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 WINDFALLS 
 
 POESY 
 
 Mary A. Rar.d 
 
 
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 WINDFALLS 
 
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 POESY 
 
 * 4: * 
 
 TO MY FRIENDS. 
 
 A friend is one who understands, 
 
 Whose heart is warm and true, 
 A mind responsive to my own, 
 
 A spirit to whom reverence due 
 Is gladly given. Thank God for friends. 
 
 No greater good has e'er been given 
 Whatever else we may possess, 
 
 Than just a friend, this side of Heaven. 
 
 (COPYRIGHTED.) 
 
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WINDFALLS 
 
 r f^ lOME, Honey, take your basket now 
 I ^^ I And to the garden go, 
 
 I^^mmI And gather some of the windfalls 
 l^b^^l The apple tree below. 
 
 wSSSSO Select the best ones you can find 
 And bring them here to me. 
 And I will make you something 
 You'll like right well to see. 
 
 The Lord has a hidden garden, 
 
 My tree of life grows there ; 
 He planted it for me Himself 
 
 And hedged it about with care. 
 He sends me to bring Him the windfalls 
 
 Imperfect, small and few, 
 That He may take and use them 
 
 As only He may do. 
 
 The lad whose loaves and fishes 
 
 The Lord Christ blessed that day 
 He gave the hungry multitudes 
 
 And sent them filled away. 
 So proud and happy must have been 
 
 To know his slender store. 
 Had fed five thousand and had left 
 
 Enough for many more. 
 
 Christ's word is just as potent now, 
 
 His love is just as strong. 
 He waiteth to be gracious still 
 
 And He has waited long. 
 There're many hungry souls to-day 
 
 That we may help to feed, 
 For He will take what we may give 
 
 And bless it to their need. 
 
0, Master! We have nothing 
 
 But what Thou dost bestow, 
 Use it according to Thy will 
 
 And make Thy truth to grow 
 Until the whole world shall be filled 
 
 With knowledge of Thy word, 
 And all our hearts rejoice to see 
 
 The glory of our Lord. 
 
TO MY BROTHER ON HIS 77th BIRTHDAY. 
 
 A mighty Sculptor, God sends forth 
 
 An Angel men call Pain 
 
 And every soul must feel his touch 
 
 Nor tears nor prayers avail 
 
 To stay his stroke, nor love can shield 
 
 Our dearest from his hand. 
 
 He spared not God's beloved Son 
 
 On whom was laid — the Cross. 
 
 On Christ, he wrought his highest work 
 
 And when a soul he finds 
 Whose strength and nobleness and love 
 
 Can bear the heaviest lines. 
 Graves deep to bring the beauty out 
 
 And those who watch may see 
 The living likeness of our Lord 
 
 As we have seen in thee. 
 
 And so we hush our murmuring hearts. 
 
 "Dear God," we pray, "Sustain 
 And give full measure of Thy grace 
 
 To his eternal gain 
 And grant his patience and his love 
 
 And sweet unselfishness 
 May on our spirits do their work 
 
 And his life, our lives bless." 
 
BEYOND 
 
 It is only a step to the Other Side ; 
 
 A touch, a breath, and the curtain lifts ; 
 
 We cross the threshold and pass within, 
 
 Free, safe and happy forevermore — 
 
 Safe and happy — we sigh with relief 
 
 And a deep sense of pleasure, contentment and peace ; 
 
 But, 0, what rapturous joy fills the soul 
 
 When free. Free from pain, care, sorrow and sin; 
 
 From all limitations of earth, free, 0, free! 
 
 Free to do. All the powers we possess 
 
 Undeveloped maybe, in the stress of this strife, 
 
 Fnd perfect expression ; What we think. 
 
 What we wish, what we will, we may do. 
 
 Free to be ; all to which our utmost desires have aspired ; 
 
 Pure, beautiful, holy, all glorious within 
 
 We may be more and more. 
 
 Free to know, what here dimly is felt 
 
 And grasped but by faith. 
 
 We shall see, we shall know. 
 
 It is only a step that divides us 
 
 From the Blessed who enter before ; 
 
 The curtain between us is woven of light ; 
 
 Time? Space? What are these to the soul? 
 
 The darkness is only a cloud intervening, 
 
 A mist of earth's night that the morn will dispel. 
 
 Through the dark, through the mist 
 
 Come sweet voices. 0, Listen! 
 
 To soothe, to strengthen, to cheer. 
 
 Look up, the dawn shineth clear. 
 
 Go forward in hope, for all light 
 
 All pure life is beyond, is beyond. 
 
OLD WILLIAM. 
 
 Old William sits in his easy chair 
 On the porch by his cottage door. 
 He hears the humming of hiving bees, 
 The robin's note and the song of the lark, 
 The ripple of water, the rustle of leaves. 
 The sounds of a restful quiet and peace 
 And the lines of care smooth out of his face 
 As he rocks to and fro in a leisurely way 
 And dreamily murmurs a happy refrain 
 " 'Tis a beautiful day, a beautiful day." 
 
 The landscape he sees is familiar and dear 
 With upland and meadow and river between, 
 Cattle feeding content in fields of red clover, 
 And children at play, and orchards in bloom, 
 And farmsteads near by, a village in sight 
 With spire pointing upward, "God's Acre" beyond, 
 And over all bending the blue summer sky. 
 White clouds like the wings of the angels drift by ; 
 As he looks, he repeats in a bright, cheery way, 
 " 'Tis a beautiful day, a beautiful day." 
 
 Two boys, red with anger, rush up to his side. 
 
 " 'Tis mine," cries wee Willie ; "No, mine," Johnny cries. 
 
 "Give it here," Grandsire says, and they hand him a knife. 
 
 He listens to each, while with skill they admire. 
 
 He fashions a boat from a block lying near ; 
 
 Talks of sails and of oars until peace is restored, 
 
 Says a word, now and then, of love and of praise ; 
 
 And off they go, happy to share all together. 
 
 Old William looks up and the boys hear him say: 
 
 " 'Tis a beautiful day, a beautiful day." 
 
And now Autumn comes with its ripening fruit, 
 
 Its glory of color, and the wonderful haze 
 
 Of Indian Summer transfigures the world. 
 
 Old William grows feebler but still more serene, 
 
 More kindly his word, more loving his look. 
 
 A sweet, holy influence govenis them all 
 
 Which memory hallows and strengthens alway. 
 
 Heaven swings wide her gates and he waits but to say 
 
 With its light on his face, in his own loving way : 
 
 " 'Tis a beautiful day, a beautiful, beau-ti-ful day." 
 
 * 
 
 * * * 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 * * * * 4: 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 * * * 
 
ALL THE WAY. 
 
 * * * 
 (Mrs. L. S. Rand's Birthday.) 
 
 The years that quickly speed away. 
 New graces bring for each birthday, 
 From this, as from a height, survey 
 The countless mercies of the way. 
 
 And first, by pious parents blessed. 
 The strength and virtue they possessed. 
 They gave you a heritage. 
 Thank God for Christian parentage! 
 
 Our childhood memories ! More dear 
 They grow with each succeeding year. 
 Our childish laughter, childish tears, 
 Our youthful hopes and thoughts and fears 
 Transmuted by the touch of time. 
 In fadeless beauty glow and shine. 
 
 The deeper joys of womanhood. 
 The struggle for the ideal good, 
 The earnest purpose, steadfast will, 
 Life's noblest duties to fulfill, 
 These all our powers of soul engage, 
 And form the happiness of age. 
 
 No life but knows, however bright, 
 
 The shadow dark of sorrow's night. 
 
 Yet One draws near our souls to bless 
 
 With His own love and tenderness. 
 
 His promises are sure and true, 
 
 His strength upholds the long day through. 
 
GOOD INDIAN'S PRAYER 
 
 Great Spirit of the Red Man 
 
 Make me strong to endure, 
 
 Wise to know, brave to act. 
 
 Defend me from the wiles of the 
 
 Great enemy, and help me to overcome 
 
 All that weakens my spirit. 
 
 May I be faithful to my friends, 
 
 Generous to my foes, and always 
 
 Able to strike a blow against 
 
 The wrong, and to uphold the right. 
 
 Keep my tongue from crooked talk 
 
 And let my words be worth while. 
 
 If I suffer, let it be in silence. 
 
 Help me to win, but if I lose. 
 
 Let me still be master of myself. 
 Give me to go hence unafraid, singing 
 The victor's song, with my feet set 
 In the straight path that leads to the 
 Happy Hunting Grounds where I 
 May dwell in peace with mine 
 Own people. Spirit of Life, 
 My prayer is before thee. 
 
BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 
 
 * « * 
 
 The days we do not remember 
 
 When we lay on Mother's breast 
 And knew not joy or sorrow 
 
 But only peace and rest. 
 Enwrapped with love most holy, 
 
 Most tender and most true 
 As life goes on do not these days 
 
 Seem beautiful to you? 
 
 The days of our happy Childhood, 
 
 When all the world was bright 
 When sun and shower, and bird and flower 
 
 Were marvels of delight ; 
 When we roamed the field and wildwood, 
 
 The hillside, stream and lea 
 And life was one long play-day 
 
 Brimful of joy and glee. 
 
 "Behold a dreamer cometh." 
 
 The world bows down to him 
 And life takes on a glory 
 
 No doubt comes nearto dim. 
 0, dreams most sweet and beautiful 
 
 Of all brave deeds and true; 
 0, days of youth, how fair ye shine 
 
 As we backward glance at you. 
 
 Now come the days that try us 
 
 When we must stand or fall. 
 We meet the shock of battle. 
 
 Hear duty's trumpet call ; 
 Feel the rapturous joy of triumph, 
 
 The sting of sad defeat ; 
 So life grows strong and noble 
 
 That else were incomplete. 
 
The day is done, and the twilight 
 
 With its mellowed light serene 
 Gives to each part a beauty, 
 
 And softens all the scene; 
 And we sit in the twilight and listen. 
 
 And hear in each whispering sigh 
 An echo of all the heart's music 
 
 From the beautiful days gone by. 
 
HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 (Written for the Golden Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. E. G. 
 Sherwin, Hyde Park, Vt.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Happy the bride of years agone 
 
 But happier now that she has won 
 
 By fifty years of faithfulness 
 
 This golden day of happiness. 
 
 Gone are the youthful looks and graces 
 But better things are in their places. 
 Fair is the tree in bridal white 
 Its ripened fruit gives more delight. 
 
 II. 
 
 The love that on their wedding day 
 These friends united, came to stay. 
 It was of old New England stock 
 Firm and enduring as a rock. 
 
 Or like the hills that round us rise 
 In rugged beauty to the skies. 
 
 m. 
 
 Homes of New England ! Who can tell 
 
 What faith and courage in them dwell ? 
 
 Stay, Lord, we pray, the rising tide 
 
 Of fashion, luxury and pride 
 
 And give us homes like these to shine 
 As beacons on the hills of time. 
 
IV. 
 
 still the mad rush of Folly's throng 
 To hear again the dear old song 
 Of "Home, home, sweet, sweet home. 
 Be it ever so humble 
 
 There's no place like home, 
 There's no place like home." 
 
 V. 
 
 With love, and faith and cheerful song 
 The home is happy, safe and strong, 
 And Elbridge cannot help but sing 
 More than a bluebird can in spring ; 
 He's always sung, is singing still 
 And we expect he always will. 
 
 VI. 
 
 We make our homes and they make us 
 
 Home is the test of all of us. 
 
 If sometimes Net has "spoke her mind" 
 
 And El has "answered back" in kind 
 
 The little breeze has cleared the air 
 And made the sunshine still more fair. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The wife has proved a helpmate true 
 The husband given her honor due. 
 Together they have always stood 
 For all things honest, pure and good 
 And generous hearts and open hand 
 Have made them honored in the land. 
 
VIII. 
 
 They've shared their fireside's friendly cheer 
 With friends and neighbors far and near. 
 The very names by which they're known 
 Show that we claim them as our own. 
 It means far more than we can tell 
 To be "Aunt Net" and "Uncle El." 
 
 IX. 
 
 So we have come with love today 
 To speed you on your onward way 
 The love and joy of fifty years 
 Have made a rainbow of your tears, 
 A bow of promise shining clear 
 To brighten every future year. 
 
 X. 
 
 Dear friends, your golden wedding day 
 
 Will in your memory live alway 
 
 For better than gold and greater than fame 
 
 Is love and good will and an honored name. 
 We rejoice with you and unite in praise 
 To Him who crowneth all our days 
 Till in His home of heavenly love 
 We keep the Wedding Feast above. 
 
THE CUP OF LIFE. 
 
 « * » 
 
 Would'st feel the joy of life 
 
 New thrilling in your breast? 
 
 Then take the cup Spring offers 
 
 Home-brewed from heibs of grace, 
 
 Where deep within some forest dell 
 
 The little spring upgushes, pure and sweet, 
 
 And violets bloom and wild birds sing 
 
 In freedom to their nestlings. 
 
 And all around you feel and see 
 
 The wondrous mystery of growth, 
 
 Until your heart expands, as flowers 
 
 In sunshine do, and knows itself a part 
 
 Of all the life God doth create 
 
 Anew with each returning year. 
 
 Give me thy cup, O, Spring. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, Summer, bring your perfumed cup 
 And give me of your magic wine 
 Distilled from potent, spicy blooms, 
 In the alembic of the golden noon. 
 And summon sunny-hearted Joy 
 To open all her treasuries 
 Of color, fragrance, melody. 
 Earth's myriad voices all attuned 
 To songs of love and happiness. 
 For Summer brings to perfectness 
 All that hath life. No lov/est form 
 But lives its life, complete and full. 
 And so would we, our hopes, desires, 
 And pui-poses of life, fulfill. 
 
III. 
 
 One law divine through all obtains. 
 "Not for ourselves," all life proclaims. 
 For others blooms the wayside flower. 
 And starry splendors gem the skies. 
 With waving banners red and gold, 
 Resplendent in her royal state, 
 Comes Autumn with her harvest sheaves, 
 And from crushed grape and broken grain 
 Prepares the sacramental bread and wine, 
 The chosen emblem of that wondrous life 
 That gave itself that we might live. 
 And shall we fail this cup to take, 
 This cup of willing sacrifice? 
 Help us, 0, Father, that we do not fail 
 But with true hearts true service give. 
 And know the joy such service brings. 
 
 IV. 
 Come frosty nights that kill the flowers. 
 The song-birds leave for sunnier climes. 
 The trees are bare. Their dry leaves whirled 
 In dizzy circles by the g5T)sy winds, 
 Or lie in withered heaps beneath our feet. 
 Stored is the harvest for the winter's needs; 
 Chill is the air and drear the skies. 
 And then the Indian Summer comes 
 Its genial warmth, its purple haze. 
 Enfolds the earth in heavenly calm. 
 So when we give our all of life, 
 And only then, can we receive 
 The fulness of God's love. The peace 
 That passeth understanding now. 
 That is that cup whereof to drink, 
 Gives life immortal, pure and blest. 
 Drink deep, my soul, drink deep. 
 
THE WORLD OF HIS GRACE. 
 
 O, rest in the promise of Infinite Love 
 
 "My grace is sufficient for thee." 
 Thy strength is but weakness, yet list to His word 
 
 "My grace is sufficient for thee." 
 The wafers of Jordan, the soul overwhelms 
 
 "My grace is sufficient for thee." 
 All the greatness of God is pledged to thy need 
 
 "My grace is sufficient for thee." 
 And His heart rejoices when thy heart responds 
 
 "Thy grace is sufficient for me." 
 
A GODLY ANCESTRY. 
 
 * « * 
 
 In days of long and long ago 
 
 Whene'er I showed a wilful spirit 
 
 To do the things I wanted to 
 
 Without regard to lawful limit, 
 
 So earnestly my mother said, 
 
 And raised a warning finger, 
 
 (Her uplift look and gentle voice 
 Still in my memory linger), 
 
 "My child, you must be good, you know 
 You have a Godly Ancestry, 
 Not wealth, or fame, or rank had them, 
 But held to goodness sacredly." 
 
 Though Mother's voice was wholly sweet 
 
 I felt an awesome thrill. 
 Something of what she felt and meant 
 
 I caught, as children will. 
 
 Her look, her voice, her word remains 
 A helpful memory; 
 "Noblesse oblige" it is to have 
 A Godly Ancestry. 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 When God would give new joy in Heaven 
 
 And set the Angels singing 
 A new sweet song of love divine 
 
 With highest rapture thrilling, 
 He sends His brightest Angel down 
 
 To bring to Him Earth's fairest 
 And makes a holiday in Heaven 
 
 To welcome hom His dearest, 
 
 And Christ Himself comes hastening, 
 
 His face with gladness shining; 
 For little children are His own. 
 
 Beyond our poor divining, 
 His love enfolds and blesses them 
 
 With joy we can not measure. 
 0, hearts that grieve, this comfort take: 
 
 Our Saviour hath your treasure. 
 
HOLIDAYS THAT ARE 
 HOLY DAYS 
 
 Christmas, Easter, 
 
 Memorial Day 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 It is the blessed Christmas Eve 
 
 The Christ-child comes to-night 
 And still Eis guiding star of love 
 
 Is shining clear and bright. 
 And every loving heart may hear 
 
 The song the Angels sing 
 And with the Wise Men kneel and pay 
 
 Glad homage to the King. 
 
 Myrrh and frankincense! What have we 
 
 To offer in their place? 
 A song of gratitude and praise 
 
 And prayer for His dear grace, 
 A humble and a contrite heart 
 
 Intent to do His will. 
 These are more pleasing unto Him 
 
 For they His love fulfill. 
 
 The gold of willing service 
 
 And love's most precious gem 
 Are gifts that we may render 
 
 For He has need of them. 
 But all of luxury and pride 
 
 Are worthless in His eyes. 
 They must be freed from selfishness 
 
 Made pure by sacrifice. 
 
 The Babe of Bethlehem was born 
 
 Of our humanity 
 And by His spiirt we may share 
 
 In His divinity. 
 For we are all God's children 
 
 Though far from Him we stray. 
 O, may the Christ be born anew 
 
 In us this Christmas Day. 
 
EASTER MUSIC 
 
 O, the wonderful, dear coming of the Spring, 
 The sweet, fresh, tender beauty of every growing thing, 
 The happy, happy laughter of the water flowing free. 
 The love song of the birds who built on blosson-laden tree ; 
 For very joy and gladness, the swelling heart must sing 
 The rapturous song of love and praise — The Choral Song 
 
 [of Spring. 
 
 0, the blessed, blessed coming of the Spring; 
 The Spirit wakes responsive to its gentle summoning. 
 Hope springs anew^ Faith lifts the exultant strain — 
 Life triumphing o'er death, and love o'er mortal pain. 
 It is the Easter Music, the Song the Angels sing. 
 And Earth repeats it ever in the coming of the Spring. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 Do angels keep Memorial Day 
 Those we have loved and lost ? 
 Do they look down on us and say 
 'Grieve not for us so hopelessly ; 
 Be comforted. Still are we thme 
 As when on earth we dwelt with thee ; 
 Closer our love to love divine, 
 Be patient yet a little while" ? 
 
 And do they share our loneliness, 
 And long for us as we for them ? 
 By patience, love and faithfulness 
 Can we give joy to them in Heaven? 
 Help us, O, Father, that we may 
 Live near to Thee and so to them. 
 And make of our Memorial Day 
 A blessed ministry of love. 
 
JOAN D'ARC. 
 
I. 
 
 HER CHILDHOOD. 
 
 * * ^f 
 
 All peaceful lies the quiet vale 
 The encircling hills between 
 Beyond, the gloomy forest stands, 
 Here, sparkling waters gleam. 
 In verdant fields the flocks are seeib 
 Led by the village maid, 
 Who all day long in solitude 
 Muses in sun or shade. 
 
 At home, close to her mother's side 
 She lists to fairy lore. 
 Peoples the wood with tiny folk 
 Or hears in fountain more 
 Than murmurs of its rippling flow 
 E'en voices low and whispers sweet 
 That speak of purity and love 
 And with her spirit angels meet. 
 
 So pass her early childhood days. 
 
 She dreams of angel and of saint. 
 
 And when the music of the bell 
 
 That calls to prayer, chimes sweet and faint 
 
 Before the sacred shrine she bends. 
 
 In humble love, devotedly. 
 
 To God her life she consecrates ; 
 
 Her faith becomes reality. 
 
n. 
 
 HER MISSION. 
 
 But now through France, the stream of War 
 Rolls fierce and fast, its bloody tide. 
 No place so sheltered or remote 
 But bears its vile defacement. Wide 
 The carnage, dreadful is the woe 
 That fire and sword and famine spread 
 And France lies trembling, dying 
 'Neath her Conqueror's tread. 
 
 Is there no eye to pity ? None to save ? 
 Ah, Yes! God hath his chosen ones 
 Who live unheeded by the world around 
 Till God calls to them, "Rise, the hour is come." 
 For them, what anguish comes before 
 That hour reveals the appointed way. 
 Then not the dearest love of earth 
 Avails his messenger to stay. 
 
 So to this simple, dreaming maid, 
 Beseeching God to save her land. 
 Her heart all pity, loyalty and love, 
 The angel voices gave command 
 To go unto the king, France to redeem, 
 The King to crown. It was God's will 
 Thus should the maid, 
 The ancient prophecy fulfill. 
 
III. 
 
 HER ACCOMPLISHMENT. 
 
 » * * 
 
 Her way into the King she wins. 
 Courage and faith within him rise 
 And forth she leads the host inspired 
 To valorous deeds and high emprise. 
 Rude soldiers own her claim divine; 
 For her restrain their oaths, and learn 
 Before God's altars, night and mom, 
 His grace to seek, from sin to turn. 
 
 On to Orleans, ye men of arms ! 
 Before ye rides the maiden fair. 
 Her presence stirs their patriot blood 
 The noblest deeds to do and dare. 
 On to Orleans ! What shouts arise 
 "The Maid, The Maid of Prophecy." 
 The siege is raised, the foe retires. 
 So God rewards her fealty. 
 
 With pure white banner, lily-wrought, 
 In glittering suit of armor bright, 
 On snow-white charger rides the maid 
 To give unto the King his right ; 
 Beholds him crowned the King of France 
 And finds her mission now complete ; 
 With joyful tears, prays to depart, 
 Her simple life and hom.e to seek. 
 
IV. 
 
 HER FATE. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The King refused her earnest prayer; 
 He listened to his coward fears. 
 But all her confidence had gone, 
 No guiding voices sounded dear. 
 Deserted in the charge she led, 
 She, bravely fighting to the end, 
 Was captured by the English foe. 
 Nor mercy found in foe or friend. 
 
 Life hath its dark and cruel side. 
 ■'Man's inhumanity to man" 
 How often mars the loveliest page 
 And mars the noblest plan. 
 I sometimes think God wills it so 
 That those whose love is truest, best, 
 Met here by scorn and torn by hate. 
 May by Himself be recompensed. 
 
 The dark and cruel page you know. 
 From prison-bar to prison cell. 
 Questioned and tortured back and forth. 
 Sick and alone, on charges fell, 
 Her soul abhorred, her truth she held. 
 At last, to save her life, she signed 
 That which they offered, hardly knowing 
 What she signed, for all her mind 
 
 Was held by that sweet thought 
 *I shall once more be free." 
 Not so ; they willed her death 
 Back in her prison, she 
 
To save herself from insult 
 
 Took the dress they made it sin to wear 
 
 For this — the stake — 0, let me stop. 
 
 To tell her agonizing death, I cannot bear. 
 
 But sure am I, when loud and clear, 
 
 God calls the names of those that heard His voice 
 
 And followed faithfully at every cost, 
 
 The Maid, Joan, can answer truly — "Here." 
 
 Five centuries have passed away 
 And France is fighting for her life again. 
 The martyred maid becomes her guardian saint 
 Inspiring faith, devotion, courage, now, as then, 
 Four years of dreadful war and carnage 
 Before the ruthless foe is beaten back 
 In wild confusion and disgraceful flight 
 And leaving death and ruin in his track. 
 
 But more than conquerors are they 
 Who gave their lives for liberty 
 That truth and honor might survive 
 Nor yield the world to hate and tyranny 
 Their noble sacrifice will ever be 
 The glory of humanity 
 Leading the way to righteous peace 
 Freedom for all and unity. 
 
 * * * 
 * 
 
FARMER BROWN 
 
 Farmer Brown first came to me in a vision, one weari- 
 some day in a hospital. I saw him clearly, sitting tipped 
 back in a chair against the trunk of an old apple tree near 
 the well, and I heard plainly all he said to the good looking 
 young man who was also there. 
 
 I asked for paper and pencil, but was only allowed to 
 write two minutes, and in this fashion, day by day, I tried 
 to put down what I heard. It was in a quaint and homely 
 rhyme at first, but after a little that changed, and so the 
 story lost its unity of form. 
 
 I promised myself that later I would give it its 
 original form. But time went on, and it was laid aside. 
 Now that I would put it into shape, I find a great and most 
 curious obstacle in the way. Farmer Brown has appeared 
 and has refused in the most obstinate way to allow me to 
 change it in any way. "It's the way I talk," he says, "and 
 has got to be let alone." "I won't be dressed up in rhyme, 
 so there." "But you did it yourself," I remind him. 
 "Well, I stopped it, didn't I, and I tell you to let it be. 
 Liddy doesn't like it anyway. She says it's redic'lus, and 
 I guess it is." 'There's nothing Liddy need to mind. 
 What does the minister say?" "0, well, he is kinder on 
 the fence. He wants to keep in with wife and me and he 
 tells Liddy that I did not tell what they said and he don't 
 care." "And your wife?" "Well, she— Marth Ann— 
 (Marth Ann's kinder foolish 'bout me sometimes). She" — 
 "There, father," came a clear voice, "Let me tell it." "I've 
 always known he could tell good stories and make verses, 
 too, if he was a mind to. They sounded real interestin' 
 to me, and I sorter wanted to see how that one would look 
 in print. But you better let it go as it is. Father's real 
 cranky about it, and when he gets set, you can't stir him 
 more than old Mansfield mountain. Now, Father, we'll go 
 home. She'll do as you say." And that was the last I 
 
heard. So here it is and if you do not like it, why Farmer 
 Brown's to blame. 
 
 (Farmer Brown speaking) 
 
 When you're gettin', get a plenty, 
 
 Is the rule accordin' to some 
 
 And the way to beat creation 
 
 And make all business hum. 
 
 Mebbe, I'm going on seventy-three 
 
 An' Gran'ther's rul'll do for me 
 
 An' in the long run beat the rest ; 
 
 His was, "When you're gettin', get the best." 
 
 I started here at twenty-one. 
 
 Dad giv' me a suit, 
 
 A "freedom suit" we called it then. 
 
 Marm spun and wove it, dyed and made it. 
 
 I felt when I had it on I wuz one of the men. 
 
 Last year, I saw a lad of ten 
 
 (Came down with his folks to board at Peck's, 
 
 Big show place now on the old Marsh road) 
 
 Struttin' round with coat and vest. 
 
 White ties, gloves, watch and all the rest, 
 
 Tippin' round in shiny boots. 
 
 0, well, the boy wasn't to blame as I know 
 
 But his father was one of them big-headed fools 
 
 Who grabbed for his pile and got it somehow, 
 
 But what was it wuth with a boy like that 
 
 And he himself as round as a barrel 
 
 With the wine and all the things beside ; 
 
 Had to have a chef, they said, to cook 'em. 
 
 I don't want to jedge, but my folks were good 
 
 And I wouldn't live that way if I could. 
 
 And so ye see, I sticks to my tex' 
 
 "When you're gettin', get the best 
 
 And when you're livin' your life 
 
 Live your best." 
 
'Bout that boy now. Say, wouldn't you 
 
 Rather have a regular, barefooted boy 
 
 Whackin' 'round and whoopin' for joy? 
 
 I'd give him shoes he could easy slip off 
 
 In the wet grass o' mornings or down by the brook, 
 
 Tiptoein' to look in a medder lark's nest 
 
 Shinnin' up a tree for a crow's nest, perhaps, 
 
 An' anglin' for bait an' fishin' for trout, 
 
 Tumfn' summersets, swimmin' 
 
 And full all the time of mischief and fun, 
 
 As an egg's full of meat ; 
 
 Doin' all he sees a man do 
 
 And some things a man can't; 
 
 Such a boy for your own? Course you would. 
 
 I knew uze all right when you lifted your hat 
 
 Perlite's you please, to the old woman 
 
 Who went down the path a while back 
 
 With a basket of com to feed to the hens. 
 
 Yes, sir'ee — that was she — my wife. 
 
 The best that the Lord ever made. 
 
 Be ye married? Well, you will allow 
 
 That a man will do well 
 
 When he gets him a wife 
 
 To get the best that he can. 
 
 There's good gals left yet 
 
 Thopgh the stock's gettin' low. 
 
 But not many like her — 
 
 Not many Marth' Anns. 
 
 Well, come now, see here, 
 
 We've had a great talk 
 
 I liked you first off when you came 
 
 And asked for a drink and to rest in the shade. 
 
 I watched you a bit. We hev to, ye know. 
 
 To know how to jedge, an' to know what is best. 
 
 An' I've kinder speculated in my mind 
 
 An' I kinder calculate, and I sorter guess, 
 
 You're our new minister. You be! 
 
 Well, now, I'm glad, I tell you. 
 
Here, Marth Ann! (She's never 'round 
 When I want her most) Wish she'd come. 
 You can't fool her much. 
 
 Came from the west ? Lived here, when a boy ! 
 
 Look me square in the eye. 
 
 There's a look there I bet that I know. 
 
 Marth Ann ! (she'd know in a minute) 
 
 She's coming-, you say, and a young woman with her ? 
 
 Hurry up, Marth Ann. Say, who've we got here? 
 
 (A pretty trick trapesin' after that fool hen. 
 
 Bet you got your feet wet! Don't do it again!) 
 
 George West, you say. What, little Gecrgy West ! 
 
 So 'tis, yes, yes. Your mother went v/est 
 
 After your father died. He wuz a good man. 
 
 Yis, yis, an' I remember how you used to come 
 
 And play with Ben. Our Ben, our boy, our only boy, 
 
 He's gone j'ou know, there's only Liddy now. 
 
 Here, Liddy, you know George, I gue??. 
 
 She used to follov/ 'round with Ben an' you. 
 
 You liked to have her go along? Well, yes. 
 
 She was a pretty little gal them days. 
 
 Hasn't changed much ? Ha ! ha ! I think some so myself 
 
 The stage a coming? Must you go? 
 
 Well, come again ; com.e soon, I v/ish you vs^ould. 
 
 Say, Marth Ann, if that don't beat the Dutch ! 
 
 Liddy, you better go and get the supper going. 
 
 Your Ma'll sit and rest a bit. 
 
 I feel a lettle mite shuck up myself. 
 
 Say, Marth Ann, our Liddy favors you sometimes. 
 
 Did you see her culler up when George? — 
 
 You should think she would v/ith me a talking so? 
 
 Sho ! Liddy knows it's only her old Dad. 
 
 You thought 'twas him that cullered up ? 
 
 He did look kind of flustered come to think. 
 
 You don't suppose — why, yes, I remember now 
 
 A bringin' nuts and flowers to her 
 
 Drawin' her on his sled from school. 
 
 An' showin' just as plain as day 
 
 He thought a heap of her. 
 
I know 'twas boy and gal, but then 
 Some things begun like that don't end. 
 I know how 'tis, don't you, Marth Ann? 
 We didn't forget, nor ever will. 
 I mustn't say a word or let on to her? 
 Marth Ann, I'm not a fool yet quite ! 
 It takes women folks to 'magine things, 
 I'll set a while and smoke my pipe 
 You better go and get a cup of tea. 
 
 Um-m-m 'Sposin' ! There'd be enough for all. 
 
 This farm's the best there is. 
 
 All paid for in good honest work. 
 
 Gran'ther lived to ninety-seven, I'm only seventy-three, 
 
 Maybe there'd be a little chap a taggin' 'round, 
 
 I guess Marth Ann'd like it well as me. 
 
 Um-m-m 'Sposin' ! Yes, I'll come. 
 
 Seems to me I can't sit down a minit 
 
 Without you want to roust me out. 
 
 Yes, I'm coming. Yes, I hear you. 
 
 When Marth Ann says she thinks a thing 
 
 It's pretty solid sense. 
 
 But when she says she knows, why then 
 
 I've found it's ginerally, as a rule. 
 
 Most ginerally correct. 
 
 Wall, I have been kinder mad at Liddy 
 
 For havin' nothin' to say to Bill or Chad, 
 
 But mebbe she's her father's gal 
 
 A waitin' for the best, 
 
 And sure enough, she'll git it 
 
 If so be she gits West. 
 
 * * 
 
 * * 
 
WHEN SUNSHINE FOLLOWS STORM. 
 
 The rain is o'er, the clouds are sped, 
 
 The sky is clearest blue, 
 The soft tints of the rainbow blend 
 
 To show God's promise true. 
 All things are fresh and beautiful 
 
 As if the world were new. 
 For, 0, the earth is loveliest 
 
 When sunshine follows storm. 
 How beautiful, how bright it is 
 
 When sunshine follows storm. 
 
 The grass is velvet emerald. 
 
 Sweet fragrance on the breeze, 
 The happy birds sing joyously. 
 
 The leaves dance on the trees. 
 The brook that took its listless way 
 
 Now gurgles with delight. 
 For, O, the world is glad and gay 
 
 When sunshine follows storm. 
 How sweet and glad and gay it is 
 
 When sunshine follows storm. 
 
 Whenever sunshine follows storm 
 
 Past troubles are forgot 
 And pain and loss and every ill 
 
 Become as they were not. 
 And sunshine always follows storm. 
 
 So think no more on sorrow. 
 It rains to-day, perchance, but then 
 
 The sunshine comes to-morrow. 
 How fair, how good, how dear it is 
 
 When sunshine comes to-morrow. 
 
THE TWO DOGS. 
 
 When as a child my eager speech 
 
 Performance far outran, 
 Father would look at me and say, 
 
 "Best see first if you can." 
 And once when father was away 
 He wrote to me this letter, 
 "Say Well is a good dog, Dear, 
 But Do Well is a better." 
 
 I rushed to mother's side with all 
 
 My rage and shame and grief, 
 She held me close until the storm 
 
 Of tears gave some relief. 
 With tenderest words of sympathy 
 
 She soothed my wounded heart. 
 And turned my thoughts to happier things 
 
 With wise and loving art. 
 
 My mother spoke no word of blame. 
 
 She calmed me, for I felt 
 She understood. She made me see 
 
 How rightfully my father dealt 
 With what, unchecked, might come to be 
 
 A very serious fault in me. 
 And that I must be sure to do 
 
 All that I said I was going to. 
 
 0, Father, Mother, now I know 
 
 How great the debt to you I owe. 
 Who gave me watchful loving care. 
 
 And needful pain they did not spare. 
 But most I thank them that they taught 
 
 Me from my earliest youth 
 To hate deceit and scora a lie. 
 
 And love and speak the truth. 
 
Their fine simplicity of life, 
 
 Free from all envy, hatred, strife, 
 Exemplified the truth they taught 
 
 By every deed, and word, and thought. 
 Without pretense or vain display, 
 
 The real from seeming good they knew, 
 Fought the good fignt of faith and won, 
 
 As ever must the good and true. 
 
 My Country! 0, my Country! Turn 
 
 To the old ways our fathers trod, 
 Trust not in gold, nor thine own strength. 
 
 But humbly walk before thy God, 
 And He will give thee power to be 
 
 A nation truly great and free. 
 And strong and steady, clear and bright, 
 
 Shall shine for all thy beacon light. 
 
 Thy mission high, 0, mar it not 
 
 With boastful speech, or selfish greed. 
 And though it comes in homely guise 
 
 To Father's precept give good heed. 
 For, "Say Well is a good dog 
 
 But Do Well is a better." 
 It is the spirit giveth life. 
 
 And not the word or letter. 
 
 * * itt * * 
 
 ^ :f * * * 
 
 * * * 
 
OUR FATHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 God is our Father! Wondrous thought! 
 
 Lord, make my soul to grow 
 The sweetness, grandeur, blessing, 
 
 Of that dear thought to know. 
 God is our Father! Hold it close. 
 
 Close to thy heart each day. 
 Thy hope, thy joy, thy comfort, strength, 
 
 Thy light on life's dark way. 
 
 II. 
 
 A child of God ! And at the word 
 
 My spirit stirs its wings; 
 Though lapsed so long in earthly dreams 
 
 It knows diviner things. 
 It wakens to its heritage 
 
 To powers unfelt before; 
 Grand possibilities of life 
 
 Increasing more and more. 
 
 III. 
 
 Till all that hinders, all that mars 
 
 The soul's full growth in grace 
 Shall pass away as shadows flee. 
 
 Leaving no track nor trace; 
 Nor bound by any past to earth 
 
 His truth hath set us free. 
 And clearly shines the way of life 
 
 That leads, 0, Lord, to Thee. 
 
A LIFE STORY. 
 
 (In memory of Miss Curtis, for many years House-mother 
 in the School for the Blind at Janesville, Wis.) 
 
 A child among the roses played 
 
 — It was the month of June — 
 With merry heart, she laughed and sang 
 
 — It was a pretty tune — 
 So blithe and fair and happy she 
 
 — 0, sorrow, come not soon. 
 
 A maid sat dreaming in the shade 
 
 — It was a pleasant nook — 
 And builded castles in the air 
 
 — Like those in fairy book — 
 With innocence and truth and love 
 
 Her charmed way she took. 
 
 A noble woman, strong and sweet 
 
 — A light is on her face — 
 With earnest purpose, steadfast will. 
 
 — Does sorrow work such grace? — 
 And Childhood's glee and youths' bright dreams 
 
 To life's demands give place. 
 
 Alone upon a drear wide plain 
 
 — Alone among the throng — 
 And many weary, bruised feet 
 
 — The way is rough and long — 
 And some are blind and others weep 
 
 — How blessed to be strong. 
 
 A ministry of love and peace 
 
 — Guerdon of toil, how sweet — 
 
 And life becomes a sacrament 
 
 — Who comes her step to meet? — 
 
 His gracious word of welcome given. 
 Her life-work is complete. 
 
THE CALL OF SPRING 
 
 The air was full of music 
 
 One balmy morn in May, 
 The happy birds were singing 
 
 Their sweet and joyous lay 
 And all my throbbing pulses 
 
 Were with their song in tune. 
 I breathed the life cf spring-time ; 
 
 I felt the coming June. 
 
 For, like a world all winter, 
 
 My heart had been asleep 
 And counted that good fortune 
 
 Since then it need not weep. 
 But grief has turned to gladness 
 
 As underneath the snow 
 Were dreaming buds and blossoms 
 
 That now awake and grow. 
 
 Oh, Spring, God's strongest angel 
 
 In all the changing year, 
 The strongest, yet the tenderest, 
 
 Love is thy atmosphere. 
 A love so strong and tender 
 
 It will not turn away 
 Though earth lies cold and silent 
 
 For many a weary day. 
 
 True children of the earth are we. 
 
 Our hearts no welcome give 
 When He, the "Lord of Glory" comes. 
 
 That we in Him might live. 
 And Spring is but the faintest sign 
 
 Of that true love divine 
 That never wearies nor despairs 
 
 To bless thy heart and mine. 
 
The summer hath its wealth of bloom 
 
 That perfumes all the air; 
 The earth is filled with loveliness, 
 
 Blossoms are everywhere. 
 And summer a fair priestess seems 
 
 Before his coming feet. 
 She bendeth low her reverent head 
 
 And offers incense sweet. 
 
 Tiny and delicate and frail, 
 
 Pale flowerets of the spring, 
 Summer hath naught so dear and sweet 
 
 In all her blossoming. 
 We feel the tie of sympathy 
 
 That makes us near of kin, 
 tor they have known the winter's chill 
 
 As we the blight of sin. 
 
 And winter held them long and fast 
 
 But at the kiss of Spring, 
 Love works anew his miracle 
 
 And life from death doth bring. 
 With energy each seed inspires 
 
 To seek the world of light 
 To bloom in beauty all transformed, 
 
 A vision of delight. 
 
 Oh, soul of mine, new courage take. 
 
 The Lord will give thee grace. 
 The power of sin will yield at last 
 
 And thou shalt see His face. 
 Rise, put thy joyful garments on 
 
 And give to Him thy praise, 
 Thy weakness shall show forth His strength ; 
 
 He knoweth all thy days. 
 
 Glorious the summer land of souls 
 
 The heavenly paradise. 
 There grace and honor, glory, power 
 
 To full perfection rise. 
 
And ail the hosts of shining ones 
 
 From sin and sorrow free, 
 Praise God and bless His holy name 
 
 Throughout eternity. 
 
 Poor, poor and weak beyond compare 
 
 The love and praise we bring, 
 Yet dear to Him. In them He sees 
 
 The blossoms of our Spring. 
 He gives the sunshine of His love, 
 
 Refreshes by His grace. 
 Till fostered by His loving care. 
 They greet His smiling face. 
 
 Then banish every doubt and fear 
 
 And heed the call of Spring, 
 The call to live anew and share 
 
 (As flowers that bloom, and birds that sing) 
 The beauty and the joy of life 
 
 That we are given to know and feel, 
 And in our own appointed place, 
 
 Some measure of God's love reveal. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ***** 
 
 * * * 
 
 * 
 
ROSES. 
 
 * Hf * 
 
 The rose-tree in my garden blooms. 
 
 — 0, Love, the time of roses — 
 Its fragrant breath the air perfumes. 
 
 — 0, Love, the scent of roses — 
 Clusters of roses crown each branch. 
 
 — ^Take, Love, your fill of roses — 
 With every flower a perfect rose 
 
 — Come, Love, and choose your roses. 
 
 A bitter, biting wind went forth. 
 
 — Alas, my Love, the roses — 
 Twas icy cold and cruel sharp. 
 
 — 0, Love, dear Love, our roses — 
 No more, no more we breathe delight 
 
 Or glad our eyes with roses ; 
 Black ruin in the garden now 
 
 Where once Love gathered roses. 
 
UKE MICHIGAN. 
 
 Most beautiful thou art, yet grand and terrible; 
 Dreadful thy power to smite with swift destruction, 
 What time thy mighty deeps are stirred to anger 
 And thy fierce waves are raging for their prey;* 
 And human life with all its love and longing, 
 Its boasted triumph of the hand and mind, 
 Is but thy scorn, the sport of thy derision. 
 Dragged down to death, then tossed upon the sand. 
 
 Yet storms will pass and anger be forgotten 
 And all thy surgings sink to gentlest calm. 
 How soft the murmur of thy rippling waters. 
 Cooing and laughing as they now embrace the shore. 
 Thy sweet caresses woo to happy union 
 Our hearts with all of Nature's good. 
 The harp of life gives forth it's sweetest music. 
 With every jangling note in tune. 
 
 Here comes the wind, that wild and restless rover, 
 Companion fit for all thy wayward moods. 
 Tossing thy quiet with an outstretched finger. 
 Until thy waves are curling into foam. 
 With dash of spray and shout of glee 
 Away they run and race together. 
 Stronger the breeze and higher leaps the wave. 
 Till froKc ends in turmoil, loud and long. 
 
 But far away from all this wild confusion. 
 Far as the eye can reach, thy billows onward roll 
 Till into Infinite's vast starry spaces 
 Thy heaving tide of waters seem ever rushing on. 
 Deep, strong and true, the pulses of thy being 
 Beat time to chords of melody eteme, 
 Exulting, joins the mighty chorus singing 
 The sacred right of Freedom to the soul. 
 
Now is thy strength to kindly service given ; 
 In safety bears the commerce of a world ; 
 Thy cooling breeze, a messenger of mercy, 
 Brings health and comfort to the cities' throngs, 
 While from thy broad and swelling bosom 
 The mists are drawn up to the sun, 
 Upon the thirsty earth descending 
 In rain and dew, all growth to vivify. 
 
 The sun on thee in splendor shining 
 Reveals the fullness of thy glorious beauty. 
 Adorned with gems of light that gleam 
 With colors richly blended, green and blue. 
 With tints of opal, while the sunset's glow 
 Lights up a golden pathwaj% wide and free 
 Up to Heaven's portal where the sea and sky 
 Meet and commingle at the horizon's rim. 
 
 — * In a dreadful storm that raged on Lake Michigan 
 I saw a large three-masted vessel wrecked near shore. 
 No boat could reach it, and I saw men clinging to the rig- 
 ging until strength failed them and they fell and perished 
 in our sight. 
 
 « 
 
 * * * 
 
 ^ * * * * 
 
 Tti * * * Hfi 
 
 * * * * ♦ 
 
 * * » 
 
THE STRIFE OF TONGUES. 
 
 Anno Domini 1920. 
 
 Said one old crone to her crony mate 
 
 "What do you thmk is doing? 
 We'll put in our word and give it a stir 
 There'll be a pretty brewing." 
 
 Said the crony mate to the other one 
 
 "Do tell what folks are saying. 
 We've had so much of peace and love 
 And I'm sick to death of praying." 
 
 Said the first old crone to the other one 
 
 "As sure as we're Slander and Spite, 
 They'll very soon sing a different tune 
 If we manage this business right." 
 
 "Well, what is up?" said the crony mate, 
 "Has there been murder or stealing? 
 There might come anything from the saloon 
 That ruin and death is dealing." 
 
 "No, No, 'tis better for us than that. 
 We'll take the best of the town 
 And wind around them a tissue of lies 
 And try to pull them down. 
 
 The whiter they are, the blacker they'll look 
 When we have done our work. 
 
 In the most innocent thing they do. 
 The greatest danger will lurk. 
 
 For you and I can peek and hark 
 And twist and turn the truth. 
 
 And motives impute of wrong and shame 
 And spare not age or youth." 
 
"Yes, that is fine. Come, let us begin. 
 A famous broil they'll be ; 
 I'll do my part, for I am Spite, 
 And Slander follows me." 
 
 So on they went. Their plans were laid 
 
 With hellish care and art 
 And Gossip took the matter up, 
 
 'Twas something near her heart 
 
 For she takes little heed to know 
 
 If what she says is true 
 And finds her pleasure just in talk 
 "Says I," "Says she," "Says you." 
 
 But right is right and will prevail. 
 
 The strife of tongues shall cease 
 And truth and innocence will find 
 
 Tranquility and peace. 
 
 * * * 
 
 » 4: 4: 
 * * * 
 
THE CHANGE OF SEASONS. 
 
 Gay Autumn, when the world was young, 
 And pristine freshness o'er it hung, 
 To Mother Nature made complaint. 
 "It was enough to vex a saint, 
 The trees in everlasting green 
 The flowers and fruit forever seen." 
 
 Her brother, Winter, grave and grim. 
 Said, "it was all a bore to him, 
 The little Zephyrs dance and sing 
 But couldn't blow worth anything. 
 He'd like to show them what to do 
 And teach those winds a thing or two." 
 
 Summer and Spring were quite aghast 
 And loud a protest raised at last. 
 "The world was beautiful just so. 
 They wouldn't have it changed. Oh, No. 
 To heed such talk was surely shame 
 And Mother Nature much to blame." 
 
 lu vain she tried a weary while 
 
 Their difference to reconcile. 
 
 They couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't do 
 
 Another thing she told them to. 
 
 And each one thought his way was best 
 
 And yielded nothing to the rest. 
 
 At length an inspiration came ; 
 "Children, be quiet," said the Dame, 
 "Since there is naught but discord here, 
 
 I will divide the rolling year. 
 
 And each in turn shall work his will 
 
 And I be mistress of you still. 
 
"Mine is the sunshine and the shower 
 And every budding leaf and flower; 
 I plant the verdure for Spring's feet 
 And Summer's roses, fair and sweet; 
 Give Autumn's mantle, red and gold, 
 And Winter's snow and icy cold. 
 
 "Harmonious, ye were meant to dwell 
 To bless the earth, we love so well 
 With tempered heat and colors fair* 
 And waters cool and balmy air. 
 Apart, your work imperfect lies 
 Till joined again in Paradise." 
 
 * * * 
 
 4: ^ 4: 4^ ita 
 
 ***** 
 
 ***** 
 
 * * * 
 
 * 
 
THE SON OF GOD WHO WAS THE SON OF MAN. 
 
 (Written for Mrs. Emma Booth Tucker, who sent a most 
 graceful acknowledgment not very long before her death.) 
 
 He walked along the common way. 
 No pride of place, no robe of state, 
 No fellowship with rich and great 
 Debarred Him from the multitude. 
 The poor, the blind, the sick, the lame, 
 Earth's wretched ones of every name. 
 Crowded about Christ's blessed feet. 
 Walking the noisy, dusty street. 
 
 In simplest words of common speech, 
 His heavenly lesson gently taught 
 And answered every soul that sought 
 With "Go in peace. Thy soul is free 
 From every sin. Believe in me." 
 The outcast whom the world despised, 
 Those tortured ones whom all men feared, 
 Restored to life the hope again. 
 
 And some there are who love Him so, 
 They take His life of sacrifice ; 
 They seek the lost in sin and woe ; 
 Proclaim His love and saving power 
 And show the common walks of life. 
 Glorious with faith and rich with joy. 
 Honor that noble band and true 
 Who give their lives. His work to do ; 
 God's worth to do, Christ's work to do ; 
 Who give their lives. His work to do. 
 
A SONG OF PRAISE. 
 
 Our God, the infinite Father 
 
 Tempts not nor can deceive, 
 And every good and perfect gift 
 
 We from his love receive. 
 O, sing his perfect goodness 
 
 His wondrous love proclaim, 
 Till all his erring children 
 
 Join in the glad refrain. 
 
 Abundant life He giveth 
 
 Who is our life indeed, 
 The fullness of His being 
 
 Supplies our every need. 
 0, sing His loving kindness 
 
 A sweet and joyous strain, 
 Till all His needy children 
 
 Join in the glad refrain. 
 
 His Son, our loving Saviour 
 
 Is calling us today 
 To live as he has taught us 
 
 The life, the truth, the way. 
 0, sing the love of Jesus 
 
 His saving grace proclaim 
 Till all God's wayward children 
 
 Join in the glad refrain. 
 
 He came that he might bring us 
 
 That promised blessed day. 
 When every sin is vanquished, 
 
 And sorrow flees away. 
 O, sing His glorious victory 
 
 A loud, triumphant strain, 
 Till all God's happy children 
 
 Join in the glad refrain. 
 
MOUNTAIN VIEW BROOK. 
 
 Here we sit in a shady nook 
 Close beside this mountain brook 
 That rushes and leaps its way along, 
 Singing such a merry song, 
 It drives away all anxious care 
 And gives us of its joy a share. 
 
 The joy of being what God intends. 
 Just going His way and serving His ends, 
 With never a thought for more or less, 
 The secret of all happiness. 
 O, little brook, teach us to be 
 As bright, as happy and as free. 
 
 From every thought of self as free, 
 As happy as God's child should be, 
 Reflecting brightly all His grace. 
 Doing His will in every place ; 
 As you, the rocks, so we, each duty 
 Transform into an added beauty. 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 As graves the sculptor the marble block. 
 
 With now a deep cut, telling stroke, 
 
 And then with delicate, exquisite lines, 
 
 The ideal form of grace and beauty ; 
 
 So doth God work with human souls, 
 
 With now the gifts of love and joy. 
 
 And then He takes away, as He sees best 
 
 To fit us for the perfectness He plans. 
 
 The statue can not feel or understand 
 
 But we may know and trust His hand 
 
 And yield our will to His who shapes our lives. 
 
 To us, also, is given the power 
 
 To help or mar the growth of souls. 
 
 Our own and others. O, shall we not 
 
 Have sympathy with every true desire 
 
 For truth, for beauty, for a noble life ? 
 
 It is the purest joy that we can have 
 
 So to aspire with other souls 
 
 Up to the source of light and love and good. 
 
 May God so speed us on our way. 
 
 And fit us for true service here on earth 
 
 And for the blessed company of those 
 
 Who do God's will in heaven, with nobler powers, 
 
 Where none need say, as now, "Farewell." 
 
LIBRflRV OF CO^S™ 
 
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