHED THE SUNSET. 123 (Sometimes in our arms the pitying angel Left a cherub, and goldened our way. A babe in the house, 't is a blessed evangel, Life blossomed out with the beauty of May. The scenes God pencils are wonderful Rembrandts. Our buds, soon frosted, withered away. We solemnly cherished a fond remembrance, And low green mounds of precious clay. On swept the years. Our lives were earnest, Nor loitered long by dowery streams. Intent and resolute, thou discernest The possible danger of poet's dreams. Now in our ripe and still September, Retracing the hills and the vales of our way, Scarce seems the maid and wife we remember This soul that is hoping and sighing today. She lived and she died. I seem as some other, Or whiter revive youth's earliest fires, As hearts may strike more passionate drumbeats A moment before the pulse expires. A bird in the dark, I peck at the window; Unknowing God's plan, I weave in His loom ; Wayworn and sad, like yon child on the hillside, I am longing for love, and Home, sweet Home We 've almost finished our work together, Wrought and thought till the sun is low ; The mist-wreath hides our path to the River, But Fate alarums, and we must go. 124 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Whether we've grasped the plan eternal, Garnered the lore of the centuries long, Or, ceasing to cope with the awesome Supernal, Birdlike sat, and warbled our song; Whether we 've won the goal of ambition, Carved a record above the rest, Or gained the coveted dearer fruition Of sacred home lovr, sweetest and best ; Whether with strife and long disappointment Bitter, we hung over nature a pall; Whether our pain was an odorous ointment, Making us sweeter and kinder to all, Side by side we have moved to life's sunset. Day is hastening swift to its close 'T is best to clasp hands, be rev'rent and gentle, Till twilight usher to dreamless repose. Resb, AFTER the worker's day, Welcome at last, release. After the long and toilsome way, Sweet household rest and peace. After perturbing care, After the crowded room, Welcome the calm and happy air Of love and trust at home. After the grinding mill, Turning by night and day, The ceaseless tasks the mind that fill, And wear the strength away, After the strife of tongues, The eyes that saw not clear, After the arts of hindering ones That wrung a silent tear, After responsive thrills For other hearts that ache With vision of the awful ills That earth a Bochim make, The conflict almost o'er, With many a victory won, [126] 126 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. We drift beside a tranquil shore Toward the declining sun. Sweet rest for toilworn frame ! God's peace for weary soul ! Blest liberty of hand and brain, Dear love to crown the whole ! Bright sunset hour of life! My Indian-summer days ! With teeming good the season 's rife. Great God, accept my praise. Still would I sow the seed Of truth by pilgrim path, To glow in beauty where men tread, And be an aftermath. When crimson day departs, And hands their toiling end, 'T were sweet if deep on some fond hearts My name were graved ' Our Friend.' I know not what may be When night of death is o'er; But trust in love vast as the sea, A sea without a shore! Tips Moth ers I. I HEAR that you are loved of God, And made a rich and happy mother ; A sacred tie; a tender joy; A love unlike all other. In days to come, sweet baby-charms And winsome ways will be unfolding But most, the soul within thy arms Thy soul will e'er be molding. II. A mother! Oh, what thoughts are thine, When love's clairvoyance lights the years, And traces for thy boy the line He '11 tread in joys or fears ? A mother ! Fair may be his form, And cherub face, his rings of hair. But what the stamp upon the man V And will his life be fair? III. A mother! Oh, what mighty power For good or ill dwells in that word ! For all the chords of that young soul By thee shall first be stirred. Thy voice shall tune his heart to feel, Thy face shall be his open book, [127] 128 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. And in thy most unguarded hours Deep in thy heart he '11 look. IV. Now thou canst bend that baby will; But when to sturdy manhood woke, Say, canst thou mold the flinty rock, Or break the giant oak ? A mother ! 'T is the holiest trust To saintliest mortal ever given, To train by purity and truth For purity and Heaven. V. Oh, envy not the ermined queen Her canopy of state unfurl'd, For mothers rock in humble homes The nations of the world. And destiny waits on their breath, Who train the young with tale or song. For deeds of heroism and faith, Or weakness, guilt and wrong. VI. A mother! Didst thou ever dream With what that mystic word was rife? Dost shrink lest thou shouldst harm the boy Thou lovest as thy life ? Then on God's altar consecrate Thyself and all thou lov'st to Heaven, And guard with prayerful, ceaseless r.-uv The jewel He has given. Bfnoriam, T} OSES blush upon the plain ; \ Trills the lark on fragrant lea; Blooms my heart's flower ne'er again, Hushed the one sweet voice for me. Dimpled fingers, snowy brow, Violet eyes and shining hair Under clay are hidden low. Earth has naught that seems so fair. Long have been the days, and dreary, Since my darling sank to sleep. Oft my heart is sad and weary, Failing heavenly tryst to keep. But her spirit seems to hover, Angel Eva glorified ; And I think when life is over, I shall slumber by her side. [129] Early Dead, SHE had a brief and sinless lot. Not soon her name will be forgot. She burst the chrysalis of clay, And soared to realm of perfect day. Joy, mourner, joy ! that thou hast given Thy bird of paradise to Heaven. That in thy lily, pure and white. The Heavenly Gardener takes delight. [190] Llbble Etfa, OFT in fancy now I see her, With her winning childish ways. With a light and fairy figure, And a sweet, unconscious grace. Sunny ringlets softly flowing O'er a neck of stainless snow, Soulful eyes like star-orbs glowing Keath her high and thoughtful brow. On each lovely, chiseled feature Guileless innocence appears; Yet her infant soul is stirring With a thought beyond her years. She knows not deceit or doubting, Faith and Love her heart enshrine. Ah! fair cherub, sweet and saintly, Would such love and trust were mine ! Now she trips with airy motion To the open cottage door; Gazes on the gorgeous sunset, Vale and woodland, bird and flower, Till her speaking eyes grow dreamy, And her earnest face more bright, And a glory seems to wrap her Like a spirit clothed in light ! [131] 132 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. O ray darling ! O my angel ! Lo, thy mother's yearning arms. Lot me clasp thee to my bosom, Kiss and shield thee from all harms. Put thy dimpled, dainty fingers, Waxen fingers, round my neck. Let me hear thy silvery singing. Eva ! sainted darling, speak ! All in vain ! The vision fadeth, Like a .pageant in the air, And a low mound in God's acre Shows me Eva sleeping there ! Deep and dark the shadow gathereth, And my aching heart more sore, For I know that I shall see hrr In this wide world nevermon ! Yet I bow at this affliction, Stilling now my anguish wild. Well I know that God's affection Overgoes mine to my child. But this life will seem more dreary, And the world more dull aixl plain, Till I tind my sweet immortal On the Golden Shore again ' T~)RIGHT bird ! that skimm'st the waters blue, J3 And on the treetop rests thy wing, What is thy mission ? Tell me true, Is life to thee a gladsome thing? A burst of music rippled clear. The bird laughed out in pearls of song, 'Part of my mission is to cheer!' 'To cheer ! to cheer ! ' rang loud and long. 'I help my partner weave our nest, And while the embryo she broods, I troll the strains she loves the best, That charm the sylvan solitudes. 'T- is joy to fill each birdling's mouth; God doth their feathery coats prepare. We steer like princes to the South, When Northern groves are chill and bare.' O honey-bees ! why toil ye so All day amid the fragrant clover? Ye have your fill from flower-bell, Why store the nectar'd sweetness over? 'We cannot pause. We have our laws We 're part of noble Nature's plan. Were we to shirk, we 'd spoil the work So marvellous, so prized by man.' [133] 134 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Sweet flowers!. that neither toil nor spin, In more than Tyrian dyes arrayed, Why blush so deep, when all unseen In mountain dell or lonely glade? For eye of God, who beauty loves, And sows it with a lavish hand ; That man may find, where'er he roves, God's finger-prints upon the land.' While pondering these" answers o'er, Some merry houseflies past me flew. ' We 're scavengers,' they buzzed, before My quaint attempt to interview. Since bird and bee and flower-gemmed sod Benevolent behest obey, Shall man, in image like a God, Less joy to nobly serve than they? Baby Grace, jrpIS o'er. I've seen thy face, my angel daughter, 1. Now mirrored but in dreams. Thou wert a star that trembled on the water, Then hid its timid beams. Long bad each glowing hope, each gorgeous vision, Caught richest hues from thee. Methought thy nurture were a happy mission, A favored destiny. Thou cam'st, the best belov'd and long expected ; But not to linger here. So frail and fair, we knew thou wert elected To fill a higher sphere. Pure as a dewdrop to the skies exhaling, Thy spirit passed away, While we, with tears and anguish unavailing, Hung o'er thy precious clay. Oli, it is hard to yield the hopes once cherished, And feel that all is o'er; Yearning for grace and beauty that have perished, And will return no more. For other mothers, love hath fond caresses, The dear delights of home, [135] 136 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Sweet prattle, winsome glances, cherub ki- And riper joys to come. But I may not behold thy fine unfolding, The child a maiden grown ; Nor see in beauty's shape thy spirit molding, For God hath claimed His own. To walk unmurmuring, yet bereaved and lonely, Must be my earthly lot; Still humbly trusting, not for sorrow only, Nor vainly I have wrought. 'T is not in vain to bear a child for Heaven ! Life's painful paths untrod, At once a blest eternity is given, Commensurate with God. There lives our Grace, and with celestial pity, Perchance, regards our state; Waiting until we reach the shining city, To ope the pearly gate. Peb Glpaiplie, rnWICE from our cottage of roses J. The spoiler had stolen the bloom, And we wept by a blighted roof-tree, For beauty lost and perfume. But the loving, all-wise Father On the flowerless stem hath smiled. Again it blushes in crimson, Once more we enclasp a child ! Oh, joy so long denied us. Oh, ecstasy of bliss ! What 's purer than child embraces, Or sweeter than boyhood's kiss ? His soul-lit eyes are radiant, He has brown, brown locks of hair. His murmured "My own dear mother" Is music in my ear. He comes a dancing sunbeam, Glimmering in and out ; Waking the household silence With boyhood's laugh and shout. And yet his ways are gentle, Loving his book full well ; [1371 138 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Locking within his youthful breast Much more than he will tell. Some winds have blown over him roughly, Some waves have whitened life's sea; But all he has felt of sorrow Makes him but dearer to me. By the deathless love of a mother, That thrills at the babe's first moan, By tenderest ties of affection, I know he is all my own. What thoughts in our bosoms are swelling, What hopes resurrected arise, While we mark his grave, manly bearing, Or gaze in his eloquent eyes ! Love pierces the dim, distant future, And paints him to manhood grown, Perhaps our staff and beautiful rod, For Age to lean upon. But often we silently tremble, Faint with a secret fear, Recalling our castles that crumbled, And the dead of many a year. Blest Savior, we ask for our darling, Not long life, nor riches, nor fame ; But mold him into Thy likene-^, And write Thou in Heaven his name. * Robip by /Ay CLOSE by my chamber window, I can reach at will, While sitting quite still, The boughs' of an apricot-tree, Where 's the snug little nest Of a Robin Redbreast, As cunning as cunning can be ! 'T was built by a wise little mason, With twigs and fine grass, On a Sunday, alas ! She knew not the Decalogue, so let it pass. Then I'ounded with care, 'T was quite finished there. Soon peeping over, We faintly discover, With eager eyes, though with slight surprise, Three dainty, wee eggs Of the loveliest green That ever was seen, And o'er them the brooding bird carefully flies. The trees are aflame with bloom. The days are rapidly flitting. Still she is sitting, sitting, That fond, watching mother-heart, patient and true; With black-beaded irlam-e* [139] 140 VIOLETS, EARLY AXD LATE. For hostile advance : Her nest ne'er forsaking, Nor respite taking, Save her morsel partaking, and sipping the dew. What patience, and faith and love That beautiful bird, With plumage unstirred, Is teaching us, often from duties deterred ! That an embryo dwells In those green little cells, Those bonnie wee shells, Though never beheld, her nature foretells. Though little she knows of tin- ralendar, And the time may seem long To a creature of song, Her love outbalances every fear. Oh, a mother's heart Is the most like that Of the great brooding Spirit, that guards u- here, Of aught we shall know Till skyward we go And God's glory, full-orbed and effulgent, appear. Suspense and Relief 2 , WEEP, heavens, until your starry eyes Are quite put out with tears, And deeply drape with ebon dyes Where Luna's face appears. And spread, O sympathizing Night, Thy shades o'er Nature fair; Let gloom and darkness brooding sit Upon th' affrighted air. For on my heart, as on the land. There lies a heavy pall ; And in life's wildering dark I stand Against an iron wall. Enclosed behind, beside, before, I cry anear the grate, ' Some loving angel, ope this door ! ' I wait and wait and wait. Amid the awful hush I hear No heart that beats with mine; No footfall bringing human cheer, No arms that round me twine. Alone I wrestle with my fears, As in the garden He, [141] 142 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Who prayed, and wept with bloody tears, And unshared agony. I could not tell to happy hearts The pain that thrills my own. But o'er and o'er my burden sore I bear to God alone. A wild suspense, a fear of wo, A dread of what may be For one, to whom love's channels flow As streams that seek the sea. Day after day, till weary weeks Of heartache now are gone, I 've looked expectant of some sign From a beloved one. Oh, does he toss, the livelong night, Some fevered bed of pain V Or sleeps he marble cold and white. Never to wake again ? Or, worse, in some mysterious hour When walks Hell's spectered host, Oh, fell he 'neath the tempter's power. And sin's doomed threshold crossed:' Beleagured by each torturing fear, A very coward grown, I call the fateful message near, Yet dread the message known ! SUSPENSE AND RELIEF. 148 Buried within this living tomb, () Lord, how long to stay? Oh, let some pitying angel come And roll the stone away! Yet, while Thou givest ashphodel And wormwood for my food, Grant heavenly patience still to wait, And faith to own Thee good. After the night, the glad morn breaketh. After the snow, the spring flower waketh. After long thirst, the fountain slaketh. So the white dove of Peace came to me ! Out of the depth of o'er-anxious surmising My plaint unto heaven was hourly arising. 'T is turned to a pean of mercy surprising, And love, which adoring I see. My far-away darling from falling God keepeth, The angels keep vigil while sweetly he sleepeth. He toileth and reapeth, and smileth, not weepeth. I sit by my hearthstone content. Take heart for your burdens, O maidens and mothers. Still labor and plead for the wanderers and brothers. Then peacefully trust. God's ways, and no others, Are perfect, whate'er the event. BLJ hips Qradle-Side, [A young mother's reverie durhiir a storm.] DAY'S flickering sunlight has faded to shadow. A clamorous gale is on forest and meadow. riii-re's a ceaseless roar from murmuring pines, And the bird's nest rocks in quivering vines. The dead leaves sail through the eddying air, The loud thunders mutter, the red lightnings glare. But I fear not the storm in its deafening glee, While husband and nestling are safely with me. Oh, ever the voice of my baby-girl seems Sweeter than music that floats in my dreams. Oh, ever the glance of her love-beaming eye Has a halo no flash of the diamond can vie. Her slight, winsome figure, with soft, sunny curls, Has a lovelier grace than a shower of pearls. And her face wears a beauty, I 've thought, when she smiled, Like that which adorned Madonna's blest child. Then dearer than palace, the love-lighted room, Where the flower of my heart is unfolding its bloom ; Where the bird of my bosom is singing her song; Where the light of my life brings rapture alonu. Let the tempest sweep on, there's an inner shrine here, Where the vestal light burns ever warmly and clear, 'T is affection's true altar, our own little cot. Do what thou wilt, Father, but, oh, harm it not! [144] BY THE CRADLE-SIDE. 145 Oh, what could earth offer, on land or on main, To one ever pining for loved ones in vain, Whose heart is a pathway all bleeding and crushed, Whose most cherished idols have crumbled to dust? For wounds such as these the earth has no balm. Such billows of grief only Jesus can calm. Faith sees the loved child on the glorified shore, Not lost altogether but gone just before! Yet the mourner bereft has a sorrow for years. There are nights of wild yearning and moments of tears,-- Quick thrills at the sound of a much-loved name, And a ringlet or toy makes the heart bleed again. Thnnk God that an angel still sleeps in my arms. May sin never sully her blossoming charms. When the night of life ends, may the child of my love To her mother be clasped, in the sweet Dawn above ! Sisb er, QfTIE sat beside the hearth fire, O For it was chill November, And fell to musing as she watched The slowly dying ember. Her heart was calm, that once had glowed With love's impassioned flashes. She only thought how like that tire Some hopes had turned to ashes. Outdoor among the maples The fitful gusts were blowing, And all the gold and scarlet leaves Were on the highway strewing. The birds that piped in Maytime Had flown away together, And sought the sunny Southland Before the snowy weather. No more their liquid music Would thrill in pensive gloaming, As once they sang in days gone by, When One with her was roamin ti- ll ark ! Sings a bird this moment, In sweet and tender snatches, Upon the sunny shingles, Near where she stands and watches. [146] STANZAS INSCRIBED TO A YOUNG LADY. 147 Dear bird ! how sweet thy pleading, When all have gone beside! The last bird of the Autumn, Thou hast not fled, or died! Take heart, O lonely spinster, Or gallant suiter gray, Though summer friends have scattered, One still may cheer thy way. Sbapzas ^Inscribed bo a Young AS gazing on a tress or flower, Love's sweetest memories oft awake, Thus haply may this souvenir Be cherished for my sake. 'T were meet on friendship's shrine to lay The ripened fruitage of the brain ; Some sheaves of Truth, where thou couldst stray, (Cleaning the golden grain. Yet take this bunch of violets blue, Breathing the odors of the spring, Which I have culled, sweet friend, for you, Though slight the offering. 148 VH>Lh:TS, HARI.Y AM) J.ATK. It is the time of rippling rills, Of genial airs and bursting buds ; And rich, delicious music thrills Through Nature's solitudes. The thrush melodiously pours In greening groves her varied lay. The wild bees hum, and the white dove soars To her cooing mate away. Oh, pleasant days ! when love and mirth, Like sprites of beauty, roam abroad ; And as a chrysalis old Earth In splendor bursts her shroud. Thou, too, my friend, art in life's spring. The sun of love on thee hath shone. For thee the rose is blossoming, Its thorns almost unknown. Joy lends thy soul her shining wings, And daydreams sweet as brooklets run. The air with gladsome music rings And hope allures thee on. Yet storms will burst on nature's bloom, And bleak will grow the autumn day; No more be heard, amid the gloom, The birds that sang in May. "Yet mourn not spring's departed grace. Lo! harvest's richer wealth remains. Some greater good in beauty's place Our Father oft ordains. STANZAS INSCRIBED TO A YOUNG LADY. 149 Symbol of life ! Our budding joys Are often doomed to early blight. 'Neath fortune's frown we miss some voice That warbled 'neath its light. We hear not now the thunder-cloud That may be gathering in the west. We cannot see a coffined shroud Around the form loved best. We only know our Lord employs Suffering as mercy in disguise. E'en from the ashes of our joys Some nobler growth may rise. Thou who wouldst close thine autumn days As flower-bells shut at set of sun, With noble deeds and gentle ways Thy course of duty run. Oli, live not for thyself alone. Sow wide the seeds of truth and love. A glorious harvest will be grown, And heaven be thine above. of bbe ScGopd-Bopn, I. [ r\R ! sweetly sings the bluebird, where rosy spring hath \J been, And fair the snow-white lambkin that gambols on the green, And fresh the breath of roses that scent the flowery lea ; But sweeter far this precious babe, O husband dear, to me ! ' II. Thus spake a new-made mother, in soft and loving strain, 'Mid nature's tears rejoicing, like sunshine after rain. ' Sure, God will spare this darling. He took our earliest- born ; He will not leave us now again so desolate and lorn.' III. But when a single hour had passed, a change crept o'er the child, Its feeble breathing died away, and she cried, in accents wild, ' Oh, who is that pale form that stalks within the open door? Is it the stern death-angel, and knocks he here once more? IV. 'Are there not many households where one would less be missed ? Where numbers crowd the scanty board, untutored and unblest ? DEATH OF THE SECOND-BORN. 151 Are there not many little ones who grow to sin and crime, Unless in mercy early borne from the wild haunts of Time V V. ' Why does Death seek our one pet lamb, our only pretty flower ? We had been long alone, till this, love's latest, richest dower. And she was sought in many a prayer; and, thanking our dear Lord, , We would have trained her for Himself, obedient to His word. VI. ' She should have grown a noble woman, both loving and beloved. Oh, must we drink this cup ? Death, canst thou not be moved ? How can we ever be resigned ? O Thou who gav'st Thy Son, Help us while agonized to cry, Father, Thy will be done ! ' VII. Oh, hour of untold anguish ! But the boon she craved is given, She sees her babes all glorified, and living still in heaven, While on her spirit evermore such angel fragrance lay As if she walked in Paradise and bore its air away ! The Empby [ T AST month, amid the sheltering shade JLJ Of a leafy locust near my door, Two birds their tiny nest had made, And sweetly singing flitted o'er. Two timid, unfledged birdlings there Oped their expectant mouths for food, And tender twitterings woke the air, And music filled the listening wood. Now when I gaze among the leaves Only an empty nest I see. The birds are flown, the warbling gone, And shivering winds make plaint to me ! My home is like that vacant nest, Forsaken, desolate and still ! Last month such treasure it posses^ <} As made my cup of bliss o'erfill. A babe lay near my raptured heart. On whom my fondest hopes were ttmiLC. Love gushed to her from every part, Like wealth of myrrh on zephyrs flung. Today I search each silent room, One voice to hear, one face to see. 'T is hushed and lone ! My bird has flown, And a breaking heart sobs out in me! [152] Libble I. AS you roam our modern Babel, 'Mongst. the ever-surging throngs, Here, where shout the shrill-voiced newsboys, There, 'mid snatches of street songs, Now, where votaries of Fashion Promenade in rich attire, There, where steeds with engines gallop Flying at the cry of Fire ! Now, where 'buses, teams and street-cars Block up traffic's busy way, While the slow and ponderous drawbridge Holds impatient crowds at bay, Shouid you find at some street crossing Mite of girl, a tousel-head, Sweeping sweeping, know 't is " Broomstick," Thus she earns her daily bread. II. " Little Broomstick " her cognomen. Quite a heathen, by this omen. Hers no happy home and mother, Telling of the Elder Brother, Soft repeating sacred story Of the Lord of life and glory. Naught she knew of holy Jesus How He loves from sin to free us, Clasps the children in His arms, [1531 154 VIOLETS, EARLY AM) LATE. Blesses, shelters from alarms. Little Broomstick, 't is no fable, Dwelt \vithin our modern Babel. But no almond-eyed Celestial, In his josshouse bowing down, Was a more benighted pagan Than tliis waif of Christian town. III. Scanty food and long exposure Made the wee maid weak and wan. One day from the crowded crossing Little Broomstick's face was gone. To the hospital they bore her; Christinas bells were ringing out, Christmas trees with gifts were laden, " Merry Christmas " was the shout. "Broomstick" knew of furry Santa, With his pack and reindeer steeds, How he filled the children's stockings While they slept upon their beds. He had naught for the street sweeper, Gay old Santa loved her not ; Brought his toys down rich folks' chimneys, But the poor he quite forgot. So it seemed to this pale sufferer, Weeping, lonely, in her cot. IV. But the matron bent above her, Laved and soothed each aching limb; Gently told of God the Giver, And the Babe of Bethlehem; LITTLE BROOMSTICK. ' . 155 Told of song of angel heralds Ringing through heaven's arches then, ' Glory in the highest ! Glory ! Peace on earth, good will to men.' How the Christ-child dwelt obedient To His saintly mother dear. How, a man, He went forth healing, Teaching, blessing everywhere, Living sweeter, nobler, grander Than e'er man had lived before; And, though kinglier than all monarchs. Chose to dwell among the poor. V. Loving, blessing little children, Pitying, changing evil heart, Comforting the penitent; Was maligned with cruel art, Though no soul upon the sod Walked so near and like to God ; Taught a gospel, pure, sublime, That shall conquer every clime, That shall outlast fleeting time ! What 's true life ? 'T is loving nobly, Not thyself, nor sense, nor pelf, Chiefly God; thy Elder Brother; Then thy neighbor as thyself. Low the woman's voice, and tender, With the tale so old, yet new. ' This dear Jesus loved the whole world.' " Even me ? " ' Yes, Broomstick, you ! Yet men hated, crucified Him, Nailed Him on th' accursed tree. But He lives ! He loves ! and ever 156 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE With Him all His friends shall be!' Deep these truths sank in the child-soul, Much were pondered through and through. 'T was so blessed 't was so joyful, Oh, that all the people knew ! And the pale, pinched face grew radiant, Lying on the white-robed cot, And the sweet eyes filled with pity For the many knowing not; And she longed to tell the story Which such peace to her had brought. VI. Her small hand she laid in Nurse's, When th' attendant came, one morn. 'Nurse! I'm hav'n' right good times. Uid i/" Know ''bout Jesus bem* bornf " Yes, I know," the nurse said. " Sh ! sh ! Don't talk. Yes, it's in tho book."- ' Did you ? Oh, I meant to tell you. Thought you did n't from your look.' Nurse grew curious. ' How do I look ? ' ' Oh, like most folks kind o' glum." And her next words were an arrow, Flying to the mark straight home : 'Shouldn't think you'd look glum, ever, Knowin' Jesus Christ has come ! ' Friend, how much to thee is Jesus? Thou whose face is curved with scorn, Thou who lookest oft forlorn, Knowst * 'bout Jesus bein' born ? ' If within thee burns a light, Let it make thy face beam bright, Let it gladden others' night. Duty's Gabe, I. who art ever present still, JL Though billowy leagues between us roll, Await with me the blessed will, The will of God, Friend of my soul. II. Today we meet at Duty's Gate Behind us the returnless past, Its bitter, which we felt w'as great, Its heavenly sweet, that did not last. III. Stern Fate doth stand, with key in hand, To lock the heavy gate between. Thou must go forth, I stay behind, And we may never meet again. IV. Where duty calls the brave must be, My king, my hero, though we part. Heav'n has our highest fealty. I school till it permit my heart. V. Not mine to tempt thee from the right, Who love thee love thee love thee, Dear. [157] 158 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. I need but one fond word to light Each darkly separating year. VI. One word one look hand claspt in hand, All doubt removed, all pain, all it m. (Sweet spirits! hovering gently by, Pity, if nature makes outcry.) VII. Then strong to part at Duty's Gat". Thou unto noble, happy years, I still to toil, to hope, to wait, Till one our lives, or done with tc;u>. God's Wopld, I. WHEN green grasses are upspringing After winter's shrouding snow, When the rivulets are singing, Gaily dancing as they go, When the robin's strain is ringing, And the skies are all aglow, When earth seems a new creation, Full of beauty, life and love, When the heart, like feet to music, With accordant joy doth move; When soft winds sweet scents are bringing From the banks where spring flowers blow, When fond arms to us are clinging, When our plans no crossing know, Oh, 'tis easy to believe This is GOD'S WORLD where we live ! Sweet it is in springtime's splendor God's all-glorious thoughts to trace ; Sweet to gain from lines so tender Glimpses of His lovely face; Sweet to own Him our defender, Blissful moored within His grace. Doubt its somber flag has furled ! Sweet is life! This is GOD'S WORLD! II. When there 's no more emerald glory, When the stubble-fields are bare, [159] 160 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. When tbe winter, grim and hoary, Breathes his frost-chill on the air, When the trees their creaking brandies Beat against a leaden sky, When the hearth is still and lonely For one face no longer nigh, When thy hopes like leaves are flying While the blast goes howling by, When the mills of care are turning, Grinding, ceaseless, day by day, And thy soul for rest is yearning Lest they grind thy life away, When thy brain, long overwrought, Pictures forth some unknown bale, As, if by the proud forgot, As, if roof and bread should fail, When, by fears disquieted, Thou dost sigh upon thy bed, Soul ! that with an honest heart Strives to do thy humble part, Bid each anxious thought depart. Doubt, thy treason-flag be furled ! For it is a good God's World. III. Never God a soul forgot. Let Him choose thy earthly lot. He will better plan for thee Than if thine the choice should be. Hast thou, mother, ne'er den KM 1 Hurtful sweets from babes that cried, Plotting still some glad surprise That should greet thy darling's eyes? 'Neath the sod there's life still beating,- GOD'S WORLD. 161 Soon the resurrection hour. Nature, lovely, palpitating, Shall biirst forth to perfect flower. Thou shalt see the heart of gold, Glories that can ne'er be told. Thou art more than lily-bell; Trust Him who attires it well. On His palms thou 'rt graven fair ; He will make thy cause His care. Ways severe thou canst not know Are His rootlets under snow. Trust to find them, by and by, Precious to thy heart and eye. Faith, thy banner be unfurled ! All is well. THIS is GOD'S WORLD! One (Aorc DdLj, ONE inure day perchance thy last. Soul, watch well till it he past. Spend it as them wouldst if Death Should tonight arrest thy breath. Each day brings its freight of can-, Something more to do or bear. Faithful serve, that set of sun Shine upon good work well done. Sweetly bear when trials come. Answer gently, else be dumb. Only one day's burden bear ; Trust Tomorrow in God's care. Is thy portion grievous, sore ? Son of God hath suffered more. Lift thy heart for help divine; Heavenly succor shall be thine. Naught befalls by accident. All is for thy welfare sent. Winds and rains but make the tree Firmer grow and greener be. All around are storm-swept souls. Passion raves and Pride controls. Pour thine oil upon the wave. Love, and love alone, can save. [162] Visibo '"PHE night was dark ; the hour was late. 1. In lighted room a lady sate, Nor heard the footfalls of far Fate. The household faces all were gone. Sound, save her busy pen, was none. I' the lonesome night she was alone. Hearts may be stout in rosy day, When town and field look blithe and gay, And evil, cowering, hides away. But in the dark, how timorous we ! How ghostly loom the stump, the tree ! How bold and base sin's troopers be ! Most helpless when upon our bed, Sleep's mandragora round us shed, In death's pale image we are laid ! The lady's mind from fear was free ; Her high thoughts bore her company. Goodly companions pure thoughts be. But striking clock and wearying brain Admonished that the eve did wane, And bade remit tired nature's strain. [163] 164 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. Then every door she locked with care; To snow-white couch did calm repair, And breathed to God her childhood's prayer; " Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Thee, Lord, my scul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take; And this I ask for Jesus' sake." With all the world she was at peace. She wished whate'er her God might please. From anxious dread her soul had ease. Sleep soothed her with his poppy wreath. She seemed, so soft, so low her breath, A sculptured marble or like death. Silence, how deep! The clock strikes one. The " wee, sma' hours " creep stilly on. The awesome dark hath deeper grown. One witli a weird and solemn mien Moves shadowy o'er the lonely green, And through the lady's door goes in. Oh, where are lock and barrier now ? Oh, is he friend or is he foe ' J . Or to a lover's tryst doth go ? Noiseless, unerring was his tread To where she slept, on peaceful bed * Sweet one, I do God's will,' he said. THE VISITOR BY NIGHT. 165 One kiss he laid on cheek and brow. She did not start at lips of snow. More faint her breath did come and go. Then all was still, and by her side He sat him down till morning-tide ; And when her friends came, said, * My bride ! ' They saw the visitor was DEATH ! No human touch she sank beneath, But, sleeping, sweetly ceased to breathe; And passed, without a long decay, From night of earth to heavenly day, From childhood's prayer to glory's lay ! Tesb of Poetry, T IKE mountain peaks that lift tbeir snowy brows i_j Nearest to heaven's blue, So grand old Homer, graceful Sappho, rose. So Dante, Milton, rare Will Shakspeare grew To heights sublime; and still their luster glows With brighter glories in our centuries' view. Yet beauty dwells as well in foothill's curve; And many a bell-like song Not eagle's, soaring with unfaltering nerve, Doth wake sweet echoes in the valley long; And hymns no tragic muse inspired oft serve To rouse or soothe the soul and turn from Few are creators of transcendent verse. Yet some may dare to sing Who are for genius tit interpreters. No Iliads or Infernos they may bring, But at their bidding deep emotion stirs, And better purposes to being spring. use is the true test of poet speech. All else will surely die. To know one heart, in all its moods, will teach T' interpret truly others' thought or sigh />>/ NO;/// to lift the triirf'/'a heart were to reach The height of poets' immortality. [166] Busings, IN the dim and pensive twilight, When the somber shadows fall ; When day's noisy babble ceases, And the nightwings brood o'er all ; When the humble 'task is ended, Patient toil and passion's strife, Sitting by my lonely fireside, I bethink me of my life. I have passed youth's rosy morning, With its hilltops flecked with gold,- Felt the noonbeams fiercely burning, Creeps my twilight gray and cold. Swift the precious sands are dropping From the unfilled glass of time. I must rouse, or lose a record Writ in words and deeds sublime. Oh, the dreams, the aspirations, Fancy-tinted, scarce defined, Castles paved with rare mosaic, Fondly in my heart enshrined ! Sacredly have ye been cherished. Will ye crumble into dust? Shall I reap, for all your sowing, Blossoms scattered by a gust? [167J , 168 VIOLETS, EARLY AX1> LATE. Something of life's charm has faded, Like the mistwreaths of the morn ; And the thundercloud has shaded Brilliant prophecies of dawn. While I muse, the years departed Pass with glancing sheen and shade; Pilgrim feet with mine that started, Early tired, and lowly laid. How the old, familiar faces Tremble on the dusky gloom! How the unforgotten faces Start to life and fill the room! I would clasp yon lovely cherubs, Babes that in my arms have lain ; But they vanish. I can never Win those shining ones again. Oh, the aching and the longing ! Oh, the dull and crushing pain ! Ah ! there is a world of sorrow In the thought It might have been ! Had they lived, what saintly beauty Might have crowned their ripened bloom ! Nay! they float in richer splendors Heaven exchanged for sorrow's doom. Praise to Thee, adored Redeemer, For the love my life has known. Thou hast wounded, but in mercy. Be my chastened heart Thine own. WAITING NEAR THE RIVER. 169 Thus amid the twilight shadows Angel benisons descend. Labor will seem holier, deeming Heavenly visitants attend. Waibing (^eai; bh "1XTEAR the Dark River I tearfully stand, IN Awaiting my Lord's most solemn command, To sail for the unseen, the Mystical Land. One fond, lingering look I take ere I go. Strong are the ties that bind me below, But heaven is better and fairer, I know. Farewell, then, to home, thou ark of my rest! True love was the sweet singing-bird of my nest, And Faith its guardian-angel confessed. Farewell to bright dreams of merited fame Of thoughts that should glow with genius' pure flame. Like castles they faded in air as they came. Farewell to labor, most precious and sweet Gathering sheaves for the Master meet Casting crowns at the Savior's feet! 170 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATh. Farewell, then, to life, its hopes and its fears. Ended its cares, its joys and its tears. Thrice welcome be Heaven's celestial years. Pitying Savior! one will be lone When the friend from his side forever is gone. Tenderly round him let Thine arms be thrown. When the pathway of life grows rugged and wild, Let memories come of companion and child, And solace him, as though an angel had smiled! A thrilling voice from the radiant shore, And a form of grace, now woo me o'er. I know that face for my heart's own flower ! Vision of loveliness ! Oh, can it be That shining immortal is beckoning me ? Child of my soul, I come unto thee ! Elysium of bliss ! My mourning is done. I float like a bird in the beams of the sun, And the long-lost pearl of my bosom is won ! Father all-glorious! Thee I adore, Who bearest our doves from earth's durkencd door, That they may be ours, in heaven, evermore ! I ressed P 1 lowers from tpe Qand of The following seven numbers were composed between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, and have been revised by the author. er, nnllE silvery fount may cease to flow, 1. The floweret's hues no longer glow, But all that 's bright in heaven above Is like a mother's quenchless love. More constant than the stars that glow, More pure than flakes of stainless snow, More bright than rainbows e'en, that quiver Upon a dark and mist-hung river, A Mother's love must always be, When in unsullied purity. 'T is Mother rocks our cradled sleep. 'T is Mother soothes us when we weep. In time of sickness or* of pain, 'T is Mother calms the weary brain. And through the devious range of life, In joy, in sadness or in strife, A Mother still appears in view A woman, yet an angel, too ! My sister, lives thy Mother yet ? Oh, ne'er her precious words forget. Prize every whisper of her voice, And make her aged heart rejoice. Be kind to Mother ; though she 's old, Her sensibility 's not cold, Though winters have around her fled, And left their snows upon her head. [173] 174 VIOLETS, EARLY AND LATE. She soon may reach her heavenly home, And thou be left to weep alone. Then thou wilt miss her meek, mild face, Her gentle smile, her quiet grace; Wilt weep that thou didst strew her hours With thorns, where should have been but flowers! Thou hast kind friends around thy path While lives thy father, sister, brother; But love like hers none other hath. O God! I thank Thee for my Mother! ous OH, the soul cannot find in this wide world its rest. Life's cares are consuming, its mirth is unblest. Earth's pleasures are fading as dew-honeyed flowers, That bloom but an hour in the loveliest bowers. Then lay up your treasure in yon world of joy, Where bliss is eternal, and naught can alloy ; Where music entrancing fills Heaven's high dome; Where the loved and the long-lost will welcome you home. I3is!llusiop. FRIENDS more dear than words can tell, And friends that seem to love us well, May fail when needed most. May die, like flowers when summer 's done, Or change like tints at set of sun, Betraying sacred trust. Fame's charmed waters wildly quaffed, And Love's still more beguiling draught, Oft leave a bitter taste. Deluded we may drink the cup, The heart's rich fragrance offer up, Alas ! to run to waste. Friendship is often light as air, And Flattery proves as false as fair, And Youth's dear dreams depart. E'en Hope, sweet angel, still has wings, And sometimes soars, while yet she sings, What then is left, O heart? Turn, yearning spirit, from the sod, Thy wealth of love devote to God, In nobler service given. Tossed long on life's tempestuous foam, Thou 'It find at last thy peaceful home, And perfect love, in Heaven. [175] A Sonq of Qbeer, **J t < OH, never surrender your faith or your heart To the goblins of terror and sadness. If a cloud is in view, there 's a rainbow, too. Press onward, white soul, in thy gladness. Remember, when pierced by the briars of life, The rosebud is near to the thorn, And dreariest night oft bringeth the light Of fairest and loveliest morn. Though sorrows encompass, and dangers attend, Though man passeth loftily by, Yet never despond, for a change in the wind Will chase the dark fog from the sky. These trials our Maker in wisdom ordained ; They are destined to chasten or prove us. We all should appear, like gold in the fire, More bright when the heat is above us. Though fortune should frown, and thy fellows forsake, Or insidious rumors surround thro. Yet live them all through; they will vanish like dc\\, If virtue be only around thee. Then never despair; but rather endure, With stern and unfaltering soul ; Press onward still higher, to Heaven draw nigher, Thy destiny God will control. [176] Poeb OH, a poet's heart is a sensitive thing; A timid bird, with a fluttering wing; A lyre whose chords are thrillingly sweet, Whose texture is fragile, its melody fleet. When rudely 't is handled, the once flowing strain Is turned from entrancing to discords of pain, Till the harp whose sweetness delighted us ever Lies shattered and silent, forever! forever! ieu. 7t DIEU, sweet friends, The sad parting hour X~i. Now comes o'er our spirits, like frost o'er the flower. How mournfully like to some slow-tolling knell The desolate sound of that one word, Farewell ! Broad rivers and plains our fortunes may sever, On earth we may meet again never, O never! Yet the Bird of Remembrance, a sweet, viewless thing, Will hover around us and pleasantly sing Of hours long past, and of friends whose forms Seem ever to shine 'mid the dreariest storms. Oh, may love's chain, now tearfully riven, Still link us to God and each other, in heaven! [177] Ppemopibion, hither my harp! I will waken thy strain. VJ Sweet harmony's numbers should soften my pain. Thy music oft gives me an exquisite thrill, But life's emptied chalice thou canst not refill. Alas! my harp is a fragile thing. 'T is a wounded bird, with a broken wing ; A garland of roses whose beauty is fled, Still scenting the air with the fragrance they shed; 'T is a moonbeam that shimmers when daylight is gone ; A mountain's last echo, when trumpets are done; A barque slowly drifting on night's cheerless sea; An infant falling asleep in its glee; A tone from melody's tenderest strain, Which mounteth, then melteth in silence again. 'T is like beauteous birds, that heavenward fly ; 'Tis like all bright things that earliest die. [178] I oems of /I oems o| <ot.j youthful hearts, in days of ol