THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD ENDOWMENT FUND OLD TIME MEMORIES. OLD TIME MEMORIES, A POEM READ AT THE 5 OTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE E. C. SOCIETY OF DELAWARE LITERARY INSTITUTE, JUNE 21, 1894, OTHER POEMS, IRA E. SHERMAN. Illustrated. 1895. JOHN T. MILLER Designing Engraving Printing 52-54 LAFAYETTE PLACE N. V. ! INDEX TO POEMS. Greeting vi Anniversary Poem. (Illustrated.) 7 OTHER POEMS Proem . . . . 35 The Hudson. (Illustrated.) 37 The Toll-Gatherer 41 Lines. Suggested by a Lady reading 47 Thank God for Trees 49 The Farmer's Daughter 52 Lines. Suggested by a Visit to Mt. Wilson .... 55 Our River the Susquehannah. (Illustrated.) .... 57 Yosemite. An Impromptu 59 The Ocean. Written on the Beach at Santa Barbara ... 60 Life's Autumn ......... 6t On the Skirmish Line 63 Oliver Wendell Holmes 65 The Czar Alexander III 67 The Mountain Brook 69 An Evening Song. (Illustrated.) 72 One Day with God, Alone ....... 74 Lines Inscribed to a Friend. Judge A. S. T. ... 76 In Memoriam. James G. Elaine. 77 A Memorial Tribute. Frank D. Curtis . . . . . 79 The New Year , 82 Prayer, Morning and Evening .84 In the Studio. (Illustrated.) 86 One Year Old. A Birth-day Rhyme 88 Back on the Farm Again 90 June 94 762874 iv INDEX Continued. Now 95 An October Song 97 Morning in California ^ . . . 99 Montana 100 The Typewriter's Song . . . . . . . . 102 Our Uncle Josh, and What He Says . . . . . .104 Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman. In Memoriam . . . 107 Aunt Ruth. (Illustrated.) 109 A Morning Song 112 Love's House 113 Bereft. E. M. J., Died September I4th, 1893 ... 115 California 117 Happy Jim 120 Uncle Samuel's Conversion 124 Christmas Time 127 October 129 One Day 132 The Soul's Quest 135 The Great Teacher. An Invocation . . . . . .138 Beauty. A Rhapsody 141 The New Year. (Illustrated.) 144 The Hudson and the Palisades 146 The New Baby 147 Childhood 149 Spring is Coming . . 152 The Young Mother 154 As Home the Cows were Driven. (Illustrated.) . . . 156 June is Here 158 The Summer Rain 160 October's Moon 162 Memories of Long Ago. Pulling Flax 164 My Trust 167 Question and Answer . . . . . . . . .169 INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. FRONT PIECE PAGE THE VILLAGE, AND ROUND TOP . Drawn by G. W. Waters 14 THE OULEOUT Drawn by G. W. Waters 16 PROFESSOR FITCH 18 PROFESSOR KERR 20 WOODLAND BROOKS 36 STORM KING 38 WEST POINT 39 NEW YORK HARBOR 40 OUR RIVER SUSQUEHANNAH 58 EVENING SONG .... Drawn by G. W. Waters 72 IN THE STUDIO 86 AUNT RUTH 101 NEW YEAR Drawn by G. W. Waters 144 As HOME THE Cows WERE DRIVEN. Drawn by G. W. Waters 156 GREETING. WITH me, this Anniversary Poem has been largely a labor of love. I shall be well satisfied if, here and there, some are found who will recall with me the events that I have sought to preserve in rhyme. I apprehend it is well, even for busy men and women, to recall at times the events of the past ; and certainly, in all our past, no memories appeal to us more tenderly than those pertaining to school life. The loves we formed, the ambitions we cherished, have had their influence upon us through all these passing years ; and so far as these were true and good, have we reason to rejoice in the experiences they have brought. To revive somewhat these memories has been my sole ambition ; and for one, I can truly say that my life at Delaware Literary Institute was an inspiration that in a measure still remains. I apprehend there are many who can bear like testimony. The roll of Teachers at Delaware Literary Institute has always been a roll of honor, and down to the present time, it has been most faithfully served by true men and women, devoted to the cause of education. In the " Other Poems" that follow, I have gathered 'verses' thai have had some little attention paid to them, as they have appeared in the different Periodicals of the day. They have been written when I have felt something of their spirit ; and I am thankful that I have been moved, at sundry times, to give expression to thoughts and fancies, that have left behind, so far, no unpleasant experiences. To my friends I commend them cheerfully they have been a part of myself. Possibly, here and there, some may be found who will be glad, that at last, they have been put in a form where they can be read per- haps criticised but whether criticised or not, I send them out as my children, bespeaking for them such recognition as they may be entitled to receive. TH^ AUTHOR. ANNIVERSARY POEM. <*r The Fiftieth Anniversary of the E. C. Society, June 21, 1894. To-day is not as yesterday; We have no heritage That changes not. Toil mocks at Play, And both alike engage To cheat dull sense of seeming loss, Or bear for us life's daily cross. Into the New we press with haste, The Old in shadow lies; But shadows hide the barren waste Alas! the glowing skies Are shadowed in the sombre grey, And deep'ning shades of yesterday. We sang our songs, and grave or gay, The echoing strains were lost We little thought, some other day, Perchance, when tempest-tost, Some echoes still, with cheery strain, Would reach us on life's stormy main. 7 ANNIVERSARY POEM. Love guards the vintage of the past, The purple grapes are prest, And lo! the red wine flowing fast, Is priceless still, and best; And lips that touch the flowing stain, The odors of the past retain. Ah, well-a-day! If friendship fills For us the brimming glass, The odors of the vine-clad hills, Shall with the red wine pass; And in our veins a tide shall swell Love's never ceasing miracle. With thirsty lips we wait and wait The red wine, let it flow; Who drinks with us, if soon or late, Shall feel the afterglow; These fifty years of ripe'ning wine, Have left an odor half divine. Aye more; I hear the hum of bees This wine has life its own These are the old-time memories That you and I have known, And whilst we drink, these bees shall wing O'er clover blooms, unwithering. ANNIVERSARY POEM. The wine it sparkles in each glass Laughter and songs are there From lip to lip then let it pass, Forgetting all our care Forgetting Age, a grey-beard grown, And nearing fast that land unknown. We drink to old-time memories How shadowy they seem ! Like ships that sail on airy seas The sailor hails in dream When drifting wrecked, he knows not where, Mocked by these phantoms of the air. Faces appear of comrades old We hail them as they pass This comradeship has made us bold; For each a brimming glass, For they must drink with us, and own Years have, no fellowship outgrown. In vain we urge our hands retain The brimming glass, for lo! Their lips refuse the proffered stain, And silently and slow They vanish in the mist of years, And leave us drenched with falling tears. ANNIVERSARY POEM. We call them by the names they knew They once made quick reply, And gave us counsel, loving, true Now, we but question, why Silence alone, with a dumb pain. Voices the mute reply we gain. These are our dead. " Not here," you say- Too bold to question, Where ? Or in what land they make their stay Under what skies they share In God's great love ? They went away, And somewhere have abode to-day. And, living still, we may not know If here, or otherwhere; Enough, if by our faith we show That life's unanswered prayer Gives energy to Love's behest, And makes us own, God knoweth best. For aught I know, in thinner guise Than we are wont to see, Could we but open wide our eyes, From earthly films set free ; They wait with us for old-time cheer, And greetings wistful drawing near. ANNIVERSARY POEM. This a charmed circle. Even tears That dim our earthly sight Illumine all the darkened years, And with a mellow light Reflect the faces that we knew, In loving form and feature, true. To these we drink. Let silence reign ! And, beating heart, be still! Whilst we the up-turned glasses drain And quickened senses thrill With old-time fellowship a sign That friendship pours the choicest wine. To those grown old, the mystery Of life renewed, shall show How near that other land may be To which they soon must go; And that immortal love alone Makes life and death, and all, its own. This human fellowship we know Is like a radiant star, That, breaking through the clouds, can show Lone travelers where they are. And cheer the way, else drear and long, Relieved by many bursts of song. ANNIVERSARY POEM. Better than all the creeds of Hate Better than doubts self-grown, Is Faith, that walks with steps elate Through paths and ways her own ; All leading upward, and away From clouds, that but obscure the day. Reason but lags when Faith starts up, And calls with cheery tone; So let us pass the brimming cup, And make its virtues known. The vintage of these fifty years Calls not for thirsty lips, or tears. Beyond the bounds of mortal sense I know that God must reign; And in His hand is competence, All creatures to sustain; And in this faith a gift not small We own Him, crown Him, Lord Df all. And if at times Life's pathway seems Beset on every hand, And waking oft from pleasant dreams, We tread on burning sand, This faith, can we but own it still, Shall glorify His loving will. ANNIVERSARY POEM. 13 Pardon the Muse, if here I change the strain, And in plain words revive old scenes again; These many years but give an added zest To student life, as we, with smiles, attest. Though older grown, as school-boys for a day We take our places; or, perchance, we play On the old campus, when from study free A barren place, with scarce a sheltering tree Or bit of grass, on which outstretched to lie And watch the games, or joke the passers-by; As little cared for, in those early days, As th' street urchins, thriftless parents raise; And yet a place where fun and frolic kept High carnival, when village fathers slept, And teachers dozed, unmindful of things done In the free spirit of unlicensed fun Not harmful meant, or done in ruthless spite, Or done to mar the placid rest of night; And if beyond the campus grounds we strayed To play our jokes, or sweetly serenade Some favored girl whatever things were done, The frolic ended, on our part, as fun: And though perchance the early risers saw Some changes made, not justified by law, I feel quite sure, few village folk could see In these rude pranks, hopeless depravity; But rather liked, by morning light, to see What boys could do when from restraint set free; I 4 ANNIVERSARY POEM. And even Study, somehow, seemed to feel New impulse stirred, refreshment gained, and zeal. Our Latin verbs, the lore of ancient Greeks Came easier far for these our midnight freaks A paradox I cannot quite explain, Except as play relieved the student's brain. Immortal Lincoln, with great care opprest, Found some relief, and times of needful rest By story telling, and a joke well told May change debate, and list'ning senates hold; And history pens, though often jeered, reviled, "Rebellion suffered when our Lincoln smiled." A poet's pen is like a ship set free On ocean billows all the great deep sea On which to sail, of every wind the sport, Until at anchor in some favored port. When I cast anchor, if on friendly shore, I shall feel safe and hardly safe before ; But if I drift where'er the winds may blow, No man can tell where my poor craft may go. Dear, dear old Franklin! a most favored place, Where winsome Nature shows a smiling face; Its cultured valleys, its meandering stream, The Ouleout, in school-boy days a dream Of sylvan beauty, sheltered here and there By copse or woodland, or through meadows fair, ANNIVERSARY POEM. 15 Winding and turning, mirroring the sky In all its moods, as summer days went by: And, in the winter, under ice and snow, Singing sweet songs, that listeners might know Our northern streams, unmindful of the chill, Have music in them winter could not still; That hillside springs, in their perpetual flow, Pay constant tribute to the lands below. Upon its banks young lovers used to dream, And talk in language that the babbling stream Could well repeat so soft, and sweet, and low A kind of bird-talk lovers only know; And when repeated, need we wonder why, Or whence it caught its tuneful melody ? Doubtless to-day the same old song is heard, Still thrills the maiden, manhood's heart is stirred By the same music; and Love still, no doubt, Makes sweet complaint beside the Ouleout. This the song of long ago, Heard beside the rythmic flow Of glad waters, that essay To repeat Love's roundelay Lovers' moods and lovers' wiles, Lovers' words and lovers' smiles Always are the same, and show Hearts with tender flames aglow. 16 ANNIVERSARY POEM. Wandering here, and wandering there She, the fairest of the fair; ffe y the manliest, and true As a maiden ever knew; And together moving slow In the evening's afterglow She, so happy; he, so blest, Seemingly, earth's happiest. Boyhood's love, it may be true, Girlhood's passion, naught subdue; But, when brought to sober test, They love long, who love the best; And the maiden, and the boy Often found a transient joy, As their steps wound in and out, By the babbling Ouleout. Men have found in years mature, Boyhood's love not hard to cure, And young maidens have been known For love's follies to atone; Buds and blossoms may be sweet Nature makes such things complete- But the later years attest Ripened fruit is always best. In the old days, when young Demosthenes Talked to the winds, and gestured to the trees, S I "As their s.teps wound in and out By the babbling Ouleout." ANNIVERSARY POEM. - 17 Till birds affrighted quite forgot to sing, And list'ning herds stood silent, wondering What creature strange, in haunts their own, should try To trouble Nature, and evoke reply From startled Echoes, Round Top fain would keep In silent slumber and perpetual sleep; Lest, once disturbed, the Dryads hence should fly, And Round Top lose their woodland melody Then, all ambitious, boys would try at times, Round Top, with prose, or most exciting rhymes. From its bare rocks, our learned professors drew Startling conclusions doubtless, some were true But true or not, we liked with them to walk, And listened well to all their learned talk; And though but little we could understand, These walks and talks, alike to us were grand. The faithful teachers of those early days, Who can forget ? For them we fain would raise Memorial stones, inscribed with words like these: " They lived for others, not themselves to please." We learned to love them, and we live to bless These noble men for all their faithfulness. Living, though dead, in other lives they still Shape human purpose, guiding human will. From north to south, from east to west, they share In human progress, still are having care That human needs, in every age, should find iS ANNIVERSARY POEM. Brave men and true, to virtue's paths inclined. God's love is great; through Him the crucified They entered in, beyond the veil, and know All germs of truth, if planted well, must grow; And he who plants, like Abraham, must see, As from his loins, a glad posterity. Fitch, few remember. Fifty years ago Our "Prof." was he one I was proud to know, And knowing, loved him, and to-day would bring Some worthy tribute love's best offering. A gentle man, a noble man, a friend You well could trust, and trust him to the end. A man of sense, a man whose life was free From useless cant, and narrow bigotry. Modest, he made no very great pretense To learning, wit; but with rare eloquence He graced the platform, and with ready speech Upbraided wrong, and noblest truths could teach: And when he died, our lives made poorer far, Knew Heav'n had gained another shining star. Professor Kerr loved best, as better known A moral Ajax, who with zeal his own, Enthused all hearts, and made the dullest feel Some of his spirit and unbounded zeal. He set the bounds of scholarship so high, Few were content to let their arrows fly PROF. FITCH. ANNIVERSARY POEM. IQ. At lower objects he would have them reach The higher gifts of earnest thought and speech; And no man lived who would with Kerr compete In making Franklin, Learning's favorite seat. Sometimes called rough; but those who near him stood Saw only strength, with every impulse good. In fighting evil, he would neither spare Himself or others always having care To keep his friends, as far as mortal could, Along the lines of universal good. To fight the devil, he, like Luther knew When he approached, and any missile threw Within his reach, an inkstand or a stone, And never faltered, though he stood alone. Such men are rare born leaders every one, Though often jeered, until their work is done; But when once done, their very foes must own They have done well and rear for them a throne. To men like Kerr I would rare homage pay A kingly man in his peculiar way, And in his way it gave his friends delight To find him always on the side of right. His work is done; with reverent hands we lay Our humble tribute on his grave to-day. These later years to me are overgrown With many cares; but I, for one, must own 20 ANNIVERSARY POEM. The Old has claims not jostled by the New Or turned aside, if to my boyhood true. Though gray-haired now, the boys of long ago Are very near the only boys I know And, knowing them, it is enough that they, Living or dead, live in our thoughts to-day. There's Sam you must remember him A farmer's boy, and able To hold his own and something more At any farmer's table. Used to the hardest kind of toil, Labor but made him cheery, And he could work and he could play, Scarce feeling worn and weary. His sinews, like strong cords, were made For hardest kind of duty; His hands were rough and browned with tan With scarce a line of beauty; Upon his face a beard had grown, Not fine as silk, but showing He was a robust, healthy lad, To early manhood growing. His form was clad in homespun goods His mother made, believing That they were good enough for boys Farm-bred, for school-life leaving. PROF. KERR. ANNIVERSARY POEM. She knew, at best, they would not tear Or rip from careless sewing; And Sam, she knew, was very strong, And daily, stronger growing. Well, Sam came down to school one day, Slight comradeship to cheer him; Was sometimes made the butt of jokes, Sometimes boys dared to jeer him; Until, at last, he thought it best To be no more tormented; And, though he rather liked a joke, Some jokes were best resented ! And so he made himself at once A very useful teacher, In ways not hardly orthodox As would become a preacher; So brawny muscle had its day (He well knew how to use it) ; He taught the boys fair play was best They'd better not abuse it. Sam held his own, and plodded on, By no means born a scholar, Careful, as farmer boys should be, Of every hard-earned dollar; Until he stood in college halls, Healthy and strong as ever, ANNIVERSARY POEM. A leader in all college plays, And in his studies, clever. From college into life he went, A man equipped and growing Beyond the dreams of early youth Beyond the poet's showing. Not long before his voice was heard In Halls of State, replying To th' great masters of debate With honest valor trying To do the duties of a man, Honored and trusted, knowing The seeds of honest labor are The only seeds worth sowing. Sam is not here. " He rests," we say "From every care and sorrow." When shall we see him ? Not to-day; We wait for some to-morrow. Dan from a neighboring village came, Wore better clothes than Sam A boy, as common people say, " As happy as a clam " A trite expression, hardly fair, For Dan was witty, bright, ANNIVERSARY POEM. 23 And entered into school-life with The most supreme delight. He was our orator his tongue With mellow tones was blest; When early in his ' teens ' he stood Among our very best. He was a politician born, And loved a square debate; When party issues had been made In great affairs of State. Dan studied law, the very thing That suited him the best, Then followed Greeley's sage advice, And settled in the West. A leader at the bar he stood If living, leader still For with his gift of eloquence, He had a leader's will. Though born and bred a Democrat, When grim Rebellion rose, His tongue was always eloquent Against his country's foes. And with the true men of the West, With patriotic fire He kindled flames that burned away Rebellion's mean desire. 24 ANNIVERSARY POEM. Dan was a lover of good things, And in his regal way Could grace a midnight feast, and feel But little worse next day. Dear Dan ! so lovable and true A typical "E.G." I'd like to take him by the hand, And greet him loyally. There's Jim! I knew him when a boy, An artless lad, and merry, A healthy brown upon his face, And red as any cherry His downy cheeks, on which a smile Was always coming, going, Like ripples on a placid stream When summer winds are blowing. He was, all over, just a boy, His boyish nature showing, And always, like a healthy chap, Was eating, playing, growing, And learning something day by day From birds and bees and flowers, And testing, as a young boy should, His fast increasing powers. ANNIVERSARY POEM. 25 You knew him later on, at school, Mischievous, never weary, And with his comrades, managing To make his school-life cheery; And when at last he proudly stood Among the best in college, Twas evident, no laggard he Upon the road to knowledge. From college into life he went As man and boy together His manhood just the sort of stuff To heed no stress of weather His boyhood, just as full of fun, And jest, and song, as ever; In fact the very sort of man The world calls bright and clever. The first I knew, he had a place, And wealth and fame was winning, Though careful that his life should rest On Virtue's underpinning, At last he stood as strong and firm As oaks in pastures growing, Regardless that the tide of life In other ways was flowing. Though prest with business cares, he drew A line for every duty, 26 ANNIVERSARY POEM. And held a sacred place apart For nature, love and beauty; And in the quiet of his home, Few cares his life distressing He found, what man should always find, Life here, life's greatest blessing. That's Jim, as I remember him He's older now, still growing In quiet manliness and grace, His early training showing. His three-score years and ten have left Slight trace of care or sorrow, And still he hopes, from Father Time, Some happy years to borrow. "A grand old man!" ''That's Jim," you say I own I mean no other, For he would be to every man A true friend and a brother. Sometime the Lord will say to Jim, "Come up a little higher! " And Jim will answer, "Lord! I hear, Fulfill Thine own desire." Scores of our boys, we call to mind to-day, Like Sam and Dan and Jim our boys were they: And proud are we these later years have shown What boys can do, to useful manhood grown, ANNIVERSARY POEM. 27 Started in life, with culture and good sense, And lofty aims young manhood's best defense. In those dark days, when clouds of sulphurous hue O'erspread the land, and Freedom scarcely knew What men to trust on whom she could rely For faithful service , and if needs be die Then, then it was, our boys no duty knew That was not loyal and to Freedom true. How many went, let the old records tell, And went unflinching to that awful hell Of battle carnage, where the earth, made red With human blood, and all o'er canopied With battle smoke through which ran tongues of flame Like evil spirits, none but God could tame; And whizzing balls and shrieking bombs let fly, Left shattered victims, in such agony, That Death itself seemed pitiful and blest In giving these, the maimed and dying, rest. Mid scenes like these, our boys stood staunch and true Heroes as brave as Freedom ever knew. What tribute pay ? Language has found no tongue Their deeds to tell no poet yet has sung Their fitting praise; and history has no pen That can record what Freedom owes to men Made of such stuff, that Abraham Lincoln knew, However tried they would be loyal, true. 28 ANNIVERSARY POEM. Through all our lives we have been proud to own The sway of woman, set her on a throne Of rare dominion queen by right divine, Ruling all hearts, and by the gracious sign Of love made known, has made of home a place Where Virtue reigns with most benignant grace; And where the man, within her influence thrown, Has been compelled her gracious sway to own. The Franklin girls, we always understood, Were worth the winning beautiful as good ; In manners graceful, graceful in their speech, And not too proud to be beyond the reach Of worthy boys who had an eye to see A bright-eyed girl, both lovable and free; And, having seen her, ere school-life was done, A future wife was very often won ; And, having won her, everybody knew She would be loyal and forever true. Such were the girls we used to know, complete In grace and beauty than a rose more sweet. To learn to love them was an easy thing As for the birds, at early morn, to sing; And love, you know, is never fully blest Until it finds in all the world the best. I see them now just as they used to be. From later follies and ambitions free, ANNIVERSARY POEM. 29 Content with life and those constraints that bind To true devotion, when to love inclined; And when inclined, her life and all were laid Upon the altar love itself had made. Somehow, to me, the modern girl, though fair, With old-time girls one hardly could compare; Their glow of health, their earnest, winning ways Are quite uncommon in these latter days. Could you but see them as we used to see, With us, no doubt, all doubters would agree. Recall the girl you deemed the brightest, best, The many charms that she for you possest; Her coal-black eyes, aglow with living flame Love's lightning flashing, only love could tame; Her shining tresses, black as raven's wing. And soft as silk, rich merchants sometimes bring From the far East, her glowing cheeks a sign That they were made for joys almost divine; Matched with a form so rounded and so free, You could but own her native majesty; In fact a queen, with queenly graces rare, Among Earth's daughters fairest of the fair; Or, if blue-eyed, not long before you knew The rarest light shone in those eyes of blue. How deep they were, I'm sure you could not tell, But deep enough to be a miracle Of depth and sweetness, and a single look Changed your whole being, and you undertook 30 ANNIVERSARY POEM. To solve a riddle wiser men have tried In vain to solve, with love unsatisfied. Enough to own, henceforth you daily drew New thoughts and fancies from those depths of blue. Henceforth a change ! and you would dream away In sense of bliss the duties of the day, Careless of books careful no other boy Should understand, and new-found bliss annoy. If not your fix, some other boys I knew Half mad at times, so fierce the passion grew. They all lived through it, and if here could tell Some pretty tales of what to them befell Like those you find in books and magazines, Oft read by young folks well on in their 'teens. What memories these ! You call them thin as air, Bubbles perhaps; but rainbow tints are there. These color life perchance, have power to show How, from mere trifles, great results may grow, The loves of boyhood, made a Burns to sing, Inspired an Irving, making him a king In realms historic; and for aught I know, Have made your feet in better ways to go. Like well trained coursers, swift the moments fly; We meet and part comes soon the long " Good Bye. .Our fifty years have passed, and now we wait What shall come after; and when, soon or late, ANNIVERSARY POEM. 31 The call is heard to summon us away, However prest, that call we must obey. No great ambitions unfulfilled, can keep Our feet from rest, our eyes from lasting sleep. When that time comes, Lord ! give us faith to see Our very longings centered safe in Thee. To other lives the future shall unfold What prophets dream of what as creed we hold Shall all be tested; all that's false shall die, And what is true, our future needs supply. Here rest content. God reigns, His will alone Can guide us safely through all seas unknown. The trusting soul alone has power to stand Amid life's wreckage, heeding God's command, To lighten ship of useless things, that make The voyage doubtful. Friends! fresh courage take; All seas are safe, obedient to His will; And in this faith, O doubting heart, be still ! OTHER POEMS. PROEM. This flow of rhyme, is but a quiet stream Babbling away of country life a dream; Unheard its music, save as willing ears Listen at times through intervening years. With few rewards, it only seeks to flow Through rural scenes, well pleased, if it may know That country homes accept the proffered cJieer, And lisfning wait, familiar strains to hear. The hill-side brooks have little part to play With sweeping tides, that bear great ships away; But pasture lands, and meadows low, between, Mark well their course 'by shades of living green^ Men all engrossed, but little heed can pay, To rural scenes, where nature, as in play, Gathers the springs, and bids their waters flow^ In ceaseless rhyme, to thirsty lands below. Content I wait not for applause, or fame / would not tempt the scorching heat of flame Fed by ambition; rather far, I press The humbler ways of quiet happiness. Not quite alone : the friends I love are dear, And in their presence, find I greatest cheer; Grant these to me, and with them let me go, Singing the songs I could not help but know. 35 1 ' Children of the wood are these Singing underneath the trees." THE HUDSON. I sing the Hudson, fairest stream that flows From northern highlands, fed by winter snows, And summer showers, and clear cool springs, that wade Knee-deep in ferns, beneath the constant shade Of grand old forests each and all intent To add some charm to wildwood merriment; Or, wandering wild 'mong rocks, moss-grown, and grey, Well pleased at last to somewhere find their way. Children of the wood are these, Singing underneath the trees, Babbling to the timid deer, That to quench their thirst draw near List'ning to the wild-bird's song, As they slowly glide along Whirling, in a dizzy round Where the speckled trout are found; Or, in wanton, careless play Tossing up the dewy spray, Glad to see, that more than fair Rainbow tints and colors are; These, gathered all, flow southward in a tide Of matchless beauty, well a Nation's pride The mighty Hudson, all its waters free To find, unvexed, a pathway to the sea. 37 3 8 THE HUDSON. II Through valleys fair, by verdant hills it flows Seaward forever, seeking no repose. It hears the sound of many flocks and herds, The hum of cities, melody of birds, The village stir, the plough-boy's song, the sigh Of winter winds, and summer's melody; It greets the hills, and looks with loving eyes On mountain peaks that pierce the very skies. Hear the Hudson, murmuring low, Crooning to itself "I know Men have ways their own, but I Question never Wherefore ? Why ? Hills are more than men to me, And the mountains that I see, In eternal grandeur rise Always, pleasing mysteries. Nature kindly is, and true ; Morning decks the earth anew, And the day's declining light Fills me, thrills me with delight." Thus croons the Hudson to itself, nor cares For Trade's demands. It uncomplaining bears What burthens Commerce, world-wide commerce brings The spoil of empires, and the wealth of kings. Ill Among the Highlands, prest on either shore, It murmurs not, nor with tempestuous roar C sf n> eT THE HUDSON. 39 Hurls back defiance. Secretly it hides In deepest caverns its else angry tides; Kisses the feet of Storm King, not oppressed To find his image mirrored on its breast; Salutes with grace the soldier-boys, who keep Due watch and guard o'er West Point's rocky steep. Winding, turning here and there, New enchantments everywhere, Islands, shores, and hamlets old, Rich in legends often told; By that home at Sunnyside, Where ' our Irving ' lived and died, Glides the Hudson. " Him I knew As a lover, leal and true Knew him, as true men are known, By the kindly spirit shown; And I sometimes think I see Irving, as he used to be, Standing, in the twilight grey Musing, in the old-time way." True to the Hudson, on its banks he chose His life-long home; and there in charming prose He wrote its legends, well the scholar's pride; And all men mourned, when gentle Irving died. IV As comes a conqueror in the pride of state From victories won, with trophies rich and great, 40 THE HUDSON. So comes the Hudson, bearing proudly down The spoil of forests, harvest fields, and town A wealth untold, a joy, a glad surprise, A boon for earth, a mirror for the skies; Nears the Great City, one broad sweeping tide, Where navies rest, and fleets triumphant ride. Hear the Hudson! "This 1 know, Thrives the state and cities grow Through the blessings that I bring, Servant of earth's Lord and King. He alone is wise and good Praise Him! as all people should. Men may change, but He is true His are blessings ever new. Morning, noon, and night, I bring To your doors His offering. Life is short, achievement slow, Ocean calls, and I must go." So sang the Hudson; and I saw at sea, The glad waves dancing, in the sunlight free The Ocean's welcome. Well for all, at last, Who find a haven, when Life's toils are past. I - THE TOLL-GATHERER. A long and weary road I trod, One sultry summer's day, With scarce an intervening shade To tempt the traveler's stay; Or cooling spring, or sylvan lake, From which my burning thirst to slake. High overhead, an August sun Looked down with steadfast gaze; And, like the points of heated spears, Pierced through and through his rays No coat of mail, or shield of hide, Could shelter from the burning tide. The fields with trembling ardor glowed; As in Love's first excess, The doubting victim scarcely knows If love, indeed, doth bless Then turns with yielding look, aside, And bears, as best, the fevered tide. The robust maize that greets the sun, And with a lover's eye Looks up to catch his brightest beams, When noon-tide crowns the sky, Now dropt its slender arms, and stood, Like one in her first widowhood. 42 THE TOLL-GATHERER. Those fairest "Children of the Sun "- The bright-eyed summer flow'rs, That drink the morning's sweetness up To woo the twilight hours, Hung down their heads, in field and grove, Abashed by Sol's untempered love. With drooping wing and panting breast, The "merry-throated" wren Had gone to sing love's lullaby In cool and shady glen; And in the forest's deep embrace, Each songster sought some shady place. The lowing herds, the bleating flocks, With Nature's untaught grace, Seemed, in their quiet way, to thank God for a shady place. Or, standing in some dark pool's brim. Drank, off'ring up their praise to Him. With fever'd brow and parching lip, Amid the burning sand, I urged my good steed on, and saw A dwelling near at hand, With covered gateway, and ajar, Swung to and fro the toll-man's bar. And as I dropt the yielding rein Beneath its tempting shade, THE TOLL-GATHERER. 43 There came for toll, instead of age, A young and artless maid An artless maiden, in whose eye I caught the depth and hue of sky. ''Your toll, sir!" and I answered not Nor token gave or sign Rare beauty in my dreams I'd seen And christened it divine; But dream ne'er limned on empty air, A face so sweet, a form so fair. "O Beauty! sorceress art thou," Fell from my parted lips "The wild bee leaves unharmed the flow'r And still some sweetness sips; But thou, from ev'ry passing soul Dost ask, as tribute, double toll!" "Your words are riddles, sir! that I But little comprehend I simply asked for toll nor deem I'm other than your friend. God led my footsteps here, and I Have little right to question why." " Or need you question pardon grant I was in dreaming mood God placed you here 'tis well to own That He to all is good; THE TOLL-GATHERER. And He in largeness grants to me Where beauty is the gift to see." "But, maiden! I am travel-worn; For since the dawn of day, Long, weary miles I've rode, and now For rest I humbly pray; And then, when evening's shadows fall, For toll and rest, I'll pay thee all." " Tis well," she answered, "and my lips No false words dare to tell Come in, and I your glass will fill With water, from the well Will share with you our little store Of simple food, and wish 'twere more." Refreshed with rest, I watched the throng Of weary passers-by, And all, from youth to age, seemed pleased When she for toll drew nigh; And I, by word or look, could tell, No heart was free from Beauty's spell. The old man, resting on his staff, Forgot to count his dimes, And dreaming Youth, as on he passed, Sang snatches of old rhymes; And haggard Want and furrowed Care Looked up, and caught a sunbeam there. THE TOLL-GATHERER. 45 And little did the maiden dream That all the passing throng, From her blest presence drew relief, And felt each nerve grow strong And that no priest at holy shrine Like Beauty's self has power divine. But soon the evening shadows fell Athwart the dusty plain; And I, in heart and limb refreshed, Resumed my steps again Thrice thankful to the God above That earth has beauty, youth and love. And thus I mused : Life is indeed To some a summer's day, Where Passion, fiercest sun that burns If with untempered ray Drives from the heart all bursts of song, And makes the Pilgrim's journey long. The flow'rs stand drooping in his path, He treads on burning sand; And blasted hopes, like arid plains Stretch out on either hand. No tempting shade, or bubbling spring, Their wonted wealth of freshness bring. Thrice happy he whose footsteps lead Where artless Beauty stands, 4 6 THE TOLL-GATHERER. Demanding toll, with silvery voice, And wide extended hands; And happier he with 'raptured gaze. Who turns, and willing tribute pays. LINES, Suggested by a Lady, Reading. Did you hear the words that came From those dainty lips, aflame With the passion and the thrill Of the Poet's matchless skill ? Did you note that living words, Like the melody of birds Rose and fell, as borne on wings Far away from meaner things ? What the witchery and the spell ? Who is wise enough to tell ? Rosy lips are often tame Rarely tipped with bursts of flame, That, with heat their own can reach, Far beyond the gift of speech. What the power, almost divine, That can make the poet's line, Like a living creature, bear Soul and sense to higher air ? This the riddle. Red lips tell Whence this seeming miracle ? Burns himself comes back and sings Dainty love songs whisperings LINES. Of that passion, he alone Could to other hearts make known: And that peer of English song, Tennyson, the great, the strong, How the music of his lyre, Thrills the soul with new desire ! This, no pleasant dream of mine, Gift of speech is gift divine. Dainty lips! so red and sweet, O'er and o'er old rhymes repeat. Ah ! the poet, he can tell, Whence this seeming miracle. As the perfume of the rose Does its inmost life disclose, So do sweetest lips express More than outward loveliness 'Tis the soul within that stirs, Making all men worshippers. THANK GOD FOR TREES! Thrice happy they who walk attent, and know God's hand is seen in all good things that grow; Nor least of these Are the deep-rooted, long-lived, blessed trees. Rank upon rank, in countless hosts they stand, The living guardians of a grateful land. Thank God for trees ! Through all the year, some ministry they bring To birds that fly, and every creeping thing; And man, earth's lord, Before the trees should bow in sweet accord. In " God's first temples " walk with reverent care. All sights, all sounds invite the soul to prayer. Thank God for trees! When spring-time comes, it is a joy to see New life, new hope, in every living tree The life that thrills Shows everywhere among the wooded hills; And everywhere, among the budding trees, Life daily shows some pleasing mysteries. Thank God for trees! In summer days how grateful is the shade Of thick-leaved trees in tangled forest glade; 49 50 THANK GOD FOR TREES. And growing free In field or lane, what beauty in a tree! And through the valleys, what a joy to trace These summer trees all robed in matchless grace ! Thank God for trees! When autumn comes Ah! then it is one sees The matchless glory of earth's myriad trees They burn, they glow With every color earth or heaven may know; And with their fruits, in ever-plenteous store, They fill our baskets till we want no more. Thank God for trees! In wintry days, when the cold winds come down, And wander wild thro' grove and field and town, Then listening What anthems wild the trees exultant sing! Now high, now low as minstrels old they stand, And fill with music all the frozen land. Thank God for trees! Not vain, not vain is homage paid to trees God fashioned them, not rudest sense to please; But made them all For wisest purpose, either great or small. On all the hills, in all the valleys low, The glad earth welcomes all the trees that grow. Thank God for trees! THANK GOD FOR TREES. Poet and Painter lo ! among the trees They walk elate; books have no charms like these. With earnest eyes, To them all nature is a glad surprise. Poems and pictures, as the light and air, Among the trees are present everywhere. Thank God for trees! THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. I sing the Farmer's Daughter born To make the farm life cheery, Who, singing at her task at morn, At even-tide, not weary, Has still a song, and still a smile, For every living creature, And lips that speak no word of guile, And face, and form, and feature So full of life and health, the farm In her, sees Nature's sweetest charm. In ways, her own, she lives to learn, Some useful lesson daily, And from life's round of care can turn, To question wisely, gaily, All things that grow the earth, the sky, And fruits, and flowers, in season, And always getting some reply, That satisfies her reason; And satisfied, she comes to know All useful things, the earth can grow. The birds about her, come and go, In careless, wanton pleasure, And sing the sweetest songs they know, To charm her hours of leisure. 52 THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. 53 The story of their life, she knows, Their love songs, sweetly breaking The charm of sleep, when Morning shows That Night, her leave is taking; And wide awake, she greets the day, And turns from rest, with joy away. In city streets, she little hears But sounds, that startle, weary; And city life, to her appears As something restless, dreary, And city ways, seem lacking all In hearty tones of feeling, And city woes, her heart appall, And Want to Greed appealing Shows life to her, so little known, She gladly turns to seek her own. Where others faint, she wearies not In any round of duty; And home for her, is one dear spot That daily grows in beauty. Beneath her hand, all flowers bloom, And fruits, full ripe, or growing For these she finds abundant room, And proud she is, of showing These blessings of the earth, sent down By God himself, his life to crown. 54 THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. Dear Girl !. The world has many ways, That end alike in sorrow, And idle hands find tedious days, That know no bright to-morrow. For you, the seasons come and go, To every sense appealing For you, the buds to blossoms grow, And these their fruits revealing, In time will show, how blest are they Who Nature's law, and life obey. LINES. Suggested by a visit to Mt. Wilson May i ith, 1893. These mountain peaks lift their bold heads on high, Play with the clouds, and tempest winds defy; Though scarred and seamed, like vet'rans old they stand As bold protectors of a favored land. Proud and majestic, on the plains below, They look well pleased, content that man must know He has his limits that for him the sun Warms pleasant valleys; and when day is done Bids him to rest, secure and not afraid Of quiet Nature, in sweet garb arrayed; But on these mountains, poised in realms of air, Man learns his weakness, voiced in words of prayer Here, granite rocks, unstable seem, piled high Against the blue of earth's o'er-arching sky. When bolder grown, he scales these mountain sides Where rugged Nature in rude state abides, And beetling cliffs, like crippled giants, lean On the thin air; and depths below are seen Abyssmal, dark, from whence no sound or sign, Save the low breathings of the mountain pine However bold, man shrinks appalled away, And startled sense begins at once to pray 55 56 LINES. For surer foothold getting no reply From the great crags that topple in the sky; Here man finds God supreme, His power displayed In the great mountains His own hands have made. Only the eagle on these cliffs can rest And feel secure, and build unawed its nest. OUR RIVER, The Susquehannah. All the rivers seek the sea Rippling, flowing gracefully, Making music as they run Blessing bearers, every one. In the Susquehannah, lo ! All the purest waters flow, Kept from harm by cooling shade, Forests grand, and old have made. From the land where Cooper's pen Famous made untutored men From Otsego's hills, that stir Heart of Nature's worshipper From a lake whose depths serene Are walled in with living green, Runs our river to the sea, Healthful, hopeful, joyfully. Through the meadows, lying low, Where the sweetest grasses grow Through the woodland's denser shade, By the willows' tangled glade Flows our river when it wills Turning wheels for busy mills; 57 58 OUR RIVER. Night and day, with constant care Scattering blessings everywhere. By the farmer's door it glides In and out with ceaseless tides; To our village homes it brings All the wealth of brooks and springs That a thousand hills have sent Valley ward, in merriment: In the Susquehannah, see! Type of what our lives should be. On its banks the artist sees Nature's pleasing mysteries; And the poet tarries long, Waiting, but to catch the song That its cheery waters sing To all creatures listening. Ah ! the poet knows full well It is Nature's miracle. YOSEMITE. An Impromptu written in the Valley June zd, 1893. God made the world, and resting from His toil He looked on all, as with approving eye; Then questioned He, what form the heavens should take (As yet the sky was formless all, and void) And on these cliffs, majestic, broad and high, Saw ample place to plan the lofty sky. What plans He tried, these cliffs forever show, Sketched bold and free, as He, all-wise, did plan, And done by hands obedient to His will. Arches are here, and tow'rs, and mystic signs No man can read, however learned and wise. Well pleased, God saw, what His own hands had made The giant dome that crowns Yosemite, And poised high up, in realms of upper air, In form complete and grand beyond compare; And seeing said, " A dome shall arch the sky, And on these cliffs that vaulted dome shall rest Upheld secure, whilst time itself shall last; " And to this day, as seen by human eye, They bear aloft the blue dome of the sky. 59 THE OCEAN. Written on the Beach, at Santa Barbara, May 3d, 189-,. I place my hand upon the ocean's pulse, And feel the beatings of its mighty heart; And play with it, as children play with brooks Careless and wanton, all; and yet that tide Encircles earth in its diurnal flow, Bears on its bosom mountains tall and cold Of glittering ice, toys with great ships, and dares Earth's granite cliffs, as which shall master be A task the gods would hardly dare enrage ; then turns And plays with sands, and ocean weeds, and shells, And babbles gently, as a lover should, Seeking to woo a modest, blushing maid. At times like these man little has to fear, Yea, shrinks not from its cool and soft embrace, And dares to listen to its many tales, Whispered and low, as were the quiet tones We heard in childhood from a mother's lips; But when in anger, the great surges roll, And caverns open in the depths below, As deep as hell and pitiless as fate, Ah! then it is man shrinks, appalled, away And prays for help no mortal power can give ; And God himself, as powerless seems to be Against the strength of His own angry sea. 60 LIFE'S AUTUMN. Lines Inscribed to a Friend. To stand ennobled, in the golden haze Of later autumn, all the land ablaze With lights so varied, the unwearied eye Turns here and there, new beauties to descry; Life's harvest gathered, and the costly sheaves Piled high, and crowding to the very eaves The well-filled garner this it is to be In ripe old age, from meaner passions free. For you, my friend, the Autumn time has come, The ripe nuts fall you hear betimes the hum Of laden bees, the still warm Sun has prest To labors new, ere Winter gives them rest. The branches bend with later fruits that cling To leafless trees these wait the coming Spring And that new life that bye-and-bye shall be Revealed again, in every budding tree. Nature is trustful; with a faith sublime She patient waits, knowing, in God's good time Shall be revealed His larger purpose, shown In changing seasons, and in ways His own. So age should wait, trustful and satisfied, With what He gives man cannot override 61 62 LIFE'S AUTUMN. Divine appointments, and the wise are they Who trust in God, and lovingly obey. Somewhere beyond we know not where it lies, Or where its bounds, or underneath what skies The dead are gathered; but beyond somewhere- There lies a land, than other lands more fair, Where the glad soul, released from death and sin, Shall a new life with untold joy begin. This faith possessed, we overleap the pain Of earthly partings. " Man shall live again!' ON THE SKIRMISH LINE. Ho! Comrades on the Skirmish Line ! All Hail! With pain I look down our thin lines, to see How fast you fall ; the bravest faces pale, And not a cheer, betok'ning victory. Our foe is Death, Our lives a breath We only wait his victims soon to be. I see your grey hairs flying in the breeze, Your wrinkled faces, battle-scarred, and thin, Your feeble steps by many signs like these, I know the fight, you cannot hope to win. Retreat is vain, Only the slain With some defiance, at the Conquerer grin. Life's great battalions in the rear, they come With banners flying, full of life and cheer, Their steps in time with trumpet blare, and drum, And ALL elate, with scarce a sign of fear. In long array They press this way, To fill our ranks, so soon to disappear. 63 6 4 ON THE SKIRMISH LINE. Far in the rear, the young, with jest and song, And merry dance, strew flowers by the way; And Love's sweet glances, thrill the giddy throng, And life is all a merry roundelay. How sweet the dream ! How swift the stream ! That on and on, bears youth, and all away. The middle ranks See how they press this way ! Ambitious, proud, self-willed, and very strong For Life's great battle they have ceased to play And all intent, they grandly move along. With battle hymn, And faces grim, They face the foe, and would the strife prolong. Ho! Comrades on the skirmish line! we wait, And bide our time. These, soon or late will fill Our places here; and whether soon or late, Is not for us whenever God shall will. Ho ! Comrades mine ! Our skirmish line Grows thin and weak the very air is chill. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Died Oct. 7, 1894. A grand Old Man, a Poet, loving, true, That from real life his inspirations drew, Lies down at last, in holy peace to rest One of the few we love and honor best. The Old Immortals, of a race now rare, Open their ranks, that he with them may share The full fruition of a life that ends, With naught to mar, and all mankind his friends. As "Autocrat," he made New England share In all his triumphs drew about his chair, As willing list'ners, half the world beside, Stirred by an impulse, close to love allied. When he was born, the gods relenting, knew The time was ripe for inspirations new ; And gave to him companionship so rare, That in their triumphs he was proud to share. Though old in years, in thought and ready tongue, He kept the faith of those forever young, And made old age, pay tribute, as it should, To every impulse that was youthful, good. 65 66 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. To sing his praise in higher strains of art, Is useless quite he touched the world's great heart With such rare skill, henceforth his fame shall rest Secure in this, he gave mankind his best. Lay him to rest! Men call this death, but pray, What was this life, death had no power to slay? Immortal now, death could but lay aside Life's useless things, where no great hopes abide. In full completeness, rounded out at last, He lives to-day, as in the years, now past; And will live on, without a pain or care, While in his gifts, a grateful people share. THE CZAR, ALEXANDER III. Died in his Palace, in Livadia, Nov. ist, 1894. Dead in his palace, lies the Russian Czar, Helpless in death, as humble peasants are . In war a Sovereign, nations held in awe, In peace a King, whose word became as law; Now dead he lies, Beneath Crimean skies, And startled Europe owns a sad surprise. What foe is this, that bids a King lie down, Takes from his head, the great Imperial crown, And bids another, young in years, to take The glittering bauble, held for Russia's sake? Armies are vain; Great fleets cannot sustain Unequal conflict, or advantage gain. Eastward and westward, northward, southward run Heralds, swift-winged, to tell what Death has done; And by the Volga, and the Danube's flow Great Russia weeps, and owns supreme her foe. Uneasy Kings, With low-voiced whisperings, Tell of the terror, Death, exultant, brings. 67 68 THE CZAR, ALEXANDER III. No blare of trumpets, and no roll of drums Sound out defiance, as the conquerer conies; The palace gates, defenseless, open wide To let Death in. Warriors in battle tried Make vain display; And vet'rans, old and gray, Like women weep so impotent are they. Pray what are crowns and diadems, that bring So many cares to a defenseless King? And what are thrones, that topple in a breath, And mock with splendor, the grim Court of Death? Baubles are these, Ambitious Kings to please; Scarce worth the dust that soils a courtier's knees. Ask the dead Czar the Autocrat, who lies In funeral pomp beneath his native skies? His lips are mute, his eyes are closed and dim; And what are thrones and empires, now to him? The Czar is dead! The new Czar reigns instead; And Russian peasants daily toil for bread. THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. A Dream of Childhood. A shallow mountain brook, and fed By springs so cool and sweet, Its tempting waters often led To some secure retreat, Where, listening ! told were all the dreams That haunt the beds of mountain streams. A rhyme it was to Childhood's ears Melodious; and told In ways the intervening years The priceless music hold; And Life's discordant notes of pain Are lost, when this is heard again. A rustic bridge its waters spanned, Where, underneath, in Spring The Phoebe-birds, at love's command, Come back to woo, and sing, And build their nests a gentle pair That reared their callow young with care. That brook and bridge, in boyhood's days My careless steps beguiled I little knew the weary ways That life would bring the child; 6 9 THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. I only knew, that pain or care In those bright days had little share; For, standing ever by my side, A prattling maiden grew To understand, with childish pride That I to her was true That she was true to me, was told In artless ways, restrained nor bold. The babble of the mountain brook From her sweet lips I heard, And in her dark blue eyes to look So many sweet thoughts stirred, That bridge and brook, and earth and sky, Gained something, mirrored in her eye. O Maiden, of those early years f These later years could bring For you, for me, but griefs and fears And hopes, fast withering; These early loves alone remain Untarnished by long years of pain. The babbling brook still murmurs sweet, As in the days of yore. And nesting birds their songs repeat Alas! for us no more They sing their songs, and far away The brook where we were wont to play, THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. Bridge and Brook! O Maiden fair! O Childhood ! All a dream ? 1 sometimes wonder men can bear To have these visions seem So very real, whilst life opprest With present cares, finds peace nor rest. SLEEP! To sleep! Most blessed sleep Breaks life's dull round of care; No weary vigils here to keep, No agonizing prayer. One good night kiss, A sense of bliss The loving only share ; And then away ! To sleep away ! Without a thought of yesterday. 72 AN EVENING SONG. 73 To sleep ! To sleep ! The drowsy wings Of angels, wait to bear With low and whispered murmurings All sense of being, where Sweet lullabys With dreams suffice To keep away all care ; And sound, enchanted, dare not wake The echoes, charmed for Slumber's sake. To sleep! To sleep! To-morrow's sun Man has no power to stay, His heralds on swift feet will run To drive all sleep away. Night loveth sleep The day must keep With constant care the noisy ways That Toil must pass through weary days. ONE DAY WITH GOD, ALONE. One day with God alone my Soul and I With God the Father. Question and reply, But voiceless all; as love is voiceless, stirred To quick response, that needs no spoken word. Thus He to me, revealed himself drew near My soul attent, my heart with holy fear Beating in measure, with the pulsing tide That fills all space, and not to me denied. So close He came, He touched my eyes, else dim- They opened wide, in this new light, from Him A light supernal, reaching wide and far, Beyond the bounds of moon, or sun, or star; And Earth itself was glorified the trees, Rivers and lakes, mountains, and rolling seas, With a new grace, appealed to sense and sight, And made the world, one scene of rare delight. He touched my ears, and music, else unheard, Filled all the air no music-making bird But warbled sweeter; and the soft refrain Of angel voices, gladdened earth again. 74 ONE DAY WITH GOD, ALONE. 75 He touched my tongue polluted taste was there Contented not, with God's abundant fare; And taste revived, well pleased to learn at last, That God in nature spreads a rich repast. He touched my lips they opened wide, to sing New songs of praise, to Him, earth's Lord and King; And made them tell of love, and grace Divine, That in the Christ, like precious jewels shine. One day with God alone! O Soul of mine! All other help, all other hopes resign; Life is not vain, earth has no weary care When God is near, and present, everywhere, A day with Him, transfigures things of sense, And makes of want, abundant competence. All sight, all sound, all sense through Him made free, Reveal, in part, what Heaven, at last, must be. LINES. Inscribed to my Friend, Judge A. S. T., past 83 years of age, January i4th, 1893. At four score years, Nature, contented, waits And ponders well, which way the mystic gates Of life should swing; and whilst she ponders, lo! The Fates alert, their untried power to show, Demand " the gates shall have an outward swing To pass along those who some proof can bring That they have kept, through all these years, the glow And loves of youth, and by their faces show The proof required." For three full years, and more, Has careless Nature quite forgot the score Of eighty years; and the indulgent Fates With cheerful hands have opened wide the gates For you to pass, and still your genial ways Give promise large of many happy days; And many years, for friends, both old and new To test the bond that binds them all to you. God bless the men, who old, are ever young, And on their brows let garlands fresh be hung; They teach mankind, this simple truth to test, "They longest live, who love and serve the best." 76 IN MEMOR1AM James G. Blaine. One known to fame, in life's great conflicts tried, Lies down at last to take his needful rest. Men call him dead; for Nature satisfied Signals no more, to call her bravest, best, To fields of action, where his trusty blade In ranks opposing, open pathways made. Yes! Blaine is dead, if death it be to lie In that calm state, that gives no outward sign, Of human action, and no lips reply To eager questions, seeking to divine What new thought next, shall stir heroic strife. And make for man, in the rough joust of life. A partisan, He made all party ties Do loyal service to his higher creeds Striving to shape a people's destinies In ways befitting a great nation's needs; And having won, his glad ambition saw New thought take shape, in needful forms of law. A Patriot he, he dared to count the cost Of earnest action, for. the good of all; And never dreamed that conflict, hopeless, lost, Though his worn hosts, beleagured were, and small: 77 78 IN MEMORIAM. And when advancing, his glad steps outran The very bravest, in his zeal for man. Men call this death. The poet understands This is not death ; but life immortal, won The hour of triumph, when with willing hands The Muse, historic, owns her favored son; And all the ages, shall henceforward tell Of Him who served his country long and well. Bear Him to rest! A partisan no more! All parties vie to honor Him at last; They come to know, and touch that better shore Upon whose sands, no wrecks of hate are cast; And the horizon, stretching wide and far, Reveals how mean life's narrow visions are. Bear Him to rest, with love and patient care; And whilst the nations, keeping time and place To mellow music, in the pageant share, Let us, his comrads, the occasion grace With chant, and hymn, and words expressive, said In earnest speech, in honor of our dead. FRANK D. CURTIS: A Memorial Tribute. Voiceless is one whose voice we loved to hear. We listen, wait; But wait in vain. His presence once a cheer, His step elate, Is seen not, heard not. Seek him where we may, We seek in vain Death bars its gates alway. Not long ago, among true, earnest men He foremost stood, Willing to serve, with ready tongue and pen, All human good; But loving best the farmer's life, he there Labored with zeal and most untiring care. In life's full tide, his seeming task undone, His work approved, His counsel sought, his friendships fairly won, By all beloved What call to go ? Alas, he could not stay, When death made haste to summon him away. The home he graced is stricken; and the farm He loved to till, There finding daily some unwonted charm His heart to thrill, 79 So FRANK D. CURTIS. Makes mute appeal to herds, and flocks, and trees, For his kind face and thoughtful ministries. At home, abroad, the tillers of the soil Honored the man, Who strove to lighten the demands of toil, And dared to plan For better homes and broader lives, and fields Where nature, pleased, abundant harvest yields. In serving others, he best served the State; And labor knew, In thought and purpose he was more than great, That he was true To the demands of unskilled toil, and knew On barren fields what scanty harvests grew. And so he labored, earnestly and long, With right good will, To cheer mankind, and make the weaker strong, And thus fulfill The higher claims of brotherhood the test Of Christian manhood, noblest, truest, best. To draw the curtain of the grave is vain ; He is not there. But dust and ashes, these alone remain, To mock our prayer; We only know, that in that dim unknown, Our God and Father keeps and guards His own. FRANK D. CURTIS. f One joy remains: in memory's glass we see, With scarce dimmed eye, Our genial Curtis as he used to be, In days gone by: We hear him speak, we catch his hopeful cheer, And almost wonder that he is not here. Dear friend and brother! Near and yet so far, The way seems long: No light breaks through from sun or moon or star; But faith made strong, O'erleaps the grave, and with exultant breath Shouts back "He lives ! Conquered, the conqueror Death. THE NEW YEAR. A merry Prince, the New Year comes With treasure in his hands His fleets on varied oceans sail, And when the Prince commands They furl their sails, in port to lie, Or, seaward, on white wings they fly. He gives to all, and takes from all; And what he gives away He takes to-morrow back again It seems an idle play To take and give, and give and take, For giddy Fortune's own dear sake. These passing days the pets of time He treats with little care; He starts them off to tramp, at dawn, On very scanty fare; And when the night comes, not a star Knows where these little wanderers are. The weeks he tends with greater care; And once I heard him say " A Prince, or pauper, was a fool To throw a week away." 82 THE NEW YEAR. 83 A sage conclusion, doubtless made, When Folly made the Prince afraid. A month!" "A month!" The royal court Grew restless and afraid The Prince would be a beggar soon Unless he quickly made A new departure toil and fast Cannot redeem the time once past. This made, the Prince began at once To count his priceless store, Repeating, " twelve times one is twelve, Just that, and nothing more; And twelve times one a Prince or dunce, Should need this problem solved but once." PRAYER. Morning and Evening. MORNING. The Morning comes. To hallow it with prayer Is man's first duty, for God's loving care. The Night has fled, with all her drowsy train, And Day comes back, to cheer the world again. Down through the valley, messengers have run Through creeping mists, to herald back the sun; And gladsome Nature, now refreshed and strong. Opens her lips, in many bursts of song. So open we, OUR lips, in praise and prayer To the Dear Lord for His continued care; Not as a duty, but with glad acclaim, Seek we the Lord, and speak His holy name. Bend low, O Earth ! Bend low, O Soul of mine ! The hand that guides thee, is a hand Divine. To Thee, O Lord! some tribute we would pay, And give Thee thanks, for this returning day. EVENING. Departing Day has lingered in the west, For Night to come, in somber garments drest; She lights, the stars, and sets them in the sky, To cheer the world, whilst darkness passeth by. PRAYER. 85 The world needs rest it cometh not too soon, Too fierce the sun, were it forever noon ; And evening shadows, when with toil opprest, Invite to slumber, and to quiet rest. We give Thee thanksj Dear Lord ! Our souls attest, The day for toil, the night for quiet rest; So ere we slumber, we look up to Thee, And hymn Thy praise,, and bend a willing knee. To be forgiven, we would humbly pray The sins of life, are many, day by day; Both day and night we need Thy tender care, Forgive and keep us this our evening prayer. IN THE STUDIO. This home of art, is the abiding place Of earnest thought, and most unselfish care Of constant struggle after forms that grace Man's higher nature. Life is here a prayer, A longing, waiting, those must know, who stand Enraptured, seeing the Enchanted Land. This vision seen, the artist hence must press With feet of pain to heights, that seeming lie But just beyond feeling his nothingness And human weakness, as the years go by; But still impelled, again and yet again, To reach the goal, art cannot here attain. Nature is kind; but she has ways, her own, Where none can pass, assured and satisfied; But unto art, she has some kindness shown, And though from others, she rare gifts may hide, She gives to art, that rarer sense, that sees Supreme delights, earth's charming mysteries. Sometimes the sunshine and the shade combine To touch the valleys, make the mountains stand In royal robes, as though some power, divine Approaching near, had touched them with His hand Then art, made bold, the visions keep, for aye, Though all the grandure fades from sight away. 86 In The Studio. IN THE STUDIO. A holy place ! As the rapt prophet saw God manifest in sacred tongues of fire, So here the artist, shall new impulse draw, And light new flames of unfulfilled desire, Till in the glow, transfigured he shall stand Prophet and priest all life at his command. ONE YEAR OLD. A birth-day rhyme. Only one year old ; but my ! Looking into baby's eye One can see almost a score Of bright things unseen before Gems and jewels, things that shine. Found not in the deepest mine. Only one year old : but, look ! Easier to read a book Written full, and not a word Such as mortals ever heard Than to read the things that she, With her thoughtful eyes, doth see. Every day, some new surprise You can see in baby's eyes; And her babbling lips express More than wiser folks can guess; But, perhaps the angels may Understand what babies say. Mamma, sometimes, tries to guess, What her baby's lips express ; And she fancies I've no doubt Baby's thoughts are all found out; ONE YEAR OLD. But beyond what mamma knows Baby thinks and laughs and grows. ONE YEAR OLD. Ah, well-a-day. Let the baby laugh and play Let her think and let her grow, Careless, of the things we know: By and by we wait to see What her future life shall be. BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN. Back on the Farm again ! a glad release From noise and stir, to this domain of peace. The city streets, walled in on either side . With brick and mortar, hold a restless tide Of human life, with no glad impulse free, That is not touched by human misery; Wealth jostles want, and Sin and Virtue meet, Or walk together through the crowded street. On the Farm I only see Nature in her purity Flowers bloom, and grasses grow From the seeds I plant or sow; Grass or grain I choose, and find Nature to my choice inclined; And the winds, unvexed, are free In their blessed ministry, Full of health and odors sweet, Found not in the crowded street. This is rest a heaven to be From the city's turmoil free. Rest undisturbed by the discordant din Of midnight revels from the haunts of sin, And Toil unvexed by that unholy strife, That in the city frets and fevers life. 90 BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN. 91 Back on the Farm again I hear no more The din of Trade, with its tumultuous roar, Or walk or ride, through streets defiled, and made At brightest noon-day, but a noisome shade, Through which the odors of a foul decay Are wafted freely, if by night or day; Where, night or day, the tread of weary feet Goes echoing down the long and tiresome street. On the Farm the clover grows, Breath as sweet as any rose, And the wings of busy bees, Flying o'er these crimson seas, Honey laden, tell that they Duty's calls, with cheer obey; Whilst the merry-making birds, Knowing not the form of words, In a language all their own Praise the Lord for mercies shown ; City choirs and organ notes, Equal not their tuneful throats. In grand cathedrals, city folk may try To worship God; but underneath the sky In Nature's temple, God himself is there, His ear attent to every song or prayer. Back on the Farm again ! The years I spent In city life, were more than banishment; They filled my soul with anxious cares, unrest, For those, my children, loved and cherished best, 9 2 BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN. Shut out from Nature, with no healthful play On grassy lawns, as day succeeded day No fruits or flowers in easy reach, fresh grown, No trees or plants, or playground, all their own. On the Farm the children know Where the sweetest berries grow, When the nuts are ripe to fall, Where the apple, large or small, That is mellow, tart or sweet, Good enough for kings to eat; And to see them in the Spring, Open-eyed and wondering, As the buds to blossoms grow, And their wealth of color show Then I know how great the charm Childhood finds upon the Farm. Ah! then it is, the city seems to me The bane of childhood life a mockery; In cellars damp, in garrets dark and chill, Childhood is cursed, and graveyards early fill. Back on the Farm again! I look around, All sights but please, and to my ears no sound, Harsh and discordant. Earth and air, and sky, Like songs well sung, make only harmony. The landscape glows with color, and the trees Wave palms of joy, in every passing breeze; And sun and cloud, alike their blessings bring A realm my own, and I the happy king. BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN. 93 On the farm all days are blest, Some with toil, and some with rest Always near to Nature's heart, She can rarest grace impart. With the dawn, the morning light Shows some new and rare delight, And the noon, with radiant face, Is a minister of grace; And the day's declining light Welcomes the return of night, Bird and beast, or great and small, Love the farm God cares for all. Earth has no heaven ; but I here can see So much of God, in boundless mercy free, So little know of greed, and want, and sin, My home is safe a castle, well walled in. JUNE. Only one June its days and nights complete With life and growth its songs melodious sweet, As sung by birds its fragrant flowers aglow With all the beauty earth, or Heav'n, may know- Its skies serene its sun a living fire, That quickens all things with a new desire: And all things living, with conspiring breath, Proclaim in June, " life has no sense of death." OJune! Dear June! It is enough to know Our sinful lives, in thee, take strength, and grow To something better that in dreams we see Visions of what that better life must be; And, Soul of mine ! walk well attent beware You lose not all, in weary rounds of care Open all doors, and be thyself, in tune, To gladly welcome the inspiring June. NOW. Life comes and goes; each new day brings a test That tries our manhood. Gifts the costliest Are soon attained, or, lost for aye must be Henceforth a dream, a cheat, a mockery. The grey-beard, Time, With eloquence sublime, Calls for quick action, makes delay a crime. Life may be burthened by excess of care; Success waits not on bended knees, for prayer; It waits for action and heroic strife To do their part in the rough joust of life. Foe then meets foe, And souls prophetic know What life demands, and to the conflict go. That time is, Now. The fates alert, would bring To active manhood, choicest offering. The fruit of years, on branches bending low, Has ripened well it ceases soon to grow. The wise are they, Who gather when they may O'er-ripened fruit but hastens to decay. All times, all creeds, all hopes, all thrones must bow, And own supreme God's great Evangel, Now; 95 96 NOW. All joy is here man's holiest desires Are here expressed the everlasting fires Are kindled here, Whose rays and warmth shall cheer Whilst years roll on, when heav'n itself is near. O Soul of mine! There is no recompense For long delays manhood has no defense Against inaction. Wanting heroic will, Effort is vain, life's mission to fulfil. There is no creed To supplement a deed; The best resolve is but unplanted seed. God's time is Now. His gracious hand is shown In the rich fruitage, vanished years have grown It makes a day all prophecy fulfill, And crowns with triumph, those who work His will. Repentance, late, Howe'er importunate, Opens no doors to make Occasion great. AN OCTOBER SONG. Oct. 1 7th, '94. Men may work, and men may play; But this rare October day, All my sense of beauty thrills O the glory of the hills ! Labor not, and know no care, God is present everywhere. On the the valley lands, the sun Smiles, at what October's done; And the forests, all ablaze Crimson, in his cheerful rays; One as deft, as Nature knows, All her wealth of beauty shows. Art, and Poetry, and Song, These, by right divine belong To October they would raise, Constant notes of joy and praise. This, a pentacostal time, Making mortal life sublime. I have often understood, God as loving, kind, and good; By His grace again I see, What October days can be. 97 98 AN OCTOBER SONG. Then away with toil and care Let me in this glory share ! Nature has her moods and ways; But with these October days She but shows that man's desire Quickens, as with holy fire From God's altar songs of praise Let earth's favored children raise. Men may dream of lands more blest, By earth's favored ones possest Yea! may dream of lands that lie Somewhere, in the depths of sky; But behold ! this land of mine In October, seems divine. MORNING IN CALIFORNIA. Royally, as God's High Priest, From the chambers of the east Comes the Sun, refreshed and strong, Cheered, by many bursts of song. Like a strong man, cometh he, Pleased, the waking earth to see. On the earth below he smiles, And its continents and isles Welcome him with joy again; Whilst along the fruitful plain Every living creature stirs, Greeting him as worshippers. Proudly, forth the mountains stand, Waiting, but a God's command To uplift their heads, and bear Higher still, in realms of air, Earth's ambitions, far away From the cares of yesterday. O the glory of the morn, When a glad new day is born ! O the glory of the sky, Where no storms their banners fly, And the Sun, with daily grace, Shows a bright and shining face ! 99 MONTANA. Montana, like a monarch holds A kingdom all her own ; Looks down her valleys satisfied, And from her lofty throne Upon the snow-clad mountains, sees A realm, the proudest king to please. Great flocks and herds, roam far and wide On grassy uplands, fair As the green fields that charm the East, Tilled with unwonted care; And tented on the mountain sides, The pine, in regal pomp abides. With precious stones the mountain brooks In ceaseless babble, play, Or, from the rocky ledges bear The shining gold away; This, miser-like, they seek to hide In sands, that bed the rippling tide. Deep in the caverns of the hills, Unwonted wealth she stores These mountains are her treasure guard, And through their granite doors MONTANA. Labor alone can pass, and take The wealth she holds for Labor's sake. Her Sons, inured to hardy toil, As with Thor's hammer break A pathway to these hidden stores, Kept long, for Freedom's sake Content that all the world should share, With them, the wealth they well can spare. The blue dome of her sky shuts in A grandeur, all sublime Her mountains lift their heads above The fleeting mists of time, And in eternal silence see Unfolding, Life's strange mystery. The lips of Prophecy are dumb; The future, who can span? Enough to know, Montana has A heritage for man, And Toil, in forrest, field and mine Shall hold it all, by right divine. THE TYPE-WRITER'S SONG. Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click! ' In a merry round, like dancers fair, My fingers fly, with scarce a care Of what the wizard types shall say, As they go clicking away, away. Click, Click! Quick, Quick! Tongues made of steel, and lips of ink Tell, what th' wisest men may think. Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click! This is a race where the coursers fly With the speed of thought, whilst the drivers eye Is bright with tears of joy, that tell, Of this Invention's miracle. Click, Click! Quick, Quick! Faster and faster let them fly The present laughs at the times gone by. Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click! Thought is nimble, but quicker far Than thought itself, these fingers are, Made of steel and fashioned well The wonderful words of speech to tell. THE TYPE-WRITER'S SONG. 103 Click, Click! Quick, Quick! The world is busy and men are shy Of things that creep, and dare not fly. Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click-i-ty, Click! The slow old ways of ink and pen Are out of date, for busy men, With a Click, Click, Click, the work is done, And the writer's task is now but fun. Click, Click! Quick, Quick! As th' printed sheet, for itself has made A welcome warm, in the marts of trade. OUR UNCLE JOSH ; And What He Says. You never knew " Our Uncle Josh ? " you say! Well ! he was made For sturdy business work, to him, was play, With plough or spade. A patriot he, New England born and bred, And rough of speech, as sound in heart and head; He could not help it he was born that way And once, when " riled," I heard the Old Man say, " Dod Rot the scamps! who dare, By ways and means unfair Seek Party ends to gain, as though A Freeman's honest vote, Was worth no more than trading stock, Or, a Confederate note." His Grandsire was at Lexington, and stood, And blazed away At British red-coats, saying " it was good," " And a proud day " That saw them sneaking back to Boston town, And fairly whipped, before the sun went down. A little later, down at Bunker Hill, He, and his neighbors fought, and fought to kill. 104 OUR UNCLE JOSH. 105 But, Uncle Josh, he says, " That in those early days, A British soldier was a saint Compared with scamps, who try To change a Freeman's ballot By Gosh! I'd hang them high." In later years, the Sire of Uncle Josh, and son First born and true Of him who fought so well at Lexington, He also knew What battle meant; for when brave Lawrence died, He wounded lay, near his Commander's side, Nor moaned or groaned, for well the sailor knew, Cost what it might, his cause was just and true. But Uncle Josh declares, And in his warmth, he swears " Impressing seamen on the sea Was dirty business, sure; But ' ballot stealing,' that's a crime No freeman should endure." Well! Uncle Josh himself, he lived to see, In strong array, A mighty host well armed, and led by Lee Yea, saw the day When battle smoke filled all the southern sky, And gun to gun, made murderous reply, io6 OUR UNCLE JOSH. And brave men fall, the Earth itself oppressed, With the slain thousands, lying on its breast. But Uncle Josh, he says That " in those bloody days, He never, for a moment, thought But what the right would win, And that he fears these " cusses " more Who count " false ballots " in. Says Uncle Josh, " I'm getting old, I know, And should not swear, But crime is crime, and evils thrive and grow, Unless with care We root them out; and he who steals my vote Steals me; and worse at Freedom's very throat He holds a knife; and, damn him, patriot men Should throttle him, with pious zeal, Amen ! I love this land 'tis mine, And yours, by right divine; It is a goodly heritage, Worth all it cost, and we Have in our charge a mighty trust, God help us true to be." GEN'L W. T. SHERMAN, Died Feb. i4th, 1891. A brave man dies; and all heroic souls Mourn his departure. On Fame's muster rolls, Another sign of death and sorrow shows, A Hero gone to quiet, long repose. The greatest Soldier of the Age, lies down, At last to die; and loving fingers crown With mournful cypress, the dead form of One, Who erst rode foremost when great deeds were done. In city streets, the busy feet of Trade Move slow appalled as in the gloomy shade Of great disaster. Courts and Senates wait, To honor him who honored most the State. In Freedom's conflict firm, clear-eyed he saw The majesty, and binding force of Law, And held Rebellion, as a freeman should, Destructive, fatal, to all human good. A Chieftain born. Our Grant and Lincoln knew And trusted him; and when his bugles blew For that long march, that ended by the sea, Shout answered shout, " Lead on, we follow thee. " 107 io8 GEN'L W. T. SHERMAN. A Hero then a Hero NOW ; but leads Where nodding plumes, and sombre mourning weeds Through the long lines, bespeak a Nation's woe, As to the grave, these countless mourners go. Lay him to rest ! Aye ! lay him proudly down ; His work well done his Country's good his crown AT ONCE IMMORTAL, and his fame to spread, Whilst History tells of earth's heroic dead. The brave sleep well. Our Hero needs his rest Nature is kind, and knoweth what is best. Dear Mother Earth ! To thee, at last, we send Our great Commander, Patriot, Soldier, Friend. AUNT RUTH. Of dear Aunt Ruth, it is a joy to sing A quiet woman, living out her days In homely duties, that could only bring From those about her, kindly words of praise. Though little known, She held supreme a throne Of rare dominion, all were pleased to own. Her face was kindly, as all faces are That tell of feeling, tender, loving, true; Though as a beauty, her's would not compare With many faces, early manhood knew. Some called her plain, Who gladly would remain Close, close beside her, her sweet smile to gain. To plainly tell what made her face so rare, No easy task. I know it had a light But rarely seen in handsome faces, where The lines of beauty charm the ravished sight; But this I know, It never failed to show The kind of beauty that with age must grow. Of wedded bliss she little knew she seemed Wedded to all in need of tender care; 109 io AUNT RUTH. And if of marriage she had ever dreamed, 'Twas but a dream; and dreams with her were rare. Once, she was known To tell, in undertone, A tale of love */ might have been her own. Some time in life, she must have loved and lost, Else, whence her soul such tenderness could gain ? For not a bride her humble pathway crossed, But she was blessed and kiss'd, and kiss'd again; And if a tear Did on her cheek appear, It quickly vanished in unwonted cheer. The children loved her. She had words and ways They understood; and in her smiles they grew To love her more; and all the passing days They spent with her, brought pleasures ever new. Of childhood's lore She had a priceless store, The children longed for always wanting more. Sick people smiled at her approach they knew No other hand so eased the bed of pain ; And healing herbs, that in the pastures grew, She understood, and used but not for gain. To sin a foe, She let the sinner know All helpful aid she gladly would bestow. Some time in life, she must have loved and lost, Else, whence her face such tenderness could gain ?" AUNT RUTH. Dear, dear Aunt Ruth ! If Heav'n be far, or near, I little know enough, if you are there To tell the angels, " in that other sphere, Love hallows all things sacred is, as prayer; " And in your face, The angels well can trace What love is like on earth, man's dwelling place. A MORNING SONG. Morning comes : Awake ! Awake ! Slumber's drowsy mantle shake. Lo! the eastern skies are bright Share with me the morning light; Rise! and with the morning bring Thankful hearts your offering. Morning comes: the new-born day Earthward sends its cheering ray. Rise! and with the morning see Nature's joyous ministry: Earth and sea, and sky and air All aglow, are passing fair. Morning comes : Awake ! Arise ! Open wide your dreamy eyes: O'er the eastern hills the sun Has another day begun. Sleep and dreams to night belong, Morning claims from all a song. Morning comes not it is here, And the eastern hills appear Robed in glory, and the day Speeds the sun along his way. Rise ! for Nature at her best, Something better gives than rest. LOVE'S HOUSE. Love built a house, complete, in one short day A very palace, where Love planned to stay; No artist shaped it, drew for it no line, And took no shape but after Love's design. What use Love made of stone, or brick, or wood, It matters not; for well Love understood Material things had little place or part In Love's affairs mere questions of the heart. Love furnished it, and cushioned every chair With plushes soft as summer south winds are; And downy beds in snowy whiteness drest, Inviting seemed for Love's embrace, and rest. Upon the walls, Love hung with dainty care Pictures entrancing, landscapes bright and fair; Such scenes as Love, in summer days had seen In quiet vales, the verdant hills between. Now, years have passed, and Love's house has outgrown All present needs; and silence reigns alone In halls untrodden, save as ghostly feet In solemn silence find a sure retreat. "3 ii4 LOVE'S HOUSE. In banquet halls where Love once poured the wine, No feasters gather, and no bright eyes shine; Spectres alone, in garments white and thin, Affrighted turn, when these are entered in. These empty rooms, if given tongue, could tell How Love essayed, in vain, a miracle; They should have told of childhood's happy days, Ringing with laughter and parental praise. That Love's ambitions should his needs outgrow, Is doubtless sad; but how else should he know The limits set to passionate desire, Though warmed and cheered, as by celestial fire ? In Love's first house, enough had been shut in To make him loathe the outside world of sin; And Love's first dream was made complete and fair As earthly life, in earthly bonds could bear. BEREFT. In Memory of E. M. J. Died, Sep. 14th, 1893. ('one, gone so soon! Ah! whither has he fled? Your friend, and mine YOUR nearest, dearest friend. So loving, kind, I cannot make him dead, Or stay the greetings, I, to him would send. His hand was warm a few short days ago, And in his face affection's light and glow. So quick the passage, little could be said Few farewells spoken. Greetings we would send To other friends, numbered among our dead, He could not take so swiftly came the end. A night of pain, a day of sad surprise, And death triumphant, closed his loving eyes. As ships go down in some mysterious sea, No signals set of dire distress and need. And all are lost: so went our friend, to be Henceforth unknown, save, as the hearts that bleed And know their loss, in silent hours shall see His form and face, as once they used to be. Alas! Alas! That life itself should know So many treasures, lost to loving sight: That as the years in silence come and go, The friends we love, in whom our hearts delight. n6 BEREFT. Should fade away dreams only left to show The loved and lost, who cheered life's pathway so. Take courage, Soul ! These dreams are more than dream : Henceforth they live, rich in the dowered past, And these, our dead, shall living spirits seem, Unmarred by age, whilst life for us shall last; And when death comes, these dreams shall surely be Prophetic most of what our eyes shall see. We wait, and wait: an arid waste we see In years to come, bereft of those we love, Forgetting oft, that God himself must be As near to us, if near to those above; And that His love, scarce manifest in pain, Must fill the cup that we in sorrow drain. O stricken Soul ! from seeming loss arise Death bars no entrance to love's fair domain. Love masters death, and yields to no surprise, Well knowing that, the dead shall live again, And living make the old loves stronger, far Than all earth's longings, and affections are. Let tears be dried, and all vain longings cease Death broadens life; if but our eyes souls could see. From sin and pain, our Friend has found release, And entered in where God himself must be Nearer and dearer where all lights that shine Shall but reveal more of his love, Divine. CALIFORNIA. O land of fertile valleys ! O land of mountains old, Stored with the hidden treasures That men, as priceless hold ! O land of sun and flowers, Of orchard fields that show That here the favored fruits of earth In great abundance grow! Sitting beneath the orange trees, Contented, and at rest, I more than willing homage pay This Daughter of the West. The ocean sends its messengers On viewless steeds of air, To wander gently through the land, And stir with loving care All living things, to keener sense Of life, made strong and free, When tempered by the healthful touch Of the life-giving sea. Sitting beneath the orange trees, The breath of ocean stirs My very being trees and shrubs Bend low as worshippers, "7 n8 CALIFORNIA. Above my head, the mocking bird, With sense of song opprest, Warbles his daily gratitude. And builds, unharmed, its nest; And joining in his cheery strains, A thousand notes are heard The morning song of many birds, As by one impulse stirred. Sitting beneath the orange trees, I with the birds would sing, And make, in less melodious strains, My morning offering. Not far away, the mountains stand Rock-ribbed, eternal, bold; Above the clouds they lift their heads And seeming converse hold With God himself, here manifest In majesty sublime Great monuments that He hath set Upon the walls of Time. Sitting beneath the orange trees, I look on these, and know The land eternal lies beyond Th' untrodden peaks of snow. From east to west, for centuries, The tide of life hath ran CALIFORNIA. 119 New England's granite hills were made But stepping stones for man, Whence a new race, in purpose strong, Could westward look, and see New lands, new hopes, new joys, new life, For its posterity. Sitting beneath the orange trees I see, at last, the time When man has found a dwelling place In earth's most favored clime. HAPPY JIM. Strange that such a man as Jim, Grown to manhood tall and slim, Shoulders stooping, scarce a grace, Showing in his well-browned face, Eyes that seemed to look within More than outward, awkward in Both speech and gesture, and afraid Of the simplest country maid Strange that such a man as he Should among his neighbors be Loved and cherished, and that all Paid him homage, great or small. Children in his presence grew Joyous, thoughtful; and he knew All their questionings and ways, And could teach them truths or plays, As no other teacher could ; And they loved him, called him good. In the fields with him they drew Inspiration, health, and knew He would keep them from all harm. He the very beasts could charm; And no bee on rapid wing Had for him a painful sting HAPPY JIM. Thriftless was he in his ways; All the brightest summer days Found him loitering here and there, Seeing something, having care That no living thing should be From his searching glances free. Flowers to him were more than books, And the babbling mountain brooks, Leaping down through sun or shade, For his ear rare music made; And in forests old and dim Dryads sang and played for him. These he voiced in simple rhymes, Crooning to himself betimes; And to see his eyes aglow With a passion, those who know Say is born of subtler things Than mere vain imaginings These things, seen in Happy Jim, Made the neighbors say of him, ' Strange it is, that such as he See, or rather seem to see, More than wiser men attest, Be their gifts the highest, best." Walking in the fields, he saw God revealed in changeless law; HAPPY JIM. And he learned to understand Truths, that like a great command Bade him seek, where'er he could, Proofs of universal good. Thus he grew from day to day, Loving, tender. In his way He, untiring, sought to bring Comfort to the sorrowing, And no bed of pain was free From his helpful ministry. In the language of the schools He was little versed; and rules Custom made, or creed, or sect, These he held in slight respect; But the language of the sky, Telling when a storm was nigh; And that language, little known, Nature speaks in undertone To the soul that waits, attent To the heavenly message sent These he understood, as they Who great Nature's laws obey. Thriftless, careless, Happy Jim! I would gladly picture him As I saw him, moving slow In the evening's after-glow. HAPPY JIM. 123 In the west, the clouds unrolled, Leaving flecks and bars of gold, While above, the crimson skies Gladdened with a new surprise; Then, transfigured, Jim became Prophet, priest, his eyes aflame With a passion so intense, Lost he seemed to meaner sense. Wealth may have its stores of gold, And its chariots be rolled Over victims, that must lie Helpless in their poverty; Yea! the trump of Fame may blow, That the gaping crowd may know Who is master, who is king; But no wealth or fame can bring What in Jim I saw expressed, He, the humblest, happiest. Lo ! the Lord, -who fashioned Jim, Gave the priceless gifts to him. UNCLE SAMUEL'S CONVERSION. Our dear old Uncle Samuel Awoke one morning early 'Twas summer time, and on the grass Hung dew drops, large and pearly; The very weeds had moistened lips, And down among the clover, Of rankest growth, each tiny leaf Was full, and running over. The birds they sang, as birds can sing When in the mood for singing; The air was full of melody, And all the woods were ringing With songs of love and jubilee, And songs of wanton pleasure, Running together everywhere, In most abundant measure. The very earth itself rejoiced, With every living creature, And from her altars offered up Rare incense, purer, sweeter Than ever came from scented wood On vestal altars burning It was the soul of myriad flowers, From earth to Heav'n returning. 124 UNCLE SAMUEL'S CONVERSION. 125 The Lord be praised ! for He is good "- Our Uncle's heart had spoken; With Him there is no solitude, Or promise made, and broken; And so in Him I'll put my trust "- Then, with a new emotion, Upon the grass he bent his knees In genuine devotion. When he arose, the eastern hills Looked nearer, clearer, brighter, And never did his morning tasks, Or life's dull cares, seem lighter. The sins that often pressed him down Were lost in light and glory; And to his heart at last was told Redemption's matchless story. That morning, in his pleasant home, His many sins confessing, He knelt, and asked the loving Lord To crown the day with blessing To give his dear ones grace to break From every sinful fetter; In fact, to make them all that day In something wiser, better. And this was all, save day by day, With wonderful completeness, 126 UNCLE SAMUEL'S CONVERSION. His life went on, developing In faith, and love, and sweetness; And, when at last his setting sun On western hills was shining, The clouds of death were glorious, And showed a silver lining. THE CHRISTMAS TIME. Blow! Winds of Winter! Blow Stretch forth your viewless hands, And waken every living thing, Through all these frozen lands ! The branches of the gnarled oak, The hemlock's swaying limb, All trees and shrubs, wake these to join In one harmonious hymn; For is not this the Christmas time, The loving, hopeful Christmas time, Long waited for, with faith sublime. Fall fast ! O fleecy snow ! Thy ministry is good; The earth, our greater human needs Has little understood. With thy deft fingers weave A robe, of faultless seam, And white as angel-vestments are, Of which the poets dream; For lo ! the earth receives a king, And thou, O Snow! a robe shalt bring To grace the happy welcoming. Fly swifter ! O ye Clouds ! Through all the realms of air; Chase Day and Night the world around, And tell it everywhere 128 THE CHRISTMAS TIME. To peoples, lands a Christ is born For every race and creed A living, sympathizing soul, The very Christ they need; That this is now the Christmas time, The loving, hopeful Christmas time, When want is sin, and greed a crime. Beat fast ! O throbbing Heart ! And yield ! O stubborn Will ! In God's good time, He came at last Love's mission to fulfill. He came with tender words and ways, The world's Redeemer, guest Gave manna to the hungry soul, And to the weary, rest Gave to the world such hopes and cheer As prophet tones, or lips of seer Could never breathe in human ear. Vain is your task, O Winds! And yours, O fleecy Snow! In vain the swift-winged Clouds Upon their mission go; In vain, O throbbing Heart! Is prayer, or song, or creed, Unblest by Love's sweet ministry Here, find the Christ you need. By this sweet grace, and this alone, His praise shall spread from zone to zone, Till all the earth his sway shall own. OCTOBER. How broad, how deep, how calm, how sweet, These dear October days; The sky bends low the hills to greet, And through the dreamy haze, If heaven or earth, I cannot see, Or solve the pleasing mystery. 'Tis wonderful ! October's sun Makes Paradise of noon; And Night, with all her stars, as one, Pays homage to her moon. The sun by day, the moon by night Stir every sense of sweet delight. Through all the long fierce summer days Swift messengers have run To do, through Nature's secret ways, The bidding of the sun. That dear October well might share With all that live, her dainty fare. Into her lap the ripe nuts fall, With every breeze that stirs All trees and shrubs, or great or small, Bend low as worshippers, 129 130 OCTOBER. With the rich fruitage that they bring A whole year's bounteous offering. She bids the squirrel go with haste And gather, where he will; And thriftless idlers, bids them taste Till all have had their fill. She feeds the birds, that know no care, With seeds dropped idly everywhere. She bends the orchard boughs low down For children, as they pass, And fruits, that topmost branches crown, She drops among the grass, Where Age, bent low by weight of years, May find unharmed the juicy spheres. She sends the countryman to town, That city folk may know October's come their feasts to crown, With all good things that grow; And all the crowded streets she fills With odors of the sweet-breathed hills. She dips the maples in a dye Of rainbow pigments made, And hangs them on the hills to dry, Before the colors fade; And day by day the marvel grows, Till all the landscape burns and glows. OCTOBER. 131 The Frost-King, with his chilling breath, She watches close, with care, Lest some dread sense or sign of death, Should make the good despair; She bids the hopeless look and see Death changed to pleasing mystery. O dear October! well may I Lay pen or pencil down All sense you more than satisfy, And with such radiance crown The distant hills, they prophesy Of hills unseen by human eye. Sometimes, in dreams, I think I see What longing eyes have sought in vain, Something of what that land must be, That knows no sorrow, want, or pain. These hills, beneath October skies, Have caught the light of Paradise. ONE DAY. Another day One Day And is that all ? A gift from Heaven sent down Men deem it small. The great sun rose, to bring another day, Earth traveled far, and in no idle way That man might have, of life, another day. All worlds, all suns, all spheres, All seasons, months and years Bring tribute as to kings Are brought rich offerings; The wealth of ages, story, precept, rhyme, Are gifts to thee, thou latest Son of Time. It comes for good One Day For highest good; And for it man should pay Real gratitude. Days do not last; and this day, crowned the best, Full soon will fade and sink to quiet rest, In the rich chambers of the glowing west; And all the wealth it brings Is yours, and mine. Proud kings Would lay their crowns in dust, Forgotten there to rust, 132 ONE DAY. 133 If, when once past, the sacrifice would bring One misspent day, for one unhappy king. It bringeth food One Day And houses, lands, It giveth eyes to see, And willing hands, And ears to hear, and friends, and loving words, And sun and shade, and flocks and lowing herds, And fruits and flowers, and song of many birds; It lights up all the hills, And deepest valleys fills With life, and light, and air In all these gifts we share; It lifts the ocean, with a loving hand, And drops its waters on a thirsty land. It opens doors One Day Doors swinging wide As human life can need, Or human pride Can well desire. The realm of thought is there, A mighty kingdom, stretching wide and far, Beyond the moon, or light of sun or star; It opens this full wide Who will, may there abide. No other realm so fair, And as, in temples rare, Who enters in, will learn some truth sublime, That will outlast the wasting touch of time. 134 ONE DAY. It giveth wings One Day Wings for the soul To speed its flight away From pole to pole, To girdle earth, and still unwearied rise To greater heights, in clearer, fairer skies, Until are seen the gates of Paradise. Most holy, holy Day ! Bow down, O Soul! and pray; The place where thou dost stand Is hallowed, and God's hand Alone can guide thee through a single day; Bow down, O Soul! and for this guidance pray. THE SOUL'S QUEST. An Eastern King, of power possest, And wealth, and palaces, the best (Of all men deemed the happiest). In some way came to understand That God was great, that in His hand All things were held; at whose command The earth itself rolls on its way And Night forever follows Day, And planets in their courses stay; And that this God, if far or near The faintest cry of need could hear, And grant, at will, the longed-for cheer: And feeling in his soul unrest, He sought this God in weary quest, Denied himself of things loved best. Laid off his robes of state, and wore A beggar's garb, and closed his door Against the rich, against the poor; And fed on crusts, and crucified In many ways, his lust and pride. This done, his squl unsatisfied 135 I 3 6 THE SOUL'S QUEST. Found peace, nor rest. Then far away In deserts lone, he went to pray; Prone on the sands outstretched he lay Beseeching God that He would show Himself to him, that he might know The way of peace, and thereby grow To understand life's high behest Do what would please his Maker best, And thereby gain the longed-for rest. Day followed day. No answer came : The desert, like a sea of flame Tortured and burned he felt the shame Of prayer unanswered tried to gain God's ear, through self-inflicted pain Till nature could no more sustain; And then he slept, and sleeping saw The mighty God revealed in law, Through which the infinite would draw All men to Him; and saw at last, That better than the pain of fast, Or gifts, on costly altars cast Was loving service, purified From thought of gain or selfish pride; And he awoke soul satisfied. THE SOUL'S QUEST. 137 Then he arose and went his way To his own land, that eastward lay, Willing to serve, and God obey; And God himself seemed pleased, and near, And bent to him a willing ear; And reigning long, from year to year He grew in favor, and was blest Above all kings 'twas manifest His kingdom was the happiest. ****** O Soul of mine! In eager quest Of God himself and that sweet rest He giveth those He loveth best; Learn from this king, with glad surprise Penance alone will not suffice; And though all things you sacrifice God's love to gain, you cannot press Near to His throne, with aught that's less Than gifts, that love for all express; And sweeter service none can bring. To honor Him, our Lord and King, Than service for earth's suffering. THE GREAT TEACHER. An Invocation. The Lord himself came down one day, And made on earth a transient stay, To teach all men the Truth, the Way. The hills He trod, the valleys prest With willing feet, and found no rest, Save in those homes, the lowliest. No temples welcomed here the Lord; But, seated on the verdant sward, The humble gladly heard His word. Rude fishermen, by Galilee, Heard His sweet call, " Come, follow Me! The Lord hath need of such as thee." And straightway, as they heard His call, They left their nets, forsaking all, Not knowing what would them befall. Forth to the fields, a teacher true, He led them where the lilies grew All questions of the heart He knew; And knowing these: " Behold how fair, In lands untilled, these lilies are; Of these your Father taketh care; 138 THE GREAT TEACHER. 139 And Solomon, though rich, at ease, With every gift the sense to please, Was not arrayed like one of these." Then, as with hushed and bated breath, To these poor fishermen he saith, He shall cloth you, of little faith." Assurance gained, " Now Lord! we see, We nothing lose in gaining Thee. Pray tell us what the end shall be." Thus leading them, and teaching them, A blessing in His garments' hem, They reach at last Jerusalem. Jerusalem, the great, the old, Whose temple walls a shrine doth hold, Where God meets man, by faith made bold; Jerusalem, its new-found King, To whom the shepherds homage bring, And wise men bow low, worshipping; Jerusalem, whose walls outlie The realms of sense, veiled in a sky That holds from Christ no mystery. ****** Dear Lord ! this world of ours is full Of souls, who would be worshipful; But sight is dim, and sense is dull. 140 THE GREAT TEACHER. The written Word is not for them; They needs must touch Thy garment's hem, And see the Star of Bethlehem. Lead Thou into the fields again, As Thou didst lead poor fishermen, And teach them higher truths to ken. Through things of sense reach higher things, From whence the soul may mount on wings Away from Doubt's strange whisperings. Teach them through these, that God is good, And dwells not in a solitude, Where human souls cannot intrude; That faith in Him is faith in Thee Thou, who hast solved all mystery And made salvation boundless, free. BEAUTY. A Rhapsody. The rapture of my life has been, Things beautiful to see With wonder, I look out upon The glorious imagery Of Nature, as with changing moods, She decks the verdant fields and woods. It is enough for me to know The choicest gifts are mine I drink, and yet am ever dry; As monks, their mellow wine Quaff in dark cells, and feel the glow Of sunshine, bottled long ago. I do not wonder age should bring, At times, a sense of chill; I wonder most, this heart of mine, Grown old, should feel the thrill That beauty gives, and see and know The things that charm life's pathway so. I cannot, if I would, deny The beauty that I see Sometimes, when seeming most alone, In glorious company I wait attent, perchance to hear The music of some other sphere. 141 I 4 2 BEAUTY. I wait to see rare beauty shown, Nor do I wait in vain ; I see it on the mountain sides, I see it on the plain 1 see it in the glowing skies, And start with wonder and surprise. Above, beneath, around I see New beauty every day, And I have treasures all my own, For which I toil nor pay : These in the markets are not sold, Or traded for the rich man's gold. This earthly life has pains I know I've seen the sun break through A rift of thunder-cloud, and show A land transfigured, new; And glorified beneath the shade, The sombre clouds above had made. The ministry of pain may be The shadow, after all, Whence, breaking through, the cheering rays May every sense enthral; And beauty, else unseen, may show How much, to even pain we owe. BEAUTY. Oh, man ! The greater gifts belong To no condition, clime The common things of life can make This life of ours sublime : New inspirations everywhere Invite the soul in these to share. 143 The New Year comes, knocks at our very door, And gently whispers " Eighteen ninety four." I turn to see the stranger, hence my guest, And bid him enter, proffer cheer and rest. He enters quickly, seems inclined to stay I wonder what this strange guest has to say ! 144 THE NEW YEAR. 145 Brings it some gift my home and hearth to cheer ? Some hope to make life's dim horizon clear ? Whilst on the threshold, does its coming seem Like the enchantment of some happy dream ? Or, does it come drenched with the falling tears Of sorrows, common to the vanished years ? No man can tell. We only know, at best, It comes to stay a twelve-month; and the rest 1^ known to God. The future is with Him, And all the past is fading in the dim Receding light, of years that quickly fled, And left us mindful only of our dead. Some joys we had some griefs we had as well; And the New Year must something have to tell. If life, or death ? With list'ning ear we wait We only know God's love is very great; And this New Year, God's servant, can but tell, If life or death, " He doeth all things well." Take courage, soul! Grapple, as best you can, The friends you have, and on a larger plan Shape life and action; then as days go by, The tangled threads of human destiny Shall be unravelled. Learn, O soul of mine ! To make life's pattern, after God's design. THE HUDSON AND THE PALISADES, From Park Hill, on a Misty Morning. Like a veiled Prophet, whose far-seeing eye Has looked on all things seen the destiny Of human progress, and retired to hold Closer communion with thoughts manifold; So hides the Hudson, quite content to be Safe from all vision, and itself left free For secret worship, knowing well that prayer Seems hallowed most, withdrawn from earthly care. The cliffs beyond, so seamed, and gashed, and rude, Are lost in depths of greatest solitude. Erstwhile they seemed intent alone to see What man could do, with great ambitions free; Looked down on cities, towns, with glad surprise On toiling Labor, making sacrifice For human needs on Trade, with its demands, And Commerce seeking other shores and lands; Now they have vanished. No great walls arise To prop the arches of the vaulted skies; And dreamy mists, in softest folds of grey Robe forest trees, and on the rough rocks lay A softer mantle than rich princes wear On gala days, Alas! that man should share In Nature's moods but seldom, and should be Contented most with life's dull drudgery. 146 THE NEW BABY. Something new has come " our way Just a baby! will it pay ? Never mind what people say, Baby's come, and we should be Boundless in our charity; And, I am inclined to guess, Come an earthly home to bless. Music-maker, is it? well! Ask a mother's lips to tell, Ask a father, very proud, He will answer quick and loud "Music-maker! Gracious! My! I had rather hear a cry From that baby's lips, than hear Notes that charm the finest ear It's an angel, without wings, And supremest joy it brings." Somewhere I have seen and heard Just the sweetest singing bird, Gay of plumage; and it stirred All my being such a trill ! For it seemed the land to fill; But no music-making throat, That essays the sweetest note, Can, with baby's lips express New-found, perfect happiness. 148 THE HUDSON AND THE PALISADES. In the morning waking, free From all care, she seems to be Something holy; and at noon You should hear the baby croon; And at night, with closing eyes, She's a seraph in disguise. All the sweetest things of earth Came and crowned her at her birth.' " One would hardly think that she, Such a charming mystery, Could with common people be Quite content would hardly stay From that ' other land ' away; Still she stays, and seems to know She was made to laugh and grow; And she tries her best to say Cunning things, in baby way." Holy! Holy! Babyhood! Young Immortal! pure and good. In a mother's arms she lies Safely guarded nothing dies That a mother's love has known Love has boundless power, its own; And in Fatherhood I see What the love of God must be. CHILDHOOD. By a river, broad and sweeping, Stands a mansion quaint and old, Rich in statues, rich in pictures, Rich in plate of solid gold; Rich in all those costly trappings, By the crafty tradesman sold. Dogs and guns, and steeds of mettle, Wait the sportsman's practiced hand, And a gaily painted vessel Chafes its keel in river sand; And a dozen sturdy seamen, Bide the Master's least command. Birds of plumage from the tropics, Birds of sweetest song, and rare, In their gilded cages swinging Sing, upon the perfumed air Songs, that ever seem the sweetest, When the fruits of love they share. As beneath the meadow grasses, Unseen serpents coil, or glide, So there dwelleth hidden sorrows In the homes of wealth and pride; Whilst the envious heart is looking Only, on the better side. 149 1 50 CHILDHOOD. Lo! the Matron's heaving bosom Yields, too often, but a sigh, And a vain desire is pictured, In the Master's thoughtful eye; For the choicest of earth's treasures, Wealth has not wherewith to buy. Bursting sounds of childish laughter, Ring not through their princely halls, And no lisping voices answer To the Master, when he calls. And no faces of young children, Image those upon the walls. Lives, not far, a sturdy couple, In a cottage hardly neat, Who, with willing hands, and frugal, Scarce can earn the food they eat; For, with every stroke of labor, Chimes the patter of young feet. But their lives abound with blessings, Though they get a scanty share Of the good things wealth could furnish- With their children plump and fair, They forget life's lesser treasures, In the wealth they would not spare. CHILDHOOD. 151 O, the blessed gift of childhood Home must have a vacant place, Where the presence of young children, Each, with laughter-loving face, Hallow not man's best affections, Yield no ministry of grace. SPRING IS COMING. There's a new "feel" in the air, Skies are clearing, days are fair, And there runneth everywhere A new impulse; even now, Ere the farmer starts his plough. Sweet Arbutus rubs her eyes, Looking out with glad surprise : And, in sheltered places shows Tints that mimic well the rose: Daffodils look up at noon, Knowing Spring is coming soon. Yesterday a blue bird came, And a robin breast aflame Sang a song. What a shame Birds and blossoms first should bring Tribute to the coming Spring! Whilst the lips of men are still Prophets of impending ill. Birds are wiser than we know; Blossoms by their presence show Faith in God a faith sublime Coming in His own good time. All the maples rested well, Have some pleasant tales to tell Ere their buds begin to swell, 152 SPRING IS COMING. 153 Men and bees have learned that they Have sweet treasures stored away; And the willow's children stir, Clad in garb of softest fir. As in dream, the hills they lie Veiled in purple mystery, Whilst the valley lands, they know Time for all things soon to grow. Aged men who dread the cold, Take new courage and grow bold, As the charms of Spring unfold. In their veins there seem to be New tides running joyous, free; Like old wine, these tides can make Life worth living, for life's sake; And from childhood, gladsome Spring Gets a royal welcoming. Childhood, age, the birds, the flow'rs, All rejoice in Spring-time hours. THE YOUNG MOTHER. Hail this Madonna, to whose care is given A Christ-child, heir of life immortal, Heaven; In her brown eyes is seen the cheerful glow Of love unchanging, only mothers know Her face so radiant, in her joy she seems Like one enthralled with most delicious dreams. Her heart and hands Obey love's great demands, She binds hearts to her, as with silken bands. With confidence, Life's angel came to her And whispered softly she a worshipper Of love and life she listened was made glad, And gave to One the choicest gifts she had. Her maidenhood became enshrined in love, That nestled on her like a brooding dove; Henceforth she drew Some inspirations, new, And to their promptings she was loyal, true. For her the days go gladly tripping by, New calls she hears, a new light in her eye; She is exalted, crowned, a kingdom hers, With loyal subjects all true worshippers; THE YOUNG MOTHER. 155 Maiden no more, she takes a mother's place And reigns supreme, with most benignant grace. Though her domain Is not exempt from pain, She yields no 'vantage that can hope sustain. Mother and child, together are a part Of that great kingdom God has set apart For holy purpose, where, henceforth shall rise From hallowed altars, flames of sacrifice, The glow of which, shall truest joy impart, And loyal hold the most impetuous heart; A new-found grace Has found a dwelling-place In human hearts, no sin can quite efface. O Motherhood ! Earth has no crowns or state That equals thine new lands thou dost create Peopled by those, who willing homage pay To love and virtue these but own thy sway; And childhood here, free from all dread alarms, Lies safely sheltered in a mother's arms A mother's prayer God answers everywhere, And Heaven bends low, the blessing large to share. AS HOME, THE COWS WERE DRIVEN. ' Co Bos! Co Bos! Co Bos! " I cried The doves were billing, cooing, And gentle May had turned aside, From April's fitful wooing; The pasture fields were all alive With grasses, green and growing, And grains, that make the farmer thrive, Their tender shoots were showing. Ah! then it was, " Co Bos! " I cried In accents, strong and cheery; For one was ever by my side, With footsteps never weary, As home the cows were driven. Those days I never can forget, So full of life and beauty; Nor her, whose footsteps often met My own, in childhood's duty. For her I plucked the early flowers, Through all the pasture growing With her there were no tedious hours, And whether coming, going, ' Co Bos! Co Bos! " I cried with joy, Her voice, to mine, replying I was indeed a happy boy, And time was swiftly flying, As home the cows were driven. 156 For her I plucked the early flowers, Through all the pasture growing." AS HOME, THE COWS WERE DRIVEN. 157 Sometimes, when the declining day Its crimson lights was showing, I turned to her, in boyish way, And saw the same lights glowing In her sweet face I little knew What love meant, strong, undying I only said, " I will be true," She simply, but replying, Co Bos! Co Bos! " and I with her Kept calling, calling, calling We made the woodland echoes stir, As fast the dews were falling, And home the cows were driven. Since then, long years have passed, and I Oft tried in ways of duty, Have to all impulse made reply; But never yet has beauty So thrilled my soul, as when with her, Through grassy uplands straying, My heart, a willing worshipper, Kept with the echoes saying Co Bos ! Co Bos ! " both heart and voice In tenderness replying, And Nature, seeming to rejoice How swift the time went flying, As home the cows were driven. JUNE IS HERE. Fellow man ! with cares opprest, June is here has done her best Every sense of joy to thrill, Working out, with right good will Plans, that make the world to-day Regal, with her rare display. For the hills, a crown she weaves Of the softest, greenest leaves For the valleys, has a dress Of the rarest loveliness, Decked with roses, and more fair Than the proudest queens can wear. June is passing, soon will go, Having done her best to show Nature, all intent, and free With her helpful ministry; All things living and astir, Should pay homage unto her. June can hardly venture in City streets, so great the din Pavements were not made for her, She is not a worshipper At the shrine that wealth has made, For the greedy Sons of Trade. 158 JUNE IS HERE. 159 In the country, she can go Wheresoe'er the free winds blow; Country lanes she understands, And in all the meadow lands She is just at home, to show Where the sweetest blossoms grow. In the morning, wet with dew, June has worshippers a few Who adore her. Children pass Through the tangled meadow grass Seeking flowers, June has thrown From her girdle, overblown. Such a wealth of bloom has she, That the whole land seems to be But a garden, tilled with care, Breathing fragrance everywhere; And all birds and bees attest, They, with her, are happiest. O that men should ever be Blind, to what their eyes should see All of life, so out of tune That they cannot give to June Thought or feeling so intense Are the meaner ways of sense. THE SUMMER RAIN. The parched earth conquered by the torrid sun, Waited deliverance. Scarce had day begun, Ere southern hills gave tokens of surprise Advancing hosts hung banners in the skies, And moving slowly o'er the thirsty plain, Dropped, with free hand, the longed-for blessed rain. As if afraid the withered earth would hold Relief as vain, if in approach too bold, With gentle touch they brought relief, and made No bee opprest, or singing bird afraid. No plant or flower, no leaf of shrub or tree, But smiled approval. Wee things that we see, Clad in soft raiment, dainty wrought and thin, Held up their heads; and webs the spiders spin, Were little marred so gently fell the rain; And earth rejoiced, and all took heart again. No dreamer I, though doubtless angels fair, Peopled the clouds, and thronged the realms of air; And, list'ning heard I, as a glad refrain, This song as sung by myriad drops of rain : Slip! Slide! Downward glide ! In the clouds great stores abide; Messengers of God are we His are mercies, boundless, free. Listen to our song and know All the sweetest things that grow 160 THE SUMMER RAIN. 161 Hail us, crown us, gladly tell " Rain drops do their mission well." Slip! Slide! Downward glide ! We are blessings sanctified. Daisy blooms, and clover leas, Fields of grain, and forest trees, Bid us welcome; and the birds, Knowing not the form of words, Carol forth, as best they may, Songs, to cheer us on our way. Slip! Slide! Downward glide ! All good things with us abide-. Needful food is ours to give, And the proudest men that live Wait for us to come and bless All their lands with fruitfulness. Listen to our song, and know Freely we our gifts bestow. Slip! Slide! Downward glide ! Earth and cloud are close allied. Listen to our pattering feet As we thread the dusty street! See us in the fields, at play, Making this a holiday. Lo! we do the best we can For both bird, and beast, and man. OCTOBER'S MOON. October's Moon, the fair Queen of the sky Looks down on earth, in glorious majesty. At her approach, the stars withdraw from sight, Hiding behind the blue robes of the night. They count it gain That brightest moons must wane, And leave them peerless in the sky's domain. I sometimes think October's Moon must be So near to earth, it knows the destiny Of earthly things, and, like a prophet, sees Future events, with all life's mysteries. Its mellow light In the great halls of night Adds charm to charm, and most supreme delight. October's Moon bids her swift coursers fly Through the blue fields of this October sky. At her approach, fell spirits hide away In gloomy caves so well she mimics Day. Young lovers know How great the debt they owe To the full Moon, that charms love's pathway so. Great oceans bide her least command, and rise To greet her passage through the vaulted skies; 162 OCTOBER'S MOON. 163 Or, when she wills, shrink quite appalled away And bare the rocks, else washed with ocean spray. Months run a race Her near approach to grace, And look up, smiling, in her beauteous face. O Queen of Heaven! October somehow knows And loves thee best. New charms it doth disclose And makes her Moon, full orbed, a joy supreme, And more entrancing than a lover's dream. If far or near, It doth not yet appear Where Heaven must be its light seems shining here. MEMORIES OF LONG AGO. Pulling Flax. The memories of Long Ago, Sometimes, comes sauntering back, Just to remind these later days How many things they lack. The sun shone then, as it shines now, But Time was slow of gait, As to our daily tasks we went, From early morn till late; But when September came, why then We bent our aching backs, Just pulling all the long, long day The toughly fibered flax. At morn, we always started in With cheery laugh, and song; For having rested well all night, We felt refreshed, and strong; But ere September's noon came round, A laugh was something rare Young faces grew as sober as A penitent at prayer. How well I call to mind those days, They tried our aching backs, As under the September skies, We pulled the fibered flax. 164 MEMORIES OF LONG AGO. 165 Our father, then a stalwart man, Tried many ways to cheer Alas! he in the graveyard sleeps, With other friends, most dear He tried to tell that linen pants Were needful things, and would With linen shirts, well whitened out, Be very neat and good. We understood him very well: But then, our aching backs Could but remind us of the pain That came from pulling flax. A few old people still are left Their locks are white and thin Who recollect, with me, the days When mother used to spin The shining fiber, and her wheel Made music, all day long, As fast the twisted fiber ran From her deft fingers, strong. The music of her busy wheel Is stilled, and real life lacks Full many very useful things That came from pulling flax. Somehow, I cannot help but feel The old days were the best; 166 MEMORIES OF LONG AGO. There was a zest in sturdy toil, And with it came sweet rest. The memories of long ago, They will come back at times, And poets should embalm them all, In most harmonious rhymes; And could I bring them back again, My manhood I would tax, And pull, through long September days The toughly fibered flax. MY TRUST. In simple trust this faith I hold: Age need not make the old man old, And life's sure burthens hard to bear, And on the soul draw lines of care. If, but at times the heart is stirred By hymn of love, and song of bird If man but strives, as best he may, To catch life's music by the way. What cause for pain, if we but know That Age may reap the fields we sow That ripe experience with it brings Rare joys, not borne on transient wings ? Who would be young alway ? For youth Bars passage to the realm of truth, And that maturer thought, that brings A keener sense of men and things. Doubt not, O Soul ! God's love decreed, Your life should find its greatest need That childhood's days should only be, But little more than prophecy A dream, a sense of something higher, The kindling of a new desire A light, that only from the west, With glory crowns the hill-tops best. 167 i68 MY TRUST. Aye, welcome age, and welcome thought! And life's experience, often bought With pain, and streams of scalding tears That flood the valleys of our years. Welcome, ye fields! that wait to hear The harvest song of reapers near; And though the day seems long with toil, The creaking wains shall groan with spoil. Then when the dews fall thick and fast, Hie homeward to the sweet repast, And long repose, quiet and deep, Whilst Night stands sentinel for Sleep. Aye, welcome Age ! and let it be A reaper, in life's harvest free; Cheered by the pleasant songs of yore, And by the prospect, just before. A reaper, somewhat scarred, 'tis true, Seamed with the frost, and blanched with dew, But in his hand the precious grain, If his life-labor be not vain. QUESTION AND ANSWER. Written after a visit to the Old Mission, Santa Barbara, Cal., May 21, 1893. Lord! how shall man find sweet content, Rejoice, in all life's burthens sent, The right pursue, of wrongs repent ? The world is full of gloomy creeds, Of priests, who prate of human needs, And drape the earth in mourning weeds. These make of sacrifice a gain, And seek the glad soul to restrain, With thoughts, that savor most of pain. Here, in dark cells, grey Monks abide, And seek in solitude to hide Away from sinful lust and pride. Does virtue thrive in ways like these ? And can the pain of wounded knees In some way, wrath Divine appease ? Can constant vigil, constant pain A father's gracious love retain ? Does mercy thus advantage gain ? ****** God made the world. These mountains rise On either hand; between them lies A valley land a Paradise, 169 170 QUESTION AND ANSWER. Where man content can daily see Nature, with costly bounties free The tribute of both land and sea. Lo! the whole earth that He has made Rejoices, in both sun and shade; And Night itself is not afraid Of stars that shed a cheerful light, So beautiful, that even night Yields to man's sense, a rare delight. Birds sweetly sing, and flowers fair Breathe sweetest fragrance on the air Like incense burned at evening prayer. Rare fruits their juicy spheres expand And ripen, at our God's command, And fill with fruitage all the land. All things in earth, and sea, and sky, Combine to please the taste, and eye, And all our needful wants supply; And every sense is made to tell God's love to man a miracle Of loving grace, no tongue can swell. ***** That sin is in the world, we know; Tares with the wheat too often grow, And on scarred fields, the grain we sow. QUESTION AND ANSWER. 171 With many pains and aches we till The fields, that must our garners fill Life has some recompense for ill. Rising betimes from beds of pain, Life seems some added zest to gain In the full tide of health again. Night follows day the world around; But in the darkness, rest is found, And Slumber's touch leaves scar, nor wound. Soon, in the east, swift heralds fly, Telling the jocund day is nigh: And wave their banners in the sky. Then, Night affrighted, hides away No moon or star, her steps can stay; And up, triumphant, comes the day, And all the world, refreshed and strong, Awakes from sleep, and greets with song The labors, that to day belong. ****** Rest is not pain, toil is not care The soul's most unavailing prayer Is for relief from its full share Of what life brings; both joy and pain Are links in the completed chain, That must our doubting hopes sustain. i?2 QUESTION AND ANSWER. The constant pleadings of our needs In human life, are but the seeds, Whence spring the germs of useful creeds; And germ and creed alike are blest To those in service happiest; And love finds constant service best. Away with all your creeds of hate ! Praise God! His love is very great; He lifts man up to high estate. His gifts He freely doth bestow, That man His larger love may know: And in this faith, Lord! help us grow. Then, day by day, and year by year, The ills that fret us shall appear But shadows, that reveal more clear His boundless love. Praise God! that day, If soon or late, will well repay The trials borne along life's way. ****** But reason fails. The old complaint That makes the helpless sinner faint, Disturbs the dream of thoughtful saint; And saint and sinner, each must find God's providence is always kind, And to a larger love inclined. QUESTION AND ANSWER. 173 Who bravely bears life's seeming ills, The mission of his life fulfills; And he, whose soul with rapture thrills For blessings sent, should not essay Unmoved, to bear these gifts away, Or deem that tears his debt can pay. Sometime, we know not when, or where, The many victims of despair Shall learn this all-prevailing prayer: Not my will, Lord! but Thine be done, Through Christ, Thy well-beloved Son " BEHOLD! THE GATES OF HEAVEN ARE WON! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 PS Sherman - Old time memor^ ies. FS UCLA-Young Research Library PS2814 .S335o y L 009 598 065 2