If 70 
 
 -/v
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. S. C. HAZLETT-BEVIS, 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 
 HENRY H. BEVIS, PUBLISHER. 
 1890.
 
 ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1890, 
 BY HENRY H. BEVIS, 
 
 IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS. AT WASHINGTON, D. C.
 
 NOTES BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IN these few published poems, it is not the 
 aim of the writer, for any mark of greatness, nor 
 has it been the intention until very recently, to 
 convey them in book form to the reading public. 
 
 The feeling which prompted both thought and 
 YM-se, has been that of sympathy, a desire for 
 purity in rythm and tone, and simplicity of expres 
 sion, with a love for the beautiful. 
 
 1 am aware of the criticism which will be passed 
 upon them, many of them being mediocre, but all, 
 1 trust, bearing the seal of ///* sanction, and a few 
 at least, showing the author's faith in humankind. 
 
 Some day, greater things maybe accomplished. 
 
 S. C. H. B.
 
 Greeting. 
 
 "HAir,r and not "farewell!" 
 
 Oh, friend of mine; 
 My hand to thee as well 
 
 I offer, clasping thine 
 In hope, that days to come 
 
 May bring for thee 
 The kindliest joys of home, 
 
 On land, or sea; 
 That every day and hour 
 
 May make thy life so bright, 
 No dark'ning shower 
 
 Shall cloud it, nor e'en night 
 Be known from day. 
 
 Except that thou mayest rest; 
 By that, life's better way 
 
 Wherein we're taught 'tis best. 
 Oh, if thou couldst see 
 
 Within my heart's deep cell, 
 There's not a strain for thee 
 
 That whispers "fare thee well. 
 
 5
 
 OH, Poesy! White-winged Goddess thou, 
 
 With Heaven's garlands on thy brow; 
 
 Earth's beauties thou alone can teach, 
 
 And thou alone can Love beseech; 
 
 For choicest thoughts are clothed in words 
 
 That enter hearts, more keen than swords; 
 
 By rythm soft and cadence mild, 
 
 They with broken hearts have smiled; 
 
 And they who stand beside the bier 
 
 Of all their hopes, take courage here, 
 
 Because in words more dear than gold, 
 
 Life's lessons teach, though worn and old, 
 
 In lines of thought so rich and rare, 
 
 That bids them hope, and not despair. 
 
 In every soul there gleams a drift 
 
 Of Poesy, we could but sift 
 
 The dross from out the gems, and see 
 
 The beauty and the melody. 
 
 He made His image not in vain, 
 
 'Though sinfulness hath beauty slain; 
 
 And He hath taught thee well the art, 
 
 Oh, Poesy! that better part; 
 
 To twine and mingle with the air 
 
 The sweetest scents of blossoms fair; 
 
 6
 
 To tell the trills of tiny birds 
 
 In sweetest tunes, in rapture words; 
 
 To catch the moonlight's halo fair, 
 
 And soften even sunshine's glare. 
 
 In everything, as gold refined, 
 
 Thou speakest thoughts of higher mind: 
 
 To thee we ascribe the greatest power 
 
 To beautify the living hour, 
 
 Because He speaketh through thy words, 
 
 And plays on strings of silver chords, 
 
 To idealize the soul of man, 
 
 And bid him thus annul the ban; 
 
 To forge the fetters and go free 
 
 As thou, oh, White-winged Poesy. 
 
 Ibcart to Ibeart. 
 
 SOME day we shall stand, you and I, 
 
 In fairer lands I trow. 
 And clasping hands 'neath bluer sky. 
 
 We then shall surely know 
 Why the gulf between us yawned so wide 
 
 Why 'twas given us here to {tart. 
 And as the golden gate swings soft aside, 
 
 Oh, shall we not stand heart to heart ? 
 7
 
 Somewbere. 
 
 SOMEWHERE, 'tis said, in the Earth's great waste 
 
 A beautiful isle may be found, 
 Where naught but is lovely and fair and chaste 
 
 Find place on that hallowed ground. 
 Somewhere, afar in the mystic seas, 
 
 Whose waters, aH rippling and blue, 
 Wash up to the shore with a rythrn of peace, 
 
 And heighten its beauties anew. 
 
 In this island of Somewhere the sun ever shines, 
 
 But its rays are all softened and rare, 
 And out of its verdure fair blossoms and vines 
 
 Fling incense to perfume the air. 
 The music of birds singing sweetly His praise, 
 
 Like none other on earth can compare ; 
 Both moonlight and starlight beam gently their rays 
 
 And halo His kind, watchful care. 
 
 Age never comes to this mystical shore 
 
 It is years of perennial bloom ; 
 Sadness and sorrow are barred evermore 
 
 Its ways are not shadow nor gloom. 
 Happiness has chartered this beautiful isle, 
 
 Only Peace, Love and Joy are its tones; 
 From deep, lovely eyes, and sweet lips a smile, 
 
 But never are heard sighs or moans. 
 
 8
 
 Neither hunger nor cold are ever felt there, 
 
 Grim want stands abashed far away; 
 Not even in dreams can fear or despair 
 
 Ever punish the beings who stay. 
 Disappointment, Ambition, low groveling lie, 
 
 Both a snare and a cheat, well we know : 
 And only Contentment beneath the blue sky, 
 
 Somewhere on earth here below. 
 
 Oh, come; let us go! We have tarried too long ; 
 
 The shadows are lengthening each day. 
 Somewhere! Ah, hasten where Hope wafts a song 
 
 And bids us be happy alway. 
 Let us find it, tho' mountains and seas intervene, 
 
 Though tire and flood bar the way ; 
 \\V long for the rest, and the beauty of scene, 
 
 And the joy that will linger for aye.
 
 H Xittlc Cbilfc. 
 
 ONLY a tiny hand-clasp, 
 Only an accent mild, 
 
 Only a pattering footstep, 
 But that of a little child. 
 
 Only blue eyes uplifted, 
 Only a pleading filed, 
 
 Only a heart in yearning, 
 And that of a little child. 
 
 Only a trust in keeping, 
 Only to be beguiled, 
 
 Only glistening tear-drops 
 The blood of a little child. 
 
 Only a heart grown callous, 
 Only a soul denied, 
 
 Only a saddened memory 
 A neglected little child. 
 
 10
 
 Cbrist entering Jerusalem. 
 
 OVKK the Mount of Olives the Master 
 
 Took his way, from Bethany old 
 To Jerusalem, caring not that disaster 
 
 Might block his path, as onward bold 
 He pressed, with gracious mien, the while. 
 
 Treading the garden of Bethpage, 
 Whose fruit and sunlight both did smile 
 
 Upon this mighty sage. 
 With wondering eye and steadfast awe 
 
 The gathering rabble came behind 
 Him; they knew not creed nor law, 
 
 But that he healed the blind 
 And bade the halt go free. 
 
 Weary and spent, an ass was brought 
 Him from Bethpage, so did he 
 
 Hide; and then from out 
 The multitude, in trenchant tones there broke 
 
 Triumphal acclamations: yet 
 Thiotigh it all, he never spoke 
 
 In praise nor anger. Palms met 
 Above his head, e'en branches cut 
 
 An<l waved by hands that knew him not. 
 Commemorative and regnant all, but 
 
 He, the only son of God begot, 
 11
 
 Meekly led the way to Jerusalem. 
 
 The preparation of that great feast, 
 The Passover, was begun; and to stem 
 
 The crowded throng, from West to East 
 Beyond its wall, was almost vain. 
 
 With heterogeneous life the city 
 Trembled. Outlying khans and caves again 
 
 Were peopled with a class to pity. 
 Three million souls, all in that time 
 
 Were there, in suburb and Jerusalem; 
 A rangling horde of reek and slime 
 
 For know ye well that now and then 
 Were two extremes. No assuaging 
 
 Moral, and physical agencies with which 
 To heal and lessen human suffering; 
 
 And even a doctor's lance and stitch 
 Were all, alas, unknown to men. 
 
 Slaves the one half, and the other 
 Monsters. Rome had so far driven 
 
 Her cohorts over hearts of mother, 
 Brother, friend and foe, hearthstones 
 
 And shrines, all, all were as nought * 
 The dead and their reeking bones, 
 
 The height of that Rome sought. 
 What wonder then, the lame and blind. 
 
 The leper and the madman came 
 To feel a touch so sweetly kind 
 
 As Christ's the blessed name ?
 
 They tlirew themselves before him, 
 
 Kissed his garment's trailing hem, 
 And with glazed eyes, and dim, 
 
 Plead for succor AJleluia, Amen ! 
 Cairn y he decends from off the ass, 
 
 And with uplifted hands, 
 He bade the tumult cease, 
 
 Kindly, for only pity for the band 
 Fills Jesus' heart; he lays a gentle touch 
 
 Upon the dead babe of a mother wild 
 With frantic grief, for even such 
 
 As these, he said in accents mild, 
 "Let the little ones come unto me." 
 
 Arab, Bedouin, Nubian all these were there 
 Every phrase of human life and misery; 
 
 Kven the beautiful and fair 
 Greek maiden, who doth hope to learn 
 
 More of Jesus' wide-spread fame, 
 And in her youthful heart, a yearn 
 
 His love and grace to claim. 
 Through the groups, so base and motley, 
 
 Semitic, Hellenic and even Coptic faces, 
 Bethlehem shepherds and the noted pharisee, 
 
 Men of every class all races, 
 Bow in homage, now his skill 
 
 To seek; yet doubt and disdain, 
 Stand also there, and if so, still 
 
 Why come they, if in vain? 
 13
 
 A Judean sunset covers all 
 
 And bathes the features of Messiah 
 With a glory not a pall. 
 
 St. John, who is ever nigh, a 
 Man who speaks unto the throng, 
 
 Of peace and joy through Him 
 Who doeth all things well; a song 
 
 His voice, it is so kindly. Twilight dim 
 Falls upon them ere they part; 
 
 Palm branches strew the ground before 
 Our Lord, and every grateful heart 
 
 Yields to his power for evermore. 
 
 nip a Jflower. 
 
 BETWEEN two worn and faded leaves 
 
 Of a soiled and tarnished book. 
 Lay gently pressed, by one who grieves 
 
 A bud from shaded nook. 
 A withered rose, with ribbon tied 
 
 About the stiffened stem, 
 Tells of the loving heart that died, 
 
 And a cross and diadem.
 
 IRot to jfccL 
 
 THEY sat in the gathering twilight, 
 
 Night's candles alit in the sky, 
 And talked of the world and its trials, 
 
 The one with a tear in her eye, 
 The other grown older and patient, 
 
 With scars on her heart yet to heal, 
 As she whispered the one who sat near her 
 
 "You must toil on and try not to feel." 
 
 "Try not to feel!" And the woman 
 
 Whose lines into places not fair 
 Had fallen, looked up, as the omen 
 
 Fell on her ear, with despair. 
 "Try not to feel!" Should she crush it, 
 
 This God-given instinct? Ah, no 
 Thrust it aside, all the good and the true, 
 
 To the level of brutes must she go ? 
 
 "Try not to feel!" Indurated 
 
 As one wlio like marble had grown'.'' 
 While toiling for bread, all weary and worn, 
 
 She must smile when they gave her a stone; 
 Smile when a curse fell upon her, 
 
 Heed not how cruel the blows; 
 "Try not to feel!" It is nothing, 
 
 And in the Hereafter, who knows? 
 15
 
 ''Try not to feel!" Become callous 
 
 To all of the world and its sneers. 
 To trample the heart, sore within us. 
 
 And care not when taunted with jeers; 
 Accepting with grace, the mean portion 
 
 So pitilessly doled out each day, 
 And satisfied be with the gleaning 
 
 'Though one falter and faint by the way. 
 
 "Try not to feel!" It is easy 
 
 To preach unto those of no heart 
 But they who are climbing the mountain 
 
 Know well how the thorns tear apart 
 And pierce the white feet that are pressing 
 
 The soil, all so scorching and rough. 
 "Try not to feel!" Ah, the mockery, 
 
 As well whisper winds "'tis enough." 
 
 "Try not to feel!" If each human 
 
 A burden alone could but bear 
 Without inflicting another. 
 
 What need would there be of a prayer? 
 "Try not to feel ! " And thus calmly 
 
 Go down to the grave without thought; 
 But oh, for the heart that was stifled, 
 
 To learn just how dearly 'twas bought. 
 
 16
 
 parting. 
 
 THKRK is never a parting on this old earth, 
 
 Let it be with the living or dead, 
 But is tinged with a sadness from memory's birth, 
 
 Of the "might-have-been" there in its stead. 
 
 There is alwaj's regret for a something that's lost, 
 
 And a wish we had only known 
 More of this friend, at whatever the cost, 
 
 Whose life may have aided our own. 
 
 A xiinething from out of one's life has flown, 
 
 An echoless room is left bare; 
 For every heart has a niche of its own, 
 
 And a place in your own to share. 
 
 It may be with pleasure, it may be with pain, 
 
 \Ve voice the simple " Good-bye," 
 But we catch a note of the old refrain 
 
 That sings of forever and aye.
 
 Sunshine of >eatb. 
 
 'TWAS a glint of golden sunshine 
 
 Glancing in an open door, 
 Struggling through the creeping vines 
 
 To bathe a sanded floor; 
 
 It fell aslant a sleeping face, 
 
 And touched the silken curls 
 That nestled 'round a forehead chaste 
 
 As morning dew, or pearls. 
 
 'Twas only a crippled orphan, 
 
 Of summers scarcely ten, 
 Tho' looking like a wee, old man 
 
 So pinched and pale; but when 
 
 The sunlight touched his pillow, 
 
 And turned his hair to gold, 
 He smiled and said: "Will-o'- 
 
 The-Wisp, I've caught you now to hold.'' 
 
 And opening wide his big blue eyes, 
 
 He gave a sudden grasp; 
 And then he stared in mild surprise 
 
 As nought his fingers clasp. 
 
 18
 
 ' What is it, dear?" And grandma calm, 
 With sweetly plaintive voice, 
 
 Came to his couch, "My little lamb 
 Why do you so rejoice?" 
 
 "Oh, grandma, I had such a dream, 
 
 So beautiful and long; 
 A dazzling light in it did seem 
 
 To fill the air with song; 
 
 "I thought it was a brilliant bird 
 
 Will-o'-the-Wisp so sweet 
 Thf charming music that I heard, 
 
 I shadowed its retreat; 
 
 "And when I came quite close and low, 
 
 I softly thrust my hand 
 Into a fragrant bush, when lo ! 
 
 I caught the sunshine's strand ; 
 
 "See how it lingers 'bout my bed, 
 
 So lovingly and warm, 
 And bathes my weary aching head 
 
 With such a soothing charm; 
 
 "I've been so tired, all night through, 
 
 I'm better now," he said; 
 The white lids drooped o'er eyes of blue, 
 
 A smile and he was dead. 
 19
 
 arrows. 
 
 THERE are cruel words 
 That cut like swords, 
 
 In these aching hearts of ours. 
 There is never a day, 
 Let us do as we may, 
 
 That can take back unwelcome hours. 
 
 A whisper soft 
 Of slander, oft 
 
 Will leave on the air a stain, 
 That try as we will 
 Remains there still 
 
 And we strive to remove in vain. 
 
 There are hearts that break 
 Every day, and we make 
 
 Our own lives harder still, 
 By a careless tone 
 That we give alone, 
 
 For the sake of a stubborn will. 
 
 It's a little thing 
 For a bird to sing 
 
 As it springs from its dewey nest, 
 But it teaches all, 
 Both great and small, 
 
 That a peaceful life is best. 
 20
 
 after 
 
 DAY after flay comes the longing 
 
 To do, and to dare, and to be: 
 With patient effort still striving 
 
 To catch from life's fretful sea, 
 A bit of rare driftwood or blossom, 
 
 Where the scent of the perfume still clings, 
 And just a glimpse of the moonlight, 
 
 Which the halo of waters there flings. 
 
 A sight of a sail bearing onward 
 
 A cargo, with one hope fulfilled; 
 Its bow glistening white in the sunlight, 
 
 With the promise of joys never stilled. 
 A song drifting down from vast SomeAvhere, 
 
 So freighted with love and rare peace, 
 That the heart of each one looking upward, 
 
 Echoes back a sublime surcease. 
 
 It is not the longing that weakens, 
 
 And makes the heart weary and faint; 
 It is not the hopes and the striving 
 
 That leaves (God forbid) a dark taint, 
 It is never the recompense coming, 
 
 Waited and toiled for so long; 
 There's always a shadow that darkens, 
 
 And a moan through the sweetness of song. 
 21
 
 ur Warrior IDeaix 
 
 GIRD on your armor, but not as of old, 
 
 Hastening to enter the fray, 
 But with loving thoughts of the brave and bold, 
 
 Who rest, all along life's way; 
 Buckle your sword with a trembling hand, 
 
 Don your old coat of blue, 
 Scatter sweet blossoms all over the land. 
 
 On the graves of our boys, so true. 
 
 Fling to the winds, our starry flag, 
 
 Wave it with tearful eye; 
 Tender the thoughts of the faded rag, 
 
 That floated 'neath Southern sky. 
 Hand in hand, let the flowers fall, 
 
 On the blue and the gray, alike; 
 No difference make, o'er one and all, 
 
 As your guns you gently spike. 
 
 Think if a smile, on the dear, dead face, 
 
 Hovers not 'round the pale lips; 
 Perhaps they may hear in this sacred place, 
 
 The sound of the bugle tips; 
 The roll of the drum may reach their ears 
 
 Who knows? We cannot tell. 
 They lie so still! Let fall your tears, 
 
 O'er the graves and the flowers, as well. 
 22
 
 Brave soldier dead, may our presence speak 
 
 Of the tender memories borne 
 Of thee, while with bowed head meek, 
 
 We greet on this May day morn. 
 Flowers of Hope, and Peace, and Trust, 
 
 We lay them at thy feet, 
 Humble offerings to the dust 
 
 Of a sacrifice so complete. 
 
 So gather them in, all the beautiful flowers, 
 
 Prepare them with kind, loving hand ; 
 Scatter them wide o'er these graves of ours 
 
 Our boys, all over the land. 
 Sacred the trust to us hath been given, 
 
 Keep it with prayerful heart; 
 Sometime, we know the hearts now riven 
 
 Will join, with a never-to-part. 
 
 TBnsung 
 
 IT'S in every heart, this unsung song, 
 Whose windows are open wide 
 
 To catch the key from the warbling bird 
 Or the moan of the coming tide. 
 23
 
 CMbboofc'0 
 
 I THOUGHT as I watched the stars at even', 
 
 In the dome of th'e deepening sky, 
 That the blue was the floor of the beautiful heaven, 
 
 The stars the lights of the city high, 
 That gleamed through the floor, made worn and thin 
 
 By the tread of the angels' feet; 
 The beautiful city wherein no sin 
 
 Ever shadowed the life complete. 
 
 When the stars twinkled in bright fitful gleams, 
 
 I would wonder in awe who passed by, 
 And if it were "mother?" (She filled all my dreams 
 
 Since she drifted away to the sky.) 
 Oh, how earnestly I listened, to catch on the air 
 
 The sound of her voice in sweet song, 
 For surely she'd sing in the beautiful There, 
 
 As she did here 011 Earth, oft and long. 
 
 Perhaps I might see, if I waited, at length 
 
 Her face, as she looked down on me, 
 That face that was full of rare beauty and strength 
 
 To the child that once sat on her knee; 
 But the hours passed by , and the nights and the years. 
 
 And the stars filled the skies as of yore, 
 And my memory is filled with a little child's tears 
 
 For the mother, who came nevermore. 
 
 24
 
 ^Tomorrow. 
 
 OH, for a Master-hand, to paint "To-morrow." 
 
 What would my picture be ? 
 A fair, sweet scene, where sin and sorrow 
 
 None could ever see. 
 -There would be vast mountains, many hills, 
 
 For these mean Fame and Glory; 
 Stretches of woodland, running rills, 
 
 Like bits of rythm in story. 
 I would touch the clouds with a roseate hue, 
 
 Or the silver line reveal; 
 The sky should ne'er darken 'twould be all blue; 
 
 And then. I would softly steal 
 From the placid lake its depth and tint, 
 
 And paint the soul of song 
 That filled the throats of the birds, and print 
 
 Fond memories all along 
 The banks of my shelving river-side, 
 
 With its rocks for Power and Strength 
 That would never fail, and a certain pride 
 
 In good deeds; and then at length 
 My pencil would reach the dainty flowers, 
 
 Whose perfume rare and sweet,
 
 Should 'waken the senses through all the hours. 
 
 To heighten the charms, replete 
 With all that we looked for, listened and prayed 
 
 And trusted for many years; 
 There should not be a wish unstayed, 
 
 A promise broken, nor tears; 
 Nothing but gladness and hopes fulfilled, 
 
 Health all weariness gone; 
 And over these joys such a peace instilled, 
 
 It would linger 'til following dawn. 
 And then I would paint the golden strands 
 
 That drifts in some lives through 
 Faith and Purpose and willing hands, 
 
 No matter what burdens bestrew. 
 The morning star and the shimmering sun, 
 
 And the moonlight's softened ray, 
 Would, when the dawning morn begun, 
 
 Be mingled into day. 
 At the threshold of Finis I would quietly pause, 
 
 And carefully dip my brush 
 Into my paint, to wipe out the cause 
 
 Of estrangement; and then through the hush 
 Of a silence that falls with the twilight, 
 
 A pair of worn hands should enclasp, [night 
 And the chasm that yawned thro' the darkened 
 
 Be bridged with that earnest grasp. 
 I would hear the voice, and paint the smile 
 
 That rested on each face; 
 26
 
 And over the summer air the while, 
 
 An angels' hand should trace 
 "Understood," "Forgiven," "Friends for aye," 
 
 And the links would bind so strong, 
 That never on earth nor in the sky 
 
 Could break with wrong or song. 
 I would paint every heart as a little child's 
 
 As pure as the morning dew, 
 And as glad as when summer hours beguiles 
 
 With its sweetness and sunny hue, 
 This same wee one to its happy play, 
 
 Away from all thought of care. 
 I would paint to-morrow's coming day 
 
 With joys for all to share. 
 
 flo 
 
 THKRK is no night for one with perfect trust 
 
 Just one long day; 
 K 'en tho' trials come, as come they must. 
 
 Along life's way: 
 The stin shines on with pulsing glow the samt 
 
 An undimmed light; 
 Shadows fall, but darkness hath no name, 
 
 There is no night. 
 
 _ 27 _
 
 Hsbes of IDeab tbopes. 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 I ACKNOWLEDGE I'm tired and lonely, 
 
 Weary of toil and its strife; 
 You tell me it's over, if only 
 
 I'll promise, and soon be your wife. 
 
 I've been on the hill-tops of morning, 
 Way down in the valleys of night; 
 
 I've seen the bright sunlight adorning, 
 And clouds scatter low in their might. 
 
 The pleasures of life have I tasted, 
 
 Its greatness as well as its woe; 
 And to give you the dregs of the wasted, 
 
 It were better methinks to forego. 
 
 Not wasted in idle repining, 
 
 Not wasted in weakness nor sin, 
 
 But spilled is the blood, torn the lining, 
 Of a heart that lies buried within. 
 
 Because of the trust that was broken, 
 
 A beautiful promise ne'er kept, 
 Can you wonder I pause when love's spoken, 
 
 And think twice before I accept? 
 
 28
 
 When once a pure love has heen shaken, 
 
 The sufferer struggles in vain 
 To throw off the shackles, or 'waken 
 
 To trust and true happiness again. 
 
 There's a lone grave in shadow off' yonder, 
 And in it lies buried the past 
 
 Shall I glean from the dead hopes, I wonder, 
 A glow of the old love at last ? 
 
 Ah, no! It is useless to urge me 
 
 Don't plead and don't question me why? 
 
 You may he true, and may not be; 
 My faith has been shaken for aye. 
 
 I'll re-cover my grave, and do battle 
 The same as I have done for years; 
 
 And amidst the world's hurry and rattle, 
 Give smiles, where I once shed my tears. 
 
 29
 
 Bngelue. 
 
 Soft and low, soft and low, . 
 
 Hear the bells, the evening bells; 
 How thej 7 murmur, come and go, 
 
 As through the vale their echo swells. 
 
 Gently falls the twilight hour, 
 See the sun has sunk to rest; 
 
 Every bird and bee and flower 
 Softly seeks its dewey nest. 
 
 Still two toilers labor on 
 
 In the fields of golden grain, 
 
 Wisting not that day was gone, 
 
 Gleaning when the wheat hath lain. 
 
 Implements of labor, rare, 
 
 As they bend to meet their task: 
 
 Gently on the twilight air 
 
 Whispers of the evening bask. 
 
 Hark, once more the silver bells 
 
 Toll so sweetly o'er the lea, 
 While the gleaner meekly tells 
 
 O'er his beads, the Ave Marie. 
 
 30
 
 a Cbrietmae Bntbem. 
 
 Hark ! all through the Heavens resounding, 
 
 All through the Earth, far and near, 
 Come the myriad of voices abounding 
 
 In sweetness as silver bells clear. 
 The angels in beauty, rejoicing, 
 
 Sing gladly this gift of the Son, 
 While children below, too, are voicing 
 
 The "Light of the world," so begun. 
 
 Hallelujah ! Shout loudly the anthem 
 
 Away to the billowy sea, [stem, 
 
 Where the waves fling it back from the ocean's 
 
 And mountains return it to thee; 
 Christ is born! i-s-b-o-r-n, how it echoes 
 
 And floats on the air evermore, 
 In ry thins of beauty its melody flows, 
 
 As it reaches from shore unto shore. 
 
 The shepherds watch still, all so lowly, 
 
 Theirflocks, but they fear not's of old, 
 For the grace of His presence so holy, 
 
 With the halo of Heaven's own gold, 
 Comes like^dew to the parched grasses, 
 
 And it lifts up the floweret's head, 
 So not one, in His mercy, He passes 
 
 As He comes in the Father's stead. 
 31
 
 The star in the East shines as brightly 
 
 As the dawn of that morn long ago, 
 When the babe in the manger, so sightly, 
 
 With Mary, His mother, lay low; 
 The air is as full of glad whispers, 
 
 Of "peace and good will unto men." 
 As memory's bells are of vespers, 
 
 Still chanting forever "Amen." 
 
 Hooking jforwarfc. 
 
 WE all look forward. What would life be 
 
 That had in it no hope? 
 Even you who say "I have no hope," and see 
 
 Life through a horoscope, 
 Predicting only gloom and woe and tears; 
 
 Even you crave sunshine, 
 And seek to waft away all fears; 
 
 And throw your tangled line 
 Far out in the distant coming years 
 
 To catch a ray of joy; 
 For each hath need of this, to stay 
 
 The tide that ofttimes bathes the feet 
 Of those who ill at heart, yet may 
 
 Be stronger, through both cold and heat. 
 32
 
 THANKSGIVING has come with its glory, 
 
 All strewn o'er with russet-brown leaves; 
 It brings up the past, and the story 
 
 Of they who have garnered their sheaves. 
 Not one hut has something to thank for, 
 
 Not a heart hut should thankfully pray, 
 And bless Him for gifts from His bountiful store. 
 
 He has given us, day after day. 
 Tis a beautiful, olden-time custom. 
 
 And hallowed because of the time 
 Brave forefathers fought for our freedom, 
 
 And mothers toiled grandly sublime. 
 There were years of terrible waiting, 
 
 And locks that grew gray with suspense; 
 With matrons and maidens relating 
 
 The actions of war, so intense. 
 There were days of hunger and fasting, 
 
 And nights full of wearisome pain: 
 There were hours that seemed everlasting. 
 
 And moments that dragged by in vain. 
 Cheeks paled with horror and wasting. 
 
 Bright eyes grew heavy with tears, 
 And red lips grew wan with the tasting 
 
 The bitterness of death, in those years. 
 33
 
 Hunger and want was their portion, 
 
 The cold pierced the young, and the old; 
 Fair features were wrought in distortion, 
 
 And trembled the limbs of the bold. 
 It was over at last, and the morning 
 
 Sun shone from a blue, cloudless sky; 
 Smiles were the dear wife's adorning, 
 
 And the tear-drop that fell from her eye. 
 The maimed and the lame came home to them 
 
 Both fathers and sons, worn and brave; 
 And others came not, but the diadem 
 
 Of their lives, they so willingly gave. 
 Peace and plenty soon followed 
 
 These grateful and God-fearing men: 
 And wives, with a feeling so hallowed, 
 
 Knelt with them in thanksgiving then. 
 Good cheer covered table and hearth-stone, 
 
 And the widow and orphan partook, 
 For soldier and wife would feast not alone 
 
 In His presence, who never forsook. 
 So the Thanksgiving custom descended 
 
 To us, who are thankful as they, 
 For homes that are still well defended 
 
 In much the same heroic way. 
 There are murmurs instead of thanksgiving, 
 
 In many sad homes this glad day, 
 Yet not one but's been blessed in the living, 
 
 If he'd look at it just the right way;
 
 There's a thankfulness even in breathing 
 
 His wholesome and glorious air, 
 And a world of sublimity wreathing 
 
 A patient endurance and care; 
 If thankful of naught but that others 
 
 May not have been stricken as you 
 A magnanimous thankfulness, brothers, 
 
 That will reach up to Heaven so true. 
 Xo home but has something to mar it, 
 
 Xo life that is free from all pain; 
 And paths may be darkened or star-lit 
 
 The trail of the serpent will stain. 
 Then thank God for all, and still trusting, 
 
 Remember the poor in our midst, 
 For while they, their sad lives are adjusting, 
 
 He may do with thee just as thou didst. 
 If thy larder is well filled, or meager, 
 
 Oh, thankfully give up a share; 
 He is wistfully watch'ing, so eager 
 
 To return measure for measure, with care. 
 X T o truer and better thanksgiving 
 
 May be offered, than gifts well bestowed 
 On the needy and desolate, living 
 
 In gloom on life's wearisome road. 
 Then to each a joyful thanksgiving, 
 
 May all boards be well filled to-day; 
 And all be the better for giving, 
 
 And reading this Thanksgiving lay. 
 35
 
 a Xittle pair of Sboes. 
 
 THKY stand upon my writing desk, 
 
 This "little pair of shoes," 
 Their russet tops grown so grotesque 
 
 And soiled, with daily use. 
 
 On one the buttons all are there, 
 
 The other, only one 
 Remains to tell of feet so fair, 
 
 Encased till day was done. 
 
 Two tiny holes, one in each toe, 
 
 (ia/e at me as I write, 
 As if to say, "he did not go, 
 
 lie's with you day and night." 
 
 I hear the pattering feet afar, 
 They echo through my heart; 
 
 The old wound opens, and the scar 
 Stands gaping wide apart. 
 
 The hot tears bathe the sore to heal 
 
 Hut, Oh, it is so deep, 
 That naught will cure but death, I feel, 
 
 A calm and gentle sleep. 
 36
 
 These little shoes, so full of pain, 
 
 Are full of blessings too, 
 For drifting through the sad refrain 
 
 Hope sings, with voice so true. 
 
 Some day he will come back to me, 
 
 The way he cannot lose, 
 For looking through my love, he'll see 
 
 His little pair of shoes. 
 
 forgiven, 
 
 'NEATH lambent lights, where all is sweet perfume, 
 Where purest fragrance from rare flowers exhume, 
 A women lies, in costly casket, fair 
 As poet's dream, and in her golden hair 
 Gleam dewey pearls, and bands of gold, 
 And jewels on her hands so cold 
 And white, and none would ever pause and think 
 To see her lying thus so fair and sweet, a link 
 From other lives was gone, while she tread earth 
 That echoed with her mocking mirth. 
 But list ! A priest comes forth, she has been shriven; 
 Ere yet she died, her sins were all forgiven. 
 37
 
 Wooblanfc. 
 
 OH, woodland dell, 
 
 I know thee well, 
 Thy echoes still do form a part 
 
 Of treasures mine, 
 
 Around the* shrine 
 Of holy love, that floods my heart. 
 
 Thy leafy bowers 
 
 Are decked with flowers, 
 From which the fairies rob perfume; 
 
 And, Oh, how rare 
 
 Thy jewels fair, 
 When dewdrops gild thy heavenly bloom. 
 
 The breezes play 
 
 At will away, 
 With all thy glories Nature's gifts; 
 
 In frantic haste, 
 
 They strew and waste 
 Thy tinted leaves, and pile in drifts. 
 
 The tiny birds, 
 
 In magic words, 
 Are heard within thy beauteous screen, 
 
 And to complete 
 
 Thy charms so sweet, 
 The laughing stream beneath is seen. 
 38
 
 An emerald sheen 
 
 Is spread between 
 Thy fragrant earth and one who stands; 
 
 Full well I know, 
 * This gem below, 
 A distant glimpse of fairer lands. 
 
 flDteunberatat&ing. 
 
 WE stand without, when just a single thrust 
 
 Of hand, e'er so gently given, 
 All barriers would break down, they must 
 
 Fall, all locks riven, 
 When upon the other side the "paper wall," 
 
 Another hand meets thine, 
 Only waiting, as thou didst, all 
 
 Too glad to cross the line. 
 Strange, each heart should ache the same 
 
 For other's cause. A lingering doubt, 
 A simple wound, much less in name, 
 
 So easy to escape and rout; 
 But no, perverse Nature holds her sway, 
 
 And binds her victims, day by day. 
 39
 
 H Dap from Ibeaven. 
 
 A DAY drifted down from the dawning sky 
 
 And floated mid air awhile, 
 Then softly settled, with gentle sigh, 
 
 'Mong flowers, with winning smile. 
 
 Its sunshine crept in the hearts of men 
 And the weary head was lifted ; 
 
 The song of the birds filled every glen 
 As the laughing river, gifted 
 
 With a music of rippling songs so sweet. 
 
 Causing the ear to listen, 
 There came to each heart a joy complete, 
 
 As tears on the eye-lids glisten. 
 
 A murmur of peace, a fragrance pure, 
 
 The air was the dew of love; 
 It fell on each soul, with certain cure 
 
 A touch from the hand above. 
 
 "A Day from Heaven," with all its calm, 
 
 Knowing no sorrow here; 
 The rythm of Hope, with soothing balm, 
 
 Wiped off the mourner's tear. 
 
 A glad new song, with the hush through all, 
 
 Told of a crown, and scars; 
 And the wearer stood, within Christ's call, 
 
 Under the gleaming stars. 
 
 40
 
 Iber Xovcr. 
 
 He stood so close beside her chair, 
 
 And looked down in her eyes 
 With such a gaze as rapture gives, 
 
 When joy is love's surprise. 
 His strong right arm about her twined, 
 
 His blue eyes humid grew, 
 As he gently took her little hand 
 
 And pressed it fondly too. 
 
 He drew her head upon his breast, 
 
 And leaned his own upon 
 The silver threads, where golden once 
 
 The sunlight glow had shown. 
 "My precious darling," whispered he 
 
 In tender, soothing tone, 
 "You are all the world, my sweet, to me, 
 
 And I am yours alone." 
 
 The great heart of the woman grew 
 
 So full of love for him, 
 The lad who wore such eyes of blue 
 
 She felt her own grow dim. 
 So many years between them lay, 
 
 Her work was well nigh done, 
 But while she lived, she'd daily pray 
 
 And thank God for her son. 
 
 41
 
 Xisten. 
 
 THEY are coming, don't you hear them, 
 
 All the whispers in the air; 
 The sounds of bird, and bee and wave, 
 
 And the sunny days so fair? 
 
 Don't you hear the roses whisper, 
 
 At the root of parent stem, 
 "I must hasten with my fragrance, 
 
 And fling out my love emblem?" 
 
 And the violet and crocus, 
 
 How they stir the yielding mould, 
 With their earnest little pushing, 
 
 As their heads they soon will hold 
 
 Above the earth and grasses, 
 With a dainty perfume rare, , 
 
 As nodding to their sisters 
 Wood-anemone so fair. 
 
 The waters will rush by them 
 
 In frantic leap and play; 
 Leaves will rustle, birds will warble 
 
 All the livelong summer day. 
 42
 
 And the heart of man keeps throbbing 
 To the tune -that's in the air, 
 
 For he knows the days are coming 
 That will bring to him a share 
 
 Of the light and shade and beauty, 
 Earth dispenses free to all; 
 
 The happy days of summer 
 How we echo their recall. 
 
 Come bird, come bee, come blossom; 
 
 Laughing river, sing your song; 
 Sunlight, soften all your glances, 
 
 As you join the happy throng. 
 
 IReep tbc Ibeart H)oung 
 
 We never grow old if we keep the heart young, 
 
 Tho' phantom shadows fall 
 Among the tresses that once were so brown; 
 
 They come to one and all. 
 Eyes will not dim if the light in the soul 
 
 Is fed by kindly ray, 
 And the smile that hovers around Love's lips 
 
 Grows sweeter day by day. 
 
 48
 
 Xe Brave Cbevalicr. 
 
 [A TRIBUTE TO LIECT. R. M. G. BROWN.] 
 
 AMID the hiss of waters seething, 
 
 And roar of winds aloft, 
 The lightning 'round them wreathing, 
 
 And thunderbolts so oft, 
 Rode the gallant ship, the Trenton, 
 
 With her sails all limp and low, 
 And Cadet Richard Jackson 
 
 Standing at the vessel's bow. 
 
 One by one the good ships battled 
 
 With the rage of tempest stern; 
 As Heaven's artillery rattled, 
 
 Every heart for home did yearn. 
 In Apia's reef-filled harbor 
 
 Tossed the crafts like children's toys, 
 Or leaves from vine-clad arbor, 
 
 Drifting out from Nature's joys. 
 
 One by one the good ships vanished, 
 
 With their freight of human souls, 
 While the cries from stout hearts banished 
 
 All their hopes the wild bells tolled. 
 Black the decks with beings thronging, 
 
 Clinging hard to rope or mast, 
 Each with eye uplifted, longing 
 
 For the day to break at last. 
 
 44
 
 When the dawn fell on Samoa, 
 
 Ruins lay at every turn; 
 Hundreds rested 'neath the billows 
 
 Who would make their home-fires burn? 
 Anguish painted every feature 
 
 Of the gallant Trenton's crew; 
 Knew they well yes, every creature 
 
 Soon they'd lie beneath the blue. 
 
 Heart and courage both were sinking; 
 
 "W T e are lost!" the brave men cried. 
 "Hold! Not yet," said Brown as, thinking, 
 
 He leaned o'er the doomed ship's side; 
 Then with head and eye uplifted, 
 
 He bade one and all, "Aloft!" 
 "To the rigging!" His voice drifted, 
 
 And the winds appeared more soft. 
 
 Quick all clambered, for they loved him, 
 
 Every man obeyed his will. 
 Their bodies in the morning dim 
 
 Caught wind and held, until 
 The Trenton reached deep water. 
 
 SAVED! And by a single mind 
 Held back from fearful slaughter, 
 
 Four hundred human kind ! 
 
 45
 
 Ibunter's 
 
 Oh, high on the brow of yon rough, jutting crag, 
 I have made me a home near the haunts of the stag; 
 
 Where the wild billows roar, 
 
 And- the cataracts pour 
 
 From the height of the mountains, o'er and o'er. 
 
 Where deep in the wilds of the forests, I see 
 No footstep of man, but is traversed by me; 
 
 Where the serpent's keen hiss, 
 
 And chasm and abyss 
 
 Have charms for me, full of bliss, of bliss. 
 
 I love this my home, my wild, rude home, 
 And would not exchange for the ruins of Rome; 
 
 Here the wild goat feeds, 
 
 And the chamois speeds 
 
 O'er the rock, to his mate, where he leads, he leads. 
 
 No, I would not exchange this weird home of mine, 
 For a palace of gems on the banks of the Rhine, 
 
 Tho' dazzling it be. 
 
 My home's by the sea, 
 
 Where the bold eagle soars, and I'm free, I'm free
 
 "ITlnbappp ? 
 
 "Unhappy?" No; why do you ask? 
 
 Because my pen is found 
 To trace in words of no light task 
 
 A sympathy profound 
 With all tluit tends toward sadness ? 
 
 Is't thus you reason, friend, 
 And think my heart knows not of gladness; 
 
 And thus my life will end? 
 Ah, then 'tis not given you here to see 
 
 That underneath this veil, 
 A heart of love beats full and free 
 
 And hath a happy tale 
 To tell, as well as that of sorrow. 
 
 You do not know the signs; 
 Take heed for often coming morrow, 
 
 And learn the sun shines 
 Where the storms have raged the fiercest, 
 
 And the calm that falls 
 Is greater where an arrow piercest 
 
 The hush of Memory's halls. 
 So if I write in mournful strain, 
 
 Paradoxical I see, 
 And hear the joy through waves of pain 
 
 Of Earth's humanity. 
 "Unhappy!" Not when He hath given 
 
 Me scope to soar aloft 
 And commune with minds who've striven 
 
 And reached the goal so oft. [47
 
 Be flDerdful. 
 
 Shadows may darken your pathway, 
 But the sunlight will linger there too; 
 
 As bitter and sweet are ere mingled, 
 And falleth the blight with the dew. 
 
 It is better to lay in our weaving, 
 
 A thread of the gold with the brown; 
 
 To lighten the burdens of others, 
 And give back a smile for a frown, 
 
 Life is to short to be churlish, 
 
 Kind words are easy to say; 
 Sow them broadcast in your planting, 
 
 And flowers will bloom by the way. 
 
 Be merciful e'en to the fallen, 
 
 Perhaps you may not have been tried; 
 The greatest of sins in His vision, 
 
 Is that of a blind, stony pride. 
 
 48
 
 Cincinnati's Centennial. 
 
 Out from the cycles of ages, 
 
 And one hundred golden years, 
 Glad peans of praise from the sages 
 
 Are filling the hemispheres ; 
 The air is full of rejoicings, 
 
 For the city's century birth, 
 And a crown of glory is resting 
 
 Upon the brow of old Mother Earth, 
 Who has yielded her corn and vintage 
 
 Without stint ; and a loving hand 
 That is laid with blessing upon the age ^ 
 
 Of Ohio's fair, proud land. 
 Around her beautiful valleys 
 
 The majestic river flow r s, 
 That onward with laughter and sallies 
 
 Its bountiful gift bestows. 
 The crafts still come to us laden 
 
 With the spoils of garnered years, 
 As they float on her bosom that bears the trace 
 
 Of a century's hopes and fears. 
 All around and about us 
 
 Are marks of skillful hands; 
 Fair daughters and sons of Wisdom 
 
 Have competed with other lands, 
 
 49
 
 And distanced them oft, in climbing 
 
 To the highest round in fame; 
 While memory's bells are chiming 
 
 And ringing the cherished name. 
 Shout aloud and rejoice; 
 
 Let Bacchus now bring 
 His choicest of wines to her feet, 
 
 And pouring them o'er 
 With uplifted voice, 
 
 The Queen City's praises repeat. 
 The thirst of her muses Aganippi shall quench, 
 
 As they herald the city in songs, 
 While Clio, proud, from her bosom will wrench 
 The history that to it belongs. 
 Laugh aloud with wild glee, 
 
 Sing, and fill up your bowl, 
 Let toasts to her prowess arise; 
 
 May love enter in, and so on to the goal 
 Of the beauty in fair woman's eyes. 
 
 Ceres and Flora, their trophies will bring 
 And garland the city anew, 
 
 While 'round her the glory and honor doth cling, 
 Cincinnati so brave and so true. 
 
 May laces and webs, from the looms of the land 
 Of the Orient, whose sun gilds our own, 
 
 Be lovingly sent, and with fair, lavish hand, 
 About her proud shoulders be thrown. 
 
 The pearl, and the ruby, and diamond shall gleam 
 50
 
 From the sheen of her satin-like hair. 
 
 While over all, like a fairy dream, 
 Shall linger the soft summer air. 
 
 Ho! Comus, make merry, and lend us your art 
 To gild all the joys of the hour, 
 
 Bid cankering care make haste and depart, 
 Ere the dew-drop shall rest on the flower. 
 
 To gentle Melpomene, a gracious adieu, 
 Who has guided the pen for this hour, 
 . While with heart all intense, and smiles we renew 
 And welcome the century with power. 
 
 appreciation. 
 
 "Tis a little thing to give a cup of water" 
 
 So it hath been said, but better still 
 When hearts do thirst, are simple kindly words 
 
 That touch the chords their own sweet will, 
 And echo back in silent strains of song 
 A gentle sympathy a music all their own, 
 That tells of gladness when the days are long 
 
 And weary, for each must walk alone 
 His path, tho' his were not to choose. 
 
 All ways are God's through dark or light, 
 And just as loving mother woos 
 
 Her babe and hopes, so lifts the night. 
 51
 
 at Xast. 
 
 I sit in the twilight's sweet gloaming, 
 My heart throbbing low in my breast, 
 
 While my soul is forevermore roaming 
 In search of that place called Rest. 
 
 My eyes look away towards the valleys 
 Where shadow and light intervene. 
 
 The brook laughing by with its sallies, 
 A drift of the moonlight's sheen. 
 
 The night air so softly doth whisper 
 
 Of Peace and Fruition at last, 
 That I turn with a start as the vesper 
 
 Hymn reaches my ear from the past. 
 
 An echo of silences golden, 
 
 All grown o'er with hoar-frost of years, 
 The memory so bitter and olden, 
 
 Is a grave and a casket of tears; 
 
 Strewn o'er with a ripple of laughter, 
 
 A ribbon, a smile and a song; 
 The dead Hopes that follow thereafter, 
 
 With the Faith that doth to them belong. 
 
 The touch of a hand that has vanished, 
 A breath floating over my hair, 
 
 The echo of footsteps once banished, 
 A silvery voice; Ah, so rare. 
 52
 
 They come in the gathering twilight, 
 These echoes from out the sad past, 
 
 And I know that the gloom and darkness of night 
 Will end with the morning at last. 
 
 The dawn of an eternal sunshine 
 
 Will break with new beauties, I ween, 
 
 As the hand over yonder reaches for mine, 
 With nothing to bar there between. 
 
 pearls. 
 
 There was silence in Heaven, and listening, 
 
 The angels heard moans 
 Come from the Earth, and saw glistening, 
 
 Tears on bare stones. 
 As they looked, softly moonlight fell o'er them, 
 
 And changed them most rare 
 Into beautiful, costly and dainty gems, 
 
 Fit for queens' wear. 
 Then with the seal of His hand, 
 
 Through the air whirls 
 The word for our tears, the Father 
 
 Sanctioned them Pearls. 
 53
 
 1ft Comes in m\> IDreams. 
 
 It comes in my dreams, a spot so fair, 
 
 All lambent light and shade; 
 A hush of peace through the fragrant air, 
 
 A beauty that ne'er can fade. 
 
 A spot so pure, with verdure green, 
 
 Set apart from all below; 
 Its loveliness none but I have seen, 
 
 And He who hath made, I know. 
 
 There are pictured rocks, and shelving shore. 
 
 And waters with tints of gems; 
 Rythms of praise, floating o'er and o'er, 
 
 With touch of the Master's hems. 
 
 The leaves of the trees have a rustle soft, 
 Like music from spheres unknown, 
 
 And the warble of birds is heard so oft 
 In magic waves of tone. 
 
 The flowers that bloom on this fertile spot, 
 
 None ever were seen before; 
 Their color and fragrance more rare, I wot, 
 
 Than any this earth e'er bore. 
 
 The sunlight is softened, the sky so blue, 
 The heart sings for gladness and joy; 
 
 There is nothing here but is pure and true, 
 No taint of this world's alloy. 
 
 54
 
 It comes in my dreams, this beautiful place, 
 Where love is the crowning charm, 
 
 And kindness and sympathy serve to chase 
 Away all deeds of harm. 
 
 There's nought that can tire, only to please, 
 In these beautiful dreams of mine; 
 
 Dreams that bring rest and perfect ease, 
 To finish the dav's decline. 
 
 IRubp. 
 
 DID'ST ever think the ruby 
 
 Was the blood of human hearts, 
 Congealed by constant sorrow, 
 
 And the arrow of pains' darts? 
 It is said, whoever wears them 
 
 Is insured from harm to come, 
 And it ferrets out all poison, 
 
 Wherever one may roam. 
 But there's something in its color 
 
 And in its meaning too, 
 That has a double savor, 
 
 May it not be thus to you
 
 across tbe Xinc. 
 
 JUST as dear to me are mine, 
 
 Just as dear are yours to you, 
 They who stood in battle lines 
 Our bonnie boys in gray and blue; 
 Each with heart for country's call, 
 Each laid low by cannon ball. 
 
 Side by side they lie at rest, 
 
 Yours and mine, where hands might clasp; 
 The sweet wind bloweth from the west, 
 And catcheth jn its friendly grasp 
 
 A rare perfume from Southern wands, 
 And wafts it over Northern lands. 
 
 The fairest blossoms of the South 
 
 Nod gentle welcome, one by one, 
 To every Northern river's mouth, 
 
 That bids its channels toward the sun, 
 Its onward course fore'er to run, 
 From day to day till all is done. 
 
 Glad Nature teaches all the way 
 
 All bitterness to put aside, 
 A kindly heart from day to day 
 To open portals far and wide, 
 
 And cordially grasp a brother's hand, 
 No matter what his creed or land. 
 50
 
 If dead tongues speak, then our boys 
 
 Lying low in Southern lands, 
 Whisper of something more than joys 
 We measure by, and clasping hands, 
 Look into one another's eyes 
 With smiles as radiant as the skies. 
 
 On sweetest sunlit summer morn, 
 As underneath its arch they lie 
 Resting, as when the newly born 
 Of Earth its mother's lullaby 
 Soothes it to gentle slumber 
 With love, not worlds can number. 
 
 So, sometimes, may not we, as they, 
 
 Clasp hands, and smile, and thus forget, 
 And love, as do the blue and gray 
 
 Who fought as best they knew, and yet 
 Forgave, for His sake yours and mine, 
 Clasping hands "across the line." 
 
 57
 
 ne of bese 
 
 ONE of these days when all the years so silent 
 
 Have passed into eternity at last, 
 And you and I stand face to face, thus meeting, 
 
 Shall we remember all the bitter past? 
 
 Shall we remember all the woe and heartache, 
 That met us on life's morn and sunlit path? 
 
 vShall we in awe stand back, the pain renewing, 
 As glance, to glance, a greater misery hath? 
 
 Will stifled moans, pale lips the torture hiding, 
 Be wrung from hearts whose cup is more than full ? 
 
 Will tears trace deeper, in the furrows graven? 
 Or shall an apathy our spirits lull? 
 
 Shall aching brain be horrified with vision, 
 Panoramic view of scenes we would forget? 
 
 Shall worn hands clinch, and make therein incision, 
 And blood drip from a life full of regret? 
 
 Must all the thorns be tread upon as olden, 
 Our weary feet no rest as yet to feel? 
 
 Must burdens borne, bow lower in submission, 
 Before His touch our broken spirits heal? 
 
 If so, dear God, from out thy loving kindness, 
 Let one soul drift into a blissful naught 
 
 My own and if a wild mistaken, blindness, 
 Forgive, and understand the silence bought. 
 
 58
 
 a (Mcture. 
 
 A DAWNING day, and hill-top whose brow was 
 
 flower crowned. 
 
 A shimmering sun, a prescience in air, 
 The perfume of peace, His beauty all around, 
 The trilling of birds, the glimmer of sea, 
 The sough of a summer breeze; 
 Away off yonder, where the hush of a silence 
 
 mingles, 
 
 With a cry that may never cease. 
 An earnest life, a proud, true heart, 
 Eyes with the light of the stars; 
 A winning smile, sweet lips apart, 
 And a trust that nothing mars; 
 An extended hand for the book, 
 Which holds, on its pages fair to see, 
 A lesson so rife, with the sweets of life 
 As it seems in a destiny. 
 An expectant look, a flush of joy, 
 Feet eager to tread the path; 
 A restless impulse without alloy, 
 A beautiful seeming, a something within which 
 
 hath 
 
 An awakening hope for a toy, 
 59
 
 A pause, a listen, a catch in the breath, 
 
 As wonderland bursts on the view 
 
 So bright and so fair, so marvelously rare. 
 
 Oh, nought but is good, and is true. 
 
 A shadow, a cloud, a look as of death, 
 
 A sigh for the old, and the new; 
 
 A clutch at the blossoms fading beneath, 
 
 Which still at the feet, the pathway bestrew, 
 
 Like thorns in the weary one's wreath. 
 
 A soil on the book, a soil on the page 
 
 The hands less firmly hold; 
 
 A look as of one grown suddenly sage, 
 
 A sorrow's shaft the story told, 
 
 And old, but not with age. 
 
 A murmur of pain, for the hero troop, 
 
 And the ship, Hope, passing by, 
 
 An upward glance, for the angel group, 
 
 Through the fastly darkening sky; 
 
 Eventide coming on apace, 
 
 Clouds hurrying, scurrying by; 
 
 A look of woe on the ghastly face, 
 
 A pitiful, anguished, desolate cry, 
 
 As a hand looms forth to trace 
 
 The lines of a life that knew no sin, 
 
 Written in words of gold 
 
 On tablets so clear that the light within 
 
 Streams over the letters bold. 
 
 60
 
 There are looming rocks by the weird sea-side, 
 
 An ominous flapping of wings, 
 
 And croak of gulls, as the winds they ride, 
 
 Eerie like flitting the tide. 
 
 Worn and weary and darkened the life, 
 
 And the night as well; a chill 
 
 And terrible mental strife 
 
 And battle with doubtful will. 
 
 Finished the book lying low and torn 
 
 As thrown by a ruthless hand; 
 
 A murmur.of winds through caverns worn 
 
 By the wear of the wide sea sand; 
 
 Just this and the wash of fretted waves. 
 
 A moan in the heart none may hear. 
 
 There may be something which sometimes saves 
 
 The wreck of a life so drear. 
 
 Cbainefc 2>own. 
 
 WHAT is the prison, the chain or the gyve, 
 
 To the fetters that daily bind 
 The soul and the bodies of those who strive 
 
 Through Poverty's curse so unkind ? 
 
 61
 
 Xov>e's tribute. 
 
 [DEDICATED TO MRS. ORMISTOX CHAXT. ENGLAND.] 
 
 OH, friend from a far off country, 
 
 A tribute of love I pay 
 To thee, for thy staunch defense of 
 
 The woman just "over the way," 
 For thy kindly words of counsel. 
 
 Thy helping hand in need, 
 For thy care of the weak and fallen, 
 
 And planting the precious seed. 
 
 Of truth and right in weary hearts, 
 
 That had erstwhile gone astray; 
 Thee brought them back, with pleading tones 
 
 And eyes that were filled alway 
 With tears, for their wrongs and sorrows, 
 
 And smiles for the coming time, 
 When they, too, would see the morrow 
 
 Grow bright, through a love sublime. 
 
 For all that is pure and holy, 
 
 All that is noble and true; 
 His Golden Rule thou hast taught them, 
 
 "To me, as I do unto you," 
 While others rested, thou slept not, 
 
 But walked at the midnight hour 
 Alone, through the streets, in darkness, 
 
 To rescue a fallen flower. 
 62
 
 No winter's cold, or summer's sun, 
 
 Has stayed thy ready feet; 
 With voice of perfect sweetness, 
 
 Thou hast charmed the world complete. 
 Ever ready to do and dare, 
 
 In the cause thou hast espoused; 
 Small and slight and fragile, 
 
 Thou hast waning hearts aroused. 
 
 To the good that is within them, 
 
 For " all have an angel side," 
 And thine the hand to beckon 
 
 Back from the coming tide 
 Of woe that would overwhelm them, 
 
 And hedge them without for aye; 
 Thine the harvest to gather, 
 
 In thy reaping, by and by. 
 
 Though ocean may divide us, 
 
 I shall see thee in my dreams; 
 I shall hear thy voice in fancy, 
 
 Passing sweet when moonlight gleams. 
 I shall catch that bird-like motion 
 
 Of head and eyes, so rare; 
 I shall waft a blessing to thee, 
 
 Bear thy memory in my prayer. 
 
 63
 
 Bloom. 
 
 OH, star-eyed daisies and clover, 
 How cometh your bloom to-day? 
 
 If we search the wide world over, 
 There is none to say to thee " nay." 
 
 Oh, hearts of dainties golden, 
 
 Oh, sweetest of perfumes rare, 
 Thou tellest of memories olden 
 
 We've guarded with jealous care. 
 
 Oh, meadow with moonlight o'er thee, 
 With whisperings soft in the air; 
 
 The brook rippling by away to the sea 
 All earth clad in garments so fair. 
 
 Can you wonder, oh, daisy and clover 
 And meadow, why mists dim my sight 
 
 As I whisper the old story over, 
 
 And bring back the ghosts of that night ? 
 
 The ghost of a love that was slighted, 
 A heart that was broken for aye, 
 
 A wrong that can never be righted, 
 A promise that lived for a day. 
 
 And thou were a witness, oh, blossoms, 
 Else ne'er would I whisper it here; 
 
 As twined with thee, the memory comes, 
 Sweet flowers baptized with a tear. 
 
 04
 
 flf Ji)ou were 1bere. 
 
 If you were here to-day, 
 
 And I could take your hand in mine, 
 And look into your eyes and say, 
 
 "Forgive me, dear," I know that heart of thine 
 Would all respond, too gladly; 
 
 Though words I may have said 
 Had shaken your brave spirit sadly, 
 
 Your hand would rest upon my head, 
 In nought but earnest kindness; 
 
 Your gentle voice and dainty tread, 
 Would waft away my blindness, 
 
 And I would not have mourned thee dead. 
 
 I gaze into your sad, sweet eyes, 
 
 In pictured form; and wonder 
 How chasms yawn, and walls arise 
 
 'Twixt those whom nought should sunder. 
 Strange, when friends are few, 
 
 And purest love a dainty rare, 
 We'll not prove true 
 
 That with a fixed and vacant stare 
 We look away in cold pretense, 
 
 " It is all right," " we do not care," 
 When every heart beat, hot and tense, 
 
 Denies the charge laid bare. 
 
 65
 
 Grim " paper walls " of sternest doubt, 
 
 Willful, we misunderstand; 
 And yet, the enemy to rout, 
 
 May simply need my wave of hand; 
 A sunny smile, a little thing, 
 
 A power a perfect talisman, 
 To ward away, as birds of wing, 
 
 The noisome vapors of earth's ban. 
 Oh, when memory bears set pallid lips, 
 
 When waxen hands lie limp and low 
 Beneath a sodden mound, there sips 
 
 Remorse, who dines at courts of woe, 
 
 And gluts himself on misery. 
 
 If we had only known! 
 But 'tis not given us here to see, 
 
 Till later days have flown; 
 And yet we know, as know we must. 
 
 You dear, dear dead, if you could speak. 
 Would clasp our hands in perfect trust, 
 
 And whisper with white lips, and meek. 
 " I do, forgive, as He forgives." 
 
 Believing this, tho' heart is sore, 
 We courage take, for still there lives 
 
 The sentiment feeling o'er and o'er. 
 
 <*>
 
 That you are here in spirit; 
 
 Your hand takes mine the same old way, 
 I feel your heart beat near it; 
 
 I look into your eyes and say, 
 "Father, mother, brother, child," 
 
 (Whoever it may be) 
 " Let thy presence, true and mild, 
 
 Stay near, to whisper me, 
 Lest I regret again, 
 
 And Time bring back to me, 
 The same old mournful strain, 
 
 To linger through Eternity." 
 
 WOULD you recall it if you could? 
 
 Was every moment golden-lined? 
 Were bright hours spent in happy mood? 
 
 Did not a shadow creep behind? 
 Was some one bettered by your life? 
 
 Did aching heart cease thus to beat? 
 If not, your yesterday was rife 
 
 With all that means a sure defeat. 
 67
 
 Xoofc of (Blab Surprise. 
 
 There's such a look of glad surprise 
 In our darling's starry eyes! 
 I wonder what wee Harold sees, 
 To give him so much blissful peace? 
 
 His little waxen hands lie low, 
 And whiter than the driven snow, 
 Upon his silent, pulseless breast 
 Our precious baby is at rest. 
 
 And yet that silent look of wonder, 
 With radiant dewdrops lying under 
 The deep-fringed silken lashes, 
 A glimpse of heaven's brightness flashes. 
 
 Oh, close them not, until the last, 
 They tell of future joys, and past, 
 As 'round the sweetest lips there plays 
 A happy smile of Godly praise. 
 
 Our little love is wiser now 
 Than we. His broad fair brow, 
 Where cluster softly golden curls, 
 Wisdom's banner now unfurls. 
 
 The mystery for him hath past, 
 The Father's hand doth hold his fast, 
 And leads him into kindlier ways 
 Than ours forever where He stays. 
 68
 
 He showeth him, we know not of, 
 So filled with beauty and of love, 
 His starry eyes, in glad surprise, 
 Behold the wonders of the skies. 
 
 An awe upon us slowly steals, 
 As God His love to him reveals; 
 We cannot fathom yet his joy, 
 So stained are we with earth's alloy. 
 
 We give him up with far less pain, 
 Knowing it is his greater gain, 
 For never eyes could wear such glow 
 Whom He did not anoint, we know. 
 
 Now gently close each dainty lid 
 That glimpse of heaven must be hid, 
 Until we lie, as baby lies, 
 Safe at home, in glad surprise. 
 
 Grue Beauty 
 
 A glimpse of the soul through earnest eyes, 
 A face bright with joy and love's surprise; 
 A strength of purpose showing through 
 Each carven line, with kindness true. 
 
 69
 
 Sometimes. 
 
 Sometimes, when all about is still, 
 And calmly wafts the evening air, 
 
 The pent-up feelings, and the will, 
 Both prostrate lie in deep despair. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 Sometimes, in spite of reins well held, 
 Whose white-hand power is self-control, 
 
 With lips compressed, and bosom swelled 
 With heart-ache hunger of the soul. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 We cannot pray, we only moan, 
 And lie in misery so abject 
 
 With hands clasped tensely, cold as stone, 
 And tears dried hotly none suspect. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 We long for death, a sudden hush 
 
 To fall upon us as we sit; 
 Oblivion, without noise or crush, 
 
 And thus the end, while shadows flit. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 70
 
 Perhaps the dearest hopes of earth, 
 Our idols shattered, merest clay; 
 
 Long years of toil, that knew no girth, 
 By lightest breeze are swept away. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 We wonder if He knew or cared ? 
 
 It seems so to our breaking hearts, 
 Mocking the life that He hath spared. 
 
 Thinking naught of that greater part. 
 Sometimes. 
 
 poet. 
 
 THE poet takes his text from nature, 
 
 And laughs and sings in joyous tone, 
 Or weeps and sighs with heart in turn- 
 
 For every smile or patient moan. 
 The sun not always warmly shines, 
 
 Nor trees, nor grasses put forth leaves; 
 Clouds shadow, rains fall, warm or chill, 
 
 And poet spirit smiles or grieves.
 
 H Cbristmae 
 
 So many years ago He came, 
 
 The little Christ-child boy; 
 Came in His Father's blessed name, 
 
 To fill the earth with joy. 
 
 And yet it seems but yesterday 
 
 The story lately read, 
 Seems, in its interesting way, 
 
 Of life not of the dead. 
 
 How, in the manger fast asleep, 
 
 The little baby lay, 
 While gentle footsteps 'round him creep 
 
 And then abashed, away. 
 
 How, with good gifts and frankincense, 
 
 Men hovered 'bout his bed, 
 And watched the halo so intense 
 
 From babe's to mother's head. 
 
 The star that led them on that night 
 
 The star of Bethlehem 
 That star that shines for us so bright; 
 
 It meant the same to them.
 
 The world know not of penitence, 
 And prayer, and praise, as now; 
 
 A world of insignificance, 
 Nor head, nor knee to bow. 
 
 But when He came, the Iittl6 child, 
 Whose signet was God's own, 
 
 The demons turned to angels mild, 
 And worshiped at His throne. 
 
 So must we bow, and praise, and sing. 
 
 For Christ is risen again; 
 And gifts unto His children bring, 
 
 In honor of the slain. 
 
 Hosanna! to our God and King, 
 Good will and peace to men! 
 
 Let every heart in rapture sing 
 Forever, and Amen. 
 
 Hove. 
 
 TUP; few know only truest love, 
 It rests alone on things above; 
 Where Patience, Kindness, Trust and Peace 
 Are never known to have surcease. 
 73
 
 Ibow fco we 1know? 
 
 Flow do we know, because a face 
 Looks grave, that one is sad? 
 
 How may we tell if witching grace 
 Covers a heart that's glad? 
 
 Because a face is wreathed in smiles, 
 
 Is that one always gay? 
 A demon may be in those wiles. 
 
 Or grief in mock array. 
 
 Sometimes a manner cold and stern. 
 
 Conceals a tender heart, 
 That still for love and home doth yearn, 
 
 Whose wounds forever smart. 
 
 " She is so haughty," oft 'tis.said: 
 
 Ah, well, they do not know 
 A living heart lies with the dead, 
 
 Her calmness hides her woe. 
 
 How do we know the hearts of men 
 
 Unless we judge our own? 
 How can we have a knowledge, then, 
 
 Of those who strive alone? 
 
 74
 
 One may be bad, another good, 
 
 It's not for us to say. 
 Hearts slowly break in cheerful mood, 
 
 And drift out every day. 
 
 A human laugh in silver tones, 
 Oft greets the listening ear; 
 
 Hiding a tortured soul's deep groans, 
 That Ood alone can hear. 
 
 We have not time to watch the lives. 
 
 Or judge of human kind; 
 Enough for each who daily strives, 
 
 To faults of all be blind. 
 
 Not one of us but, when the day 
 Draws to its evening close, 
 
 Might better be in every way; 
 This, each one surely knows. 
 
 Hn tuition. 
 
 'Tis hard to throw sand in the eyes, 
 Striving to blind him who sees 
 
 By " intuition," true and wise; 
 He drinks the wine, not the lees.
 
 So Girefc. 
 
 So tired of watching and waiting 
 And hoping for happier things; 
 
 Pale hands, their own story relating, 
 Lie clasped like two folded wings. 
 So Tired. 
 
 So tired. So weary of toiling 
 With always a purpose in view; 
 
 So tired, when naught but recoiling 
 Comes back to a heart warm and true. 
 So Tired. 
 
 So tired, when daily come shadows, 
 
 Where only the sunlight should gleam. 
 
 With never a walk through green meadows. 
 Or a glimpse of life's beautiful dream. 
 So Tired. 
 
 So tired, heart-hungry, starving, 
 
 So care-hedged, misunderstood: 
 Yet bravely a bright future carving 
 By deeds of the purest and good. 
 So Tired. 
 
 76
 
 So tired, when patient endurance 
 
 Brings naught but a handful of dross, 
 
 As " hope deferred " with ah upward glance, 
 Sinks low, without profit, but loss. 
 
 'No Tired. 
 
 So tired, and perhaps, fruition 
 
 So tardy, may come not at all; 
 Why should one. all Love and Ambition, 
 
 Be driven so close to the wall? 
 No Tired . 
 
 So tired, that after these many years, 
 With phantom-like gleams in the hair, 
 
 And eyes grown dull with scalding tears. 
 Karth's promises proved but a snare. 
 No Tired. 
 
 So tired. Perhaps in His kindness. 
 
 The pitying leather above 
 Led us away, in our blindness. 
 
 From a path that would ne'er reach His love. 
 No Tired. 
 
 So tired: but somehow the knowing 
 A life had been well spent and clean, 
 
 That xonn ti me the pearls we've been sowing 
 Will rival the moonlight's sheen. 
 
 Sun/' trlt< n in 'II itnf IK
 
 Mbv> Sino of 
 
 WHY sing of old, when present days 
 
 Are fresher, fairer far? 
 As well the moonbeam's silent rays 
 
 To tilt against the star. 
 
 Why sing of foreign lands and name, 
 When here at our own door 
 
 Lies every attribute of Fame, 
 We search for o'er and o'er ? 
 
 Why sing of cave and cavern deep, 
 Whose land can ne'er compare 
 
 With ours, whose mighty wonders sleep 
 Around us, everywhere ? 
 
 Why sing of artist, or of art 
 
 In lands beyond the seas, 
 And pass by those of greater part 
 
 In glorious lands like these ? 
 
 Oh, Freedom is a mighty thing, 
 
 And yet 'tis thrown aside 
 By those who would of others sing, 
 
 Because of vaunted pride. 
 
 78-
 
 Tis well to sing some good of all. 
 
 In other lands than ours; 
 Tis sweet to hear the wild bird? sing 
 
 And cull earth's wildwood flowers. 
 
 And yet it is to give the best 
 We have to our own shore, 
 
 And after that, with gentle zest. 
 To give what we have o'er. 
 
 In other lands (less fragrant soil) 
 Its people's choicest praise 
 
 Is for their own, in care or toil, 
 And thus they sing in lays. 
 
 " Our own fair land," the patriot cries, 
 
 It gives the best of earth. 
 The pa-an reaches to the skies; 
 
 "The land of one's own birth " 
 
 (Bob. 
 
 IF you cannot believe, then hope 
 For Hope hath snowy wings 
 
 To help us rise to a fuller scope, 
 And the understanding of things.
 
 IResignation. 
 
 HE knows; it rests so kindly there; 
 
 All the doubt, the woe and the hungry despair 
 
 Over at last, all the struggle and strife 
 
 A settled calm on a turbulent life. 
 
 Hot eye& grow sadly patient the while, 
 And the quivering lips have learned to smile: 
 Pale hands have a sympathy all their own 
 Resigned, not turned to wood or stone. 
 
 Scars lie deep on the heart and brow; 
 
 Nothing to hope or wish for now. 
 
 Ages seem to have passed away 
 
 Since the blow struck deep, one summer day. 
 
 All the bitterness washed away; 
 No thought of anger to rankle or sway; 
 Grief put aside for a holier thing 
 Such perfect peace as the angels sing. 
 
 Like the pulseless glow of a golden strand, 
 The song without words from the organ grand. 
 The frozen smile on the face of the dead, 
 The perfume sweet from the floweret's head. 
 
 " A Resignation " pure doth teach, and 
 Maketh a nobler human stand 
 In the presence of Him who doth all things well, 
 From ocean deep to its murmuring shell. 
 
 -^80
 
 Sublimity. 
 
 JUST to feel the breath of His kindness, 
 
 And the touch of His tender hand, 
 And hear the swish of His garments, 
 
 Through the beauty of earth's great land 
 To see in the towering mountains, 
 
 In the rippling river's song, 
 The dash of the spray and. fountains, 
 
 His smile, as it rests along 
 The rocks, by the weird old ocean, 
 
 Whose waves climb skyward high, 
 Whose restless, quivering motion 
 
 Is aflame, by the sunset sky; 
 To hear. in the winds a rythm 
 
 Of soulful song alone, 
 That speaks to each creed or schism, 
 
 A language purely its own; 
 These with the heart's communion, 
 
 And lips so mute, so still; 
 These with the soul in union, 
 
 I'nderstand His sublime will. 
 
 81
 
 Smile ar^ be 
 
 SMILE, tho' the heart be breaking; 
 
 Smile, though the clouds droop low: 
 Smile in the morn awak'ning, 
 
 Smile when to rest you go. 
 
 Think of the day with gladness, 
 Though toilful the hours and long; 
 
 Banish all care and sadness; 
 Lighten your labors with song. 
 
 Open the door of your sanctum, 
 
 That " Holy of Holies" the heart; 
 Let in the sunshine that will come, 
 ' And be of you ever a part. 
 
 Speak kindly words to the erring 
 Harsh one embitter the soul; 
 
 Each to the other deferring, 
 Holding o'er self full control. 
 
 Be content, be kind, be loving; 
 
 Remember the shortness of life; 
 It's not worth while to be proving 
 
 Constantly arguing with strife. 
 
 82
 
 Every life hath its bitter 
 
 As well as its sweets, to drain; 
 
 It is not " all pomp and glitter," 
 
 That's freeest from sorrow and pain. 
 
 The golden rule is the best one 
 
 To follow the whole journey through: 
 
 Do unto others as you alone 
 Would have others do unto you." 
 
 Hpatbp. 
 
 It steals along the nerves, 
 
 And touches every part; 
 Then snake-like winds an;l curve 
 
 An'd twines about the heart. 
 It soothes the flagging pulse 
 
 With flatteries of balm, 
 And drags down, to repulse 
 
 All efforts of true calm. 
 It strikes with poisened tongue, 
 The center of the mind; 
 And leaves the soul among 
 
 Old ruins stark, and blind. 
 83
 
 Bfter While. 
 
 AFTKR while, when the years are gone, 
 
 And time no more shall be; 
 When night comes not, nor break of dawn. 
 
 Nor wash of wave at sea; 
 When all is calm: no winds to stir, 
 
 No moon, no sun, no stars; 
 And neither laugh, nor soft murmur, 
 
 Is heard 'neath sodden bars. 
 
 What will the meaning be to- you? 
 
 Ah. what will it mean to me? 
 AVill skies anew, be just as blue. 
 
 In the vast eternity? 
 Kternity! Is it here, or there? 
 
 Does it mean forever and aye? 
 With a day of rest, that reaches where 
 
 Is eternal bye and bye. 
 
 Shall we never look back " after while?'' 
 
 Will memory deadened be? 
 Would you have it so, with never a smile. 
 
 For a joy that used to be? 
 If labor is wafted forever away, 
 
 Will heaven not slowly pall, 
 With its beauty and sweetness in one long day 
 
 And make of us drones for all? 
 
 84
 
 Oh, the misty gray of this "after while," 
 
 With what is its meaning fraught, 
 As we journey along, mile after mile, 
 
 With experience dearly bought? 
 Does it mean that with love, and perfect trust 
 
 And a life that hath no guile, 
 Brings sure to us, as we're taught it must, 
 
 Great joy in this "after while." 
 
 Or shall we gaze blankly, with wide staring eyes, 
 
 Knowing no love, nor no hate; 
 Indifferent to all, ito glad, sweet surprise 
 
 To greet as we stand at the gate; 
 The loved ones we've lost, now found but to lose, 
 
 For if they're the same to us all; 
 No difference shown, nothing to choose, 
 
 'Twill be naught but " wormwood and gall." 
 
 Oh, better by far, if ties be thus riven, 
 
 The grave with its long dreamless sleep; 
 For even to one " unto whom it is given," 
 
 Twere better, than waken to weep; 
 Hopes that were cherished through pain-stricken 
 years, 
 
 II<i\v we watched their bright light 'long the line! 
 To have them casf down after suffering and fears 
 
 Then that is no Heaven of mine. 
 
 85
 
 IRigbt anb tbe Wrong. 
 
 I KNOW what it is to be sorry, 
 
 And I know what it is to be glad; 
 
 I've been on the hill-tops of glory, 
 And I know what it is to be sad, 
 
 I've been in the homes of the lowly, 
 In the rich have I roamed without care; 
 
 In places most sacred and holy, 
 
 And in dens where there's never a prayer. 
 
 And I know as I meet every human, 
 The difference we talk of is small, 
 
 'Twixt man, and 'twixt woman and woman, 
 Old Adam's the same in them all. 
 
 Money ofttimes makes distinction, 
 And culture and care greater still; 
 
 And pride, which will bear no extinction, 
 Endeavors to sugar the pill. 
 
 But the heart of each human beats ever 
 The same in the rich and the poor; 
 
 The weakly of intellect, the clever, 
 The good and the bad, I am sure. 
 
 86
 
 Perhaps if your lines had not drifted 
 Into places most pleasant and fair, 
 
 You would not be the " uplifted " 
 
 Any more than that creature right there. 
 
 So pause when you think to condemn him. 
 
 " Put yourself in his place " as it were, 
 Forgiving the sin, for his ignorance dim; 
 
 Just give him a chance and a share. 
 
 There's nothing like living to never regret, 
 For a soul who could happier be; 
 
 And never a wrong, but a right with it yet, 
 If you sift out the wrong thoroughly. 
 
 Sono in (TDp Ibeart. 
 
 TIIKRK'S a song in my heart that I never sing, 
 
 And its music is low and deep; 
 Its chords are all true, but one broken string, 
 
 That, has a memory to keep. 
 I hear it so oft when all else is still, 
 
 In sweetest of notes, and clear; 
 And then as I listen and bow to His will, 
 
 There's a moan on the string, and a tear. 
 87
 
 1lt is HIwa\>0 So. 
 
 THERE is always in every pleasure 
 
 A something akin to pain, 
 The heart, tho' brim full of treasure, 
 
 Beats ever a sad refrain. 
 
 The laugh that is gayest is fleetest, 
 
 A sigh oft follows its tone 
 As the song that is sung, tho' sweetest, 
 
 Has a rythmn of sadness its own. 
 
 The music of waves have a murmur, 
 An undertone trenchant and deep, 
 
 As of troubled unrest, or of hope deferred: 
 A something to 'waken from sleep. 
 
 If you gain the prize you have toiled for long 
 
 And happiness seems so near, 
 Shadows will follow in fearful throng; 
 
 Some one will cause you a tear. 
 
 If you find friends true, you will find them false. 
 
 -As hope to the earth is thrown 
 By the cruel words of a soul who halts 
 
 To give you a cutting tone. 
 
 88
 
 Birds warble sweetly, but in every note 
 
 One may hear an echoing cry; 
 And in all peaceful zephyrs that Moat, 
 
 From earth to the deep blue sky. 
 
 Tin-re's a sigh, and a moan, and a whisper of tears. 
 And a drift of the "might have been;" 
 
 Just as the moon her shadow clears, 
 A cloud comes shifting between. 
 
 It is always so, as the right and the wrong 
 
 (Jo wandering hand in hand; 
 So will the sadness follow the song, 
 
 While sung on this earthly land. 
 
 The clouds will follow the sunshine, 
 
 The rain will softly fall 
 Into all lines, both yours and mine, 
 
 It is thus for one and all. 
 
 But oh, it is something to think of, 
 
 Something to cherish most dear: 
 That after all, there's a boundless love 
 
 To wipe away every tear. 
 
 89
 
 U>ule 
 
 YES, it's an olden, old story, 
 
 Yet so new, is the tale that is told, 
 That catching the rays of His glory, 
 
 And weaving the thread in spun gold; 
 We'll tell in the words He has given us, 
 
 The birth of His son, Christ our Lord; 
 How he came in his beauty to brave thus, 
 
 The scorn of the world, and its sword. 
 
 How fair, as he lay in the manger, 
 
 Fell the promise of peace at his birth; 
 How the hand-clasp of brother and stranger 
 
 Should bring great good will to the earth; 
 As Mary, his mother, bent o'er him 
 
 With eyes beaming forth such a love, 
 Out from the shadows of twilight dim, 
 
 There drifted down songs from above. 
 
 So freighted with pearls of rejoicing, 
 
 So radiant with heaven's own smile, 
 That angels forever are voicing, 
 
 This gift of* our Lord, all the while. 
 They tell (and the words fall so sweetly, 
 
 Like balm, on the deep-troubled heart), 
 That the Father doth all things completely, 
 
 And in all, we have each one a part. 
 90
 
 "This gift that is yours, is also mine." 
 
 Mark! The silver-toned bells chime clear. 
 See, the star of Bethlehem in beauty shines, 
 
 To light up the way, dark and drear. 
 Rind out, Christmas bells, send forth in peals. 
 
 " While shepherds watch their flocks;" 
 In homage bow, the suppliant kneels, 
 
 As softly fall the knocks. 
 
 It shall be opened unto you; rise, 
 
 And sing for joy and gladness; 
 In one vast scroll, the earth and skies, 
 
 Now meet to banish sadness. 
 Receive the gift, with thankful praise, 
 
 And share the triumph when 
 He gently leads thee all thy days, 
 
 In paths of peace. Ameri. 
 
 Clasp of a Ibanfc. 
 
 "V 
 
 IT means for more than the meeting of hands 
 
 Just as boards are pressed; 
 And the cordial grasp of the sincere man's, 
 
 Holds all that is truest and best. 
 91
 
 Sometime it will Come. 
 
 Sometime the day will come, my dearest, 
 When you and I no longer wait at even' 
 
 For the coming form of one who is the nearest 
 Each to the other, on this earth or heaven. 
 
 A day will dawn, when one of us stand lonely, 
 Thinking of the past and all it gave; 
 
 And if the love we bore each other only 
 Went beyond a lowly, grass-grown grave? 
 
 If, when the gates swung wide for some to enter, 
 You would stand waiting on the other side 
 
 For me, or I should linger loving; tender, 
 Waiting at the golden gate for thee. 
 
 Ah, " sometime it will come," perhaps at twilight, 
 Sadder still, at lonely midnight hour; 
 
 When we are thus stricken by the chilling blight 
 That comes to every human flower. 
 
 My tears fall now at e'en the thought of parting, 
 Then what would follow, when real parting came? 
 
 Even as deep pains, my heart for thee is darting, 
 So 'twould manifold, in greater name.
 
 Then darling, as \ve know an hour is coming, 
 Or a day it may be many years 
 
 When we, as in all Nature summing, 
 
 Say, " good-bye, love," low, with falling tears, 
 
 Let us prove by every passing hour of living, 
 That purest love and trust are best, and yet 
 
 When mistakes come, be e'en so forgiving, 
 That death will bring no shadow of regret. 
 
 Disappointment. 
 
 YKS, we all know what it is to 
 
 " Stake a hazard on a die 
 And lose" that is, most of us do, 
 
 And tho' we may not cry 
 Out, tho hurt is there the same. 
 
 And why it is that agony 
 Should follow, where war with pain 
 
 Is common; why, where air's so free, 
 We should be only potters' clay, 
 
 To crumble in some hands at will, 
 'Tis hard to understand. One day 
 
 It may be, " Peace be still.". 
 
 93
 
 Beefeun Bob. 
 
 HE warn't no bigger nor nuthin, 
 
 An' jest abeout ez slim; 
 But he hed a sort o' suthin, 
 
 Thet made a hero o' him. 
 
 An' only a leetle Swede chap, 
 
 Nigh ten year ole, I guess; 
 Whose skanty clo'es an' rimless cap, 
 
 Wuz nuthin more ner less 
 
 Than rags thet cold winds pierced through 
 
 He warn't afeerd o' work, 
 An' in his faded eyes o' blue, 
 
 A look: he'd never shirk. 
 
 His dad an' marm wuz miners 
 
 In a teown in Michigan: 
 Thef warn't no superfiners, 
 
 Jest a woman an' a man 
 
 Thet worked hard the hull day long 
 
 En the vitals of the yearth; 
 Their lives warn't wuth a penny song; 
 
 They never hed no mirth. 
 94
 
 T\vn/ jest a stiddy toil fer bread, 
 An' " Beekun Bob," their son, . 
 
 (The only kid they ever hed, 
 An' he wuz a dandy one,) 
 
 Made up his mind to take a stan' 
 When the night begin to come, 
 
 Right nigh a great hole in the land, 
 They'd pass when they went hum. 
 
 So when the shadders 'gin to fall 
 An' night wuz settlin' deown, 
 
 He'd take his pine knots, one an' all, 
 An' hurry through the teown. 
 
 An' when he'd reach the ole mine shaft, 
 Which hedn't been used fer years. 
 
 He'd light his torches, fore an' aft, 
 An' hold 'em up like spears. 
 
 Ho warn't no slouch, I kin tell ye, 
 
 He'd nary thort o' self; 
 Al'eerd his parents wouldn't see 
 
 The hole and cavin shelf, 
 
 An' mebbe they would fall en it. 
 
 So every night he stood, 
 Till he earned the title fit, 
 
 O' " Beekun Bob, the good." 
 
 * 
 
 95
 
 Wall, one night an orful cold 'un, 
 The winds- blowed mighty high 
 
 He tuk his stan' when day wuz done, 
 With pine sticks, light an' dry. 
 
 Night wore on, he never flinched; 
 
 His dad an' marm stayed long. 
 Neow the thin, white face growed pinched- 
 
 He warn't so very strong. 
 
 An' when the dawn o' raornin' cum, 
 It foun' " Bob" standin' still, 
 
 An' frozen stiff, an' white with foam 
 His lips, the night did kill, 
 
 The torch into his hands wuz burned, 
 
 His eyes stood open wide; 
 He never left his post, an' earned 
 
 A home the tother side. 
 
 You see, it happened in this wise: 
 The mine whar his folks t'iled 
 
 Caved in on 'em, up to the eyes; 
 An' after hours, tho' s'iled, 
 
 They wuz released by crowds o' folks. 
 
 What do you think they did? 
 (A lump gits into my throat an' chokes 
 
 When I think o' that kid.) 
 
 96
 
 They didn' think nuthin on it; 
 
 Sorry, I reckon, o' course. 
 They said, with an emphasis 'pon it, 
 
 " Dead hoy no good to us." 
 
 The "docs" at the city hospital, 
 
 They ttik his hod y away; 
 I seed him lyilig like a gal, 
 
 While his poor hands bandaged lay 
 
 1 don't lay it up agin 'em, 
 
 His dad and numn, you kneow; 
 
 They meant well, hed a row to stem, 
 Th' same to the dead hero. 
 
 Match 
 
 IT needs only a sincere mind, 
 To read the thoughts of men; 
 Even tho' one were stricken blind, 
 
 He'd have the knowledge then. 
 A closer watch upon ourselves, 
 
 'Twere well to keep each day; 
 Lest some in form of fairy elves, 
 Should lead us to betray. 
 _ 07 
 
 vi
 
 pal. 
 
 THE superstitious gravely claim 
 
 This gem sheds baleful gleams; 
 One wearing it may come to shame 
 
 Or grief, and even his dreams 
 Will be distorted, and blame 
 
 Fall on him for unjust cause. 
 Were this so, to me it seems 
 
 I'd wear it still, and never pause 
 To think if true, but keep right on 
 
 The self-same way, and duty do 
 Through good or ill, night or dawn; 
 
 Striving to be as brave and true 
 Till breath and life were gone, 
 
 And heaven loomed in view. 
 
 Xabor. 
 
 Honest " labor" is not degrading, 
 Tis thought that makes it so; 
 
 Strength of purpose, with never fading 
 /eal, will more noble grow.
 
 TUntil Me flDeet again. 
 
 The softening tints of soothing Autumn days 
 
 Are painting all the land; 
 Now brown, now gray, now red and sunny rays, 
 
 Abroad on every hand. 
 The Winter snow will gently fall, and ice-bound lake 
 
 And river, brook and rill; 
 Then Springs]] all conic with rain. and Su miner take 
 
 Her place at own sweet will. 
 I>nt oli, may joy. and peace, and happiness be thine, 
 
 No trouble deep, or pain. 
 In com ing day or night; may peace and love entwine, 
 
 " Tntil we meet again." 
 
 99
 
 I N DKX. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS ANTHEM 31 j No NIGHT 27 
 
 A CHRISTMAS IDYI 72 j ONE OF THESE DAYS 58 
 
 ACROSS THE LINE 56 I ONLY A FLOWER 14 
 
 A DAY FROM HEAVEN 4O \ OUR WARRIOR DEAD 22 
 
 AFTER \VHII,E 84 j PARTING 17 
 
 A LITTLE CHILD 10 j PEARLS 53 
 
 A LITTLE PAIR OF SHOES 36 j POESY 6 
 
 APATHY 83 RESIGNATION 8O 
 
 A PICTURE 59 SMILE AND BE GLAD 82 
 
 APPRECIATION 51 ! SOMETIMES 7O 
 
 AT LAST 52 I SOMETIME IT WILL COME 92 
 
 BEEKUN BOB 94 SOMEWHERE 8 
 
 BB MERCIFUL 48 So TIRED 7 
 
 CHAINED DOWN 61 SPED ARROWS 2O 
 
 CHRIST ENTERING JERUSALEM... 11 ; SUBLIMITY 81 
 
 CINCINNATI'S CENTENNIAL 49 j THANKSGIVING 33 
 
 DAY AFTER DAY 21 THE ANGELUS 30 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 93 ; THE ASHES OF DEAD HOPES 28 
 
 FORGIVEN 37 i THE/CLASP OF A HAND 91 
 
 GOD 79 THE HUNTER'S SONG . .46 
 
 GREETING 5 THE LOOK OF GLAD SURPRISE . . .68 
 
 HEART TO HEART 7 THE OPAL 98 
 
 HER LOVER 41 j THE POET 71 
 
 How DO WE KNOW 74 j THE RIGHT AND THE WRONG 86 
 
 IF You WERE HERE 65 ! THE RUBY 55 
 
 INTUITION 75 i THE SUNSHINE OF DEATH .. 18 
 
 IT COMES IN MY DREAMS 54 j THE Soxes IN MY HEART 87 
 
 IT is ALWAYS So 88 ! THE UNSUNG SOXG 23 
 
 K EEP THE HEART YOUNG 43 THE to OODLAND .38 
 
 LABOR 98 TO-MORROW 25 
 
 LK BRAVE CHEVALIER 44 TRUE BEAUTY 69 
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 32 j TRY NOT TO FEEI 15 
 
 LISTEN 42 j UNHAPPY 47 
 
 LOVE 73 UNTIE, WE MEET AGAIN 99 
 
 LOVE'S TRIBUTE 62 WATCH THYSELF 97 
 
 MEADOW BLOOM 64 WHY SING OF OLD 78 
 
 MISUNDERSTANDING. 39 YESTERDAY 67 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD'S THOUGHTS 24 YULE TIDE . . . . .90
 
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