THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. . . i 
 
 THE MYSTIC RIVER 17 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The Heroine of the Bridge . . -27 
 
 The Record ....... 33 
 
 Daybreak . 39 
 
 At the Bound 41 
 
 Peter Cooper 43 
 
 The Early Frost 46 
 
 Noonday 49 
 
 "In Spirit and in Truth" ... 52 
 
 Ripples 54 
 
 The King's Welcome .... 55. 
 
 Silent Forces 57 
 
 Churchyard in the City .... 59 
 
 Ago Gratias 61 
 
 Now 64 
 
 October 65 
 
 A Winter Morning .... 66 
 
 The Span of Life 68 
 
 To-morrow 69 
 
 Lesson of Faith 71 
 
 In the Twilight 74 
 
 "As thy Days thy Strength Shall Be" . 76 
 
 759412
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Sowing 77 
 
 Jamie and Joe 79 
 
 "A Little Child Shall Lead Them" . 82 
 
 The Child of the Alley .... 85 
 
 Child Faces 87 
 
 The City of the King .... 89 
 
 A Boy's Pocket 92 
 
 What the Flowers said .... 95 
 
 A Reminiscence . . . . . 97 
 
 Hide and Seek 99 
 
 Service of Work 101 
 
 E. C. S .' . . 103 
 
 In Memoriam 105 
 
 Memorial Day no 
 
 To the G. A. R 117 
 
 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 The Mayflower 121 
 
 The Two Pictures .... 122 
 
 My Holocaust . . . . . 123 
 
 Easter Sonnet 124 
 
 Snow-flakes ...... 125 
 
 The Repartee 126 
 
 The Golden-Rod 127 
 
 March 128 
 
 "These Are My Jewels" . . . 129 
 
 Christmas Song 130 
 
 Song of Labor 131 
 
 Song of Hope 132 
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA 133
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL.
 
 A LEGEND OE THE OLD MILL. 
 
 'Twas an eve in November, crisp and chill, 
 In the days of Mallet of the old windmill; 
 The work for the day at the mill was done; 
 The idling sails with the winds were at 
 
 play, 
 
 The short-lived twilight had faded away, 
 And close on the track of the setting sun 
 Came the stars to their places, one by one. 
 
 The hearty old miller, jovial and fat, 
 (For when was a miller other than that), 
 By his blazing fireside drowsily sat, 
 While his good-wife, busily plying her 
 
 wheel, 
 Was watching her girls as they cleared 
 
 away 
 With laughter and jest for the young will 
 
 be gay 
 
 Erom the board, the remains of the evening- 
 meal.
 
 4 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 On the still air without, fell the well-known 
 
 sound 
 
 Of a horse's hoofs on the frozen ground. 
 "Some traveller, belated, who will want 
 
 mayhap," 
 Said the thoughtful good-wife, "a supper 
 
 and bed; 
 
 Make haste my daughters, the table spread;" 
 As the words were spoken, there came a rap, 
 Which awoke the miller from his evening 
 
 nap. 
 
 There was heard at the door a timid request, 
 In a stranger's voice for shelter and rest, 
 And the bluff miller's cheery voice to his 
 
 guest, 
 
 And hospitable welcome to his humble roof; 
 But much to the good dame's solicitude 
 The weary young traveller scarce tasted 
 
 food, 
 Shrank from the firelight, and .sat aloof. 
 
 He had travelled far, for his weary steed 
 Had been pushed, it was plain, to greatest 
 
 speed ; 
 And the youth, of rest, seemed sorely in 
 
 need, 
 But was bashful, and strangely reticent;
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 5 
 
 Of the journey which he in such haste had 
 
 made 
 
 Not a word he said, nor by sign betrayed, 
 From whence he had come, or whither he 
 
 went. 
 
 "This fellow," said the miller, under his 
 
 breath, 
 "I'll be sworn,is no brigand, who seeks our 
 
 death, 
 Though he sits there apart in his sullen 
 
 gloom, 
 And his eyes, which are black as the day of 
 
 doom, 
 
 Nor once for a moment have meet my gaze, 
 Seem to shun the firelight's cheerful blaze, 
 While they wander restlessly round the 
 
 room." 
 
 "Some trouble, I trow," the good-wife re 
 plied, 
 
 "Some sorrow or fear he is trying to hide, 
 And the lad is weary and worn beside." 
 "Come, girls," said the miller, "we will say 
 
 good night; 
 
 I will show this stranger his place of rest, 
 Which he sadly needs, if his face be a test, 
 You, Andre, my son, see that all is right."
 
 6 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 "We keep early hours, but I venture to say, 
 You are glad of that, after your toilsome 
 
 day," 
 
 Said the kind old miller, in his bluff way, 
 As with candle in hand, he led his guest, 
 Up the rickety stairs to the room overhead. 
 "You will share with Andre, my son, this 
 
 bed, 
 And I wish you, my lad, a good night's rest." 
 
 But the youth demurred, to his host's sur 
 prise, 
 
 At the arrangement made, and strange to 
 say, 
 
 With a blushing face, and downcast eyes, 
 
 Begged a couch by himself, if such might 
 be had, 
 
 Or, if not, entreated that he might stay 
 
 By the kitchen fire till the break of day; 
 
 Out blurted the miller, "hark ye, my lad, 
 
 "You are no cut-throat, I'm ready to swear, 
 Who seeks in the darkness to steal or kill, 
 Your looks belie it, and your speech is fair; 
 If too proud to sleep with a miller's son, 
 You may make your couch with the rats at 
 the mill.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 7 
 
 So choose, young stranger, whichever you 
 
 will; 
 For other place in this house there is none." 
 
 The youth, though he trembled at the mil 
 ler's tone, 
 
 Still gently persisted in sleeping alone; 
 
 And eagerly entreated to go to the mill. 
 
 Astonished and angry, and filled with, dis 
 may 
 
 At what seemed to him but pride and self- 
 will, 
 
 The miller at last to the mill led the way, 
 
 With muttered displeasure all was still. 
 
 The chill air was stirred by scarcely a breath ; 
 The pale moonlight seemed like the glare 
 
 of death; 
 Some strange sense of horror hung over 
 
 the night; 
 And the lad with a shiver drew closer his 
 
 cloak, 
 
 Black loomed the mill in the ghastly light, 
 Like a hideous monster winged for flight; 
 The voice of the miller the silence broke 
 
 "Your reasons, my lad, for this choice are 
 hid,
 
 8 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 That I judge you too harshly may God 
 forbid, 
 
 But of all whom my roof has sheltered be 
 fore 
 
 Never one chose a couch on the hard mill 
 floor." 
 
 On a sad 'sweet face was the moonlight 
 thrown, 
 
 And the miller's voice took a softened tone, 
 
 As he bade him good night, and locked the 
 door. 
 
 It seemed like the walls of a prison cell 
 As the moonbeams aslant thorugh the win 
 dow fell; 
 
 A wild, weird aspect the lone place wore. 
 No longer concealing his sorrows and fears, 
 The youth in a torrent of passionate tears 
 Now threw himself down on the oaken floor, 
 And wept till his tears could flow no more. 
 
 "Old mill," then she cried, "you will not 
 betray 
 
 The grief and the sorrow that must have 
 way; 
 
 For my heart which has borne with its bur 
 den Ion IT
 
 A LEC.EXI) OF THE OLD MILL. 9 
 
 Must breathe out its anguish or burst its 
 
 thrall. 
 
 Dear good-wife Mallet, would I might fall 
 On your motherly bosom and tell you all, 
 All of my sorrow, and suffering, and wrong." 
 
 "How a virtuous maiden fleeing from shame, 
 Holding dearer than life her untarnished 
 
 name, 
 
 To-night in false garb,to your dwelling came, 
 Partook of your bounty and sat by your side, 
 But dared not look in your kindly eyes 
 Lest her own, in spite of strange disguise, 
 Should disclose the secret she needs must 
 
 hide. 
 
 "Perchance when the waves of yon restless 
 
 sea 
 From this thraldom of horror have set me 
 
 free, 
 
 And safe from his power from whom I flee 
 They flow, my pursuer and me between, 
 You, goo.1 mother Mallet, if never before, 
 Shall know that the stranger who came to 
 
 your door 
 Tonight was the fugitive girl, Claudine.
 
 1O A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 'Twas a tear-stained face, that at midnight 
 
 hour 
 Looked out from the walls of the lonely 
 
 tower 
 
 Imploringly up to the Unseen Power. 
 In the far blue depths gleamed the silent 
 
 stars, 
 
 And a soul grew strong in its prison bars, 
 In the myriad lights of that upper dome 
 Discerning the glory and peace of its home. 
 
 In such hours are ministering angels sent; 
 And the face of the maiden grew strangely 
 
 fair 
 
 Like that of a saint transfigured in prayer; 
 And that look in which joy and peace were 
 
 blent, 
 With its new touch of beauty and matchless 
 
 grace, i 
 
 On that sweet face rested, and lingered 
 
 there 
 
 As she lay asleep in that lonely place. 
 
 On her hard rough pillow, the sleeper 
 
 dreamed; 
 
 And all she had lost did her dreams restore. 
 With visions of beauty her fancy teemed.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. I I 
 
 She saw the green fields of her native shore; 
 In the home of her childhood stood once 
 
 more; 
 With rapturous joy 'mong the household 
 
 band 
 In that happy home of the Acadian land. 
 
 An ominous sound smote the dreamer's ear; 
 She woke to the old life of horror and fear. 
 She listened intently and held her breath, 
 Heard the miller outside unfastening the 
 
 door. 
 
 And, in the confusion of sounds could hear 
 The tones of a voice she had heard before, 
 And dreaded far more than the voice of 
 
 death. 
 
 Quick to the loft the fugitive flew, 
 
 And up through the scuttle the ladder drew; 
 
 Yet higher to the upper loft she crept, 
 
 Cut off her retreat as she did before. 
 
 She could see a light through cracks in the 
 
 floor 
 
 Could hear her pursuer his threats outpour, 
 As trembling in silence her watch she kept. 
 
 "Ho, there, Claudine, come down, I say!
 
 12 A LF.(iKNl) OF T1IK OLD MILL. 
 
 Will she still persist in having her way? 
 Curse the girl," he muttered, "she shall 
 
 rue this day 
 And this escapade." "Quick, miller, bring 
 
 in 
 
 Another ladder, and alive or dead, 
 I'll fetch her down from her perch," he said 
 With an oath, "or my name is not Dick 
 
 Wynne. 
 
 The ladder at last in its place was set, 
 To the loft he ascended, then higher yet, 
 With many an impatient word and threat. 
 And Claucline and the ruffian stood face to 
 
 face. 
 
 "I have caged you at last, my pretty bird, 
 You have given me a chase, upon my word, 
 Come down with me now, from this cursed 
 
 place." 
 
 The indignant eyes of the girl flashed fire 
 As in the dim light in her strange attire, 
 She stood like a statue of righteous ire. 
 Upon him her blazing eyes she turned. 
 For a moment not a muscle of the pale face 
 stirred,
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 13 
 
 Then poured from her lips with scathing 
 
 word 
 The wrath which so long in her heart had 
 
 burned. 
 
 "Come down with you, down to perdition 
 
 and shame, 
 Down to forfeit my birth-right, a virtuous 
 
 name? 
 Nay, though tenfold the infamous power 
 
 you claim, 
 You thought to degrade to your own base 
 
 will 
 
 The Acadian girl, of her freedom shorn 
 By a tyrant's decree, with infinite scorn 
 She defied you and fled and defies you still. 
 
 "I have heard your threats but I fear not 
 
 death, 
 
 And I hold my virtue above my breath, 
 I never will yield to this terrible wrong 
 In thought of which there is nought else I 
 
 dread. 
 Stand back! nor dare to come nearer," she 
 
 said, 
 "For as sure as there is a Gocl overhead,
 
 14 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 He will rescue the weak and punish the 
 strong." 
 
 As she ceased, for a mom3nt the human 
 
 brute 
 
 Stood before her, abashed and irresolute, 
 As if held by the power of some secret spell. 
 Then towards her with a fearful oath he 
 
 sprang, 
 And down, far swifter than words can 
 
 tell- 
 Through an open space in the floor he fell 
 His hand in the fall clutched something, 
 
 up rang 
 
 In tones of thunder, a voice from below 
 "Let go of that cord, I say, let go, 
 Or you are a dead man," too late! too late! 
 For e'en as the word of alarm was spoke, 
 The silent old mill with avenging stroke 
 Out of its lethargy suddenly woke, 
 And Dick Wynne the debauchee, had met 
 his fate. 
 
 Mangled and bleeding, with tender care 
 They bore out the dying man into the air, 
 Back to the house where so late he had stood
 
 A LEGEND OF THE OLD MtLL. 15 
 
 So conscious of power, and haughty of mein, 
 While in tears, o'er his suffering couch was 
 
 seen 
 
 The sorrowful face of the fair Claudine, 
 True type of forgiving womanhood. 
 
 At last the pale lips of the sufferer stirred; 
 
 They listened intently for the dying word; 
 
 But the awe-stricken group at his bedside 
 heard 
 
 Naught but the faint murmured name Clau 
 dine. 
 
 For the mighty waves of a broader sea 
 
 Than the maiden dreamed of, had set her 
 free, 
 
 Lay in wide expanse their lives between. 
 
 What truth do we garner, what moral glean, 
 From this traditive tale of the tower so 
 
 gray? 
 Was it chance, the grasp of that reckless 
 
 hand? 
 
 Or, was that wild clutch of that fatal band 
 An act of retributive wrath foreseen? 
 Was the old mill an avenger of wrong that 
 
 day? 
 Who shall answer the question, yea or nay?
 
 THE MYSTIC RIVER.
 
 THE MYSTIC RIVER. 
 
 River, surging to the sea, 
 Many thoughts thou bringest me, 
 As I watch thy rise and fall, 
 Ceaseless outflow and recall, 
 Life hath tidal ebb and flow, 
 Now the marshlands dank and low; 
 Now the strong inflowing tide 
 On which ships full-freighted ride; 
 Wavelets' gentle monotone, 
 Making music all their own; 
 Wild waves with tempestuous roar, 
 Drifting broken spars ashore. 
 Tossed on restless billows we, 
 Hastening to a boundless sea; 
 But mid constant ebb and flow, 
 River, thou dost onward go, 
 And thy current deep and strong 
 Singeth neither dirge nor song, 
 Silent in its undertow 
 As the years that come and go:
 
 20 THE MYSTIC RIVEtf. 
 
 So life's deeper currents glide, 
 Undisturbed by changing tide; 
 Far its rolling waves below 
 Lie the holiest thoughts we know. 
 
 River, who shall dare to tell 
 When thy tides first rose and fell? 
 Or what strange, tumultuous throe 
 Gave thee to the vales below? 
 Art coeval with the sea? 
 Ah! 'tis useless asking thee! 
 Age on age perchance has rolled 
 Over thee its sands of gold; 
 Silent and mysterious ever, 
 As thy name, art thou, O river! 
 On thy shores the wild deer filed 
 From the red man's stealthy tread; 
 Once through woodland arches rang 
 Songs the Indian maiden sang, 
 As her swift winged birch canoe 
 O'er thy sparkling waters flew; 
 On thy peopled banks, O river, 
 Gleams no more the flashing quiver, 
 For before a stealthier tread 
 Hath the dusky nation fled. 
 
 Sometimes when the sunset beam
 
 THE MYSTIC RIVER. 21 
 
 Throws its red bars thwart thy stream, 
 And the gently lapsing tide 
 On thy quiet shores has died, 
 Hear I on the twilight air 
 Song that ended in a prayer: 
 "Paleface, thou dost call them thine, 
 But these hunting grounds are mine. 
 I was weak and thou wast strong; 
 Might can never sanction wrong; 
 God shall judge 'twixt me and thee. 
 Give, oh, give them back to me!" 
 
 River, on thy banks today 
 Claim we heritage as they 
 Brief and insecure, perchance, 
 As the red man's heritance. 
 Generations onward glide, 
 Driftwood on an ebbing tide, 
 Silent wanderers to the sea. 
 Centuries are as days to thee; 
 We but drift adown the stream, 
 But thy waves shall dance and gleam 
 Ages hence, and other eyes 
 Gaze on thy reflected skies. 
 
 Grieve we not, O river time, 
 Seekers of a fairer clime;
 
 22 THE MYSTIC RIVER. 
 
 We can ask for nothing more, 
 Save to leave along thy shore 
 Light of kindly word and deed 
 That some wandering foot may lead, 
 Beacon light, that hapless souls 
 May escape thy rocks and shoals, 
 Luring safe to open sea 
 Other voyagers than we. 
 
 Mystic, thou dost rightly claim 
 
 All the magic of thy name; 
 
 We who on thy borders dwell 
 
 Love thy sweet enchantments well, 
 
 And with ever fresh delight 
 
 Watch thy changing shade and light. 
 
 Lines of beauty thou dost trace, 
 
 Student of artistic grace, 
 
 Wandering through the meadows sweet; 
 
 Where the violets kiss thy feet; 
 
 Down through wooded shade and glen, 
 
 Far removed from haunts of men; 
 
 Soughing bough and song of bird, 
 
 With thy rippling wavelets heard; 
 
 Through the marshland, winding down 
 
 'Twixt the villages and town, 
 
 Mirroring the upper dome, 
 
 Flashing: sunlight flecked with foam.
 
 THE MYSTIC RIVER. 23 
 
 Subtle charms them hast for me, 
 River, surging to the sea ! 
 
 Like a prince in royal state, 
 
 On thy steps the sea-tides wait, 
 
 But their feet unheeded fall, 
 
 Thou art listening to the call 
 
 Of the ever beckoning sea. 
 
 River, I would learn of thee. 
 
 High above the noise and strife 
 
 Of this busy, hurrying life. 
 
 Sweeter than the world's acclaim, 
 
 Clearer than its praise or blame, 
 
 One voice only would I hear, 
 
 Ever drawing me anear, 
 
 Voice from depths whose boundless shore 
 
 Reacheth outward evermore, 
 
 Fall my listening soul upon, 
 
 Lure me onward ever on. 
 
 River, hastening to the sea, 
 What are tidal waves to thee? 
 Though their waters lave thy shore, 
 Nothing add they to thy store, 
 In their ceaseless ebb and flow, 
 But what thou thyself bestow: 
 What thou bring'st from rocky steep
 
 24 THE MYSTIC RIVER. 
 
 Helps to fill the mighty deep, 
 Makes 'thee, river, lot and part 
 With the great sea's throbbing heart; 
 And while cloud and falling dew 
 Earth's rich harvest field renew, 
 Mists that on the mountains rise 
 Furnish thee with fresh supplies. 
 
 Learn I this of thee, O river, 
 Constant toiler, cheerful giver: 
 Life's great tides may rise and fall 
 In their outflow and recall; 
 Be the current deep and strong 
 For the right and 'gainst the wrong, 
 Soul of mine thou hast a part 
 In the great pulsating heart. 
 Flowing on with strong endeavor, 
 Wider, deeper, growing ever, 
 River, life should be like thee, 
 Deepening, broadening to the sea.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS.
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE BRIDGE. 
 
 Near where a great Western railway, 
 Through a mountain gorge defiles, 
 
 And a stream abruptly crosses 
 In its winding trail of miles, 
 
 Stood a little rude log cabin, 
 With no other dwelling near, 
 
 Where a poor and friendless woman 
 Dwelt for many a lonely year. 
 
 Small return for toil and hardship 
 
 Oft her barren acres bore, 
 Summer, lavish of her wild fruits, 
 
 Helped eke out her scanty store. 
 
 Honor to the poor and lowly, 
 
 Oft is chary of its meed, 
 And we tell the simple story 
 
 Of this woman's noble deed.
 
 28 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 'Twas a night of storm and tempest 
 Rain in wildest torrents poured; 
 
 And the mountain passes yielded 
 Fiercely up their wintry hoard. 
 
 In her cheerless cabin, trembling 
 At th^ night wind and the rain, 
 
 Sat the lonely woman listening 
 For the rumbling of the train, 
 
 For the swift express that thundered 
 Nightly passed her humble door, 
 
 Crossed the bridge, and like a meteor 
 Swept along the river shore. 
 
 At her doorway in the darkness 
 Oft she watched its torches gleam, 
 
 Saw its flashing lights reflected 
 In the waters of the stream. 
 
 But with prescience of danger 
 Anxiously she watched to-night 
 
 For the coming of the engine, 
 With its fiery trail of light.
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE BRIDGE 2Q 
 
 High above the rage of tempest 
 Rose a crash, and then a sound 
 
 As of waters rushing madly 
 Over their accustomed bound. 
 
 "Tis the bridge" she uttered wildly 
 "And the train is almost due, 
 
 Who will save them from their peril?' 
 White her face with terror grew. 
 
 Then as if some sudden frenzy 
 Held her in its direful spell, 
 
 Hsr one bedstead, chair, and table 
 'Neath her hands in ruins fell. 
 
 And with power superhuman 
 
 Out into the wind and rain 
 Bore she her unwonted burden, 
 
 Thinking only of the train, 
 
 And the precious lives in danger; 
 
 Could she save them from their doom? 
 Oh! the maddening thoughts that circled 
 
 Through the darkness and the gloom;
 
 3O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Would she be too late to save them? 
 
 What if her weak limbs should tire? 
 Would it burn and in the darkness 
 
 Could they see her signal fire? 
 
 She could hear the swollen river, 
 
 Wildly roaring for its prey, 
 And the heart throbs of the engine 
 
 But a few short miles away. 
 
 Bed of straw and precious firewood 
 On the railroad track she flung, 
 
 While to her the fate of hundreds 
 In a moment's balance hung. 
 
 Brightly flamed the warning signal, 
 On the blackness of the night, 
 
 While with every nerve in tension 
 Watched she for the great head-light. 
 
 She could hear the train approaching, 
 
 Thundering along the rail, 
 But the fire was burning lower 
 
 And the light grew dim and pale.
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE BRIDGE. 3! 
 
 In her utter abnegation, 
 
 Life's supremest moment came, 
 
 Like a thought of inspiration. 
 One glance at the dying'flame, 
 
 And her aged shoulders baring 
 To the night wind and the rain, 
 
 Faded cloak, a fiery banner, 
 Sped she toward the coming train. 
 
 Out into the darkness peering 
 Stood the watchful engineer, 
 
 Saw a light flash in the blackness 
 Once and twice and disappear. 
 
 Quickly on the startled night air 
 
 Shrieked the engine sharp and shrill, 
 
 And with sudden shock and shudder 
 By the dying flame stood still. 
 
 "God be praised," the woman murmured, 
 While a shadow seemed to fall, 
 
 Wrapping her in folds of darkness 
 Blacker than the night's grim pall.
 
 32 'MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Faintly glowed the signal embers, 
 Hoarsely roared the baffled stream, 
 
 While around the panting engine ' 
 Flashed a lantern's fitful gleam, 
 
 On a throng with tearful faces, 
 
 Who, 'mid sobs and shuddering breath, 
 Thanked the Lord for their deliverance, 
 
 From the horror of that death. 
 
 Calmly the gray light of morning 
 Dawned upon that night of storm, 
 
 By the railroad track it rested, 
 On a woman's lifeless form. 
 
 On her aged face a radiance 
 
 Brighter than the morning light, 
 
 While the half burnt cloak beside her 
 Told the story of that night.
 
 THE RECORD. 33 
 
 THE RECORD. 
 
 Still backward and forward the pendulun 
 
 swung, 
 
 Until to my listening ear, 
 The slow measured tones of its tremulous 
 
 tongue 
 Was the voice of the dying old year. 
 
 "The sands in the hourglass of time are 
 
 soon told; 
 
 My moments are numbered," said he, 
 "But ere they have vanished, this book 
 
 which I hold 
 I pray thee look over with me. 
 
 "One year of thy life in this book has 
 
 been traced, 
 There was one fair white page for each 
 
 day, 
 
 What here is recorded can ne'er be erased, 
 What is written is written for aye. 
 
 "The soul in its journey walks never alone, 
 But ever two angels between;
 
 34 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Its deeds and its thoughts, though to mor 
 tals unknown, 
 In the eyes of the angels are seen. 
 
 "Truth, clear eyed, impartial, is always the 
 
 same: 
 
 Unerring the record she keeps; 
 And the sweet angel, Mercy, writes ever 
 
 her name 
 When the sinner in penitence weeps. 
 
 "I wait but the sound of the midnight 
 
 bell's chime 
 
 To finish my labors," he said, 
 "I shall place on these pages the signet of 
 
 Time 
 And follow the years that have fled. 
 
 "The angel recorders thou can'st not be 
 hold, 
 
 But if there is aught thou would'st say, 
 Oh speak the words quickly, the few sands 
 
 of gold 
 Are rapidly drifting away." 
 
 Like characters graved on some curious 
 stone
 
 THE RECORD. 35 
 
 Seemed the lines of the strange book we 
 
 read, 
 But the mystical language was plain as my 
 
 own, 
 When Memory her radiance shed, 
 
 I read in that light where was lost or mis 
 spent 
 
 What nought can restore or recall, 
 Rich moments of time, never given but 
 
 lent 
 By him who requireth them all. 
 
 I saw where the servant, distrusting his 
 
 his lord, 
 
 Had hid his one talent away, 
 Till that which was meant for a generous 
 
 award 
 Was lost to its owner for aye. 
 
 There were pages which bore the deep tra 
 ces of care, 
 
 The care that e'er comes with the years, 
 The lengthening shadow of sorrow was 
 
 there, 
 And leaves that were blotted with tears.
 
 36 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I read in each white space some good 
 
 thought or deed, 
 
 Some smile that was lovingly given, 
 Or where some impoverished soul in its 
 
 need 
 
 Was cheered on its rough way toward 
 Heaven. 
 
 The black lines that crossed and disfigured 
 each page 
 
 I pondered with sorrowful pain, 
 As places where selfishness, envy an:l rage 
 
 Had left their indelible stain. 
 
 My soul was o'erwhelrned in contrition and 
 grief 
 
 When page after page I had seen, 
 So black lay the shadow of sin on each leaf, 
 
 So few the white spaces between. 
 
 The acts and the thoughts of the days that 
 were past, 
 
 Like echoing voices came back, 
 Until in its anguish my spirit at last 
 
 Cried out on its torturing: rack:
 
 THE RECORIX 37 
 
 "If the leaves of this life-book look black 
 
 as the night, 
 When by sin darkened eyes they are 
 
 seen, 
 
 Oh how must the record appear in his sight 
 Before whom the heavens are unclean! 
 
 "The life may seem pure while to human 
 
 eyes, 
 
 No sin from its hiding place starts, 
 But the thoughts lie deep hid and wear no 
 
 disguise 
 To Thee, the great Searcher of hearts. 
 
 "Ere the bell for this lost year its requiem 
 shall toll, 
 
 I pray thee, sweet Mercy to write 
 That over this record a penitent soul 
 
 In sackcloth and ashes to-night, 
 
 "Pleads only the love and compassion of 
 
 Him 
 
 Who, sinless, the sinner hath shriven." 
 I saw, while through hot tears my vision 
 
 grew dim, 
 That the angel had written, "Forgiven."
 
 38 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Rang clear on the still air the midnight 
 
 bells' chime, 
 
 And, startled, I woke from my dream, 
 To know that one more of my few years of 
 
 time 
 Was lost in its swift-flowing stream. 
 
 Thus silently entered the new year, no 
 
 sound 
 
 Of the feet in the gold sandals shod; 
 Like the. prophet at Horeb on consecrate 
 
 ground, 
 I stood in the presence of God.
 
 DAYBREAK. 39 
 
 DAYBREAK. 
 
 "Dark lowering clouds are overhead, 
 No glimmering light of star is shed, 
 But storm and tempest reign instead. 
 
 "When will this fearful night be gone, 
 And the gray streaking of the dawn 
 Give token that the day is born? 
 
 "O'er hidden rocks and treacherous shoals, 
 Still on the crimson current rolls, 
 Bearing its freight of trembling souls. 
 
 Oh when will this wild flood subside? 
 
 Is there no ebbing of the tide? 
 
 No bound to the destruction wide?" 
 
 Thus in its grief my heart outspoke, 
 And lo! a voice the silence woke, 
 "Would'st thou the eternal word revoke? 
 
 "Think'st thou the Eye that never sleeps, 
 
 Of human wrong no record keeps? 
 
 Who sows the wind, the whirlwind reaps."
 
 4O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I know thee, Justice, who thou art, 
 But can'st thou not one gleam impart, 
 One word of hope to fainting heart?" 
 
 The stern voice said, "No word I bring;" 
 But lo! within the charmed ring 
 Another stood with folded wing. 
 
 "The bruised reed He will not break, 
 Nor e'er the contrite soul forsake." 
 I knew twas Mercy's voice that spake, 
 
 The tone, the look her sweet face wore 
 Were so like His who long before 
 Had said, "Go thou and sin no more." 
 
 "Lift up thine eyes," the presence said; 
 The cloud from eastern sky had fled, 
 And one bright star its radiance shed. 
 
 "Behold, 'tis Freedom's morning star; 
 The appraching day cannot be far, 
 Nought shall its onward progress mar." 
 
 And so in twilight, dim and gray, 
 
 With eyes that watch and hearts that pray, 
 
 We wait for the coming of the day.
 
 AT THE BOUND. 4! 
 
 AT THE BOUND. 
 
 I stand to-night 'neath the old elm tree 
 That grows by the school-house door, 
 
 Where oft I've lingered, Tave, with thee 
 In the days that are no more. 
 
 Midway between our homes it stood, 
 And this little stretch of ground 
 
 We measured into many a rood, 
 Ere we parted at the "Bound." 
 
 Those happy homes are both in sight, 
 The gleam of their lights I see, 
 
 But those who loved us, Tave, to-night 
 Are not there to welcome me. 
 
 The old elm tree has larger grown, 
 Its drooping limbs spread wide, 
 
 For many a year, sweet Tave, has flown 
 Since we stood here side by side. 
 
 'Tis leafless now, the night wind sighs 
 Through its branches bare and brown, 
 
 And yonder stars with friendly eyes 
 On my lonely watch look down.
 
 42 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 To-night Orion leads the van 
 
 With his undisputed claim, 
 Above him shines Aldebaran, 
 
 "Our star," with his torch of flame. 
 
 All else, dear Tave, seems changed to me, 
 For our household stars have set; 
 
 I must not grieve for them or thee, 
 But I am a wanderer yet. 
 
 For many a year I've watched that star 
 Lift its red light from the sea, 
 
 And dreamed, sweet Tave, that near or far, 
 Thou hast watched that star with me. 
 
 O not so far away I wis, 
 
 Is the beautiful land unseen, 
 Thy happier world outlieth this 
 
 With only a veil between. 
 
 We may not rend the veil apart, 
 But the thought is passing sweet, 
 
 That nearer, nearer still, dear heart, 
 Dawns the day when we shall meet. 
 
 This spot of earth seems hallowed ground, 
 And this old elm tree, a shrine, 
 
 For thou alone hast crossed the bound 
 To thy happier home and mine.
 
 PETER COOPER. 43 
 
 PETER COOPER. 
 
 "Here old fellow hold the ladder 
 
 While I climb the wall," 
 And the old man thus accosted 
 
 Answering to the call, 
 With a nod of acquiescence 
 
 Stepping to its base 
 Held the ladder as directed 
 
 Firmly in its place. 
 
 Rude the call, but Peter Cooper 
 
 Always lent a hand, 
 'Twas his way a life-time habit 
 
 He could not withstand. 
 But some one had recognized him, 
 
 And a whispered name 
 Made the workman on the ladder 
 
 Blush for very shame. 
 
 The "old fellow" as he called him, 
 
 Standing calmly there, 
 Was no other than Peter Cooper, 
 
 Noted millionaire,
 
 44 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Founder of the noble building 
 
 Where the ladder stood, 
 Famous for his love of learning 
 
 And for doing good. 
 
 Born to poverty and genius 
 
 Learned he soon to know 
 There were barriers to his progress 
 
 He could not o'erthrow. 
 But his knowledge wrought a purpose 
 
 Strengthening with his prime 
 Heights denied his young ambition 
 
 Other feet should climb. 
 
 At his call should learning open 
 
 Wider yet her door, 
 And the poor with equal honor 
 
 Share her treasured lore. 
 "He who fain would be the greatest 
 
 Let him be the least," 
 Spake the Master, Chief of Servants, 
 
 At the paschal feast. 
 
 Noblest lesson ever given 
 
 Jesus taught us then 
 Greatest he who self-forgetting 
 
 Serves his fellow men.
 
 PETER COOPEfc. 45 
 
 Measured by the shining standard 
 
 Test of real fame 
 Writes the age in letters golden 
 
 Peter Cooper's name. 
 
 Hundreds from life's vales upstriving 
 
 Have his bounty blest, 
 And from heights that by his thriving 
 
 Many a foot has pressed, 
 Sounds the praise of Peter Cooper, 
 
 Noblest of his time, 
 Greater he who holds the ladder 
 
 Than are they who climb.
 
 46 MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 THE EARLY FROST. 
 
 "If this cold wind goes down to-night, 
 
 Before to-morrow morn 
 The frost the ripening fruit will blight, 
 
 And blast the standing corn. 
 
 So many an anxious farmer said, 
 
 And as the day went by 
 With thoughts of fields unharvested 
 
 He watched the cool gray sky. 
 
 The sun went down the cloudless west, 
 The cold north-wind grew still, 
 
 And while the farmer took his r^st 
 The frost king wrought his will. 
 
 The leaves were black on tree and vine, 
 
 The flowers of beauty shorn, 
 The grapes had lost their purple wine 
 
 And blasted was the corn. 
 
 "'Tis vain," men cried, "the care we take, 
 
 For what avails our toil 
 If in one night the frost can make 
 
 Our harvesting his spoil.
 
 THE EARLY FROST. 47 
 
 And few with hope and cheerful trust 
 
 Beheld their labor lost, 
 And many cried, "unwise, unjust," 
 
 And cursed the early frost. 
 
 The heat in northern clime intense, 
 Waxed fierce on southern plain 
 
 And soon the dreaded pestilence 
 Began its fearful reign. 
 
 The river fog crept up the vale, 
 
 With poison in its breath, 
 And children sickened, men grew pale, 
 
 And women fought with death. 
 
 Day after day the sun arose 
 
 To shed his deadly glare, 
 Night after night brought no repose, 
 
 But darkness and despair. 
 
 And hundreds from the fatal bound 
 
 In terror wildly fled 
 Until, alas! but few were found 
 
 To care for sick or dead. 
 
 And so from many a stricken home 
 
 Uprose the anguished cry 
 "The frost! the frost! would it might come 
 
 To save us e'er we die.
 
 48 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The blast that burst on northern hills 
 On swift wings southward swept, 
 
 Where fever and its train of ills 
 Its rule of terror kept. 
 
 And so it came, e ; en as they prayed 
 
 They felt the cooler air, 
 And knew the pestilence was stayed 
 
 And God had answered prayer. 
 
 And back to many a wasting life 
 
 Returned the ebbing tide 
 While others who had ceased its strife 
 
 Smiled even as they died. 
 
 Ah! short of sight our blasted corn 
 
 We counted labor lost, 
 While hundreds rose with hope new born, 
 
 And blessed the early frost.
 
 NOONDAY. 49 
 
 NOONDAY. 
 
 No more the freshness of the morning air, 
 The song of birds the dewy roses sweet; 
 The sun has reached its midday heat and 
 
 glare, 
 
 And many a flower has withered at our 
 feet. 
 
 The fair still morning with its voice of song 
 Was but a harbinger of toil and care; 
 
 We hear the footsteps of the hurrying 
 
 throng, 
 The call of labor souncleth everywhere. 
 
 There seems so much to do in the short 
 
 span 
 Which lies between us and the setting 
 
 sun, 
 
 That we with anxious eye the dial scan 
 Lest night shall come before the work is 
 done. 
 
 So baffled oft in that which we have planned, 
 And striving still to reach some higher 
 aim,
 
 5<D MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 We do the little things that wait our hand, 
 Impatient oft, so small the things that 
 claim 
 
 Our beings utmost grasp of thought and 
 
 time; 
 And the vexed query oft our souls hath 
 
 tried 
 
 As we have seen the sun to zenith climb, 
 Will it be ever thus till eventide? 
 
 Ah, we mistake! no hard taskmaster, He 
 The dear Lord whom we serve nor doth 
 
 He mete 
 
 Such burdens as we bear; tired Marthas we 
 Who might like Mary sit down at his 
 feet. 
 
 "Come ye who labor unto me, He saith, 
 Ye heavy laden, come to me and rest; 
 
 We hear thy voice, O Christ of Nazareth, 
 And at Thy feet we cease our weary 
 quest. 
 
 Oh life of beauty far beyond our dream! 
 
 Oh life of toil for others sake alone! 
 Oh death of love and sacrifice supreme, 
 
 Which doth for all our selfish aims atone.
 
 NOONDAY. 5 1 
 
 No more we question what our work shall 
 
 be, 
 Or what our lot; dear Lord, Thou know- 
 
 est best, 
 
 No task is menial if assigned by Thee, 
 Or lot is lowly, Thou apportionest. 
 
 For in the light that from Thy cross doth 
 
 shine, 
 
 Our smallest services are glorified; 
 So would we follow Thee till day's decline, 
 And rest, sweet rest shall come at even 
 tide.
 
 52 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 IN SPIRIT AND IN TRUTH. 
 
 Oh, not alone on Gerizim, 
 
 Or Zion's holy hill, 
 
 Where once they sought with gropings dim, 
 'Mid altar smoke and choral hymn, 
 
 Thy reconciled face, 
 We worship Thee, O Thou who art 
 
 The God of Isreal still. 
 The Temple veil is rent apart, 
 
 Oh, mystery of grace! 
 In every humble, contrite heart 
 
 Thou hast Thy dwelling place. 
 
 Above the city's towers and spires, 
 
 Outlined against the sky, 
 A maze of network run the wires, 
 Alert with strange electric fires, 
 
 And to and fro they bear 
 Their messages. So from below 
 
 Up to the throne on high, 
 More potent than these currents, go 
 
 The subtle lines of prayer. 
 And every breath of joy or woe 
 
 Is heard and answered there.
 
 IN SPIRIT AND IN TRUTH. 53 
 
 Oh, power divine to mortals given, 
 
 Oh, wondrous telephone! 
 Though all our hopes of earth are riven, 
 We hold communion still with heaven, 
 
 And know beyond a fear 
 That all things seeming good or ill 
 
 Shall work for good alone 
 To him who loveth God, who still 
 
 With loyal heart doth hear 
 The voice that maketh known His will 
 
 To every listening ear.
 
 54 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 RIPPLES. 
 
 Throw a tiny pebble 
 In the glassy lake 
 And the quiet waters 
 Into ripples break, 
 Shout upon the hill-top 
 And the echoes wake. 
 
 Drop a little seedling 
 
 In the fertile ground, 
 
 Lo, the tree whose branches 
 
 Leaved and blossomed crowned, 
 
 Summer birds have sheltered 
 
 Many a season round. 
 
 Whisper words of kindness, 
 Waft a breath of prayer, 
 Like the lakelet's ripple, 
 Or the wave of air 
 And its silent action 
 Endeth, when and where?
 
 THE KING'S WELCOME. 55 
 
 THE KING'S WELCOME. 
 
 There came with faltering footsteps 
 
 As the day was wearing late, 
 A traveller faint and weary 
 
 To the king's own palace gate. 
 
 A long and a toilsome journey 
 
 He had come through a desert land, 
 
 He was travel stained and way worn, 
 And he knocked with a timid hand. 
 
 But answering to his summons 
 Wide opened the gates of gold, 
 
 And voices of welcome greeted 
 The traveller bent and old. 
 
 "We knew thou would'st come at nightfall 
 And were looking for thee," they said, 
 
 And into the royal presence 
 The wondering guest was led. 
 
 And in strange amaze he listened 
 
 To the welcome of his Lord, 
 "Come thou, blessed of my Father, 
 
 Inherit thy reward.
 
 56 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 For thou gavest me food when hungry 
 And when naked clothecl'st me, 
 
 I was sick, in prison, a stranger, 
 And was visited by thee. 
 
 "When naked, Lord, did I clothe thee 
 Or when hungering give thee bread? ' 
 
 At the feet of his host low kneeling 
 The hoary pilgrim said. 
 
 "Or when sick, in prison, a stranger 
 
 Did I minister to thy need? 
 I pray thee, dear Lord, have mercy 
 
 For none of these things I plead. 
 
 "Inasmuch," the king made answer, 
 "As they have been done by thee 
 
 To the least of my brethren, 
 Thou hast done them unto me. 
 
 And the royal court resounded 
 With the welcome of his Lord, 
 
 "Come thou, blessed of my Father, 
 And inherit thy reward.
 
 SILENT FORCES. 57 
 
 SILENT FORCES. 
 
 The brooklet bursts its fetters 
 
 Of freedom long denied, 
 And with impetuous fury 
 
 Pours down the mountain side; 
 But it grows calmer ever 
 
 As it draws near the sea, 
 And the deeper is its current, 
 
 The stiller it will be. 
 
 The rootlets that were buried 
 
 Beneath the winter snow 
 Have been in silence toiling 
 
 In workshops down below. 
 We have not seen their forges 
 
 Or heard their anvils ring, 
 But noiselessly they bring us 
 
 The miracle of spring. 
 
 We walk the earth securely, 
 Nor dream of fires that burn, 
 
 Till earthquake or volcano 
 O'erwhelm and overturn.
 
 58 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 On some still day in summer 
 The fierce tornado raves, 
 
 And wildest storms are sleeping 
 'Neath calmest ocean waves. 
 
 There is no jar or discord, 
 
 As through the changing years 
 Each in its silent orbit 
 
 Revolve the countless spheres, 
 And noiseless as the forces 
 
 That bid the planets roll, 
 The still, small voice that whispers 
 
 Within the human soul. 
 
 The strongest power for evil, 
 
 Or influence for good, 
 Is that whose silent working 
 
 Is little understood. 
 Remember this, O toilers, 
 
 And mark it where you will, 
 The mightiest forces ever 
 
 Are forces that are still.
 
 CHURCHYARD IN THE CITY. 59 
 
 CHURCHYARD IN THE CITY. 
 
 In the heart of the city there lies one lone 
 
 spot 
 
 Which shares not its clamor and din, 
 Where the rich and the poor contrast not 
 
 their lot, 
 Where the small and the great alike are 
 
 forgot, 
 Nor thoughts of the world enter in. 
 
 To the grave stones are clinging the ivy 
 
 and moss, 
 
 For names Time has smitten his own, 
 And the leafless tree branches the winds 
 
 wildly toss 
 
 Are in silence renewing their annual loss 
 With the dust 'neath some mouldering 
 
 stone. 
 
 The sun shines as brightly as ever it shone, 
 When trod the same paths that we tread 
 The feet long at rest, and the great heart 
 throbs on,
 
 6O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Nor misses the pulse beats of those that 
 
 are gone, 
 Unheeded, forgot, lie the dead. 
 
 But fruitful are deeds a great thought 
 survives, 
 
 Though earth may her ashes reclaim, 
 
 And death with his subtleties never had 
 gyves 
 
 That could hold in their thralldom beauti 
 ful lives. 
 
 What matters the stone or the name?
 
 AGO GRATIAS. 6 1 
 
 AGO GRATIAS. 
 
 "Lord, thou art rich," I said, "all things are 
 thine, 
 
 And from thy children thou dost not with 
 hold, 
 
 Aught that is best for them in love divine, 
 
 I pray thee, Father, hear this prayer of 
 mine 
 
 From thy full store give me a little gold. 
 
 "For I have need, or so it seems to me 
 Of many things that only gold will buy, 
 In his dear name alone I make my plea 
 Who said, 'ask and it shall be given thee,' 
 From thine abundance, Lord, my wants 
 supply. 
 
 "Yet knowing, Lord, I should not give my 
 
 child 
 
 The thing he craved if it foreboded ill. 
 Give me a heart not easily beguiled, 
 To e'en what thou withholdest reconciled,
 
 62 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A will submissive to thy higher will. 
 
 So lowly at my heavenly Father's throne 
 I breathed my wish and all my grief con 
 fessed. 
 I asked for bread, he would not give a 
 
 stone, 
 
 Nor could I doubt his love so often shown, 
 E'en though he should not answer my 
 request. 
 
 A few days passed, and to my sick room 
 came 
 
 Two friends I knew when youth and health 
 were mine; 
 
 Two friends were they in truth as well as 
 name, 
 
 I might have said two angels, 'tis the same 
 
 Where deeds of love with their own ra 
 diance shine. 
 
 I know the dear Lord sent them in his 
 
 stead 
 For when they left they placed within my 
 
 care
 
 AGO GRATIAS. 63 
 
 A folded note with words so kindly said. 
 "We've brought you this," and opening it, 
 
 I read 
 With tearful eyes the answer to my prayer.
 
 64 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 NOW. 
 
 If you were asked to mention 
 
 The word in common use 
 That oft receives attention 
 And oftener abuse, 
 
 With easy apprehension 
 I think you would allow, 
 
 The word so little heeded 
 And often so much needed, 
 
 Is Now the adverb Now. 
 
 "Leave not until to-morrow 
 
 What you should do to-day; 
 The adage that we borrow 
 How few of us obey, 
 
 And yet how much of sorrow, 
 How many a clouded brow, 
 
 And what a world of fretting 
 Is caused by our forgetting 
 
 The little adverb Now.
 
 OCTOBER. 65 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 The song bird southward hieing 
 
 Sings gaily as he flies, 
 The summer foliage dying 
 
 Puts on its richest dyes. 
 And nature hath no hint of grief 
 
 In fruited bough and falling leaf. 
 
 Wise lessons we are learning 
 
 In these October days, 
 To winter's gloom returning 
 
 With woodlands all ablaze, 
 Life will with newer beauty glow 
 
 As we its full fruition know. 
 
 With this sweet truth, O mortal, 
 These autumn days are rife, 
 
 Death is the mystic portal 
 That entereth into life; 
 
 And all things bright and glad 
 should be 
 
 The types of immortality.
 
 66 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A WINTER MORNING. 
 
 A morning in winter, the fresh fallen 
 
 snow 
 
 Untrodden and white in the valley below, 
 Away in the distance, the hills all aglow; 
 Gray river mists waving their shadowy wand 
 Half veiling the vision of glory beyond. 
 
 I dream as I gaze on the bright hills afar, 
 Of the city that needeth nor sunlight nor 
 
 star, 
 Of the beautiful home where the glorified 
 
 are, 
 
 Of the radiant hills that eye hath not seen 
 Save in glimpses with mists of the river 
 
 between. 
 
 And I think of a morning, how fair it 
 
 must be, 
 When the beautiful land of my dreams I 
 
 shall see, 
 And the faces of dear ones who wait there 
 
 for me.
 
 A WINTER MORNING. 67 
 
 Oh sweet is the thought! the hills are 
 
 aglow, 
 And soft falls their light on the valley of 
 
 snow.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 THE SPAN OF LIFE. 
 
 Call him not old, who ne'er hath sought 
 
 The goal of life to gain, 
 The years are lost whose autumn brought 
 
 No gift of golden grain. 
 
 Nor call him young, whom death hath 
 claimed 
 
 In bloom of early prime, 
 For useful years may not be named 
 
 In cycled rounds of time. 
 
 Life's day in Heaven's calendar 
 From morn to set of sun, 
 
 Is measured not by moving star, 
 But by the labor done. 
 
 Or few the fleeting years we boast, 
 Or three score years and ten, 
 
 He hath the_ longest life who most 
 Hath blessed his fellow men.
 
 TOMORROW. 69 
 
 TOMORROW. 
 
 Tomorrow, fantasy of dreams 
 
 Of every age and clime, 
 What name or likeness best be 
 seems 
 
 This strange mirage of time? 
 
 Tomorrow! 'tis a butterfly, 
 The brilliant glittering thing, 
 
 That we like children vainly try 
 To catch upon the wing. 
 
 Tomorrow! 'tis a rainbow bright 
 
 With colors manifold, 
 Whose ends of iridescent light 
 
 Are set in pots of gold. 
 
 Tomorrow! 'tis enchanted land 
 
 Outlying plain to-day, 
 Wherein are all things good and 
 grand 
 
 For which we sigh alway. 
 
 The butterfly eludes our net 
 Our rainbow treasures flee,
 
 7O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And never foot hath entered yet 
 The dreamland of To Be. 
 
 But while the glittering wings we 
 chase 
 
 And seek the golden jars, 
 To-day's unheeded moments pace 
 
 Their circuit with the stars.
 
 LESSON OF FAITH. 
 
 LESSON OF FAITH. 
 
 Wild raged the storm on fitful Galilee 
 And fearful watch the anxious sailors 
 kept, 
 
 But calm and undisturbed by angry sea 
 The weary Savior on his pillow slept. 
 
 Their voice of terror smote the Master's ear, 
 "We perish, Lord, dost thou not care?" 
 
 they cried. 
 "Where is your faith," He said, "that ye 
 
 should fear?" 
 
 Then spake the word which stilled the 
 surging tide. 
 
 So often we by grief and fear beset, 
 
 When some dark sorrow cometh unaware, 
 
 That we arc safe while he is near forget, 
 And cry, "We perish, Lord, dost thou 
 not care?" 
 
 And when like deep storm tossed Gennesa- 
 
 reth, 
 Our human lives to the wild tempest thrill,
 
 /2 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 We hear his mild reproof, "Where is thy 
 
 faith?" 
 
 Above the storm his whisper, "Peace be 
 still."
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 73 
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 Calm the sun in ether sinking, 
 Soft the shades of evening fall, 
 
 Lingereth yet the twilight, linking 
 Day to night in darkening pall. 
 
 While the deepening shadows flitting 
 Leave their traces on the floor, 
 
 Falls upon my heart unwitting 
 Shadows of the past once more. 
 
 In the gloamings dim disguising 
 Many are the forms I see, 
 
 Mother, thy sweet face uprising 
 Comes to bless and comfort me. 
 
 Childish head thy hand caresses, 
 Girlhood's years again are mine, 
 
 Woman's deeper life confesses 
 Never love so pure as thine. 
 
 Darkest days of pain and anguish, 
 Sweetest words of parting said,
 
 74 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Years of silence while I languish 
 With a heart uncomforted. 
 
 Mother, many ties have bound me, 
 Hold me in their tender thrall, 
 
 Little children's arms are round me, 
 On my lips their kisses fall. 
 
 
 But I long for thee, my mother 
 
 For thy presence still I yearn, 
 For thy love which like no other 
 
 Gave and asked not for return. 
 
 Once I in these years of waiting 
 To thy loss unreconciled, 
 
 Asked, can mother love abating 
 E'er forget its earth-bound child? 
 
 But I guage its depth and durance 
 By a mother's heart to-day, 
 
 And I know beyond assurance 
 Love survives when lips are clay. 
 
 Though the silence brings no token, 
 Give the changeful years no sign,
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 75 
 
 Dearest mother, all unspoken, 
 Mine thy love, forever mine. 
 
 Soft the evening shadows vanish, 
 Darker, darker grows the room, 
 
 But one thought I cannot banish 
 Comes amid the gathering gloom. 
 
 Sometime when the day shall darken 
 And the twilight shadows flee, 
 
 In the stillness I shall hearken 
 And thy voice shall welcome me.
 
 76 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "AS THY DAYS THY STRENGTH 
 SHALL BE." 
 
 Once with careless eyes I read, 
 
 Thoughtless what the years might bring 
 Words of peace and comfort said 
 
 For the weak and suffering, 
 Blest assurance full and free, 
 
 "As thy days.thy strength shall be." 
 
 Tossed earth's wildest waves among, 
 Knowing not what may betide, 
 
 Life and death in balance hung, 
 In thy promise, Lord, I hide, 
 
 Sweet, oh, sweet, the words to me, 
 "As thy days thy strength shall be." 
 
 Till the storm be overpast, 
 While the angry billows roll, 
 
 Seeking covert from the blast 
 Like a bird my weary soul 
 
 To its rock of rest doth flee, 
 
 "As thy days thy strength shall be."
 
 SOWING. 77 
 
 SOWING. 
 
 Scatter the good seed of love and truth 
 
 In the broad green vales of early youth, 
 Scatter it widely, for rich is the soil 
 
 And the sweet air of morn maketh light 
 some toil; 
 
 Sow the seed carefully, and bury it deep, 
 And a bountiful harvest thou surely shall 
 reap. 
 
 Scatter the good seed in the broad highway 
 'Neath the burning sun of the hot noon 
 day, 
 In the valley low and on every hill, 
 
 Wherever a spot can be found to till; 
 Pass not the rough places, the hedge or the 
 
 stone, 
 
 For many a rock is with moss over 
 grown, 
 How knowest thou then but some germ it 
 
 may hold 
 
 Which shall bring forth fruit e'en a hun 
 dred fold.
 
 78 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Sow thou in the morning, nor at evening 
 
 cease, 
 Thou canst not tell which shall yield 
 
 greater increase, 
 
 Not grudgingly ever or with sparing hand, 
 Scatter the seed broadcast over the land. 
 For rich is the fruit of the life-given seed, 
 Of love and of truth, and the wide world 
 
 hath need 
 Of all we can garner its famine to feed.
 
 JAMIE AND JOE. 79 
 
 JAMIE AND JOE. 
 
 "They're as like as two peas," is what they 
 
 all say 
 
 Of the twin boys Jamie and Joe; 
 Scarce can father and mother tell one from 
 
 the other 
 
 Which is proof that it must be so; 
 But alas, for the mischief planned every 
 
 day 
 By these two little heads of tow. 
 
 The neighbor's complaints of the trouble 
 some two, 
 
 Perplexes their father and mother, 
 For scarcely a day passes over, but they 
 
 Those boys are in some scrape or other, 
 And whichever boy gets the punishment 
 
 due 
 
 Time proves that it should have been 
 tother. 
 
 So merited chastisement they cannot share 
 Is often escaped by the twain,
 
 8O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 For Solomons advice, so clear and concise, 
 
 In cases like this isn't plain. 
 And what will become of the mischievous 
 pair 
 
 Is questioned by many a brain. 
 
 Spoke the teacher, "Now James, with that 
 
 lesson unsaid 
 
 When school is done you cannot go;" 
 But on duties intent, which boy stayed or 
 
 went 
 
 Of the twin brothers, she didn't know; 
 So the lesson that bothered Jamie's dull 
 
 head 
 Was soon well recited by Joe. 
 
 They tried in a number of different ways 
 
 To tell them apart by their clothes; 
 Each plan for a spell seemed to work very 
 
 well, 
 
 Then ludicrous blunders arose; 
 For instance, those they thought were Ja 
 mie's for days, 
 They found all the time had been Joe's. 
 
 "Those boys are as like as two peas in a 
 row,"
 
 JAMIE AND JOE. 8l 
 
 So everybody exclaims 
 Nor does it annoy either fun loving boy 
 
 To have an assortment of names 
 And they answer alike to Joseph or Joe, 
 
 To Jim, Jimmie or Jamie or James.
 
 82 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD 
 THEM. 
 
 'Gainst the sky one winter morning, 
 
 Dark and grim as fate, 
 Loomed the gray walls of a prison, 
 
 And as desolate, 
 Seemed the little creature waiting 
 
 At its outer gate. 
 
 Child, mayhap of ten short summers, 
 
 Garments scant and old, 
 Giving her but slight protection 
 
 From the bitter cold, 
 And within her dark eyes holding 
 
 Many a grief untold. 
 
 "Please sir," and the words she uttered 
 
 Seemed almost a prayer, 
 "Will you let me see my father? 
 
 He is living there," 
 And she pointed with a shudder 
 
 To the walls so bare.
 
 A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM. 83 
 
 "You will let me in," she pleaded, 
 
 As she breathed a name 
 That to human love and mercy 
 
 Had but little claim, 
 While the blush that swept her features 
 
 Mingled grief and shame. 
 
 No kind father's tender greeting 
 
 Met the weary child; 
 But a face with gloom o'ershadowed 
 
 Haggard, fierce and wild: 
 Eyes where smoldering fires were burning 
 
 Lips that never smiled. 
 
 But her love brooked no denial, 
 
 Could no chill bemumb; 
 "Father, I'm your little Aggie, 
 
 Aren't you glad I've come?" 
 Gently plead the sweet child angel, 
 
 Still his lips were dumb. 
 
 "You are all that's left me, father, 
 
 In the world so wide, 
 For last week we laid our Johnny 
 
 By dear mother's side. 
 And he spoke of you dear father 
 
 Just before he died.
 
 84 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "Once you loved our little Johnny," 
 
 Said the gentle girl; 
 "And I've brought you this," she added; 
 
 And a golden curl 
 Touched his hand with soft caressing, 
 
 And began to twirl 
 
 As of old around his ringer; 
 
 Love's sweet task was o'er 
 And he fell with bitter weeping 
 
 On the prison floor, 
 Who shall say but unseen angels 
 
 Hovered round the door? 
 
 Power of love, O who can measure? 
 
 Who its influence weigh? 
 Souls long lost in depths of darkness 
 
 Kindle at its ray, 
 "And a little child shall lead them" 
 
 Into perfect day.
 
 THE CHILD OF THE ALLEY. 85 
 
 THE CHILD OF THE ALLEY. 
 
 "Will you pease dive me one of your 
 fowers?" 
 
 Came in accents so gentle and low 
 That I paused in my hurry to listen 
 
 And the coveted boon to bestow 
 On the child in her thin, tattered garments, 
 
 With her bare little feet in the snow. 
 
 It was late on the eve before Christmas, 
 And the air of the twilight so chill, 
 
 That I hastened the wee little fingers 
 With the fragrant exotics to fill, 
 
 And received such a look of requital 
 That it lives in my memory still. 
 
 Like a deer up the alley she vanished, 
 With a footstep as light and as fleet, 
 And I thought that the beautiful blossoms 
 Could be scarcely more pure or more 
 
 sweet 
 
 Than the child who had left on the pave 
 ment 
 The snow imprint of bare, little feet.
 
 86 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Years have passed, but the child of the alley, 
 As she plead for the flowers so fair, 
 
 I can see, and I grieve for a childhood 
 That is desolate, loveless, and bare, 
 
 For the loss of their beautiful birthright 
 Of the little ones everywhere. 
 
 And I think of a long-treasured vision 
 Of a garden of beauty and rest, 
 
 Where the angels talk low with the children 
 In a language earth hath not expressed, 
 
 Of a child catching glimpses of glory 
 Through the half-open gates of the blest. 
 
 Ye who share in the dreamland of childhood, 
 List the bells of all Christendom ring: 
 O remember the destitute children 
 To whose lives no sweet memories cling, 
 
 And to some little child of the alley 
 
 The glad news of the Christmastide bring.
 
 CHILD FACES. 87 
 
 CHILD FACES. 
 
 A dear little child with a sweet sunny face 
 With bright eyes and cheeks all aglow 
 
 Stood holding a kitten in closest embrace 
 At my door but a few days ago, 
 
 "Here's the kitty" he said, "I broughted him 
 
 back 
 Cause my old kitty bited him so. 
 
 I missed the sweet face of the child from 
 
 that day, 
 
 Came a whisper a breath that was chill, 
 In yon darkened chamber just over the way 
 
 The dear little prattler lay ill, 
 A few anxious days and the bright eyes are 
 
 dim 
 The sweet voice forever is still. 
 
 Oh these child faces! this dark world hath 
 
 gleams 
 
 Of the light of the glorified shore, 
 Bereft of their presence like beautiful 
 
 dreams
 
 88 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 They live in our hearts evermore 
 And the brightening pathway that tiny feet 
 
 trod 
 Leads us to the dear Father's door.
 
 THE CITY OF THE KING. 89 
 
 THE CITY OF THE KING. 
 
 I sat one evening thinking of the differ 
 ences wide 
 
 That still in unity of thought the Church 
 of Christ divide, 
 
 The feuds and bitter quarrels of various 
 forms and creeds, 
 
 Of truth so mixed with error that it often 
 times misleads, 
 
 And of the Master's prayer as his work was 
 almost done, 
 
 "As we are one, oh Father that they might 
 in us be one," 
 
 And as I mused and pondered before me 
 seemed to rise 
 
 A city fair whose glittering towers ascend 
 ed to the skies, 
 
 And up the hill so steep and high on which 
 the city stood 
 
 Were toiling up by many a path a countless 
 multitude. 
 
 Some of the hillside ways were broad, well 
 trodden paths were they
 
 QO MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And crossed at various angles by full many 
 
 a narrow way 
 Some seemed to me circuitous, but all led 
 
 up the hill, 
 
 And where they intersected oft with greet 
 ings of good will, 
 The different bands of pilgrims met, oft 
 
 times they joined in song 
 Voice after voice caught up the strain as it 
 
 was borne along, 
 Till all the hill, it seemed to me reechoed 
 
 the refrain, 
 The chorus of the song, "The Lamb, the 
 
 Lamb that was slain." 
 And as amazed I listening stood, a low 
 
 voice at my side 
 As if in answer to my thought in gentle 
 
 tones replied, 
 "It is the great church militant and this the 
 
 song they sing 
 As they by different path-ways seek the 
 
 city of the king. 
 And none are questioned when they reach 
 
 yon shining gates of gold 
 How came ye hither, by what way sought 
 
 ye the Heavenly fold,
 
 THE CITY OF THE KING. QI 
 
 But there is great rejoicing when all toil 
 
 and danger past, 
 Each traveller drops his pilgrim staff and 
 
 reaches home at last. 
 
 I woke and knew it was a dream, but oft in 
 
 vision bright, 
 I see that city's jewelled walls and gates of 
 
 golden light 
 No more I ponder anxiously which pathway 
 
 is the best 
 If after weary wanderings I reach its bless 
 
 ed rest, 
 And if as thitherward I go, O joy, I cannot 
 
 speak 
 I can persuade some wayward ones that 
 
 city fair to seek, 
 I will not question by what path they leave 
 
 the plains of sin, 
 To make the upward journey, or which 
 
 gate they enter in.
 
 92 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A BOY'S POCKET. 
 
 If your boy is bright and clever, 
 And, moreover, you have never 
 Chanced to fish that urchin's pocket 
 ('Tis his own word, please excuse it, 
 But so apt I think I'll use it,) 
 At its contents you would wonder; 
 Nothing on the earth, or under, 
 Nothing he can grasp above her, 
 But you're likely to discover 
 In that mystery of measure, 
 That receptacle of treasure 
 Called a boy's trouser's pocket. 
 Here's a sample of the mixture: 
 Rusty nails, a missing locket, 
 Headless doll, arms out of socket, 
 Pieces of a curtain fixture, 
 Handkerchief, my stars! how many, 
 'Tisn't strange he hadn't any, 
 Mitten that he lost last winter, 
 Paper that would stock a printer,
 
 A BOY S POCKET. 93 
 
 Jacknife, broken blade and handle, 
 Dried-up doughnut, piece of candle, 
 Tar and spruce gum mixed together, 
 Ship, dismasted, seen rough weath 
 er, 
 
 Spools of No. 40 cotton, 
 Used for rigging, snarled and rotten, 
 Tops and marbles without number, 
 Ball of yarn, a piece of lumber, 
 Pencils of all lengths and sizes, 
 There's no limit to surprises, 
 Here's my gold one, I remember 
 That I lent him last September, 
 Soldiers used in mimic battle, 
 Old tin whistle, baby's rattle, 
 Fish-hooks, careful, you'll be wish 
 ing 
 
 That you hadn't gone a-fishing, 
 Fire-crackers, what a notion! 
 What has hindered an explosion? 
 Friction matches, some good fairy 
 Shields this young incendiary, 
 Strings of cotton, hemp and leather,
 
 94 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Strings for all things he can tether, 
 Stick of Fourth of July rocket, 
 There! We'll stop enumeration, 
 But it does beat all creation; 
 And we can but question whether 
 All this trumpery and treasure 
 Ever again in fullest measure 
 Can be crowded, crammed and 
 
 knotted 
 
 In the little space allotted 
 To a boy's trouser's pocket.
 
 WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID. 95 
 
 WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID. 
 
 A little violet awoke 
 
 One gladsome morn in spring, 
 And opening her blue eyes she spoke, 
 
 "I hear the robins sing: 
 I fear that we too long have slept, 
 
 We must bestir our feet." 
 So upward to the light they crept, 
 
 The little violets sweet. 
 
 Dandelion heard what was said 
 
 By little violet blue, 
 And lifting up her golden head 
 
 Said, "I will follow you." 
 And then she turned to Buttercup 
 
 And Daisy at her side, 
 "Wake up, my darlings, now wake up 
 
 'Tis time to rise," she cried. 
 
 Arbutus heard her cheery call 
 
 Down in her leafy dells, 
 "We welcome you, sweet sisters, all," 
 
 Rang out her fragrant bells.
 
 96 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And so awaking from their sleep 
 
 In all their fair array, 
 They came, the sweet spring flowers, 
 to keep 
 
 The festival of May.
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 97 
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 
 
 The battle of Williamsburg had been fought, 
 
 And the weary days wore on, 
 
 And father sat often in anxious thought 
 
 And my mother's face grew wan, 
 
 But never a word we as yet had heard 
 
 From my brothers Phil and John. 
 
 For nearly a week we had watched the 
 
 mails 
 
 As they came in day by day, 
 But no tidings came from the southern vales, 
 Where the field of conflict lay, 
 And the strain grew tense 
 Of this long suspense, 
 And dear mother's health gave way. 
 
 But at last I got a letter from Phil, 
 
 I read but two words, "All right"- 
 
 When I seized the horse's reins with a will, 
 
 Clutched the open letter tight, 
 
 And we made that home mile 
 
 In John Gilpin's style 
 
 The old horse and I that night.
 
 98 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 But what would they think, in such days as 
 
 these, 
 
 Of a girl with flying hair, 
 Her hat but a toy for the passing breeze, 
 With the letter waved in air; 
 Who was driving a steed at breakneck 
 
 speed 
 In the calm of the evening fair. 
 
 But danger then threatened the nation's life, 
 
 And it wakened no surprise. 
 
 They said, "She has heard from the field of 
 
 strife, 
 
 And with good news homeward flies 
 There are those who wait and will learn 
 
 their fate 
 In the light of happy eyes."
 
 HIDE AND SEEK. 99 
 
 HIDE AND SEEK. 
 
 I hear the merry children shout, 
 
 Such happy voices they; 
 They're playing at the same old game 
 
 We children used to play: 
 
 Such merry sport at "hide and seek!" 
 What haste the goal to gain, 
 
 And what wild bursts of joyous mirth 
 Greet those who strive in vain. 
 
 Ah! in your joy you little dream 
 
 Of harder goal to win; 
 Dear children, in the longer race 
 
 May all be counted "in." 
 
 With thought of care I would not cloud 
 
 Your sunny skies to-day, 
 Laugh on, for childhood comes but once, 
 
 Be happy while you may. 
 
 There's music in your joyous shouts, 
 Long years of life they span, 
 
 I hear once more my childish mates 
 And join their merry clan.
 
 IOO MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Again we con our tasks at school, 
 
 Again we shout and play; 
 Our voices have the same glad notes 
 
 That ring in yours to-day. 
 
 Where are they now, that happy band? 
 
 In vain I call the roll; 
 For they are scattered far and wide, 
 
 And some have reached the goal. 
 
 Bright realm of childhood, still to us 
 Its old enchantment clings; 
 
 Still thrills for us at childish touch 
 Its sweet harp's vibrant-strings.
 
 SERVICE OF WORK. IOI 
 
 SERVICE OF WORK. 
 
 'Twas a sultry morn but the church was cool 
 
 On that Sabbath ne'er forgot, 
 When we had no service or Sunday School 
 
 And the air grew close and hot, 
 As the people crowded the vestibule 
 
 And talked in an eager knot. 
 
 For with startling news was the still air rife; 
 
 A battle had just been won, 
 But the rumor came that many a life 
 
 Was lost e'er the day was done, 
 And that hundreds then on the field of strife 
 
 Lay dead 'neath the Southern sun. 
 
 Then the bell recalling the time and place 
 
 Rang out on the summer air, 
 And the sorrowing flock with a measured 
 pace 
 
 Took seats in the house of prayer, 
 And the pastor said as with saddened face 
 
 He stood on the pulpit stairj
 
 IO2 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "There is need of bandages and of lint 
 In our soldiers camps, they say, 
 
 The dear Lord requires not cummin and 
 
 mint 
 But service of work to-day." 
 
 And I saw a tear in his dark eye glint, 
 As he said, "Now let us pray." 
 
 And then for old linen the homes were 
 
 sacked, 
 
 We found neither want nor stint, 
 'Twas a work of love and no laborers 
 
 lacked, 
 
 Nor needed they but a hint, 
 And many a dainty was deftly packed 
 With the bandages and lint. 
 
 So the task was done, and the sun went down 
 
 On that holy Sabbath day, 
 And the night express with its freight left 
 
 town 
 
 With aid for the blue and gray, 
 And that service of work doth memory 
 
 crown 
 With halo of light alway.
 
 E. C. S. IO3 
 
 E. C. S. 
 
 "She is gone," they say it softly, 
 
 "Whither who can tell? 
 For that bourne no eye discerneth, 
 
 And no traveller returneth," 
 Tolls the bell. 
 
 Whispers faith in heavenly mansions 
 
 .Evermore to dwell 
 "See we not the portals golden, 
 
 For our eyes with tears are holden," 
 Tolls the bell. 
 
 She was young and life alluring, 
 
 And we loved her well: 
 Loved her tenderly and truly, 
 
 "Loved her it may be unduly," 
 Tolls the bell. 
 
 She was fair and love's enchantments, 
 
 Wrought for her their spell; 
 Daughter, sister, wife and mother 
 
 "Death could'st thou not choose some 
 other,"- 
 
 Tolls the bell.
 
 IO4 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "Nay we cannot reconcile it 
 
 With the silent cell 
 Youth's bright dream of joy and gladness, 
 
 Life's full chalice, love's brief madness;" 
 Tolls the bell. 
 
 Oh thou Christ whose tears of sorrow 
 
 Once o'er Lazarus fell, 
 Need we thy divine consoling, 
 
 For our hearts hear but the tolling, 
 Tolling bell. 
 
 Let some word of heavenly solace 
 
 Mingle with its knell. 
 Tell us, tell us, she is risen 
 
 That the grave cannot imprison, 
 Tolling bell. 
 
 Tell us that the loving Father 
 
 Doeth all things well; 
 Not in anger doth he chasten, 
 
 And to our loved ones we hasten, 
 Tolling bell.
 
 IN MEMORIAM. IO5 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 In memory's softened light oft rises clearly 
 The picture of the well remembered face, 
 
 Of one none ever knew but loved him dearly, 
 The dear old Doctor with his courtly 
 grace. 
 
 A face of rarest dignity and sweetness, 
 The clear impression of a kindly heart, 
 
 For time's deft fingers grave with stange 
 
 completeness 
 In facial lines the spirits' counterpart. 
 
 A man of earnest thought but no fanatic 
 Who claimed the key to nature's subtle 
 ties, 
 He saw truth oft in schools he deemed 
 
 erratic, 
 
 And knew all truth wherever found was 
 his. 
 
 In princely homes and lowly habitations 
 With quiet step his daily round he made,
 
 IO6 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 None were too poor to share his ministra 
 tions, 
 None too forsaken for his friendly aid. 
 
 Alas, the picture in my memory loses 
 Its warmth and color with my faithless 
 pen, 
 
 All other praise in weakness it refuses 
 Save this, he dearly loved his fellow men. 
 
 That love to God meant service to his 
 
 brother 
 Was the one creed he loved, and loving 
 
 trod 
 
 Beneath his feet the phrasing of all other, 
 But who shall doubt his friendship with 
 his God? 
 
 One day Death met him on his round of 
 
 duty, 
 And spake the word, "Thy Father calls 
 
 thee, come/' 
 
 And fitting end to his long life of beauty 
 The dear old Doctor peacefully went 
 home.
 
 IN MEMORIAM. IO7 
 
 It was no sound of terror that appalled him, 
 No unexpected summons that he heard, 
 
 A gentle voice long listened for, had called 
 
 him 
 And found him ready to obey its word. 
 
 It was not his for lengthened days to lan 
 guish, 
 
 "He was not, for God took him," may it be 
 For sweet reward of sharing others' anguish 
 
 He from the bitterness of death was free. 
 
 They saw laid low the head revered and 
 
 hoary, 
 Who stood with awesome fear around him 
 
 there, 
 They heard no angel's voice nor saw the 
 
 glory 
 
 That shed its radiance on that twilight 
 air. 
 
 Ah! strangely blind are we and dull of 
 
 hearing, 
 
 We catch no music from the riven skies, 
 And ministering angels in our midst ap 
 pearing 
 Pass on their way unseen by human eyes.
 
 IO8 MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 Back to his home with tender care they bore 
 
 him 
 Whose weary feet so late its threshold 
 
 pressed, 
 And loving friends with tender words bend 
 
 o'er him, 
 
 But naught could lure him from his 
 dreamless rest. 
 
 And many a poor man's trembling lips re 
 peated, 
 
 When fell the tidings of that twilight gray, 
 The story of some unpaid bill receipted 
 
 Awaiting payment at the Judgment day. 
 
 They came in scores to gaze upon his feat 
 ures, 
 
 It was the same old lesson, o'er and o'er, 
 Who gives love's largess to his fellow crea 
 tures 
 Receiveth it in yet increasing store. 
 
 And they, the grave-eyed men in work his 
 
 brothers, 
 Said as with grieving hearts they bore 
 
 his pall, 
 He never raised himself by lowering others
 
 IN MEMORIAM. lOQ 
 
 But freely gave a helping hand to all. 
 
 None ever heard his voice in harsh re 
 proaches 
 
 Of those who failed the evil tide to stem, 
 "The best we do," he said, "so oft en 
 croaches 
 On evil doing, who shall dare condemn." 
 
 O rare sweet charity that never faileth, 
 Thy chosen grace the greatest of the 
 three, 
 
 Whate'er thy needs most surely it availeth 
 In its white folds to cover them and thee. 
 
 And so we leave the Doctor with his Mas 
 ter, 
 
 But in our hearts his memory is as sweet 
 As was the precious box of alabaster, 
 
 That Mary broke to lave the Savior's feet.
 
 I1O MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY.* 
 
 The changeful year has brought in cycled 
 
 round 
 
 Memorial Day; 
 And as sweet flowers on many a sacred 
 
 mound 
 
 Again we lay, 
 Our saddened thoughts run backward o'er 
 
 the past 
 
 With clouds of war our land is overcast, 
 For treason seeks to rend our flag in twain 
 Who would not die its honor to maintain? 
 We hear the tocsin call o'er hill and glen, 
 The beat of drums, the tramp of armed men; 
 The clash of arms, the burst of shot and 
 
 shell, 
 The cannon's throat pour forth its fires of 
 
 hell. 
 
 We wait the battle tidings, and with dread 
 We scan the list of wounded and of dead. 
 On crimson seas our souls in anguish toss 
 O, Memory, gently draw thy veil across 
 
 Those fearful years; 
 *.8 77
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. Ill 
 
 Our hearts are filled with grief, with sense 
 
 of loss 
 Our eyes with tears. 
 
 Ye fair sweet flowers that Autumn kindly 
 
 hid 
 
 From wintry blast, 
 With gentle faces do ye come to bid 
 
 Our grief be past. 
 Ye, who but late have burst the bands of 
 
 death, 
 With your fresh beauty and your odorous 
 
 breath, 
 Above the mounds where lay our treasured 
 
 dust, 
 Breathe ye your precious thoughts of hope 
 
 and trust; 
 
 O, let each passing breeze of Summer air 
 Take on its wings the message that ye bear; 
 In every home athwart whose darkened 
 
 hall 
 
 The shadows of those years of sorrow 
 To every heart that bows in grief, convey 
 The blessed peace ye bring to us to-day. 
 Your silent lovliness is promise rife 
 That those who cease the weary march and 
 
 strife
 
 112 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Earth cannot keep; 
 
 There is no death, but life, immortal life 
 Why should we weep? 
 
 Nay, let us joy that they through battle 
 
 blaze 
 
 Were counted fit 
 To reach those lofty heights where crowned 
 
 with bays 
 Earth's victors sit. 
 
 O, Glorious Freedom! at thy stern behest 
 We gave to thee our bravest and our best. 
 They did not falter, where thy footsteps led, 
 They followed on to Glory's gory bed. 
 From out the hosts that went forth to the 
 
 fray 
 
 How many miss we from life's ranks to-:Iay? 
 On many a Southern battle-plain they fell; 
 Their valorous deeds historic records tell. 
 A few from out the smoke came home to 
 
 die, 
 And others ah! God knoweth, where they 
 
 lie. 
 The harvest of their pain cloth Freedom 
 
 reap, 
 Wiped from our land for aye the stain so 
 
 deep;
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 113 
 
 And while we lay 
 
 Our floral gifts our grateful hearts will keep 
 Memorial day. 
 
 The relics of the past with lapse of years 
 New lustre shed, 
 
 And costly monuments the Nation rears 
 Above its dead. 
 
 But while we guard with care the ancient 
 fane, 
 
 And view the ruin of its walls with pain, 
 
 While fallen heroes we revere, let not 
 
 Our duty to the living be forgot; 
 
 To those brave men who still among us, 
 dwell, 
 
 Who bore unscathed the rain of shot and 
 shell; 
 
 And those who, wounded, maimed and 
 battle-scarred, 
 
 Are from the industries of life debarred, 
 
 Who, through long years of patient suffer 
 ing, claim 
 
 Our grateful aid, our care in honor's name; 
 
 In poverty, not alms do they demand, 
 
 But simple justice at the nation's hand. 
 A debt of pride, 
 
 Oh, be it ours to see throughout the land 
 Their needs supplied.
 
 114 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 O, women of the war! ye did not shrink 
 
 From sacrifice; 
 There was no tie too sweet, no sacred link 
 
 Too dear a price 
 
 To give to native land in sorest need. 
 It was not yours to go where banners lead, 
 Not yours the hardship of the field and 
 
 camp, 
 The toilsome march, the noisome prison 
 
 damp; 
 
 The gentler offices of mercy yours, 
 The patient love that watches and endures; 
 To those who wept the word of comfort 
 
 bring, 
 
 And nurse to life the sick and suffering. 
 The hospital your presence came to bless, 
 And death lost something of its bitterness. 
 Through rugged paths the heights of life 
 
 we climb; 
 Heroic hearts beat ever quicker time. 
 
 In their unrest 
 
 Are years of thought and energy sublime 
 In hours compressed. 
 
 O, women of to-day! it is not done, 
 This blessed task;
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 115 
 
 The work in those dark times of strife 
 
 begun 
 
 Your aid does ask. 
 
 So many sorrows follow war's red track, 
 'Tis yours to cheer, to win to virtue back 
 The erring, yours by word and deed to bless, 
 To help the widow and the fatherless. 
 They say that ye are frivolous and gay, 
 And care to much for gems and fine array; 
 O, prove the charge ungenerous, unjust, 
 Renew your work, your Heaven-appointed 
 
 trust. 
 On the home walls let love and truth be 
 
 writ, 
 Keep bright on hearths the flame that 
 
 Freedom lit. 
 
 Let your rich charities descend in showers, 
 But unobtrusive ever, as the flowers 
 
 That hide in leaves; 
 Love's deed, like Mercy's is twice blessed; 
 
 endowers 
 While it receives. 
 
 O, flag for which our heroes fought and 
 
 died! 
 O, Stripes and Stars!
 
 Il6 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Give to the breeze to-day your folds, fling 
 
 wide 
 
 Your crimson bars! 
 
 No traitor's hand doth seek to rend or moil, 
 No slave doth bend o'er unrequited toil. 
 Throughout the land we hear no captive's 
 
 wail; 
 
 Flag of our fealty, flag of freedom, hail! 
 To-day in grateful love be feuds forgot, 
 The wrath of years, the vengeance fierce 
 
 and hot. 
 
 We hear again the gentle voice of Heaven: 
 Forgive e'en as ye hope to be forgiven. 
 Let us forgive our brothers, and with them 
 Rebuild the wall of our Jerusalem; 
 And they who from our strifes have fount! 
 
 release, 
 Through these sweet flowers say, let dis. 
 
 cord cease. 
 The voice obey; 
 So shall we keep with thoughts of love and 
 
 peace 
 Memorial Day.
 
 TO THE G. A. R. 
 
 TO THE G. A. R. 
 
 Our war clays are past, but their shadows 
 
 cast 
 
 Down the mournful years afar, 
 Fall on many a grave where a comrade 
 
 brave 
 
 Sleeps heedless of wound or scar, 
 But with those who wake and with those 
 
 who sleep 
 
 The nation doth her trysting keep, 
 O, men of the G. A. R. 
 
 Ye were young and strong to battle the 
 wrong, 
 
 In days when with proud hurrah 
 Ye carried the flag o'er valley and crag, 
 
 And vowed ye would keep each star; 
 Ye are bent and gray and but few are they 
 Who join in the service of love to-day, 
 
 O, men of the G. A. R. 
 
 But ye kept your vow, and that banner now, 
 With never a stain to mar,
 
 Il8 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Is to-day unfurled the hope of the world, 
 
 And naught doth its glory bar, 
 For on land and on sea it shall ever be 
 The flag of the brave, the flag of the free, 
 O men of the G. A. R.
 
 SONGS AND SONNETS.
 
 THE MAYFLOWER. 
 
 In shady nooks of our own forest dells, 
 And shyly peeping out through melting 
 
 snows, 
 The fair Mayflower in its wild beauty 
 
 grows ; 
 
 And though no little bird the secret tells, 
 We know full well the places where it 
 
 dwells; 
 For not a wandering breath of air that 
 
 blows 
 
 Athwart the spot but on its errand goes 
 Full laden with the odor of its bells. 
 The flower-venders of the busy street 
 Hold up the fragrant blossoms, pink and 
 
 white, 
 
 Our inmost love of beauty challenging. 
 Fresh from thy woodland haunts, thy loved 
 
 retreat, 
 
 Thy flushing face we welcome with de 
 light, 
 
 O fair Mayflower, thou sweetest gift of 
 Spring!
 
 122 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 THE TWO PICTURES. 
 
 'Tis said an artist, then unknown to fame, 
 Once painted Innocence. A sleeping 
 
 child 
 
 Was his ideal. Fortune kindly smiled, 
 And the sweet pictured face, so void of 
 
 blame, 
 Won for the youth an honored place and 
 
 name. 
 
 Years afterward a visage coarse and wild 
 He saw through prison bars a man de 
 nied 
 By every vice, and sunk in depths of 
 
 shame. 
 
 The gray-haired artist gave the wicked face 
 Beside his early masterpiece a place, 
 And Guilt in all its hideousness was 
 
 shown, 
 When, lo, he found well might the angels 
 
 weep 
 The wretched man and guileless babe 
 
 asleep 
 Were one the little child to manhood 
 
 grown!
 
 MY HOLOCAUST. 123 
 
 MY HOLOCAUST. 
 
 friends that I have loved in by-gone 
 
 years, 
 
 As one by one these letters I unfold, 
 The vanished past before me is unrolled, 
 And pictured there my long-lost youth 
 
 appears. 
 
 1 read thes-3 faded pages through my tears, 
 For many a hand that traced them has 
 
 grown cold. 
 
 "It is not wise to keep these letters old, 
 
 Though every line fond memory endears," 
 
 Oft have I said; yet still my heart doth 
 
 plead 
 
 For their possession, as it hath before, 
 
 And doth again its arguments exhaust. 
 
 O heart, be still; no careless eyes shall read 
 
 These treasured letters when I am no 
 
 more; 
 
 On friendship's shrine I make my holo 
 caust.
 
 124 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 EASTER SONNET. 
 
 "Oh! who will roll the stone away," they 
 
 said, 
 
 As at the dawn of that first Easter day 
 They sought the sepulchre, where Jesus 
 
 lay. 
 
 O'er Him the crucified fresh tears to shed 
 And with their spices sweet anoint the dead; 
 But, lo! the heavy stone was rolled away, 
 And in the shadows of the morning gray 
 They saw a white-robed angel in its 
 
 stead. 
 "Ye seek the Lord," he said, "but He is 
 
 risen; 
 
 He is not here; behold the open door." 
 Oh! blessed hope. Oh! words with pro 
 mise rife; 
 
 The spark divine, the grave cannot imprison; 
 He lives and we shall live forever more; 
 There is no death, but life, immortal life.
 
 SNOWFLAKES. 125 
 
 SNOWFLAKES. 
 
 In gentle silence through the long cold 
 
 night, 
 
 From leaden skies the snowy crystals fall 
 Until, O wondrous transformation, all 
 The bare brown earth is draped in spot 
 less white; 
 And lo! we find when dawns the morning 
 
 light, 
 
 The tiny flakes have built a barrier wall 
 That holds the iron steeds in helpless 
 
 thrall. 
 
 So nature teaches us, that not by might 
 Alone, she doth her marvellous changes 
 
 make; 
 That like the snow descending flake by 
 
 flake, 
 
 So one by one our daily duties come; 
 And by the duties of each day well done, 
 The greatest triumphs of our lives are 
 
 won; 
 The little things of life make up its sum.
 
 126 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 THE REPARTEE. 
 
 A witty critic, with his ready tongue, 
 Half jestingly, and half in earnest, said 
 To the fair lady he was soon to wed: 
 "I cannot claim my pedigree among 
 The famous ones whose praises have been 
 
 sung; 
 Low born am I, dear madam, and low 
 
 bred; 
 
 And of my relatives, alive or dead, 
 The only noted one, I've heard, was 
 
 hung." 
 
 The lady answered him, with keenest wit, 
 "I'm sure, dear sir, you need not men 
 tion it, 
 I, like yourself, can claim but humble 
 
 birth; 
 
 And if," she added, with a touch of mirth, 
 "No one was ever hung among my kin, 
 I doubt not more than fifty should have 
 been."
 
 THE GOLDEN-ROD. 127 
 
 THE GOLDEN-ROD. 
 
 The summer flowers one by one have died, 
 And in their stead upon the withered sod 
 In all its beauty blooms the Golden-rod; 
 As if by its profusion it would hide 
 The loss of fairer flowers at its side. 
 
 O'er hill and dale where'er our feet have 
 
 trod 
 There radiant plumes have bent with 
 
 friendly nod 
 
 And all the autumn landscape glorified, 
 O Golden-rod! thy brilliant tongues of flame 
 Teach us a lesson we would not forego; 
 The roses faded, but a richer glow 
 Rests on the fields where wave thy wands 
 
 of gold; 
 Time steals our roses but in vain doth 
 
 claim 
 
 Aught else we prize, the heart need not 
 grow old.
 
 128 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 March, blustering March, now makes his 
 
 grand review; 
 
 The winds of Heaven are all at his com 
 mand, 
 
 And o'er the stormy sea and o'er the land 
 He sends them forth, ah, woe betide the 
 
 crew 
 Whose trackless paths their reckless steps 
 
 pursue; 
 
 The mountain brooks released from icy land 
 In wildest fury leave their rocky strand, 
 And in their haste the vales with wreck 
 
 bestrew 
 
 O March, fierce March, with all thy boist 
 erous ways 
 
 Thou art the harbinger of brighter days 
 Whose gentle showers and genial warmth 
 
 shall bring 
 
 Bright flowers, green leaves and blossom- 
 laden trees, 
 
 The singing of the birds, the hum of bees 
 And all the sweet enchantments of the 
 spring.
 
 THESE ARE MY JEWELS. I2Q 
 
 'THESE ARE MY JEWELS." 
 
 "Haec mea ornamenta sunt," 'tis said, 
 The Roman matron to her guest replied, 
 As her two sons she beckoned to her side, 
 And fondly placed a hand on each young 
 
 head; 
 
 Ah! earth contained no jewels rare that shed 
 Such light as in those lustrous eyes could 
 
 hide, 
 
 And with their riches she was satisfied, 
 Nor coveted the costliest gems instead. 
 O mother of the Gracchi, many a heart 
 Has breathed the words that with con 
 
 summate art 
 Thou answeredest the question of thy 
 
 For many a mother has with pride confessed 
 The jewels that she doth most dearly 
 
 prize 
 Are found, like thine, within her child 
 
 ren's eyes.
 
 I3O SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS SONG. 
 
 ''Peace on earth, good-will to men!" 
 Down the centuries has rolled 
 This sweet prophecy of old; 
 But the clash of sword and pen, 
 Bitter thought, and angry word 
 Drown the song the shepherds heard. 
 Comes the faithless question, then: 
 Will the day so long deferred 
 Ever dawn, and when, O when? 
 Day that Israel's bards foretold. 
 Lo, from morning's gates of gold 
 Bursts the glad, exultant strain, 
 "Peace on earth, good-will to men;" 
 And once more the sweet refrain 
 Heard on Bethlehem's starlit plain 
 Echoes over hill and glen. 
 Children's voices, rich and strong, 
 Swell the grand triumphal song. 
 Doubting souls, take heart again, 
 Ends the long dark night of wrong; 
 Sooner, sooner than ye ken, 
 Christ begins his glorious reign, 
 Dawns the day that shall regain 
 Peace on earth, good-will to men.
 
 SONG OF LABOR. 
 
 SONG OF LABOR. 
 
 Though neither land nor gold I share, 
 No wealth for which men sigh, 
 
 To more than Earth can hold an heir, 
 I am not poor, not I. 
 
 No costly gems I crave instead,, 
 Whate'er the world may say, 
 
 And while I toil for daily bread, 
 I sing this roundelay. 
 
 To honest toil there is no ban, 
 
 Nor labor doth abase; 
 The soul is index of the man, 
 
 Not circumstance of place. 
 
 And he is poor, in very need, 
 
 Who with his hoarded pelf 
 Hath not wherewith his soul to feed, 
 
 No riches in himself. 
 
 The heart that rules the hand may hold 
 
 A treasure fit for kings, 
 And while the one may delve for gold, 
 
 The other soars and sings.
 
 132 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONG OF HOPE. 
 
 As the bird in the old ship's cabin 
 Sings on through the long, long way, 
 
 So Hope in the heart is singing 
 Of a brighter, happier day. 
 
 By favoring breezes wafted, 
 
 Or tossed on stormy sea, 
 Sings the sweet, sweet voice unfailing, 
 
 Of happier days to be. 
 
 O'er the dirge of the foaming billow, 
 The roll of the waves' hoarse drum, 
 
 Soar the notes of its joy and triumph, 
 As it sings of the days to come. 
 
 And e'en as the lonely exile, 
 
 Away on a foreign strand, 
 Hears the cradle hymn of his childhood, 
 
 The airs of his native land, 
 
 To this bird of the heart we listen, 
 
 For as exiles here we roam, 
 And the voice of the soul immortal 
 
 Is singing the songs of home.
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA.
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 In the early flush of the morning 
 
 I stood by the river side, 
 And watched as my tiny shallop 
 
 Was rocked by the rising tide. 
 
 'T was a thing of life and beauty, 
 With its sails of snowy white, 
 
 As it coyed with the passing breezes 
 And bathed in the rosy light. 
 
 It danced on the smiling river, 
 And was wafted out to sea; 
 
 But, alas for my beautiful shallop! 
 It has never come back to me. 
 
 Again I stood by the river 
 
 And launched on the rising stream 
 A fairer and prouder vessel 
 
 Than that of my childhood's dream.
 
 136 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 And Hope was the name I gave her, 
 For such was her voice to me 
 
 That morn in her fresh young beauty, 
 The bride of the waiting sea. 
 
 Her robe was the tinted rainbow, 
 And jewel and precious gem 
 
 Were sparkling upon her forehead 
 And flashed from her garment-hem. 
 
 Oh, rich was her freighted treasure, 
 And strong was her crew, and brave, 
 
 And I said she would ride in triumph, 
 The queen of the ocean wave. 
 
 So my beautiful ship sailed outward 
 With song and with streamers gay; 
 
 But, alas! for her glad home coming 
 I have waited full many a day. 
 
 "Ho! captain, homeward sailing," 
 Through the weary months I said, 
 
 "Didst hail a ship bound outward 
 With Hope for her figurehead?
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 137 
 
 "Or breasting the stormy billow, 
 
 Or at rest in far-off bay, 
 Hast seen my beautiful vessel 
 
 That so gaily sailed away. 
 
 "'Mong the bergs of the Northern waters, 
 
 Or wrecked on a distant shore, 
 Hast heard of the missing vessel 
 That the name of Hope once bore. 
 
 But never a word of tidings 
 Of the ship with crew so brave 
 
 Or yet of the fairy shallop 
 That danced on the rosy wave. 
 
 And still, with a will undaunted, 
 
 I said, "It can scarcely be 
 That all of my ships should founder; 
 
 One more will I send to sea. 
 
 "Lies my good ship Trust at anchor, 
 With her broad white sails unfurled; 
 
 I will risk her with all my treasure, 
 And send her around the world.
 
 138 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 "Mayhap, ere she makes her circuit, 
 In her wanderings to and fro, 
 
 She will learn of the fated vessels 
 That sailed in the long ago. 
 
 "And richer than thought can measure 
 The wealth she will bring to me, 
 
 This ship of my greatest venture, 
 From lands that are over the sea. 
 
 "She has made full many a voyage, 
 And many a storm defied," 
 
 I said as I watched her seaward 
 Till the autumn twilight died. 
 
 But whether she made her harbor, 
 Or whither she sailed, none knew, 
 
 And still do I wait for tidings 
 Of my ship long overdue. 
 
 But I dream not vain is the vision 
 That the ships I sent to sea 
 
 Were none of them lost in the billow 
 But have all come back to me.
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 139 
 
 That the lingering day is shedding 
 Its light on the peaceful vales, 
 
 And at last in the sunset glory 
 I see the approaching sails; 
 
 That my fair ship Hope, full freighted, 
 And with crew still young and brave, 
 
 Leads home the beautiful shallop 
 That danced on the rosy wave, 
 
 And the ship of my greatest venture, 
 With her treasures from afar, 
 
 With the other two casts anchor 
 Inside of the harbor bar.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 UNIVE
 
 Pi] Ighnry 
 
 Old Mill 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILIT 
 
 AA 000121 188 
 
 PS 
 2 
 P6U6 1