4Qpni: Glories. JOSEPHINE D, H. EEAED, SECOND EDITION. JOSEPHINE D HENDERSON HEARD. MORNING GLORIES SECOND EDITION by JOSEPHINE D. (HENDERSON) HEARD philadelphia, penna. march 17, 1800-ii)0i ATI,A.NTA, C,A. th>i franklin printing and publishing, co , (,b harrison, General manager 14111 Entered, According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1S90, by JOSIE D. (HENDERSON) HEARD, OF PHILADELPHIA, PA. In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C, DeMcatton TO MY DEVOTED HUSBAND IS THIS LITTLE BOOK LOVINGLY DEDICATED. GOD SPEED! Say I, and all Good Cheer, May fair winds Jill thy sails— Go proudly on thy Mission sent, Fearless of adverse gales. J. D. II. II. AND THIS, THK SECOND EDITION, IS FURTHER DEDICATED TO SIR WALTER WILKINS AND LADY WILKINS, LORD MAYOR AND LADY MAYORESS OF LONDON, EN(t., WITH WHOM I DINED, AND THROUGH WHOSE COURT¬ ESY I WAS PRESENTED TO ENGLAND'S GREATEST SOVEREIGN, IJUEEN VICTORIA, IN 1896. PREFACE. Dear Friend : Will you accept a Bunch of '"Morning Glories," freshly plucked and with the Dew Drops still upon them? Coming, as they Assurance 21 Hope 21 Fame 22 Truth 22 Sunshine after (loud 23 Slunilitring Passion 23 The Advance of Education 24 Mother . - 25 The Ou.tca.st 25 The Earthquake of 1NS0 2U To Youth 2S On (iene.-,saret 2S lie ( Vine-, not To-night 30 "Welcome Home ^1 Sahhath Bells -''>2 The Day after Conference '»'*> VI CONTENTS. The Quarrel 34p Thou Lovest Me 35 Gen. Robert Smalls 35 Admiration 3(v My Husband's Birthday 37 Decoration Day '. 3K Who Is My Neighbor i 3K Eternity 40 The Quarto-Centennial 41 Heart-Hungry 43 I Will Look Up ; 44 Hope Thou in God 4(5- To Clements' Ferry 47 The Birth of Time 40 Tennyson's Poems .">1 Thine Own 51 Love Letters 52: Matin Hymn 52 I Love Thee! 53 Mv Canary 54 Mv Mocking Bird 54r Morn 54 Do You Think 55 Music 55 A Mother's Love <">(> My Grace is Sufficient 5t> "Where Do School-Days End* 5T The Birth of Jesus 58 A Happy Heart 551 When I Would Die 5<> December (>1 Judge JSTot (51 ITnuttered Prayer <>1 Whoso Gives Freely, etc t>2 Wilberforce Easter Morn <>5 CONTENTS. VII The City l>y the Sea ♦><> Forgetfillness! OS. The New Organ <>S Deception (>1> Ont in the Desert TO1 The Black Sampson 71 They Are Coining t . . 7? lit. Rev. Richard Allen 74- He Ilath Need of Rest! r.> Rev. Andrew Brown, Over the Ilill to Re-.t!. . . . 7<> Bishop -Tames A. Shorter 77" A Message 7 s Bereft 7# ' Resting HO In Memory of James M. Rathel M The Nalional Cemetery ^2 Solace An Epitaph S4r PART II—Later Poems. Sacred and Sentimental* The Deserted Wife The "Wounded Heart Hv The Wedding Anniversary S7 Would You Regret St> Trusting Thee Where Hast Thou Gleaned JH If I Could Know 92 Teifiperance Poem ^ The Pilgrimage M The Stricken Deer ^ I Love Thee Yet Indifference ^ The Ladder of Life ^7_ Master, Still the Tempest 97" VIII CONTENTS. Resignation 08 Lord, I Would Love Thee • 98 Tears 99 (lone 99 The Blaek Elm 99 To Bishop H. Turner, D.D., LL.D 100 friendship 101 Virtue 102 Love 102 Impossibilities 102 Truisms 103 To Mrs. Bishop Lee 103 (Iraystone Crest 104 We Do not Know what Day Will Be Our Last. .105 Time's Flight 105 .Moving 106 To My Friend 107 Thy Will, O Lord, Not Mine 108 The Span of Life 109 When, Love, I Need Thee Most 109 To Bishop Allen's Memory 110 The Wanderer Reclaimed Ill The Returned Letters 112 Hypocrisy 113 To My Father 114 In Memoriam of Mother 114 Consolation 115 W'ill E'er There Come a Time ( 115 Extracts From the Authors 116 To Bishop Turner 116 Extracts. From the Authors 117 A Dream 118 Extracts and Quotations ' 119 Forsaken 119 Ambition 120 The Fiist Flakes that Fell on Mother's Grave. . .120 CONTENTS. I> When We Are Dead 121 lV The Dying Slave's Request 12^ In Memory of Hon. Frederick Douglas 12." Good-bye 121 Doing 12S The Slave Mother's Crime 120 •Where Are the Prayers 132 Could You Tell Me a Falsehood 13^ God is^ear Thee IX Jesiw* Saviour, Pilot, Save . • ■ . 13-J He that. Cometh to Me I Will in Nowise Cawt Out 13. Lend a Hand . . . -13. Chorus *.13( Times and Things Have Changed 137 PART III. Letters, Commendations, etc 141-14 historical sketch OF THB L_jfe of the Author. Mus." josiie D. (Henderson) Heard was born in Salisbury, Xorth Carolina, October 11, 1861. Her par¬ ents, Lai'avette and Annie M. Henderson, though slaves, were nominally free, being permitted, to hire their time and live in another city, Charlotte, North Carolina. At an early age, Josephine displayed her literary taste, and aptness to perform upon almost any musical instru¬ ment. As early as five years of age she could read, and was a source of general comfort to the aged neighbors, delighting to read the Scriptures to them. She received her education in the schools at Charlotte, and having passed through them with credit, was sent to the Scotia Seminary at Concord, Xorth Carolina, spend¬ ing several years there. Her desire was to reach even a higher plain, and she was next sent to Bethany Institute, Xew York, passing with honors from its walls. She com¬ menced teaching in the State which gave her birth; then in the State of South Carolina, at Maysville, Orange¬ burg and finally in Tennessee, at Covington, near Mem¬ phis. In October, 1881, she became acquainted with the Eev. AV. II. Heard, now the pastor of Allen Temple, Atlanta, Ga., who was then in the U. S. E. Mail Service; and they were happily united in the Bonds of Matrimony in the year 1882. Mrs. Heard evinced a fondness for poetry, and during her school days contributed to several leading evangelical periodicals. After her marriage she was encouraged by the Jit. Iiev. Benj. Tucker Tanner, Et. Eev. B. W. \ an,].1,.iany °tber friends, to give more time to it. * uir solicitations she has ventured to bring to light 7in«o7VlT" %VG ^laS some musical talent, having com¬ posed and written a piece of miKiV i t i of fi,t> n..i-r,1 music which was played t,u' , ^ Oikans Exposition, and which elicited much comment imm the Democratic Press of the South. W. IT. H. INTRODUCTION. A fir.st edition of any work is an expression of the author'V confidence in the public; a second is a grateful acknoledgment that this confidence has been rewarded with the public favor. With the rapid multiplying of writers which the pres¬ ent day is bringing to us, there is altogether too little that is heart poetry. Clever verse and faithful dialect, broad humor and irreverent wit, may serve the purpose of a bread-winner and wake the ephemeral favor 01 volatile and mercurial; but the deep souls that trans¬ mute their feeling into better lives, and whose present approval means to the writer worthiness of future res¬ pect, will ever turn from the lighter vein to commune with those who love God and man, who muse upon life, its ties and mysteries, and there rest themselves. Pope and Goldsmith, with the glittering rapier of pencil wit and keen retort, are not great. One "Deserted Village"'"' outweighs a dozen "Retaliations," and one "Essay on Man" is more than a dozen "Dunciads." Mrs. Heard's muse is sacred and sentimental. She appeals to the best in us. Where there is no response, the mansion of the soul is falling into ruins. JSTor is she devoid of the power to use the scalpel of sarcasm and wit, as witness in her "Time and Things Have Changed," which is a clever and scathing review of the frivolities of the times. Altogether, Mrs. Heard's poems are salutary and wholesome. They breathe true faith and tender love to God. They are pre-eminently poems for the home. Your child and mine will be deeper, more devout, and more soulful followers of God from their persual. And the fervor that breathes in them all, telling of a woman's heart inditing witli a poet's hand, is needed in these shallow nineteenth century lives that have been let loose XII INTRODUCTION. upon the world, to bring them into the true estate of human rather than animal living. It is true neither the furor of a fad, nor the childish acclamations of the thoughtless will attend the publish¬ ing of that whose power is in its peaeefulness and purity; but a more enduring if more tardy judgment will place a chaplet' unfading upon the writer who- scorns the populartiy of pandering. Dedicated to friendship, to love, to virtue and to God as "Morning Glories1'1 is, it needs not my approval to win its way, though that approval it has; it needs not the censor in the home to prove its pages, for it is all good; it can well disregard the earless glances of palsied char¬ acter, for its fate is in the verdict of the good; its mis¬ sion to the ones who have not forgotten home and mother and who have still the right to hope 1'or happi¬ ness' and heaven; and these are to be known by their power to feel what is here written. T. H. KEALIXG. Philadelphia, June 5, 1901. PART FIRST. POEMS, Sentimental and Sacred, Couplets, Etc. RETROSPECT. I sat alone at my window, While the pattering raindrops brought Along with their music upon the roof, A lengthy train of thought. I stepped aboard of it quickly, And rapidly on I sped, Away, to the scenes of my childhood days, I followed where fancy led. I roamed the fragrant meadow, And through the silent wood; At last I came to the babbling brook, And sadly there I stood. Into its clear water gazing I felt a strange, sweet spell Enthral my being slowly As o'er my life it fell. I saw in the waters merry, Dear faces of long ago, That had drifted away on the sea of life, As the winds blew loud or low. My brain grew dazed with horror, And my heart was wrung with pain; Some barks were dashed on a rock-bound coast, They could not return again. I saw the same old mill-pond, And beside it the noisy mill, H TO WHITTIER. And once again I heard the bell Of the old Church on the hill- There was the dear old Schoolhouse, The scene of my childhood joys, And in the yard I romped among The happy girls and hoys. And once again came "May Day/' When the fields were dressed in green, And roses shed their rich perfume, The children crowned me Queen. I saw again our own sweet home Half hidden ;mong the trees, My parents, brother, sisters and I, As happy and busy as bees. Around the door of the homestead, The sweet Wistaria vines, And on the old oak in the yard The clinging ivy twines. There stands the grim old court-house, And the Jail with dingy cells, And on the Church the old town-clock The fleeting moment tells. Next I came to the old town Graveyard And entered with silent tread, Aild dropped a tear o'er the grassy grave Of the peacefully sleeping dead. TO WHITTIER. In childhood's sunny day my heart was taught to love Thy name, all other poet's names above, And when to womanhood at last I came, Behold the spark was fanned into a flame, Nor did I dare presume that I should live, And to the honored, white-haired poet give My sentiment in rude constructed rhyme; 0 wondrous change wrought by the hand of time! WELCOME TO DOUGLASS. 15 When lie wlio came the slaves among to dwell, From frigid Idaho (we loved him well), Athirst for knowledge I stood at his side, With quickening thought and eyes astonished, wide. He nightly read, and held me on his knee, From Whittier's "Snowbound" filling me with glee. The seed sown by his hand in infant heart, Has lived and grown, and cannot now depart. Now to the sunset thou hast set thy face, And silvery crown thy head doth grace; The mind of frrtile thought doth not decline Preserved yet from the ravages of time Since I can never hope my first desire, To shake thy hand, which would my soul inspire, Now ere yet "the cord is lossed or pitcher broken," Grant me with thine own hand this little token: Ere yet that hand by feebleness grows lame, With condescension write for me thy name. WELCOME TO HON. FREDEKIOK DOUGLASS. Charleston, S. C , Mt. Zion Church, March 5th, iHHH. ( )ttk hearts are filled with pride to-day— We hail theeA Noble Sire, Stern prejudice is swept away By Freedom's cleansing fire. And o'er this Southland you may roam, With ne'er a cause to fear— We bid the, Welcome to our home, Welcome, and right good cheer! Fjom rugged Blue Eidge mountain peak, To ocean's white crest wave: Even infant lips thy praises speak, And boast thy deeds so brave. i6 the parting kiss. The bondsman's fetters long since broke And tossed aside by thee, Tliou hurldest off the cursed yoke, And panted to be free. We see thee in thy craddle-bed, Tliy mother's pride and joy; When from oppression's hand you fled, When but a strippling boy. Thou, Moses of the negro race, This day we hail with pride; The day that brings us face to face, And Douglass by our side. We note thy locks have turned to grey. But note with swelling pride, For thou hast come a weary way O'er troubles deep and wide. (rod led thee then, and leads thee now, iSTo longer art thou sad— And may many years yet crown thy brow, To make thy people glad. THE PARTING KISS. We were waiting at the station, Soon the cars would surely start, Hearts beat high with love's emotion, For we knew we soon must part. On dark lashes seemed to glisten Tiny crystal tear drops shine; To the fond voice glad I listen, While dear eyes look into mine. And the last words quickly spoken, Darling, still to me be true, Let your promise be unbroken, For I will be true to you. THE QUESTION. 17 Once I felt the soft hand tremble, And my heart throbbed with its bliss; Lips that rose-buds did resemble, Met in one last loving kiss. Sweet good-bye, do not forget me, Spoken in the softest tone, In your mern'ry, precious keep me, For my love is all your own. I will ever be brave-hearted— Nothing shall your love efface: One last kiss and then we parted, One last loving, long embrace. THE QUESTION". Does he think of me in the merry throng Which surrounds his board to-night ? Is his love as true, and his faith as strong, As it was at this morning's light ? , Am I first in his thought; is he still as fond; And is his heart longing to flee From its weary thraldom, and burst its bond, To spend but a moment with me ? Can he look on the faces of women fair, And turn from them all to me ? From halls where sweet music is filling the air, Would he come and be happy with me? From the feast of reason and flow of soul, And walls resounding with glee; From the crimson goblet and flowing bowl, Is he giving one thought of me ? Ah I yes, on the wings of the night breeze come Such tidings of comfort to me. Kent well, little Queen! his heart is thy throne, Who sends this message to thee: i8 class song. "Thou need'st not fear, -though in gilded halls Of pleasure and chivalry, Thy lover wouldst fly from the mirthful walls To spend one sweet moment with thee/ Yest, he thinks of me in the crowded mart, And the thought cheers him on his way; 1 read in his eyes the desire of his heart, As he passes me day by ddy. What more could I ask, what wish while I live, Than the love he has lavished so free ? This world has no worthier boon to give Than my handsome young lover to me. FAKEWELL TO ALLEN UNIVERSITY. "CLASS SONU OF ,87." Tune "America." We leave thy courts to-day, Joyful has been our stay Within thy walls. Hence lie our paths apart, Tears will unbidden start, While we with aching heart Shall leave thy halls. 'Twas here our wont t© -meet, Fondly each other greet, . Each rising day. United prayers ascend For Teacher, Parent, Friend, And joyful notes would blend In tuneful lay. Bright may thy glories shine, On all who at thy shrine Will meekly stay. NIGHT—THE PARTING. 19 Loudly thy praises tell! Loud hallelujahs swell, While we on earth shall dwell, We homage pay. Dear "Allen," now to you, Classmates and Teachers too, Farewell is said. Still on that brighter shore, When all lire's cares are o'er, We'll meet and part no more, With Christ our head. NI(1HT. "The shades of eve are quickly closing in, And streaks of silver gild the eastern sky; Belated songsters have their vespers sung With happy hearts and silvery noted tongue, The busy world has ceased its toil and din, And guardian angels now their watch begin. All nature quiet save the sighing wind, And distant murmur of the ocean wave, Which seem engaged a requiem to sing O'er blighted hopes and expectations grave. The drooping heart its lonely vigil keeps, Beside the tomb where proud ambition sleeps. But memory bids defiance unto sleep, And from her quiet chamber, see her creep, Away she flies o'er hill, and dale and mead, To find the Sacred City of the dead; Faints not? nor stops to seek a rest, Till pillowed on some loved and lost one's breast. THE PARTING. The die is cast, and we must part, Forgive me if I say we must; 20 THE PARTING. Must make again exchange oi' heart, But never more exchange of trust. With faces cold and stern must meet, While inward fires consume our souls, Must pass as strangers in the street, While o'er our hope the death bell tolls. We met but a short while ago, And all my sky was clouded o'er; You loved, and scattered all my woe, Loved as I ne'er was loved before. You taught my hungry heart to hope, And filled love's chalice to the brim, But hope must now in darkness grope, And love's sweet sunshine e'er be dim. When eventide has wrapped the world In garments of a silvery sheen, And diamond studded skies unfurled Their beauty fair to deck the Queen Of night, as she shall joyous ride In magic splendor on her way, Like modest, sweet and happy bride, All glorious in her perfect sway. My thoughts unfettered fly to thee, Untramelled by my heart's deep woe, Though all our actions guarded be, Love's tender voice still murmurs low, And fans the embers into flame, My heart thrills with its ecstasy At any mention of thy name; Forgets, and longs to be with thee. „Yet we must smile and kiss the rod That striked the blow and severs us. Must fix our hope on heaven and God, Earth's joys are ever severed thus. Farewell, and though we parted be, And parting brings us bitter pain, ASSURANCE -HOPE. 21 Some day we shall united be, For we must liope to live again. When all our wrongs have righted been, And crooked paths have been made straight, When from our joys shall drop the screen, Which now is hung by cruel fate, When the full craving of each heart Is granted, we shall happy be When meeting we shall no more part, In the blissful realm eternity. ASSURANCE. I know that his eyes look into mine, With a joy tongue cannot tell, And'I drink of the cup of love's sweet wine, And my heart says, UA11 is Well." I know his heart is all my own, Enchained by love's sweet spell, That I reign as a Queen on a golden throne, And my heart says all is well. HOPE. Hope ! Thou vain, delusive maiden, Every moment cometh laden, With some fresher, newer fancies, Which before our vison glances, Filling hearts already burning With a deeper, stronger yearning; Adding fuel to the fires, Waking all the soul's desires. Nectar holdeth to our lip, Yet forbiddeth us a sip. 0 thou lovely, fickle jade, Fools of men hast ever made. We thy fleeting footsteps follow, O'er the mountain in the hollow; 22 FAME—TRUTH. In the glade or through the dell Captives bound by thy sweet spell. Tyrant Queen, what power is thine! Prince and Peasant at thy shrine, For thy favor each imploring Though thy coquettish alluring. Pointing with thy finger gentle To fair Fame's or Croesus1 temple, On thou leadest ever smiling Over rugged roads beguiling. Youth and maiden, sire and sage, All in thy mad flight engage; There's a better name for thee— Disappointment it should be. "FAME." What's in a name ? What's in a name ? Some Ancient writers ask. In truth to tell what's in a name, We find no easy task ; Yet each and every noble deed Helps build the house of fame; And upon every block of stone, We carve some Hero's name. So let us live, while life is spared, In duty's sunshine fair, Our names shall be like temples reared, Not "Castles in the Air." "TKUTH." Look up, dear one, nor be east down, For bright again will shine thy sun; God's smiles are hid behind his frown—. Trust IIim, He will dispel thy gloom. For T. M. D. W. SUNSHINE AFTER CLOUD. 23 SUNSHINE AFTEE CLOUD. Come, "Will," let's be good friends again,, Our wrongs lot's be forgetting,, For words bring only useless pain, So wherefore then be fretting. Let's lay aside imagined wrongs, And ne'er give way to grieving, Life should be filled with joyous songs, No time left for deceiving. I'll try and not give way to wrath, Nor be so often crying; There mtist some thorns be in our path, Let's move them now by trying. How, like a foolish pair were we, To fume about a letter; Time is so precious, you and me Must spend ours doing better. SLTTMBEEINU PASSION. •Can it be true, that we can meet, As other strangers in the street; No deep emotions quickly rise, No hidden language in our eyes, No sudden crimson-mantled cheek, No thrilling word of pleasure speak? Yes! Thine was love of yesterday; This morning found it far away, In search of newer conquests gone, Leaving me desolate and lone, In vain 1 sought to break the spell, My strenuous efforts fruitless fell. The cloud o'erspread my sunny sky, And settled slowly like a pall, And clad my life in misery, And swept it clear of pleasures all, 24 the advance of education. Remembrance brings me only pain,^ My love, my truest love lies slain. Henceforth in loneliness I grope * My way, "until my life shall end; Among the hopeful without hope, Among the friendly without friend— My heart unto its depth is shaken, My love, untiring love forsaken. THE ADVANCE OF EDUCATION. What means this host advancing With such melodious strain ; These men on steeds a prancing, This mighty marshaled train? They come while drum and fife resound, And steeds with foam aflecked, Whose restless feet do spurn the ground. Their riders gaily decked. With banners proudly waving. Fearless in Freedom's land, All opposition braving, With courage bold they stand. Come join the raging battle, Come join the glorious fray; Come spite of bullets' rattle, This is enlistment day. Hark! hear the Proclamation Extend o'er all the land; Come every Tribe and Nation Join education's band. Now the command is given— Strike ! strike grim ignorance low; Strike till her power is riven; Strike a decisive blow. MOTHER—THE OUTCAST. 25 MOTHER. Who was it held me on her knee ? When I was helpless as could be, And hoped such noble things of me? My Mother. Who taught my infant lips to prat, And understood my childish chat, And who in patience calmly sat? My Mother. Who watched me grow from day to day, Taught me "Our Father's prayer11 to say, And kept me out of evil's way? My Mother. Who shared my sorrow and my grief, And always brought me sweet relief; ()f all my friends why was the chief ? My Mother. Who always wisest counril gave, And taught me how life's storms to brave, That I might safely ride each wave ? My Mother. Who guarded me from tempter's snare, Made me the burden of her prayer, And watched with zealous tender care? My Mother. And when the sun dies in the west, And birds fly homeward to their nest, On whose fond bosom would I rest? My Mother's. THE OUTCAST. W ith pinched cheeks hollow and wan, With feet all travel sore, A form so fragile, that one might span Her waist. There she peers in each door. 26 the earthquake of 1886. A dress, that is scarcely a dress at all— No hat to protect her head; The matted brown hair speaks woe and despair, As daily she begs for bread. No shoes to cover her feet, No table with bounties spread, No home but a stoop in a wretched street, And naught but rags for a bed. One glance at the hungry face, One look at the shattered frame Would prove that her life has been but a race With poverty, hunger and shame. The hurrying crowd swept by, On business or pleasure intent— No time to give heed to a cry of need, No help to the beggar lent. Oh! Men with purse-string tight, And women of comfort and ease, Have you no pity this bitter night, Her hunger and want to apease ? She knelt on the flagstones in prayer, With uplifted heart unto heaven; A pitying angel discovered her there, And whispered so kindly: "Forgiven V The morning's sun looked on the face Of her .who had known naught but pain, So peaceful in death, not even a trace Of hunger and suffering remain. THE EAKTHQTJAKE OF 1886. With angry brow and stately tread This mighty Warrior came; With thuncfering throat his forces led, With breath almost aflame. And eyes of penetrating glance, That pierce through every vein, As soldier pierced by soldier's lance, Earth groaned and writhed in paid. THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1886. 27 The1 fearless eagle in his nest TJpon the mountain's height, Arose with wonder in his breast, And quivered with affright. Old ocean troubled in his bed, At first the shore forsook— Returning, all his furies led, And crept into each nook. Brave-hearted men like statutes stood Powerless to strike a blow; Their homes became as kindling wood, Their city's wall laid low. While mother^ clasped their babes in arms And sped with panting breath; With faces full of dread alarm, They sought to fly from death. Husband and wife in long embrace In mutest wonder stood; Each horror read in other's face, And knelt and prayed to God. Death reaped a harvest as he rode, On wings of every wind; He slew the young, the brave and good, And some grown old in sin. The very stars their light refused To witness scene like this; Fair Lunar hid away confused, And veiled herself in mist. Roar after roar, peal after peal, The fierce bombardment went, Till nature like a drunkard reeled, Her strongest breastworks rent. "Surrender!" comes from every lip; "We yield," from every breast; ()urselves of selfishness now stript, We are humbled in the dust. 28 to youth—on " genessarj5t." In meek humility we bowed And smiling kissed the rod, That while it smote us, bore us up Near to the throne of God. TO YOTTTH. Hcn\ shall your name go down in History7, In letters of gold, or enveloped in mystery; In deeds of love, on pages of white, In defense of the wrong, in lieu of right— In a selfish way will you carve your name? Time surely will answer: What's in a name? The leaves of your lift1 each day are unfolding Your deeds of lo-day; to-morrow beholding, May tint your cheek with the blush of bhame, While your heart will question: What's in a name? Will you gather the jewels spread out at your feet, Or still with the idle ones find a seat? No definite cause in the world pursuing— In the idle brain mischief is ever brewing— Can you find no work in the market-place, Can you not with the horsemen contend m the raee; If the footmen outstrip you who is to blame ? Be careful in youth how you carve your name. on "(xenessaket." out upon the deep old ocean, Out upon the trackless wave, Tossed by winds in fierce commotion— Men with hearts no longer brave— Drifted a poor helpless vessel, Driven by the winds at will ; Struggling sailors with her wrestle, Lest they watery graves should fill. ON "GENESSARETT" 29 All night long they toiled in rowing, Striving their frail bark to guide— Morning's streaks were longer growing, Still slie tossed from side to side. Some were on the oars hard bending, Others strove to man the sail, But each moment strength seemed lending To the e'er increasing gale. Silently each weary seaman Did the task to him assigned; Helpless starboard watch, and leamen Scanned the trackless waste behin^. Fainter grew their hearts within them, For the billows threatened death, Furious breakers fought to win them, Prayers were uttered with each breath. Denser grew the clouds above them, And the tempest wildly raged, Weary Captain, hopeless seamen, Each in silent prayer engaged. Sudden on the wave appearing Breaks a strange mysterious light, Toward their little bark 'tis nearing, And they tremble with affright. " 'Tis a spirit," said they lowly, Terror on their faces spread, But he neared them, speaking slowly— "It is 11" be not afraid. lVter spake, (the all-impulsive) Jesus come Thy people save, If indeed thou art our Jesus, "Bid me walk upon the wave!" "Come unto me !" said the Saviour! Peter made a noble start, But ere long his strength forsook him— Doubting filled his faithless heart. 3° HE COMES NOT TONIGHT. In his own strength he was thinking He would walk upon the wave— Soon he found that he was sinking, Then he cried, "Lord Jesus Save!" Then the loving Saviour caught him, And unto the vessel came; Peace now reigned, and Jesus taught him, Not thy power, hut Jesus' name. Sinner, you are on the ocean, Sinking down beneath the wave, Stretch thine arms with faith's devotion— Jesus Christ is quick to save! HE COMES NOT TO-NIGHT. My eager waiting heart can bear no more— Hark! was that not his knock upon the door, Or, that his footstep on the casement floor ? Ah, no, the clock rings out the hour, 'tis nine, 'Tis past his hour and dreary waiting's- thine Sad heart, he will not come to-night. With anxious eyes^ the gloom I strive to pierce, The stars are hid and winds are howling fierce; Only the ticking of the clock I hear, No welcome footsteps greet my eager ear. 'Tis long since past his hour, vain waiting thine Sad heart, he will not come to-night. From nature's fount the crystal tear drops flow, They soothe the throbbing "heart's cry low, 0, heart thine is the common, common fate, Thou yet must learn to hope and wait, 'Tis long since past his hour, vain waiting thine Sad heart, he will not come to-night. WELCOME HOME. 3i WELCOME HOME. To Mrx. Fannie Jackson Cop pin, returning from Eng¬ land. Thy weary feet have pressed once more thy native soil, After the weeks and days of care and toil. And loyal hearts whose friendship ever is true, Have come to bid a Welcome Home to you. Our bosoms swelling witji an honest pride, As swells the lover's heart- who claims his bride, With pleasure and with joy, we grasp thy hand And bid thee welcome to thy native land. Like silvery star that glint and gleams at night, Sweet and calm the breezes stealing O'er the quiet Sabbath day; Loud and long the church hells pealing. Haste to worship, haste awav. List their notes of music welling, Hark, what tones of melody! Man's redemption they are telling; Haste to worship, haste away. Xow the six days' labor ended— Temporal duties laid aside, With our hearts and voices blended. In his courts to-day abide. Since the holy law was broken From his fold, we've gone astray, But the pardoning word was spoken: Erring one, retrace thy way. With the Father interceding For a sin-accursed race, Hands and feet and side all pleadings Jesus saves us by his grace. Sinners, list the bells are ringing, 'Tis the gospel's precious sound; Infants tongues his praises singing, Come, and in his courts be found. In his promise trusting, never Backward cast thv longing eyes; Upward, onward pressing ever, Till the final morn arise. THE DAY AFTER CONFERENCE. List, the bells are lourlly calling, Will you heed the call to-day? On whose ear the sound is falling, Haste to worship, haste away. THE DAY AFTEK CONFEBENCE. How quiet and how still to-day old Bethel's corners "round, Xo boisterous clash of voices, no noisy gavel sound; And those who come from Territory, Island or from State, Who for the glorious cause of Christ came here to legis¬ late. Are gone—and over Bethel hangs a quiet like a pall, And yet there seems to linger strange whisperings in her wall. Perhaps it's but the echo of the meeting that is o'er, Or maybe it's a gathering come from the heavenly shore; Yet they are here and on each face there rests a sad¬ dened look, „ As with their index linger they keep tally in a book. They art1 gathering up the doings of the Conference that ih past, They are making up reports that through eternity shall last. And upon their heavenly faces comes anon a look of shame As with terrible precision they record each member's name. ()! ministers of Jesus, have your deeds been foul or fair? If the roll were called in glory, could you guiltless an¬ swer there ? Could your soul in Jesus' presence, pure and clean and white 'ippear, i >r should some foul stain on it condemn 3Tou to despair? 34 the quarrel. _ Shall your tongue shout glad hosannahs at the gathering in of sheaves, Or shall you empty-handed go, no fruit, hut only leaves ? Shall the Master's loving sinile assign you to a mansion bright, Or shall his angry voice appoint you to the realms of night ? Look well! for these committees shall report all by and by Before the Great Archbishop in the Conference in the sky. THE QUARREL. I saw him yesterday As he passed upon his way To an fro. Not a single word he spake, Though his heart seemed fit to break; With its woe. I understand his look, Like the pages of a book Which I've read. Oh! however the heart may ache. Back the words we cannot take> Now they're said. How willingly I'd share Half the burden of his care If I might. A word's a cruel thing, And how long we feel the sting; Of a slight, But I love him just the same; Maybe he's not all to blame; Perhaps 'twas me. And I've just received a note, Which with his own hand he wrote; Let me see. THOU LOVEST ME—GEN'L ROBT. SMALLS. 35 Oh! he's coming here to-night, And we'll set the matter right; Hell explain. And we'll love each other better For the mistake in the letter, And the pain. THOU LOYEST ME. Gracious Saviour let me make, Neither error nor mistake— Let me in Thy love abide, , Ever near Thy riven side. Let me, counting all things dross, Find my glory in the cross; , Let me daily with Thee talk, In Thy footsteps daily walk. I would gladly follow Thee, For Thou gently leadest me, Where the pastures green doth grow, Where the waters stillest flow. For me is Thy table spread, And Thou doth anoint my head, And my cup of joy o'erflows In the presence of my foes. GENERAL EOBERT SMALLS. Beaufort, fair Beaufort, thou art a favored spot, For fate saw fit to cast in thee a noble hero's lot: And we congratulate ourselves as in his house we stand, As welcome guests to one of the most noted in the land. Whose heart is warm as Southern sun, and noble, true and brave, With patriotic fire full and restless as the wave; 36 GEN'L ROBT. SMALLS—ADMIRATION. Whose zeal and candor unconcealed, constrained "us to admire; Infused new zeal within our hearts and led us to aspire. And 'mid these grand and gothic walls quite leisurely we saunter, We ask him to rehearse to us the story of the aPlan- ter''"— How when the fighting hottest grew, and strong hearts were dismayed, XTp to the pilot-house he flew and quick the fears allayed. And though the whistling shot and shell fell thick on every side. His deeds of valor we will tell to Nations yet with pride, To Afric's sons and daughters well leave it as no mys¬ tery, But hand them down on blocks of stone, and they shall live in history. With Touissant L"1 Ouverture and Crispus Attuck brave, John Brown and Ahram Lincoln, who died to free the slave— They, the nation's martyrs, and each loyal negro's walls Should be adorned with portraints of these and Eobert JSmalls. ADMIRATION. In the wondrous light of a pair of brown eyes, What language I read in the distance; My soul is suddenly lost in surprise, And can offer therefore on resistance. An easy prey to the magic spell I fall, and am helpless to rise; ISTo subtle power in fairy dell, Than that in those thrilling brown eyes. One moment they quietly rested on me; The next they were wantonly straying; And now they're swimming in ecstasy, ITnaware of the havoc they're playing. MY HUSBAND'S BIRTHDAY. 37 Just now they are looking quite innocently— A moment before wondrous wise. I would I could fathom the depth of that sea Tn those thrilling mysterious dark eyes. MY HUSBAND'S BIRTHDAY. So you've reached your thirty-eighth birthday, And by many a varied road— I see that your hair is a trifle gray, But you've toiled with a heavy load Of life's care, and pain, and sorrow, Upon your shoulders broad; You have striven that each to-morrow Pound you nearer to heaven and God. What matter if age creepeth o'er you, Your spirit is young, still and bold; The path of duty before you lb paved with the purest of gold. Not such as the brow of a monarch would grace, Eclipsing the costliest gem, That is torn from the bosom of earth's embrace, More precious than diadem. Though many the changes your eyes have seen In these few fast fleeting years, O'er the graves of loved ones (now grown green),. You've shed many bitter tears. On life's great sea your bark has tossed, And adverse winds have blown, And threatening clouds your skies have crossed, Yet still the sun has shone. Now down the stream of life you glide, And steer toward setting sun— May each day's close bring sweet repose, As "}ou think on the good you ha\e done. 38 DECORATION DAY—WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? DECORATION DAY. We gather where the weeping willow waves; With flowers we will strew the grassy graves— Who enter here must come with softest tread, In presence of the brave and valiant dead. Come, noble sons of Union, daughters fair; A dirge is floating on the summer air; O'er the city freedom's ensign proudly waves, Come, shed a tear above the fallen braves! Strains of weird music freight the noonday air, And veterans tread the highways here and there. Where peacefully repose the fallen braves. The birds are chanting requiems o'er the graves. No more is heard the cannon's crash and roar, Peace spreads her joyful wings from shore to shore. No more is heard the musket's shower-like hail, And hushed and still the mother's piteous wail. Loud let the drum and life with music sound, Loud let their praise be echoed all around; Let loyal heart and voice join in the sound; Let infant hands with roses strew the ground. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? We had gathered for the love-feast on the time ap¬ pointed night, And many came with hearts aflam1 and swords all bur¬ nished bright; And other heavy laden ones who, toiling on life's road, Forgot that Christ had promised to bear their heavy load, Came struggling in the open door and dropped into a seat, But failed to lay their burdens at the blessed Saviour's feet. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 39- We sang the hymn "Redeeming Love," and then we knelt in prayer, Not knowing that one steeped in sin had gathered with us there; Then we arose and each in turn began of Christ to talk, And some rejoiced and others moaned o'er life's intri-r cate walk; And when the Holy Spirit had pervaded every heart, The weak grew strong, for all their doubts were bid¬ den to depart. We felt that faithful, earnest prayer would unlock: heaven's door, Lo, in our very midst, there stood a drunkard on the- floor; He'd wandered down the narrow street and stopped and made his bed Upon the steps that to the very mercy-seat had led, Where the thrilling songs of Zion and the atmosphere- of prayer, And the host of the invisibles floated on the evening- air. They roused him from his stupor, smote his conscience and his heart, For he saw that with "the chosen" even here he had no part; And struggling to control himself and decently ap¬ pear, He laid aside his tattered hat and to the desk drew near. The muttered words stuck in his throat as hard he strove to speak: "My friends, I've been a drinking," were uttered low and weak. "Put the man out," they quickly cried, "how dare he- interfere ? This is no place for drunkards, only the go >d are- here." -4o who is my neighbor?—eternity. And as tlie men advanced to take tlie poor intruder out, He placed his hands behind him and despairing gazed about. There rested such a look upon his now quite sobered face Of hopelessness: it seemed to say, "they thrust me from this place.''' Where prayers are made for erring ones, Christ says to all mankind: '"That whosoe'er believing comes shall full salvation find." Strong hands were laid upon him and they led him to the door, And from the church steps down he went perhaps to rise no more. Who knows but that a hasty step his lasting doom may seal, Though sense of his unworthiness he yet may keenly feel. Perhaps we, too, are erring, let us turn our eyes within; Perhaps we'll have no trouble in discovering secret sin. If the question were but answered how our cases stood The echo of the answer would be: no, not one is good. Let us be like Samaritans, and stoop when passing by, To raise a fallen brother and to hear the needy's cry. ETERNITY. Away from earth and its cares set free, The soul in its blissful liberty Shall soar to portals fair and bright, Where sweet-voiced angels clad in white. Are tuning their harps in heavenly glee: We hope to spend Eternity. Over the crystal sea of glass, And through the golden streets we'll pass, ETERNITY—BIRTH OF BISHOP ALLEN. 41- Floating along on the placid streams; Or roaming through fields of eternal green, A glorious awakening there will he: When we land on the hanks of Eternity. In that beautiful home so far away, There come no nights of dark dismay; The Saviour's love shall round us shine, And light our steps through heavenly clime; And while we join the sweet melody— We'll rest throughout Eternity. With faltering steps here, up and down, With bleeding wounds from sole to crown, We'll cast aside life's troubles here; When, like the Saviour, we appear, Sorrow and tears shall cease to be: In our promised home in Eternity. THE QITARTO CENTENNIAL OF THE BIRTH OF BISHOP RICHARD ALLEN. 0, that the Holy Angels would indite Fit words of praise that I might write; Or to my timid, faltering heart reveal Some secret hidden spring, some new found seal, That guards a casket rich and rare and old, Of gems as rich and pure as finest gold 0 to some unknown depth might I descend, Or, would some fairy spirit its wings me lend, That I might soar aloft and pierce the azure sky— Might penetrate earth's bosom with discerning eye; Or would the touch of heavenlv hands inspir< My soul, then filled with pure and holy fire, Might wake the cords that now lie dormant here, And catch some rich vibrations from celestial sphere. Year after year is born and glides away, And generations rise and flourish and deca) ; 42 QUARTO-CENTENNIAL BIRTH OF BISHOP ALLEN. Flowers bud and blossom, fade and fall, But the eternal truth outlives them all. As in the forest stands the sturdy oak, Where the young ravens scream and groan and croak, Stand like monuments of the unhappy past, Those who have brav'd the summer's heat and winter's blast. ■On mountain height where hungry eagle's slept, In deep ravine where poisonous reptiles crept, ITndauntedly the Master's call they heed, And prove themselves his followers indeed. On, on, though often dark and chill the night, In the vineyard gleaning with his cycle bright, In the rank marshes, or whereso'er He led, The sky their only covering, the earth their only bed. O, welcome day, when peace broods o'er the land. Tree and untrammeled roams the Christian band; 3STo guillotine is reared, no furious crackling stake; No flames leap high the Christian's life to take. How swift the flight of five and twenty years, "Freighted with hope and grief, with joy and tears; To duty came the call that sacred day— Strong in the Master's strength, Paul-like they did obey. ~ "But free to tread his own or foreign sod. His voice upraised to the eternal God— No bodies torn asunder fill untimely graves, And o'er the world Salvation's Banner waves. Oli! Allen, you are with us here to-day, Noting these services, this grand array; Those sightless eyes methinks look into mine "With holy happiness divine. With gratitude we gather here and now— Our praises render while we meekly bow To heaven, who gave us such a man as thee, A.nd God's own Son, who died to set us free. HEART-HUNGRY. 43 HEART-HUN (tRY. 0, Hungry Heart, Contend not with thy fate; Lonely thou art, But yet must hope and wait. For all thy craving, Thou shalt he filled; Why this mad raving? Why so self-willed? Longing, art thou, For that which comes not? Submissive bow, Sad is thy lot, What must the end be? Lest thou relent, Love will consume thee, Thy power be spent. Dost thy cold mate That thou hast chosen Smile at thy fate With glances frozen? O, hungry heart, In shadow groping Still act thy part, And go on hoping? Thy fate invites thee, Kind or unkindly; Thou art not free, Love loves e'er blindly. As thirsty meadow Welcomes the dew, And as the shadow Follows the true. All the emotion Thou dost impart Will find devotion, O, hungry heart. 44 HEART-HUNGRY—I WILL LOOK UP. 0, hungry heart, It is not in vain Somewhere, somehow! For all thy pain. For all thy sorrow, Thy hitter tears, Happiness borrow From coming years. 0, hungry heart, Hope is all beauty, Disappointment's dart Points thee to duty. I WILL LOOK UP. I will look up to Thee With faith's ne'er-failing sight, My trust repose in Thee, Though dark and chill earth's night. T will look up to Thee, Though rough and long the way, Still sure Thou leadest me Unto the perfect day. [ will look up to Thee When lone and faint and weak. "]\fy grace sutliceth Thee;" I hear Thy soft voice speak. 1 will look up to Thee, For if Thou, Lord, art near, Temptations quickly flee, And clouds soon disappear. I will look up to Thee With feeble voice I cry. Lord, pity helpless me— Without Thy aid I die. I WILL LOOK UP. 45 I will look up to Him Who died my soul to save; Who bore my load of sin— His blood a ransom gave. I will look up to Thee, The all-anointed one, Who opes the gate for me, To the eternal throne. I will look up to Thee ; T feel my sins forgiven— Thy footprints, Lord I see, They mark the way to heaven. 1 will look up to Thee, , When doubt and fear arise; Though dangers compass me, Upward I lift mine eyes. I will look up to Thee, Who knoweth all my needs; Thy spirit, Lord, grant me, My soul in anguish pleads. I will look up to Thee! Though all I have below, Thou takest Lord from me, Thou canst the more bestow. [ will look up to Thee, Thou bright and morning star; With eyes of faith I see, Thy glory from afar. I will look up to Thee, My hand shall rest in thine; Where e'er thou wilt lead me, Thy will, 0 Lord, not mine! 46 hope thou in god. I will look up to Thee, When death's relentless hand Has laid its weight on me, Save—Thou atoning Lamb ! I will look up to Thee, When crossing Jordan's wave; Then, LordA I look to Thee— Whose power alone can save! HOPE THOU IN GOD. 0. soul, why shouldst thou downcast be, Or mourn thy temporal lot; Where'er "'tis catit, what's that to thee— Doth not God choose the spot? Rouse thee, and labor for success! And be thou well assured; The shadows near the end grow less, And pain must be endured. Although I meet with conflicts here, And storms beset my path, Though devils shoot their fiery darts Of disappointed wrath, My feet upon the blood-marked way Shall ever onward press, And looking to the "perfect day," My faith shall not grow less. What if the ungodly spread a snare. And wicked councils meet— Lord, guard with loving, watchful care, My timid, faltering feet. Soul, thou must daily suppliance make, If thou wouldst well be fed— The righteous He will not forsake, Nor shall his seed beg bread. TO CLEMENfS' FERRY. 47 The* cloudy pillar day by day, The fiery cloud by night, Shall mark the straight and narrow path, That leads to lasting light. Where trembling hope receives her sight, Where flowers eternal grow, tlod's presence beams forever bright, And living waters flow. TO CLEMENTS' FERRY. One lovely summer afternoon when balmy breez"s blew, A charming little buggy, scarce large enough for two, Dashed down a narrow little street and stopped beside a gate, Where a charming little lassie dwelt, a lad had met of late. ()ut stepped a little body, looking like a happy bride; He gently stood and placed her in a safe seat at his side: "'I'm gying to show you now," said he (with eyes that twinkle merry), "The very prettiest of drives, it leads to Clements' Ferry." "If you have never head of it, my darling little treas¬ ure, I'll tell you all about the place, it will afford me pleas¬ ure." And on they sped, mile after mile, with chat and laugh¬ ter merry— He watched her dimpled, roguish smile and drove to¬ ward the ferry. Through lovely groves, where birds sang sweet their notes of joy so merry, Or partridare, hid in ripened wheat, whistled his "Bob White" cherry. 48 TO CLEMENTS' FERRY. Up the shell road and o'er the fields and by the moss- hung oaks, Where marshy land its rich grain yields or sad-voiced raven croaks. Then turning off the highway and past the gate of toll, Then up into a by-way which led straight to the knoll, •' 'Tis here," said he "the loveliest spot in all the world so wide, Swept by the breezes from the sea, and kissed by every tide. Come down beside the river's brink, where the water rip¬ ples merry— A lovely place to rest and think, down here bebide the- ferry." So taking his uplifted hands she gave a little bound, And very soon they sat them down upon the grassy ground. uIn days that are forever fled, when slavery cursed this nation, This land was owned by "Clements" and on his great plantation Were many slaves who daily tilled this soil, 'tlio oft in pain— Their master's coffers must be filled from the fields of golden grain. They knew no rest who labored there, but worked from early light— They ploughed and hoed and reaped and sowed, till the- sun went down at night; Then to the river they would come all foot-sore, worn and wearv, Hungry and faint to reach their home they crossed here at the ferry. One day they heard a strange sweet voice, not such as wont to lead them; It made their burdened hearts rejoice, for 'twas the- voice that freed them. THE BIRTH OF TIME. 49 And when the sun went down that night their shouts rose loud and merry— They crossed with footsteps swift and light the last time oVr this ferry. £0 here he side this river we have found a rustic seat"— And still the water rippled on and winds blew soft and sweet— 'Tve something else to tell you," and his laughing eyes were merry, FTe whispered something in her ear, hut not about the ferry. * * * * * The sun was shining in the west and back toward home they drove; Soft twilight had its shadows cast o'er field and "knoll" and grove— The "ferry has another name, which lovers oft repeat, Instead of 'Clements" Ferry,' it is now Sun Set Re¬ treat." THE BIRTH OF TIME. Happy moments tell me, pray, Where were you on yesterday? While I sit, bowed low with sorrow, Tell me where you'll be to-morrow. Come you from a heavenly clime, Linger with me all the time; Every day will then be bright, Every burden then seem light. Are you slumbering with the flowers, While I have my darkest hours? I am sure it would be pleasant If I found you ever present. Happy moments seemed to say: "I am busy all the day; THE BIRTH OF TIME. Every hour I well must fill, So I never can be still. You, my friend, would happier be, If you busy kept like me; Then your joys would seem the sweeter, And your dark hours would seem fleete More of joy and less of grief, All your days of labor brief, If the moments you improve.. By some little deed of love. All the earth is full of beauty. Where we live and do our duty; Then your sun twill seem tne brighter, And your heavy heart grow lighter. May I ask you, idle one, To recount the good you've done, To deserve the joys you've tasted— Now account for time you've wasted!" Then I felt a sudden start, And the impulse of my heart Was, that I must work to-day ; For the moments haste away. Little moments, will you wait While your wings with prayer I freight 80 when I drop out of time, I may see (rod's smile divine? I could not a moment borrow, For to-day is gone to-morrow; And to-morrow is "to-day T" So the debt I could not pay. Tell me moments: whence your birth v Whence 3 our coming to the earth ? Was your birthplace "'mid the flowers. Or in cloudlets, fleece-like bowers? TENNYSON'S POEMS—THINE OWN. 51 Then the answer quickly came Like a chipped-ofE lightning flame: "When the great Creator flung Out the world, on notning hung, Then was I destined to be, 'Time' until Eternity."' TENNYSON'S POEMS. ()n receiving Tennyson's Poems from Mrs. M. H. Dun- ton, of Brattleboro, Yt. Deae Friend, since you have chosen to associate My humble thoughts with England's poet laureate, I trust that he will bear me pleasant company, And soon we shall far more than mere acquaint¬ ance be. Since childhood's days his name I have revered, And more and more it has become to me endeared; I blush not for the truth, I but confess, I very wealthy feel since I his "works" possess. I've found in the immortal Shakespeare much de¬ light, Yet, oft his vulgar language shocked me quite; And I twice grateful am, that I no more shall be Dependent in spare moments on It is company. But I shall roam o'er England's proud domain, Shall meet her lords and ladies, and her peasants plain, Attend her royal spreads, and figure at her courts, On prancing steed, with nodding plume, I join their hunting sports. THINE OWN. To live and not to be Thine Own, Like Springtime is when birds are flown; Or liberty in prison bars, Or evening skies without the stars; 52 LOVE LETTERS—MATIN HYMN. Like diamonds that are lusterless. Or rest when there's no weariness; Like lovely flowers that have no scent, Or music when the sound is spent. LOYE LETTEES. Dear Letters, Fond Letters, Must I with )Tou part? You are such a source of joy To my lonely heart. Sweet Letters, Dear Letters, What a tale you tell; 0, no power on earth can break This strange, mystic spell! Dear Letters, Fond Letters, You my secret know— Don't you tell it, any one— Let it live and grow. MATIN HYMN. Is this the way, my Father, That Thou wouldst have me go— Scaling the rugged mountain steep, Or through the valley low? Walking alone the path of life, "With timid, faltering feet, Fighting with weak and failing heart, Each conflict that I meet ? "Nay! nay! my child," the Father saith, "Thou dost not walk alone— dird up the loins of thy weak faith, And cease thy plaintive tone. Look thou with unheclouded eyes To Calvary's gory scene." Canst thou forget the Saviour's cries? Go thou, His mercy lean. i love thef. 53 My Father, brighter grows the way, Less toilsome is the road ; If Thou Thy countenance display, (), lighter seems my load I And trustingly I struggle on, Xot murmuring o'er my task ; The mists that gather soon are gone, When in Thy smile I bask. Turn not irorn me Thy smiling face, Lest I shall surely stray, But in Thy loving arms" embrace I cannot lose my way. My Father, when my faith is small, And doubting tills my heart, Thy tender mercy I recall, (), let it ne'er depart! I LOVE THEE. Thou art not near me, but I see Thine eyes Shine through the gloom like stars in winter skies— Pointing the way my longing sieps would go, To come to Thee because I love Thee so. Thou art not near me, but I feel Thine arm, Soft folded round me, shielding me from harm, Guiding me on as in the days of old— Sometimes life seems so dark, so dreary and so cold. Thou art not near me, but I hear Thee speak, Sweet as the breath of June upon my cheek, And as Thou speakest I forget my fears, And all the darkness, and my lonely tears. 0 lo\e, my love, whatever our fate may be, Close to Thy side, or never more with Thee, Absent or present, near or far apart, Thou hast my love and tillest all my heart. 54 my canary—my mockinj BIRD—morn. MY CANARY. Little bird with tuneful throat, Happy heart and silvery note— Dainty beak and feathers yellow, Thou art such a charming fellow. Always merry, full of glee, Seeming happy as can be— All the house with music thrilling, And my heart with pleasure filling. Could 1 sing I'd vie with thee: In sweet strains of melody We would raise our voices high To priase our Maker in the sky. MY MOCKING BIED. Xo gorgeous coat has he, He is plain as he can be; Singing all the live-long day, Imitating what I say. Mocking evry bird in bush, Sparrow, wren, or hawk, or thrush, Parrot, robin, finch or crow, Owl, oriole, bird of snow, With a cuteness quite astounding, Bird and man alike confounding. MORN. Fresh and fair the morn awaketh From her couch of down; Parting kiss her lover taketh. Ere his daily journey maketh Of the world around. DO YOU THINK—MUSIC. 55* For a jolly-hearted rover, Ever full of fun, Making calls the wide world over, Slower and leaf, and blade and clover, Welcome him, the sun. Gloom from weary hearts dispelleth, Shedding joy and light O'er the homes where sorrow dwelleth,, Of eternal sunshine telle th, And th^ mansions bright. Evening's gentle voice is pleading, But he will not stay; Her entreaties all unheeding, Morning's tender smile succeeding. Beckons him away. Xow while just a halo lingers, Note his roguish smile; "With the tip ends of his fingers, Sweet good day he gently flings her.. But retreats the while. DO YOIT THINK? Do you think, when you plan for to-morrow, That the morrow you may not see, That long ere the dawn of the morrow's morn,. You may be in eternity. Do you tread in the foot-steps of Jesus, In the darkness as well as the light? Should the death angel come, to summons you home— Say, would it be glory, or night ? MUSIC. o, wondrous depth to which my soul is stirr'd, By some low tone, some softly breathed word— .56 A MOTHER'S LOVE -MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT. Some thrill or cadence sweet whicli fills my heart, My inmost powers awake, and thrill and start. My bosom seems too narrow a confine For such a power, dear music, as is thine. 0, that my heavy, heavy fait'ring tongue, Could warble i'orth thy ev'ry prompted song. The world should join the gladsome song I'd rais , And to the King shout lofty notes of praise. E'en when my heart is wrapt in sorrow's night. Mine eyes of clay are clos'd, but heavenly light Doth shine into the desert of my soul, And billows of sweet music o'er me roll. A MOTHEK'S LOVE. What sacritice so great! No hour too early, or too late, No isle too distant, shore or strand, She may not reach with earnest heart, and willing hand. "What love so strong! It is her child, or right or wrong, Jn crowded court of justice, if condemn''d, Her love and tearful eyes doth still defend. "What love so pure! Friendship oft is false, but one is sure "That mother's love clings to us to the last, Wherever in life our varied lot is cast. MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT. Is thy sim obscured to-day By a cloud of sorrow? It cannot be thus alway, Bright may be the morrow. Hast thou left of hope a spark? Sit not down repining— Never was there cloud so dark, Had not silver lining. WHERE DO SCHOOL DAYS END. 57' Adverse currents strong and swift Sweep across thy soul— Courage, heart, the cloud must rift, It will backward roll. Is thy bark far from the land, On a tempestuous ocean? Stretch to God thy helpless hand, He can stay commotion. Sits thy soul in grief to-day 'Neath the weeping willow? On th^ Son thy burden lay, Soft will seem thy pillow. Doth amidst thy course arise Difficulty's mountain; Sweetest draught his love supplies From the crimson fountain. Dost thou wander weak and faint Through life's desert lonely? God regards the feeblest plaint, He can aid thee only. "Without His all-seeing eye, Not a sparrow falleth; More He heeds the humble cry, That for mercy calleth. Raise to God thy streaming eyes, Contrite heart's petition— Let no waves of doubt arise, For thy sad condition. WHERE DO SCHOOL DAYS END? A little child sat on the floor, Turning the pages o'er and o'er, Of Mother Goose's nursery book; He raised his eyes with puzzled look, And said, "Mamma, attention lend, And tell me: Where do school days end? THE BIRTH OF JESUS. My hoy, that is no easy task— A weighty question 'tis you ask; For every day adds to our store Of knowledge gained the day before; So you must ask some wiser friend To tell you, where school days will end. Tli'j parson came that very day, His usual pastoral call to pay; The child stole in with cunning look, And on a stool his seat he took. Sir, will you information lend, And tell me, where school days will end The parson with astonished air, Pushed his fingers through his hair: Little child, I am much afraid That I can give hut little aid; But my hest efforts I will lend, To tell you, where school days will end. There is a land of light you know, AYhere all good people are to go— IVhere little children rob'd in white Are ever happy in God's sight, And when you die He'll angels s