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ECHOES FROM GIRLHOOD 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY L. TAYLOR 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 Bell Book Company 
 1904 
 
7^^ 
 
 ^n 
 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 APR 8 1904 
 ^ Cooyrl^ht Entry 
 
 CLASS CL XXc. NO. 
 
 'copy b 
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 Mary L. Taylor 
 
To My Parents 
 
 This Book is Lovingly 
 
 Dedicated 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE Poems herewith presented are a few culled from 
 a collection, many of which were written in early 
 girlhood. When a child I was encouraged by fond 
 parents ; my father called me his noble daughter, a title 
 I have endeavored to deserve through life. My mother 
 took a special interest in my writings, even now I think 
 I see her eyes light up with admiration when I would 
 enter her presence, blushing, to read some new thought, 
 never to be chided, but always encouraged by word, look 
 or smile. It may interest my readers to know that my 
 first poem was written at the early age of eleven years. 
 
 When I married a cruel fate was in store for me, that 
 of losing God's best gift to mortals, my health. I had 
 thought of disappointment, I had thought of lack of 
 wealth, but never had it occurred to me that I might be 
 deprived of my health. With my nimble fingers, active 
 brain, and abundance of will-power, I never thought any 
 task too difficult to undertake, and when once begun it 
 must be accomplished. What others had done, why not 
 I? was always the motto of my life; but without health, 
 alas, one's ambition is indeed torture. 
 
 Kind reader, if you have ever suffered the horrors of 
 surgical operations, which left you worse instead of bet- 
 ter, then perhaps you may know a tithe of what failure 
 means to an ambitious mind, The child at whose ad- 
 vent I lost my health, and did not regain even through 
 surgical operations, loves to read my verse, and shows 
 v 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 talent in writing short tales. She is now a beautiful girl, 
 and I hope may never lose her health, which is her 
 birthright, 
 
 Death took away my dear mother January 26, 1902, 
 which was the severest blow my heart had ever known, 
 for to my mother, through girlhood and married life, 
 I had been a faithful daughter, nurse, and confidant till 
 death us did part. My dear father, R. M. Peare, one of 
 Chicago's old residents, survives my mother. 
 
 To those who are acquainted with me, this brief re- 
 cital will awaken memories and old time interest; and it 
 is for those dear friends whose esteem I have held from 
 childhood, that I especially publish this book of poems, 
 knowing that when I am sleeping my last, long sleep, 
 there will be loving hearts to cherish them for the sake 
 of the writer, and to be remembered, even for a brief 
 span of time, how beautiful ; to feel confident that here 
 and there in this great world my efforts have not been in 
 vain, to have knowledge that those who know me best 
 will say "These are the poems of a schoolmate, confi- 
 dant and friend, one whose heart was as true as steel." 
 Ah, dear friends of gone-by days, and to those who still 
 cheer me on my way, if it were only for your love and 
 esteem, the efforts of my life have been repaid. 
 
 Read the poems which here are written, 
 Poems of thought so pure and good, 
 
 Ponder then that they are echoes 
 From the days of girlhood. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Echoes from Girlhood - - - - 9 
 
 Passing Away - - - - - 10 
 
 Mary and Martha - - - - 11 
 
 A Prayer for President Garfield - - - 12 
 
 Choose the Right .... 14 
 
 The Power of the Lord - - - - 15 
 
 Girlhood - - - - - 16 
 
 Hospital Workers - - - - - 17 
 
 Life 18 
 
 My Epitaph ------ i^ 
 
 Onward and Upward .... 20 
 
 Easter ------ 21 
 
 The Old Year - - . . . 22 
 
 The New Year ----- 23 
 
 What is This World - - . _ 25 
 
 Three Verbs ------ 26 
 
 A Birthday Thought - - - - 27 
 
 Disconsolate ------ 29 
 
 Autumn Leaves - - - . . 31 
 
 Patience ----- _ ■52 
 
 Count That Day Lost .... ^3 
 
 God is Love ------ 34 
 
 Thoughts at Evening - - - . ^5 
 
 Spring - 36 
 
 Summer ----.. ^7 
 
 Autumn " " ~ - - - 38 
 
 Winter ----.. ,9 
 
 A Pebble 40 
 
 A Thought - - . . _ 41 
 
 Five Martyrs (a Dialogue) - - - - 42 
 
 Simply Clinging - . . . . 44 
 
 A Prayer ---... 45 
 
 Charity ---... 46 
 
 Lines Written to My Mother - - - 47 
 
 Wishing ...... 48 
 
 On the Death of my Cousin, Mary Eva - - 52 
 
 The Harvest is Past .... ^4 
 
 Christmas """--- 55 
 
59 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 In IMemoriam .... 
 
 Weep Not For Me . . . . 60 
 
 Little Things - - - - - - 62 
 
 Where is Heaven ? - - - - 63 
 
 Little Nellie -----. 65 
 
 The Linnet . . . - . 66 
 
 Imagination of Heaven - - - - 67 
 
 Comfort ------ 69 
 
 Influence ------ 69 
 
 Faith ------ 70 
 
 Not To The World Are We Given - - - 71 
 
 It is Easy Enough to Preach - - - 72 
 
 We Weep Not Alone - - - - - 73 
 
 Forget Me Not ----- 74 
 
 My Baby's First Birthday - - - - 77 
 
 The Shepherd 78 
 
 The Marvelous White City - . - - 79 
 
 Ambition ------ 82 
 
 Philipino Song - . - - - 83 
 
 'Twixt Love and Duty - - . - 85 
 
 My Pet Watch Dog 88 
 
 Lines Written to Mrs, McKinley - - 89 
 
 Patriotism ------ 90 
 
 Ferdinand De Sota - - - . 91 
 
 Will You Love Me As Of Yore? . - - 92 
 
 Wedding Bells ----- 93 
 
 Lady Clara's Ghost ----- 95 
 
 Philosophy - . . . . 98 
 
 A Little Word ----- 99 
 
 An Acrostic . - . . . 100 
 
 Bessie -.--.. 103 
 
 Things Are Not What They Seem - - 104 
 
 Press Onward - - - - - 105 
 
 The Pretty Town of Clyde - - - 106 
 
 Trifles - - - - - - 107 
 
 Charlie ------ 108 
 
 Foundered at Sea - - - - -no 
 
 The Dear Old College Hall - - - 113 
 
 Death at The Iroquois - - - - 114 
 
 Under The Misletoe - - - - 117 
 
ECHOES FROM GIRLHOOD. 
 
 I AM listening to the echoes 
 
 From the days of long ago, 
 Where the silvery crested wavelets 
 
 Of time waft to and fro ; 
 And the sounds that come to greet me, 
 
 Murmur ever true and good. 
 And I love to hear the echoes 
 
 From the days of girlhood. 
 
 Often in the years departed, 
 
 Of the future I would dream, 
 And endeavor that my life-work 
 
 Must of joy and beauty gleam. 
 I have lived for God and duty — 
 
 Tried to do as Jesus would, 
 Sought the golden rute to follow, 
 
 From the days of girlhood. 
 
 And the friends of school-days' morning 
 
 Often linger at my side; 
 'Tis a blessed satisfaction 
 
 In their memories to bide. 
 Oh the joy that comes with knowing 
 
 You have done the best you could. 
 And to hear the echoes ringing 
 
 From the days of girlhood. 
 
lo PASSING A WA V. 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 Another week has flown away, 
 Whose deeds are gone forever; 
 
 Another Sabbath day has come, 
 Our thoughts from earth to sever. 
 
 Another week of toil and strife. 
 
 Of mingled joy and pain; 
 Another gallant victory fought, 
 
 Our heavenly home to gain. 
 
 Another week nearer the grave — 
 
 Our final resting place; 
 Another week of right and wrong. 
 
 Our characters to grace. 
 
 Another week, oh ponder it. 
 
 How weeks and years speed on; 
 
 And woven in the warp of time 
 Our deeds, forever gone, 
 
 To meet us at the judgment seat, 
 
 Before the heavenly throne; 
 When death has come and conquered life. 
 
 And Christ to claim His own. 
 
 Passing away, upon our foreheads 
 
 Is written by His hand. 
 Then let us live to meet the King, 
 
 In the far-off glory land. 
 
MARY AND MARTHA. 1 1 
 
 MARY AND MARTHA. 
 
 " Mary hath chosen the good part which shall not be taken 
 away from her."— I,uke x, 41. 
 
 Sitting at the feet of Jesus, 
 
 In the days of long ago, 
 Asking of the Lord such questions 
 
 As we fain would seek to know. 
 
 Praying, musing and caressing. 
 Kneeling low beside His feet; 
 
 Pouring on His head rich spices. 
 
 Which to Him wrought oders sweet. 
 
 Busy, active, working Martha, 
 
 Seeking ever for to be 
 Ready for the Master's service. 
 
 Yielding not to reverie. 
 
 Seeking for to do Him good. 
 
 Striving for to do His will. 
 Worshiping with fervor lowly, 
 
 Which His very soul did thrill. 
 
 Gentle Mary, active Martha, 
 
 Actors on the stage of life. 
 Both a brilliant web have woven 
 
 Mid the din of earthly strife. 
 
 One might pray, the other work. 
 One might muse, the other do; 
 
 Both have met at heaven's portals, 
 With their records bright and true. 
 
12 PRAYER FOR PRES. GARFIELD. 
 
 PRAYER FOR PRESIDENT GARFIELD 
 
 Assassinated July 2, 1881. Died September 19. 1881. 
 
 To-day the nation's heart is sad, 
 
 All souls send up one plea, 
 'Tis murmured in the inland homes. 
 
 It echoes o'er the sea; 
 While christians lift their hearts to God, 
 
 With eager souls intent, 
 And breathe one solemn, fervent prayer : 
 
 God spare our President. 
 
 Yes, spare our noble President, 
 
 Tho' suffering day by day, 
 Yet Lord, we beg Thee not to take 
 
 His worthy life away; 
 But spare him for the nation's sake. 
 
 His life is in Thy hand, 
 And let this great Republic still 
 
 In love and union stand. 
 
 Thou sawest the villian's hand inflict 
 
 The wound that laid him low — 
 Looked on the deed, did it permit. 
 
 For reasons none may know. 
 Perhaps there is some purpose grand 
 
 Behind the darkened cloud. 
 Which seems the nation to enshrine 
 
 As with a mighty shroud. 
 
PRAYER FOR PRES. GARFIELD. 13 
 
 And now with patience he awaits 
 
 These words ; Prepare to die, 
 (O Saviour, lift the curtain drawn, 
 
 And show the brighter sky), 
 Doth not his enemy revile, 
 
 But battles with the strife, 
 O Lord, we ask Thee now to spare 
 
 The nation such a life. 
 
 God spare our noble President, 
 
 Remove the clinging vine, 
 Whose deathlike tendrils day by day 
 
 Seem round him to entwine, 
 And darken like a thunder storm 
 
 His life which hangs between. 
 But grant, O Lord, the sky beyond 
 
 May bright be, and serene. 
 
 God spare our noble President ! 
 
 This one united prayer 
 Is wafted on the morning breeze. 
 
 And on the midnight air. 
 The nation craves his life, O Lord, 
 
 And e'en from shore to shore. 
 The strain in pity is caught up 
 
 And murmured o'er and o'er. 
 
 God spare our noble President! 
 
 Oh may this earnest plea. 
 From mortal lips be upward borne 
 
 Through heaven's gates to Thee. 
 
14 CHOOSE THE RIGHT. 
 
 Thou Lord and Saviour, who hast passed 
 Through earthly scenes of strife, 
 
 Look down from Paradise and spare 
 The nation such a life. 
 
 CHOOSE THE RIGHT. 
 
 Seek not to do what others do, 
 Nor strive to gain their praise. 
 
 Nor wonder what they'll hap to say, 
 And thus regard their ways. 
 
 Oh, be not pondering, as you go. 
 
 Opinions all around. 
 Nor thinking what some one will say. 
 
 Who has upon you frowned. 
 
 First seek to find, and know the right. 
 Then make that path your own. 
 
 And perfect pleasure on your life 
 And pathway will be shown. 
 
 Then choose the right, because 'tis right, 
 And nobly do the work you choose, 
 
 And you will have no vain regrets, 
 By doing right, you never lose. 
 
THE POWER OF THE LORD. 15 
 
 THE POWER OF THE LORD. 
 
 Where'er we roam through earth's expanse, 
 
 By water or by land, 
 We feel and witness everywhere 
 
 The Lord's almighty hand. 
 No flower that grows, nor grass that waves, 
 
 Beneath the summer sky 
 But owes their happy state below 
 
 To God who reigns on high. 
 
 Oh yes, His power is wonderful, 
 
 And mortals should adore 
 The one Creator, Lord of all, 
 
 Who rules the world o'er. 
 And in His strange and mighty ways, 
 
 Doth show before our eyes 
 The glory of His power and might. 
 
 And prove Himself all-wise. 
 
 You see it in the violet 
 
 That lifts its tiny head. 
 And to the God of nature, doth 
 
 Its happy fragrance spread. 
 We hear it in the little birds 
 
 Who warble songs of glee. 
 Which by the gracious Lord are given 
 
 Their power of melody. 
 
1 6 GIRLHOOD. 
 
 Yes, from the smallest insect, that 
 
 Upon the earth doth creep, 
 Up to the largest, fiercest bear, 
 
 Which in his den may sleep. 
 The Lord our God hath made them all, 
 
 And doeth all things well. 
 And we. His noblest better race 
 
 Should loud His praises swell. 
 
 GIRLHOOD. 
 
 O LITTLE shrine of magic thought, 
 
 Thou beacon ever bright, 
 What is the sweet bewitchery^ 
 
 The radiant delight; 
 The charms which dwell within thy name. 
 
 The tranquil and the good — 
 And yet thou too hath but a time, 
 
 Thou shining light of girlhood. 
 
 Thine are the moments free from care, 
 
 Free from guile and crafty thought; 
 And if the soul be good and pure, 
 
 They are with wisdom's virtue fraught. 
 Improve the moments while you may. 
 
 Plant the seed you hope to reap, 
 And which will blossom bright and fair, 
 
 When memory in her alcoves sleep. 
 
HOSPITAL WORKERS. 17 
 
 HOSPITAL WORKERS. 
 
 In the calm of the beautiful summer, 
 When the world is looking its best, 
 
 When birds and brooks seem to murmur, 
 And beckon all nature to rest. 
 
 When the sunshine fair seems to call us 
 Away from the sorrow and pain, 
 
 To forget that some mortal is longing 
 A word of compassion to gain. 
 
 In the hospital wards they are waiting, 
 And wishing a voice for to hear, 
 
 To comfort their poor, aching bodies. 
 And bring to their weary hearts, cheer. 
 
 God bless the few who are thoughtful. 
 Whose footsteps in duty's path go 
 
 To the city of sorrow and suffering. 
 To lighten their burden of woe. 
 
 For while the poor body they comfort, 
 They tell of the mighty to save. 
 
 And the home in the land everlasting. 
 Which lieth beyond the grave; 
 
 Where sorrow by death is vanquished, 
 And the lonliest life grows bright, 
 
 In the joy that lasts forever, 
 
 And the day that knows no night. 
 
1 8 LIFE, 
 
 Then on with the good work, ye faithful, 
 The Saviour will reckon the cost; 
 
 Whatever we do in His service 
 Is never forgotten or lost. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 We live in deeds, both small and great, 
 In actions wrought with love. 
 
 As emblematic of the life 
 Which we shall live above. 
 
 We live in thoughts, not fleeting breath, 
 
 In feeling for each other; 
 We mould our characters by acts. 
 
 By thoughts one for another. 
 
 Life is a great and tragic stage. 
 
 Upon which mortals play. 
 And wield the sceptres of their might, 
 
 For fortune or dismay. 
 
 Life is a web in which we weave. 
 What fate doth fail to sever; 
 
 For woven in the warp of time. 
 Our deeds will last forever. 
 
 Upon the stage of life, let each 
 
 Then play a noble part; 
 And make the golden warp of time 
 
 The index of their art. 
 
MY EPITAPH. 19 
 
 MY EPITAPH. 
 
 I, WISTFULLY thinking, one day, 
 
 Was sitting alone in the gloom, 
 And wondering what epitaph 
 
 I'd have them inscribe on my tomb. 
 
 Wondering when life is over. 
 
 My life-record finished and done; 
 
 What memory shall I have wrought. 
 What fame for my earth, mission won. 
 
 Then arose a sudden ambition, 
 A hope for the just and the good. 
 
 And I said they shall write on my tombstone, 
 The words " She hath done what she could." 
 
 So I ask, every morning, the Saviour 
 To give me His hand, and to guide. 
 
 And thank Him again in the evening, 
 For keeping me close by His side. 
 
 I ask not a nobler inscription, 
 
 I seek not for perishing fame; 
 I'm striving to follow the Saviour, 
 
 To gain in His sight a good name. 
 
 My barque to the haven I'm guiding, 
 
 With Jesus my captain, so true, 
 And I'll anchor at last in the harbor. 
 
 Where tempests can never beat through. 
 
20 ONWARD AND UPWARD. 
 
 And when through the graveyard they're pass- 
 And wondering if I were good; \y^Zt 
 
 I trust they will read on my tombstone, 
 
 The words " She hath done what she could." 
 
 ONWARD AND UPWARD. 
 
 This world, 'tis said, we make ourselves, 
 
 I wonder if it's true ; 
 For many a thing we might avoid, 
 
 If this we only knew. 
 
 The earth is beautiful, and good, 
 
 This is really true, 
 'Tis those who do upon it dwell 
 
 That rob it of its due. 
 
 'Tis by our deeds the world is made. 
 
 Actions of right and wrong ; 
 O let the good outweigh the bad, 
 
 And onward be our song. 
 
 This world, with all its vain display. 
 
 Gives not of any worth ; 
 Its gold and gems shall pass away, 
 
 As even so will earth. 
 
 Then higher let our standard rise, 
 Let our motto be " Prevail "; 
 
 Looking upward to the skies. 
 And we*ll surely never fail. 
 
EASTER, 21 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 Sunlight streams through open windows, 
 
 Glad hosannas fill the air, 
 And the heralds of the Springtime, 
 
 Seem to greet us everywhere, 
 
 Tis the blessed Easter morning, 
 " He is risen," hear them sing ; 
 
 Young and old have raised their voices 
 In a homage to their king. 
 
 Now the solemn lenten season 
 
 Blossoms into every hue; 
 Men and women, youth and maiden. 
 
 Robe themselves in garments new. 
 
 And as thus they deck the body. 
 Fairer robes we still may see; 
 
 Bought for us by Jesus' suff'ring 
 In the dark Gethsemane. 
 
 Robes that will not fade or perish. 
 Sunlight born for endless day; 
 
 Oh, the blessed home in heaven. 
 Moth nor rust can not decay. 
 
 Welcome then this Easter morning. 
 
 Changing sorrow into mirth; 
 Filling all our hearts with sunshine. 
 
 Shedding beauty o'er the earth. 
 
22 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 The sun is sinking in the west, 
 The waning pulse beats low, 
 
 The shadows on the dial-plate 
 Are flitting to and fro. 
 
 The poor old year is dying, thus 
 
 Soft siren voices tell 
 What plainly in our hearts, and minds, 
 
 Doth at this moment dwell. 
 
 And what have we been weaving 
 Through months now fled away; 
 
 What records are we leaving. 
 For future years to say. 
 
 Wisdom is the golden thread, 
 
 Which woven into life. 
 Describes the mission we have wrought 
 
 When ends our earthly strife. 
 
 Truth is a wondrous monarchy. 
 
 The tension ever rife, 
 The helm which our acts doth guide 
 
 The dial-plate of life. 
 
 Virtue is the golden warp. 
 Around which all doth twine, 
 
 And wisdom, truth and virtue make 
 Our earthly sphere divine. 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 23 
 
 Oh, could the year be woven thus, 
 
 With actions so divine. 
 What memories w^e might inscribe 
 
 Upon the sands of time. 
 
 Farev^ell, Old Year, thy triumphs now 
 
 Are ended like as thee; 
 Thy failures and thy victories 
 
 Ah, nevermore shall be. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, thine hour has come, 
 
 Thy fragile mission done. 
 And thou art fading from our sight 
 
 As doth the setting sun. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 O New Year, with thy golden dreams. 
 
 At last has come thy dawn. 
 Glittering like the bright sunbeams 
 
 That artist may have drawn. 
 
 Thy coming new desires doth bring 
 
 As new as thee, bright year. 
 Which through the memory bells doth ring 
 
 With thoughts of hope and cheer. 
 
 But there's no use of ever making 
 
 Resolutions good and true. 
 If our timid wills are waiting 
 
 What our neighbors round us do. 
 
24 A GEM. 
 
 We must lay a firm foundation, 
 Built upon the rock most strong; 
 
 Not be shaken by temptation 
 In this world's busy throng. 
 
 The dead old year a story tells 
 
 Of sorrow or of joy, 
 Of deeds that chime like silver bells. 
 
 Or thoughts that may annoy. 
 
 So New Year, may we weave thee 
 With actions good and true. 
 
 And when thy autumn cometh, 
 May we bright records view. 
 
 Eighteen eighty-one we hail thee, 
 With spirits blithe and free; 
 
 And may we look on thee when past. 
 With tranquil reverie. 
 
 And when life's few years are ended, 
 For the end must come to all; 
 
 May they with deeds be blended, 
 Which will not need recall. 
 
 A GEM. 
 
 A LOOK, a sigh, a smile, a tear. 
 Their depth can not be told. 
 
 They speak far more than volumes do. 
 And heavier weigh than gold. 
 
WHAT IS THIS WORLD. 25 
 
 WHAT IS THIS WORLD? 
 
 What is this world? a vale of tears 
 
 My mind doth oft repeat, 
 A sphere of mingled joy and pain, 
 
 Anon a bitter sweet. 
 A vapor that will pass away, 
 
 And we frail creatures too 
 Will vanish when our time comes round, 
 
 As doth the morning dew. 
 
 What is this world, with all its joys, 
 
 Which last but for a spell, 
 Then flee away with footsteps quick, 
 
 In other hearts to dwell. 
 To-day our hearts are lit with joy, 
 
 As by a beaming light, 
 To-morrow and it all has fled 
 
 Beyond our reach and sight. 
 
 What is this world ? a haze of dreams 
 
 Oft never realized. 
 Which comes with disappointments shroud, 
 
 When time is sacrificed; 
 And enshrine the weary traveler, 
 
 On his journey to the skies, 
 With a haze of dark misgivings. 
 
 Which bedim.s his mortal eyes. 
 
26 THREE VERBS. 
 
 What is this world ? but why thus ask 
 
 Ourselves this question o'er, 
 When we behold its wide expanse 
 
 No need to seek for more; 
 But hope when life's career is o'er, 
 
 A fairer world to see, 
 Where earth's defects shall ne'er appear, 
 
 In immortality. 
 
 THREE VERBS. 
 
 To do : this is our province here, 
 
 Upon the stage of life ; 
 To work and play our part aright, 
 
 Through all earth's scenes of strife. 
 
 To be : yes, truly we exist, 
 Each day a web we weave, 
 
 Which will our life-work records tell, 
 When fleeting earth we leave. 
 
 To suffer : oh, how many wrongs 
 
 We often suffer here. 
 By false hearts, and untrue friends, 
 
 Who fair to us appear. 
 
 To do, to be, and to suffer ; 
 
 Three verbs describing life — 
 For we must do, and be, and suffer, 
 
 Till ends our earthly strife. 
 
A BIRTHDAY THOUGHT. 27 
 
 A BIRTHDAY THOUGHT. 
 
 'TwAS evening, and the day had flown 
 
 With all its happy thought, 
 And the offerings, small and great, 
 
 Had satisfaction brought. 
 The presents thus in kindness given, 
 
 From each loving heart, 
 Touched the tend'rest cords of love 
 
 As by some magic art. 
 
 'Twas evening, yet I lingered. 
 
 Bound by some mystic spell. 
 Which I have not yet defined, 
 
 Perhaps I cannot tell. 
 The years of life are w^afting on. 
 
 Memory's alcoves bear 
 The brief, frail years, w^hich speeding by. 
 
 Make up their mighty share. 
 
 'Twas evening, yet I tarried. 
 
 Although the day had fled. 
 And with it, though I scarce perceived. 
 
 My pleasant day-dream sped. 
 But listen to the message borne 
 
 To me this sunny day, 
 Which bids me think. Where shall I be 
 
 When this year flies away. 
 
28 A BIRTHDAY THOUGHT, 
 
 'Twas evening, but I fain would say, 
 
 Tarry with me yet a while ; 
 Linger, blessed eve I pray thee, 
 
 Happy moments to beguile. 
 Life's eventide is yet to come. 
 
 Fit me for the coming day, 
 I breathe the prayer within my heart. 
 
 While these feeble words I say : 
 
 Farewell evening, thou hast truly 
 
 Brought to us some solemn thought, 
 Given to me on my birthday. 
 
 Words with wondrous meaning fraught. 
 Farewell, birthday, may another 
 
 Find my spirit as serene, 
 As thy dawn and close hath found me. 
 
 Clouded not by lurid sheen. 
 
 And when the final evening comes. 
 
 And birthday thoughts are over. 
 And those who love and care me now, 
 
 No longer round me hover; 
 God grant I'll be found ready. 
 
 My earthly sphere to leave. 
 And enter in my Saviour's home 
 
 A ripe and golden sheaf. 
 
DISCONSOLA TE, 29 
 
 DISCONSOLATE. 
 
 Sometimes I feel like giving up 
 
 My strife for Christ below, 
 My burden feels so hard to bear, 
 
 I scarce know where to go ; 
 And think that useless 'tis to try 
 
 My Master's steps to tread. 
 It seems so very hard to seek, 
 
 And find the living bread. 
 
 When sick at heart, I fain would seek 
 
 To find a resting place ; 
 But then again my heart will fly 
 
 To Jesus' love and grace. 
 He seems to whisper in my ear 
 
 •• Dear child, look up and see. 
 Thy Lord who once was crucified. 
 
 And bore it all for thee." 
 
 I know He claims me as His own. 
 
 Myself to Him I've given, 
 And though my fragile barque be tossed 
 
 And by life's waves hard driven, 
 Yet all my burdens He will take. 
 
 And He my cross will bear, 
 If in His precious Word I trust 
 
 And cast on Him my care 
 
30 DISCONSOLATE. 
 
 The Saviour whispered in my ear, 
 
 O many years ago, 
 This verse, w^hich I have ne'er forgot, 
 
 Whose depth T fully know : 
 He that taketh not his cross. 
 
 And followeth after Me, 
 Is not, by my redeeming love, 
 
 Worthy my face to see. 
 
 And then I said, O Lord, I'll strive, 
 
 By Thy grace given me, 
 Bravely to run my race below, 
 
 And trust Thy face to see. 
 When life's few fleeting years are o'er. 
 
 With all their strife and pain 
 I'll live in hope that I at last 
 
 The heavenly port will gain. 
 
 So now faint heart cease to repine, 
 
 Go trust thy Saviour dear, 
 And cast on Him, the risen Lord, 
 
 Thy every doubt and fear. 
 Then Jesus come, this very night 
 
 And claim Thy child once more. 
 And soothe with Thy unchanging love, 
 
 My wounded spirit o'er. 
 
A UTUMN LEA VES. 3 1 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 I WAS out in the woods to-day, 
 
 Gathering autumn leaves, 
 I picked a great many bunches, 
 
 And bound them into sheaves. 
 
 And as I did so I culled 
 
 The bright and dark apart ; 
 
 Thus making a great difference, 
 By a simple touch of art. 
 
 And then I took some other leaves, 
 Which my eye had not sought. 
 
 And threw them away from my sight. 
 For those I counted as naught. 
 
 I thought as T parted the leaves 
 Which equal sunshine had, 
 
 How the Lord will part His flock, 
 And take the good from the bad. 
 
 His flock, who on earth are sharing 
 The sunshine and the light ; 
 
 Though far they be from striving 
 To try and do the right. 
 
 When He comes to reap His harvest. 
 
 On the resurrection day. 
 He'll take the earnest Christians, 
 
 And cast the bad away. 
 
32 PATIENCE. 
 
 He'll have mercy on the doubting ones, 
 
 As I had on the leaves, 
 When I parted the bright and dark, 
 
 And bound them into sheaves. 
 
 When the Lord shall come to take 
 The sheep from the goats below, 
 
 To carry the lambs in His bosom, 
 His love and joy to know. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY DEAR MOTHB«. 
 
 Like a little bird who struggles, 
 
 For to soar in yonder sky; 
 Hopeful, trusting, ever constant, 
 
 Breathing no impatient sigh. 
 
 Like a flower, whose tender petals 
 Crushed and unseen by the way, 
 
 Beaming there in secret beauty, 
 O what import do they sway, 
 
 So though crushed, obscure by sickness, 
 Precious one, thy patient life 
 
 Lives each day in richer beauty. 
 Brings a message mid the strife. 
 
 Thou so hopeful, trusting, constant, 
 For to do the Master's will; 
 
 Waiting, though in greatest suffering. 
 For to hear His " Peace be still." 
 
COUNT THA T DAY LOST. 33 
 
 COUNT THAT DAY LOST. 
 
 Count that day lost, a writer said, 
 
 Whose low descending sun. 
 Views from thy hand no work, 
 
 Nor noble action done. 
 
 No truer words have e'er been penned, 
 
 Nor said by mortal tongue, 
 Nor from the lips of poet, 
 
 Or songstress ever sung. 
 
 Count that day lost whose twelve long hours 
 
 Performed no deeds of right, 
 And leave at eve no acts 
 
 To flash upon thy sight, 
 
 To mind thee of the day gone by, 
 
 Wrought with joy, not pain, 
 Little acts of kindness 
 
 That bring a sweet refrain . 
 
 Would we but ponder, as each day 
 
 Speeds on the wings of time, 
 And do some gracious act. 
 
 Sweet memories to chime. 
 
 And departing, leave behind us. 
 
 Deeds that will not die, 
 But meet us at the throne, 
 
 Beyond the bright, blue sky. 
 
34 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 Three little words, of meaning great, 
 
 Dwell deep within my heart, 
 And make my soul to soar in thought, 
 
 Where Thou, my maker art. 
 They lift me by their magic power. 
 
 To dreams of realms above. 
 And yet these fervent little words 
 
 Are simply, God is love. 
 
 But oh, what meaning in the sound, 
 
 What import strangely high, 
 To lift the mind away from earth. 
 
 To Christ beyond the sky. 
 To one who rules the universe. 
 
 In wondrous power above, 
 Who condescends to notice us, 
 
 And be a God of love. 
 
 And thus our great creator did 
 
 The precious seed implant 
 The seed of love, in every heart. 
 
 Which proves to be so scant. 
 Be wise as serpents, saith the Lord, 
 
 And harmless as a dove, 
 O could we but in all our acts 
 
 Remember God is love. 
 
THO UGHTS AT E VENING. 35 
 
 And live as He would have us live, 
 
 A noble, Christian life. 
 And die as He w^ould have us die, 
 
 At peace amid the strife. 
 Feeling assured, w^hen all w^as o'er. 
 
 Our mansion v^as above, 
 To pass a blest eternity 
 
 And know the God of love. 
 
 THOUGHTS AT EVENING. 
 
 What have I done for Jesus, to-day. 
 
 By what act have I His great name raised ? 
 
 Can I through my conscience hear His voice say, 
 Well done, thou thy Saviour hath praised. 
 
 What word have I spoken for Jesus to-day ? 
 
 Even murmured in whisperings low, 
 For each one a word for the Master can say, 
 
 While through this wide world we go. 
 
 Oh, I feel I am sadly deficient to-night. 
 As I view the day's deeds o'er and o'er; 
 
 Why do I not strive with all my might 
 To copy my Lord more and more. 
 
 He knoweth each wish of my faltering heart. 
 
 He knoweth my every desire ; 
 Come now, and Thy infinite love. Lord impart, 
 
 And me with Thy true grace inspire. 
 
36 SPRING 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Behold the fields, around us green, 
 
 In nature's verdure clothed, 
 Bright in their many lovely hues, 
 
 The Lord himself them robed. 
 
 The little birds doth warble too, 
 
 Their songs of happy glee. 
 And in their strains they seem to chime 
 
 Sweet melody to me, 
 
 King frost his sceptre hath thrown down, 
 And Spring reigns in his place. 
 
 And decks the fields and woodlands far, 
 With beauty's florid grace. 
 
 And to our eyes the scene doth seem 
 
 A picture fair to see. 
 Yet what can all this lovely sight 
 
 To God's great garden be. 
 
 The birds remind us of the saints 
 Who from this earth have flown, 
 
 And in their wondrous home above 
 Now chime a song their own. 
 
 The flowers too, gay messengers, 
 Full many a thought they tell, 
 Of all the good, and pure, and true. 
 Which in our hearts may dwell. 
 
SUMMER 37 
 
 Birds and flowers upon earth sent, 
 By Him, the God of love, 
 
 To make us ever keep in mind 
 The paradise above. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 The buds of spring are perfected 
 
 In thee, blest summer time, 
 When fanned by the gentle zephyr. 
 
 The many warblers chime. 
 
 The babbling brooks their echoes bring, 
 Through meadows rich and green. 
 
 Could there in nature's lovely land 
 A fairer sight be seen? 
 
 When we wander in the moonlight, 
 
 Beneath a starry sky. 
 And breathe the breath of roses sweet. 
 
 While beams the moon on higfh. 
 
 'to' 
 
 To the parks, our city gardens. 
 On summer nights we go, 
 
 And on the friendly waters 
 Of luring lakes we row. 
 
 A land of dream and magic, 
 These parks oft seem to me 
 
 Where God and man hath blended 
 A touch in harmony. 
 
38 AUTUMN, 
 
 No word of mine is eloquent 
 Enough to rightly chime, 
 
 The joy, the rapture and delight 
 Which comes with summer time. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 O Fall, with all thy dying leaves, 
 
 And emblems of decay. 
 The world now wears before thee 
 
 A mantle of dismay. 
 
 The earth looks sad and dreary, 
 
 The trees on hill and dale 
 Are fading in thy presence, 
 
 And sigh witPi autumn's gale. 
 
 And so it is with us, who dwell. 
 
 Frail creatures here below. 
 We leave this world of change, and seek 
 
 Another sphere to know; 
 
 Where the flowers are ever blooming, 
 And there ne'er is any night. 
 
 In the land that lasts forever. 
 The kingdom. come of light. 
 
WINTER. 
 
 39 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 The trees on the hillside are sleeping, 
 And nature seems wearing a pall, 
 
 The lovliest gems of the season 
 Have vanished beyond our recall. 
 
 These trees that grew in the spring-time, 
 And covered with foliage green. 
 
 Seem to speak and say, we had never 
 Been lighted by lunar's soft sheen. 
 
 The flowers that once decked the prairies, 
 With verdure so fair to behold, 
 
 Have gone and left naught behind them. 
 But meadows all seared with the cold. 
 
 Yes, the birds have hushed their singing, 
 Their ringing notes of happy glee. 
 
 And have hastened from our presence, 
 Southern climes to seek and see. 
 
 A GEM. 
 
 We're sailors on the sea of life, 
 
 Victory our fort; 
 May He who standeth at the helm, 
 
 Steer us into port. 
 
40 A PEBBLE. 
 
 A PEBBLE. 
 
 Standing by a running brooklet, 
 
 Pensively one summer day, 
 I saw a little pebble dashed 
 
 By the running stream away, 
 On it tottered by the motion. 
 
 Senseless what its fate might be; 
 Then from out my sight it vanished. 
 
 And its end I did not see. 
 
 But I took a wondrous lesson. 
 
 From the pebble, as it sped 
 Onward to its destination, 
 
 By the ruthless torrent led. 
 I said, I am that atom. 
 
 Drifting on the sea of life; 
 Dashing onward in the current, 
 
 Of its mingled joy and strife. 
 
 Yet I thought I am not speeding 
 
 On an unknown fate to see; 
 Sweeping like that little pebble. 
 
 Senseless what my end may be. 
 I have reason for to guide me. 
 
 On the mazy sea of life; 
 I have sense to struggle with thee. 
 
 Dark temptations ever rife. 
 
A THOUGHT. 41 
 
 Then a little voice within me, 
 
 Whispered in my anxious ear; 
 Trust not in thine own prevailing, 
 
 Thou shalt sink in doubt and fear. 
 'Tis the Saviour who can guide thee, 
 
 Through the perils which betide ; 
 Only His power can protect thee, 
 
 Be thou ever at His side. 
 
 And I prize the pebble's message, 
 
 Though unconscious of its power, 
 Knowing not its fate or ending, 
 
 Or its lesson of that hour. 
 Thus it is the blessed Saviour 
 
 Often sends the smallest thing, 
 To confound the wise and mighty. 
 
 In the message it may bring. 
 
 A THOUGHT. 
 
 Aim not for this world's approval 
 Of your actions here below, 
 
 For its praise is falsely spoken, 
 
 And the truth you ne'er may know. 
 
 Rather seek for Jesus' favor, 
 Who can lasting joy bestow. 
 
 And in His love, and worthy favor, 
 Strive from day to day to grow. 
 
42 FIVE MARTYRS. 
 
 FIVE MARTYRS. 
 
 O ANSWER me ye storied years, 
 
 Now hidden in the past, 
 What of the martyrs brave and true, 
 
 Beneath thy shadow cast. 
 Did they lay their sceptres down 
 
 When ceased their earthly fame, 
 And all their noted splendor thus 
 
 Extinguish in death's flame ? 
 
 O no, their praises loudly ring 
 
 From each resounding shore, 
 And though they're old, we love to hear 
 
 Each welcome story o'er. 
 And listen with enchanted hearts 
 
 To duty's tales of strife, 
 Which many hundred years ago 
 
 Were in our land so rife. 
 
 'Tis not for stories that we ask, 
 
 Do no bright records tell 
 Of what they did, so brave and true. 
 
 Which in our memories dwell ? 
 Are there no beacon lights to point 
 
 Out what their lives have been. 
 Or is it nothing but a tale of 
 
 Some transfigured scene ? 
 
FIVE MARTYRS. 43 
 
 In the firmament of history, 
 
 Like brilliant stars they beam, 
 And though dead, their spirits live. 
 
 And on our visions gleam. 
 Yes, history's pages loud proclaim 
 
 Their deeds of might so true, 
 And they w^ill live, while ages last 
 
 Each martyr has his due. 
 
 Then tell me who these martyrs are 
 
 Of whom you speak so sure, 
 And are so loudly holding up 
 
 Their acts so good and pure. 
 What is it that they could have done 
 
 Which makes their fame to last. 
 And glitter with such brilliancy 
 
 Through time's dark shadow cast. 
 
 Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley, 
 
 All suffered at the stake. 
 And Hooper, brave, and Rogers, true, 
 
 All died for Jesus' sake. 
 And thus their lives have been revered, 
 
 Our motives to inspire, 
 From brave John Knox of Scotland 
 
 To Luther's soul of fire. 
 
 And they shall live until this world 
 
 Shall pass for aye away 
 In history and in memory 
 
 Their treasured lives will stay. 
 
44 SIMPLY CLINGING. 
 
 The storied years are but the case 
 To hold each precious jewel, 
 
 And in the casket of the Lord 
 They glisten 'neath His rule. 
 
 SIMPLY CLINGING. 
 
 Simply clinging to the cross, 
 Blessed Saviour, let me be; 
 
 Walking daily in Thy footprints, 
 Simply clinging, Lord, to Thee. 
 
 Simply clinging to the cross, 
 
 Make me ever look toward Zion, 
 
 Where my pathway is directed. 
 Clinging to Thy cross divine. 
 
 Simply clinging to the cross. 
 As my staff and perfect stay. 
 
 Which will keep my feet from falling, 
 Mid the perils of the way. 
 
 Simply clinging to the cross, 
 Till my race on earth is o'er, 
 
 And with a victor's crown at last. 
 Dwell on Canaan's shining shore. 
 
A PRAYER. 45 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Saviour, while the year Is dying 
 And its last night speeds away, 
 
 Lean, O gracious Lord and listen, 
 While upon my knees I pray. 
 
 Asking pardon through my Saviour 
 For the deeds which I have done, 
 
 Through the year now speeding from me, 
 Which have not Thy favor won. 
 
 Every quick and angry passion 
 Stirred within this mortal breast, 
 
 Every wrong and hasty action, 
 False our lives are at their best. 
 
 Forgive them all, O gracious Master, 
 Who have wronged or injured me; 
 
 Thou hast known how hard the combat 
 To forbear, and trust in Thee. 
 
 Forgive our persecutors, Lord, 
 
 Whate're their purpose be. 
 And grant us patience for to bear 
 
 And dwell at last with Thee. 
 
 May the year, whose record finished. 
 Kept by Thy just, unerring hand, 
 
 Have written o'er its blotted pages, 
 Thy forgiveness, there to stand. 
 
46 CHARITY. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 O CHARITY in every guise, 
 
 Thou art of value more than gold ; 
 Yea, dearer than the fairest pearls, 
 
 Thy worth cannot be told. 
 Love, as thy meaning, I define, 
 
 Which casteth out all fear, 
 Thou gift from heaven most divine, 
 
 O come and dwell down here. 
 
 Dwell more upon this world of ours, 
 
 Cast out all unkind thought. 
 Let each have charity of heart, 
 
 And by thy acts be taught. 
 True love unkindness thinketh not, 
 
 But covereth a fault; 
 Would rather paliate than try 
 
 A failing to exalt. 
 
 Each one of us owns to some failing, 
 
 O truly the song words it right, 
 But our wishes will be unavailing, 
 
 Without trying with all our might. 
 Striving to follow the Saviour, 
 
 As He dwelt on earth when a man; 
 To copy His acts and behavior, 
 
 As well as we possibly can. 
 
LINES. 47 
 
 O love of Christ unchangeable, 
 
 So lasting and so free, 
 Beneath the shadow of Thy wings, 
 
 Lord Jesus, shelter me. 
 Shield me from the storm and strife, 
 
 With Thy unchanging love, 
 The daily trials of fleeting life, 
 
 Which will not dwell above. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN TO MY MOTHER ON HER SIXTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Another year has come to greet you, 
 Though the shadows linger still, 
 
 And your feet, perhaps more weary, 
 Waiting still the Master's will. 
 
 But if I thy path can brighten. 
 
 By a single act of mine, 
 'Tis a pleasure, not a burden, 
 
 'Tis a privilege divine. 
 
 Accept this token of remembrance. 
 And this little birthday thought; 
 
 'Tis a loving hand that gives it, 
 Every word with love is wrought. 
 
48 WISHING. 
 
 WISHING. 
 
 A LITTLE girl stood one day 
 In proud ambition's height, 
 
 And spoke aloud her wishes, 
 With all her heart and might . 
 
 She murmured forth the longing. 
 Which from her heart now fled. 
 
 This one she wished the most for. 
 And audibly she said : 
 
 I wish I were an heiress, 
 
 A fortune in my hand, 
 The world would bow before me 
 
 And be at my command. 
 
 I wish I were a beauty, 
 
 The fairest ever seen, 
 And dressed in robes of velvet, 
 
 As grand as any queen, 
 
 I wish I were a songstress. 
 
 With voice so matchless strong, 
 
 That all the world in wonder 
 
 Would round my footsteps throng. 
 
 I wish I were a poet, 
 
 My fame the world renowned. 
 And named by all as wondrous. 
 
 And worthy to be found. 
 
WISHING, 49 
 
 I wish I were an artist, 
 
 With strength, and power, and skill 
 To paint the grandest pictures, , 
 
 Art galleries to fill. 
 
 I wish the grace of love. 
 
 With all its rays divine. 
 Would cast its brilliant beams, 
 
 My life-path to enshrine. 
 
 In fact my wishes are 
 
 Too numerous to tell, 
 I ne'er can speak the wishes 
 
 Which in my heart do dwell. 
 
 Dear me, what don't I wish? 
 
 This world could scarcely hold 
 My wishes were they granted, 
 
 They are so manifold. 
 
 She paused, and looked around. 
 But nothing could she see, 
 
 And said, O it is fancy, thus 
 To end my reverie. 
 
 She thought she heard a sound. 
 But found no one was near, 
 
 Thank goodness, then, she muttered, 
 Noone was round to hear. 
 
50 WISHING. 
 
 But yes there was, 'twas He 
 Who ever doth remain, 
 
 That heard her foolish wishing 
 For this world's empty gain. 
 
 It was conscience that she heard 
 
 Reprovingly recite 
 This verse, which made her pause, 
 
 And bid her think aright, 
 
 * * For what shall it profit a man, if he 
 shall gain the whole world, and lose his 
 own soul?" — Mark viii:36. 
 
 Dear child, youv'e wished and craved 
 For worldly pomp and fame. 
 
 And yet withal, you have not wished 
 A noble, christian name. 
 
 Youv'e wished for what will fade. 
 
 And vanish and decay. 
 And yet you have not wished for 
 
 To dwell in endless day. 
 
 Oh, wish a home in heaven, 
 A robe that's from above, 
 
 A song to sing forever, and 
 To rest in Jesus' love. 
 
WISHING, 51 
 
 Yes, seek to be an artist, 
 And sketch thy life below, 
 
 Live it wise and grandly, 
 
 And heaven's joys you'll know. 
 
 And then your many wishes 
 
 Shall all be gratified, 
 And you shall then inherit 
 
 A home beyond the tide. 
 
 An heiress of the kingdom, 
 
 Beautiful in song, 
 A poet, for to breathe above 
 
 The odes that there belong. 
 
 Let this one wish be thine, and 
 
 All others terminate, 
 Wish that thou be worthy 
 
 To ope the pearly gate. 
 
 When life's career is ended. 
 And wishing has to cease, 
 
 Wish that the Lord will take thee 
 To dwell in endless peace. 
 
 Where sorrow ne'er shall enter. 
 And nought shall pass away; 
 
 In the land of the hereafter. 
 The realms of endless day, 
 
52 ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN, 
 MARY EVA. 
 
 In her long, last narrow bed, 
 They have laid her icy head, 
 Folded her white hands on her breast, 
 For she now numbers with the blessed. 
 
 With the summer she faded away, 
 As a rose in midsummer's day, 
 And passed from thy sight and thy love, 
 To bloom in God's garden above, 
 
 O say not she has from thee fled, 
 For by her life thou shall be led; 
 She will watch at heaven's gate. 
 And for her earthly wanderers wait. 
 
 Ask you now, with tear-stained eye, 
 Why did one so sinless die ? 
 'Twas the Saviour took her home, 
 In this world no more to roam. 
 
 Tho' no more she'll join your number, 
 Or your earthly pleasures know, 
 In her last, and silent slumber, 
 In her grave so still, and low; 
 
 Would you recall her back for years, 
 To this world of sighs and tears ; 
 Would you tear her if you could, 
 From a home where all are good ? 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN. 53 
 
 From the mansions far above, 
 Where all is peace, and joy and love, 
 Far off beyond the clear, blue sky. 
 Beyond the view of mortal eye ? 
 
 " Weep with those who weep," was said 
 By Christ, who wept above the dead, 
 Tears of joy and sorrow flow, 
 When a soul from earth doth go. 
 
 Tears of sorrow that no more. 
 She on earth shall cross thy door. 
 No more shall need thy earthly care. 
 In a home so pure and fair. 
 
 Tears of joy, to know that she 
 Everlasting love doth see; 
 Live that thou may with her be, 
 When the Lord shall call for thee. 
 
 As a flower whose day was past, 
 He death's sickle o'er her cast. 
 And took her in a Saviour's love. 
 To bloom a brighter flower above, 
 
 She is not dead, but gone before. 
 And she knocks at thy heart's door; 
 Live thou, and to her home be led. 
 Where no farewell tear is shed. 
 
54 THE HAR VEST IS PAST. 
 
 THE HARVEST IS PAST. 
 
 The harvest is past, and the 
 
 Summer is ended, 
 The day of repentance is o'er, 
 
 Thy life-deeds are blended. 
 Hear the deep wailings of woe, 
 
 Up from the sinner's heart, 
 While the stern sentence is spoken : 
 
 From out my sight depart. 
 
 The harvest is past, and the 
 
 Summer is ended. 
 Look, sinner look, and be saved 
 
 Unto Him w^ho ascended, 
 And rules His kingdom in glory bright, 
 
 Yours to inherit and share, 
 If the harvest shall find you saved, 
 
 And worthy to dwell over there. 
 
 The harvest is past, and the 
 
 Summer is ended, 
 But grant that your answer will be : 
 
 I'll meet Thee ascended, 
 The Lord who<Jied and rose again, 
 
 I wait His face to see 
 When the harvest is past, and 
 
 He says " Come unto me." 
 
CHRISTMAS. 55 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ' Peace on earth " again is sounding, 
 
 While the Christmas echoes ring, 
 And a loud good-will to mortals 
 
 In our Saviour's name we sing. 
 In a manger, crude and lowly. 
 
 Once our loving Saviour lay, 
 Scant of every earthly comfort. 
 
 On a blessed Christmas day. 
 
 For He came to know our anguish. 
 
 Feel our pain and bring relief. 
 He, the blessed •• man of sorrows," 
 
 Well acquainted was with grief. 
 And it makes our load feel lighter, 
 
 When we hear the Saviour say, 
 Cast on me thy every burden. 
 
 On this blessed Christmas day. 
 
 Yes, for us He came and suffered, 
 
 Waded deep in sorrow's tide. 
 That we all might have a refuge, 
 
 In a Saviour's love to hide. 
 In a love so true and lasting, 
 
 Which will not like earth decay. 
 Sinner, give thy heart to Jesus, 
 
 On this blessed Christmas day. 
 
56 THE ANGELUS. 
 
 He, so good beyond all measure, 
 
 Yet •• His own received Him not," 
 Sought to censure and betray Him, 
 
 And His spotless name to blot; 
 But He rose beyond the tumult, 
 
 Rose, within our hearts to stay, 
 And we celebrate His coming 
 
 On this blessed Christmas day. 
 
 History o'er and o'er repeated, 
 
 For the Saviour's words will live. 
 And within the hearts of mortals. 
 
 There a holy incense give. 
 Heed ye now the joyful message, 
 
 Hark! I hear the Saviour say, 
 " Peace on earth, goodwill to men," 
 
 On this blessed Christmas day. 
 
 THE ANGELUS. 
 
 With heads bowed down and thoughtful, 
 Now see them standing there. 
 
 The angelus is tolling; 
 It is the hour of prayer. 
 
 Work for a spell forgotten. 
 
 The toilers' hands are still. 
 While at that sacred moment, 
 
 They feel the solemn thrill. 
 
IN MEMORIAM, 59 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHO WENT TO HKR 
 HEAVENLY HOME, JANUARY 26, 1902. 
 
 Her useful hands are folded 
 
 Upon her loving breast, 
 And her willing feet no longer 
 
 Are wearying for rest. 
 
 My mother 's with the angels, 
 
 I think I hear her sing. 
 In the great triumphant chorus, 
 
 Around the heavenly King. 
 
 On earth her voice resounded, 
 In the days that are gone by. 
 
 But pain and suffering crushed it. 
 And song exchanged for sigh. 
 
 Yet in her God she trusted, 
 Through all the years of woe, 
 
 She held the hand that chastened, 
 And said He best did know. 
 
 Faithful to a helpless husband, 
 Willing slave at duty's shrine, 
 
 May her memory be cherished 
 As a heritage divine. 
 
 May we not forget her teachings, 
 And to ever faithful be, 
 
 Then in glory we shall meet her. 
 When we cross the crystal sea. 
 
6o WEEP NOT FOR ME. 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR ME. 
 
 " Don't weep for me when I am gone," 
 
 My gentle mother said, 
 While on a bed of suffering 
 
 She laid her patient head. 
 "Don't shed one tear," she often said, 
 
 " Be glad I am at rest, 
 When Christ shall come and call me home. 
 
 To number with the blessed." 
 
 Although she bade me not to weep , 
 
 When ended was her earthly woe; 
 Yet my grief will not subside, 
 
 And my tears unbidden flow. 
 She now dwells in joy immortal, 
 
 Needs myloveand care no more; 
 But her dying trust I cherish. 
 
 As an echo from the shore. 
 
 Oft I think upon her suffering. 
 
 And that long, and dreadful day, 
 When we watched around her bedside. 
 
 Scarcely finding words to say. 
 Oh, the grief beyond expression — 
 
 I can feel the anguish still — 
 Though a year ago she left us. 
 
 For the land that knows no ill. 
 
WEEP NOT FOR ME. 6i 
 
 And with hoi}'- resignation 
 
 I can see her raise her head ; 
 " I would not Uve always," Mary, 
 
 Were the words she softly said. 
 Heard my aged father saying, 
 
 " I will go away and pray. 
 And perhaps our gracious master 
 
 Longer here will let her stay." 
 He for years had been so helpless. 
 
 And his lifemate fond and true, 
 Though herself so frail in body, 
 
 Helped him bear his burden too. 
 
 How the shadows grimly gathered, 
 Till they lengthened into night. 
 
 For 'twas in the early morning 
 That her spirit took its flight. 
 
 Then a smile o'erspread her features, 
 
 'Twas a smile the angels bring. 
 When the welcome-home is sounding, 
 
 And we think we hear them sing. 
 Such a look the Saviour brings us. 
 
 When He beckons from the shore 
 Of the land of joy immortal. 
 
 Where the weary weep no more. 
 Her expression plainly telling 
 
 Christ for her the path had trod. 
 And upon her Saviour leaning. 
 
 Our dear mother went to God. 
 
62 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 O DO not slight the Httle things 
 
 Which help to make up life, 
 And like the morning dewdrops, 
 
 Spread peace amid the strife. 
 
 Think not a word, a smile, or jest 
 
 Are trifles in their weight; 
 'Tis oft the things we value least 
 
 Which sometimes prove so great. 
 
 A look, a smile, a sigh, a tear, 
 Their wealth can not be told; 
 
 They speak far more than volumes do, 
 And heavier weigh than gold. 
 
 Little acts of love ; oh what giants, 
 What monsters in their power, 
 
 They cheer our life and brighten up 
 The lonely dying hour. 
 
 Life's journey, whether long or short, 
 Is wrought with little deeds; 
 
 The greatest honors some have won. 
 Have sprung from little seeds. 
 
 'Tis by small deeds, and acts, and words, 
 Through battle and through strife, 
 
 That we shall reach the haven of 
 The bright, eternal life. 
 
WHERE IS HE A VENf 63 
 
 WHERE IS HEAVEN ? 
 
 Where is heaven ? this question old 
 
 Repeats itself again, 
 In accents of deep wonderment, 
 
 An answer for to gain. 
 In dim imagination's theme 
 
 I often wander far, 
 And wonder where this realm is, 
 
 And what its beauties are. 
 
 Where is heaven ? O question great, 
 
 Which answered cannot be. 
 Until the mortal shall be changed 
 
 To immortality. 
 But still enquring minds will ask 
 
 The question o'er and o'er, 
 And though unanswered it remains. 
 
 They ask it as of yore. 
 
 Where is heaven ? a child once asked, 
 
 Is it a castle high. 
 Far off within a distant clime. 
 
 With walls to touch the sky ? 
 We may imagine what we wish. 
 
 But all such thoughts are vain. 
 For we can nothing understand, 
 
 Until the land we gain. 
 
64 
 
 WHERE IS HE A VEN f 1 
 
 Where is heaven ? but lost in thought 
 
 And reverie w^e stay, 
 We v^ill not know until the Lord 
 
 Shall point us out the way ; 
 When the reaper comes to take us, 
 
 When ends our work below. 
 Then what we could not fathom here, 
 
 In endless joy we'll know. 
 
 We know we live for some great end, 
 
 And have a goal in view, 
 The faithful and the constant ones, 
 
 Who are to Jesus true. 
 Then never let us waste our time 
 
 In vainly asking where 
 Our final dwelling place will be. 
 
 Since Jesus will be there. 
 
 For He will light our final home, 
 
 Wherever it may be, 
 His smile will be for ever bright 
 
 Throughout eternity. 
 Aud in the far-off spirit-land. 
 
 With Jesus we shall reign, 
 Those who will be found worthy, for 
 
 To join the heavenly train. 
 
LITTLE NELLIE. 65 
 
 LITTLE NELLIE. 
 
 Day by day they saw her fading, 
 
 As the summer time went by, 
 And their hearts were wrung with anguish 
 
 When they knew that she must die. 
 
 Die, and leave the bright home-circle 
 
 She, their only child so dear, 
 Oh, how hard the chastening rod was 
 
 In its strokes, and how severe. 
 
 In her Saviour's mercy trusting, 
 
 Nellie did not fear to die; 
 '• Look! " she said, " I see Him coming. 
 
 Through the crimson evening sky." 
 
 Hoping against hope, and praying 
 Let this cup, Lord, pass from me, 
 
 And if it be Thy gracious will. 
 Spare our darling, health to see, 
 
 So thus passed the summer mornings, 
 
 With their days of rosy light. 
 Till one lovely autumn evening, 
 
 Little Nellie took her flight. 
 
 Left her home and its surroundings, 
 
 Parents to her heart so dear; 
 Went to claim the life eternal. 
 
 Where no autumu comes to seer; 
 
66 THE LINNET, 
 
 Or to wilt the blooming plants 
 In the garden of the Lord, 
 
 For the Saviour is their guardian, 
 And each blossom is His ward. 
 
 And the parents murmured sadly 
 As they looked upon their dead, 
 
 Thy will is done, O Lord, and Nellie 
 From our home to Thine has fled. 
 
 Fare thee well our much-loved darling, 
 Till we meet on Canaan's shore, 
 
 Where our tears are dried forever, 
 And we'll meet to part no more. 
 
 THE LINNET. 
 
 Come, thou linnet of the morning, 
 Sing to me thy notes of glee, 
 
 Let me listen to your piping, 
 With a spirit blithe and free. 
 
 Welcome here thou merry songster, 
 Borne upon the morning air. 
 
 Bringing to me untold precepts. 
 Little warbler, bright and fair. 
 
 But thy song begins and ends here, 
 Mine's a song to sing above, 
 
 Mine a song to sing in heaven, 
 
 Basking 'neath the Saviour's love. 
 
IMA GIN A TION OF HE A VEN. 67 
 
 IMAGINATION OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Sometimes I picture heaven as 
 
 A palace wondrous fair, 
 With gates of pearl, and streets of gold, 
 
 Which gleam in beauty there ; 
 But as to the inhabitants 
 
 I oft about them think ; 
 Those bright celestial creature*, 
 
 Who neither eat nor drink, 
 
 But dwell in life eternal. 
 
 In realms of the blest, 
 And walk through streets of splendor 
 
 Ne'er wearying for rest ; 
 Nor need the sun, nor moon, nor stars, 
 
 Like us who dwell below, 
 For Jesus is the light thereof. 
 
 His presence gives a glow. 
 
 And oftimes I imagine 
 
 Myself transported there, 
 Wandering through the streets of gold. 
 
 Up to that mansion fair; 
 And think I hear the music that 
 
 The angel choir doth sing, 
 Until my soul with rapture, thus 
 
 Rejoicin< 
 
68 IMA GIN A TION OF HE A VEN. 
 
 And I think I see my Saviour, 
 
 Resplendent in His love, 
 Approvingly look at me, 
 
 And I think I am above. 
 But then this transitory w^orld, 
 
 With all its din and wile, 
 Will dash me from my vision, 
 
 But not my Saviour's smile. 
 
 For though the spell may flee away 
 - With all its happy thought, 
 The love of Jesus in my heart's 
 
 Recesses deep are fraught. 
 For His smile is not imagined, 
 
 It ever lingers near, 
 He's with me in my troubles, and 
 
 My darkest days doth cheer. 
 
 And I pray Him to enshrine 
 
 My pathway here below, 
 Until, when life is ended. 
 
 To His blest realms I go; 
 Where my joy will be perfected 
 
 And I, in truth, shall see 
 My frail imagination there 
 
 A blest reality. 
 
COMFORT. 69 
 
 COMFORT. 
 
 When our hearts are weary with waiting, 
 With striving, and hoping in vain, 
 
 There is one who will give us a refuge 
 From tempests of sorrow and pain. 
 
 The Saviour will comfort His children. 
 
 His message forever is blest ; 
 He carries the lambs in His bosom. 
 
 And giveth His loved ones rest. 
 
 Oh, if all hearts could but know it, 
 The wonderful pleasure I feel, 
 
 In trusting my blessed Redeemer, 
 Whose love every sorrow can heal. 
 
 Then to the friend never failing, 
 My spirit in gladness will cling, 
 
 While storms are surging around me. 
 Of Jesus, my Saviour, I'll sing. 
 
 INFLUENCE. 
 
 There's not a single act that floats 
 This wide world round and round, 
 
 That carries with it such a weight, 
 As this word so profound. 
 
70 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Yes, influence is a mighty giant, 
 
 Lasting, firm and sure; 
 Its power from age to age is felt, 
 
 And ever stands secure. 
 
 Its unperceived and unknown power 
 
 Is thought of value small. 
 Yet every breath of life we breathe 
 
 We wield it, one and all. 
 
 Each one of earth's frail creatures do 
 By acts of wrong and right. 
 
 Full many a deed, which shall endure 
 When they have fled from sight. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Kneeling low beside God's footstool, 
 Asking for His aid each day; 
 
 Thus a faithful christian worker 
 
 Found some time to watch and pray. 
 
 Years he passed in service lowly. 
 
 Ever at the Saviour's feet. 
 Each day found him ready, waiting 
 
 For the Master's will to meet. 
 
 Years perhaps are yet before him. 
 They will find him in the right, 
 
 Waiting for to hear the summons — 
 Enter in eternal life. 
 
NOT TO THE WORLD. 71 
 
 NOT TO THE WORLD ARE WE 
 GIVEN. 
 
 I STOOD at the window one day, 
 Watching the leaves as they fell 
 
 From the boughs of the beautiful poplar, 
 And each had a story to tell. 
 
 Some wilted, some weak, some faded, 
 
 Still clung to a slender spray. 
 Till the hand of the great Creator 
 
 Had beckoned them all away. 
 
 I had watched those leaves in the springtime, 
 
 When born to the world anew, 
 They came after winter's reposing. 
 
 To perform their mission so true. 
 
 Their shade and their beauty had sheltered 
 Our homes from the heat of the sun. 
 
 And now that the winter was coming, 
 Their beautiful mission was done. 
 
 They served like the soldier on duty, 
 The purpose for which they were sent; 
 
 Not to the world are we given, 
 Only for usefulness lent. 
 
 And we long for to see them returning. 
 And all through the winter we sing 
 
 For the leaves of the beautiful poplar, 
 To greet us again in the spring. 
 
72 IT IS EASY ENOUGH TO PREACH. 
 
 IT IS EASY ENOUGH TO PREACH. 
 
 O HOW easy it is to tell 
 
 Another what to do, 
 And plan for them a pathway 
 
 Of deeds both good and true; 
 To point to people a limit, 
 
 Of things within their reach, 
 And tell them what they ought to do; 
 
 It's easy enough to preach! 
 
 Some ride in carriages grandly, 
 
 And tell the toiler for bread. 
 How very bravely he ought to walk 
 
 The path he has to tread. 
 Some sit in frescoed mansions, 
 
 And sweetly there beseach 
 Others for better times to wait; 
 
 It's easy enough to preach! 
 
 We all must take the anguish home. 
 
 E'er we can feel the smart, 
 The sorrow, and the weight of woe, 
 
 Which crush another's heart. 
 Then let us lend a helping hand, 
 
 And give forth deeds, not speech. 
 And think, vv'hen we are prone to talk. 
 
 How easy it is to preach. 
 
WE WEEP NOT ALONE. 73 
 
 WE WEEP NOT ALONE. 
 
 DEDICATED TO LOTTIB HICKS-BIRD. 
 
 " Laugh, and the world laughs with you, 
 
 Weep, and you weep alone ;" 
 Oh, how can the writer of these harsh words, 
 
 Ever for them atone. 
 
 There are hearts that are many and selfish, 
 
 Who care not our sorrow to know, 
 But there also are others to help us. 
 
 Who gladly would lighten our woe. 
 How could we imagine a world. 
 
 With space for our joy and woe. 
 To have only a place for the sunshine. 
 
 And none for the clouds to go. 
 
 God made the light and the shadow, 
 
 Our pleasures and our grief. 
 And gave to us, friends with hearts 
 
 Ever ready to lend relief. 
 I have laughed, and friends laughed with me, 
 
 I have wept, yet not alone, 
 For in sorrow, that saw no sunrise, 
 
 Tears mingled with my own. 
 
 *Twas neither a brother nor sister 
 
 That oft spoke words of cheer, 
 'Twas a friend from the days of childhood 
 
 That whispered in my ear. 
 
74 FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 If in all this monster world 
 
 You find but a few hearts true, 
 
 'Tis enough to fill life's goblet 
 With the portion allotted to you. 
 
 Then think not too hard of the world, 
 
 When you can help to do 
 Your share of the many actions, 
 
 Which make it good and true. 
 And lend to the poor hearts, thirsting 
 
 The love that you can give. 
 And the priceless gift of friendship, 
 
 Which makes life sweet to live. 
 
 FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 Forget me not, let me not fade 
 
 From out thy sight each passing year; 
 
 Let fond remembrance reign, and shade 
 A love so lasting and sincere. 
 
 Forget me not, let memory keep 
 
 Her guardian watch by day and night; 
 
 O may it not, in slumber deep, 
 
 Forget the past, though gone from sight. 
 
 Forget me not, but I must close 
 
 These rambling echoes from my heart. 
 
 For they bring worry, not repose. 
 And dearest friends have met to part. 
 
MY BABY'S FIRST BIRTHDA Y. 77 
 
 MY BABY'S FIRST BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Ring the merry bells to-night, 
 
 Our youthful queen to greet ; 
 Ring the merry bells aloud, 
 
 With welcome true and sweet. 
 
 Gaze upon this lovely infant. 
 
 Pure as heaven's glistening dew. 
 
 Ponder how the self-same title. 
 Once belonged to each of you. 
 
 What a struggle for the mastr'y. 
 Footprints true and grand to gain ; 
 
 Slippery is the path before her, 
 
 Wrought with fear, and doubt and pain. 
 
 God, who in our midst is gazing 
 On this scene of pure delight. 
 
 Who to us this child has given. 
 Precious in His holy sight. 
 
 Listen to a mother's pleading. 
 
 Listen to a mother's prayer, 
 Take into Thy special keeping, 
 
 Guard our child from every snare. 
 
 We will do our duty, trusting 
 In Thy mighty hand to guide ; 
 
 We will teach our little daughter 
 In her Saviour to confide. 
 
78 THE SHEPHERD. 
 
 Welcome, then, this Httle darling, 
 To the rights of home and love, 
 
 As her name is known among us, 
 Be it known in heaven above. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD. 
 
 As o'er the hills the shepherd speeds 
 The last stray lamb his love hath told, 
 
 He will not seek to gain repose. 
 Till he has brought it to the fold. 
 
 He heedeth not the rugged path 
 
 Which doth before him lie, 
 But on the weary, wayward lamb 
 
 He fixes fast his eye. 
 
 And toiling through the silent night 
 
 For many a dreary hour, 
 He wearies not, but cheerfully 
 
 Doth prove his love and power, 
 
 And brings in safety to the fold 
 
 The wavward little sheep, 
 And bears it on his bosom, home. 
 
 Tired out and fast asleep. 
 
 And thus our gentle Saviour seeks 
 His wayward sheep that roam, 
 
 Who wearied with their journey long. 
 Have wandered far from home 
 
THE MARVELOUS WHITE CITY. 79 
 
 THE MARVELOUS WHITE CITY. 
 
 Dedicated to Mayor Harrison, who was assassinated by 
 Prendergast, October 28, 1893, after returning from the World's 
 Fair, where he had addressed a gathering in the Music Hall. The 
 author and her husband were members of the chorus, and sung 
 on that memorable day. 
 
 'Tis evening, and the glittering lights 
 
 Shine from the golden dome, 
 While through the crowded buildings, 
 
 Enchanted people roam. 
 List, to the music, floating 
 
 O'er the magic scene divine, 
 While fountains play in splendor, 
 
 And many turrets shine. 
 And will it fade and molder? 
 
 O breathe you what a pity, 
 Would it could last forever, 
 
 The marvelous White City. 
 
 The music hall is crowded. 
 
 While many hundreds sing 
 Of good and brave Columbus, 
 
 Who deeds so great did bring. 
 And while the chorus echoes. 
 
 Think of the cruel fate 
 That met the great explorer. 
 
 While honor came so late. 
 But the singers now are ceasing. 
 
 O breathe you what a pity, 
 Would they might sing forever 
 
 In the marvelous White City. 
 
8o THE MARVELOUS WHITE CITY. 
 
 But look ! a form so manly 
 
 Has risen for to say 
 Some thoughts of might and wisdom, 
 
 Upon this noted day. 
 With words so grand and forceful, 
 
 'Tis he, our worthy mayor. 
 Who kept the people spell-bound 
 
 While rising from his chair. 
 At last the speaker ceases ; 
 
 And breathe you what a pity, 
 Would he might speak forever. 
 
 In the marvelous White City. 
 
 Mayor Harrison looked lovely! 
 
 The children did repeat, 
 While elders acquiesed. 
 
 Their homage for to greet; 
 E'en politicians bitter. 
 
 Did all agree that night 
 That Harrison looked noble. 
 
 And worthy of the right. 
 The lights are now extinguished ; 
 
 And breathe you what a pity, 
 Would they might shine forever. 
 
 In the marvelous White City. 
 
 Within his city homestead 
 
 Our Mayor now quietly goes, 
 
 Like thousands home returning 
 To gain a night's repose, 
 
THE MA R VEL O US WHITE CITY. 8 1 
 
 But lurking in the darkness 
 
 Comes a demon in his wake, 
 Who longs with leaden bullet 
 
 His noble life to take. 
 The shot he fires proves fatal, 
 
 And by that villian's blow, 
 Is stilled a heart as faithful 
 
 As man might need to know. 
 
 Hushed is his voice forever, 
 
 No more the singers chime, 
 And all the noted buildings 
 
 Have passed away with time. 
 The works of might and splendor. 
 
 Which man's great mind had wrought, 
 And to a thinking people 
 
 Great things forever taught. 
 Dwell with us but in fancy, 
 
 For now 'tis like a dream, 
 And through once brilliant hall-ways 
 
 The lights no longer gleam, 
 And vacant landscape greets us 
 
 Where once towered domes of gold. 
 Where fountains played in splendor. 
 
 Is but a story told. 
 
 Sad tale of life and beauty o'er. 
 
 Our hearts cry what a pity, 
 That it could not forever last. 
 
 The marvelous White City. 
 
82 AMBITION. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 I will, and onward still I press, 
 Though dark the way may be; 
 
 The cherished purpose of my heart 
 Some day I hope to see. 
 
 vanished years of girlhood. 
 With disappointments rife; 
 
 Yet my ambition drives me on 
 To mingle in the strife. 
 
 1 measure not by others' doom, 
 
 I do not rail at fate; 
 While there is life, there still is hope, 
 It never is too late. 
 
 The great Creator talents gave, 
 Some more and others less; 
 
 With what we have we all must try 
 To make a grand success. 
 
 A GEM. 
 
 Brightest days have hours of sorrow, 
 Saddest days have hours of joy; 
 
 Joy or sorrow, care we borrow, 
 Hopeful let us meet the morrow. 
 
PHILIPINO SONG. 83 
 
 PHILIPINO SONG. 
 
 By the glare of a burning city, 
 
 Upon her bended knee, 
 A dark-skinned Philipino 
 
 Is weeping bitterly. 
 Now hear the words she's saying. 
 
 Through all the din and strife. 
 To mortal man she's praying, 
 
 " Brave soldier, spare my life." 
 
 Refrain: 
 
 Methinks I hear her pleading. 
 
 Though far away I be, 
 Her poor life knows of nothing 
 But Spanish tyranny. 
 
 See, though the night grows darker, 
 
 She does not seek for rest. 
 Entwine her arms more tightly, 
 
 The babe upon her breast. 
 *'Oh, save my child," she's crying, 
 
 " I cannot from him part," 
 For in that form so wretched 
 
 She owns a mother's heart. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Methinks I see her weeping, 
 As other mothers weep, 
 
 Who share her bitter bondage. 
 Whose grief has been as deep. 
 
84 PHILIPINO SONG. 
 
 " Long years of bitter torment, 
 
 Of strife, and grief and woe, 
 O will you not the brightness 
 
 Of your free land bestow ? " 
 She's pleading for her people. 
 
 No freedom does she see; 
 Her poor life knows of nothing 
 
 But Spanish treachery. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Up, sister up, no longer plead. 
 
 There's freedom for the brave; 
 Where Uncle Sam has power to rule, 
 No one need be a slave. 
 
 How could the brave defender 
 
 Of human rights forbear, 
 " One God, one cause," he's saying, 
 
 " And you shall have your share; 
 No more shall cruel tyrants 
 
 Control you as their slaves. 
 The boys who bought your freedom 
 
 Are speaking from their graves." 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Up, woman up, there's nothing to fear, 
 No cruel Spaniard shall harm you here; 
 
 We've bought with our life-blood the man- 
 tle of peace. 
 And Uncle Sam gives you the long sought 
 
 release. 
 
' TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY, 85 
 
 'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 As the Author is an admirer of nice dogs, she has always 
 treasured a memory of the big, faithful dog who might not have 
 lost his life had he not been constantly tormented, as many 
 dogs are. 
 
 In a distant village lonely, 
 
 Where houses then were scant, 
 
 Once towered a senriinary 
 The gospel seed to plant. 
 
 Among the good professors, 
 
 Who daily took their way, 
 In fair and stormy weather. 
 
 Their words of truth to say. 
 Was one whose name was Harper, 
 
 A man of years though few. 
 Bid fair by all who knew him 
 
 To weave a record true. 
 
 Just then he owned a canine, 
 
 A Newfoundland by race. 
 Who guarded well the homestead, 
 
 And oft some other place. 
 Now all the village urchins 
 
 Did love to tease that dog, 
 By throwing missiles at him 
 
 While home from school they'd jog. 
 
86 'TWIXl LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 One day there passed a youngster 
 
 Who oft him teased in play, 
 And trying to be friendly, 
 
 Did stop a word to say ; 
 But the big black dog was surl}^, 
 
 And plunged from left to right, 
 And badly bit the school-boy, 
 
 Who hurried home in fright. 
 
 His parents then were frantic 
 
 To see their bleeding boy, 
 And his relatives protested 
 
 The dog they must destroy. 
 So they went to the professor. 
 
 And told him why they came. 
 He, then righteously declared, 
 
 The school-boy was to blame. 
 
 'Twas hard, beyond all measure, 
 
 To have the big dog die, 
 Because his children loved him. 
 
 And tears bedimmed each eye. 
 Yet quietly he surrendered 
 
 His dog, to save the boy, 
 By giving them permission 
 
 The canine to destroy. 
 
 Some people treat this lightly, 
 "Twas but a dog," they say, 
 
 "And quite correct that he 
 For biting had to pay," 
 
' TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY, 87 
 
 But 'tis the thoughtful ones, 
 
 Who love and service blend, 
 That find it hard to part 
 
 With man's unselfish friend. 
 
 And now the years have vanished, 
 
 That boy a man has grown, 
 And to the great professor 
 
 May at this day be known. 
 Yes, 'tis many, many years 
 
 Since the story I relate, 
 Of how a faithful watch-dog 
 
 Met an untimely fate. 
 
 O brave and good professor, 
 
 Life of small deeds is wrought, 
 And in the days departed 
 
 You that sweet lesson taught. 
 Such little deeds of duty 
 
 To a monument has grown, 
 And in the hearts of many 
 
 You reap the seeds then sown. 
 
 Let us not slight the trifles 
 
 Which life's great pathway v, eave, 
 But in the road behind us 
 
 Foot-prints forever leave, 
 And like the good piofessor 
 
 Who rose to know such fame, 
 Be worthy of the echoes 
 
 To sweetlv breathe our name. 
 
88 MY PET WATCH DOG, 
 
 MY PET WATCH-DOG. 
 
 No nobler nature ever dwelt 
 
 Within a canine breast, 
 Few dogs, if any, in this world 
 
 Are with such sense possessed. 
 How vainly do mere words express 
 
 His qualities so rare, 
 His many good and lovely traits. 
 
 Are far beyond compare. 
 
 He is submissive as a lamb 
 
 To us, his owners three, 
 While other people at his growl 
 
 Will oft in terror flee. 
 He never w^ill at all allow 
 
 Strange folks' familiar talk, 
 And when they try to joke with him 
 
 He makes them lively walk. 
 
 He will himself advances make 
 
 If he decrees it so, 
 But once acquainted with our Prince, 
 
 No truer friend you'll know. 
 Both old and young will not deny 
 
 The beauty of his face, 
 This handsome, trusty, noble beast 
 
 Possessed of every grace. 
 
89 LINES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written to Mrs. McKinley on her recovery prom a sevbrb 
 •iCKNESs. The Author received a lettbr of thanks. 
 
 Oh, if I could only see you, 
 To speak some words of cheer, 
 
 If I only could be near you. 
 Your gentle voice to hear. 
 
 I have looked upon your picture, 
 
 And it said so much to me. 
 For I thought I read there, patience, 
 
 To the fate that had to be. 
 
 Yes, I thought that smile angelic. 
 
 Was a smile that came through tears, 
 
 Borne with fortitude heroic. 
 
 Through the tide of hopes and fears. 
 
 Once my life was full of promise, 
 And no cloud obscured the way, 
 
 But sickness, with its wilting blight. 
 Cast a mantle of dismay, 
 
 Young in years but old in suffering — 
 Does it not seem hard to tell. 
 
 And I fain would not express it, 
 But the same your lot befell. 
 
 Though our sickness may be different 
 And our disappointments too, 
 
 " Each one feels his burden heavy," 
 Is a saying old and true. 
 
90 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 And though our paths in life 
 May lead a different way, 
 
 And our hands may never touch, 
 Or friendship tendrils sway, 
 
 Yet in the land immortal 
 
 When ended is earth's strife, 
 
 I hope to meet, and there to greet, 
 Our President's sweet wife. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 England, I'd like to claim thee 
 
 As my own, my native earth, 
 The land that holds ancestors' graves 
 
 And gave to them their birth. 
 
 Scotland, I'd like to claim thee 
 As my own, my native earth. 
 
 For thou dost hold ancestors' graves 
 And also gave them birth. 
 
 Though husband dear, and friends so true. 
 Came from those shores to me; 
 
 Though relatives of noble birth 
 Still dwelling there may be; 
 
 The only light my eyes recall, 
 
 The only land I know, 
 Is good and brave America, 
 
 And may it long be so. 
 
FERDINAND DE SOT A. 91 
 
 FERDINAND DE SOTA. 
 
 Ferdinand De Sota, who discovered the Mississippi river 
 in 1641, and after years of disappointed hopes, died, and was sunk 
 in the river at the dead of night. 
 
 Down in a river's muddy bed, 
 They have lain his Hfeless head; 
 Folded on his sun-tanned breast 
 His weary, brawny hands to rest. 
 
 The hermit's life at last was o'er, 
 And on the Mississippi's shore 
 Around him stood a faithful few, 
 Who honored him as brave and true. 
 
 The tiresome years of hermitage 
 Had seen him pass from youth to age; 
 Had seen him strive and fight with fate, 
 Who seemed to be his only mate. 
 
 And Mississippi's waves unfold 
 The story which is often told 
 Of how in manhood's prime he found 
 That river which is world renowned, 
 
 And spent his life on desert plain, 
 And neither friends nor home could gain, 
 And when did end his life so brave, 
 He found in her a watery grave. 
 
92 WILL YOU LOVE ME AS OF YORE? 
 
 WILL YOU LOVE ME AS OF YORE? 
 
 Will you love me as of yore ? 
 
 For once you loved me in your heart, 
 And what has caused this bitter change, 
 
 Oh, what has made such love depart? 
 I'm longing, and hoping, and praying, 
 
 For the turn of the tide, 
 But the stream is flowing and widening. 
 
 Till the gulf may be fearful, and wide. 
 
 Will you love me as of yore, 
 
 Shall there be a coming day, 
 When our hearts will be united. 
 
 And the shadows pass away ? 
 Pll long, and hope, and pray. 
 
 For the day to soon appear, 
 When every cloud shall vanish. 
 
 And love alone dwell here. 
 
 O union, what a happy bond, 
 
 A knot that will not sever, 
 Entwine this quickly, throbbing heart, 
 
 In love to last forever; 
 And the day will come, I trust. 
 
 When this waiting will be o'er. 
 When our hearts shall be united. 
 
 And you will love me as of yore. 
 
WEDDING BELLS. 93 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 On thy bridal evening, standing, 
 While all hearts are wrapt in cheer, 
 
 Let me take from memory's casket. 
 Words I trust you will revere. 
 
 Azure skies of golden fancies; 
 
 Dazzled brightly as they should, 
 While to-night we revel gladly, 
 
 At the shrine of maidenhood. 
 
 Years have sped since first I met thee. 
 Bound by schoolday's mystic dream, 
 
 Fair and young in girlhood's morning 
 
 Rowing thy barque on life's rough stream. 
 
 Now are passed thy girlish mornings, 
 
 Fled as like a dream away ; 
 And enshrined in maiden glory, 
 
 Is the sceptre which you sway. 
 
 And I pause me to consider, 
 
 Cupid flung his dart at you ; 
 But my tongue forbids to utter 
 
 Words of mystic meaning true. 
 
 Passed and present thoughts I've spoken. 
 
 Future fate I cannot tell; 
 I can only wish that truly 
 
 Happiness may with you dwell. 
 
94 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 May your barque, thus safely driven 
 
 To the port of maidenhood, 
 Sail along life's ocean bravely, 
 
 Christ its captain, grand and good. 
 
 Here to-night you grasp the sceptre, 
 Which shall sv^ay thy future years; 
 
 May your hand with might be girded. 
 For the coming joys and tears. 
 
 Joys that come like dewdrops, glistening, 
 Strevs^n your lifepath way along; 
 
 Tears which blend their mystic meaning, 
 Mingled in the world's throng. 
 
 Now in faltering tones I bid thee. 
 
 Not a last, nor sad farewell; 
 Simply say, good-by to Josie, 
 
 In another sphere to dwell. 
 
 With one wish I softly murmur, 
 
 Friend and schoolmate's love in one; 
 
 May its meaning tarry with thee, 
 
 When from out my sight you' ve gone. 
 
 May friendship's ties which us have bound. 
 Blend their magic art above; 
 
 Where we shall meet and know of naught 
 But an endless life of love. 
 
LAD Y CLARA ' 5 GHOST. 95 
 
 LADY CLARA'S GHOST. 
 
 *TwAS her ghost that haunted the abbey, 
 
 In the days of long ago, 
 That sped through the frescoed halls, 
 
 Like magic to and fro; 
 And lit up all minds with fancy, 
 
 As in the silent night 
 They watched for the slightest shadow, 
 
 Which flashed upon their sight. 
 
 'Twas her ghost that haunted the abbey, 
 
 The lovely Clara Belle, 
 Whose shadow they thought at midnight 
 
 Oft on their visions fell. 
 And disturbed their tranquil slumber, 
 
 And made them hold their breath, 
 When they thought of Lady Clara, 
 
 And her strange and tragic death. 
 
 'Twas her ghost that haunted the abbey, 
 
 And all by a lover's hand ; 
 ' Tis a strange and mystic tale, 
 
 Of love in a far off land. 
 He had said to the Lady Clara 
 
 "No other's bride you'll be, 
 And I will avenge the suitor 
 
 Who wins your love from me." 
 
LADY CLARA'S GHOST. 96 
 
 'Twas her ghost that haunted the abbey 
 
 For one bright summer's night, 
 When her heart was light as a fairy's, 
 
 And her eyes were twinkling bright. 
 "Which maiden here is brave enough," 
 
 While playing a game, he said, 
 " To run to yonder lake and wait?" 
 
 And off young Clara sped. 
 
 She had the bravest heart of all, 
 
 And he dared her for to go, 
 To wait, on the watery brink, while 
 
 The lake rolled to and fro. 
 Then off he ran in quick pursuit, 
 
 Her footsteps for to trace. 
 Leaving the others far behind , 
 
 With smiles on every face. 
 
 Then they waited for to see 
 
 The lovers coming near, 
 And they listened, all in vain. 
 
 For nothing could they hear. 
 What could the awful silence mean? 
 
 No sound came from the shore, 
 The echo simply answered 
 
 "With Clara, all is o'er." 
 
 The comrades in the distance 
 
 Saw but a velvet dress, 
 A white scarf flutter in the breeze, 
 
 And then were left to sruess 
 
LADY CLARA'S GHOST. 97 
 
 The fate which never has been solved, 
 
 The reason not yet know^n, 
 Only the lovely Clara Belle 
 
 To another sphere had flown. 
 
 In the morning, her lifeless form 
 
 Was found in the lake below, 
 And on the bank her lover lay 
 
 Dead, and white as snow. 
 Two funerals then did pass 
 
 The grand old castle door; 
 Two of the saddest funerals, 
 
 That ever passed before. 
 
 Then they buried the last of the Aldens, 
 
 That brave and princely race, 
 And the beautiful Lady Clara 
 
 Who owned such matchless grace. 
 And they say that her ghost is seen 
 
 Upon the river's brink. 
 Her velvet dress and snowy scarf 
 
 To flutter and to sink. 
 
 And her ghost has haunted the abbey, 
 
 Up to the present time; 
 Yes, her voice shall ever seem 
 
 Deep requiems to chime. 
 For the young and lovely Clara 
 
 Was drowned in the lake below, 
 Is all that they will murmur, 
 
 In fact is all they know. 
 
98 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 'Tis her ghost that has haunted the abbey, 
 
 Those long and dreary years, 
 And filled their minds with wonder, 
 
 And smote their hearts with fears, 
 For the lovely belle had vanished 
 
 In such a sudden way, 
 That they speak in awe and wonder 
 
 Up to the present day. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Life is too short to sit and grieve, 
 E'en though the way be dark, 
 
 Rekindle to a brighter flame, 
 Hope's flickering little spark. 
 
 For what's the use of grumbling 
 If things don't go your way. 
 
 Just set to work and mend them — 
 But stop repining, pray. 
 
 This changeful, busy world of ours 
 Brings round your turn in time, 
 
 If you will but with patience wait, 
 And chant this merry rhyme: 
 
 For every trouble bravely try 
 
 A remedy to find, 
 And if you cannot find a cuie, 
 
 That trouble never mind. 
 
A LITTLE WORD. 99 
 
 A LITTLE WORD. 
 
 There is a little word so sweet, 
 
 And solemn in its sound, 
 It is the hardest to repeat, 
 
 Yet ever hovers round. 
 
 It makes the heart throb with emotion, 
 And n>akes the fancies wild. 
 
 It causes sometimes much commotion, 
 Yet soothes a little child. 
 
 'Tis simple as a story book, 
 
 And deeper than the sea, 
 Yet straight into our hearts will look 
 
 With happy witchery. 
 
 It makes us think of future dawn, 
 What promise bright may be. 
 
 And try to lift a curtain, drawn, 
 Which hides some mystery. 
 
 'Tis not a riddle to be solved 
 By heads both sage and wise, 
 
 It round this world has oft revolved 
 And keeps before our eyes. 
 
 So I will try, in pathos soft, 
 This charming word to tell, 
 
 We all have heard it oft enough 
 To know its meaning well. 
 
loo AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 I'll speak the word, tho' small, 'tis great, 
 And worth its weight in gold, 
 
 I'll breathe it for it oft holds fate 
 Within its slender fold. 
 
 So now this word, both good and true, 
 And other words so far above, 
 
 And blest with meanings not a few, 
 Claims the winning title; love. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 THB NAMB OF A HORMAL SCHOOL MATE. 
 
 Joyously the sun had risen 
 O'er the hills so far away, 
 Silently a brilliant sunbeam 
 Entered in her heart one day; 
 Phantoms seemed to hover round her 
 Halo shining from above, 
 In the future dawn appearing 
 Naught can mar the hope of love, 
 Ever speaks a soft voice cheering. 
 
 Knights and Earls may happy be, 
 Robed in majesty and might, 
 Outward show of pride and splendor. 
 Honored in the nation's sight. 
 Might is strong, but love is stronger. 
 Ever in its matchless art, 
 Rules the heart and lasts the longer. 
 
^ 
 
 \ 
 
 -#*■ 
 
 ^ 
 
 BESSIE 
 THE AUTHOR'S DATTGHTBJR 
 
BESSIE. 
 
 BESSIE. 
 
 She's a slender little maiden, 
 With a wealth of chestnut hair, 
 
 With a step so firm and active. 
 And a face both sweet and fair; 
 
 And her fingers are so nimble 
 She can make the finest lace, 
 
 And upon the snowy linen 
 You can see her floral grace. 
 
 Oft she sits at the piano, 
 
 And will sing in tender strain. 
 
 And you wish when she has finished, 
 That she longer would remain. , 
 
 She can crotchet, knit and sew, 
 With her pen is clever too. 
 
 There are scores of other things 
 That this maiden fair can do. 
 
 For her Mother always taught her 
 Hands were given us by God, 
 
 And if they could not be useful. 
 It would certainly be odd; 
 
 And if things are v/orth the doing, 
 We must always do them well, 
 
 So this winsome little maiden 
 Thus endeavors to excel. 
 
I04 NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. 
 
 THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM 
 
 Oh, who can count the many pangs 
 Which rend each mortal breast, 
 
 The anguish and the lasting stings, 
 The moments of unrest. 
 
 Sometimes the fairest face is but 
 
 The index of a heavy heart, 
 And wears a smile when tears alone 
 
 Could tell the bitter smart. 
 
 They say this world is harsh and cold, 
 
 But oh, it is not so, 
 'Tis those who do upon it dwell 
 
 That weave its tale of woe. 
 
 The world itself is great and wide, 
 With space for good and true. 
 
 Oh why is it that kindness then 
 And loving hearts are few? 
 
 Some people really seem to take 
 
 Delight in being unkind. 
 And seeing how much misery 
 
 For others they can find. 
 
 They vent their passion on some one 
 Who needs their love and care, 
 
 And make a life, thus harassed so, 
 A burden hard to bear. 
 
P/^ESS ONWARD. 105 
 
 Oh, what is life without the love 
 
 Of those who know us well, 
 And what the fleeting joys of earth, 
 
 If discord with them dwell? 
 
 PRESS ONWARD. 
 
 Onward ever in life's journey. 
 
 Never tarry looking back, 
 There are laurels for the taking, 
 
 In the still untrodden track. 
 
 Of the failures left behind you. 
 
 Of the things you might have done, 
 
 Do not pause to reconsider 
 
 Till your object you have won. 
 
 Do not stop to breathe a murmur, 
 Or complain the way is drear; 
 
 Hurry o'er the rugged pathway 
 To the goal of hope and cheer. 
 
 There are pit-falls all around us 
 For the feet that dread the way, 
 
 But the mind that knows no failure 
 Heeds them not, nor falls a prey. 
 
 For with will-power well directed, 
 All things possible will be, 
 
 And a glorious compensation 
 For your efforts you shall see. 
 
io6 THE PRETTY TOWN OF CLYDE. 
 
 THE PRETTY TOWN OF CLYDE. 
 
 I HAVE seen the peaceful suburb, 
 
 So my thoughts I will not hide, 
 And I now will write a ditty 
 
 To the pretty town of Clyde, 
 Where you find a friendly neighbor, 
 
 With a word both true and kind ; 
 And you scarcely miss the city 
 
 You have left so far behind. 
 
 It was in the gladsome summer, 
 
 When the rustic breezes glide. 
 That I first had made a visit 
 
 To the pretty town of Clyde. 
 How the waving trees impressed me, 
 
 As 1 trod the grass so green, 
 And I really thought I never 
 
 Had a fairer village seen. 
 
 Though the evening shadows gathered. 
 
 Ere our steps we did retrace. 
 Yet the vision tarried with me. 
 
 Of that lovely, tranquil place; 
 And I wondered why most people, 
 
 In some crowded place subside. 
 When the air is pure and plenty, 
 
 In the pretty town of Clyde. 
 
TRIFLES. 107 
 
 If the townsfolk would awaken, 
 
 And build more homes so sweet, 
 What a glorious approbation, 
 
 In the springtime they would meet, 
 When the budding trees invite us 
 
 From the summer heat to hide, 
 You would see the city moving 
 
 To the pretty town of Clyde. 
 
 TRIFLES. 
 
 It takes but little for to make 
 This world a scene of strife. 
 
 And twart the trifles which might give 
 True pleasure in this life. 
 
 It is not always greatest deeds 
 Which doth disturbance give; 
 
 It is not always riches that 
 Doth make life sweet to live. 
 
 Sometimes the smallest trifles doth 
 
 Torture the worst of all; 
 Sometimes the greatest pleasures may 
 
 Embitter life with gall. 
 
 Could we but know how trifles oft 
 Doth blight the future's dream, 
 
 Which might perhaps if cheered along 
 Amid the world gleam. 
 
io8 CHARLIE. 
 
 CHARLIE. 
 
 Once Charlie was a little boy, 
 And no one seemed to know, 
 
 That he like all the other chaps 
 Would some day larger grow. 
 
 Then Charlie had a brother, 
 
 A winsome little elf. 
 Who by two years w^as older 
 
 And much larger than himself. 
 
 And Charlie had a sister, 
 A maid the fairest maybe, 
 
 But she by years was older; 
 And he was called the baby. 
 
 And so the years went passing 
 With all their changeful wile; 
 
 And our gallant little Charlie 
 Kept growing all the while. 
 
 At last there came another 
 Darling baby fair and sweet, 
 
 Who regarded little Charlie, 
 As quite a clever feat. 
 
 Now Charlie has a mother; 
 
 And his mother has a friend; 
 And the friend, she has a daughter, 
 
 But this is not the end. 
 
CHARLIE. 109 
 
 For the friend a home has purchased 
 
 In a suburb far away, 
 And invited out our Charlie 
 
 For to often spend a day. 
 
 And our hero ever faithful 
 To frienship's tender thrall, 
 
 Will oft upon his distant friends 
 In the far-off village call. 
 
 But of this rhyming nonsense 
 I now^ must make an end, 
 
 And tell something about him 
 Which love and pleasure blend. 
 
 For Charlie is a good boy, 
 
 And not afraid to do 
 Kind acts for friend or neighbor, 
 
 Which show^s his heart is true. 
 
 He proves himself so manly ; 
 
 Bad comrades w^ill not heed. 
 And gives his widow^ed mother, 
 
 The love her heart doth need. 
 
 God bless our thoughtful Charlie, 
 
 And may he ever be 
 A mother's joy and comfort; 
 
 And noble manhood see. 
 
no FO UNDERED A T SEA. 
 
 FOUNDERED AT SEA. 
 
 The storm was fierce, the night was cold, 
 
 The breakers rose and fell; 
 And through the silent midnight hours, 
 
 One thought did with them dwell, 
 As they plowed the foaming waters 
 
 Of the mighty deep, 
 While in the cabin tranquilly 
 
 The passengers did sleep. 
 
 Unconscious of the awful doom, 
 
 Which pending o'er them hung, 
 While anguish from the sailors' hearts 
 
 Through every hour was wrung. 
 My God, we'll founder in the deep, 
 
 At length the mate did say, 
 We'll meet perhaps a watery grave 
 
 Before the break of day. 
 
 Aghast each man stood at his post. 
 
 Nor would they dare to shrink. 
 For buoyed they were with iron wills 
 
 To save, or else to sink. 
 Stricken then with awful terror. 
 
 Lest the sleeping ones should wake, 
 They breathed a prayer within their hearts, 
 
 "Save us Lord, for Jesus' sake." 
 
 Out spoke the captain's voice at length, 
 " My men, lock all below, 
 
FOUNDERED AT SEA. 
 
 And in His name who guideth all 
 With earnest might we'll go." 
 
 But hard against them beat the storm 
 As with a demon's power, 
 
 While they plowed the fearful deep 
 For full a dreary hour. 
 
 But all in vain their efforts were, 
 
 She sprung a leak at last, 
 And to the mercy of the waves 
 
 The precious freight was cast. 
 While frightened babes in terror cried, 
 
 And parents sought in vain 
 To save the lives which were to them 
 
 More valued than earth's gain. 
 
 '• Be quick, my men, the lifeboats man. 
 
 Strive all you can to save," 
 These orders, in a firm voice, 
 
 The gallant captain gave; 
 Boat after boat was dashed away. 
 
 Upon the billows high, 
 Amid the shrieking of them all 
 
 And agonising cry. 
 
 But as each load was cast away 
 
 Upon that angry sea. 
 They sank there never more to rise. 
 
 Yea, never more to be. 
 The captain brave stood at his post. 
 
 Till lo, there came the cry 
 
112 LOVE'S REQUEST. 
 
 " O God, we're sinking in the deep, 
 Lord, save us ere we die." 
 
 Amid the surging of the waves, 
 
 Which seemed Hke conquering glee. 
 The captain and his precious freight, 
 
 Perished in the sea. 
 For not a soul was left to tell 
 
 Of gallant ship or crew. 
 As not a single trace was left. 
 
 And not a creature knew 
 The records of that fearful night. 
 
 Which ended many a life. 
 And brought them all to meet their doom 
 
 Amid such awful strife. 
 
 A floating bottle bore the news, 
 
 That caused us all to see, 
 Through sympathy, the precious ship, 
 
 That foundered in the sea. 
 
 LOVE'S REQUEST. 
 
 Life is so short, then why let weeds, 
 
 Invade the road we tread ; 
 Now pluck the thorns from out my path 
 
 And strew with flowers instead. 
 May friendship's tendrils still entwine. 
 
 As they have in the past. 
 And as true friends may we both reach 
 
 The heavenly port at last. 
 
DEAR OLD COLLEGE HALL. 113 
 THE DEAR OLD COLLEGE HALL. 
 
 MEMORIES OF CHICAGO FEMALE COLLEGE. 
 
 Often o'er my heart comes stealing 
 
 Longings that I cannot tell, 
 For some friend now gone forever, 
 
 That I once had loved so vs^ell; 
 And there comes to me a yearning 
 
 For to see them one and all, 
 As I did in days departed, 
 
 In the dear old college hall. 
 
 Hov^ our paths in life have widened. 
 
 Each to take her chosen way. 
 Yet no doubt some one is thinking, 
 
 As perhaps I think to-day, 
 Of the dreams not yet perfected, 
 
 Which came not, as willed by all. 
 When we planned a cloudless sunset, 
 
 In the dear old college hall. 
 
 And their forms loom up before me, 
 
 I can think I see them there, 
 Those true-hearted, earnest teachers; 
 
 And our noble Doctor Thayer. 
 Death has claimed the good professor, 
 
 Changeful years we now recall, 
 Since the days when last we gathered 
 
 In the dear old college hall. 
 
114 DEATH AT ''THE IROQUOIS:' 
 
 DEATH AT "THE IROQUOIS." 
 
 A terrible conflagation occurred in the Iroquois Theatre, 
 Chicago, December 30th, 1903. A matinee performance of 
 "Bluebeard" was in progress, and the audience was composed 
 chiefly of women and children. When the terrified people tried 
 to escape they found the exit doors locked, and were burned to 
 death. Nearly six hundred persons lost their lives, and as many 
 more were injured or maimed for life. 
 
 The beautiful building was crowded, 
 
 With people, both young and old, 
 From the tiniest tot of a baby. 
 
 To those with their fourscore told. 
 *Twas the end of the Christmas season. 
 
 And folks from far and near, 
 Had thronged into our city. 
 
 To join in holiday cheer. 
 
 And to this theatre building. 
 
 Where many voices cheered. 
 They filled its every corner 
 
 To hear about Bluebeard. 
 In the midst of the merrymaking, 
 
 While hearts w^ere full of glee. 
 There flashed a spark on their visions, 
 
 And what, oh what may it be. 
 
 •• No cause at all for alarm," 
 
 The gay comedian said. 
 But people filled with terror. 
 
 Rose from their seats, and fled. 
 
DEATH AT ''THE IROQUOISr 115 
 
 For that spark now rose in fur)^ 
 And think you, 'twas nothing odd, 
 
 While a voice from heaven thundered, 
 " Prepare to meet thy God." 
 
 Then a surging mass of mortals, 
 
 Each struggling their life to save, 
 In their reckless, mad endeavors, 
 
 Was digging the quicker a grave. 
 They fell, were trampled and smothered, 
 
 Were burned, and bleeding and sore; 
 And all in vain were they surging, 
 
 Against a fast locked door. 
 
 Words cannot depict the picture, 
 
 And pen itself would fail. 
 To tell of the ghastly horror. 
 
 Or paint the dying wail. 
 And who was to blame for the carnage, 
 
 The terrible loss of life. 
 Whereby so many were tortured 
 
 Amid such awful strife. 
 
 Think of the faces disfigured. 
 
 When that terrible blaze was o'er, 
 Think of the strong rendered helpless, 
 
 And the feet that will walk no more 
 Think of the suff' ring inflicted 
 
 On victims of that fatal play, 
 For death did not come to the rescue 
 
 Of all who were injured that day 
 
1x6 DEATH AT ''THE IROQUOISr 
 
 Mortal, " Prepare to meet thy God," 
 
 This message is sounding to-day; 
 Oh be prepared to meet your God, 
 
 When He comes to call you away. 
 If it be in a theatre building, 
 
 What think you the Lord will say- 
 Come home to the life eternal ? 
 
 Or, Perish for endless day ? 
 
 All conditions His mercy will cover. 
 
 We must leave it for God to do; 
 'Tis not given for us to judge 
 
 Of His wisdom just and true. 
 For the great all-father knows us, 
 
 And reads the inmost heart. 
 While man's most perfect judgment 
 
 Is but external art. 
 
 The solemn rites are over now. 
 
 The loved ones laid away. 
 And silent graves their story tell 
 
 Of hearts that once were gay. 
 Oh, what a dread catastrophe, 
 
 Which did fond hopes destroy. 
 And long the echoes will repeat : 
 
 Death at "the Iroquois." 
 
UNDER THE MISTLETOE, 117 
 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 
 
 My Bessie's First Poem. 
 
 'TwAS on a snowy winter's night, 
 
 Scarce one year ago, 
 They met as lover's often meet; 
 
 Under the mistletoe. 
 
 He was tall, and dark and strong, 
 And bronzed with a tropical sun, 
 
 And strapped to his shoulder, was 
 His ever-present gun. 
 
 For he was a soldier brave. 
 And soon to the war must go, 
 
 And leave behind the tender ties 
 That brightened his life of woe. 
 
 She was small, and fair and sweet, 
 With a wealth of golden curls. 
 
 And teeth so white they seem'd to gleam 
 Like rows of shining pearls. 
 
 But hark, a bugle call 
 
 Is sounding down the street, 
 And fife and drum and cymbal blend 
 
 In one triumphant beat. 
 
 One last caress, one gesture wild 
 
 He tears himself away. 
 And soon is hurrying down the street 
 
 To join his comrades grey. 
 
II 8 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 
 
 On the battle-field the cannon roars, 
 
 It is the break of day, 
 And near at hand a soldier rides 
 
 A handsome horse of grey. 
 
 But even while he charges 
 
 There comes a deafening roar; 
 
 And when the smoke has cleared away. 
 His brave heart beats no more. 
 
 No one is there to weep for him 
 
 In that far distant clime; 
 Yet tenderly they lay him 'neath 
 
 The sighing trees of lime. 
 
 His requiem is chanted, 
 The trumpet sounds again, 
 
 And one by one the soldiers fall. 
 In the ever moving train. 
 
 Who marched away to duty's call 
 
 Their lives to sacrifice; 
 And ere the sun had set again, 
 
 Full many a hero dies. 
 
 In a distant village, waiting, 
 A maiden hopes in vain. 
 
 To greet her faithful lover, 
 Who w^ill never come again. 
 
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