DAYS R6M6MB6R MARIA DOUGI THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Days Remember DAYS WE REMEMBER Poems by MARIAN DOUGLAS Author of "In the Poverty Tear" "Peter and Polly" etc. Boston: Richard G. Badger The Gorham Press: 1903 Copyright, 1902, by Richard G. Badger, All Rights Res-erved. Printed at The Gorham Press: Boston P5 3535 CONTENTS The Flower of Time . . . . .11 A New Year's Wish 12 St. Valentine 13 A Valentine . . . . . 14 An Old Valentine . . . . . -15 Dick's Valentine . . . . . 16 Washington's Birthday 17 The Coming of Lent 18 Good Friday . . . . . . -19 Easter . . . . . . . 21 The King's Lilies . . . . . .22 Easter Morning. ..... 23 Meg's Easter Egg 24 April Fools 26 Patriot's Day 27 Arbor Day ...... 29 Decoration Day ...... 29 A Soldier's Grave 30 A Soldier's Wreath 31 The Veteran 32 Our Dead ....... 33 The Comrade's Grave .... 34 More than Thirty Years Ago . . -35 May Day ....... 36 Waking My Childhood's Sunday A Birthday Morn . A Birthday A June Wedding . The Fourth The Fire Cracker . The Summer Outing . Old Home Week . Labor Day Fair Day Election .... Thanksgiving Thanksgiving A Good Thanksgiving . The Angel's Song Christmas A Christmas Carol. . The Old Year and the New 37 38 40 41 42 43 43 44 45 46 48 5 5 1 5* 53 55 57 59 60 Days We Remember THE FLOWER OF TIME O glad new year, a rose new-blown, That not one sullying touch has known! Time's snow-white blossom, can it be The common fate is waiting thee? Must thou, like all the vanished years, Be tossed with winds and drenched with tears, As one by one thy white leaves fall, To lie in dust? Oh! is this all? Nay, something must endure. I will The fragrance from those leaves distil, And, ere it has forever flown, Thy heavenly sweetness make my own. ii Days We Remember A NEW-YEAR'S WISH "Happy New- Year!" say you; "Happy New-Year!" say I; And each one tries to smile, But both of us we sigh, For oh! each year, we less and less Have faith in dreams of happiness. We hear a haunting sob The notes of joy between; Our first thought is of graves When spring-time's sod grows green. "Happy New- Year!" For us to say Those words seems mockery to-day. Nay! nay! what beauty has The rose seed in the dust? But fair will be its bloom; Wait, wait in patient trust. The meaning of our days Hereafter we shall see. "Happy New-Year!" Fear not; God's love guards you and me! 12 Days We Remember ST. VALENTINE Upon the roof the white doves now Are cooing, cooing, cooing; The south wind shakes the willow bough- It is the time for wooing. But flutter, flutter, goes my heart. How can I make my plea? Oh, would the maid I love were mine, Or would that I were free! St. Valentine, St. Valentine, Have pity upon me! For, proud as fair, she will despise A faint heart's timid suing; And should I fail her beaming eyes Will be my life's undoing. Then let me like a hero seem, Though I a coward be, And like a royal suitor go, For Love's own queen is she. St. Valentine, St. Valentine, Oh, plead my cause for me! Days We Remember A VALENTINE Though this letter in its folds Nothing but one rose-bud holds, Not a single word or sign, Still it is my valentine. Can the maid to whom it goes Read the message of my rose? Golden heart and blush like morn, Breath of balm and cruel thorn? If the maiden's heart is free, Mute for her the flower will be; Eut if some sweet, tender thought On her life its spell has wrought, Love knows Love's unwritten sign- She can read my valentine. Days We Remember AN OLD VALENTINE A little square of fragile lace; A silver Cupid, with his dart Transfixing a gilt paper heart; A foolish rhyme "Fair maiden mine, Smile, smile on me, thy Valentine!" Yet, oh, how sweet the flimsy thing, With fragrance of life's early spring! My heart beat proudly when it came; My cheeks were lit with rosy flame. J-Je must have sent it, who, to me, A new Adonis seemed to be. A sharp old man, with wrinkled brow, He's little like Adonis now; And, I to-day, should scarcely know My dreamy self of long ago; Yet this small missive, in its folds, A fragrance as of violets holds, From that fair spring-time that was mine When I received this valentine! Days We Remember DICK'S VALENTINE I bought a ten-cent Valentine; You can't find many such It's three times prettier than those That cost three times as much; The very handsomest of things: A picture of a boy with wings, Who holds, all drawn, a silver bow; One breath, and whiz the arrow'll go! It is so nice there's no one who Seems good enough to send it to; I'll put it up above my shelf, And keep my Valentine myself! 16 Days We Remember WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY Thy coffin holds but dust; a hundred years The silent tomb has closed it round, but Thou Art of today, and speaking to us now, Like a grave father counseling his child; "Be just to all; be wise; be vigilant, Not led by party and not lured by praise; Pay every debt; keep sacred every pledge; Bid Plenty save for Need; give Knowledge sway; And trust through all the Power that rules above;" Plain, simple words, repeated from the time When a young Nation listened to thy voice And held its counsels sacred. If, today, We will not hear them, then our strength is lost, And all the glory of our past will be The splendid scabbard of a broken sword! Days We Remember THE COMING OF LENT The one cloud in a sunny sky, When others smile I would not sigh. Low whispering, "It is not for me," I welcome in the Christmas glee, And try to laugh, and seek to jest, And be as merry as the rest. But I am glad when it is o'er, And I can be myself once more. Too used am I to shadowy ways, Undazzled on the light to gaze; Life's music has been hushed so long That silence sweeter seems than song; And dearer far than festal hours, Than Christmas chimes, or Easter flowers, That blessed time to sad lives sent, The penitential days of Lent! Then, undisturbed, the wounded heart May with its sorrow sit apart, Till holy thought and earnest prayer Shall give it strength its load to bear; Then Grief beneath the sheltering cross May find the treasure hid in loss, And contrite tears wash white at last The sullied pages of the past: A rest to weary spirits sent, The sad, sweet, blessed days of Lent! iS Days We Remember GOOD FRIDAY A soldier, in the narrow shade A tall cross rising near him made, Sat keeping guard until should die The men he'd helped to crucify; Two thieves, their crimes well proved, and One, The Jew, who called himself the Son Of the Jews' God it mattered not And for his pangs why should he care? 'Twas his good chance the man should die, For, by the fortune of the lot, The seamless robe he used to wear, As a king's garment, fine and fair, Was his; he saw his comrade's eyes With envy rest upon his prize; Laughed to himself, and, clear and strong Trolled 'neath the cross a drinking song. O Roman soldier! who are we, Who shudder when we think of thee! We are the ones to-day, you, /, Who help the Lord to crucify! "He asks too much," we mutely say; Because that once His life He gave, Must we yield all which now we crave? Waste on dull souls our thought all day, And give, give, give our lives away? We cannot, will not. Turn, O Christ! Days We Remember Turn from us Thy reproachful eyes! And yet stay! turn not\ losing Thee, What hope, what help for us would be? We need Thee whom we would not serve; In Thee our only refuge lies O help us! help us! Love unpriced! To count all gain without Thee loss, And yield our hearts, without reserve, Beneath the shadow of Thy cross! Days We Remember EASTER "Mary!" In the gray dusk of morn she stands, The spikenard fragrant in her hands; She sees a dim form through the mists, A foot-fall coming near she lists. No strange, sweet thrill of holy fear Foretells her heart of faith's reward: "He comes, the gardener," she says; And lo, it is the Lord! "Mary!" We stand amid the mists like thee! The close at hand we cannot see; Not knowing what they bring, we greet Each day, and every soul, we meet; But what seems sorrow's darkest hour May bring us faith's reward, And when we say *'the gardener," Behold, it is the Lord! 21 THE KING'S LILIES Beyond the day, beyond the night, Soft shining in the crystal light, Unnumbered flowers unfolding white The garden lilies of the King! In gentler winds than those of spring, Low-voiced and sweet their blossoms swing. I see them waving in my dreams; How near their mystic whiteness gleams, Their fragrance, floating round me, seems! O heavenly garden! can it be Thou hast a space awaiting me, Where my blest soul shall bloom in thee? Safe, shielded from life's noon-day glare, Its stormy winds, its frosty air, Forever blest! forever fair! 22 Days We Remember EASTER MORNING O the anguish of Mary! The depth of despair! When she came to the tomb And the Lord was not there; As she desolate stood With her balm and her myrrh, And his winding sheet only Was waiting for her! O the blackness of death! O life's utter despair! Had she come to the tomb And the Lord had been there, Lying wrapt in the sheet With the balm and the myrrh, And no risen Redeemer Had waited for her! Days We Remember MEG'S EASTER EGG To the lone farm-house on the hill, There came to little Meg The loveliest of Easter gifts, A blue and golden egg. "Look, look!" she went through all the house And called each one to see: "My Easter egg; how bootiful The Easter bird will be! I'll give it to Old Speckle Wing, Warm in her nest to keep, And harken, harken, harken, till At last I hear a peep, And out will come my Easter bird, All lovely from its shell; Will it be blue and yellow? O, I wish that you could tell!" Her mother kissed the glowing face Beneath the shining hair: "No, darling, keep your pretty gift; No bird is hidden there." 24 Days We Remember The rosy mouth began to grieve; The little bosom swelled; "'Twas not the egg I loved," said Meg; "It was the bird it held!" O, Easter truth on childhood's lips! What to the soul are worth, Without the hope of life beyond, The painted shells of earth! 2 5 Days W "e Remember APRIL-FOOLS The April-fools! the April-fools! What happy folk are they! The white flowers deck the cherry boughs, And daffodils are gay. The bluebird calls, the redbreast sings, The blackbird pipes all day, And they believe the silly things! That birds and flowers will stay. 'Tis wind and frost and scorching skies That make the April-fools grow wise! The April-fools! the April-fools! What happy folk are they! They're light of head and light of heart, And dance the hours away! Young Love, with fluttering purple wings, Blithe Hope for them is new; And they believe the trustful things! That all they say is true! Sweet simpletons! but who would frown And shake their air-built castles down? For dark were life, and full of sighs, Should all its April-fools grow wise. 26 PATRIOT'S DAY Not ours, O Lord! the cause Of Freedom is thine own, And She Thy messenger To make Thee known! The longing for her wakes A truer thought of Thee; Thou, Who mad'st man from dust And left him free! Not to be blind-fold led As Thy strong hand deemed fit, But to make his the right By choosing it. Not ours are Freedom's wars; They are Thine own; The grim-faced messengers Who make Thee known! Their coming brings more near The day when war shall cease; They cleave a path before The Prince of Peace! Days We Remember Not ours the triumph, Lord! We may not see The glory of the day That is to be; But, certain of its dawn, We pray, "Thy will be done!" For Freedom's victories And Thine are one! 28 Days We Remember ARBOR DAY Not lightly, but with reverent thought This Arbor Day, I set my little sapling elm Beside the way, And think, how in long years to come, Some passer by Will bless its shade, when fiercely glows The summer sky, And, dust in dust, beneath the turf, Asleep am I. DECORATION DAY Loud, ringing strains of victory, Low dirges, soft and tender, Fair wreaths, where Spring's last violets meet The rose's opening splendor; So proud! so sad! what is it, say? A funeral or a festal day? A funeral, for remembered love Still makes the true heart falter; A festival, for Valor's grave Is ever Freedom's altar; And Glory's flower its proudest bloom Shows only on a soldier's tomb. Days We Remember A SOLDIERS' GRAVE Glad robins singing in the boughs, Low murmur of the bees, A hill-side burying-ground closed round With wilding apple-trees; The snowy flowers drift softly down Upon the quiet graves, And in the south wind over one, A small flag gently waves. Those floating colors make for me That grassy mound a shrine. What though the one who sleeps beneath Knew naught of me or mine? Yet that brave life, quenched long ago, Seems of my own a part; For he who dies for freedom, lives In every freeman's heart. 3 A SOLDIER'S WREATH 'Twas one Memorial Day, and we were bringing Our blossoms on the soldiers' graves to lay, Our garden treasures, and the wild flowers spring ing In the chill sunshine of our Northern May. Gayly the village maidens wove them, trying, Each one, her garland should the fairest be; A coronal of crimson roses lying On the pure snow-wreath of the cornel-tree; White lilacs, like the soft wool fillets seeming Worn by Apollo's priests; and purple knots Of violets 'mid silver lilies gleaming; And turquoise rings of blue forget-me-nots. How strangely looked, amid this dainty sweetness, One clumsy wreath which skilless hands had tied, Of apple-bloom with all its rosy fleetness, And cowslips pining for the brooklet's side! Yet, for the sacred thought those flowers were keeping, That garland seemed to me the fairest one: I knew a soldier's widow twined it, weeping, To deck the grave where slept her soldier son. Days We Remember THE VETERAN Another and another wreath We deck new graves each spring, And smaller grows the gray-haired band Whose hands the garlands bring. Grave veterans, we follow slow The dull beat of the drum; There's one brief march before us now, And, Comrades! we shall come One sleep to share, and o'er each grave The starry flag we loved shall wave! We mourn you not! The days seem far Since side by side we fought, And onward to the meeting-place The way is now so short! Not many May-times shall we hear The summons of the drum; We wait, with unforgetting hearts, Till, Comrades! ive shall come One sleep to share, while o'er each grave, Thank God! the starry flag shall wave! Days We Remember OUR DEAD Not alone the fairest garlands of the May; Bring a nobler tribute for our dead to-day. Bravery asks honor only of the brave. What avails if cowards deck a hero's grave? Greet this sacred morning with the solemn vow, "Freedom's fallen vanguard! fficwill serve her now! "Sleep in peace, O martyrs! faithful to the last; We will make our present worthy si your past!" 33 Days We Remember THE COMRADE'S GRAVE Comrade! You who onee marched by my side, Brave with the daring of boyhood, Fearless, whatever defied, Firm, with your face to the foeman, Early you fell in the strife; /know a wearier struggle, Harder the battle of Life! Comrade! Sweet are the wreaths on your grave; Freedom forgets not her fallen, Love guards the sleep of the brave; Long are the years now between us, Victor you fell in the strife; 7 know the heart of the vanquished, Hard is the battle of Life! 34 Days We Remember "MORE THAN 30 YEARS AGO" With tears upon a soldier's grave I bend a wreath to lay. And little David, standing by, Asks wonderingly, "What makes you cry? I love to hear the music play: I'm glad it is Memorial Day; Why should you cry? the war, you know, Was very, very, long ago." "Not very long," I say; but he, Reprovingly, looks up at me: "Yes, very long; you said, you know, 'Twas more than thirty years ago!" The little sunlit face before My misty eyes grows dim; What is but yesterday to me Seems like an age to him; Fresh in my heart the parting pang, I hear the last good by, As my brave brother turns away On War's red field to die. But all I say is, "Davy dear, Perhaps you'll sometime know It takes not very long for more Than thirty years to go." 35 Days PPe Remember MAY DAY The snow was on the leaves I brushed With childish haste away, And underneath them, fresh and fair, The year's first May-flower lay; One, sweet, half-bloom, that smiled between Three buds, whose pink had cleft the green; The first! the first! By melting snows and March winds nurst! O, proudly as a little Queen, I down the hill-side went! I envied no one anywhere, I was so well content, Since home in triumph I could bring The earliest May-flower of the Spring! Days We Remember WAKING "Peep! peep! peep! peep!" Hark! hark! 'tis the call of the Frogs. The Cowslip buds in the meadow marsh; The Rushes start in the bogs. Come, Violet, come in your purple hood! Come, wild Wake-Robin, and light the wood! Shine, Star-Flower, shine in your emerald wheel! Come, small white plume of the Solomon's-Seal! Bloom, Wind-Flower, bloom, to the South Wind true! Come, Innocence, color the brook-side blue! Come, yellow bell of the Adder's-Tongue, Again o'er thy spotted leaves be hung! Croak, Bull-Frogs, croak, Peep, little Frogs, peep, Till the very last blossom Wakes out of its sleep! 37 Days We Remember MY CHILDHOOD'S SUNDAY My great-great-great-great-grandfather, Whose heart through mine is beating, Believed good Puritan! 'twas sin Of sins to stay from meeting. On each Lord's Day they gathered twice, A patient congregation, And heard two long discourses through As food for meditation. But oh, what rest for Saturday, How brisk a start from Monday Those grave old Pilgrim fathers had, With their old-fashioned Sunday! "A vanished day," you say; and yet Fond memory's tears bedew it, For in my old New England home, A child, how well I knew it! It colored all my early thoughts, My life was built upon it; I always said "my Sunday gown," "My go-to-meeting bonnet." Mere common, bustling workadays Were Saturday and Monday; But oh, my very best belonged To that old-fashioned Sunday, Days We Remember Once more the great green, box-like pew, Its high wall 'round me closes; I sit, a nosegay on my breast How sweet the damask roses! I softly wave my painted fan, And, by my side, my mother a i Meets mine with look, half smile, h f prayer, More sweet than any other. I loved the strolls of Saturday, The merry romps of Monday; But oh, I felt the holy charm Of that old-fashioned Sunday. They haunt me still, the many texts And hymns I then committed, And never knew in learning them That I was to be pitied. Time changes all; yet we would trust Through change the world grows better; But oh, to the remembered past How much I feel a debtor! And oh, how hopeless Saturday, And wearisome were Monday, Without the quiet rest between Of my old-fashioned Sunday! 39 Days We Remember A BIRTHDAY MORN It was upon my birthday morn, The world with me went wrong, And, tossed by fear, the night had seemed, How wearisome and long! When sweet, as when to her I turned A little restless child, My mother stood beside my bed, And looked on me and smiled. And brightness that was not of earth Shone round me all the day; The mansions of the blest appeared How short a space away! " 'Twas but a dream," you say. In dreams The dear Lord spoke of old; Has He forgotten to draw near? Has Heaven's heart grown cold? Oh no! His messenger of love, To me, her weary child, My mother, on my birthday morn, Stood by my bed and smiled! 40 Days We Remember A BIRTHDAY This is your birthday. On the calendars Of those who know you it is marked with gold, As both a holy and a holiday. You make us happy, and you make us good, By simply being with you. You bestow, And think you are receiving; like a rose That marvels at the fragrance of the breeze. We are most glad, since you were sent to earth, It was while we are here; not hastened down To shine amidst the shadows of the past, Nor kept to grace some joyful, future day. But come to share our present as ie is, And leave tomorrow better for your stay. Days We Remember A JUNE WEDDING The barberry bush, a shower of gold, Through silver dews is glittering; The buttercups the meadows hold, A shining host; and twittering, And fluttering, Upon the yellow-blossomed bough, A little bridegroom goldfinch now Is uttering, As best he can, what never quite On earth is uttered, Love's delight. "Sweet, sweet!" he calls; and close beside, Among the flowers, his little bride, "Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet!" makes low reply. What though no wedding guest am I, I can but greet the little pair, The dew-drops round them shedding, And say to them, just as I would At any other wedding, "May you be blest with all that's best, Soft airs and sunny weather; And when you're called to go, may you Fly heavenward together!" Days We Remember THE FOURTH Dear noisy day, with fife and drum, And guns, and bells, and horns you come! But, welcome still, you bring once more Brave memories of the days of yore, When Freedom the first, rapturous thrill Of broken thraldom knew, And sang the thirteen morning stars Together in the blue! Dear day! Times change and hearts grow old; Bring back the patriot fire of old! THE FIRE-CRACKER The Fire-Cracker said, "I am really not A Cracker at all, but a Patriot, And for Freedom's sake I am ready to die, When my Country calls on the Fourth of July!" 43 Days We Remember THE SUMMER OUTING Where shall we pitch our gypsy tent, Our few brief days by pleasure lent? Among the hills, beside the sea, Beneath some hill-side pasture tree, Or 'mid the fields with daisies fair? Oh, choose at will; it matters not; The loveliest spot In summer days is everywhere. Dark pines in rifted ledges gray, Wild roses wet with salt sea spray, Pink sunsets in the mirroring lake, The wild brook laughing in the brake, The gray gull's flight, the clear-voiced thrush, Sweet singing in the greenwood's hush Which joy to snatch, what bliss to lose. When each seems fairest, who can choose? Then gypsy-tenting forth we'll fare; But whither go it matters not; The loveliest spot In summer days waits everywhere. 44 Days We Remember OLD HOME WEEK Thrice fair the dear old State we love Among her green hills stands, And, like a waiting mother, smiles And reaches out her hands. "Come back, my wanderers!" she calls: "Come back! we miss you yet; New Hampshire hearts have never learned Their absent to forget! Come back and break the bread of love And hear fond memory speak, And give to those who knew you first An Old Home Week! "Come back and let us share with you Your triumphs or your tears; Come back and see what toil has won For us these busy years. Let the closed by-roads, grass o'ergrown Again your footsteps know; By the deserted farmhouse still Your mother's roses grow. Strew flowers on long-forgotten graves, List while hushed voices speak, And make a sacrament of love Our Old Home Week." 45 Days We Remember LABOR DAY O Christ! the King of Glory, To whom arch-angels bow, Does often come to Thee the thought Of Joseph's work-shop now? Where, making plows and ox-yokes, All day the good man wrought, And reverently his simple craft The child beside him taught? Thy boyish hands were hard with toil, Thy brow was moist with sweat Thou dost remember, Lord! Thy heart Is with Earth's toilers yet. Beyond the jeweled, jasper wall, Dost Thou not sometimes see The fishing boats that used to toss On stormy Galilee? The wild winds and the maddened waves That to each other cried, The black clouds hurrying, the last Faint gleam of light to hide? The hungry eyes, when morning broke, Bent o'er the empty net Thou dost remember, Lord! Thy heart Is with earth's toilers yet! 46 Days We Remember It is the heavy laden ones Thou biddest come to Thee! To those who know Care's heavy load Love's burden light will be! We need not falteringly begin The task that Thou hast set Thy help is sure, O Lord! thy heart Is with Earth's toilers yet! 47 Days We Remember FAIR DAY Old Farmer Boggs, of Boggy Brook, Went to the County Fair, And with his wife, he strolled around To see the wonders there. "That horse," he said, "Grey Eagle Wing, Will take the highest prize; But our old Dobbin looks as well And better to my eyes. He is, I know, what folks call slow It's far the safest way to go; Some men, perhaps, might think it strange, I really should not like to change. "And those fat oxen Buck and Bright Don't have so large a girth, No, match like them, just to a hair, But I know what they're worth. They're good to plough, and good to draw, You stronger pullers never saw, And always mind my 'gee, and haw.' Some folks, perhaps, might think it strange, I really shouldn't want to change." "That Devon heifer cost, I heard, A thousand dollars; now," Said Mrs. Boggs, "my Crumple Horn Is just as good a cow; Days We Remember Her milk, I'm sure's the very best, Her butter is the yellowest; Some folks, perhaps, might think it strange, I really shouldn't want to change. "Those premium hogs" said Mrs. Boggs, "My little Cheshire pig Is better than the best of them, Although he's not so big. And that young Jersey is not half So pretty as old Brindle's calf; Nor is there in the poultry pen, As Speckled Wings so good a hen!" As Farmer Boggs to Boggy Brook Rode homeward from the Fair, He said, "I wish my animals Had all of them been there; And if the judges had been wise I might have taken every prize!" 49 Days We Remember ELECTION Said Mrs. Brown, "I shall be glad If we live through Election These parties pulling, everyone A different direction; What is the use? I dread to be With men-folks when they disagree! They march about and raise their flags Their common work half doin', And each one says the other side Will bring us straight to ruin! They quarrel so! I hate to be With men-folks when they disagree! But when the voting time is past I hope their strife they'll settle, Nor black the kettle call the pot, Nor black the pot the kettle! For O, how peaceful life would be If everybody could agree! Days We Remember THANKSGIVING I counted up my little store. Why was to others given more? Why were their lips with honey fed, While mine had Labor's hard-earned bread? A weary, hopeless task seemed living. I could not bring to God thanksgiving. There came a poor man to my door; I shared with him my scanty store. When, lo! my sense of want had flown, And rarest riches were my own! So sweet is Love's divided bread, I seemed with Heaven's own manna fed. What blessed joy there was in living! I brought to God my glad thanksgiving. S 1 Days We Remember THANKSGIVING Bright glows my neighbor's house, every room lighted; Round his wide hearth again, once more united, All the glad love of old in each heart living, Home have his dear ones come, home to Thanks giving. I, in my silent room, sit, O how lonely! Grave is my company, memories only! Mute is the music of voices once dearest, Fled, fled beyond my thought, those I held nearest. Nay, they but wait for me where now they gather, Safe in the beautiful house of our Father! Soon, all the love of old in each heart living, Soon shall I go to them, home to Thanksgiving! Days We Remember A GOOD THANKSGIVING Said Old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanksgiving Day, If you want a good time, then give something away; So he sent a fat turkey to Shoemaker Price. And the Shoemaker said, "What a big bird! how nice! And, since such a good dinner's before me, I ought To give poor Widow Lee the small chicken I bought." "This fine chicken, O see!" said the pleased Widow Lee, "And the kindness that sent it, how precious to me! I would like to make someone as happy as I I'll give Washwoman Biddy my big pumpkin pie." "And O, sure!" Biddy said, " 'tis the queen of all pies! Just to look at its yellow face gladdens my eyes! Now it's my turn, I think; and a sweet ginger- cake For the motherless Finigan Children I'll bake." "A sweet-cake, all our own! 'Tis too good to be true!" S3 Days We Remember Said the Finigan Children, Rose, Denny, and Hugh; "It smells sweet of spice, and we'll carry a slice To poor little Lame Jake who has nothing that's nice." "O, I thank you, and thank you!" said little Lame Jake; "O what bootiful, bootiful, bootiful cake! And O, such a big slice! I will save all the crumbs, And will give 'em to each little Sparrow that comes!" And the Sparrows, they twittered, as if they would say, Like Old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanksgiving Day, If you want a good time, then give something away!" 54 Days We Remember THE ANGELS' SONG They sang, as sang the morning stars, The Angels in the glowing sky. They sang, and why? Because they saw a mother lay Her first-born on the manger hay Of an inn stable, while with her, The husband, a Jew carpenter, Kept tender watch, was that a thing To make the Hosts of Heaven sing? They sang, and why? If they could see The life that for that child would be, The nails that would pierce through those sweet Soft hands, and little rosy feet, The sapling nursed by sun and dew, That, waiting in the woodland, grew To make the cross where he would die With one long, agonizing cry, Mocked by a thorn-wreath as a king, How could they O, how could they sing? 55 Days We Remember But yet, no sorrow in their song, A radiant and rapturous throng, They came, and, round them, all the night Glowed with a miracle of light! They sang was not all Heaven blest To share with sorrowing Earth her best? Glad that the great God throned above Made for Himself His law of Love, Bent pitying down, and, through His Son, Became with Earth's sad children one! God loved and gave; God loves and gives; In loving hearts His spirit lives; And those who shed Hope's light among Earth's shades, know why the A.ngels sung. Days We Remember CHRISTMAS The inn was full at Bethlehem; A busy crowd were there; And some were rich, and some were wise, And some were young and fair; But who or what they were, to-day There is not one to care. Within the cattle's manger There lay a baby stranger, Soft nestled, like a snow-white dove, among the scented hay; And lo! through Him was given One song to Earth and Heaven, The song two worlds together sing upon a Christ mas day: "Glory to God! Good will to men!" O listen! Wake it once again! "Peace upon Earth! Good will to men!" They sing it, those who sang it first, The angels strong and high; They sing, in shining white, the saints, Who died long years gone by, And all the fluttering cherub throng, The children of the sky; They sing, the patient, waiting souls Who still Faith's conflicts know; 57 Days We Remember They sing, Life's happy innocents, Their faces all aglow; One melody fills Heaven above And flows from Earth below, The song of that sweet stranger, Who, in the cattle's manger Lay, nineteen hundred years ago, among the scented hay! All sin and wrong forgiven, Earth seems close kin of Heaven, And sweet two worlds together sing upon a Christ mas day! Days We Remember A CHRISTMAS CAROL Green in the drifted snow I see One fir, my only Christmas-tree, And in it, by the wind unstirred, There sits one little Christmas bird. What does he care for cold or storm? Ten thousand feathers keep him warm, And underneath his soft, gray vest A Christmas heart beats in his breast, While low and clear he pipes in glee His Christmas carol: "Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee, dee, dee, dee, dee!" It makes me happy just to hear His song, (its meaning is so clear): "The winds may blow, the snows may fall; The Lord of Christmas rules o'er all; He loveth you, He loveth me, Be glad and fear not. Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee, dee, dee, dee, dee! 'Tis Merry Christmas! Chick-a-deel" 59 Days We Remember THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW The north winds blow o'er drifts of snow, Out in the cold who goes from here? 'iGood-by! good-by," loud voices cry: "Good-by!" returns the brave, old year. But, looking back, what word leaves he? "Oh, you must all good children be!" A knock, a knock! 'tis twelve o'clock! This time of night, pray, who comes here? Oh, now I see, 'tis he! 'tis he! All people know the glad New Year! What has he brought? and what says he? "Oh, you must all good children be!" 60 Mr. Badger's New List GENERAL LITERATURE A BUNCH OF ROPE YARNS, by Stanton H. King, I2mo., $1.25 POETRY THE DANCERS, by Edith M. Thomas, 12 mo., ... .50 APOLLO AND KEATS, by Clifford Lanier, 12 mo., ... .50 THE SONG AT MIDNIGHT, by Mary M. Adams, 12 mo., .50 CUPID is KING, by Roy Farrell Greene, 12 mo., . . .25 DAYS WE REMEMBER, by Marian Douglas, 12 mo., . .25 ENGLISH LYRICS OF A FINNISH HARP, by H. M. Donner, .25 THE WATCHERS OF THE HEARTH, by Benjamin Sledd, . .25 A REED BY THE RIVER, by Virginia Woodward Cloud, . .00 TANGLED IN STARS, by Etheltvyn Wethtrald, 12 mo., .00 THOUGHTS ADRIFT, by Hattie Homer Louthan, 12 mo., .00 THE AIR VOYAGER, by William E. Ingersoll, 16 mo., . 0.75 THE GREAT PROCESSION, by Harriet Prescott Spojford, 0.50 PLAYS MAXIMILIAN, by Edgar Lee Masters, 12 mo., . . . 1.50 MOSES, by Charles Ho fey Brown, 8 vo., . . . . 1.25 FICTION THE CULT OF THE PURPLE ROSE, A Phase of Harvard Life, by Shirley Ever ton Johnson, 12 mo., ! -*5 THE LOST BRIGADE, by Charles W, Hall, 8 vo., . . 1.25 A ROMANCE OF WOLF HOLLOW, by Anna Wolfram, . . I.OQ CARAMBA, An Extravagoose, 410., I.OQ CARITA, by Louis Pendleton, 12 mo., -7$ DON Luis' s WIFE, by Lillian Hinman Shuey, 12 mo., . 0.7^ THREADS OF LIFE, by Clara Sherwood Rollins, 16 mo., . o,5 o Richard G. Badger, The Gorbam Press, Boston UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50w-9,'60(B361064)444 A 001 248 651 o PS 3535 R556d