35/5" H8364 1900 SUN iS SHIN THfc! BELLS ARB C THE MORNING AIR IS PURL AMD Cl THE SMOKE THAT S ASCENDIN WITH THE BRIGHT LIGHT IS BLENI. BUT OH! FOR THE ONES WHO N QLQNGEF THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES J PO67AS William Matifial] tfowdfd THE SUN IS SHINING, THE BELLS ARE CHIMING, THE MORNING AIR IS PURE AND CLEAR; THE SMOKE THAT S ASCENDING. WITH THE BRIGHT LIGHT IS BLENDING, BUT OH! FOR THE ONES WHO NO LONGER ARE HERE. COPYRIGHT, 1900 BY M. E. HOWARD Ube ftnfcherbocker press, Hew PS 35)5 H83&4 1900 DEDICATED TO HIS FATHER. Oh ! think not, when I am free, That I 11 retain no thought of thee. WILLIE. INTRODUCTION. IF any be inclined to smile that this little volume is given to the public, let them remember it is the work of a youth not yet passed out of his teens ere death s cold hand was laid upon him; or, if any incline to pass the poems along with the remark that they are " sweet and simple," yet is it not the sweet and simple that we love to remember ? William Marshall Howard was born June 4, 1880, in Malone, N. Y., where he spent his life in a loving home, except a short period at the Conservatory of Music in Boston, Mass. He also received instruction in sketching and painting. In each department many proofs of his ability remain in the adornment of his home. His poetical effusions seemed a natural gift, of which no one was aware till they began to appear in the poets corner of the local papers. Of frail constitution from childhood, his health was undermined by la grippe about Christmas time of 1898, and still farther drawn upon by the death of his mother the following March. A little later a sea trip to the South was taken, resulting somewhat beneficially, so that the summer was passed very pleasantly. Vi INTRODUCTION. But when school commenced it soon became apparent that his health had not rallied sufficiently to bear the strain, and " God touched him and he slept," passing softly away October 6, 1899, as he sat in his armchair quietly reading. M. W. H. CONTENTS. PAGE THE WHITE CITY ; OR, A BOY S IMITATION OF HIAWATHA ". I A RAINY DAY ..... -5 MIDNIGHT . . . . . . . . - 6 CHANGED ........ 7 THE BROOK ........ 8 TO A CARNATION ....... 9 TWILIGHT ........ 10 LOOKING BACK . . . . . . -II PROPHECIES . . . . . . . .12 CONSOLATION 13 WINTER SUNSET . . . . . . J 5 WINTER . . . . . . .16 THE NIGHT WIND . .- . . . . -I? BOYHOOD .19 THE SNOW-STORM 21 WILL AND I . . . . . . . 23 LOST CONFIDENCE ... . . 24 viii CONTENTS. PAGE NIGHT THOUGHTS . . . . . . . 26 SUNDOWN .27 NIGHTFALL . . . . . . . .28 THE OLD YEAR ....... 29 MORNING SIX O CLOCK SEPTEMBER, 1896 . . 30 SUMMER . . . . . 3 1 A FRIEND OF MINE . . . . . 3 2 THE STORM . . . . . . . -35 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS . . . 36 QUESTION ........ 37 MRS. TAYLOR AND THE KEY ; OR, THE NIGHT THE NUNNERY DID N*T BURN . . . -38 A DRAMA IN ONE ACT . . . . . . 40 ONE NIGHT ........ 41 CUSTARD PIE . . . . . . . . 42 HOW TO LIVE 43 THE END OF TIME . . . . . -44 MIDNIGHT 4 6 A SOUL .... 47 PHANTASY ... . . . .48 HUMAN LIFE . 49 LOGIC -51 AUTUMN TWILIGHT 52 CONTENTS. IX PAGE SLEEP ......... 53 APRIL 54 SAD THOUGHTS 55 MY MOTHER . . . . . . 5^ LOVED ONES . . . . . 5^ MEMORIES , 59 SEPARATION . . ... . . . 60 REMEMBRANCE , . . . . . 6l WORK HEREAFTER ... . . . .62 A WISH . . . ... 63 A DREAM ... . . -64 THE PALACE OF THE KING 65 QUESTION . . . . . . .66 SONG . . . . . . . -67 HOPE . . . . . . . 68 CHILD AND MOTHER . . . . . . 69 THE WORLD . . 7" . . . . 7 1 LOST HOPES . 73 TO H. M. . . . . . . . -74 A DREAM ........ 75 CONTENTMENT ... . . . . -76 MY MOTHER . . . . . -77 WEARINESS .... . -78 X CONTENTS. PAGE THE ANGEL S VISIT ... -79 TO BEETHOVEN . . 80 OLD AGE . . . . ... .8l CHRISTMAS .... ... 82 GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP , . -83 DEATH ..... . . 84 APPENDIX . . . . ... -85 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. THE WHITE CITY; OR, A BOY S IMITATION OF HIAWATHA. WHERE the world is like a garden, Filled with perfume and with sunshine, Filled with fountains and with statues; Where the very sun seems happy, Shining down on sparkling water, Shining down on scenes of beauty; Where the sight of the gondolas, With their bright and many colors, With their tops of red and yellow, Fill the mind with art and dreaming; Where are lakes of shining water, Overarched by wide, curved bridges, Built of staff to mimic marble, Thronged with people coming, going, Thronged with crowds of moving people, All partakers of the sunshine That is thrown o er bridge and water, i POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. All partakers of the beauty, That is everywhere around them, That unrolls on all sides round them Like a mighty panorama, Like a painting gay and lovely; All around them loom the buildings, Each within itself a city, Filled with all the art and beauty That the world could bring together To this city of refinement, With their lofty, classic portals Casting cool, inviting shadows Far out over heated pavements, Far out in the heat of noon-day, As if beckoning to enter, To enjoy their cool recesses, To enjoy their vast exhibits, That like caverns unexplored, Wait only for the explorers ; So no longer let us linger, But beneath their portals enter. ELECTRICITY BUILDING. Down through lengthless aisles we wander, Lined on every side with wonder, Wonders wrought by skill and science, Wrought by masters of invention; THE WHITE CITY. Doors that open when we near them, As if unseen hands had moved them (As in fairy tales a king s son Entering some unknown palace, Finds the doors for him are opened); Pillars formed of light and color, Fading, brightening, as by magic; Hanging globes of captured sunlight; Forges without smoke or ashes, And above all, standing calmly, With a smile of triumph, Edison. With a parting look behind us, Down the long aisles we have traversed, Down the long aisles of exhibits, We emerge from out the building, Out into the dazzling sunlight, Out into the scenes of beauty; Hear the sounds from bands of music, Stationed round the " Court of Honor, " See the throngs of moving people, And from thence we hasten onward To the largest of the buildings, Which is in itself a city, Laid in streets, with massive gate-ways, Leading into vast exhibits, From a hundred foreign countries, From a hundred foreign nations; POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. Countless cases filled with china, Filled with quaint and lovely vases, Filled with glassware and with carving. Now, farewell, O happy city! Now farewell, for we must leave you, Leave your buildings vast and roomy, With their wide aisles, lined with portals Leading into vast exhibits From a hundred foreign countries, From a hundred foreign nations, Leave your rooms filled with Swiss china, Leave your tables heaped with vases, Leave your cases filled with china. (Written after attending the World s Fair.) A RAINY DAY. A RAINY DAY. O THOU dark, sad autumnal day, How with my thoughts you blend, As I look back on the distant past And think of what was then! All life seems cold and dark to me, Like the day that is outside, And all the joys that I once knew With the past have forever died. October 16, 1896. POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. MIDNIGHT. THE clock in the room below me Is slowly striking the hour, And, as if in answer, I hear the bells from the high church tower. The solemn bells of midnight, That alone do keep Their watch o er the peaceful village While all the rest are asleep. The lamp burns dim on the table, I hear the wind outside, As if to hasten the belated traveller To some warm fireside. 1896. CHANGED. CHANGED. THE sun is shining, The bells are chiming, The morning air is pure and clear; The smoke that s ascending, With the bright light is blending, But, oh! for the ones who no longer are here. The snow has ceased falling, The bells are calling, With clarion notes, from their steeples high; The hills are sounding, With echoes resounding That roll away through the vaulted sky. Without there is gladness, But within me is sadness, And a gloom that resembles the cold, dismal rain. The same sun is shining, The same bells are chiming, But to me they are not the same. Sunday Morning, January, 1896. POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. THE BROOK. THE music of the mountain brook Fills the woodland side; The gray trees bend low, and look At their image in the tide. TO A CARNATION. 9 TO A CARNATION. How pure thou art, When the sun and dew Combine to make thee open And shed thy fragrance anew! How sweet thy perfume is! Breathing it, we seem to be Surrounded by the air of heaven, Instead of thee. May I ever live my life like thee, Free from all sin, Trusting in Him Who hath made both you and me. IO POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. TWILIGHT. THE sad and lonesome twilight Was falling over all, The wind swayed wildly the branches Of the lindens dark and tall. The birds had ceased their singing. The flowers had fallen asleep, And over the distant landscape The darkness began to creep. The cat cried loud in the stillness And crept up into my lap, Afraid of the boisterous north wind That around the gables laughed. LOOKING BACK. II LOOKING BACK. I REMEMBER the beautiful maple trees That bordered each well-known street, Casting their cool and airy shade Over the summer heat. I remember the happy summer plays, And the friendships young and free, And the boyish loves of those early days Come back again to me. Before the familiar doorway, The poplars dark and tall, Like brave, time-beaten sentinels, Are watching over all. And the birds sing on in their branches In the old, familiar tone, With a joy that s akin to sadness They try to welcome me home. O birds, that are ever happy, Sing on your beautiful song, For it comes like a hope from heaven To this world s pain and wrong ! Published in the Student, February, 1898. 12 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. PROPHECIES. THE wind that round the casement flies Seems uttering deep prophecies Of things still yet to be, Of joys and friendships not of earth, But springing from the wider birth Of great Eternity. CONSOLATION. 13 CONSOLATION. (ON A MELODY BY LISZT.) I SAT alone by the window As the twilight began to fall, And the shadows deepened and lengthened From the lindens dark and tall. And a feeling of sadness and longing That I could not put away Crept o er me, as the darkness Was creeping over the day. I seemed to see, through the shadows That loomed on every side, The faces of many loved ones Who long ago had died. Died, yet still they were living, And working in heaven s bright air, Working and e er achieving, Till we should meet them there. 14 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. We know not where they are living, Where that other life may be, But we hope that somewhere, somehow, All of them again to see: All of the many departed Who have gone before, In a happy, better country, To see them all once more. We wonder what they are doing, As the days and years go by, And the time is drawing nearer, When we, like them, shall die. When we gather in the evening Around the fireside, And with voices hushed with emotion Talk of those who have died; Then we think they may be near us, And their words, although unspoken, Reach us and help to strengthen The tie which remains unbroken. The grave our dust retaineth, For that he can call his own, But the rest our Maker daimeth, And claimeth all alone. WINTER SUNSET. 15 WINTER SUNSET. THE warmthless sun of December has set In a sea of cold amber and glimmering gold, But look at the brightness that s lingering yet, The cloud-land of glory o er heaven unrolled. 16 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. WINTER. f AGAIN have come the winter days, When vales put on their robes of white, And with the drifts the west wind plays In loud and frolicsome delight. Within the wood lies deep the snow, And where the summer sun shone bright Now piercing winds of winter blow, And glimmers cold the wintry light. Yet dwells a beauty everywhere No other season ever knows, And nature still is waiting there, Where sharp and cold the west wind blows. THE NIGHT WIND. If THE NIGHT WIND. " T is only the rising Night Wind, Why tremblest so, ray child ? Through tree-tops bleak, fringed with sleet, The North Wind howls fierce and wild." " O Mother! dearest Mother! And can st thou still not hear What the voice of the Night Wind Whispereth in my ear ? " I shall never see the morning, For long before the day There will come a beautiful angel To carry me far away." " Be still, be quiet, my darling, These fears are foolish and wild; Surely the good Lord will let nothing Harm my dearest child." 1 8 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. And then again the child slumbered, But the mother pressed close her dear, For a strange dread had possessed her, At her heart was a sickening fear. Outside she heard the Night Wind, The Night Wind cold and wild, And with a shudder of terror, She turned to the sleeping child: " Speak! speak to me, darling, And drive from my heart this strange dread, But in answer she heard only the Night Wind, For the child in her arms was dead. January, 1897. BOYHOOD. 19 BOYHOOD. WHAT memory holds safe for me, Far down the changeful years I see A thousand pictures, soft and bright (Like lamps kept burning through the night), Of dear home rooms I used to know, Far, far away in the long ago. There two young boys together played, And one the evening often stayed. With games and books the hours were spent Unheeded as they quickly went. A magic lantern turned the night Into a land of vast delight, As, looking at the views, we went Across the great, wide continent. The scene is changed; the rooms are bright With cold December s wintry light, I see the thickly falling snow Outside the windows drift and blow, And feel once more the nameless joy That Christmas brings to every boy. And one I see who s wandering there, 20 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD, A dreamy boy, with light brown hair, And thoughtful eyes, unknown to sin, That told a loving heart within; I see him moving to and fro, Now looking out to watch the snow, Then turning to his games again, And happy plays he loved so then. Faster and faster comes the dark, The clocks that in the household mark The passing hours all seem to say, " Already s gone another day." Bright days of childhood, scenes of home, Wherever I perchance shall roam, Through what strange countries I may stray, Those scenes will beautify the way; As from high mountains white with snow, We look down in the vales below, All beautiful and bright with flowers And sunlit streams and glistening towers, And see the peasants working there Amidst the sunny, perfumed air. THE SNOW-STORM. 21 THE SNOW-STORM. OUT of the cloud-folds, silent and fast As apple-blossoms fall in the blast When springtime winds their branches blow, So through the dimness falls the snow. At times, through the cloud-rack s hazy screen, Haggard and pale the sun is seen Hurrying down the dark ning sky, A king dethroned from his realm on high. Dimmer, yet dimmer, grows the light, And the landscape sinks away into night, While one by one, through the dark and snow, The village windows gleam and glow. With a cheerful light, gathered inside, The family sit round the fireside, Which, with a warm, comfortable glow, Defies the powers of the snow. 22 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. Ah! happy they whom pomp nor gold Drive exile from the hearth of old, Where childhood s thoughtless hours were passed,- That keep sweet memories till life s last. Of winter evenings long ago, And dear home faces that they know, Now shines no more as in the blaze Of that hearth fire of younger days. February, 1897. WILL AND I. 23 WILL AND I. WITH what joy I now remember Those long nights in bleak December When we used to stay together, Will and I, Will and I; Then we did so love each other, Will and I, Then we hoped to die together, Will and I. But he went to heaven without me, And alone I now am waiting, Till we meet in that bright country, Will and I. September, 1897. 24 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. LOST CONFIDENCE. THERE is a house that I remember, The rooms are filled with sunny light, And recollections pure and tender That now make glad my darkest night. There is a face that I remember, A dear, kind face I see no more; Life s toil for her has long been over, She s safe upon the heavenly shore. O childhood days! so long departed, When all unknown was care and pain ; Life! that pure and peaceful started, Why can ye not come back again ? 1 would that I might see the way My Father wants His child to tread, And know that through each wandering day My feet by Him are safely led. LOST CONFIDENCE. 2$ O God of love, my soul cries out That you will still life s wildest gale, That he who follows Thee throughout, To him, there s no such word as Fail. And yet Thy ways I d understand, And Heaven s pure lamps once more to see, As beacon lights set on the land, To home-bound sailors far at sea. For night and mist are deep about, The lights have faded from the shore; My soul is filled with fear and doubt, And childlike trust I know no more. 1898. 26 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. NIGHT THOUGHTS. INDISTINCT in the light Of the summer night Arise the gloomy pines; Their dark banners high Touch the midnight sky In dim and waving lines. SUNDOWN. 27 SUNDOWN. THE winter sun has sunk to rest, And all is dark but the glowing West, That with a splendor still burns on, The last sad light of the day that s gone. Down in the darkness, in the room below, I hear the voices that fainter grow And die away in the dimming light, And all is silence and sadness and night. Within me the sun has sunk to rest, And all is dark but the glowing West, That with a splendor still burns on, A sad rerr.ciinder of the days that are gone. Down in the darkness, in my heart below, I hear the voices that fainter grow, And die away in the dimming light, And all is silence and sadness and night. January, 1897. 28 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. NIGHTFALL. THE night has come, the beautiful night; All is wrapped in the hush of sleep, Only the windows redden and glow, Of the houses across the street. We draw closer our chairs in the fading light, While the things in the room grow farther away And lose themselves in the dusky gloom, Until nothing is left of the day. And the children, with faces pressed close to the pane, Peer out into the night, and listen and hark To catch the roar of the forges bright, When outside the demon is making the dark. 1896. THE OLD YEAR. 29 THE OLD YEAR. FROSTY and cold is the winter s night, Full knee-deep lies the drifted snow; Old and gray, on his bed of ice, Lies the Old Year, ready to go. Haggard and old, in the bleak night air He shivers at every blast, And trembles to think that his faltering breath May each time be the last. Oh ! why must you die, my dear Old Year ? I have loved you so That it seems as if all had gone But you and now you must go. No year that ever came before, No year that shall ever come, Will be to me as dear a friend As the year that is almost gone. 1896. 3O POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. MORNING SIX O CLOCK SEPTEMBER, 1896. ROBED in all their majesty of green, stand the hills, Transfigured in the golden flood of early sunlight. Through the fresh, crisp air, clear and sweet, I hear the crowing of the cocks; The oriole has begun to sing; under my feet The dead leaves rustle low, And through the rosy gate that Time unlocks I feel the fresh breath of to-morrow blow. To-morrow, that strange and unknown guest; What joy or sorrow he may bring us, We know not; but whatever God wills must be best! SUMMER. 31 SUMMER. WHEN a child, I loved to lie Beneath the cloudless summer sky, And feel the gentle summer breeze, Laden with thoughts of brooks and trees, While all around the woodland made A cool, unbroken ring of shade, And, high above, the heated hill Dozed in the sunshine, hot and still. 32 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. A FRIEND OF MINE. How strange it seems that one so young And fair as he should be no longer here; The birds that once for him their carols sung Are singing now, with notes as sweet and clear As in the happier days, but he will come no more; In vain I wait at his familiar door, No boyish step is heard along the hall, But hush and sadness resting over all. The day is warm with sunshine, and everywhere A peaceful stillness fills the morning air; Through all the house, by each open door, The summer winds waft wide the apple blooms; They search the quiet rooms, but find him there no more. I remember the tall old shadowy oak That stood alone in the street, Casting its cool and welcome shade Over the summer heat. And how when the winds of autumn came To shake the acorns down, A FRIEND OF MINE. 33 We used to hurry home from school, To find them on the ground. I remember the childish awe and dread Of the graveyard on the hill. Where lay sleeping the peaceful dead, In the darkness, cold and still. I remember the happy summer plays, And the friendships young and free, And the boyish loves of those early days Come back again to me. But one was there who 11 come no more, Whose face on earth I ne er shall see, For he has passed from out that door Where all beyond is mystery. Oh ! summer winds that blow without, Your freshness brings me thoughts of pain, For all the gladness of your shout, Can never bring him back again. And yet, to me he is not dead! But to a fairer country gone; Like some white bird, from the cage fled, That now in purer air lives on. 34 POEMS BY VVM. MARSHALL HOWARD. And when that time comes, when I 11 die, Let not those gathered round me weep! But bending o er me where I lie, Just softly say, " He s gone to sleep." For what to souls of life is death ? Though cold and motionless we lie, Not for an instant stops our breath ; It is but into life we die! Oh! look abroad upon the hills; There s nothing there which speaks of death! Not even in the frozen rills, Nor in the north wind s piercing breath. For over all shines bright the sun, And gladdens the bleak hills of snow: While neath the ice the glad streams run, To turn the mill that waits below. For all the universe is life! Oh ! do not for a moment dream That through the sunny vales of strife, There flows a cold, unconscious stream. July, 1897. Published in the Gazette. THE STORM. 35 THE STORM. SEE! the sky is growing dark, And from yonder mountain, hark! How the thunder rumbles low. See! the wind begins to blow, How it rustles all the leaves; How it bends the frightened trees! Dimmer, dimmer grows the light! Distant objects fade from sight, Lost amidst the pouring rain That is coming on amain. 36 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. (A FRAGMENT.) THE sad, short winter days have come, The nights are cold and drear; The flowers all have gone away Until another year. And even as the flowers have died, So we, too, shall die; And low down in the gloomy grave Our bodies they will lie. But there will come a spring-time On this sad world of ours, When we, too, shall live again, Even as the flowers. QUESTION. 37 QUESTION. OH! even if we knew we ne er should wake From that last sleep; if Death should take Away from us all that had once been dear, All aspirations, hopes that we had cherished here; Oh! would not even then the grave s unbroken rest Unto our tired, world-sick souls seem best ? October 29, 1896. 38 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. [That he sometimes broke into the playful will be seen by the following :] MRS. TAYLOR AND THE KEY; OR, THE NIGHT THE NUNNERY DID N T BURN. WHEN Mrs. Taylor reached the door-step, The key she could not find; The fire-bells were ringing; She thought she must be blind. " Break in the door! " a girl cried. " Oh, no! my dear," she said, " Than to break in that panelled door, I d far rather be dead." She heard the engines coming Far down the windy street, And on the walks the patter Of many hurrying feet. " Oh! what shall I do," she murmured, " The key I cannot find; T is not beneath the door-mat, Nor yet behind the blind." MRS. TAYLOR AND THE KEY. 39 The bells kept slowly ringing Their message on the night, The wind was ever rising, The moon shone calm and bright. "I 11 find that key this instant! " Poor Mrs. Taylor cried; " Oh! now I know, I put it In the bag that s by my side." " Yes, here it is, I ve found it! Now to get my things away; What s that ? I won t believe it! The fire s out, they say! " October, 1898. 40 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. A DRAMA IN ONE ACT. SCENE: Interior of a back hall; night; a great fire is illuminating the sky. Characters: KATIE and WILLIE. Time: about ten o clock. WILLIE (from hall door) : AWAKE! Arise! Your sleepy eyes Ne er saw a sight Like that to-night. The sky o erhead Is fiery red! (A deep silence, broken only by some one turning over in the room above.) KATIE (in a smothered voice from beneath the bed-clothes) : I ve gone to bed! Who cares a thread, If the sky is red ? With my tired head, I feel most dead! A fire, you say ? Well, let it stay And burn till day, I hope it may! (At this she covers up head and ears, and the stillness is unbroken.) ONE NIGHT. 41 ONE NIGHT. " GOOD Night," we d said, And gone to bed; The evening well we d spent, Full quiet t did grow, When from below A question up was sent; When Katie dear We next did hear Inquiring what it meant. As some sweet bird At evening heard From out her room she came, Robed all in white A heavenly sight (Would I had seen the same!) As once before, When all the floor Beneath our feet did rock; Ah! what a sight I saw that night That came the earthquake shock. 42 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. CUSTARD PIE. WHAT do I see, So precious to me, Within the oven yonder ? Is it all for me, All that I see ? I cannot help but wonder. HOW TO LIVE. 43 HOW TO LIVE. A LITTLE love to light the way, And make our lives both good and gay. A little work to still unrest, That may arise within our breast. A little fun, lest we may grow Life s sadder parts alone to know. A little faith, so when we die We 11 go where none shall say good-by. 44 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD, THE END OF TIME. THE embers on the hearth were dying, The familiar things in the room grew dim, The wind outside was crying, As if wanting to get in. Already the stroke of midnight Had sounded from the dark church tower, But still I sat and lingered, Unmindful of the hour. The clock ticked loud in the stillness, The wind blew cold outside, As if to hasten and warn me That another day had died. "Only a day," I said; As I did so, some one laughed at the door, And I heard the voice of an angel Declare Time should be no more. THE END OF TIME. 45 He stood in the open doorway, His eyes regarding mine; In one hand he held the sword of Death, In the other the end of Time. And again I heard the warning, Like the note of a distant chime, That I could live no longer, For there d come an end to Time. He took a step nearer to me ; " Not yet, O God! " I cried, But swiftly I felt myself sinking Through darkness deep and wide. I awoke as from a deep slumber; The room was dark and cold ; The night wind pried at the windows, Like a midnight robber bold. But all my fears had vanished, Vanished and forever gone, For I knew that God was watching. While the march of Time went on. 46 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. MIDNIGHT. MIDNIGHT, and still the world rolls on; A day begun, and a day that s gone; Outside with a cold, glimmering light, The stars alone watch on through the night, And still the world whirls on. A SOUL. 47 A SOUL. T WAS the middle of night by the village clock. Far off I heard the crowing cock, And the tread of the watchman, as up and down He paced the streets of the sleeping town. The moon was just passing behind a cloud, When under my window a dog howled loud, And away on the moorland I plain could hear The ghostly night wind, cold and drear. And I saw a soul upon its flight, Going upward to the realms of light, A soul that from the earth had fled, Leaving its body cold and dead. I watched it in its upward flight, Until in the darkness t was lost to sight; But I smiled, for I knew that, though all alone, T was guided safe toward the Father s Home. 48 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. PHANTASY. I READ a story, a story, to-night, When high in the sky the moon hung bright, And flooded my chamber with magical light; Then out of my chair with a tremor upstarting, I stood at my window, all breathlessly harking For a sound that I d fancied I heard on the wind, But the hush was unbroken, the night gave no sign; The pine just below me waved high its dark arm And seemed to be pointing in frightened alarm. The valley was lighted with brilliant moonshine, And again I thought something was borne on the wind, And with a vague terror I held my quick breath, When loud on the stillness there rang the word, Death ! HUMAN LIFE. 49 HUMAN LIFE. ALL things are governed in His way, Naught of the future can we tell; To-day will soon be yesterday, Our greeting may be but farewell. There are things words can ne er express, And better t is that it is so ; For who the sorrows we repress, Like we ourselves could ever know? The past will never come again; Its castle walls and turrets high, That lie around its strong domain, Resist all entrance to our cry. But oft in dreams we enter there, Its gates are then thrown open wide; With solemn feet we tread the stair To well-known halls on every side. 50 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. "T is then we meet those who are gone, Come hand to hand and face to face; And the old love that still lives on, Again within our hearts finds place. And so we live from day to day; Each hour made up of joy and pain, A manly striving to be gay, A cry for what comes not again! But when hereafter we shall look Back o er our lives here, they will seem Like chapters in a once-loved book, As in the morning seems a dream. LOGIC. 51 LOGIC. IF death means leaving care and pain, Ah ! surely then to die is gain ; If death means never more to wake, None e er will tell us our mistake, If that false doctrine should be so, None e er will say, " I told you so." 52 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. AUTUMN TWILIGHT. IN the dim and beautiful twilight, When the cares that e er burden the day, Like things that live only in daylight, Are rapidly fading away, I can hear the glad voices of children Ring clear through the dim, smoky air, And memories flood rapidly o er me That break wide all the bondments of care. Memories of home and of childhood, Of cold autumn nights long ago, Of bon-fires famed only in childhood, Before the first fall of the snow. SLEEP. 53 SLEEP. OH, sleep, I now give wholly up to thee, Your potent powers no longer I withstand, But as a little child led by the hand, Sink unafraid into your mystery. The thoughts that have o erwrought my weary brain r The strife, the care, the worry and the pain, Now fade away and sink into the deep Unconsciousness of peaceful sleep. 54 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. APRIL. How beautiful are these warm, bright days! After dismal winter gales, And piercing winds, when the sun s returning rays Gladden the dark vales. I heard to-day, along the lonely dell, The first robin sing; The glad messenger, whose sweet notes foretell The coming forth of spring. SAD THOUGHTS. 55 SAD THOUGHTS. AT night when the rain is pouring, And the sky is without a star, I cannot help, as I listen, But wonder where you are. I bent o er you, as you lay in your coffin, On that one sad, hideous day, And the house grew forever darker, When I saw them take you away, Away from the home you d made lovely, From the ones who loved you so, To a hill where the wind was blowing, And a grave beneath the snow. 56 POEMS BV WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. MY MOTHER. IT is thy portrait; mother, let me pay To thee such homage as my numbers may. Those dear, kind eyes that look so straight at me, In them a wealth of mother s love I see, And even now I almost hear thee say, " Fear not, my boy; God 11 wipe all fears away." Oh! happier far art thou where thou hast gone, But here the lonely days drag slowly on, Drag slowly on, and thou dost come no more; In vain I wait beside thy chamber door, And wander through the hall and down the stair, The one dear face I look for is not there. Oh, why should I so wish thee back again, To dwell amid this world of grief and pain ? But, oh! the years that still must come and go, In which a mother s love I ne er shall know; In which thy voice will never soothe again The days of sickness and the nights of pain; And yet one thought still brims my soul with joy, That you can never cease to love your boy! That oft to cheer me through the hours of pain Your loving spirit will come back again; MY MOTHER. 57 For what were all the brightness there above, If you could never see the boy you love ? O Death ! you have not taken her away, That you can never do since love will stay! Can never take her from me; stronger far, Must be that power than what your precepts are! And when my soul is ent ring that last night, And things of earth are fading from my sight, O mother, come from the far-distant shore, Sit by my side as in the days of yore, And in your arms, oh ! let me fall asleep, Never again to suffer or to weep. 58 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. LOVED ONES. I HEARD the wind o er the chimney Chanting a strange, wild song; It seemed to tell me of loved ones Who had been gone so long. In the cold and lonesome twilight, I fancied that I could hear Their well-remembered voices Which speak no longer here. All their dear and homelike phrases, From across the silent years Came flooding back to my memory, And filled my eyes with tears. MEMORIES. 59 MEMORIES. THESE are the tales she read me long ago, And that is why I love them so; These are the things I used to see her wear, And that is why I take of them such care; These are the rooms where once she used to be, And that is why they are so dear to me. 60 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. SEPARATION. OH ! the useless, vain regretting, Oh ! the tears my paper wetting, Oh! the longing for a mother who will never come again ; Oh! the cruel night of sorrow, Oh ! the waking on each morrow, To the sense of something missing and the ever-present pain. Oh ! the hope that still is lying, Far beyond this world of dying, Hope that I again may see her where she s waiting now for me; Oh! the happiness of dying, Oh! the senseless fuss of crying, When we go to meet a mother whom we long so much to see. REMEMBRANCE. . 6 1 REMEMBRANCE. ONE friend alone I ve ever known Who always did stand by me, Who, when all other Friends had flown, Would never leave nor chide me. But now she s gone. The days pass on, But I 11 ne er find another Who 11 ever be As kind to me As kind as was my mother. 62 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. WORK HEREAFTER. OH ! what joy doth fill the human soul, When first it feels unto itself is given Some work that needs the purer air of heaven, That change which gives to us more clear control Of all those higher instincts which are ours, A wider field to exercise our powers, Where those who love will love us deep and true, And most for what we are, and what we do; Where past and present will but seem as one, Since all our work will be but yet begun. A WISH. 63 A WISH. IF when I died I knew one thought of mine Would longer stay with men than any other, I d choose this one, and hope that it might lie Deep in the heart of every father, mother. Although thy child s gifts are not what thou would They d been, still think that it is best! Oh! let him be what God has planned he should! And unto some good angel leave the rest. For well I know t is neither right nor wise With God s high plans and purposes to play, For human life might sometime be the prize We would for our own wishes have to pay. July, 1899. 64 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. A DREAM. LAST night I dreamed the rooms below were lighted, And in the hall a merry comp ny sped The time with games, when, suddenly affrighted, All quickly paused ; for darkly overhead A large, winged bird appeared above them, circling In wide, fantastic curves around each light; And all who looked felt some strange, unknown meaning Attached unto the unexpected sight. A sense of fear pervaded all the comp ny, Till one among them laughing, lightly said : " T is but a bird, throw open wide the casement! " And into the night the dark-winged stranger sped. THE PALACE OF THE KING. 65 THE PALACE OF THE KING. TO-DAY I have been thinking, When I heard the robins sing, When here it is so lovely, With the sunshine and the spring, What each day must be up yonder, In the Palace of the King. In His bright and glorious palace, Oh! how proud we all should be, That we are His ambassadors, And soon He 11 set us free. And who 11 describe that meeting, The joy we all shall bring, To those who now are waiting In the Palace of the King ? 66 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. QUESTION. SHALL I find my mamma there, With her soft and lovely hair ? Shall I hear her voice again, That could soothe away all pain ? Will she read to me once more, As she did in days of yore ? SONG. 67 SONG. AT last, at last, When all is past, We "11 meet to part, To part no more; You, dear, and I, Where none shall die, We 11 meet to part, To part no more. 68 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. HOPE. THIS morning, as I lay in that calm state When one is not asleep nor yet awake, When the idle dreams play, And the thought with the reason goes astray, I thought I was a boy again, And everything was changed to what had been then. I heard voices I had not heard since when a child, Voices I had most forgot. My mother s face looked down on me and smiled, And as I looked up at her The tears in these eyes were hot. Then unto my soul a calm, sweet voice spoke, So full of love, so full of hope : " Never fear! you shall see them all again, And everything will be as it was then ; For God is love, as Heaven is love, And those whom you mourn as dead They are living in that other life above." CHILD AND MOTHER. 69 CHILD AND MOTHER. O MOTHER, my love, hold close my tired head, And sit by me the weary night through, For when the late watchers shall say I am dead, I 11 be waiting and watching for you. Waiting for you in that bright, happy land, Where suffering and pain are no more, In the streets of that city at whose gates angels stand, Lest Death should pass through the bright door. And oh! think of the gladness, to meet once again The dear one we lost long ago ; Yet even that meeting will be darkened with pain, When I think of you waiting below. There the house will seem lonely and filled with strange pain, And there will be crape on the door, And oft you will listen, but listen in vain, For a step that is heard there no more. 7O POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. And there you will wander up into my room, Where are pictures I liked on the wall, And sit there alone in the fast deep ning gloom, But I shall not come when you call. O Mother, dear Mother, I long to remain, To be with you in sickness and trouble and care, But angels are calling, are calling my name, Yet soon we shall meet over there. THE WORLD. THE WORLD. I HEAR outside, on the roof-top, The gentle beat of the rain, And somehow as I listen, There comes to me a sense of pain. A longing for things departed, That will never come back any more, For the young, loving friendships of boyhood, And the bright, happy days of yore. There rises before my vision, A boy I knew so well, The love that we bore to each other, No words can ever tell. I stretch my hands out toward him, And try to clasp his own, But the vision then fades in the darkness, And I see a man full-grown. 72 POEMS B Y WM. MARSHALL HO WARD. He is standing in the midst of a ball-room, Where the scene is bright and gay, Yet something there is which tells me, That his thoughts are far away. His brow with care is o erclouded, And deep in his heart within, I see what none other beholdeth, The dark, cruel marks of sin. How changed from the boy I remember ! Yet his eyes have the old look still, And with a cry I try to embrace him, While the tears my eyelids fill. But the vision then fades in the darkness, And I hear but the beat of the rain, But more loudly my temples are beating, With a keen, uncontrollable pain. LOST HOPES. 73 LOST HOPES. No more I m alone in my dwelling, For friends I now have by the score; Yet sometimes I cannot help longing For the things that are mine no more. For the hopes, ah ! they have departed, That once were held dear in my heart, And like the glad light of the morning, Dispelled all the shadows apart. It may be in the midst of this turmoil, In this wild and aimless-lived life, There will come a sweet, heavenly silence, When I 11 choose me the pathway of strife. It may be I shall go on forever, Till death the sole victory has won, And in Heaven with sorrow look backward On the things that might have been done. 74 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. TO H. M. THE autumn night is lonely, cold, and still. From where I stand I see the wooded hill, And farther off the mountains dim and blue That bring to me dear memories of you. The moon is full, o er all the wooded height It sheds its cold and melancholy light, And once again I feel your soul touch mine, As in that happy far-off summer time, When, with our arms around each other thrown, We knew each other s friendship we did own. A DREAM. 75 A DREAM. LAST night I had a dream. I seemed to see A ball-room gay with light and revelry, And music sounded with a sad, sweet strain, As if to call God s wanderers home again; But in that throng no thoughts to Him were turned, Within each heart but earthly passions burned, And Christ was held a vague, unwelcome guest, Whose teachings jarred with things they loved the best. But lo, I saw an angel moving there, Whose presence like a blessing filled the air; By all unseen he moved amidst the throng, ( Unfinished.) 76 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. CONTENTMENT. THEY talk of the pleasures hereafter, Of the bliss of the world that s to be, But I shall try here to be happy, Until my soul is set free. T is true the other may be better, Though just how no one is quite sure, But no place could ever seem hateful If the soul is but kept good and pure. MY MOTHER. 77 MY MOTHER. SOMETIMES I feel, it may be I am wrong, That you are with me more than I may know; That bonds between us were so very strong, Death could not break them by a cruel blow. O Mother, how I long to have you here! And since that on this earth can never be, To go where you are, nevermore to fear, Where your dear face I once again shall see. June 6, 1899. 78 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. WEARINESS. How many, oh ! how many, Have found in death but gain! A release from work and worry, A release from grief and pain. How many, oh ! how many, Who have tried to do the best They could, for the sake of the Master, Have longed at last for rest. How many, oh ! how many, Have willingly left all Their work undone behind them, When they heard the Master call. August i, 1899. THE ANGEL S VISIT. 79 THE ANGEL S VISIT. IN the gray morning, before t was light, And the village was wrapped in the hush of sleep, Two angels, with faces which shone with light, Hurried along the empty street. All was silent and dark below, Save where the tide flowed on o er the lea, Save where the sky was beginning to glow With the light of the dawn that was to be. Said one, " Make haste! this is the way, See yon window where a candle burns; T is there are the children we re to take away, And back with us ere the dawn returns." Glad and clear the morning broke, And the tide flowing back from the lea, With a loud and boisterous voice awoke The mist that was over the sea. But the mother now waits and hearkens, As she sits in the twilight alone. . And sighs, " Alas! t is growing late, And the children do not come home." 8O POEMS BY WM, MARSHALL HOWARD. TO BEETHOVEN. O BEETHOVEN, monarch of the mightiest muse, Whose harmonies sublime, Like clarion notes, still echo Through the vaulted halls of time! Who is there that dare call thee dead ? Since the great and good can never die, But, when their labor here is past, Go up to their mightier work on high. When we look back on thy noble life, So full of sorrow, care, and pain, We tremble, when we think what strife Awaits us before we the final goal attain. OLD AGE. 8 1 OLD AGE. How beautiful is Age when it can look Back o er the pages of Life s finished book, And read of well-spent years, And records of Life s lovely morning days, On which the aged still love to gaze Through mists of gathering tears. 82 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. CHRISTMAS. THE birth of Christ draws near again, But oh! the day we cannot keep, For every pleasure brings up pain, And every memory cause to weep. For she who but one year ago Unto us all such pleasure gave, With loving care, now lies low In her grave, low in her grave. GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 83 GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. OH ! " I am weary and overwrought " With too much work and too much thought, But God bends down mid whirl and deep And giveth His beloved sleep. And what though all with death doth cease; I long for rest for rest and peace. For when our care becomes too deep, God giveth to His loved ones sleep. 84 POEMS BY WM. MARSHALL HOWARD. DEATH. DEATH means release from worry, care, and pain; Death means to be with those we love again, Never again from their dear care to roam; Death means but going home. APPENDIX. 85 APPENDIX. [The last day of Willie s life with us he engaged earnestly in having his grandmother reproduce a poem which she wrote, when about his own age, concerning a school taught near the Eastern shore of Lake Champlain, and which was published in a local paper at the time.] GAY whip-poor-will! thy notes so shrill, Rang out so loud and clear; But nevermore that joyous thrill Can st thou impart, I fear, Which ran^ through my enraptur d frame, When unto me thy notes first came. The place do I remember well, Where first thy notes I singl d: The woody shade and rocky dell Were rudely intermingl d, The evening shades were onward creeping, And other birds were sweetly sleeping. [A few verses here were lost past recall, concerning the children gathering wild columbine, etc.] 86 APPENDIX. Each eager girl and loving child Had brought her offering of love, Till a massive heap of posies piled Lay on the old, rough stove; An object bright to one and all, A joy to each, both great and small. That rocky seat, the one great strife, At recess and at noon, Gave energy and zest to life, Though t was abandoned soon. To gain the seat was all the fun, After the rival race was run. And then again the see-saws grand, Made with the living tree; By grasping firmly with each hand In wild and boist rous glee The supple cedars them bending low And springing on the tops in childish glow. Whatever else they may forget, They 11 ne er forget the spring, The winning and the fav rite pet, So like a living thing; Its clear, cold stream the clean white sands, The towering rock above, Forever bright in memory stands, The object of their love. APPENDIX. 87 Those days are past, and their sweet joys, And we think we re wiser grown; That still we joy with as fleeting toys, We 11 see when they are flown. Oh! then, dear ones, let s now be wise, Ere earthly scenes are ta en from our eyes. MARY W. HOWARD. END Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. ?orm L9-50m-9, 60(B8610 8 4)444 118364 Poems 1900 PS 3515 H8364 1900 A 000924015 1