OCT 8 11898 
 
 "^^ of Cong'f ":>''' 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 Chap..j.___ Copyright No. 
 
 \33$ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 
 
AsWs°i fees 
 
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 BbI 5W.il 
 
 Auiumn 
 

 2na COPY, j8^^ 
 
 1890. 
 
 16850 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896 AND 1898, BY PAUL SHIVELL 
 COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY MAST, CROWELL & KlRKPATRlCK 
 
 (0 6 )) 
 
 ^^iH^'er Of 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 United Brethren Publishing House 
 Dayton, Ohio 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 This is my book. I come to you, my father, 
 
 And for the disobedience of past years 
 I ask forgiveness. We have loved together. 
 
 And quenched the bonfires of my youth with tears. 
 Yet I grow full ; the old wrong reappears ; 
 
 And I must be assured once more with kindness 
 That you still love me, — that the wound endears 
 
 Thy son, who gave it, for 'twas all in blindness. 
 
 This is my book. Oh can you feel the pride 
 You felt that evening by the riverside, 
 
 When with emotion a good father knows, 
 You heard me read my little piece, September, 
 
 Written that day, my first developed rose, 
 The one you loved the most. — do you remember? 
 
 
Gnienis 
 
 Dedication, v. 
 
 September, 1 
 
 Watching a Ship at Sea, 2 
 
 Bitterness and Faith, 5 
 
 The Sea, 6 
 
 Solitude, 7 
 
 "Equatoria, 7 
 
 Summer Night, 10 
 
 The Dead Year, 10 
 
 Fragments to Myself, 12 
 
 The Cannon, 13 
 
 Dreaming, 14 
 
 Dawn, 15 
 
 Primitive Theology, 15 
 
 Children, 17 
 
 Written for School Annual, 18 
 
 A Fragment, 19 
 
 The Artist and the Artisan, 19 
 
 Melodrama, 23 
 
 In an Old Book on Leaving School, 21 
 
 Epistle to Laird Easton, 24 
 
 Another to Eastie, 36 
 
 Stanzas of a Communion, 48 
 
 A Little Bird, 52 
 
 "In the Hollow of His Hand," 53 
 
 New York and the Hudson, 54 
 
 vii 
 
Gnienl^ 
 
 From the Spanish, 55 
 
 Art and Nature, 56 
 
 Communions, 56 
 
 My Mother, 58 
 
 The Degenerate, 63 
 
 An Appeal for the Armenians, 64 
 
 A Plowboy Lullaby, 75 
 
 Next Day, 77 
 
 Little Edgar, 78 
 
 Concerning Faces, Snoots, Etc., 79 
 
 Winter, 80 
 
 Summer, 80 
 
 Old Memories, 82 
 
 Bill Somers, 87 
 
 The Diffusion of Learning, 100 
 
 There, There, 'T Will Not be Long, 104 
 
 Written for a Friend, 105 
 
 To a Mother, 105 
 
 Kiss Me Good-Night, 106 
 
 When Winter Comes, 107 
 
 Why Should I Shed One Tear, 108 
 
 With You, Sweet Love, 108 
 
 Roses, 109 
 
 Popular Providence, 110 
 
 At Dim Twilight, 111 
 
 Parted, 112 
 
 Joe Snow, 112 
 
 Fall Roses, 114 
 
 Lean Man's Prejudice, 115 
 
 A Little Boy, 116 
 
 In Cousin Etta's Birthday Book, 117 
 
 Vlll 
 
Eph, 118 
 
 Ode to Gertrude, 119 
 
 A Mother, 121 
 
 A Little Song for Gertrude, 122 
 
 I Love Thee, 123 
 
 Night, 124 
 
 Regret, 124 
 
 Offhand Replies, 125 
 
 "They Cry Unto the Lord in Their Troubles," 
 
 128 
 Pride Doeth, Pride Rueth, 129 
 Duty, 130 
 To My Muse, 130 
 
 A Pear Blossom in Early March, 132 
 An Anonymous Attack, 134 
 Spring, 135 
 To a Windflower, 136 
 "Cuba Libre!" 137 
 March and April, 144 
 May, 144 
 
 Midsummer Night, 160 
 Poor, 161 
 
 The County Fair, 162 
 The Calfie-Cow, 165 
 The Stream, 166 
 My Town, 167 
 The Piggies, 168 
 The Mole, 169 
 
 To Keats, After Reading His Life, 171 
 Marriage, 172 
 Failure, 174 
 
 4 
 
 IX 
 
Last Night, 174 
 
 Little Allegra, 175 
 
 Chickenology, 176 
 
 To Myself, 177 
 
 To My Brother Arthur, 177 
 
 Little Birds, 180 
 
 When We Were Married, 181 
 
 After Hearing a Famous Evangelist, 182 
 
 To My Brother Arthur, Embarking for 
 
 Cuba, 183 
 To Laird Easton, 184 
 Peace, 189 
 My Brother, 191 
 Envoy, 192 
 
AsW 1 fe^s 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 September's sun stole softly on the land, 
 
 Peeped 'tween the crags, and bathed the glittering 
 
 sand, 
 Where, 'neath the cliff, the fishing hamlet lay, 
 In dreamy silence of another day. 
 
 The night's sweet dew, in morn's thin mist set free. 
 Was wafted on the zephyrs out to sea ; 
 Where white-winged ships, against a cloudless sky. 
 Leaned in the breeze, and drifted slowly by. 
 
 From where the spray fell sparkling at their feet. 
 The loving fishwives watched the little fleet. 
 Still, lingering slow along the sobbing shore, 
 Wiped 'way their tears to view the specks once more. 
 
 Soon, from their cheerful huts, their hopeful lays 
 Of Time Eternal, and its brighter days. 
 Stole sweetly on the silence of the morn, 
 And fainted in the breeze the night had borne. 
 
 The village children, fresh from restful sleep. 
 Had scrambled up the rocks, and down the steep. 
 And chased each other on across the sand, 
 Exchanging screams with sea-birds as they ran. 
 1 1 
 
v^u^r 
 
 ^ej 
 
 Still, from their distant play-ground in the shade 
 Of some tall cliff, for drowsy echoes made, 
 Their mirthful voices sweetly rose and fell. 
 And distant sea-birds screamed their sad farewell. 
 
 So dreamed the early morn into the past. 
 That will absorb all earthly time at last ; 
 When all the joys and sorrows of life's day-. 
 Will fade in sleep's forgetfulness away. 
 
 Thus will the Muse of humble poets sing 
 
 Each morn's delights — and each its own will brin^ 
 
 To all true lovers of life's simple charms, 
 
 Till Time and Fate resound their last alarms. 
 
 WATCHING A SHIP AT SEA. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
 
 Here by this peaceful sea, at quiet dawn, 
 
 A little child, in the joy of health, 
 
 I'll plan a life of greatness for myself 
 
 I'll build a mighty ship and sail the seas ! 
 
 Or help the aged to a life of ease. 
 
 I'll build white cities by the ocean's shore ! 
 
 Or journey through the land and help the poor. 
 
 I '11 wed a little girl and live in state ! 
 
 But shall not turn the hungry from my gate. 
 
 And while I walk with Jesus all life long, 
 
 I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
 The morning mists flee fast before the sun. 
 
 2 
 
And life in clearer view before me lies 
 
 Than I had seen through childhood's glorious eyes. 
 
 But in the hideous turmoil of the war 
 
 Of man 'gainst man, in greed of pomp and store, 
 
 I shall not enter ; but with brother's love, 
 
 In harmony with that of Heaven above, 
 
 I '11 have a kindly hand and happy word 
 
 To succor the oppressed, and comfort those who 've 
 
 erred. 
 So, on through serious life with cheerful song, 
 I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
 
 The graver calls of life are now begun. 
 
 For my beloved need the bread of life. 
 
 And I must humbly enter in the strife. 
 
 But Nature for her children will provide, 
 
 If they'll but throw vain fantasy aside, 
 
 And live by product of a fruitful brain. 
 
 Or till the sunny soil, made sweet with wind and rain. 
 
 So I will live, and humbly earn the bread. 
 
 Which then our God will give, as Christ hath said. 
 
 Then when at eve I rest, my labor done, 
 
 I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
 The fruits of eager toil are now my own. 
 My faithful ones, the few that do not sleep 
 Upon the silent hill above the deep. 
 Enjoy the pleasures of abundance given 
 To those who follow the precepts of Heaven. 
 
And I, who've followed in the paths I made 
 In morning life, now lie in noon-life's shade ; 
 And muse with vague regret upon the past, 
 Or contemplate the sweetness of my last ; 
 While still I harvest life's poetic lawn, 
 And dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
 
 Still evening with its train comes stealing on. 
 
 Thy spreading wake laps faintly on the shore, 
 
 And the receding past is heard no more. 
 
 And I, alone heside this quiet sea, 
 
 Where I have dreamed these many years with thee. 
 
 Await the time when God shall call me home. 
 
 To dream forever where no storms shall come. 
 
 But others here, when I at last am gone, 
 
 Will dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 
 
 Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on ; 
 The boundless deep is all thy happy home ; 
 Whose restless bosom holds the ebbing day. 
 That soon, with me, will fade and pass away. 
 When night, that follows on the setting sun, 
 Will lie within the deep as day has done, 
 And, fleeing from the morn, will oft return 
 With rest for souls like me, that watch and yearn. 
 
 Now darkness flows upon the ebbing light : 
 The sea reflects the fast-increasing night. 
 Thy airy sails, like night mist o'er my soul, 
 Speed me away beyond the world's control — 
 
A light ! A liglit ! far on the dim sea-line 
 
 It brightens, broadens, and goes out. Not mine. 
 
 But, though I linger, I shall soon be gone. 
 
 I cannot see. But thou, silent ship, speed on. 
 
 BITTERNESS AND FAITH. 
 I. 
 
 There are no good. Go mount the peaii 
 
 And see life's farther surge. 
 See darkness reeked in horror sneak 
 
 Along the scowling verge. 
 And storms through all like dragons crawl, 
 
 Wild-anxious to emerge. 
 
 Look not for joy in this bleak world, 
 Where thorns guard every rose. 
 
 Where serpents creep through broken sleep 
 In beds of friendly foes ; 
 
 For hideous screams will end thy dreams 
 When Death's wings round thee close. 
 
 For all the world 's an empty glass, 
 
 From which the foolish drink. 
 And o' er their sips they smack their lips, 
 
 And never pause to think, 
 While wise men stand aloof and pass 
 
 Around the knowing wink. 
 5 
 
V 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah, Bitterness, men may be wrong, 
 But they are nearest right 
 
 Who find no fault, but with a song 
 Turn misery to delight. 
 
 And they are least who at their feast 
 Have Ridicule and Spite. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 Blow, blow, breezes, blow! 
 Over the dripping waves we go. 
 Out of the bay and into the dawn. 
 Where the dew lies cool on the ocean lawn, — 
 Oh ! our life 's as free as the vagrant sea — 
 Sing ! who can tell what to-morrow will be? 
 Up with the sky, boys ! Steady, steady, 
 And the dizzy waters spiral and eddy 
 Into the wake as we gurgle along, 
 Wind and waves and bubble and song. 
 Over the sprawling foam we go, — 
 Blow, blow, breezes, blow) 
 
 Away, away to the open sea ! 
 Swift as the gull in the wind are we. 
 Cheerily, cheerily, on we go. 
 With the wet sky drowned in the sea below, — 
 Oh ! we challenge aloud to the mountainous cloud. 
 And away we cut with our gun' ales bowed — 
 Up, up, down, down. 
 
 With a sternward glimpse of the far-off town ; 
 
 6 
 
Hurrily, drowsily, on we fly, 
 With the driving cloud in the whistling sky. 
 Far from the pent-up world are we, 
 Headed out to the open sea. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 Ah, it was dreamy weather. 
 
 The summer sea at evening lay asleep. 
 We sat alone together. 
 
 And heard with beating hearts the long swells creep 
 Along the silent shore, 
 That echoed back our promise, "Evermore." 
 
 A year of nights has flown ; 
 
 And still the sea in nature's bosom sleeps. 
 All yearningly alone 
 
 I listen : and the same cold swell still creeps 
 From that Eternal Shore, 
 But answers me : "No, never; nevermore.'* 
 
 EQUATORIA. 
 
 Here the torrid heaven glitters away 
 To a palm-line, dimly seen, 
 
 Returning again, ruflled now and then, 
 In the lake that glares between. 
 
 Deep, deep, deep 
 
 Is the lurid tropic sky, 
 7 
 
And deeper the green in the smoothe lake's sheen 
 
 Where the languid lilies lie. 
 Far down the skies, 
 
 Where the hot horizon lies, 
 By the low, green neck I can see a speck, 
 Dark, like the smoke from a hurning wreck, 
 
 And a lonely sea-bird cries. 
 
 All glare and dead lies the glassy lake, 
 
 And stark stand the breathless trees. 
 No beast nor bird to be seen or heard : 
 
 No sound from the dying breeze. 
 Hot, hot, hot 
 
 Is the burning tropic sky. 
 All stagnant the green in the poisonous sheen, 
 
 Where the lilies droop and die. 
 Far, far away. 
 
 Like a wild beast of prey. 
 The dark cyclone comes forth alone 
 
 From the verge of the molten day. 
 
 All still and hot lies the gloomy lake, 
 
 Where the lilies gasp for breath; 
 And the great heart-beat of the world of heat 
 
 Is held in the hush of death. 
 All, all around, 
 
 No stir, — no sign of a sound; 
 And the sickly swoon of the wide lagoon. 
 
 And the wide, wide world profound, 
 And the beat, beat, beat, 
 
 Of the merciless, pitiless heat, 
 
And the weird, wild moan of the dark cyclone, 
 Like a plague in a winding sheet, — 
 
 Up from suspense starts the shuddering air, 
 
 And away from the haunted lake, 
 On ghostly wings, like imagined things 
 
 In the lull of a midnight wake. 
 On, on, on 
 
 Comes the panting, groaning cloud. 
 Twisting the lake till its waters break, 
 
 And seethe, and bellow aloud. 
 Night! night! night! 
 
 Oh, God ! what a gloomy sight — 
 The place — the place — Oh, fierce embrace 
 Of the blinding, stifling — Ah, a space. 
 And the sun bursts forth with steaming face 
 On the blessed scene, — God's love — God's grace- 
 Breathe ! while the air is light. 
 
 All fresh and cool flows the laughing lake. 
 
 Bringing the deep blue sky. 
 And peaceful and calm stands the graceful palm. 
 
 Where the wheeling storm-birds cry. 
 Hush ! hush ! hush ! 
 
 Oh, hush to the throne of God ! 
 All scattered the green where the ripples careen, 
 
 Lapping the lily pods. 
 Far, far across. 
 
 Where the sparkling whitecaps toss, 
 White birds of peace from their hidings cease. 
 And on in the glimmering world's decrease 
 
 Goes the wandering albatross. 
 9 
 
SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 Oh, I hear music ! While I hold my breath, 
 
 Listening, afar it seems, 
 As when the strange return of friends from death 
 
 Hangs in the sad uncertainty of dreams. 
 Woo me from sleeping, — rouse me with soft strains 
 
 To sweeter visions, where the enchanted lay 
 Lingers and lingers while the night remains, 
 
 And I may die in tune and float away. 
 Oh, melody of sweet sounds that love to well 
 
 From silence, and live on ! 
 My soul gropes out into the night : thy spell 
 Lures with untruthful echoes that do tell 
 
 Sweeter than truth. I feel the breath of dawn 
 Born of a night of music. Hark ! One swell, — 
 
 And all is silent now, and thou art gone. 
 
 THE DEAD YEAR. 
 
 The year we loved is dead : see where she lies, 
 
 Cold, and still beautiful, in her shroud of snow. 
 The sun, withdrawn behind the moaning skies. 
 
 No more with beaming face sees joy o'erflow. 
 
 The flowers that in his love-glance blushed to blow, 
 Bowed down with sorrow, closed their withered eyes. 
 
 The brook is silent where we loved to go. 
 And, for it hears no sound, the hill no more replies. 
 
 Ah, we remember since that life is flown. 
 
 And through the fields with her no more we rove, 
 
 10 
 
How all the fair young flowers, bereaved and lone, 
 Would sadly watch for some responsive love ; 
 And how they missed the sun's face from above. 
 
 And saw the darkening clouds where he had shone ; 
 And how deep in the wood the mateless dove 
 
 Sighed to the mournful, gathering cold alone. 
 
 Ah, long they listened for that blither note 
 
 Of happy lark, or for the long love strain 
 That sweetened from the sylvan warbler's throat 
 
 To thrill an answer from his mate again. 
 
 Ah, long they listened ; but they harked in vain ; 
 And heard but voices of the forest float 
 
 Out o' er the unheeding sea, and there complain 
 Of death, death, death, — 'till life was death by rote. 
 
 Oft when the stricken sun still slowly crept, 
 
 They watched and waited for his old love-light. 
 Through many a faded day their vigil kept, 
 
 Till storms of icy tears bedimmed their sight. 
 
 Then as the dreary days gave way to lengthened 
 night, 
 And the cold, cheerless hours in silence wept, 
 
 The stalwart trees, in grief, relaxed their might. 
 And gave their leaves to warm the flowers that slept. 
 
 And then by night from out the gloom and chill, 
 Wierd funeral trains of grief-crazed birds sped on. 
 
 Away forever in far clouds, and still 
 
 There followed more when their dark forms were 
 gone. 
 
 11 
 
As^^$ J fe^i 
 
 And through the shivering night the orphan fawn 
 Crouched in the brake beside the querulous rill ; 
 
 Or watched the cold, gray moonlight on the lawn, 
 When the north wind's sorrow swooned, and all was 
 still. 
 
 The year we loved is dead. Come where she lies. 
 
 Cold, and still beautiful, on her couch of snow. 
 Come let us hurry where the brooding skies 
 
 Comfort the sighing winds with kindred woe. 
 
 Come where the frozen brook has ceased to flow, 
 And the cold, voiceless cliff no more replies. 
 
 Come where the lovely year lies dead below, 
 And look beyond the world to Him who never dies. 
 
 FRAGMENTS TO MYSELF. 
 
 When fools reprove thee for a foolish act, 
 
 ~ Be not consoled to think they have not wit ; 
 
 But, clothed in all thQ honest glare of fact. 
 
 Know if thy garb appropriately fit. 
 Perchance, in wisdom of thine own conceit. 
 Thou sittest, an arch-fool, at thy folly's feet. 
 
 A child instructs thee : thy impatient pride 
 Cuts him short off, as if thou comprehend ; 
 
 He learns thy silly weakness, and beside. 
 
 What hast thou gained by ignorance of his end? 
 
 'Twere better far to hear a child advise. 
 
 Than cut him off to seem, thyself, more wise. . 
 
 12 
 
Asides °f fe^S 
 
 If one should ask thee to impart to him 
 Uncommon knowledge, simply aquiesce, 
 
 And humbly fill his question to the brim, 
 Giving the truth in words of gentle stress. 
 
 Impart, and find thy pleasure in the end 
 
 That he who asks is happy to attend. 
 
 Hear all the teachings of the great. 
 
 Ev'n profit by the fool. 
 Toil on, nor stop to imitate. 
 
 Nor bind thyself by rule. 
 In thine own state originate 
 
 A new and better school. 
 
 Be sure your conversation 's such 
 That, talking little, you say much. 
 
 THE CANNON. 
 
 This is the gun whose iron mouth 
 
 Belched shrieking death and loud destruction forth, 
 Tore the fierce vitals from the struggling South, 
 
 And bound it to the North. 
 
 No more around thy starlit throne 
 
 The dead shall lie, the dying w^rithe in pain ; 
 
 Nor where the wild war bugle shall be blown 
 Thy voice be heard again. 
 
 13 
 
Back in that dark and empty cell, 
 
 Where crouched the awful substance of thy wrath, 
 The busy sparrows build their nests and dwell, 
 
 And block the smoothe-worn path. 
 
 Sleep, monster of the stripes and stars ; 
 
 Thy bellowing voice the voice of God hath stilled. 
 Let us forget the memory of old wars ; 
 
 Come ye, and let us build. 
 
 Come let us love, and build, and teach, 
 
 Till white and black shall issue from the past, 
 
 And through the blend of nations we shall reach 
 The peaceful truth at last. 
 
 DREAMING. 
 
 The sky above is clear and blue. 
 The sea is of a softer hue. 
 
 And far out in the mists they meet and hide from 
 view. 
 
 There, whitened in the morning sun, 
 A single sail allures me on 
 
 To dream of happier days, grown sad since they are 
 gone. 
 
 I care not for the heaven that 's told, 
 Of gates of pearl and streets of gold. 
 But just such place to meet my friends when I am old. 
 
 14 
 
DAWN. 
 
 One morn, God's peace was with me, when I strolled 
 
 Across the fields, beside the summer wood. 
 
 High o'er the glistening oaks the gold-tinged clouds 
 
 Clasped hands to welcome forth the blushing dawn ; 
 
 When, from the quiet of that summer morn. 
 
 All nature sang the glory of our God. 
 
 From the bright fields, where flowers laughed with dew, 
 
 The cool, green wood, the brook, and halloed hill — 
 
 All in the freshness of the morning air — 
 
 Yea, from the very soul of all the earth, 
 
 Swelled the high anthem that not men alone, 
 
 But all God's works, do feel a thrill to hear. 
 
 Birds sang till e'en the jay tuned well his note, 
 
 And joined the anthem with the dove. Beneath, 
 
 Sweet robins in unruly choirs filled 
 
 The grove and meadow with their summer song. 
 
 And I, in the spirit of the joyful time. 
 
 Joined soul and voice, and lifting up my praise 
 
 To Him who blessed me with a life so full 
 
 Of sympathy, with all that He has made, 
 
 Clapped hands for joy ! Oh, I was happy then. 
 
 PRIMITIVE THEOLOGY. 
 
 ' ' De hya'bes' is ready ! But de reapahs is few. ' ' 
 Whaffo* you a-sayin' dah's nuffin' to do? 
 Does you s'pose to go loafin* de long wintah thue? 
 Does you 'spec's de Lawd's guine to keep black folks 
 lak you? 
 
 15 
 
Git out on de highways an' fetchin' dem in ! 
 Don' say dat means preachahs ; dat's gittin' too thin. 
 Hyeah's 'nough lazy sinnahs fu' to mek de wu'k spin ! 
 An' dey's only one time, an' dat's now ! So bergin ! 
 
 Hey ! Yon in de gall'ry ! Cain't you leave off awhile? 
 Dis ain' no place fu' you-all youngstahs to smile. 
 Brethern, open yo' eyes ! an' see mile on mile 
 Ob human watah mell'ns 'bout ready to spile ! 
 
 Den tol' me dis ain' no time fu' to wu'k? 
 Dat's all mighty fine fu' you sinnahs dat shirk. 
 But de debil is in you, and dah he will lurk, 
 Twell de all-seein' Lawd gins a wink to his clerk. 
 
 An' he says to his clerk, says'e : Bull' me a fiah ! 
 As high as de highes' cliu'ch steeple an' highah ! 
 'Twell I burn ebry drone right along wiv de liah, 
 Don' keer ef he's preachah, o' deacon, o' squiah ' 
 
 An' den de nex' minute, afo' you kin tell. 
 You'll be chucked in de fiah an' brimstone ob hell! 
 An' when yo' own meat in de cookin' you smell, 
 Dah's de time fu' to holler, an' shoutin' an' yell. 
 
 An' you'll call to de Lawd, an' you'll 'low "Lookee 
 
 hyeah! 
 Eecollec' how I sarbed you an' moved in yo' feah?" 
 An' de debil '11 fork you and 'low wiv a sneah : 
 "Any man dat's got time to spah ortn't to keer." 
 
 Den's when to wa'm up yo' religion an' scream. 
 But all yo' salt watah '11 tu'n into steam. 
 
 16 
 
An' you won' come to, fu' it ain't no dream, 
 
 But de fac's, as dey is in dis hyeah Book — de cream ! 
 
 Now s'pose, on de othah ban', yo an' yo' kin 
 Snatchin' all yo' brethern an' sistern f um sin, — 
 Not stan' roun' de chu'ch do' a-axin' dem in, — 
 Git out on de highways and waggle yo' chin ! 
 
 An' when you's done thue instahcatin' yo' search, 
 An' cram-fill de benches an' cheers in dis chu'ch. 
 You'll be sho' ob yo' wings, an' yo' hyahp, an' yo' 
 
 perch, 
 Fo' de Lawd nevah leave hustlin' man in de lurch. 
 
 An' you'll hyeah de Lawd tell his clerk : "Dem lazy 
 
 mans. 
 What ust ter set on de yarth holdin' dey ban's. 
 Is learnt bettah sense, f'um de way de count stan's. 
 So we'll jes' leave 'em in to de great Promis' Lan's." 
 
 An' den when dat clerk rolls dem bright eyes erbout, 
 An' commences fu' flllin' dem blank tickets out. 
 Dab' 11 be heap plenty time fu' you sinnahs to shout, 
 An' talk 'bout yo' neighbah dat's bein' locked out. 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Please, sister, sit beside my bed, 
 
 And hold my fingers tight ; 
 Please put your arm around my head, 
 
 1 feel so sad to-night. 
 
 2 17 
 
I never feel so happy, dear, 
 As when we had our mamma here. 
 I loved my mamma, Oh, so much. 
 And loved to feel her gentle touch, 
 Like when she used to lay my hair 
 Back from my eyes and kiss me there. 
 And kiss you then. Oh sister dear, ^ 
 I wish we had our mamma here. 
 
 Don't cry, sister, — please don't cry. 
 
 Some day we '11 go up there, 
 Way up to Heaven in the sky, 
 
 ' Cause mamma told me where. 
 When she was sick that 's what she said, 
 When I was staying by her bed. 
 She told me pretty stories, too. 
 About how little flowers grew, 
 And how the birdies have to go 
 In winter ; 'cause she talked so low. 
 And looked at me, and then I cried. 
 And then she kissed me, — and mamma died. 
 
 DEDICATION FOR SCHOOL ANNUAL. 
 
 How school days lengthen out life's youthful Spring, 
 And keep the health that youthful pleasures bring. 
 How we, in thoughtlessness of foolish hours, 
 Sow in life's early field these wilder flowers ; 
 These weeds of idle thought, which, having reaped, 
 And bound in sheaves, we give you now to keep. 
 May they, dead wild flowers in life's sober field. 
 Forever keep the fickle scent they yield. 
 
 18 
 
Asides °f fe«S 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 While I have life, I '11 live to bless those lives 
 That know of mine, by being known for deeds 
 That all will love, and loving, will be happy. 
 By wise activity to leave the world 
 The lovelier for my having tarried in it. 
 This is my aim. I shall apply myself 
 To such pursuits as call my nobler parts 
 To worthy exercise. God give me grace. 
 
 THE ARTIST AND THE ARTISAN : AN ESSAY. 
 
 First Means Prize, Phillips Academy, Andover, 
 1895. 
 
 One word may stand for others, when alone, 
 Which, placed with others, takes some shade or tone ; 
 But, used too often in so many ways, 
 The finer meaning 's lost ; the coarser stays. 
 Thus, vulgar associations have combined. 
 To make our noble theme sound unrefined ; 
 For "artist" means most any artful man. 
 Who, rudely skilled, is called an artisan. 
 'Tis here our object, by a just defense, 
 To throw some light upon the finer sense. 
 
 First, of the artist, born by Heaven's decree, 
 To tell emotions none have felt as he ; 
 Whose lightest thoughts are finer thoughts than ours. 
 And, clothed by him, express resistless powers : 
 Still, through whose deeper musings ever gleams 
 
 19 
 
His chosen light, reflecting all he dreams. 
 
 See where he goes to hail the charms that lie 
 
 In clouds becalmed, or in the wind-swept sky ! 
 
 There, ever rising with his chosen Muse, 
 
 To make immortal what his sonl may choose : 
 
 Forever seeking heights that none attain, 
 
 Soars from the theme that we have tried in vain ; 
 
 And, quitting earthly for ethereal laws, 
 
 Wins from the world a weak, but just, applause. 
 
 Shall we, whose love he earns with works so dear, 
 
 Rate low the man, if he should blunder here? 
 
 If worldly weak, how recompensed to show 
 
 What we of worldly strength might never know. 
 
 Diviner inspirations from above 
 
 Echo to us, from him, diviner love. 
 
 His sigh, or smile, or deeply boisterous laugh. 
 
 Will find in us, who understand not half, 
 
 Some faint response, which in itself shall wake 
 
 Our quivering heart-strings for a nobler sake. 
 
 0' er some strong means he must some mastery 
 gain. 
 Else all these higher flights would be in vain ; 
 But none so poor Ib sent to teach mankind, 
 But God has given to him the proper mind ; 
 Which, rightly trained, may master what it will, 
 As means to greater end than show of skill. 
 So great that end, that, to obscure the means. 
 Is art of art, and merits as it gains. 
 
 Musician, painter, poet, — what the name — 
 By different means will all express the same ; 
 And, though we may not read them as we run, 
 
 20 
 
The two, imagined, may reveal the one. 
 As when breathless Appreciation stands 
 Before the "Angelus," nor understands 
 What it may be in that rude peasant pair 
 Foils his weak speech: — 'tis God keeps silence there. 
 Beneath he reads the poet's simple word : 
 "Still, when the night is come, praise ye the Lord." 
 He listens : — faintly from the distant tower 
 Celestial chimes melt in the holy hour ; 
 The radiant clouds still follow on the sun, 
 And twilight steals across : — the day is done. 
 The artist, to create this charm, employed 
 The simplest symbols, lest it be destroyed : 
 His deeper feelings he did so suggest. 
 That we might see the thought, and feel the rest. 
 But had he wished that lovelier charm to fail, 
 He 'd but to drown it in a skilled detail. 
 For who has taste for overdrawn accounts 
 Of what suggestion had made clear at once ? 
 And who but loves to feel he comprehends 
 The final point before the story ends? 
 Thus, to the portrait of a dearest friend, 
 Well-painted flesh no natural feelings lend : 
 We look for well-remembered traits that lie 
 Drawn in the mouth, or twinkling in the eye ; 
 He who denies us this most fair delight. 
 And seeks to please us merely through our sight, 
 Showing us clearly, what we clearly saw. 
 To show us how precisely he can draw, — 
 Is but an artisan, and, master of his art. 
 May please the mind, but never charm the heart. 
 
 21 
 
The rhetorician may, with skill, define 
 Unwieldy things in but a single line ; 
 And, when the charms are spent, and praises few, 
 Play on his words, and catch with something new. 
 Or, if good style in some great work he sees, 
 He launches forth in that same style to please ; 
 Till lack of finer power soon has shown . 
 The art he tried to copy not his own. 
 For, as 'tis genius does what none can do. 
 The artisan cannot be artist too. 
 Unless, unsuited to his motive here, 
 He mounts, an artist, to his native sphere ; 
 Where, though by training he 's a craftsman still, 
 His motive, changed, is higher now than skill. 
 But both are skilled in the same art to show. 
 This, what he feels, that, what he 's proud to know. 
 As skill was first in rank when art began. 
 The artist first must be an artisan ; 
 But, artist-born, he soon or late will soar. 
 However fettered by his craft before. 
 
 Then let the artisan his mastery tell. 
 That he of greater power may use it well. 
 Then when we drink the joys of sweeter song ; 
 Of deeper truth, that never can be wrong ; 
 Of nobler thoughts, more masterfully told ; 
 Of purer love, that never shall grow old : 
 We '11 crown the heaven-born genius in the skies. 
 And honor him who helped his soul to rise. 
 
 22 
 
Asides i fe«5 
 
 MELODRAMA. 
 
 The glims were doused throughout the house, 
 
 Except the dim footlights. 
 The fiddles whined the tune you '11 find 
 
 Whene'er the villian fights. 
 
 The murderous-toned bass viol groaned, 
 
 Low-voiced and full of rage, 
 When, knives in hand, the robber band 
 
 Sneaked in upon the stage. 
 
 Their bright knives glistened; they paused and listened; 
 
 Then flourished, breathed, and glared. 
 Now puffed and boiled, lunged and recoiled. 
 
 Folded their arms and stared. 
 
 The painted streaks upon their cheeks 
 
 Frightened, repulsed, defied ! 
 Each clenched his fist and scowled and hissed, 
 
 And muttered oaths aside. 
 
 The thunder crashed ! The lightning flashed 
 
 And lighted up the gloom ! 
 They tore their hair in dire despair, 
 
 And bit their teeth at doom. 
 
 Like vicious men, they breathed again, 
 
 And whipped into a rage ! 
 Then, turning round, without a sound. 
 
 They sneaked across the stage. 
 
IN AN OLD BOOK ON LEAVING SCHOOL. 
 
 While grinding through these tattered pages 
 For Charlie, Goat, and other sages, 
 Remember him who now engages 
 
 In what he pleases, 
 Far from their dull scholastic cages 
 
 And brain diseases. 
 
 EPISTLE TO LAIRD EASTON. 
 
 Laird Easton, Flunk, Andover, Mass., 
 Who, on a dog's-eared Latin ass. 
 Prepares to chill the Middle Class 
 
 With one bold stagger: — 
 Say, don't you know you '11 never pass, 
 
 You tough old swagger ? 
 
 You awkward old ungainly, slow, 
 Good-natured, easy, generous flow 
 Of soul, what are you up to ? Ho .! 
 
 Or are you up yet? 
 I don't believe you are, by Joe ! 
 
 But I won't stop yet. 
 
 East ! East ! Get up you snorting beastie ! 
 You mind me of a drunk-fat priestie, 
 Rolled up so careless-like and resty 
 
 Beneath the cover, — 
 Get up ! You hear me? Ho there ! Eastie ! 
 
 That ' s right, turn over. 
 24 
 
East ! East ! You lazy, dark- complected, 
 Eternal snoozer, grin-infected. 
 And always, when awake, expected 
 
 To act the fool, — 
 Get up and get your brains collected ! — 
 
 It 's time for school ! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, thou noble sleeper. 
 Sleep on, and dream of sleep yet deeper. 
 East! East! Look! quick! here goes a creeper 
 
 Straight up your nose ! 
 There, now, get up and rub your weepers, 
 
 And hunt your clo'es. 
 
 Give ear unto my awkward lay. — 
 What 's that you were about to say? 
 You're tired? Why certainly, you jay, 
 
 When were you not tired 
 Since that long, prehistoric day 
 
 When first you got tired? 
 
 Come, East, my dear old patient friend. 
 And if you ' ve got the time to spend, 
 Just prop your eyelids and attend 
 
 To my descriptions. 
 Come, you must hear me to the end, — 
 
 None your conniptions. 
 
 I '11 soon be rhyming at a rate 
 That often gets me in debate, 
 
 25 
 
For wiser folks warn me to wait 
 
 Until I'm older, 
 And, in the meantime, educate 
 
 With some mind-molder. 
 
 But Eastie, I have had enough 
 
 Of this long-faced pedantic bluff, 
 
 With time-dried tongues, and all such stuff, 
 
 So, for awhile, 
 I '11 be contented with my rough, 
 
 Untutored style. 
 
 And why should I be made to climb 
 Head downward through the caves of time, 
 My tired brain groping in the grime 
 
 Of book and bone, 
 While far above, the clear sublime 
 
 Dreams on alone? 
 
 If God made me to tell the tale 
 That lingers in the scented gale, 
 Or lights the fast-receding sail 
 
 Far out at sea, 
 Then sea and meadow, hill and vale, 
 
 Are books for me. 
 
 He who inspired me not to stay. 
 Who hears the music of my lay, 
 Will guide me on my erring way. 
 As I ascend, 
 
 26 
 
Till sweetly at the close of day, 
 My song shall end. 
 
 Who'd bask in Goat's unwholesome graces 
 Must truckle in the proper places ; 
 Not flush with feeling's honest faces, 
 
 But haste to choke 
 With well-forced mirth and strained grimaces 
 
 At every joke. 
 
 And oh, how hard to counterfeit 
 Conviction of a startling hit, 
 When pity for the weakling wit 
 
 Sickens the grin, 
 Till all our face spells ' ' hypocrite ' ' 
 
 From hair to chin. 
 
 The poor, deluded, greasy grind. 
 Who dotes upon a book-stuffed mind, 
 And plugs his Latin till he 's blind 
 
 With brute tenacity, 
 In hearts like these will always find 
 
 Enough capacity. 
 
 But he who lives by inspiration. 
 And seeks a means in education, 
 Instead of a bookworm occupation 
 
 Of deep research, 
 Though abler, knows no approbation 
 
 From school or church. 
 
And so there languished a poor prep, 
 
 Who joked, and read, and laughed, and slept, 
 
 And got his lessons well, except 
 
 When wasting time, 
 Against the English prof's precept, 
 
 In writing rhyme. 
 
 No more that master's keen insight 
 Shall pierce the literary night, 
 And drag his victim forth to light ; 
 
 Mind is dominion ! 
 Behold I exercise my write, 
 
 Nor ask opinion. 
 
 I left. I was uncomprehended 
 
 As for some special life intended, 
 
 And feared my dreams would soon be ended 
 
 With sneering tutors. 
 But I regret that I offended 
 My persecutors. 
 
 But in that grinding anchoret 
 
 I found one friend who loves me yet ; 
 
 Who, when the rest shall all forget 
 
 Their rhyming brother, 
 Will still recall the nights we met, 
 
 And sang together. 
 
 Yet kind old Rubbing, bless his heart, 
 He stood beside me from the start ; 
 
 28 
 
Ak^'f fees 
 
 He '11 not forget, nor dear old Art, 
 He '11 not forget; 
 
 He '11 not forget, God bless his heart, 
 He '11 not forget. 
 
 And what a rare old opportunity 
 To gas about our great community, 
 Where mind and man are poised in imity 
 
 To avoid mistakes, 
 That each, alone, without impunity, 
 
 Forever makes. 
 
 I 'd have our vast, extended park, 
 To ramble in from dawn till dark, 
 Singing with whip-poor-will or lark. 
 
 As the spirit moved me. 
 And home again to a Noah's ark 
 
 Of them that loved me. 
 
 For I could never live alone, 
 
 A hermit king, on any throne ; 
 
 Give me J^oung children, some my own, 
 
 To romp and meet me ; 
 And a loving wife, a rose full-blown. 
 
 To blush and greet me. 
 
 Great artists, too, we'd have around. 
 All moods, from simple to profound ; 
 You, Eastie, uppermost and crowned, 
 My young heart's friend ; 
 
 29 
 
And at your throne of wit, renowned, 
 The World would bend. 
 
 Afield, the laborers would reign, 
 The happy kings of toil's domain. 
 And dress their realms of golden grain, 
 
 Wholesome and scenty. 
 With peaceful slumber for their pain, 
 
 And smiling plenty. 
 
 Sweet wild flowers would blush and blow, 
 Untouched beneath the genial glow, 
 That filtered softly down below 
 
 Through cooling bowers, 
 Or glittered into golden bows 
 
 Through dripping showers. 
 
 There, wild, and free, and unbetrayed. 
 The gentle deer, beneath the shade. 
 Would crop the tender, dewy blade. 
 
 And mildly stare, 
 Feeling no cause to be afraid 
 
 Of hunters there. 
 
 My nature, constant, unconfined, 
 Would long, when heavy-souled, to find 
 A temple, simple, soul-designed. 
 
 Still as the tomb, 
 Where holy thoughts convey the mind 
 
 Beyond the gloom. 
 
 30 
 
Askesf I^e^ 
 
 When full at heart, alone I 'd stray, 
 Hear music swell and die away, 
 And feel the echoes sweetly play 
 
 Back in the glow, 
 And usher out some dying day 
 
 Of long ago. 
 
 At harvest even, when all was still, 
 Hear voices, and far lowing, till 
 The drowsy air had drunk its fill 
 
 Of gentle sounds, 
 And daylight slept beyond the hill, 
 And the low, yellowing moon 'gan swell 
 
 From the wooded grounds. 
 
 A mirror lake, in fairy blue, 
 Winds from my fancy into view ; 
 And far across, it seems that you 
 
 Await the gale, 
 That soon will start and bring you to, 
 
 With leaning sail. 
 
 But circumstances, strange to say. 
 Don't come around in just that way, 
 So I must be content to stay 
 
 Here in the city. 
 And sing my pessimistic lay 
 
 Of scoff and pity. 
 
 So, in the midst of city sin. 
 
 With Dutch and Dago, French and Finn, 
 
 31 
 
All "rushing growlers " out and in, — 
 
 Babel nation ' 
 In roar and rumble I begin 
 
 My occupation. 
 
 The room I 'm writing in is small , 
 
 The children talk, and laugh, and squall ; 
 
 It 's home though, — that 's the best of all — 
 
 So I don't mind it: 
 If there's another charm withal, 
 
 1 fail to find it. 
 
 Four stories up above the ground, 
 You 'd think I couldn't hear a sound ; 
 But I 'd be happy if I found 
 
 One lullful minute. 
 When I might feel a bit profound. 
 
 And make sense in it. 
 
 The roar and rumble grinds and grows, — 
 Car gongs, confusion, — " Po — ta — t-o-e-s ! " 
 The rush of trains, grind organ woes, 
 
 The smell of beer. 
 Loud-rattling trucks, and "Cash old clothes! 
 
 East! do you hear? 
 
 And still the children laugh and sing, 
 Until I set them ciphering : 
 They work a while, until they ring 
 Their tempers up, 
 
 32 
 
/\s\^&$ 1 fe«^ 
 
 Then, muddle-brained, to me they bring 
 Their bitter cup. 
 
 They think I 'm mean to make them work. 
 And tell how Alderman O'Rourke 
 *' Allows his Hennessey to shirk 
 
 All he durn pleases, 
 And lets him play all day in the park, 
 
 Just 'cause he teases." 
 
 But soon they laugh at all that 's said, 
 
 And hit each other on the head, 
 
 And yell and screech like fractious dead 
 
 In the devil's pound ; 
 And all because they know I dread 
 
 The slightest sound. 
 
 They 're children though, and wanton faction 
 Gives them some empty satisfaction ; 
 And if it drives you to distraction. 
 
 So much more fun: 
 Just let them see it in your actions. 
 
 And they '11 keep on. 
 
 Sometimes I sit for hours and pine 
 About this prosy life of mine, 
 As if the world were in combine 
 
 Against my pleasure, 
 Still swearing I can't write a line 
 
 For lack of leisure. 
 
Still, tending to its own affairs, 
 The busy world ignores my cares, 
 And friends are busy, too, with theirs, 
 
 And none of mine, 
 And days pass by me unawares 
 
 Without a line. 
 
 Then of a sudden, something said, 
 Or better, something thought, or read. 
 Sets me a-going in my head 
 
 Like all creation ! 
 Till I come to again, half dead, 
 
 For more vacation. 
 
 And then I mood about my health, 
 And grumble that I have no wealth 
 To trans me from these scenes of filth 
 
 Back to the West ! 
 My trunk has dwindled to a twelfth ! 
 
 I must have rest ! 
 
 But when I'm in the rhyming mood, 
 My poverty, and bachelorhood. 
 Have no effect for bad or good, 
 
 Unless the latter, 
 So I won't loiter here to brood 
 
 About the matter. 
 
 And why repine. East ? Better times 
 Are sure to come, when eager dimes 
 
 34 
 
Will answer to my ready rhymes — 
 And yet, you know me : 
 
 I would not for the pay of crimes 
 Set foot below me. 
 
 Whatever comes, my will is strong. 
 
 I '11 write what suits me, not the throng. 
 
 Let days drag hungrier days along 
 
 Into starvation, 
 I shall not force a single song 
 
 To suit the fashion. 
 
 If what contents me please another. 
 And he would be its foster-father, 
 To print it, unchanged, altogether, 
 
 As I'd direct him, 
 He might imburse me as a brother, 
 
 And I respect him. 
 
 Now in this philosophic fit 
 
 I quite forgot how much I 've writ ; 
 
 But I '11 be through now in a bit, — 
 
 Soon as I finish. 
 ( That sounds like good friend Goddard's wit, 
 
 On the diminish. ) 
 
 But I must twang before I 'm through 
 The strings I used to twang for you, 
 And if it drags like Greek review, 
 Grin, and forbear me : 
 
 35 
 
I must do what I want to do, 
 
 And you must hear me. 
 
 Time ! I declare ! I'm just ahout 
 Run down. I never was right stout. 
 Look at me, East. I have no douht 
 
 I ' ve grown much thinner. 
 I must be sick. I 'm all played out. 
 
 I — I smell my dinner. 
 
 Good-bye ! Good-bye ! You hear me sobbing? 
 My love to Josh and dear old Rubbing, 
 Broad-breasted-brother-Bruce a clubbmg, 
 
 Bless his stretched hide. 
 And — there ! — I feel a kind of throbbing 
 
 In my inside ! 
 
 ANOTHER TO EASTIE. 
 
 Hello Old East ! I span the pen 
 To scribble you some lines again, 
 Though up to date I've no such den 
 
 To warm my zeal. 
 As I 've enlarged on now and then 
 
 As my ideal. 
 
 Imagine, now, we 're out at sea. 
 The natural place for you and me, 
 
And let our destination be 
 
 New York, whimback, 
 
 As strangers, how impatiently 
 We pace the deck. 
 
 For we have read so much concerning 
 The city's culture, art, and learning. 
 That we 've looked on to our sojourning 
 
 For some years past : 
 And now we rise the morrow morning 
 
 To live at last. 
 
 At early morning, o'er the rail 
 
 We lean and watch each gleaming sail, 
 
 And drink the freshness from the gale 
 
 With eager lips. 
 Or wave our handkerchiefs to hail 
 
 The passing ships. 
 
 At evening now the unclean gale 
 Blows round the sun a murky veil ; 
 While many a dark and smoky sail 
 
 Glides slowly by, 
 And distant steamboats moan and wail 
 
 Along the sky. 
 
 Now through the Narrows, past the forts, 
 And in the great bay, lined with ports. 
 Where craft of many shapes and sorts, 
 With solemn speed, 
 
 37 
 
AsLej °i ^ej 
 
 Move swiftly toward each other's thwarts, 
 Yet never heed. 
 
 Look where the hill divides in two, 
 And shows the darkening ocean through. 
 See sails cheer up the gloomy blue, 
 
 Far, far away. 
 Here, lingering, whisper to the view, 
 
 "Farewell, Osea!" 
 
 "Farewell ; but soon shall we return, 
 When trifling pleasures sickening turn, 
 And all our heavy souls shall yearn 
 
 To be with thee ; 
 To see, and hear, and love to learn 
 
 Thy charms, sea ! " 
 
 While still across the rail we lean. 
 In deep communion with the scene, 
 The dark hills slowly intervene ; 
 
 And still the sea 
 Is breaking, breaking, all unseen, 
 
 'Round you and me. 
 
 Still where the red sun closed his eye. 
 And streaked along the glowing sky, 
 The dark clouds catch the rays that fly 
 
 Till all are gone ; 
 And now they watch the daylight die. 
 
 And night come on. 
 
 38 
 
As twilight fades and dies away, 
 The pale moon brightens in the bay, 
 While twinkling stars come out to play 
 
 In the chill night air. 
 And lights come shimmering on their way 
 
 From everywhere. 
 
 See lining all the dark'ning shore. 
 Great ships of commerce, state, and war, 
 Whose thousand naked masts implore. 
 
 With outstretched arms, 
 To join the moonlit clouds that soar 
 
 Beyond the storms. 
 
 And farther back, confused and dense, 
 Dark buildings, squatty or immense. 
 Rear like a giant's mouldering fence 
 
 Against the sky ; 
 And on where deeper glooms commence, 
 
 They blur and die. 
 
 Silent, conspicuous, and grand. 
 Like some ship from a holy land, 
 Moved swiftly by an unseen hand, 
 
 A steamboat, white. 
 Heads seaward from the darkened land. 
 
 Out in the night. 
 
 And now a tug with noise and grind. 
 Its black smoke puffing in the wind, 
 
 39 
 
Ask^3 i ^^$ 
 
 Its train of garbage boats behind, 
 
 Steams out to sea. 
 Crime, fleeing from the enlightened mind 
 
 Of times to be. 
 
 Now naked ships, now wharves are passed 
 On one of these our ropes are cast ; 
 And when the vessel ' s good and fast, 
 
 We go ashore : 
 Our trip is done — New York at last — 
 
 The sea no more. 
 
 Day after day the motley crowd. 
 Tobacco-mouthed and trouble-bowed, 
 The heartless rich, the poor and proud. 
 
 In open fight. 
 Win what they can, foul means allowed, 
 
 If hid from sight. 
 
 The unknown great, the over-rated. 
 The groveller, and the elevated, 
 The sterling worth, the showy plated, 
 
 Healthy or shattered. 
 Like grain and chaff unseparated. 
 
 By Fortune scattered. 
 
 Just watch them as they hurry by, 
 With hollow, dissipated eye. 
 The smart, the dull, the mean, the sly, 
 Children and sires, 
 
 40 
 
All rushing on to gratify 
 
 To-night's desires. 
 
 And many a bar-sponge, soaked and fed, 
 The fat rolls creased beneath his head, 
 His belly like an annexed shed, 
 
 Securely hung, 
 His legs from interference spread. 
 
 Waddles along. 
 
 Year after year they flood their sewers. 
 Until they bloat like German brewers ; 
 And still the sloppy liquor lures. 
 
 And still they follow. 
 Till, human hogs, no pride endures. 
 
 And low they wallow. 
 
 Along the streets you see the fruits 
 
 In homeless, blank-eyed, staggering brutes. 
 
 Gangrened and rotten to the roots 
 
 With drink and crime. 
 Each a sad cancer that pollutes 
 
 The face of Time. 
 
 Sometimes, with stumbling steps careered, 
 A drunken she, bloat-faced and bleared, 
 Her rags with gutter-mud besmeared, 
 
 Her face with gleet, 
 By neither sense nor instinct steered, 
 
 Moves down the street. 
 
 41 
 
Hooting and jeering for the devil's sake, 
 Buckets in hand, the hoodlums take 
 Their noisy way along the wake 
 
 Of human sinning, 
 Nor aught ashamed that there they make 
 
 Their young beginning. 
 
 The sight of * * cops ' ' will still the noise, 
 And awe, but not dispel the boys, 
 Who wait until the big convoys 
 
 Move with their show, 
 Then follow in the keenest joys 
 
 That hoodlums know. 
 
 But not each boy who thus behaves, 
 Will end his life with bawds and knaves, 
 For human honor oftener saves 
 
 Than crime is taught, 
 But such scenes are the early graves 
 
 Of manly thought. 
 
 And children, raised as most are here, 
 Where right and wrong are never clear. 
 And reputation none too dear. 
 
 Soon go astray. 
 Used to its sights, they seldom fear 
 
 The downward way. 
 
 The dissipated crowd at nights, 
 Parading in the glaring lights, 
 
 42 
 
To me the saddest of street sights, 
 Draws no attention. 
 
 So common are the loose delights, 
 Few dare to mention. 
 
 There, brazen in the lewd parade, 
 
 The wanton, once a little maid, 
 
 Still young, perhaps, but soon to fade, 
 
 Refall, corrode. 
 Walks shameless with some renegade 
 
 To Sin's abode. 
 
 Still, girls of every age and size 
 Run on the streets, and compromise 
 What modesty we may surmise 
 
 Was theirs by birth. 
 How many, think you, ever rise 
 
 To any worth? 
 
 And mothers, degenerate in their tastes. 
 Prefer the gratitude of beasts, 
 And all their sick affections waste 
 
 In poodle kissing. 
 And lively children, once displaced, 
 
 Are always missing. 
 
 Whatever window — and they're few — 
 I 'm writing near, and looking through, 
 A brick wall flattens on my view 
 Across the way, 
 
 43 
 
Of patcH design, but "Something new," 
 The owners say. 
 
 Most architects here vaguely clutch 
 
 At any symbol, Greek or Dutch, 
 
 Which, made of tin, won't cost too much, 
 
 But, boldly placed, 
 Will show some master's able touch, 
 
 And owner's taste. 
 
 Old mansions, crumbling to decay, 
 Tell of good taste long passed away. 
 Some, new, foretell that better day 
 
 We long to see, 
 When wealth will cease to buy display. 
 
 Or cease to be. 
 
 Some show with narrow fronts erect, 
 How painfully the architect 
 Designed to draw some good effect 
 
 Out of distortion ; 
 And here and there you may detect 
 
 Some pleasing portion. 
 
 Fantastic office towers rise 
 
 To giddy heights up through the skies, 
 
 All craning for the greatest size 
 
 At the smallest cost, 
 Till ancient, simple Beauty flies. 
 
 And art is lost. 
 
 44 
 
AsUf 
 
 w5 
 
 Monotonously vulgar styles 
 
 Flank the loud streets in rigid piles, 
 
 Blocks upon blocks, miles upon miles, 
 
 League after league. 
 Long, dim, reverberating aisles. 
 
 Thronged with fatigue. 
 
 No native workman drives the nail, 
 And sings along the scaffold rail, 
 Or stops to give that hearty hail 
 
 We love to hear ; 
 But low-browed Latins rush the pail. 
 
 And swig their beer. 
 
 •And ah, they find no flowery homes ; 
 
 But vaulted streets of catacombs. 
 
 Where poor like rats, and rich like gnomes, 
 
 Sleep when they must, 
 Stifled in close, gas-lighted tombs 
 
 Of noise and dust. 
 
 The poor, where churches rise in gloom. 
 Read "Welcome." — Yes, to standing room; 
 For shabby folk should not presume 
 
 To sit in pews : 
 They 're for the rich, who can assume 
 
 The heavy dues. 
 
 The standard being flash and cash. 
 The shabby poor are counted trash ; 
 
 45 
 
So all aspire to "cut a dash," 
 
 Ev'n though they rue it, 
 
 And live on counter lunch and hash 
 So they can do it. 
 
 Most people live here but to show \ 
 
 How rich they are, how much they know. 
 And each thing bought must help to throw 
 
 The light desired ; 
 And when they get it, out they go 
 
 To be admired. 
 
 This wealth, to which they all aspire, 
 Fans at the flames of hot desire. 
 Consumes their virtues in the fire, 
 
 And steels their hearts. 
 Till they love none, and none admire 
 
 Their soulless parts. 
 
 Here you may see the grizzly tramp. 
 With red face like a danger lamp. 
 His matted whiskers hanging damp 
 
 With drying beer : 
 And here you see grim Hunger's cramp. 
 
 And Sorrow's tear. 
 
 Here loll in cabs the pampered wealth ; 
 There families breathe the fumes of filth ; 
 While dread Disease steals on with stealth 
 And saps them both, 
 
 46 
 
AsUs°rfe65 
 
 To make room for another tilth 
 Of ranker growth. 
 
 There is a great deal more to say 
 Of jewelled rich in swell array, 
 Contrasted with their brother clay, — 
 
 Of parks, and drives, 
 Where people rest, and children play. 
 
 And health survives. 
 
 The poor man takes his children there 
 To breathe the pleasant woodland air, — 
 The only profit he may share 
 
 With outraged pride. 
 Who, in hot summer, live somewhere 
 
 By the seaside. 
 
 Poor little children, helpless, weak, — 
 
 Oh Eastie, how can I be meek, 
 
 When from their eyes the hollows speak, 
 
 "Blessed are we," 
 And sunken chest and hungry cheek, 
 
 *'Come unto me." 
 
 Ah, why will men flock to the city. 
 Where Sin is sought, and Filth is witty, 
 And Truth will shock them without pity, 
 
 If they be pure, 
 And they themselves grow harsh and gritty 
 
 Beyond endure. 
 
 47 
 
New York ! bar-room of dissipation ! 
 Ball-room of frenzied fascination ! 
 Eyesore and glory of the nation ! 
 
 With all thy blots,— 
 From all thy beastly degradation 
 
 Are spared some spots. ^ 
 
 Oh for the fields ! the lanes ! the sky ! 
 With fleets of cloud-ships sailing by,— 
 To be a bird ! and fly, and fly, 
 
 0' er lake and river, 
 Away, away, until I die ! 
 
 And on forever. 
 
 STANZAS OF A COMMUNION. 
 
 Almighty God, in gratitude I come, 
 Though frail of thought, and dumb. 
 Craving that mercy shown 
 
 Through all these years when I have walked alone. 
 Though long ungrateful, now before Thy throne, 
 Such gratitude I own. 
 As only Thou, God, can understand. 
 Take Thou my erring hand 
 
 Aid lead me to the light when darkness gathers 'round 
 the land. 
 
 Thou knoweejt the difference between life and creed. 
 Doctrine is but a weed. 
 That winds itself among 
 
 48 
 
AsLes 1 I^e^ 
 
 The strings of reason, delicately strung. 
 
 Thou knowest their discord with my pen and tongue 
 
 In all the songs I 've sung. 
 
 But now my faith is in the coming years ; 
 
 And gladly, without tears, 
 
 I bid farewell to gloomy creeds that justified my fears. 
 
 Why did I stay to reason with mute Fate, 
 Till fears, fast growing great. 
 First darkened hope, then faith? 
 I found me on my way to meet sad Death, 
 With power, but little will, to draw the breath 
 I scarce preferred to death. 
 But now my faith is in the coming years, 
 When kindness, and not jeers, 
 Shall wean us from the subtle creeds that designate 
 God's heirs. 
 
 Not through these tedious years have I alone 
 Stood pondering at Thy throne; 
 Nor in the growing gloom 
 That fast devoured the darkness of my doom 
 Have I alone longed for some hope to loom 
 Out of my dead hope's tomb. 
 But now my faith is in the coming years; 
 The glad, millennial years ; 
 
 When men shall see how wrong it was to circumscribe 
 their prayers. 
 
 Why will men tell me I am cursed with doubt? 
 Though thousands figure out 
 
That Thou art less than Thine, 
 Crowds cannot make fictitious wrath divine. 
 Thou art still God ; and no man should assign 
 Thy limits, Lord, nor mine. 
 Let me have patience. In the coming years 
 The darkness disappears. 
 
 And they who live in those great days shall not be 
 vexed with fears. 
 
 Blessed are they who never question why, 
 But hope that by and by, 
 When their hard day is done, 
 And they lie down in peace at set of sun, 
 On the bright morrow they shall meet with one 
 They loved, but who is gone. 
 For ah, they know that in the coming years 
 There shall be no more tears. 
 And they shall see Thy kind, sweet face, and Thy 
 home shall be theirs. 
 
 Then let me not in vain conceit presume 
 To reason out my doom, 
 More than to idly scan 
 The thousand different destinies of man ; 
 For since the course of time with Thee began. 
 Thou hast obscured Thy plan. 
 That we might live in hope, and humbly share, 
 Each as his strength can bear, 
 The burden of misfortune with the least of its 
 despair. 
 
 50 
 
So is my lot the lot of all mankind. 
 
 And we, though future-blind, 
 
 Paint pictures of the day 
 
 It pleases us to feel not. far away. 
 
 So let me live that while I watch and pray, 
 
 I cheer the long delay ; 
 
 And should joy never come to me below, 
 
 Give me Thy peace to know 
 
 That in the Great Hereafter I shall find it where I go. 
 
 Thou knowest it all ; Oh why should I rehearse 
 Thus, in my humble verse, 
 Thy goodness, gracious Lord? 
 For not in my poor language is the word 
 That can express to Thee what Thou hast heard 
 Deep in my silence stirred. 
 
 Thou knowest my feelings best, for Thou dost bring 
 This very song I sing 
 
 Out of the fullness of my soul, Oh Thou my Lord, my 
 King. 
 
 So I commit my future life to Thee ; 
 And though I cannot see. 
 Yet will I always trust 
 
 That Thou wilt lead me where Thou thinkest just. 
 And when at last I leave here, as I must. 
 May men revere my dust, 
 And speak with charity of him whose days. 
 Though spent in these strange ways, 
 Yet grew a blessing to the world because he sang Thy 
 praise. 
 
 61 
 
A LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 Poor little eyes, look not so scared, 
 
 I 'm not the fiend that peeped and glared 
 
 Along the sights as he prepared 
 
 To end thy song. ^ 
 
 He shall not come now, little bird, 
 
 To do thee farther wrong. 
 
 Down where the trees stand gold and gray 
 Against the lingering grief of day, 
 He takes his gun and sneaks away 
 
 Into the woods, 
 Like some scared thief who dares not stay 
 
 To claim his goods. 
 
 There, there, I know pain racks thy breast. 
 And Death knocks hard to be thy guest, 
 But soon shall come a happier rest 
 
 On some sweet shore. 
 Where beasts, nor men, nor Death molest 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 There, it is over ; seek thy home. 
 Go, blameless spirit of the dumb. 
 And I shall hear thee when I come, 
 
 And thou shalt know 
 That he who ached to help thee some 
 
 Was not thy foe. 
 
 And so I place thee in the ground, 
 Where thy poor, bleeding form I found, 
 52 
 
nAskes °f fees 
 
 And build o'er thee a little mound 
 
 Of silent clay, 
 And plant some drooping flowers around, 
 
 And go away. 
 
 Oh Thou Who gave the little birds, 
 Whose songs are sweeter than our words. 
 Teach me such humble, simple chords 
 
 Of modest thought. 
 That in the lessons life affords 
 
 I learn all that I ought. 
 
 "IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND." 
 
 Here let me linger by the wild seashore, 
 Alone with Thee, to Whom the mighty roar 
 Sounded Thy praises through the ages past. 
 Proclaims them still, and will proclaim at last. 
 Now, at Thy mute, unquestionable will, 
 The deep gloom gathers, and the winds are still; 
 And all the fearful energies of space 
 Draw up their chariots for the mighty race. 
 Silent they roll along the scowling heaven : 
 Now breathless wait till Thy command be given. 
 The frightened sea-birds, screaming up the bay. 
 Seek shelter where their echoes died away. 
 Still, wide-expanding, rolls the mighty sea. 
 Its thousand voices still proclaiming Thee. 
 Hushed is the world, — now balmy breezes blow, 
 Faintly at first, but gathering as they go. 
 
 53 
 
A distant rumbling, awful and profound, 
 Dies far away, and stills the world around. 
 Now while the last reverberations die 
 Along the vaulted windows of the sky, 
 The heavens crack ! forth from the fissures fly 
 Illumined streaks, and kindle all the sky ! ^ 
 The winds increase. With every flaming lance 
 The heavens rattle and the glooms advance. 
 Faster and faster down the quaking course 
 The tempests thunder with increasing force. 
 Louder and louder roar the foaming waves, 
 The lightning flashes and the tumult raves. 
 Now torrents deluge all the flooded scene, 
 And deep the muffled thunder rolls between. 
 Across the ravaged land the lightnings spread, 
 Trees stand an instant, and again are hid. 
 The rain, deserting, follows with the wind : 
 It hurries on and leaves the flood behind ; 
 Yet still it sprinkles, slower still, and slow. 
 And swollen torrents seek the sea below ; 
 While puffing winds, all out of breath, appear, 
 With clouds and sunshine bringing up the rear. 
 
 NEW YORK AND THE HUDSON. 
 
 Hail ! mighty Tomb, once more dull morning breaks 
 
 Upon the stupor of a million souls. 
 Ah, lonely city, my impatience aches 
 
 To run from thee beyond the farthest poles. 
 My footsteps echo down thy stony streets, 
 
 54 
 
"Farewell, farewell," they say, and my heart beats. 
 Hail ! mighty River. Lo, from where I stand. 
 
 On the high point of thy proud Palisades, 
 I see thy winding bosom, still and grand, 
 
 Flow far away in morning mists and shades ; 
 Where quiet distance dreams in purple glades, 
 
 And spirit sails suggest that ever on 
 The world grows brighter as the future fades. 
 
 Farewell, no charms can hold me, — I am gone 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
 I. 
 
 And then there appeared in her eyes a tear. 
 At my lips a phrase of pardon. 
 
 But her eyes were dried by cruel Pride, 
 And my lips still held their burden. 
 
 I go my way, she hers. 
 
 But love is long and deep. 
 "Oh why," I say, "did I pause that day?' 
 
 And she, "Why did I not weep?" 
 
 II. 
 
 For a look, a world. 
 
 For a smile, a heaven. 
 For a kiss, I know not what. 
 
 But were it mine, 'twere given. 
 
 55 
 
III. 
 
 Sighs return to the air and are not. 
 
 Back to the sea the salt tears flow. 
 But tell me, woman, when love is forgot, 
 
 Where does it go ? 
 
 ART AND NATURE. 
 
 Unnerved one day, and sad and sick at heart, 
 
 I snatched my hat and sought the open air. 
 In vain I 'd racked the last resource of art 
 
 To tell in verse the depth of some despair; 
 Swiftly I walked, I cared not why nor where ; 
 
 And as I went, tore in a thousand bits 
 The worthless remnant of the rhymed affair 
 
 That cost my nerves, and overtaxed my wits. 
 
 "Ah me," I thought, "where are the benefits?"" 
 The sun went down. The stars in silence came. 
 
 And looked at me ; and it was dark and still. 
 I could just see the delicate, slender flame 
 
 Of the new moon, retiring o' er the hill, 
 
 I thought of God ; and all was dark and still. 
 
 COMMUNIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou Who canst make me what I most would be, 
 I love to consecrate my lines to Thee, 
 
 56 
 
I love to praise Thee, — Oh, to sing Thy praise 
 In worthy manhood, and in gentle ways, 
 Be half my life; — the other half to do 
 The greatest good that Thou shalt turn me to. 
 Though cold the crowd, and hard to entertain, 
 The good may hear, the wise will not complain. 
 There waits some sympathy for every cause, 
 Most for the just, who work without applause. 
 
 II. 
 
 Almighty God, Thou glorious King of kings. 
 Eternal Ruler of unnumbered worlds, 
 That through vast ages in yon pathless heaven 
 Pursue their awful course in harmony! 
 Oh wondrous Being, God of every race, 
 To whom a million souls this moment look 
 With sweet, confiding hope, — look Thou on me. 
 Stretch forth Thy hand, Oh God of love, and here, 
 While evening shades prevail, and deeper gloom 
 Steals on the world, speak to my waiting soul. 
 
 He Who provides for little birds, 
 
 And gives them tongues to sing, 
 Who spreads the grass for helpless herds, 
 
 And shades the cooling spring, 
 He in His love will not forget 
 
 His children must be fed. 
 And when our board with thanks is set, 
 
 Will grant our daily bread. 
 57 
 
MY MOTHER. 
 
 Child of the wind, I passed my early days 
 
 In solitary strolls and sweet content. 
 
 Well known to me were all sequestered ways, 
 
 Where I might go and not feel indolent. 
 
 The world was new, and all its wide extent 
 
 An open hook, whose leaves were ever turning. 
 • The more I saw, the farther on I went, 
 
 Till, vexed with thoughts and premature discerning, 
 Content gave way too soon to strong desire for learning. 
 
 Brooks learned to know me, and the modest flowers 
 Hid in the grass as I passed their habitude. 
 And in green thickets, cool with secret bowers, 
 I crept and watched the catbird's hungry brood. 
 And oft in depths of woodland solitude. 
 Where towered the trees like giants o' er my head, 
 I stopped and listened, fearful to intrude 
 On the hushed slumbers of the ancient dead, 
 Of whose wild deeds and myths I, like a boy, had read. 
 
 Out nutting all alone I sometimes heard 
 Quick rustling in the autumn leaves around, 
 Caused by some busy squirrel, or songless bird. 
 Or frost-bit nut in dropping to the ground. 
 Instinctively I turned whence came the sound. 
 And something moved behind me — two — and three, 
 Until I shuddered, and looked all around, 
 Expecting something from behind each tree 
 To peep with grinning face, and poke sly fun at me. 
 
 58 
 
I dreamed of greatness ; and each next success 
 Lifted me up, and set my aim the higher, 
 I schooled, reschooled, but in the practic mess 
 Lost time, and poise, and half my former fire. 
 My teachers taught me I must not aspire. 
 But dig, that I might some day earn, and make. 
 Who, when I left their deep scholastic mire. 
 To sing and study for pure pleasure's sake, 
 Misunderstood me for a worthless rhyming rake. 
 
 There comes a time when we must lose our friends, 
 Or try their friendship ; and when I was grown 
 Vexed with advice that ridiculed my ends, 
 I left their ruts for highways of my own. 
 One withering flower I loved, but she was gone. 
 She who was always patient, even with me. 
 My mother, oh my mother, — how alone — 
 How sad and lonely when I long for thee. 
 And think of all the weary years that yet must be. 
 
 I had a dream last night, and even now 
 My mind refuses to be reconciled. 
 'Tis so confused, I cannot tell just how. 
 But seems I was at first a little child. 
 The day was just like this — so calm and mild 
 It seemed some special blessing in the land. 
 My mother came and kissed me, and she smiled 
 As on we walked together, hand in hand. 
 And spake no words, yet seemed to understand. 
 
 She led me on, and when there came sharp stones 
 Took me in arms, but seemed to walk with pain ; 
 
 59 
 
AsW ''f i^«i$ 
 
 For in her breast I felt the stifled groans, 
 Until she stood me in the clear again. 
 And then we came where trees were dark with rain, 
 And seemed to me I 'd been that way before. 
 But long before the day began to wane 
 My little feet were very tired and sore, i 
 
 And so she took me in her arms once more. 
 
 The grumbling sky grew black, and frightful forms 
 Loomed in the lightning flashes, and were gone. 
 They seize my head and hurl me through the storms; 
 And round I whirl through space, and on, and on — 
 Stop — stop me — — ! Still rolling on, and on. 
 Past clanging spheres and worlds of wild-eyed dead, 
 Till, black as death, eternal midnights yawn — 
 I plunge — I strike — : beside my whirling bed 
 My mother, leaning, soothes my fevered head. 
 
 I must have fallen asleep once more, and dreamed ; 
 For still I heard the rolling worlds and stars. 
 Still growing fainter in my ears, it seemed, 
 Like midnight rushing of the distant cars ; 
 Now singing like a thousand soft guitars. 
 Faint, and more faint, till far away, methought, 
 I heard the tinkling of the tiny stars. 
 That danced in dazzling millions as they wrought, 
 Through ringing stillness, those faint sounds I caught. 
 
 And then it seemed I heard my mother sing. 
 Like some sweet angel voice, and far away. 
 About the little bird that came in Spring, 
 
 60 
 
And sang so sweetly at the dawn of day. 
 And when the last sad accents died, I lay 
 Weeping, to think my little bird had flown. 
 Again that voice from Heaven seemed to say : 
 "Poor mamma's little bird will soon be grown, 
 To fly away, and leave her all alone." 
 
 "We stood indoors and watched the busy rain, — 
 I and my sister and our baby brother. 
 It crept so sadly down the window pane, 
 That as in love we drew us close together, 
 And put our little arms round one another, 
 My sister leaned her head on mine and wept. 
 And then a door was opened, and my motjier 
 Lay in a dark sick-room where watch was kept ; 
 And solemn women whispered that she slept. 
 
 This changed ; and the scared darkness seemed to 
 
 cower 
 Behind the black, wet trees that dripped between. 
 And the warm sun burst through the misty shower. 
 That fell like spray upon the sparkling scene. 
 Another shift : no windows intervene, 
 And it was later morning, and so bright 
 That little birds chirped loudly from the green. 
 And butterflies were fluttering in the light. 
 They flew, I flew, time flew, and it was night. 
 
 And winding paths turned off" in all directions. 
 Some disappeared in scrambling crowds and mire, 
 
 61 
 
And some seemed lost in misty recollections, 
 That passed them by on grounds but little higher ; 
 Where loomed dim shapes of consequences dire, 
 That beckoned me to follow, and then hid. 
 And peeped so at me with their eyes of fire 
 That though I felt my inner voice forbid, ' 
 I stepped the slippery path, and would have slid. 
 
 Then supperless to bed ; but not to sleeping ; 
 For soon that well-known footstep on the stair : 
 My mother came, her sweet face wet with weeping, 
 And spread her bounty on the bedroom chair. 
 Ah, many a time I ate my supper there. 
 And told of all the wondrous things I 'd seen, 
 Exaggerating how, and when, and where, 
 V/ith all the license of a bard serene. 
 And bites and swallows choked like interludes 
 between. 
 
 Her grateful eyes no more shall meet my own 
 With glad approval and maternal pride. 
 Through weary life I take my way alone, 
 And try so hard to feel well satisfied ; 
 But life is oh so long, the world so wide, 
 That though in dreams I see her o'er and o'er, 
 When shall I turn me from life's sad seaside, 
 And meet my mother on that farther shore. 
 Where I may be with her, at rest forevermore. 
 
 62 
 
THE DEGENERATE. 
 
 They 's no nse a-talkin', us Hoosiers is green. 
 
 What we lack is the citified knack 
 Of bein' real wicked without bein' mean. 
 
 I jack ! I know fer a fac'. 
 Ef you'd only a-saw all the doins' I seen 
 At the opries, et cetery, you 'd ketch whut I mean. 
 An' fellers, I swan ! ef my pile wuzn't lean, 
 
 By crack ! I'd wanto go back. 
 
 The wimmun wuz rigged jest to worry the min. 
 
 My — oh ! but wuzn't they though ! 
 With their fancy silk corsets an' perty white skin, 
 
 Jest as low as they dast fer to show. 
 Did I look? Course I looked. Turn your head ef you 
 
 kin, 
 Shet your eyes an' cote Scripcher, an' say it's a sin, 
 But the first thing you know you 're a-lookin' agin. 
 
 Can't go agin natcher you know. 
 
 I seen Thingabobski, too, one night — 
 
 I sware ! you 'd ort-a-ben there. 
 Folks says he 's a wonder, but that ain't quite 
 
 No-where near to compare. 
 I wouldn't a-minded his play in' a mite. 
 But I see right away the man wuzn't right; — 
 Why I never in all my life see sech a sight — 
 
 I dee-clare ! he wuz' nuthin' but hair. 
 
 The people clapped hands an' waited a bit. 
 An' a whole gang got up an' sang. 
 
An' then this hyere feller fell into a fit. — 
 
 Gee — whang — lippitty — bang ! 
 Folks got so excited they couldn't sit; 
 An' I got up, an' ef I didn't git! 
 An' I '11 bet you that idjut 's a-goin' it yit 
 
 With his gol-dang pi-anner herangue. ' 
 
 It strikes me these musical folks, as a rule, 
 
 Takin' 'um jes' as they come 
 The whole world over, is mostly a fool, — 
 
 Clean plum daffy, I gum. 
 Putt a hairy I-talyern on a pi-anner stool 
 To playin' them toons they call icicle school, 
 An' they rolls their eyes round like a sun-struck 
 mule. 
 
 An' yit some can't fiddle ner drum. 
 
 AN APPEAL FOR THE ARMENIANS. 
 
 Long I 've looked in trust to England to espouse the 
 
 Christian cause. 
 Vainly hopeful of the time to sing her well-deserved 
 
 applause. 
 All the world has watched and waited. Christendom 
 
 has hoped in vain. 
 Still the daily news of slaughter swells the number of 
 
 the slain. 
 Every day a band of martyrs from an old and honored 
 
 race ; 
 
 64 
 
Every day before all Europe grows the mountain of 
 
 disgrace. 
 Fifty thousand helpless Christians slain by order of one 
 
 man, 
 For they chose the Holy Bible to the blood-stained 
 
 Alkoran. 
 Thousands, suffering from starvation, shiver round the 
 
 crowded fire, 
 Silent, watchful every minute, lest they wake the 
 
 sultan's ire ; 
 While the generous "Western World outside stands 
 
 knocking at the door, 
 With a wealth of food and clothing in her ships along 
 
 the shore. 
 But their king refuses entrance as he wipes the bloody 
 
 knife. 
 And, before her dying parents, gives the little child 
 
 to wife. 
 And he laughs in cold derision at the pleadings of the 
 
 world, 
 Where the jealousy of nations keeps the flags of battle 
 
 furled. 
 For the tyrant of the many wives enjoys the sounds 
 
 he hears, 
 Glad to gratify his lusts, and proud to move the world 
 
 to tears. 
 
 Oh thou patient, blameless people, many a heart this 
 
 side the sea 
 Eises from the daily pulse to beat in sympathy with 
 
 thee. 
 
 s 65 
 
Many a husband feels the anguish, many a mother 
 
 holds her breath, 
 Beading of thy wives and daughters forced to horrors 
 
 worse than death. 
 And they see thy sacred homes to dens of violation 
 
 turned, i 
 
 Where the shrines of thy devoted love are shamed to 
 
 death, and burned. 
 While around thee crowd the nations, big with dignity 
 
 of state, 
 Striving with a heathen monarch for the honors of 
 
 debate. 
 Jealous, watchful of each other, see them bow and 
 
 scrape with care : 
 Fearful of the secret dagger ; quick to use it when 
 
 they dare. 
 Verged on righteous war they argue, till they force 
 
 him to explain. 
 When, their mission half accomplished, see them strut 
 
 back home again. 
 They would help thee, so they tell us, but none dares 
 
 when all object; 
 And thy pleadings for protection but insure thee their 
 
 neglect. 
 So they leave thee with his promise ; but no sooner 
 
 are they gone. 
 Than he pays thy persecutors, and the bloody Vvrork 
 
 goes on. 
 Helpless in the hands of heathen ; left by Christians 
 
 to thy cares ; 
 For diplomacy itself has failed, and 'tis no fault of 
 
 theirs. 
 
Friends of such, whate'er your station, God shall 
 
 some day try your creed, 
 And your self-control shall choke you when yo\ir 
 
 heart comes home to bleed. 
 You shall reason to your own content when He shall 
 
 ask you why, 
 In the ready hour of action, vou were waiting idly 
 
 by- 
 
 Would you, if you saw a man assault your wife, or 
 
 kill your cat, 
 Pause in both alike to argue, like a well-bred 
 
 diplomat? 
 Would you then, for sake of friendship with the mighty 
 
 man you fear. 
 Make a virtue of your patience, and pretend you did 
 
 not hear? 
 Who shall dare be diplomatic when a woman cries for 
 
 help. 
 Shall be scorned of men forever, lower than the lowest 
 
 whelp : 
 Doomed by Truth to shame eternal, he shall shine 
 
 with bloody Turks, 
 Where the blackest page in history holds his diplo- 
 matic works. 
 
 Shame, oh shame, ye powers of Europe, on your 
 
 hypocritic state ! 
 You have homage for the mighty ; for the weak yon 
 
 have but hate; 
 Yet you call your countries Christian, fighting for the 
 
 Martyr's cross: 
 
 67 
 
Boil you down to Christ's religion, and behold the 
 
 princely dross. 
 Are you civilized as nations ? do you show it in your 
 
 deeds, 
 While you watch your brothers butchered by these 
 
 systematic breeds ? ' 
 
 What the use of modern warfare, power and pride of 
 
 kings' command, 
 When full fifty thousand Christians perish by a single 
 
 hand? 
 Where that old and mighty nation now, that boasts a 
 
 power supreme? 
 Is adoption of the helpless not an item of her scheme ? 
 No, alas, the poor Armenians have no wealth of daz- 
 zling store. 
 To effect that strange decorum, sold so many times 
 
 before. 
 Theirs is not the rich East Indies, tempting to the 
 
 British greed ; 
 If it were, some page in history long had held a 
 
 British deed. 
 Theirs no wealth of minor countries, to be watched as 
 
 soon as found ; 
 If it were, long years of mortgage now had Anglicized 
 
 the ground. 
 Theirs no mines of Venezuela, hardly known to local 
 
 fame, 
 Ere the bafflers of the sunset move their boundary line 
 
 to claim ; 
 Where, no sooner other mines are found beyond the 
 
 bounding hill, 
 
 68 
 
,AsW°f fees 
 
 Than the all-begrudging nation moves her limits 
 
 farther still. 
 Then she fights if necessary, but in cases like this 
 
 one, 
 Stops at show of stately wisdom, and declares her 
 
 duty done. 
 From the taking of her island, to the charging of the 
 
 Boer, 
 This, the mightiest state in history, never fought a 
 
 righteous war; 
 Where the right was half the battle, and a trust in 
 
 God the rest, 
 And they won, none could remember how, but God 
 
 knew what was best. 
 Oh thou proud and boastful people, vain of e' en thine 
 
 empty pride ; 
 Self-made lords of half the world, and coveters of all 
 
 beside; 
 You who place the heads of families, unimproved from 
 
 age to age, 
 O'er the freedom of your manhood, to be heard above 
 
 the sage : 
 You, to whom had been the glory, now to you the 
 
 just disgrace ; 
 You who had the power to save them, turn, oh turn 
 
 and hide your face. 
 You will force the honest settler from the home himself 
 
 has made, 
 But you dare not help a people with their monarch's 
 
 debts unpaid. 
 
AsWs °f fees 
 
 Would to God some manly feeling stirred a statesman, 
 or a king, 
 
 Who, despite the threats of Russia, dares to do the 
 manly thing ! 
 
 Why should Russia, more than Turkey — any half-bar- 
 baric state — 
 
 In the face of such as England still control Armenia's 
 fate? 
 
 Is her brutal exile system too monotonous to bear, 
 
 That she joins her force with Turkey for a new enjoy- 
 ment there? 
 
 He who holds in trust the power, and permits this 
 shameful work, 
 
 Will be held to task through centuries for a coward, 
 and a shirk. 
 
 For the God who strives to teach us by the task that 
 must be done, 
 
 Sends the man ordained to do it, as He sent His mar- 
 tyred Son ; 
 
 As He sent our country's father to reward our 
 righteousness, 
 
 Lincoln in the time of trouble, Hamilton in time of 
 peace. 
 
 He, the lofty man of genius who shall rise above the 
 clod 
 
 And perform the will of Heaven, shall be deemed a 
 son of God. — 
 
 Shall be looked upon as a chosen for the duties of the 
 day, 
 
 And his name be held in reverence when his soul has 
 passed away. 
 
 70 
 
Ob whoe'er ye be that bear Him, wbetber bigb in 
 
 power or no ; 
 Ye wbo from tbe tbrones of Europe view the modest 
 
 world below ; 
 Ye wbo feel tbe man witbin you struggling to assert 
 
 tbe rigbt : 
 Marsbal on tbe plains of justice, and in name of God 
 
 unite ! 
 Witb one motive fixed in Heaven, that forgets all 
 
 private gain. 
 Let us do His will AVbo sent us, tbat He send us not 
 
 in vain. 
 
 Y^e wbo, great in power by nature, occupy our seats 
 
 of state, 
 Sbow us wby we sent you tbitber ; cease, ob cease tbe 
 
 long debate. 
 Every boy we send to college learns to use tbe pom- 
 pous pbrase : 
 Isot to sucb, but men of action, comes tbe everlasting 
 
 praise. 
 Y'ou bave feebly recommended, in sucb tones as none 
 
 will beed, 
 Tbat tbey take decisive action, w^ben tbey 're ready to 
 
 proceed ; 
 But is tbat tbe tone for freemen, wbo, a montb or two 
 
 ago, 
 Sided witb a weaker country, and declared tbe strong 
 
 tbeir foe ? 
 Ob my people, friends of freedom, can we not by 
 
 strength of voice 
 
 71 
 
Shame the cowardice of England till her conscience 
 
 leaves no choice? 
 Till she must neglect her interests, and remembering 
 
 God's alone, 
 In the face of all the Eussians hurl the tyrant from 
 
 the throne? 
 Can we not, oh ye my people, if she choose the 
 
 righteous course, 
 Offer in God's name to help her to the limit of our force? 
 Oh consider but the helpless, what delay to them must 
 
 cost. 
 If we shed our blood to help them, surely more is 
 
 gained than lost. 
 There is room for bolder action ere we reach the end 
 
 of sense, 
 And the powers will have to hear us when we leave 
 
 them no defense. 
 If you argue, use expressions that convey the thoughts 
 
 you mean ; 
 Not expand yourselves in pompous clause, with cour- 
 tesies between. 
 You may yet redeem-your standing in the sight of God 
 
 and man. 
 But the weeks are lost in talking, and 'tis time the 
 
 work began. 
 May be at this very moment, while we speak the 
 
 awful words. 
 Some one sees his helpless sweetheart ravished by the 
 
 heartless Kurds: 
 Fiercely now he draws to help her, struggling, calling 
 
 on her name : — 
 
 72 
 
Bound, Oh God ! secure and helpless, he must see her 
 
 forced to shame ! 
 Grind his teeth in frantic frenzy as he hurls the spiteful 
 
 curse ! 
 But the rising flames of passion but consume his soul 
 
 the worse. 
 Prone he falls upon his temples ; digs his fingers in his 
 
 flesh ; 
 Cries aloud to Christ for mercy, tearing wildly at the 
 
 lash; 
 And the boiling blood to issue from each hot and 
 
 swollen vein, 
 Rushes throbbing through the channels to the flood- 
 gates of his brain ; 
 Where the tumult of his being is the only sound he 
 
 hears. 
 Like the noisy winds of heaven rushing through his 
 
 empty ears. 
 Round and round his bulging eyeballs wildly swims 
 
 the sick'ning sight; 
 Fainter grow the nerve convulsions ; darker, darker 
 
 grows the night : 
 Quick the sound of loud explosion runs a quiver 
 
 through his frame. 
 And he gasps for breath to answer as he hears her call 
 
 his name. 
 But the heavy world is sinking through the awful 
 
 depths of space ; 
 And he feels the light of Heaven shining on his up- 
 turned face ; 
 
 73 
 
Sees the gates of Heaven open ; hears the angel voices 
 
 ring, — 
 Lo, the hallowed band of martyrs, Christ Himself, and 
 
 God the King ! 
 And he takes his place among them, with his loved 
 
 ones by his side, 
 Where, in robes of simple whiteness, shines his pure 
 
 and spotless bride. 
 Vacant places wait aronnd him for the martyrs that 
 
 shall fall, — 
 Far beneath, in outer darkness, burns the writing on 
 
 the wall. 
 Slowly fades the scene beneath him, like a dream of 
 
 long ago. 
 And he sees the peaceful Jordan, where the flowers 
 
 eternal grow. 
 Softly now the sounds of music, wafted from celestial 
 
 choirs, 
 Wander through the hush of Heaven, with the swells 
 
 of golden lyres ; 
 And the bliss of life eternal, where all sorrows pass 
 
 away, 
 Has absorbed the past and future in one everlasting 
 
 day. 
 
 God protect the poor Armenians, if my hurried song 
 shall fail 
 
 To arouse one friend of freedom on the bloody Turkish 
 trail. 
 
 Oh that still among our people were the bards of yes- 
 terday, 
 
 74 
 
Ask f fees 
 
 Who, like golden rays at evening, faded from the 
 
 night away. 
 How might they, in mighty chorus, sing the battle- 
 songs of right, 
 Call their fellow-men together, and inspire their souls 
 
 with might ! 
 And if still there lives a poet, who aspires to honest 
 
 fame. 
 Let him sing what I 've attempted ; let the world 
 
 revere his name. 
 And where'er he leads his people in the cause of God 
 
 and man, 
 He who sings this song shall follow, though he do but 
 
 what he can. 
 
 A PLOWBOY LULLABY. 
 
 My little plowboy is tired to-night, 
 
 And he nods in his high-chair so, 
 That he must have finished his appetite, 
 All ready to go to the land of light, 
 
 Where the sleepy plowboys go. 
 
 Then come with father, the big plow-man, 
 And we '11 sit in the twilight gray. 
 
 While our dear little mother, as fast as she can. 
 Is clearing the supper away. 
 
 And she '11 come too, when her work is through, 
 For a shepherdess, I am told, 
 
 75 
 
Finds the little sheep that have fallen asleep, 
 And carries them into the fold. 
 
 Slowly the light fades out of the west, 
 
 Where the long, dark furrows run, , 
 
 And each little cloud is a floating nest, 
 Moving too slowly to follow the rest. 
 That follow the golden sun. 
 
 Then come with father, the big plow-man, 
 
 Till he puts your nightie on, — 
 But we '11 have to be as quick as we can. 
 
 Or the nests will all be gone; 
 And then wouldn't it be too bad, you see, 
 
 To be left behind to-night. 
 And miss a day of such pleasant play 
 
 In the beautiful land of light. 
 
 See where the first star blinks and peeps 
 
 Over the orchard hill. 
 All through the long, dark night he keeps 
 His silent watch, while the great world sleeps, 
 
 And the farmer's voice is still. 
 
 But far in the land of light, they say. 
 The stars are so near the ground, 
 
 You can see all the plowing as plain as day 
 For miles and miles around. 
 
 For they plow all night in the land of light, 
 In the fields of blue and gold, 
 
 76 
 
And the furrows run to the rising sun 
 As they did m the days of old. 
 
 Hark ! how the early robin sings 
 
 Her last good-night to thee ; 
 And dreams of the tiny pairs of wings, 
 And the mouths of her featherless little things, 
 And all the joys that summer brings, 
 
 And her mate that is to be. 
 
 So my little plowboy drifts afloat 
 
 In the tiny cloud that waits 
 In the failing light, like a golden boat, 
 
 Over the pasture gates. 
 Darker, and darker they seem to grow. 
 
 Till they anchor one by one. 
 Under the lee of the slumber sea ; 
 
 And the voyage of day is done. 
 
 NEXT DAY. 
 
 Ever' body 'cep' but Ed 
 
 Ain't got up yet out a-bed. 
 
 We 're nain't goin' to have no more 
 
 Picnics, 'cause my papa's sore. 
 
 An' bofe ar brovers groans an' groans, 
 
 Nen turns over iss like stones 
 
 In neir beds, an' ast me please 
 
 Won't I bring nat yeller grease 
 
 77 
 
To 'um, what my mamma rubs 
 On my toes when neir been stubs. 
 Nen I bring it, an' ney 're says 
 "You're ne bullies' boy ney is." 
 
 LITTLE EDGAR. 
 
 "Noisy little Edgar, 
 
 Come to me," I said, — 
 "Don't you know that Reuben 
 
 Is very sick a-bed? 
 Don't you know, my little man. 
 
 That when you walk about 
 You should go very slow. 
 Softly, softly on tip-toe. 
 
 Going in and out ? ' ' 
 
 Generous little Edgar, 
 
 He did just as I said : 
 He tip-toed there where Reuben 
 
 Was lying sick in bed, 
 And round the room, and back again, 
 
 Seriously all about, 
 Very slow, to and fro, 
 Softly, softly on tip-toe. 
 
 Out and in and out. 
 
 Gentle little Edgar. 
 
 When mamma spoke he said : 
 
 78 
 
Askesf 
 
 vsses 
 
 "Sh — !" and raised his finger, 
 
 And shook his little head, 
 And peeped out doors where Effie was, 
 
 And whispered all about 
 How to go to and fro. 
 Softly, softly on tip-toe, 
 
 Going in and out. 
 
 "Precious little Edgar, 
 
 Come to me," I said, 
 And patient Reuben laughed so hard 
 
 He fairly shook the bed. 
 "Don't you know, my little man. 
 
 That isn't what I meant? 
 Run away now and play, — 
 You will understand some day." 
 
 And away he went. 
 
 CONCERNING FACES, SNOOTS, ETC. 
 
 Yes an' if you 're make a face, 
 Er make a snoot, er swear, — 
 
 Iss at home er nany place. 
 
 Don't make no differnce where, — 
 
 Er holler "Hey ! " er stick your tongue 
 
 Out at folks 'at goes along, 
 
 My mamma says first thing you know 
 
 The p'leece '11 come, an' off you 're '11 go 
 Skrait to ne station-house 
 In ne control wagon. 
 
WINTER. 
 
 Watch out dab, fu' we 's a-comin' ! 
 
 Grab on tigbt an' bol' yo' bref ! 
 D' ain't no one kin tell what bappm 
 
 Ef sbetu'nto righto' lef. 
 
 Hy eah ! Le' go me dab ! You byeab me ? 
 
 How you s'pose I gwine to steah, 
 When you boldin' on me dataway, 
 
 Wif yo' baid agin mab yeah? 
 
 Hey ! You man ! Who on bebime dab? 
 
 Who dat fool a-swingin' tail? 
 Ef you don* un'stan' yo' business, 
 
 Bettab swap wiv Zulu Bale. 
 
 Dat you, Zulu? All right! Ready! 
 
 Shove off, niggab ! Let bu' go ! 
 Shet yo* mouf dab evabbody, 
 
 Ef you don' wan't full ob snow ! 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Black man in de flat-boat, 
 
 Comin' down de rivab, 
 Fetcbin' in a fat shoat, 
 An' some feesbin' livab. 
 Squat yo'se'f to peelin' dab, you lazy Mistab Coon ! 
 Don' you know de promis' Ian' '11 be byeab soon? 
 
 80 
 
Kittle on de cross-pole, 
 
 Singin' 'way hu' troubles; 
 Niggahs sneakin' into camp, 
 A-totin' vegetubles. 
 Lawd-a-massy on mah soul, ef we gits cotched 
 
 a-stealin' ! 
 I weesh dat ol' fool slioat out dab 'd heish his on'ry 
 squealin' . 
 
 Ovens full a-pone braid. 
 In de coals a-cookin' ; 
 Chillun watahin' at de mouf, 
 Stan' in' roun' a-lookin'. 
 Clah yo'se'f away f 'um hyeah, you lazy good-fu'- 
 
 nuffin' ! 
 How you s'pose I gwine to cook, youstan'in' roun* 
 a-snuffin'? 
 
 G'way an' lemme 'lone now — 
 
 Hyeah ! you Lucius Lee, 
 Drap dem yallah roas'in'-yeahs 
 An' leave dem crawdads be ! 
 Ef you don' quit yo' foolin' now, an* try to 'have 
 
 yo'sef, 
 Dah '11 be one niggah in dis camp des mos' nigh beat 
 todef! 
 
 Sun a-peepin* thue de trees, 
 
 Laffin' fit to kill,— 
 Wondah what de rascal sees 
 
 A-fatt'nin' in de swill? 
 
 « 81 
 
Hi ! Mistah Turkle-Soup, bettah bat yo' eye, 
 Som'pn mighty funny gwine happm by-m-by. 
 
 Dab come de flat-boat, 
 
 Shootin' in to lan\ i 
 
 Hi ! Mistah Fat Shoat, 
 Lemme taik yo' ban*. 
 Mighty fine day, sub, 'cep' a trifle close, 
 Nevah seed a bettah fu' a fine fat roas' . 
 
 Stiddy wiv yo' pole now, — 
 
 Lucius, grab de livah ! 
 Golly, man, not dataway, 
 You'll drap it in de rivah. 
 Ain' you got no natch' al sense? Stiddy wiv de boat- 
 Clah de way to glory fu' a big fat shoat ! 
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Well, sir, it jest does beat all 
 
 How things changes. Take base ball 
 
 Now, fer instance, an' jest lay 
 
 Ourn alongside this to-day. 
 
 'Tain't the game we ust to play 
 
 Not no more'n nuthin' 'tall. 
 
 An' I'm standin' hyere to say 
 
 I p'fer the proper way. 
 
 Recollec' how you an' me 
 
 An' Buss Blazer an' the rest 
 
 Usttoplay ol' A— B — C? 
 
 82 
 
Gosh ! take off your coat an' vest ! — 
 Choose up sides, er one o' cat,. 
 Tap flies, — hyere, gimme the bat! 
 Scatter out there, fur's you kin — 
 Watch your business — three flies in ! 
 Where's the ball at? Hyere you go ! 
 Don't be all day 'bout it though. 
 There you air! Oh that's a daisy ! 
 
 Quick now, — muffed it. Well I swan ! 
 — S'pose you 'low I must be crazy, 
 
 Way I fuss and carry on. 
 Why I 've saw you on tip-toe, 
 
 Yellin' 'thall yore lungs an' force. 
 Like a young cock try in' to crow, 
 
 Till you've crowed yourse'f clean hoarse. 
 'Member how we played an' fit? 
 Law, I never kin fergit. 
 Them wuz days the like siree 
 This generation '11 never see. 
 Alluz swimmin' in my eyes — 
 Same ol' trees, an' same ol' skies, — 
 Same ol' ever'thing, it seems, 
 'Ceptn' me 'at sets an' dreams. 
 
 One day las' month I wuz over 
 In my brother Dock's ol' clover- 
 Field, where his boy Will 'at's ben 
 Off to college had some men 
 With him from the city, play in' 
 This new ball ; an' zi wuz sayin', 
 'Tain't no more the ol' time ball 
 
 83 
 
AsUs * ^^s 
 
 Not no more'n nuthin' 'tall. 
 
 Who'd a-ever thought that game 
 
 Wouldn't a-always ben the same 
 
 This world over, same as then, 
 
 Base ball ferever an' amen ? ' 
 
 Dock he 's 'most ashamed o' Will 
 
 AUuz rigged out fit to kill. 
 
 College pipe, an' college hat, 
 
 College this, an' college that, — 
 
 College tell you jest can't rest. 
 
 Law-me, wisht you 'd see the vest 
 
 That boy wears aroun', — my stars ! 
 
 Pokey-dots, an' stripes, an' bars, — 
 
 'Nough to skeer the very face 
 
 Off a-ever'thing on the place. 
 
 Wears knee pants ! an' foreign socks ! — 
 
 'Pon my word ! I tol* my wife 
 You wouldn't b'lieve that boy wuz Dock's, 
 
 Ef you hadn't a-knowed him all his life. 
 
 Well, zi say, Dock happened by, 
 Feelin' kind-a-young an' spry, 
 Like a ol' man does some days — 
 'Cordin' jest to how things lays, 
 On yore stumick, ef you 've et 
 Hearty fer a couple a-meals — 
 You know how a feller feels — 
 'Tall 'pends how yore vittuls sets. 
 Well, Dock says, says 'e to me : 
 "Silas, do you know," says'e, 
 "What's ben runnin' thue my head 
 
 84 
 
Ever sence I tuk to bed 
 Las' Fall, with the rheumatiz?" 
 ""Well, I donno. Dock," I says. 
 An' he says, says'e, "OF Hoss," — 
 
 Dock he calls me that fer short, — 
 * ' Me an' you has got more moss 
 
 On our backs than what we ort. 
 We think," says 'e, "our days is' gone, 
 An' that brings these hyere ailments on. 
 An' then," says'e, "we grunt an' scold 
 About how we 're a-gittin' old. 
 It ain't no wonder we git gray 
 As long as we ac' thataway. 
 An' now," says 'e, without no rest, 
 Jest talkin' on like all possessed, 
 ' ' My women-folks has went away 
 To ol' man Sintz's fer the day. 
 An* I 'm a-goin' to have a swim." 
 
 "Why, Dock!" says I, "where at?" says I. 
 "Why, down below the ol' Dead Limb," 
 
 Says'e. — You recollec', don't you. Hi? 
 Well, Hi, we went ; 'cause Dock had came 
 Bent on it. No, we didn't go in. 
 The years ain't many, but they *ve ben, 
 An' things is changed. They ain't the same. 
 An' Dock an' me 's ben feelin' bad 
 Ever sence. Things seemed so sad 
 ' Long the ol' river bottoms now. 
 Things ain't the same no more, somehow. 
 
 Yes, Hi, I did fergit to tell 
 'Bout Will's base ball fixin's. Well, 
 85 
 
Asides "^r feej 
 
 Dock 'splained how they make a ricket 
 Out a-three long sticks, an' stick it 
 Up at each a-them same places 
 Where us youngsters had the bases. 
 Then one boy he comes an' stan's , 
 
 By a ricket, bat in ban's, — 
 An' sech bats they got — my, oh ! 
 But them things is modern though. 
 Look like paddles to canoes, 
 Like you 've saw young Warder use 
 In Mad Kiver an' Buck Crick, — 
 Yes, an' young Tom Kirkpatrick, 
 He 's got some, er ust to had, 
 'Fore canoein' got so bad. 
 Well, one youngster takes a bat, 
 An' keeps a-retchin out like that, 
 So as he kin barely tech 
 
 This hyere ricket. Then some min, 
 Gittin' ready-like, to ketch. 
 
 Scatters out as fur 's they kin. 
 An' I tell you it 's a sight — 
 All them figgers dressed in white, 
 Standin' out agin' the green, 
 In the ol' hay field, — I swear ! — 
 Jest like they wuz painted there. 
 Only see it wunst, an' seems 
 Like I dremp it in my dreams. 
 There wuz Dock an' me alone, 
 Layin' there a-lookin' on. 
 In the shadder of the trees, 
 With a kind-a-lazy breeze 
 
 86 
 
Jest a-stirrin', 'zif to keep 
 From a-droppin' ofif to sleep. 
 An' the sky seemed more'n blue, 
 Jest like God wuz lookin' through, 
 Smilin', like He ust to do. 
 Whilst away off 'crost the hill 
 Ever' thing seemed ca'm an' still. 
 Like it happened long ago. 
 An' the hazy atmosphere, 
 Where the clouds wuz movin' slow, 
 Kind-a-blent what we could see, 
 Tell they wuzn't nothin' near, 
 'Ceptin' pore ol' Dock an' me, 
 Settin' in the shade alone, 
 Two ol' men a-lookin' on. 
 
 BILL SOMERS. 
 
 ( The scene is laid in the railway station of an 
 Ohio town.) 
 
 Raised hy ere? Was you? Don't say so? 
 How fur back 's that? Fourties?— Oh ! 
 That 's ben up'ards a-right smart 
 'Fore my time. But mebbe you 
 Knowed somebody I knowed too. 
 There's Bill Somers, — 'member Bill? 
 Sad-eyed feller, long an' slim, 
 Kind-a-bashful? Yes, that's him. 
 Come now clos't on thirty year 
 
 87 
 
Sence they drug him off f 'um hyere. 
 Come back? Yes, I b'lieve he will, 
 Some day. Nineteen year ol' then : 
 Fifty now, an' hyere I ben 
 A-lookin' sence I don't know when. 
 ' Fraid not. Wisht he would though. My ! 
 Seems sometimes like I '11 jest die 
 A-wishin' fer him. ' Bout so high 
 Time his step-dad brung him hyere. 
 That's ben forty-some-odd year. 
 
 Folks? Bill's people? They lived East ; 
 
 Daddy rich, — er wuz, at least, 
 
 'Fore he got tuk with consumption. 
 
 'Pears like must a-lost his gumption 
 
 Then, an' splutterin' round to git 
 
 Down South, fer the benefit 
 
 Of his health, he left his lands, 
 
 Et cetery, in a lorier's hands. 
 
 That's 'fore Bill wuz born, now mind, 
 
 Folks jest married, an' as blind 
 
 To this world's ornrarity 
 
 As young folks is ap' to be. 
 
 Young wife, an' this lorier 
 
 Set to hankerin' after her 
 
 From the minute he sot eyes 
 
 On her. * ' S' pose her husban' dies ? ' * 
 
 Lan' sakes ! Why the bare idee 
 
 Sets him plannin', and thinks'e: 
 
 ''That there young greenhorn can't pull 
 
 Thue this year — onpossibul ! " 
 
Asides °f l^^i 
 
 Shore 'nough, 'fore Bill come, he died. 
 
 No will, — nothin ; an' beside. 
 
 There 's his pore young wife down South, 
 
 A-livin' jest from hand to mouth. 
 
 'Cause this lorier 'd writ an' said 
 
 Times wuz hard, an' business dead, 
 
 So 's he 's forced to sacerfice 
 
 Everything, jes' slice by slice, 
 
 Gittin' only 'nough to send 
 
 Her, but said he 'd make a lend 
 
 On the rest, ef she 'd take one. 
 
 La, whut else could she a-done? 
 
 Bill hed came, an' by an' by 
 
 Funds kep' gittin' mighty shy 
 
 'Bout then, an' despair set in. 
 
 Laws-a-mercy ! seems a sin 
 
 Talkin' 'bout it. Well, zi say, 
 
 Couldn't a-ben no other way — 
 
 Boy to keer fer, her a pore 
 
 Sickly widder, — ain't much more 
 
 Lef ' to tell, 'cept that ol' limb 
 
 Talked her into marryin' him. 
 
 Donno much p'tic'lars 'bout 
 How they done 'fore he come out 
 West hyere, but f 'um what I 've learnt 
 Sence, 'pears like Bill's mother weren't 
 Keered fer like she 'd ort to a-ben, 
 Lived nigh onto two year, then 
 Seems like she wuz tuk down sick, 
 Got consumpted, an' died quick. 
 
Somep'm crooked, — don't know whut — 
 
 Anyhow this stingy-gut 
 
 Of a step-dad come out West 
 
 Rather suddent. All the rest 
 
 You know well as me, I s'pose, — 
 
 An' lots better, fur 's that goes, 
 
 Bein' older. Him? No; my! 
 
 Bill wuz only 'bout so high 
 
 When they brung him out. Who? Me? 
 
 No, I couldn't a-ben more 'n three. 
 
 All 'at I kin bring up now 
 
 'Bout them airly days is how 
 
 Bill's ol' step-dad ust to tetch 
 
 That pore boy up when he 'd ketch 
 
 Him with me ; fer which said same 
 
 Neither on us wuz to blame, 
 
 Seein' how all boys likes their game. 
 
 Bill's dad never did like me. 
 
 Ner me him, fur 's that 's concerned. 
 
 We wuz pore, but I '11 be durned 
 
 Ef I wouldn't ruther be. 
 
 Well, that 's how things wuz, you see : 
 
 I liked Bill. Bill he liked me 
 
 Better 'n I liked him, I s'pose, 
 
 Him bein' po'try an' me prose 
 
 In our get-ups, — him as fine 
 
 As a real silk fishm' line 
 
 Like you 've saw, an' me more blame 
 
 Differnter 'an he wuz same. 
 
 Guess you'll leave me off at that, — 
 
 90 
 
You ketch whut I 'm drivin' at. 
 'Course I ain't tryin' to infer 
 'At a feller 's capabler 
 Of plain love jest 'cause he ain't 
 Bed-rid with the ol' complaint. 
 
 Bill wuz nigh come past nineteen 
 Time ol' man 'cused him a-stealin* 
 That- air money, — big an' green, 
 But jes' full a-kindly feelin', 
 Even fer that gread big mean, 
 Good-fer-nothin' hypocrite. 
 Mind you now, Bill's dad kep' eyein' 
 Fur ahead, like them there lyin. 
 Greasy-hearted rascals does. 
 Lorier, mind, er ust to wuz. 
 Only folks they didn't know 
 Nothin' 'tall about that though. 
 Well, zi say, he knowed more law 
 'An us folks had ever saw. 
 Big ol' puffed-up 'ristocrat ! 
 Heart more blacker 'n his silk hat. 
 An' more slicker, too, at that. 
 One a-them there sancted, sly 
 Hypocrites. He knowed his biz 
 A-plenty, as the sayin' is. 
 Knowed adzac'ly where to buy 
 Justice at, an' had the wealth 
 Fer to git it, an' the stealth. 
 An' a orly tongue, an' sech. 
 You know whut them there '11 fetch. 
 
 91 
 
That there trial though wuz the wusst : 
 
 You jest ort a-ben to it. 
 
 That *s where you 'd a-up an* cussed 
 
 That ol' man. I 'most fergit 
 
 How it wuz ; but anyhow, , 
 
 He set 'bout where you do now, 
 
 An' me hyere, — not quite so clost, 
 
 Mebbe, — say 'bout where that post 
 
 Is. Well, anyhow the jury 
 
 Had went out, room hot as fury, 
 
 Folks a-waitin' so all-fired 
 
 Long 'at they wuz gittin' tired. 
 
 Then when they 'd all swore they couldn't 
 
 Wait no longer, an' jest wouldn't, 
 
 Court wuz called, an' jurymin. 
 
 Long-faced, come a sulkin' in, 
 
 Tuk their places, people gone, 
 
 Court ha'f-empty, an' so on, — 
 
 Y* understand — the same ol' rule. 
 
 Well, that there ol' man a-his'n 
 
 Set there jest as ca'm an' cool. 
 
 Till he heered them words, "States prison." 
 
 Then he grinned, the blamed ol' fool ! 
 
 Law-zee ! I jest eetched to pick 'im 
 
 Up jest bodily, an' kick 'im 
 
 Down them court-house stairs, an' lick 'im 
 
 Down there in the street, — an' yit, 
 
 'Twouldn't a-he'ped pore Bill a bit. 
 
 There he set, them two big eyes 
 
 A-his'n lookin' 'bout the size 
 
 A-two wells, an' twict as deep. 
 
 92 
 
Well, sir, I could hardly keep 
 From jest bawlin' right out loud 
 There in court. Wisht now I had ; 
 MebVe wouldn't a-felt so bad 
 Ever sence : seems like a cloud, 
 Soppin* wet with them same tears, 
 Ben in my head all these years. 
 
 No, I jes' set there in court, 
 Wonderin' ef I hadn't ort 
 Muster up some kind a-face, 
 Git up there to Bill's girl's place, 
 Open up, spit out the worst, — 
 Might a-knowed her heart 'd burst, 
 Seein' how she 'd bore up thue it 
 All, an' ef I 'd only a-knew it 
 Then, like I do now, you bet 
 I 'd a-staid right where I set. 
 
 But somehow I felt as if 
 My plain duty wuz to lif ' 
 That there pore, fersaken child 
 Up, an' git her reconciled 
 To the ongitroundabul. 
 Do my part, be dutiful, 
 Then turn in an' comfert her 
 Like Bill's friend had ort to do. 
 Donno whut I thought so fer, 
 'Cause ef I 'd a-only knew 
 How much good I might a-did 
 By jes' stayin* 'way instid. 
 
But I went ; an' there stood Merty, 
 Standin' waitin' in the door. 
 Goodness-me ! but she looked perty. 
 Seemed too bad 'at she wuz pore. 
 'Cause that there 's the very stir 
 Bill's ol' man wuz fussin' 'bout. — 
 Swore he 'd jest kick Bill clean out, 
 Ef he ever married her. 
 But that day, — well, I '11 be blowed 
 Ef you ever would a-knowed 
 But whut she wuz jest as rich 
 As they make 'um. Ever' stitch 
 Splinter new, an' that there dress ! 
 Call 'um travelin' gowns, I guess. 
 Made it all herse'f, by hand. 
 Ever' stitch, y' understand. 
 Weddin' dress to run away 
 An' git married in nex' day. 
 'Cause she knowed 'at her Bill he 'd 
 Git cleared ; said they ain't no need 
 Gittin' tore up 'bout it, 'cause 
 Loriers ner lorier's laws 
 Couldn't make Bill out no thief, 
 Never, — not to her belief. 
 
 That there '11 give you some idee 
 How much grit I must a-had 
 Left, an' jest about how bad 
 I must a-felt there when I see 
 Her in that dress watchin' me. 
 I kin see her now this minute : 
 
 94 
 
My, but she looked perty in it. 
 
 Nices' shape, an' nices' size. 
 
 Like a angel, — an' them eyes ! 
 
 Pore child, it wuz awful hard, 
 
 Somehow. I undone the gate, 
 
 Opened it, come in the yard, 
 
 Feelin' jest like I wuz Fate 
 
 Comin' in to drive out Hope. 
 
 Mem'ry seems to kind-a-grope 
 
 ' Long in there, but seems ' at she 
 
 Looked one stiddy look at me, 
 
 Kind-a-like-a-sort-a-dream. 
 
 World went round, an' felt, an' sounded 
 
 Jest like I wuz bein' drounded 
 
 In them eyes. — An' then that scream ! 
 
 My ! it jest went thue an' thue 
 
 My whole soul; an' brought me to 
 
 Mighty quick, now I tell you. 
 
 Her ma must a-heered, because 
 When I laid her on the bed 
 She come runnin' in where I wuz, 
 Lookin' whiter 'an the dead. 
 Skeered me too most nigh to death, — 
 Couldn't seem to ketch my breath 
 All that night ; an' that white face 
 A-follerin' me round ever' place. 
 Then there's pore ol' Bill, ferlorn, 
 Bein' drug off fer a crime 
 'At he never done no more 'n 
 Nothin' , as they learnt in time. 
 
 95 
 
Goin' on the airly train, 
 Too, an' there's pore Mertie layin' 
 Nex' to dead, an' worthless me, 
 No better 'n whut I ort to be, 
 An' a hunderd meaner sech 
 'At the law don't never tetch. 
 
 Well, I hung around all night, 
 Thinkin' somep'm awful might 
 Happm, tell on towords daylight, 
 I snuck down hyere to this ol' station, 
 Sad-like, to tell Bill good-bye, 
 Fer three year to come ; an* my ! 
 Seemed as long as all creation 
 Waitin' hyere without no one, 
 'Ceptin' jest myse'f to run 
 On an' talk to, like I done 
 Fer a hour er two, er three, 
 Er mebbe four, it seemed to me. 
 
 By an' by I heered some talk 
 Outside, an' got up to walk 
 Out an' see, an' run agin 
 Bill, han' cuffed between two min. 
 One wuz Sheriff Lane, an' t'other 
 Might a-ben his big twin brother, 
 Jedgin' by his size an' stren'th. 
 Leedle longer though, in len'th, 
 Mebbe, an' a trifle wider, 
 An* more self-come-satisfider, 
 Jedgin' by the easy way 
 
Ask °i' ^^5 
 
 He turned off an' walked away 
 
 When he seen me. — But 'zi say, 
 
 I wuz interested in 
 
 Seein' Bill, an' not strange min. 
 
 But jest then I seen a light, 
 
 An' a ingine hove in sight, 
 
 Round the curve, by Thompson's mill, 
 
 Steamed a-past us fit to kill, 
 
 Slowed up to a dead stand-still. 
 
 Then stood pantin' whilse she drank 
 
 Water onto' the waterin'-tank. 
 
 Pore ol' Bill. — I seen him go 
 That there mornin' , an' I know 
 I 'd lots ruther went to prison 
 Place a-him. 'T'uz awful still : 
 I leant over, an' says, "Bill," — 
 Bill he tuk my hand in his 'n. 
 "Bill," I says, — an' then it seemed 
 Jest like ever' thing wuz steamed, 
 An' kind-a-blurred, an' turnin' round. 
 Then I heered a rushin' sound, 
 Like steam 'scapin', an' the train 
 Pullin' out, an' Bill says, ' ' Jim, ' ' 
 An' looked up, an' me at him. 
 They wuz worlds a-unspoke pain 
 In them eyes. 
 
 Well, next I knowed 
 I wuz standin' on the track 
 Lookin' ; an* a whissle blowed 
 
 97 
 
Way, way off, an' brought me back 
 Tomyse'f; an' think-says-I : 
 "That there sounds jest like a groan 
 From the dead ; " and donno why, 
 I ain't skeered to be alone , 
 
 ' Fore daylight that way, but my ! 
 That there sound does han't me so 
 When I hear a whissle moan 
 Way off that way, — I donno, 
 But somehow jes' seems to go 
 To the marrer of my bone ; 
 'Specially ef I'm alone 
 Somewheres, like — there! hear that now, 
 Off there? Must be some ol' cow 
 On the track, as Bill 'd say. 
 But it don't 'fee' me that way 
 Sence that night. 
 * 
 
 The train Bill rid 
 On that mornin' , sir, wuz slid 
 Off the track, an' robbed, an* burnt 
 By train robbers, as wuz learnt 
 That there very day. Some b'lieves 
 Bill wuz rescued by the thieves, 
 An' tuk off an' belt fer ransom, 
 Thinkin' they 'd git somep'm ban' some 
 From the ol' man, but it 'pears 
 Like he 's meaner fer his years 
 Than they s' posed, an' some folks fears 
 Bill wuz massacreed, er shot, 
 Er sech like, but I reckon not. 
 
Som'pm tells me 'twon't be long 
 'Fore we meet, an' right er wrong, 
 Don't mind much whut people say, 
 I 'm on hands hyere ever' day 
 Train time, waitin' fer ol' Bill. 
 Years now, but I 'm hopin' still. 
 
 Then I ' ve got his dad's estate 
 An' all, to hold an' 'ministrate 
 Jest fer him. They ain't no heirs 
 'Cept him livin' anywheres. 
 An' I ' ve wrote this country thue 
 Fer him, like I 'd orto do. 
 Waited an' philoserphized, 
 Inquired, hunted, advertised 
 In the papers, — Lord knows whut 
 I ain't done, an' like as not 
 Some day I '11 spend all I got. 
 
 Mertie? Yes, she's livin', yes. 
 Yes, indeed ; an I don't guess 
 She ' s fergot ; ' cause that there dress 
 Lays upstairs, all putt away 
 Smooth. I 'm say in' jest to-day : 
 S'pose Bill does come back fer her 
 Some these days — what would she do? 
 "Why, I 'd stand right hyere by you, 
 Like I 'm standin' now," says she, 
 "Happy, like I 'd ort to be." 
 Yes, she 's kep' house now fer me 
 An' my boys sence mother died. 
 
Up an' at pore mother's side 
 
 To the last, jest like she 's ben 
 
 Fer thirty year, — a faithful frien' 
 
 To rich an' pore, — they 're all the same 
 
 To her, — she never lays no blame ' 
 
 To no one, — sympathacious soul. 
 
 *' Heaven," she 'lows, "is all min's goal." 
 
 Pore ol' Bill ! I wonder where 
 He 's at. Mebbe in his grave. 
 Hope I '11 meet him over there, 
 Where the past is all fergave. 
 Gread big-hearted, awk'ard cow. 
 Give the world to see him now. 
 No one ain't a bit like him, 
 Quiet-like, an' tall, an' slim. 
 I loved ol' Bill, I did. An' he,— 
 I b'lieve he hankered after me. 
 Best hearted boy they ever were. 
 The only man they ever were 
 Fer sech a character as her. 
 
 THE DIFFUSION OF LEARNING. 
 
 Wunst me 'n Willie Smif an' Joe 
 Ollic was iss playin' show 
 In ar back yard wunst, an' nen 
 Iss me 'n Willie played p'ten' 
 Like we 're bray-big acterbats, 
 Whut they don't wear shoes, ner hats, 
 
 100 
 
Ner nuffin' on 'm, 'cep' iss skin 
 On neir laigs. Ma says 't'sa sin 
 Cause my pa he taked me there 
 One day, but my pa don't care. 
 
 You ist orto hear him swear ! 
 My ma she iss leaves pa be 
 When he 's cross, an' my pa he 
 Says my ma she 'd better had ; 
 Nen her iss feels awful bad, 
 'Cause her groans an' says "Oh dear ! 
 Nen her iss cries, pitinear. 
 Does yourn? 
 
 It was only ist a pin 
 An' a opple to git in 
 Ar show nen, an' Joe he bringed 
 His canerry-bird 'at singed 
 Mostest tunes ! Nen nat ol' Bud 
 Unkenzander slinged some mud 
 Over ar back oily fence 
 Nen, an' iss maked me commence 
 Fightin', 'cause my pa says he 
 Wants me to, an' my ma she 
 Called me in an' paddled me. 
 Nen ne boys is all iss mad 
 An' goed home, an' I bin bad 
 Till my ma iss set an' cried 
 Wight out loud. Nen I iss tried 
 Awful hard to be good, nen 
 Purty soon a'm good again. 
 Are you? 
 
 101 
 
Are you got a funny pa 
 Like a'm got? Say, is your ma 
 A-livin'? Charlie Ollic's ain't, 
 'Cause she 's turned into a saint. 
 Is too ! Guess I orto know ! 
 Charlie went an' telled me so 
 Wunst hisself, up on my bed 
 One day, when we 're playin' dead. 
 Yes, 'n' he says if childern plays 
 Like ney 're dead, nen some nese days 
 They're gits growed nat way an' stays. 
 Yes sir, 'cause my baby brover 
 Gitted growed nat way, 'n' my muvver 
 Tried to made him git unwaked, 
 An' couldn't, nen is cried, an' maked 
 Me cry too ; nen Gramma, her 
 Comed an' taked me home wif her — 
 Her did. 
 
 Yes, 'n' I swored a bad word when 
 They was comp'ny eatin' nen 
 At her house, an' gramma she 
 Iss looked th'ough her specs at me, 
 Nen iss pushed back my high-cher, 
 An' telled me come on wif her 
 To ne worsh-house, where her cat 's 
 Got some baby kittens at, 
 Way up on a high place, where 
 Nasty me'cine is up nere. 
 Nen her put some burny lye 
 In my mouf, an' by and by 
 
 102 
 
I iss couldn't iss but cry. 
 'Cause it hurted, too, wight in 
 Where 's my tongue an' teef an' skin. 
 Nen her says: "Nem bad words 'bout 
 Purty nigh clean all burned out 
 By vis time ;" nen her iss preached 
 Longer 'n' ar preacher, 'n' teached 
 Me most fings 'at he don't know 
 Like gramma. Her knows 'um, though. 
 Yes, 'n' my mamma says they 're so. 
 Her knows. 
 
 Yes, 'n' they 's a Good Man lives 
 Way up in the sky 'at gives 
 Peoples vittuls an' coal an' wood 
 An' ever'fing if they 're be 's good. 
 An' he iss lissuns fer boys 'at swears, 
 An' hides, an' iss looks ever'wheres. 
 Yes, 'n' you better say your prayers 
 An' mind grown folks, er you '11 git saw, 
 Nen you can't go wif my gramma 
 When her goes. A 'm go' to see 
 Iss how gooder as I kin be; 
 An' iss a-go' to romp, an' run, 
 An' be wight good, iss like I done 
 At gramma's, an' iss play fun. 
 I nain't never go' to swore 
 Nasty bad words nany more 
 Tell I git a bray big man 
 Like my pa is — nen I can, 
 Can't I? 
 
 103 
 
THERE, THERE, 'T WILL NOT BE LONG. 
 
 There, there, 't will not be long ; 
 
 Weep no hot tears for me, love, i 
 
 For I will sing a happy song 
 
 Whene'er I think of thee, love. 
 
 Whene'er I think of thee, 
 
 And often that shall be. 
 There, there, dear heart, 't will not be long ; 
 
 Weep no more tears for me. 
 
 Say me a sweet farewell. 
 
 Oh love, look up and kiss me. 
 And tell me now, as thou canst tell, 
 
 Thus wilt thou always miss me ? 
 
 Oh wilt thou weep and say, 
 
 ' ' My love is far away ? " 
 There, there, be patient, I will come ; 
 
 T go, but not to stay. 
 
 Now I am with thee, dear ; 
 
 To-night, when thou art lonely, 
 Then thou wilt say, "If he were here,'* 
 
 And "Oh, if I had only." 
 
 Come, we must not be weak ; 
 
 Smile through thy tears and speak. 
 There, I will wipe away thy grief 
 
 And soothe thy poor, scarred cheek. 
 
 There, there, 'twill not be long ; 
 Be happy now for me, love. 
 
 104 
 
I go because I must. Be strong. 
 
 I will come back to thee, love. 
 
 I will come back to thee, 
 
 I will come back to thee, 
 Good-bye, sweetheart, 'twill not be long 
 
 Be brave, and watch for me. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 
 
 Blind? Going blind? God, what have I done 
 
 That I no more may see the glorious birth 
 Of happy days ? No more for me the sun 
 
 Shall gild with splendor all the glittering earth. 
 What have I done that Thou shouldst strike me blind? 
 
 Oh, speak to me, for I have better ears 
 To hear Thy voice. Aye, and a clearer mind 
 
 To see through Thy great goodness. Calm my fears. 
 How strange that in this darkness I should feel 
 
 Thy presence nearer now than e'er before. 
 The things of earth that did so long conceal 
 
 Thy face from me, conceal Thee now no more. 
 Blind? Aye, and happy too ; for now I see 
 No more myself, oh God, but only Thee. 
 
 TO A MOTHER. 
 
 Thou art the chosen mother of a son. 
 
 Sent to thy care from Heaven, as thou wert sent. 
 To carry on the work that Christ begun, 
 
 AVho came from Heaven to show us what God meant. 
 
 105 
 
As Mary was exalted by the event 
 
 Which gave us Jesus, so if thou give us one 
 To do God's will, thou too shalt rise content 
 
 Above thy days ; thy cup shall overrun 
 With very joyance ; and the grateful tears 
 
 Of happy motherhood shall lift thy soul 
 Like some fair cloud above the sea of years. 
 
 Thou, by thy loving precepts, shalt control 
 Men, and their deeds, and thyself glorify. 
 Our noble mothers have not lived to die. 
 
 KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 Kiss me good-night. Here where alone I sit. 
 Before the fire, and all is strange and still, 
 
 Methinks I see thee where the shadows flit, 
 Looking at me, until mine own eyes fill 
 
 And stream with bitter longing. Why so white? 
 
 Your hand — speak to me dear — kiss me good night. 
 
 When I am gone, oh do you think of me. 
 As I of thee, and reach with yearning hands 
 
 And aching heart through the long months to be, 
 Wondering if he who loves thee understands? 
 
 Oft at the window in the cold moonlight 
 
 I look with faithful eyes out through the winter night. 
 
 Kiss me good-night. For He Who gave my dove 
 May take her ere the morrow for His own. 
 
 106 
 
And oh, who then is left for me to love, 
 
 When thou art gone, and I am left alone. 
 I must not dream of death : it is not right. 
 I will be happy, dear — kiss me good-night. Good-night. 
 
 WHEN WINTER COMES. 
 
 When Win'er comes, an' Summer goes. 
 
 And Win'er comes, 
 My mamma she 'most alluz knows 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 'Cause nen her darns my un'erclo'es, 
 An' buys me boots wif copper toes ; 
 An' says, "Now come in 'fore you 're froze.'' 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 
 My mamma says boys alluz grows, 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 Yes, an' her says ne badness shows 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 'Cause little boys comes in 'mos' froze, 
 An' warms neirselves, an' never close 
 Ne doors behind 'um when ney 're goes. 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 
 I never go fwif bruvver 'Brose 
 
 When Win'er comes, 
 Away out huntin' where he goes. 
 
 When Win'er comes, 
 'Cause nen ne snow, why it iss snows, 
 An' ne win', why it iss blows an' blows ; 
 An' makes ne tears wun down my nose, 
 
 When Win'er comes. 
 107 
 
WHY SHOULD I SHED ONE TEAR? 
 
 Why should I shed one tear 
 
 For these poor, dumb, white flowers? 
 Or even for the dull, dead year 
 Around me here ? 
 
 The joy to hope is ours. 
 To hope the time is near 
 When we, my precious dear, 
 
 Shall drag no more the sad, unwilling hours 
 Through weary day, and week, and month, and year. 
 
 Oh, let us hope, not grieve; 
 
 Though the nest in the thorn be deserted, 
 And the cold winds sob and heave, 
 Like friends that cleave 
 
 In vain to their departed, 
 Still let us hope, not grieve. 
 The joy is ours to believe. 
 
 In spring the little birds that be true-hearted 
 Will come and find their mates, and sing, and weave. 
 
 WITH YOU, SWEET LOVE. 
 
 I'm spending the evening with you, my love, 
 
 After a long, hard day, — 
 Just as I always do, sweet love, 
 
 Though many a mile away ; 
 And I stay as I used to stay. 
 
 Till the hours are gray and still. 
 And I think and think of the happy day 
 
 When this shall all be real. 
 108 
 
When this shall all come true, my dear, 
 
 And we shall be happy then. 
 When the long, long wait is through, dear, 
 
 And I come back home again ; 
 And you meet me and kiss me then, 
 
 And the guests are all gone at last, 
 And we sit by the fire alone and plan, 
 
 As we used to, love, in the past. 
 
 And we'll dream till the night is gone, love. 
 
 But the rest shall still remain ; 
 Till the silence hints of dawn, sweet love, • 
 
 But it shall hint in vain ; 
 For we '11 feel no more the pain 
 
 Of parting at dead of night. 
 And roses, and not tears, shall stain 
 
 The pillows pale and white. 
 
 EOSES. 
 
 Two flowers remain, one red, one white, 
 
 Of those you sent me Christmas day. 
 The rest, like friends of one brief night, 
 
 Have faded from their sides away 
 And now, like lovers old and gray, 
 
 That sit in silence, hand in hand, 
 Waiting the flare of life's last ray 
 
 To light them to a better land, 
 
 109 
 
Aske-3 i feej 
 
 Here in the twilight still they stand, 
 And I, alone, to watch them die ; 
 And wonder if 'tis God's command 
 That these two flowers are you and I. 
 The room grows dark; outside, the winter rain 
 Beats, like a troubled heart, against the pane. 
 
 POPULAR PROVIDENCE. 
 
 Dey wuz once a ol' coon in de top ob er tree ; 
 
 An' I thinks to mahse'f, says I : 
 De Lawd pu' tended dat coon fu' me." 
 
 Lemme tol' you de reason why. 
 
 Dah's Mistah Coon, an' hyeah stan's me, 
 Wif a gun in mah han's des' so ; 
 
 An' I ups an' I aims at de top ob dat tree, 
 Wha' Mistah Coon is, you know. 
 
 Now when dey 's a coon at de en' ob yo' gun. 
 An' you bunches yo' eye an' squint, 
 
 An' pulls de triggah, why ten to one 
 Mistah Coon '11 taik de hint. 
 
 Kaze de Lawd 's allers got His han' in de game, 
 'Nelse we 'd nach'ly stahve fu' def. 
 
 An' when dat's de case, an' you misses yo' aim, 
 Why, — you oughtah be 'shamed yo'se'f. 
 
 110 
 
AT DIM TWILIGHT. 
 
 At dim twilight, 
 
 When woodlands darken, 
 
 I love to hearken 
 
 To the night. 
 
 While far away 
 
 Across the meadows, 
 
 The swallows play 
 
 Like flitting shadows, 
 
 And children's voices. 
 
 Like the day, 
 
 Far in the distance 
 
 Die away, — 
 
 Away, away, away, away, 
 
 Far in the distance 
 
 Dying away. 
 
 The hour of prayer 
 Thus steals around me, 
 And God has found me 
 Waiting there. 
 And oh how sweet 
 A joy to own, 
 That I may meet 
 My God alone. 
 When all the noises 
 Of busy day 
 Doze into silence. 
 And die away. 
 Away, away, away, away. 
 Peace to the world, 
 Farewell to the day. 
 Ill 
 
PARTED. 
 
 I must be gone, my dear, the hour is late, 
 
 And I must rest me for the coming day. 
 Would we were wed to-night. — How can I wait/ 
 
 What shall I do to drag the months away ? \ 
 Good-night. There, now, good-night, — I cannot stay. 
 
 I must be gone. And yet, oh cruel Fate, 
 Why is it those who love the most are they 
 
 Who for the longest times must separate ? 
 Yet it must be : God's will and ours are one, 
 Since we have freely said His will, not ours, be done. 
 
 He gave our love ; we are in training now 
 
 To enjoy the life we long for. After while, 
 When He has shown us, we shall wonder how 
 
 We failed to see it all ; and we shall smile 
 To find ourselves alone and face to face, 
 
 Happy at last, and with the eternal right 
 From God himself to keep our hushed embrace 
 
 With throbbing raptures through the silent night. 
 Then there shall come no rude disturbance nigh 
 To tear our souls apart. Till then, Love, good-bye. 
 
 JOE SNOW. 
 
 Who dat you lookin' fo' ? Mistah Snow? 
 
 No sich man in mah haid. 
 Nevah were, no suh, fu' as I know, 
 'Ceptin' one 'at disanpeahed long time ago, 
 An' he nevah did come back no mo' , 
 
 An' mammy 'low he 's daid. 
 112 
 
Joseph Snow ? Well dat beats sin. 
 
 Dah 's somepin de mattah wif mah recollection. 
 You know whah he come f 'om, an' who 's his kin, 
 
 An' all about his fambly connection? 
 Heah, take a cheer. Mammy she ain't in ; 
 
 She wasn't a-havin' no expection 
 A-strangers a-comin' dis time a-day, 
 She 's des gone off down dataway. 
 Ef de eetch ob mah bah feet don't lie 
 She'll be comin' back now by-m-by. 
 
 You got dat name right now, fo' she * ? 
 
 'Kaze dey ain't no sich aroun*. 
 Dey is some Snow folks lives berlow, 
 
 Des on de aidge a-town, 
 De ones I tellin' you while ago 
 
 Which de ol' man ain't been foun*. 
 
 I was only 'long 'bout two yeah ol', 
 
 An' I ain't nevah hyeahed 
 Des whut's de trouble, 'cep' I heern tol' 
 
 Dat he natch' ly disanpeahed. 
 Den Joe, he was bo'n, an' bress yo' soul 
 
 He look lak he wuz skeered. 
 
 or Joe Snow is dat dre'ful slow 
 
 He kain't mek up his min' 
 Whethah he 's in de humern race, 
 
 0' des taggin' on behin'. 
 Nevah did see sich a crazy man ; 
 
 He ain't got a spec a-sense ; 
 
 8 113 
 
Evah time you' goin' down pas' his house 
 
 He a-settin' dah on de fence. 
 Des a settin' dah disaway, 
 
 A-lookin' des lak a ha'nt. 
 Lawzee ! but dat man look po' ; ^ 
 
 He gittin' dat thin an' ga'nt 
 Dey ain't nuffin' lef ' a-his 'riginal se'f 
 
 'Ceptin' des a bag a-bones. 
 Nevah say nuffin' to no man, 
 
 Des set on de fence an' groans. 
 
 Dey ain't no persons livin' dah 
 
 'Ceptin' him an' his ol' maw ; 
 An' it taik all de scratchin' she kin do 
 
 Fo' to fill dat niggah's craw. 
 Folks 'lows she 's a smaht ol' lady, too, 
 
 An' so were ol' Joe's paw. 
 
 * 45- * 
 
 Oh mistah ! I fo' gotten to tell you ! 
 Ef a braid-big dawg come up an' smell you, 
 Doan' be a-skeered, — dat dawg's all right. 
 You leave him 'lone, an' he '11 treat you white. 
 
 FALL ROSES. 
 
 These flowers should not make me sad 
 Red flowers are for love, you say. 
 
 Yet if flowers were all I had. 
 Here so far away, 
 
 Though they be sent by thee. 
 Kissed and sent for my delight, 
 114 
 
Though I know thou lovest me, 
 
 Be they red or white, 
 Still if flowers were all I had, 
 Tell me, how could I be glad? 
 
 Autumn flowers and autumn leaves 
 
 Linger but a little while; 
 Then when Indian Summer grieves, 
 
 Nay, but let us smile. 
 He Who made these flowers to die 
 
 Made our love to live forever ; 
 Though the day pass away, 
 
 True love dieth never. 
 Let us then be glad, and smile ; 
 Love is growing all the while. 
 
 LEAN MAN'S PBEJUDICE. 
 
 I hates to see a man maik a hog of hisse'f, — 
 
 Er a woman, too, fu' dat mattah. 
 Some folks des eats twell dey ain't nuffin' lef ' ; 
 
 Den licks ha'f way thue de plattah. 
 But it's gen'ly de swine dat's mos' fattened to def 
 
 Dat tries so ha'd to git fattah. 
 
 Some folks kin' -a-' lows ef dey 's clean hog fat, 
 F'um a-eatin', an' a-sleepin', an' a-drinkin', 
 
 Dat dey 's got mo' brains in de top ob dey hat 
 Fu' to set fool folks a-blinkm' . 
 
 But I 'd lak to know wha' de worl' 'd be at 
 Ef de fat folks done all de thinkin'. 
 115 
 
A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 Mamma, where you goin' — say, 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 Aw mamma, 
 Stay at home wif me? Please stay, 
 
 Mamma. 
 I '11 be quiet. I won't play 
 Noisy games no more all day. 
 Honest trufe ! Please don't go 'way, 
 
 Will you, 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 What makes you go calling for, 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 Say mamma, 
 You don't like me nany more, 
 
 Mamma. 
 'Cause if you did you wouldn't go 
 Where they 's clubs, an' to the show 
 Ever' night. You 'd stay home though, 
 
 Wouldn't you. 
 
 Mamma? 
 
 Take me wif you, won't you, please 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 Please, mamma, 
 Take me wif you? I won't tease. 
 
 Mamma. 
 I 'd lots rawer stay at home 
 
 116 
 
If 3^ou stay. But when you *re gone 
 I ist always feel alone. 
 
 Don't I, 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 I don't like to stay wif nurse, 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 'Cause mamma, 
 When I 'm cross she makes me worse. 
 
 Mamma. 
 I try hard to not to cry, 
 'Cause I love you. By an' by 
 You '11 love me, too, when I die. 
 
 Won't you, 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 IN COUSIN ETTA'S BIRTHDAY BOOK. 
 
 The rudest prospect, softened in the mist 
 Of dreamy-sweet September, faintly kissed 
 At early sunrise, melts to amethyst. 
 
 And paths that lead into that hazy scene, 
 However rough the vales that intervene, 
 Suggest a world whose like has never been. 
 
 So mayest thou see me in my early days, 
 A doubtful vale, whose many winding ways 
 Give promise of some good beyond the haze. 
 
 117 
 
EPH. 
 
 Y'oughtah seen ol' Eph yistiddy — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 Dat or soak were mo' 'an giddy — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 Hyeah comes him ercross de clearin', 
 
 Singin' lak he ain't a-keerin' 
 
 Which away his laigs is steerin' — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 Thinks I, "Hyeah's yo' chance fu' fun 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 "Watch me mek dat niggah run." 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die I 
 
 Jes' slipped o'ff mah mule an* hitch 
 
 In de woods an' cut er switch. 
 
 It were gittin' da'k as pitch. 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 I jes' gove mah eye er squint — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 Clean chucked full a-debilmint — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ' 
 
 Eph kep' comin' 'cross de stubbles, 
 
 Cogertatin' bout he troubles, 
 
 Seein' evahthing by doubles — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 I come sneakin' up behime — 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 118 
 
IIol' on, honey, gimme time ! 
 
 Ilya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 I jes* gripped dat ol' tho'n stick, 
 Ups an' fotch dat man a lick 
 Right ercross his ol' bed tick — 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 Say ! dat coon did paw de groun' ! 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 Nevah did stop to look aroun'! 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die I 
 He jes' fotch a yell an' flew ! 
 An' me aftah ! I tell you 
 Dat drunk man did run fu' true. 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 I jes' hat to lay an' roll ! 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 Clean outrunned me, bress yo' soul ! 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 I jes' laffed dah to mahse'f 
 Twell I couldn' ketch mah bref. — 
 Say ! Dat coon were skeered to def. 
 
 Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
 
 ODE TO GERTRUDE. 
 
 Lo, now the worries of the day are o'er ; 
 
 And sick with solitude, 
 I seek my lonely room, and shut the door, 
 
 And yield me to my mood. 
 
 119 
 
Asides °I fees 
 
 My love. My love. My nearest, dearest love 
 
 In all this world to me, — 
 Not that I find this side of Heaven above 
 
 One that compares with thee, 
 
 However dear the ones I love may be. 
 No, no, not that. 
 'T is that my pent-np soul doth cry aloud 
 
 From out this word-dark sea that floods my 
 brain. 
 Only to send a vague, unmeaning cloud 
 
 Of empty words to fall like passing rain 
 
 Upon thy thirsting soul, that thou, in vain, 
 
 May'st try and soothe my pain. 
 
 Oh that I felt thy form, thy breathing form, 
 
 Here in my arms — thy face, 
 Blinded in passion with my own, and warm. 
 
 In this cold, empty place. 
 My lonely being burns me with desire 
 
 To be with thee to-night. 
 My pulses throb and beat with futile fire — 
 
 I reach out in the night ! 
 I seek thy lips ! I crush the lifeless air ! 
 Thou art not there. 
 
 My spirit sobs and grieves till early light. 
 Ah, love, dost thou too feel this same despair? 
 
 Oh sweet despair of words ! Oh painful bliss ! 
 To reach the very hush 
 Where silence fails. 
 
 120 
 
A^kes I fees 
 
 And language, resurrected with a kiss, 
 Can only halt, and blush. — 
 My spirit wails 
 And cries aloud for thee ! 
 love ! My love ! ' My life that is to be ! 
 My very death ! Ah, me. 
 
 r A MOTHER. 
 
 Gracious-goodness-sakes-alive ! 
 Land-a-mercy ! Why you '11 drive 
 Me start crazy some these days ! 
 Go on now an' have yore ways. 
 But don't come to me fer no 
 Symp'thy when you stub yore toe ! 
 
 Hear that young 'un carry on ! 
 Stubbed his toe agin — I knew it! 
 Didn't I say you 'd go an' do it? 
 Child-a-goodness ! Well I swan ! 
 Come to mamma, — there, don't cry, 
 It'll stop bleedin' by an' by. 
 
 There now, run an' play agin. 
 Hyere 's a napple. Now take keer. 
 Bless yore heart, of course you kin, 
 But walk keerful. Bless the dear. 
 Boys is boys sence Adam — law ! 
 Sweeter child I never saw. 
 
 121 
 
A LITTLE SONG FOR GERTRUDE. 
 
 A little girl made her lover 
 
 A calendar of days, 
 With a dainty little cover 
 
 All done in browns and grays. 
 
 All done in browns and grays,. you know, 
 
 All done in browns and grays. 
 
 The cover was a little flower. — 
 
 A pansy, I believe. 
 However, I will not be sure : 
 
 Tale bearers will deceive. 
 
 Tale bearers will deceive, you know, 
 
 Tale bearers will deceive. 
 
 The little maiden tied it, 
 
 And with a trembling hand, 
 Made pictures all inside it, 
 
 That he would understand. 
 
 That he would understand, you know. 
 
 That he would understand. 
 
 And then that pretty maiden 
 
 Took from her fluttering breast. 
 Where all such things lie hidden, 
 
 An envelope, addressed. 
 
 An envelope, addressed, you know. 
 
 An envelope, addressed. 
 
 She sweetly sealed and kissed it. 
 And ran oh, many blocks, 
 122 
 
And lovingly dismissed it 
 Into a letter-box. 
 Into a letter-box, you know, 
 Into a letter-box. 
 
 Don't ask me now who got it. 
 
 That wasn't meant for you. 
 I told you all about it, — 
 
 Or all I wanted to. 
 
 Or all I wanted to, you know, 
 
 Or all I wanted to. 
 
 I LOVE THEE. 
 
 I love thee, love, with all the love 
 
 My ardent, burning being 
 Can feel, can tell, is capable of, 
 
 Or even thou of seeing. 
 I love thee, oh I love thee, 
 
 There can be none before. 
 God only is above thee, 
 
 And Him we both adore. 
 
 I love thee, love. Must I confess 
 
 That I have failed to tell thee? 
 Oh let thine own pure loveliness 
 
 Sweeten the words I spell thee. 
 I love thee, oh I love thee. 
 
 The same words o'er and o'er, 
 Aye, I do more than love thee, 
 
 God only loves thee more. 
 123 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 With military pomp and strut, 
 And sound of rolling drums, 
 
 Before his dark-eyed Spanish troops 
 The Captain-General comes. 
 
 I see him with his rigid jaw. 
 
 His cruelty, and spite. 
 My heart goes out to the hungry men 
 
 In Cuba's camps to-night. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 The river of years flows out to sea, 
 
 Into the deep, dark night of never. 
 My youth is drifting away from me. 
 
 And shall return no more forever. 
 Stop ! stop ! thou ever-flowing river, 
 
 Bring me the days misspent and gone. 
 But ah, it floweth on forever. 
 
 Forever and ever it floweth on. 
 And I long for the days and the years misspent. 
 
 Till my life is becoming an old man's story. 
 Oh why have I not been content 
 
 To work for God and forget the glory ! 
 Ring out, ye sea bells, over the waves ! 
 
 Shriek and wail ye whistles of warning ! 
 The grand old world is built on graves. 
 
 And I shall do better to-morrow morning. 
 
 124 
 
How shall I wait till to-morrow morning? 
 
 'Tis scarce midnight by the struggling moon. 
 And the day that is gone is never returning ; 
 
 And the morrow never comes too soon. 
 Oh soul ! make friends with the busy days, 
 
 And follow no more the flying years. 
 Sleep and toil, for the present stays, 
 
 And the past and future are full of tears. 
 
 OFFHAND REPLIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Do thy best, and leave the rest 
 
 To Him Who loves the unexpressed. 
 
 He gave thy mind the truth to find, 
 
 Thy conscience, lest thou still be blind. 
 
 Think first is all He asks of all. — 
 
 In stubbornness alone we fall. 
 
 Or standing still in faith until 
 
 The Lord some prophecy fulfill. 
 
 But weigh and prove before thou move, 
 
 Then fit thee in thy proper groove : 
 
 Now, lest thou make a sad mistake, 
 
 Look to thy conscience and keep awake. 
 
 II. 
 
 If I were only you, 
 
 And you were only I, 
 I would do as you do. 
 
 And you would wonder why. 
 125 
 
III. 
 
 The better the master the l^etter the man; 
 
 The better the man the better the work. 
 The meaner the master the meaner the man^ 
 
 The meaner the man the meaner the shirk. 
 But the better the man in spite of the master, 
 The greater the man in the night of disaster. 
 
 The better either because of the other, 
 
 The better for everybody, my brother. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Believe in men as they should be : 
 You cannot tell what they would be. 
 And what they are no man can see. 
 
 Nevah could mek a speech, 
 
 'Case mah brains won't wu'k, somehow. 
 When I Stan's on mah feet dey ain't kin reach 
 
 Twell de top ob mah ol' hay-mow. 
 An' a man kain't mek no sawt of a speech 
 
 Wif he brains all down in he shoes. — 
 I reckon I 'd rathah hyeah you-all preach. 
 
 I begs to be excuse'. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Better glad out of due season 
 Than sad without good reason. 
 
 126 
 
VII. 
 
 No word that holy men have writ 
 
 Can teach us how to pray, 
 Unless at God's own feet we sit, 
 
 And learn it just as they. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 De mos' wisdomes' thoughts is do ones dat you think 
 When yo' flat on yo' back an' cain't sleep a wink. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A beach, a girl, a man. 
 'Twas so since time began. 
 
 X. 
 
 The waves wash over the strand, 
 
 Over the hopes of men ; 
 If you see a pearl in the shifting sand. 
 
 Rescue it there and then. 
 If the waves take it out of the reach of your hand, 
 
 It never comes back again. 
 
 XI. 
 
 God is my religion, 
 
 My conscience is my creed, 
 Jesus and all men my brothers, 
 
 What more do I need ? 
 
 127 
 
y\^ke-s I ^e^ 
 
 "THEY CRY UNTO THE LORD IN THEIR 
 TROUBLES." 
 
 Night comes : the shadowy farms expand 
 
 Like maps from town to town. 
 The city sleeps ; and over all 
 
 The placid moon looks down. 
 
 Day breaks : the farmer calls his sons 
 
 To turn the fertile soil ; 
 And in the city honest men 
 
 Go forth to honest toil. 
 
 Man eats the pleasant bread of peace ; 
 
 And when still evening creeps 
 Upon the world, he goeth home, 
 
 Tired out ; night comes ; he sleeps. 
 
 Sweet is the peace our fathers bought 
 
 With their own blood for us. 
 How can we think of all they did. 
 
 And treat the Cubans thus ? 
 
 Their struggle has been just as brave : 
 
 Their cause is just the same ; 
 Their tyrants even worse than those 
 
 Our fathers overcame. 
 
 God save them at this awful time 
 
 Their wives and little ones, 
 While all the world stands looking on, 
 
 With polished swords and guns. 
 128 
 
PRIDE DOETH, PRIDE RUETH. 
 
 She stopped to scold some naughty boys, 
 
 Who watched a naughty cat, 
 That eyed a bird that never stirred 
 
 From the limb whereon he sat. 
 On another limb not far from him 
 
 Crouched a spider, big and fat. 
 Who had his eye on a dragon fly 
 
 That lay in wait for a gnat. 
 The gnat came by, and the dragon fly 
 
 Had soon been glad thereat, 
 But the spider bold on him took hold, 
 
 And heigh ! for a bloody spat. 
 The spider clung with tooth and tongue, 
 
 Like an evil insect rat, 
 And the other thing, with claw and sting, 
 
 Came back at the ugly brat ! 
 They had it there, that long-legg'd pair. 
 
 But the bird soon had them pat. 
 And the whole outfit made a dainty bit 
 
 For the sly old whiskered cat. 
 The eager boys let loose their noise, 
 
 And screeched in sharp and flat ! 
 The maid lent lungs and pushed the bungs 
 
 Into her sweet tear vat. 
 But her pleadings loud on that hard crowd 
 
 Were not worth half a sprat, 
 For they only winked a wicked wink 
 
 And the louder laughed ; whereat, 
 
 » 129 
 
Up spoke a youth whose face was truth 
 "Cats eat birds: what of that? 
 
 They live thereby ; but pray tell why 
 You wear one on your hat." 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 Do your part with all your heart, 
 Whatever else may be ; 
 
 And I will always try to do 
 More than is meant for me. 
 
 Still if I find you fall behind, 
 With more than you can do, 
 
 I '11 shoulder more ; but if I fail, 
 That duty rests with you. 
 
 So may we in true duty, love, 
 Our highest hopes attain, 
 
 Which either one, if left alone, 
 Had striven for in vain. 
 
 TO MY MUSE. 
 
 There was a time when disappointments rung 
 Their sad, perpetual bass to all I sung. 
 How changed. The image of thy presence here 
 Makes my poor strains come sweeter, and more 
 clear. 
 I sing my best, dear love, when dreaming thou art 
 near. 
 
 130 
 
As Wr fees 
 
 It used to be, too, when my eyes were dim, 
 I looked to God in faith, but saw not Him. 
 Now, dearest Gertrude, when I kneel to pray, 
 Though I do feel in truth each word I say, 
 Yet thy sweet face is there, and will not go away. 
 
 God knows. 'T is well. He hath made manifest 
 In thee, my hope, all that is pure and best. 
 I know Him now. Before thou camest to me 
 I knew Him not. I had not learned to see. 
 He bade me look : I looked, and saw Him, love, in 
 •thee. 
 
 Thou art my inspiration ; for I find 
 He makes His dwelling in thy lowly mind. 
 There by that sacred book where I may read 
 And find the consolation that I need, 
 I see my God enthroned in purity, my creed. 
 
 Aye, you may blush for modesty, my love, 
 As blushes to her mate the modest dove. 
 Yet will I sing thy praises while we live, 
 Lest He Who has no more like thee to give, 
 Should exercise too soon His kind prerogative. 
 
 I live in fear and hope, as one who sees 
 Successive clouds pass over by degrees ; 
 Not knowing which the blessings may contain. 
 Which the deluge, and which the gentle rain. 
 Yet I have faith, sweetheart, that we shall meet again. 
 
 131 
 
My mood doth vary with thy varying steps : 
 Now sinks my soul, now trembles, and now leaps ! 
 When thou art with me all the world is bright. 
 But oh, when thou art gone, how dark the^ight. 
 How long it seems to wait the coming of the light. 
 
 Ah, infinitely kind our God must be, 
 Who could create such perfectness for me. 
 Sweet, lovely revelation of His grace. 
 Compared with whom all things are commonplace, 
 What joy can compensate the absence of thy face. 
 
 Yet there were times when disappointments rung 
 Their dull, disheartening bass to all I sung. 
 Now, wearied that a fruitless day has flown, 
 I smile to God, and in an undertone 
 Breathe thy sweet name, Gertrude, and I am not 
 alone. 
 
 A PEAR-BLOSSOM IN EARLY MARCH. 
 
 Yes, I am pleased, but not surprised, 
 That you have sent me, Gertrude dear. 
 
 This blossom, blown and sacrificed 
 At this strange time of year. 
 
 Were I a bud, and kissed by thee 
 In cold midwinter, there would flow 
 
 Through me such waves of ecstacy 
 That I would blush and blow. 
 
 132 
 
And I, and every bud would burst, 
 
 And watch, while you removed your glove, 
 
 In wild suspense to be the first, 
 
 The one that you should touch and love. 
 
 And oh, if still thou deemed me best, 
 And plucked me from the frozen stem. 
 
 And held me next thy glowing breast, 
 How might I pity them. 
 
 How might I pity, as I do, 
 
 The unloved buds that cannot bloom, 
 Because no Gertrude comes to woo 
 
 Their petals from the living tomb. 
 
 Then take me back — take back this one. 
 
 For I have dreamed this one is I. 
 Oh take me back, lest here alone, 
 
 Unloved by thee, I die. 
 
 60 lay me on thy bosom, sweet, 
 
 And think thee then, if I were this. 
 
 How thy sweet lips and mine would meet 
 In one prolonged, impassioned kiss. 
 
 And I shall follow by and by. 
 
 And we shall know that pure delight 
 
 When there are none but you and I, 
 And God, and hush, and night. 
 
 133 
 
Ashes i fee^ 
 
 Oh hopeful day ! Ah, Gertrude dear, 
 Would I could force the buds of time 
 
 To blossom into month and year, 
 As feelings blossom into rhyme. 
 
 Then might our dreams — no, dearest, no. 
 
 And yet, — not yet, my precious dove. 
 Be patient, and the buds will blow. 
 
 God has His time, and we our love. 
 
 AN ANONYMOUS ATTACK. 
 
 To criticise is first to appreciate. 
 
 ( But boys' ideas, like their clothes, shrink on 
 them. ) 
 Only the great can comprehend the great. 
 
 All have opinions, but the wise think on them. 
 Let witics joke my lines, — I'll join the laugh. 
 
 And critics scratch me if they must, — I'll spare 
 them. 
 They cannot tell me all my faults by half ; 
 
 Nor recognize my virtues, save they share them. 
 Bless all the fun there is at my expense. 
 
 Bless all the good that everybody does. 
 The inoffensive cannot take offense. 
 
 If I am ever great, God is the cause. 
 
 If ever weak, love me for what I was. 
 Judge not, lest ye love not: ye are the conse- 
 quence. 
 
 mi 
 
Askes i fees 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Have you heard the robins singing, 
 
 Gertrude dear? 
 Have you heard the robins singing? 
 
 Spring is here. 
 I can feel my own joy ringing, 
 In their glad, incessant singing, 
 In their loud, melodious singing, — 
 
 Kiss me, dear. 
 
 Summer's coming, — I feel showers 
 Through and through. 
 
 I can breathe the breath of flowers, 
 Love, can you? 
 
 None, I know ; but the sun is brighter, 
 
 And the air seems soft and lighter. 
 
 See, the very clouds sail whiter 
 In the blue. 
 
 Soon the trees will spread their shadows, 
 
 Cool and deep. 
 Where the hazy, drowsy meadows 
 
 Doze and sleep. 
 Then these little birds, confiding 
 All their love in secret hiding, 
 Will have built their wee abiding 
 
 Where we peep. 
 
 Come let us go and wander. 
 You and I, 
 
 135 
 
tip the old lane winding yonder 
 
 To the sky. 
 There we'll stroll and dream together 
 Of the nest we too shall feather 
 In the happy summer weather 
 
 By and by. 
 
 TO A WINDFLOWER. 
 
 Poor, frail little windflower, 
 Crushed between the leaves 
 
 Of this letter from my love, 
 He who preforgives 
 
 All that I am guilty of. 
 
 Take thy little soul above. 
 
 Back to Him, sweet windflower, 
 Yield thy fragrant breath. 
 
 Thou who camest here to me, 
 Lovely, though in death, 
 
 Thou who art as fair as she, 
 
 Ah, but no, that cannot be. 
 
 Ah, I knew a windflower, 
 
 Pure and fair as thou. 
 But the good are very frail. 
 
 She is withered now. 
 Sister of my wayward years, 
 Ah, I wonder if she hears. 
 
'♦CUBA LIBRE !"^ 
 
 Oh how sweet the secret summons to the breathless 
 
 Halls of Fame, 
 Where the eager world awaits us — loud to praise, and 
 
 quick to blame. 
 Hot to hail the coming hero : "Who the next? Who 
 
 will it be?" 
 Ah, how nervously we mutter, "Wait — be patient — I 
 
 am he." 
 "Patience — patience — I am coming! Oh I have no 
 
 uniform — 
 They will call me boy, and — " Listen ! 'tis the hush 
 
 before the storm. 
 How we swallow — how the heart beats — yet what 
 
 confidence we feel ! 
 None can do our duty for us ; we must act; and act 
 
 with zeal. 
 Ready now, — be brave, spirit, — friends enough will 
 
 follow on. 
 We cannot depend on others ; we must go and stand 
 
 alone. 
 Forward! — press right through between them — reckon 
 
 afterward the cost — 
 Forward now, my soul, or never ! Wait till day, and 
 
 all is lost. 
 
 "Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! " came the 
 cry. 
 
 Peace grew pale. War had awakened : a.nd the morn- 
 ing hopes were high. 
 
 * Lee-bray. 
 
 137 
 
Ask °r fees 
 
 * ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' Peace looked up — she 
 
 could not speak. 
 Pity came and pointed seaward ; and a tear crept 
 
 down her cheek. 
 Far and black against the sunrise loomed the loaded 
 
 convict ships 
 From the land of Hate and Avarice. Love came up 
 
 with trembling lips. 
 Peace looked back; she saw them coming, Hope 
 
 Triumphant in the lead, 
 Then came fixed Determination and the ragged hosts 
 
 of Need. 
 Par behind hung shrewd Ambition, with his hireling 
 
 band of brutes. 
 Duty hastened on without them, gathering up the late 
 
 recruits. 
 On they came, and God was with them ! Fear's own 
 
 force took up the cry : 
 * ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' and the echoes made 
 
 reply. 
 *' Cuba libre ! libre ! libre ! " Oh the hills did love 
 
 the sound ! 
 Peace herself rejoiced within her, and no longer 
 
 looked around. 
 *' Cuba libre ! " clanged the anvils — she could hear 
 
 them far and wide. 
 *' Free ye Cuba ! " swelled the answer down the long 
 
 Atlantic side. 
 *' Free ye Cuba — we are with you ! " flashed the word 
 
 from sea to sea — 
 
 ■"Banish Tyranny forever from the New World of the 
 
 Free." 
 
 138 
 
* ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' Happy they who loved 
 
 and heard; 
 Happy they who faced the world to spread and preach 
 
 the happy word ; 
 Happy they who hurried northward to supply who 
 
 stayed and fought ; 
 Happy, happy they who helped them. Witness, ye 
 
 who helped them not. 
 Happy? Who had not been happy at the birth of 
 
 Freedom — say? 
 Is the black man sad and gloomy on Emancipation 
 
 Day? 
 Did the Signers toll the bells? Ah no. They rang 
 
 and rang on high, 
 "Till the hills rejoice for ever on the Fourth Day of July. 
 And the sick man, the pale sick man, sweating on a 
 
 couch of pain. 
 He rejoiced those sounds, and smiling, drank them 
 
 deep, and harked again: 
 Eaised his head from the hot pillow, listened to the 
 
 distant peals, 
 Crept up to the open window, and looked out across 
 
 the fields. 
 Oh the free fresh air of heaven, and the sweet smell of 
 
 the hay, 
 And the dreams of peace and quiet. He died happy 
 
 on that day. 
 * ' Independence ! Independence ! ' ' screamed the 
 
 striplings in the streets. 
 Lofty little minds are awful when the bulging forehead 
 
 beats. 
 
 139 
 
As\ie'S I ^ej 
 
 Mighty men were little children ; little children 
 
 mighty men ; 
 And they marched out head to shoulder, to return no 
 
 more again. 
 And the mothers, and the daughters, who were just as 
 
 brave at home, 
 Toiling for the boys and fathers, v/ho, alas, should 
 
 never come. 
 
 *' Gold or Silver ! Gold or Silver ! " sped the madden- 
 ing, magic word. — 
 
 * ' Gold or Silver ; which are you for ? " Sense was 
 wounded when she heard. 
 
 "Gold or Silver for the masses — Gold or Silver for the 
 rich — 
 
 Gold, or Gold, or Gold or Silver — Gold or Silver — 
 which for which ? ' ' 
 
 "Gold or Silver ! Silver ! Silver ! " Agitators 
 thronged the streets, 
 
 Damning all the rich together — even philanthropists 
 were cheats. 
 
 Not a more offended people ever welcomed polling 
 day. 
 
 When they too might give opinions in their own 
 emphatic way. 
 
 " It 's McKinley ! " dinned the thousands in the mid- 
 dle of the night. 
 
 '"Eah McKinley ! " came the answer, " Courts are 
 safe, and law is right ! " 
 
 * ' ' Rah McKinley ! ' Rah McKinley ! Honor and 
 Protection ! ' Rah ! 
 
 HO 
 
Down with loud Repudiation ! Up with money and 
 
 the law!" 
 • ' Call Prosperity back from Europe, and shut out the 
 
 pauper breeds ! 
 Build a wall against stagnation ! Gold is what the 
 
 country needs." 
 "Gold? Where can the poor man get it? Poverty 
 
 earned what Luxury eats. 
 Progress waits upon Employment ; and Employment 
 
 shuns the streets. 
 " They make money who have money to impose upon 
 
 the poor ; 
 If the poor like men resent it, Wealth goes in and 
 
 shuts the door. 
 "Wealth will listen to no reasons, and will give no 
 
 reasons why. — 
 ' Strike, and I will starve your families ; you must 
 
 come to terms, not I.' " 
 
 Fruitless, fruitless, oh my brothers, is a warfare such 
 
 as this, 
 And the louder the complaining, wider yawns the 
 
 dark abyss. 
 Wider, deeper, more portentious grow the differences 
 
 of men ; 
 While a kind, unselfish interest soon might heal them 
 
 up again. 
 Blindness to the ills of others makes our lot seem 
 
 worse than theirs : 
 Speak for Love ; lead out with Virtue ; look to God 
 
 and His affairs. 
 
 141 
 
Listen : ' ' Cuba ! Cuba libre ! ' ' can ye hear above 
 
 the moan? 
 Death and Famine drive them thither, gaunt, 
 
 unfriended, and alone. 
 See them — women — little children — crawling on 
 
 their hands and knees — 
 Eouse thee up, thou busy Business ! Will you hear 
 
 not even these ? 
 Hunger ! Oh thou hideous Hunger ! Christ ! are 
 
 these the means of war? 
 Who will urge them back? What pretense? They 
 
 shall see their homes no more. 
 Spain has starved their families. Heavens ! ask me 
 
 not what else they did. 
 God of Love have mercy on us — we who saw — Oh 
 
 Christ forbid. 
 Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, help the helpless, 
 
 rich or poor. 
 Worthy or unworthy — God knows ; ours to keep, and 
 
 His to cure. 
 Kind at home means constant kindness. Knaves may 
 
 pass for saints abroad. 
 Deeds undone at home hang heavy on thy conscience 
 
 and thy God. 
 Where are now the friends they looked to? Who had 
 
 thought a year ago 
 We, of all they put their trust in, would be first to 
 
 say them no? 
 How much longer, ye wise statesmen, will ye blunder 
 
 for the light? 
 
 142 
 
ftlottoes stamped on gold or silver will not bring the 
 
 future right. 
 • ' God we trust. ' ' — but who shall serve Him ? ' ' God 
 
 is Love." — and what are ye? 
 Brotherhood, not gold or silver, is the standard that 
 
 must be. 
 Act ! His hosts are marshaled, waiting. Act ! The 
 
 public voice is hoarse. 
 Who now wants investigation? Speak — and let your 
 
 talk be terse. 
 Know ye not 'twas our example, — that the sweet 
 
 prospect that lured 
 Was the hope that they might some day, with* the help 
 
 that we assured. 
 Draw their little force together, just as we did ours, 
 
 and hold 
 That the New World had decided to proceed without 
 
 the Old? 
 Witness that the least among you, falsely in the 
 
 Nation's name. 
 Sneered upon their lofty passions, and betrayed us to 
 
 the blame. 
 God, have faith in us, Thy children, when we sneak 
 
 from out Thy sight, 
 Bent on business of our own, when thine awaits us 
 
 through the night. 
 Hear me ! Hear me, ye great people ! In the name 
 
 of Christ the Son ! 
 In the name of God our Father ! this disgrace must 
 
 not be done. 
 
 143 
 
A$Ws i fees 
 
 Loose on Spain the Yankee spirit — Gulf to Lakes, and 
 
 West to East ! 
 Peace, with all her hosts, is coming ! Send for Bull, 
 
 and set the feast ! 
 Hear us ! Cuba ! Cuba libre ! Independence now 
 
 or death ! 
 Force the pass ! We come ! we come ! and all the 
 
 angels hold their breath. 
 
 MARCH AND APRIL. 
 
 Loud, many-mooded March, with hurrying clonds, 
 Chill rains, cold, windy sunshine, and what not ; 
 That strange, green, gaunt, outlandish month that 
 
 crowds 
 His foolish days with one mad, freakish blot 
 Of births and deaths of flowers, — I know not what,- 
 The reckless boyhood of the year, in short. 
 Is past, and all his youthful sins forgot. 
 April, sweet month of first love, his consort, 
 Blooms in the blushing fields, and calls him from his 
 sport. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 How cool you look this morning. Have you been 
 At Sabbath school? Where were you going now? 
 The last bell rang, and they were going in 
 As I came by. Don't go. Let me endow 
 
 144 
 
Thy pure white corsage with this apple bough. 
 I cut it for thee coming o'er the hill. 
 Its blossoms are not lovelier than thou, 
 Sweet, fragrant flower. Oh do you love me still. 
 When I am pale and thin? You always, always 
 will? 
 
 It is quite warm. My heart beats so from running 
 Down j:he hillside, I scarce can do my best. 
 There, — is that right? My fingers lose their 
 
 cunning. 
 And modestly, so near thy fluttering breast, 
 Eager to pause, yet fearful to molest, 
 Quiver and halt, and halting, blush, and grow 
 Bewildered. 
 
 Let us sit here, sweet, and rest. 
 No, dear, not tired exactly, but, — you know: 
 I dream of you all day. The time seems very slow. 
 
 Ah, yes, a bright spring morning ; but my sky 
 Sometimes will darken on such days as these. 
 Come to the orchard, and I '11 tell you why; 
 I will feel better there among the trees. 
 My mind will feel the influence of the breeze, 
 And blossom into speech, if speech be true. 
 The man is moulded by the things he sees, 
 The air he breathes, the sounds he listens to. 
 If all we feel be God, so all we say and do. 
 
 Let us sit here. First let me spread your cloak 
 On the thin grass, lest you take cold. Ah me — 
 
 i« 145 
 
M- °' 
 
 es 1 ISSS^S 
 
 What an ideal spot beneath that oak. 
 And yet from there the house obscures the sea. 
 Let us stay here. From this old apple tree 
 We have the ocean, and the ocean wall, 
 And the long curve of beach out in the bay,_ 
 And a white sail, and the blue sky and all. 
 Beside, the blossoms here will touch us as they fall. 
 
 Now, dear, were I but master of the brush, 
 With genius in my soul, how might I rise, 
 Seize the occasion, catch the passing flush, 
 Enter and dwell where holy darkness lies 
 Deep in the dewy twilight of thine eyes, 
 Dwell and half dream, — dwell till the very paint 
 Wakes with a flush and throbs to realize 
 How 'neath my spell it breathes a living saint. 
 Clothed in an apple bough. 
 
 Reluctant, weak, and faint, 
 I feel myself emerging from a dream. 
 And my poor soul resumes me as of old. 
 But still exhausted, hates the things that seem. 
 And shuns to look, till by degrees, behold : 
 Whose lovely smile is this I see unfold? 
 My sweet Gertrude, my picture, oh my bride. 
 Will ever painter of an age of gold 
 Create a dream so pure and glorified 
 As thou, my promised love, in blossoms at my side ? 
 
 With wasted eyes, and an ungifted arm, 
 How helpless were thy painter to enscroll 
 
 146 
 
The modest beauty of thy face and form. 
 How weaker still thy poet to extol 
 . The simple whiteness of so pure a soul. 
 'Twere easier to invade the realms above, 
 Outsail the stars, and pass beyond control 
 Of God Himself, than in this flowery grove 
 Paint what no man can paint, a likeness of real 
 love. 
 
 Serenely now the blossoms rise and fall 
 On their wide branches. There is peace in them. 
 Were I this exile drooping on thy shawl, 
 Softly would I let go, waft from the stem. 
 And lodge upon the lace-embroidered hem, 
 So kindly, thou wouldst smile, and not protest. 
 As on the petal trembles the dew-gem, 
 So would I tremble on thy fragrant breast ; 
 And if I fell, oh love, — take me, and let me rest. 
 
 Forgive me dear, I cannot sing ; no use. 
 Who soar must fall ; and those who venture high, 
 God help them when the excitement cuts them loose, 
 And they come gasping headlong through the sky. 
 Who talk the most say least, sometimes, and I, 
 Feeling my failure, like a little child 
 Must feign to laugh, lest I break down and cry. 
 So sensitive am I, my songs so wild, 
 I and my best attempts must die unreconciled. 
 
 Yet I have felt all earthly discontent 
 Vanish away, when with one high endeavor, 
 
 147 
 
Ask f fees 
 
 Seizing the stillness, I have given vent 
 To words that chilled my being to deliver. 
 Sweet, living truth, direct from God the Giver, 
 Wholesome with consolation, — His, not mine. 
 My words will fail, but God's live on forevei'. 
 Oh let me live in one exalted line. 
 While volumes past me crowd to prosperous decline. 
 
 A man of moods? No, boy. Boy to the letter. 
 
 The rest is true. I glory in the truth. 
 
 Let the world laugh, they cannot make me bit- 
 ter ; 
 
 I go to meet them, not with nail and tooth, 
 
 I hail them with the confidence of youth ; 
 
 Weigh with them kindly ; make them all my 
 friends ; 
 
 And find them fond and human, not uncouth, 
 
 Willing ofttimes to sympathize my ends, 
 Whereas I might have thought them enemies, and 
 fiends. 
 
 , I love all men when God is in my heart. 
 W^ould I could always think to keep Him there. 
 He tells me these crude souls are but a part 
 Of the kind scheme He has, — that everywhere 
 Each of His children may work out some share 
 Toward the great day that He alone can see. 
 He speaks ; and in that instant I prepare 
 To do His will, wherever that may be, — 
 
 Face the dark night with joy, and He goes out with 
 me. 
 
 148 
 
Oh, and what rapture, — what heroic, high, 
 Unnamable felicity exalts 
 
 The soul that harkens, goes, nor questions why. 
 Into the mine of hopeless night, nor halts 
 To pick the wreckage from the sea of faults. 
 But with a faith that loves the wind, and hears 
 The approving voice of God, goes and assaulte 
 In His high name the thieves of human tears. 
 And lifts them up with love, and whispers in their ears. 
 
 All men have tasted of these joys, Gertrude, 
 For men may rise above themselves at times. 
 Even kings have yielded to the timely mood, 
 And made propitiation for their crimes. 
 And poets, who have revelled in dull rhymes 
 Of sad licentiousness, have been inspired 
 From their last state to ring the heavenly chimes 
 To such high flights that angels have admired. 
 But ah, their strength was gone ; alas, how soon they 
 tired. 
 
 Yet none can touch celestial solitudes, 
 And can we wonder that the sensitive poet. 
 Descending from these strange, unearthly moods. 
 Feels he has failed, and trembles lest we know it ? 
 He aimed beyond us, but fell far below it. 
 Else his high flight had past all comprehension. 
 Just as the heart is touched the eyes will show it. 
 There is no sweeter praise than rapt attention. 
 Moved or unmoved, our duty is to hear; 
 Art asks no higher tribute than a look, a smile, a tear. 
 
 149 
 
My friend is gentle master of my heart. 
 Not flatterer ; no, nor critic ; but his word 
 Is caught with rapture, and preserved in art ; 
 He lives forever, and the souls he stirred 
 Shall rise to bless him and themselves be heard. 
 There is no end to kindness, once it lives. 
 Shall we forget who loved us when we erred? 
 God bless the rare old friendship that forgives ; 
 The heart with two big hands, that welcomes, and 
 believes. 
 
 Next to the man men love the poet. Byron, 
 With all his littleness, was a mightier power 
 Than any king whose bloody rod of iron 
 Smote the weak times and bade the nations cower. 
 Did not great David in an awful hour 
 Sin against God, Whom he was sent to sing? 
 And who will say he was not still the flower 
 Of all the ancients, warrior, bard or king, 
 That down to us with awe the solemn Scriptures 
 bring ? 
 
 Mistake me not, Gertrude ; none can know 
 Better than thou what I do think of sin. 
 Ask God how from polluted sources flow 
 The streams of life that we refresh us in. 
 I think how handicapped some men begin, 
 And wonder what had come of me if I, 
 Born with such fire, humored as they have been. 
 Had met these same enticements I defv. 
 
 150 
 
A^kesl fees 
 
 The mighty weak, like shields before the times, 
 Stand out and take the blame for all the common 
 
 crimes. 
 
 What man knows of himself, if for some cause 
 He had been born with passions and weak will? 
 
 . And Burns, — had he but met the right applause, 
 Would he have been the loud exciseman still? 
 God had His purpose in each : we may kill, 
 Drug with false praise, or starve into dejection, 
 But he will send another to fulfill 
 His high design, and point us to perfection. 
 Happy the man, and perfect in God's eyes, 
 
 Who, though he fall, and fall, and fall again, still 
 tries. 
 
 Yet there are some with superstitious notions 
 Who will not pause, but organize to fight 
 Imaginary devils with emotions 
 That warp their minds and dim their spiritual sight; 
 Till, losing charity, they lose the light ; 
 And from their piteous darkness you may hear them 
 Calling their man-made God of wrath and spite 
 To judge the wicked world, while ever near them, 
 An all-forgiving Father grieves that his children fear 
 Him. 
 
 Many with satisfaction wait the day 
 When wholesale justice shall condemn the risen, 
 Happy, poor souls, that God shall not delay 
 To cast His enemies in eternal prison. 
 
 151 
 
Such are the minds that count it sin to reason. 
 But God loves them, and waits. He loved the Jews 
 From whose dead errors works this sacred poison, 
 That we, three thousand years towards Heaven, 
 must choose, 
 Or be despised of men who hold these morbid views. 
 
 Oh that all nations knew that God is Love, 
 And recognized in Christ the gentle Brother. 
 Jesus, (and Washington,) ordained above, 
 And many a man is of a holy mother. 
 All are the children of the one kind Father, 
 Jesus the only worthy of us all; 
 Who teaches us to live for one another, 
 Lest by one's selfishness another fall. 
 And that is all there is. The task is very small. 
 
 Father, direct us to avoid the snares 
 And gloomy pitfalls of theology. 
 Teach us how sweeter praises are than prayers, 
 Thanksgiving than beseeching, — let us be 
 Grateful and glad, resigning all to Thee, 
 Who in Thy goodness cannot humor men 
 And still be wise of what they cannot see. 
 Teach us to know our duty, not to scan 
 Thee, whom we cannot know, trusting until we can. 
 
 When from our joys we turn to bear the trials 
 That make us men, prepared for greater joys. 
 Fill Thou our souls, that we may keep the smiles 
 Of happy peace for timely counterpoise. 
 
 152 
 
A^Uf 
 
 nSS^s 
 
 So shall we go about with little noise ; 
 And in our hearts, not in our mouths, shall lie 
 The faith good wisdom welcomes and employs. 
 Thou sparest none from kindness, all must die. 
 Oh may we love Thee more, and come without a sigh. 
 
 Alas, and oh alas, that men should stoop 
 To the calm bartering of their souls for praise. 
 Alas that I have been the easy dupe 
 Of vulgar plaudits in my earlier days. 
 Woe is the bard whose eagerness for the bays 
 Persuades his holy office to receive 
 The gorgeous wreath that withers and decays. 
 Woe is the man who has no more to leave 
 Than odes to wasted time, and deeds beyond retrieve. 
 
 I falter, dear, for I, young though I am, 
 Have juggled time and talent for applause ; 
 Till, grown to be the shadow of my sham, 
 I took delight in building fame of straws. 
 If for no other reason than because. 
 But winter came, and these successive snows 
 Have kept me so employed that now I pause 
 And find myself companion of the rose. 
 Love, in thy modest eyes my real ambition glows. 
 
 I think of thee, and I am seized to paint 
 
 The truth, far in the future, and I cast 
 
 Check to the winds, and leave old dull Restraint 
 
 Gaping at me from out the wasted past, 
 
 And startled Time, bewildered, stands aghast. 
 
 153 
 
I heed th'3m not. I only throb within 
 And spe^d the swifter, lest the fire outlast 
 The nervous fuel ere the work begin — 
 ^T I can save my strength for the finish I will win. 
 
 \Yhy should I win? What man enjoys his prize 
 As much as he who lost it envies him ? 
 A heavy name is greater in some eyes 
 Than modest faithfulness. Each has his whim. 
 A.nd gratified, it suddenly grows dim 
 And worthless. Yet the man who toils ahead 
 Scorns a reward for duty ; and his hymn 
 Swells to the skies, though from a shivering bed 
 He goeth forth at dawn, unfriended, and unfed. 
 
 Come, dear, let us go in ; perhaps a song 
 Would brighten me a little, for I fear 
 A transient ray of sunshine will not long 
 Keep back the clouds that seem to disappear. 
 Oh would my soul were like the mountaineer, 
 Who sees the clouds beneath him, while above 
 He looks into a sky forever clear. 
 The eagle is his symbol, mine the dove; 
 Heroic war his song, mine love, eternal love. 
 
 Yes, God is Love. You know just what to say 
 To light me through the clouds. Come, let us sing. 
 I 'm glad I left my harp here yesterday. 
 I '11 tune it while you go upstairs and bring 
 Your violin. Hark, how the echoes ring 
 Through the still house, to the most breathful touch. 
 
 154 
 
Don't be gone long. 
 
 Oh is there anything 
 In this wide world that I do love as much 
 As the sweet smile of willingness. I will hum 
 A low, wierd interlude, and harken till she come. 
 
 Hush! 
 
 The world is gone. 
 
 Alone, 
 
 Alone, 
 
 Far out upon 
 
 The farthest zone 
 
 Of space 
 
 I, Music, 
 
 Sit listening. 
 
 Hush: 
 
 Hush : 
 
 Nothing but silence. 
 
 Nothing but night. 
 
 No stir, 
 
 No light, 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 The things that were 
 
 Are dead. 
 
 Darkness instead, 
 
 And blur. 
 
 The expectant void 
 
 Sways and vibrates 
 
 With worlds unborn. 
 
 How long, 
 
 155 
 
How long till morn? 
 
 Wait. 
 
 God waits. 
 
 And I, 
 
 I, Music, wait 
 
 And palpitate, 
 
 Stirred, 
 
 But unheard. 
 
 Listen ! 
 
 Hark! 
 
 The birth of sound ! 
 
 I feel ! 
 
 I hear ! 
 
 Oh strings, resound ! 
 
 Fly!— fly! Fear, 
 
 And thou, Space, 
 
 Give place ! 
 
 Hail! 
 
 Strike ! Oh ye strings, 
 Eejoice ! 
 Rejoice ! 
 Creation brings 
 Her mighty voice, 
 All living things 
 And rocks and springs 
 Call to the day 
 "Rejoice ! 
 " Rejoice ! " 
 Hark. 
 
 156 
 
Far away 
 Faint Echo sings 
 "Rejoice ! 
 "Rejoice ! 
 "Rejoice!" 
 And dies 
 Along the skies 
 Where Quiet lies 
 Sleeping. 
 Hush. 
 
 Nothing but just a little offhand song 
 To amuse my spirits with till your return. 
 It had been shorter, but you staid so long 
 I let the lamp of inspiration burn, 
 Spread the wide wings of lofty unconcern, 
 And in that instant was beyond all thought, 
 Save that unconsciously I harked to learn 
 When you were coming, till each sound I caught 
 Impulsed me on to reach almost the heights I sought. 
 
 And I had reached it, but as you came nearer 
 The inspiration blushed, and ran and hid. 
 Or else I blushed ; for when I have a hearer 
 I always do. That is, I always did. 
 And that I lose my deference God forbid. 
 There is a joy in modesty of soul. 
 We watch it in the patient invalid 
 With tears of hope. And who would set control 
 Above his gentler self, and bravely spoil the whole? 
 
 157 
 
Would I could be what I admire in men. 
 Would I were great, even to the highest flush 
 Of young ambition. Yet the voice, the pen, 
 Are less than simple goodness, and I blush. 
 
 The organist in the dim cathedral's hush 
 Looks through the darkness, and his fingers feel 
 Along the breathless keys with tremulous touch, 
 And on his listening soul, faint, but how real, 
 Far through the holy night the heavenly answers 
 steal. 
 
 He hears. He answers. With emotion clinging 
 To the low flute that mellows through the gloom. 
 He hears the angels answer, — hears them singing, - 
 And now the silence whispers ' ' Hark ! they come ! 
 ' ' Hark ! hark ! ' ' the organ echoes, ' ' hark ! be 
 
 dumb!" 
 And in the hush that follows you can hear 
 The labored breathing of great pipes, and some 
 Groan their impatience to the organeer, 
 Who lingers listening still. But see — strange lights 
 
 appear: 
 
 And he can tell the voices that come first ; 
 Hears the great masters leading; and with zeal 
 Opens the throbbing pipes that else had burst, 
 Lets out his soul and echoes peal on peal. 
 Loud from the lofty pipes the raptures reel. 
 Harmoniously confounded. Far below, 
 
 158 
 
The heaving pedals tremble to reveal 
 That depth of joy the deep alone can know, 
 And the great lofts reply, like seas that ebb and 
 flow. 
 
 Now the high notes like flames of moving fire 
 
 Above the rolling clouds of joyful bass, 
 
 Leap from the thousand throats of crypt, dome, 
 
 spire, 
 And flash tuned lightning up through thundering 
 
 space. 
 Hark the far anthems of the populace : 
 The excited chimes, the sacred iron bell. 
 And the great organ gladdens on apace. 
 And the walls rumble with the mighty swell — 
 Music and Madness wed — and roaring wind, and 
 
 hail. 
 
 As when a spark of its own ardor glows 
 In the dead solstice of a summer night. 
 Feeds to a flame, and brightens as it grows, 
 Till sea and city, stars, clouds, mountain height 
 Peer from the flickering darkness pale with fright, 
 Then as they catch the excitement and join in. 
 And the big ocean trembles with delight. 
 The opposite foothills echoing to the din 
 Of voices, that like angels all in white 
 Move slowly singing up the mountain side 
 • ' Glory to Him Who lives ! We come ! Behold our 
 pride." 
 
 159 
 
Just as triumphant inspiration comes 
 To that high climax of the mighty scale 
 Where blare of golden horns, and metal drums, 
 Are heard no more above the nightingale, 
 And delicate Music feels her lips grow pale 
 And tremble, and she finds herself alone 
 Far in the midst of silence, then there fail 
 The slow-returning choirs, until the tone 
 Is lost among the stars, that roll about the throne. 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 The sun is low in the woods ; 
 
 And the long, twilight shadows are creeping 
 Over the lily-pond, solemn and still, 
 Where the odor of hay floats by. 
 
 And the reapers are through with their reaping 
 And the bullfrogs down in the lily-pond 
 Croak, while the little ones shrill. 
 
 Let us drift with the breeze. Oh love. 
 Like a shadow a-creeping, a-creeping. 
 Over the lily -pond, close by the mill ; 
 Where the white swans dream and float. 
 And ever the willows are weeping, 
 
 And their images down in the lily-pond 
 Touch them, and quiver, and thrill. 
 
 Let us drift with the breeze, Oh love, 
 Like a shadow a-creeping, a-creeping, 
 
 160 
 
A^Lsl fees 
 
 Over the lily-pond, under the hill ; 
 Where the clover droops from the bank, 
 And the cattle are dozing and sleeping, 
 And the stars, deep down in the lily-pond, 
 Watch us, and tremble, and thrill. 
 
 POOR. 
 
 We 're goin' away to-morrow day, 
 
 Down to ne railroad crack, 
 An' goin' on ne choo-choo cars, 
 An' tooken ever'fing nat's ars, 
 
 An' never comin' back. 
 
 My papa 's got a whole big lots 
 
 A-jobs, way to a place 
 Where th' ain't no peoples 'cep' but us, 
 An' mans nat grives ne omblibus, 
 
 An' whiskers on the'r face. 
 
 It's way, way past ne woods somewheres. 
 
 My papa knows. He 's been. 
 An' mamma says they 's ugly scares, 
 An' wild In-dins, an' snakes, an' bears. 
 
 An' all kinds a-fings fwif skin. 
 
 My papa says we 're poor, an' he 7<r^ 
 Can't git work here to do. \' 
 
 " . 161 
 
Wisht I wuz rich, an' mamma an' me, 
 An' papa, an' gramma, too, all three. 
 An' sister, an' ns, why nen, why we, 
 Why we 'd be rich, like you. 
 
 An' we'd have pie, an' cake, an' sweet, 
 
 An' butter on ar bread. 
 An' m' lasses, too, an' steak, an' meat, 
 An' oh, iss ever-fing to eat. 
 
 Nen wouldn' I be glad? 
 
 THE COUNTY FAIR. 
 
 One time I seen a bray-big b'loon ! 
 
 Fourf-a-July afernoon. 
 
 Guess it wuz, er to ne Fair. 
 
 I donno — I guess nat's where, 
 
 'Cause my bray-big brover Ed 
 
 Runned away f 'om me, he did, 
 
 An' slipped away somewheres an' hide. 
 
 Nen I iss runned an' cried an' cried. 
 
 Nen he comed an' said 'at he 
 
 Done it fer to iss scare me. 
 
 Nen we 're went where 's krees an' fings, 
 
 An' birds in 'um what they 're sings; 
 
 Only they nain't nany, 'cause 
 
 When I peeped up where they wuz. 
 
 Why they wuzn't nany nere; 
 
 Way out to ne Coundy Fair. 
 
 162 
 
Ed he ketched a bray-big snake ! 
 
 An' killed its head off fwif a rake ! 
 
 An' lots a-min they 're corned an' said 
 
 ' ' How-do ' ' to my brover Ed. 
 
 Nen Ed, why he taked holt my hand, 
 
 An' we're iss runned where they 's a band. 
 
 An' bray -big race crack, mile around ! 
 
 An' horses scootin' round an' round 
 
 All ne time ! An' bell to ring, 
 
 An' make 'um go, an' ever'fing, 
 
 An' p'leece to keep ne peoples back, — 
 
 Only we're skipped acrosst ne crack 
 
 When they're wuzn't lookin' nen, 
 
 'Cause Ed he knowed the p'leece, I b'leeve, 
 
 'Cause he called one " Hello, ol' man ! " 
 
 An' laffed, an' taked a-holt his sleeve. 
 
 An' 'nover p'leece comed up to Ed, 
 
 An' I fergit whut all he said. 
 
 Only he laffed an' looked at me. 
 
 An' hold me up so I could see 
 
 Way crosst ne ring ! an see a horse 
 
 Iss runnin' , an' a nover horse 
 
 Iss try in' to ketch up, an' couldn't, 
 
 An' nover horses tried, an' couldn't, 
 
 An' I iss hollered down to Ed, 
 
 An' nen he taked me, 'cause he said 
 
 The p'leeceman hat to went on ne crack 
 
 An' keep ne res' ne peoples back. 
 
 An' nen here comed a nigger-man 
 
 Iss scootin' past as fas' he can 
 
 On top a horse, an' shake his whip, 
 
 163 
 
An' hollerin' "Git ep ! git ep ! " 
 An' nen some more corned scootin' past, 
 An' they 're was iss goin' awful fast, 
 An' novern comed, an' when ne crowd 
 Wasn' lookin' I hollered wight out loud. 
 
 An' nen I seen some pigs, an' cows, 
 An' bulls, an' horses, an' dray-big sows, 
 An' cutest littie pigs, an' sheeps, 
 An* papa sheeps, an' mamma sheeps 
 An' loculmodives runnin' round, 
 Fwifout no cracks ! wight on ne ground ! 
 An' big win'meels, an' water come, 
 An' didn' haf to pump atall. 
 An' Ed he went an' got me some. 
 An' candy," too. I guess nat 's all. 
 An' they wuz ever'body nere. 
 Way out to ne Coundy Fair. 
 
 Oh yes ! 1 seen a bray-big b'loon ! 
 
 An' big clo'es-basket, an' some min 
 
 Comed along an' iss got in ! 
 
 Nen ever'body hollered ! 
 
 'Cause nen ne b'loon 
 
 Iss got away, an' went skrait up ! 
 
 An' peoples hollered, an' it wouldn' stop ! 
 
 An' nen ne min slung lots a-sand 
 
 Out a-bags, an' waved the'r hand ! 
 
 Nen ever'body hollered nen, 
 
 An' wathed the'r han'kercheefs again, 
 
 An' I telled Ed whut wuz they doin""? 
 
 161 
 
An' he says, '* You're'U see perty soon." 
 
 An' nen I wait, an' by an' by, 
 
 When they 're git up past ne sky 
 
 Ne b'loon iss upset, perty nigh. 
 
 Nen Ed he seen it, an' some min, 
 
 They're seen it, an' some nover min, 
 
 They 're seen it, an' I couldn' see it. 
 
 An' whole lots a-ladies couldn' see it. 
 
 An' nen, why nen, why Ed he says, 
 
 " I guess that mus' be all they is." 
 
 An' nen I tooked a-holt his hand. 
 
 An' we 're went wight past nover band. 
 
 An' nen I got to went an' go 
 
 Past where they wuz a big side-show, 
 
 An' min a-hollerin', an' nen us 
 
 An' Ed got in a nomblibus, 
 
 An' took us skrait down town fer nickle. 
 
 An' I went to sleep, an' Ed hat to tickle 
 
 Me an' nover little boy. 
 
 An' I di'n't know ne little boy. 
 
 Only Ed, he knowed ne little boy. 
 
 An' I wuz to ne Coundy Fair. 
 
 I bet you wisht nat you wuz nare. 
 
 THE CALFIE-COW. 
 
 Wunst, a 'ittol caffie-cow 
 Lost its ma, one day, 
 
 An' couldn' find her, nanyhow, 
 Nen iss runned an' say : 
 " Ma ! Ma ! Ma ! " iss nat way. 
 165 
 
An' nen her mamma corned along 
 F'om where her start to go, 
 
 An' ast her what on earf was wrong 
 'At maked her holler so. 
 
 "Moo! Moo! Moo!" 
 Nat 's all I know. 
 
 THE STREAM. 
 
 The brooklet runs to meet the brook 
 
 The brook to meet the river ; 
 The river flows to join the sea, 
 
 And lose itself forever. 
 
 My childhood babbled into youth; 
 
 Now youth, through manhood driven, 
 Will leave me soon below the falls, 
 
 In placid view of Heaven. 
 
 Choose well thy course, — keep pure, my soal, 
 
 And oh where'er thy duty, 
 Reflect thy God before all men. 
 
 Though few admire thy beauty. 
 
 So shalt thou flow a perfect stream, 
 
 Lost in His love forever ; 
 And men shall say, "How sweet to stray 
 
 Beside this ancient river." 
 
 166 
 
MY TOWN. 
 
 You may go the world up and down, 
 
 And many a town you '11 see, 
 But there 's no town like my town, 
 
 No difference how poor it be. 
 Por there are the dear old friends 
 
 Who knew me when I was a boy. 
 Bless their kind hearts, it sends 
 
 A thrill of the wholesomest joy 
 To land in town and go up the street. 
 Welcomed by all the people I meet. 
 Oh the poorest town is hard to beat 
 
 For the boy who was born and raised there. 
 
 You may hold to it up and down 
 
 That yours is the finest to see, 
 But it 's no town like my town, 
 
 No difference how fine it be. 
 For there are the people that stare. 
 
 And wonder who that fellow is. 
 Bless their hearts though, I declare, 
 
 It 's human to wonder and quiz. 
 And those same cold strangers, that only seem so, 
 Are kind old friends of yours, I know. 
 Oh the coldest town will overflow 
 
 To the boy who was born and raised there. 
 
 But ah, when these friends are gone, 
 
 Gone, all but you and me, 
 Not your town nor my town 
 
 Will be what it used to be. 
 167 
 
We '11 miss the kind faces we knew, 
 
 And forget the old honest pride, 
 And we '11 argue, as old men do, 
 
 That the world has grown too wide. 
 But God has arranged for the dear old men 
 To meet together as boys again, 
 And we'll go and leave the old towns then 
 
 To the boys who were born and raised there. 
 
 THE PIGGIES. 
 
 Five little pigs came in our yard. 
 
 Heigh-ho little piggie-wiggies ! 
 And they went to rooting without regard. 
 
 Hey there ! little piggie-wiggies. 
 I didn't like to go out in the rain, 
 But they went on rooting with might and main. 
 My wife just tapped on the window-pane. 
 
 Ho-ho ! little piggie-wiggies ! 
 
 We had to laugh when they looked around, 
 
 Ha-ha ! little piggie-wiggies ! 
 With their little bright eyes all covered with groun* 
 
 Tut, tut, little piggie-wiggies. 
 We tapped again, and they wheeled about 
 On their short fat legs and scampered out, 
 And each made a nose at us with his snout. 
 
 Why, why, little piggie-wiggies. 
 
 168 
 
THE MOLE. 
 
 Look, love, at the pretty mole I found. 
 
 I saw it going into the ground, 
 
 And caught it, and brought it home to you. 
 
 I was just coming out of the field where I husk. 
 
 When the moon peeped over the Indian mound, 
 
 And I saw something crossing the road in the dusk. 
 
 I knew what it was ; and before I could pause. 
 
 Boy-like, I had him, body and claws, 
 
 And was hurrying home with my prize to you. 
 
 I thought at first how nice it would look 
 
 To make you a dainty money-book 
 
 Of the delicate fur, but my heart was true. 
 
 And I said ' ' No, Paul, that will never do. 
 
 God is merciful, we must be." 
 
 But I brought it home for you to see. 
 
 Isn't it fat? Just come and feel. 
 
 Its fur is as soft as the softest seaL 
 
 What a strange blue cast — Oh hear him squeal ! 
 
 Get me the cage, dear. Poor little mole, 
 
 Did I hurt you? There, now, open the hole. 
 
 And I '11 drop him in. He can't get out. 
 
 See him poke through the cracks with his pointed 
 
 snout. 
 What a comical face he has when he pries 
 With his broad, thick hands, and his wee, bead eyes. 
 Whoa, there, get down, little mole, — you'll fall. 
 Look out ! I'm sorry. It hurt, I know. 
 Little people were only made to crawl, 
 And should be quite careful how high they go. 
 
 169 
 
Just like a boy, though, — at it again. 
 
 But the stubbornest boys make the best of men ; 
 
 And a few hard bumps are good at the start; 
 
 Go it, young wilful, and keep good heart. 
 
 Come, love, he is angry now, for they say" 
 
 Moles are cross little things that way. 
 
 And we 'd be, too, if we lived in the sod, 
 
 Shut off from the beautiful world of God. 
 
 I pity a mole, as I pity all those 
 
 Who survey the world's end at the tip of their nose, 
 
 And never look up at the far blue sky, 
 
 And forget their vexations, as you and I. 
 
 Yet maybe I wrong this poor little mole. 
 
 Birds hymn their Creator, and why not he? 
 
 It was preached that the black man had no soul, 
 
 But a kind old sinner set them free. 
 
 And now they 're God's children the same as we. 
 
 Who knows? When I seized my little slave 
 
 He was probably out for his modest share 
 
 Of the autumn harvest our Father gave. 
 
 For industry reaps the rewards of prayer, 
 
 And all is for all, whether mole or man, 
 
 At it early, and get what we can. 
 
 At it together, and praise the Lord, 
 
 Remember the poor, and forget the reward. 
 
 But supper is ready and waiting I see. 
 Oh dear little wife, you are so good to me. 
 Come, let us sit down in the presence of Him 
 Who was always our Guest when the days were 
 dim, 
 
 170 
 
AUf fees 
 
 But Who is our bountiful Host to-night. 
 I remember you told me 't would all come right. 
 God bless you, sweet Gertrude. What would I do 
 In this beautiful world, were it not for you? 
 
 But this little mole is on my mind. 
 
 It is never right to be unkind. 
 
 I am sorry. I wish I had let it go. 
 
 It hurts me to see it worried so. 
 
 Yet how should we love these queer little elves, 
 
 If we didn't catch one and see for ourselves? 
 
 Hereafter, when I see one burrow down 
 
 Into his subterranean halls, 
 
 Arching the sod, and dividing the walls, 
 
 As he makes his way to the fairy town 
 
 With stolen goodies for the babies that wait 
 
 With mamma mole, at the city gate, 
 
 I '11 laugh to myself, and hurry on, 
 
 So he '11 come for more when I am gone. 
 
 [Now, to-night, when the moon is high, and we take 
 
 Our usual walk, overlooking the lake, 
 
 We '11 carry our little prisoner back, 
 
 With some corn for him in a paper sack. 
 
 TO KEATS, AFTER READING HIS LIFE. 
 
 Thus ends the tale. And it is long since then. 
 
 But beauty lives, and life is lovelier now. 
 
 Oh had they known thee as we know thee now. 
 Perhaps ihey had received thee kindlier then. 
 
 171 
 
But poetry is still crime with average men, 
 And commonness is as hateful to the brow 
 Of delicate thought as 'twas the days when thou, 
 Sweet, gentle boy, didst weep, and sing again. 
 But patient wisdom sees a better age, 
 
 Far through the trying years, when great-grown 
 man 
 Shall value greatness ; and the still, high courts 
 Of listening and attention shall engage 
 To hear from bards who at thy feet began, 
 That beauty still is truth by all reports. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 It is my sweetest blessing now 
 
 That I may re-begin 
 With one who sees before I point, 
 
 And can be trusted in. 
 
 Who feels before I speak ; who knows 
 
 More truth than I can tell ; 
 Who, though my language poorly flows, 
 
 Will understand as well. 
 
 And yet for whom my thoughts consume 
 
 The simple words I use. 
 That flame to just the glow I seek. 
 
 Ere I have power to choose. 
 
 172 
 
Asides °r fees 
 
 Whose speech is music, and whose hush 
 
 Is the long, modest pause 
 That starts in tune with gentle blush, 
 
 Too sweet for strange applause. 
 
 Who lives for me, that I may live 
 For Him Who gave our life 
 
 To be a mild demonstrative 
 Of happy man and wife. 
 
 Gertrude, my precious, perfect me, 
 
 Made delicate and pure. 
 Thou more than I can hope to be, 
 
 Though I may long endure, 
 
 My soul, unlike me as I am. 
 
 But all I should have been, 
 Whose symbol is the little lamb. 
 
 That has no thought of sin. 
 
 Yet in thy time thou shalt be more 
 
 Than thou thyself art now, 
 To draw me upward as before, 
 
 As none else knoweth how. 
 
 Just as we help ourselves the most. 
 
 By helping others first. 
 That difference cannot be lost 
 
 Till all sin be dispersed. 
 
 173 
 
Go on, my soul, my sweeter soul, 
 
 And lead me to the skies ; 
 There where the years forever roll, 
 
 And marriage never dies, 
 
 There where the truth shall all be known, 
 
 That no one knoweth now, 
 We go, sweetheart, but not alone. 
 
 For God shall teach us how. 
 
 FAILURE. 
 
 Far in the past's eternal afterglow 
 
 Celestial glory gilds the silent west. 
 The darkness gathers round me as I go ; 
 
 Sing on, my soul, remember, there is rest. 
 The glow will fade, the day will soon be past ; 
 
 The night will come, and listening, mock thy steps; 
 But thou be great ; the time will come at last 
 
 When men shall love thee, though it be, perhaps, 
 
 When thou hast dropped behind the world's elapse 
 In silence. Would that I could always dwell 
 
 In the calm quiet of unruffled thought ; 
 And sing for those about me, and could tell 
 Of the far ages that I see so well, 
 
 When men shall love each other, as they ought. 
 
 LAST NIGHT. 
 
 Last night, when I awoke, the frozen winds 
 In mad pursuit of space were sallying forth 
 174 
 
Out of the forests to the west and north, 
 Slamming the doors and howling through the rooms, 
 Banging the gates, and sweeping on like fiends 
 
 Across the fields, and on into the glooms. 
 And ever one was left to grope about 
 
 Sighing, far in a lone room. I could not sleep. 
 I closed the windows down, and still without. 
 The crazy gates did rattle, and moan, and weep, 
 And I was shut within the house alone. 
 And a quick sadness seized me, and I felt 
 
 For thy face, love, remembering thou wert gone 
 Down to the river, in the cozy town, 
 To visit thy good mother where she dwelt. 
 
 LITTLE ALLEGRA. 
 
 To-day I got a valentine 
 From my sweet little cousin. 
 
 Before I was a married man 
 I used to get a dozen. 
 
 But since a pretty school girl stands 
 Beside me, to protect me, 
 
 My little kindergarten friends 
 Have purposed to neglect me. 
 
 However, we shall not despair 
 While skies are blue above us, 
 
 And little Allegra shall swear 
 By all the stars to love us. 
 
 J75 
 
CHICKENOLOGY. 
 I. 
 
 All ar hens walks on the'r ban's, 
 'Cause the'r han's is same as feeC 
 
 An' ar ol' roosters, they're iss stan's, 
 An' crows, an' crows, an' eat an' eat. 
 
 My mamma says that there 's because 
 
 That 's how chickuns always does. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes, an' when ar big hens sets, 
 
 They're hatches little chicks, like ars. 
 
 An' mamma says, when the big sun sets, 
 It hatches little stars. 
 
 III. 
 
 My U'cle Ben says, 
 
 Ef I c'lect hens' teef, 
 He'll gi' me dollar 
 
 Fer ever' one. 
 We're got a ol' hen 
 
 Nat's pit-nigh deef, 
 An' can't hartly s waller, 
 
 'N'am go' to git a gun, 
 An' shoot its neck off, 
 
 An' git a dollar. 
 An' buy some candy. 
 
 Nen won't I holler? 
 
 176 
 
TO MYSELF. 
 
 Do now, to-day, all that you know you ought. 
 
 No generous effort ever came to nought. 
 
 Work. For the night will come when they must 
 
 work 
 Who, through the day, permit themselves to shirk. 
 And they who did their best, though they need rest, 
 Must stay and help while they have strength to stand. 
 So shall the work be finished in the end. 
 
 TO MY BROTHER ARTHUR 
 
 Once, at the long farewell of day, 
 Above the wide-mouthed river, 
 
 I took my contemplative way 
 Where the golden waters quiver. 
 
 Unmarked of men, the same as they, 
 Heirs of the great forever. 
 
 Now, like an idle ship that's furled, 
 I watched the ships at sea ; 
 
 Or where the rolling breakers curled, 
 And splashed the beach with spray. 
 
 I was at peace with all the world, 
 The world at peace with me. 
 
 And then I met a thoughtful man. 
 
 ( Ah, there are too few such. ) 
 And, glad to meet him, thus began : 
 
 ( Respectful was my touch. ) 
 
 12 177 
 
"I am a boy, but I enjoy 
 Good company very much. ' ' 
 
 "I hope you find enough," he said. 
 
 I answered, "Yes, indeed. 
 The world is full of books unread, 
 
 That every boy should read ; 
 And now and then I ply the pen. 
 
 For practice, which I need." 
 
 "Why practice with the pen, young man? 
 
 The world has books enough. 
 You said yourself that every shelf 
 
 Was loaded with such stuff. 
 You '11 starve to death." I held my breath. 
 
 His way was rather rough. 
 
 I was too quick. " I 'd rather starve," 
 
 I said, ' ' than not stand true 
 To Him Who has His hopes set high 
 
 On everything I do." 
 "You're young," he said, and turned his head. 
 
 He hurt me through and through. 
 I did not have the heart to brave 
 
 Against such interview. 
 
 With quivering lips I thanked him well. 
 
 He answered not a word. 
 How I moved on I cannot tell. 
 
 Oh, it was very hard, 
 
 178 
 
AsWf fee, 
 
 To think a fellow-man would kill 
 My hopes, without regard. 
 
 I looked beyond the glowing sky, 
 And found my comfort there. 
 
 And though a tear stood in my eye, 
 I soon forgot my care, 
 
 And pitied him whose soul was dim, 
 And took him in my prayer. 
 
 That night I rose and took my hat 
 
 And sought the river side. 
 The night was dark, and not a spark 
 
 Showed where the waters glide. 
 I was the only one to hark 
 
 The lapping of the tide. 
 
 I wrote; and though I could not see, 
 
 I loved what I did write; 
 And while I wrote, it seemed to me, 
 
 The paper blazed with light; 
 I looked : the moon had burst its noon ; 
 
 The clouds were fleecy white. 
 
 And Arthur, many a time since then, 
 Though wounded to the core. 
 
 Have I found solace through my pen, 
 Forgiving, as before. 
 
 And though the same should strike again, 
 I '11 love him more and more. 
 
 179 
 
LITTLE BIRDS. 
 
 A little brown bird sat in our tree, 
 
 Smgmg. 
 A little brown bird in a very big tree, 
 And he stopped and said "Howd'e do" to me 
 
 And went on singing. 
 
 I recognized him as soon as he spoke, 
 
 Singing. 
 He looked like his little old kinfolk 
 That used to live in our big oak, 
 
 Singing and singing. 
 
 A little brown birdie beneath him sat. 
 
 Listening. 
 And when she saw me she turned like that I 
 And asked him whom was I looking at. 
 
 Staring and listening. 
 
 I let on like I never heard. 
 
 Listening. 
 Then she said "This is getting too absurd. 
 It 's too public a place for a little girl bird, 
 
 And people listening." 
 
 I heard him then, as I slipped away, 
 
 Whispering. 
 I hope he '11 coax her and get her to stay, 
 Don't you? Then I '11 climb up some day. 
 
 Peeping, and whispering, 
 
 180 
 
And then I '11 hurry down to you, 
 
 Whispering, 
 And then I '11 put the big ladder through, 
 And you can climb up and peep in too, 
 
 Laughing, and whispering. 
 
 WHEN WE WERE MARRIED. 
 
 The woods were full of flowers, love, 
 
 When I came by to-day ; 
 In just a few short hours, love, 
 
 'Twill be the first of May. 
 And then in one sweet month, love, 
 
 And it will be a year 
 Since you and I were married, love, 
 
 And are you happy, dear? 
 
 Oh are you happy, happy, dear? 
 
 And do I make you glad ? 
 And do you never, never dream 
 
 Of the joys you might have had? 
 And do you love me, love me, dear , 
 
 As you did that happy morn. 
 When you and I were married, dear, 
 
 And I was weak and worn ? 
 
 Oh the woods were full of flowers, love. 
 
 When I came by to-day. 
 I have counted all the hours, love, 
 
 Since you were called away. 
 
 181 
 
And I thought in one day more, love, 
 And I would see you here, 
 
 A week since we were parted, love, 
 And are you happy, dear? 
 
 Oh we are happy, happy, dear. 
 
 For God hath made us glad; 
 And we shall never, never dream 
 
 Of the joys we might have had. 
 Oh let us love and thank Him, dear, 
 
 As we did that happy morn. 
 When you and I were married, dear, 
 
 And I was weak and worn . 
 
 AFTER HEARING A FAMOUS EVANGELIST. 
 
 God is my Father, and I knew Him not. 
 
 But he knew me, and loved me, and was patient. 
 
 Ye joyful, preach ; but be not rash ; be patient. 
 These are His own ; and have ye too forgot? 
 I understand them best ; they cannot see. 
 Oh let me love them; leave them here with me. 
 Urge not thy superstitions. Are ye God, 
 
 That threat mankind with vengeance, and the 
 grave ? 
 
 Man gives no time to love that will not save 
 For its own sake, whose gospel is the rod. 
 He faces judgment and the eternal wrath 
 
 Unflinching ; for he knows he cannot die. 
 
 182 
 
He feels God stir within him, and he hath 
 
 A silence for all creeds. For by and by- 
 Truth shall transcend the church. The day will come 
 
 When God shall be no more misunderstood. 
 
 The error robs the truth of half its good. 
 We are inspired, and shall our lips be dumb? 
 Till then I shall still hear you and receive 
 
 Error with truth ; for I have much to learn, 
 Much to endure, many to believe, 
 
 Ere I am calm, and ready for my turn. 
 
 TO MY BROTHER ARTHUR, EMBARKING 
 FOR CUBA. 
 
 The breeze was at our back, 
 
 And the shades of our sails before, 
 
 And over the water spread the track 
 To the sands of our native shore. 
 
 Over the waters gleamed the way 
 In the glow of the sinking sun, 
 
 And the billows rolled like liquid gold 
 Till the starry night came on. 
 
 And into the starry, chilly night. 
 And over the sighing swell, 
 
 With here and there a gleam of light. 
 And now and then a bell. 
 
 183 
 
Till the stumbling seas on hands and knees 
 
 Groped after us in the dark, — 
 It is a lonely joy at sea 
 
 To lean on the rail and hark. 
 
 But ah, look up at the silent worlds. 
 That roll through the awful deep, 
 And think how far through the night they are. 
 Star and planet, and planet and star, 
 Kolling and never asleep. 
 
 Oh brother of mine, may peace be thine 
 
 When out on the flying foam 
 Thou turnest from all the stars that shine, 
 
 To think of the ones at home. 
 
 For there is a sorrow above all pain, 
 
 That binds us to those we love. 
 And a peace that no man can explain, 
 If we but remember whose hands contain 
 
 The sea, and the stars above. 
 
 TO LAIRD EASTON. 
 
 Lythe is the willow withe ; 
 
 But my love is more graceful to me. 
 Fair is the Venus of myth ; 
 
 But my love is far fairer than she. 
 The little girl with the rose in her hair. 
 Show me one that is half so fair. 
 
 184 
 
Cool is the early morn, 
 
 When the dew is wet on the grass ; 
 Green are the fields of corn, 
 
 That rustle us as we pass. 
 And when our work in the garden is done, 
 Calm is the glow of the setting sun. 
 
 We love, and gather our feast, 
 
 All in the still twilight ; 
 Then in the quiet east 
 
 We watch the glories of night, 
 Till the fields are lost, and the woods grow deep, 
 And all but the stars are gone to sleep. 
 
 Who is as happy as we? 
 
 ' T is noble to toil with the hands. 
 And God hath given to me 
 
 A woman, who understands. 
 The little girl with the rose in her hair. 
 Oh there is none that is half so fair. 
 
 Cherries are on our shelves, 
 
 Strawberries, and everything good. 
 
 We picked them and canned them ourselves; 
 My little girl understood. 
 
 But summer is long, and there 's much to do. 
 
 Our trees are drooping with peaches, too. 
 
 Come when the year sits down, 
 
 And smiles at the goodness of God ; 
 
 185 
 
When the fruits are yellow and brown, 
 
 And the graceful goldenrod 
 Sways and dies by the roadside fence, 
 And summer is gone, and the rains commence. 
 
 Then indoors by the glow 
 
 Of the warm fire, watching the blaze, 
 We talk of the long ago, 
 
 And plan for the winter days ; 
 And the good we hope to do when we can, 
 When she is a woman, and I am a man. 
 
 Come when the still frost cracks 
 
 In the winter solitudes ; 
 Then with bright steel saw and axe 
 
 We go to the echoing woods. 
 And her voice rings out from tree to tree- — 
 She is gathering nuts, and is calling me. 
 
 I come. She is beautiful. Laird. 
 
 I know I am manly and rough, 
 But we are so happily paired, 
 
 I cannot love her enough. 
 God bless her and keep her till I am old. 
 Yet for His sake we could brave the cold. 
 
 Thoughts of death, like a cloud, 
 
 Pass over the winter sun, — 
 But she calls my name aloud : 
 
 And I see a rabbit run ! 
 
 186 
 
And her happy eyes have a kindly tear 
 For the joy of loving and being here. 
 
 We understand, and are glad. 
 
 She piles up the hickory bark, 
 And I dream of the day we were wed. 
 
 She is singing. The angels hark: 
 And I feel a thrill to the steps of Heaven ! 
 Oh Lord, what have I not been given. 
 
 Hush : in the solemn awe 
 
 Of the great cathedral oaks, 
 Comes the delicate sing of the saw, 
 
 Or the loud, re-echoing strokes ; 
 And the odor of chips is the incense there 
 That God detects in our busy prayer. 
 
 So in the frosty morn. 
 
 Till the low sun smiles at noon. 
 And the steam is slow upborne 
 
 From the glades that were green in June ; 
 And tired, and hungry, and full of love, 
 We gather our things, and prepare to move. 
 
 Some day I '11 come again, 
 
 With a neighbor's boy and team, 
 And the twigs will snap, and the chain 
 
 Will rattle against the beam, 
 And the loading will sound through the startled woods 
 And waken the owl where she shivers and broods. 
 
 187 
 
Now on the old rail fence 
 
 We linger, and rest awhile. 
 She is tired. My inner sense 
 
 Can see it beneath her smile. 
 Loaded down with bundles of wood, 
 I cannot help her. I wish I could. 
 
 Across the thawing fields, 
 
 Slowly we toil apace. 
 She flags, but she never yields, — 
 
 I watch her beautiful face, 
 And my anxious heart forgets the weight 
 Of the bundles of bark, as I watch my mate. 
 
 Now she is ahead of me, 
 
 Against the cold, gray sky. 
 It must be a picture to see. 
 
 My little plain wife and I, 
 She with the heavy, shouldered axe, 
 I laboring steadily in her tracks. 
 
 After our simple meal 
 
 We sit by the kitchen fire, 
 At home ! But I curb my zeal, 
 
 And cease, for fear you will tire. 
 I quite forgot it was warm July. 
 The clouds are magnificently high. 
 
 Come, little girl, let us go. 
 
 ( She 's been sitting here in the shade, 
 
 188 
 
AsUf ^. 
 
 QS^S 
 
 Sewing ; and you shall know 
 
 What dear little things she has made. 
 Wait. Not now. We '11 be happier soon. 
 Come study with us this afternoon. 
 
 ( Dear are the books we read ; 
 
 Instruction is all we seek. 
 Many the things we need, — 
 
 Bat look at the glow on her cheek. 
 Come hide with us from the heat of the day 
 Our little home is just over the hay.) 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 To thee, in all the pride of love, 
 
 With welcome from the glorious war, 
 To thee we come, Western Dove, 
 
 And gather on the shore. 
 And 'round a glad, enlightened land. 
 Thy happy millions, hand in hand, 
 Sing to the God for Whom we stand, 
 Father of rich and poor. 
 
 And all just nations of the earth 
 Respond and send the truth abroad 
 
 That man is of the noblest birth 
 Who does the will of God. 
 
 That nations formed for power alone 
 
 Shall tremble when their people groan, 
 
For right is higher than the throne, 
 And stronger than the rod. 
 
 Our sin, we hope, is justified. 
 
 We waited, but no way was plain. 
 But ah, remember Him who died ; 
 
 Eemember not the Maine. 
 Be kind as well as sensitive. 
 Be great, and let the living live. 
 It is heroic to forgive; 
 
 And mercy leaves no stain. 
 
 Then come, ye heroes of the Lord, 
 
 Whose bare arm was the last resource, 
 Go every man and sheathe his sword. 
 
 And gear the plow to horse. 
 Long may thy battleflags be furled, 
 Bright promise of a better world. 
 And though a thousand lips be curled. 
 Still patience be thy force. 
 
 Let us forget how well we fought. 
 
 And with humiliation see 
 We, too, haVe not done all we ought, 
 
 Nor been what we should be. 
 But the gallows leans into the past, 
 For Mercy hath been heard at last. 
 And though tradition holds us fast. 
 
 All life shall yet be free. 
 
 190 
 
Then let us work to that great day 
 
 When states, and kings, and law, and war 
 
 Shall serve their use and pass away. 
 And peace shall shut the door. 
 
 And men shall face the Eternal Good, 
 
 "Who then will all be understood, 
 
 And we shall stand one common blood, 
 No great, no rich, no poor. 
 
 MY BROTHER. 
 
 I celebrate my brother. He has come 
 
 From Santiago with the soldier boys. 
 He hurried forth at sound of fife and drum, 
 
 And now they bring him home. No foolish noise 
 Proclaims the hero of our little band. 
 
 He is a private in the Seventy-first, 
 
 Worn with dull service. When the crowd dispersed 
 We wept with gratitude, and held his hand, 
 
 And begged him did he hunger, did he thirst, 
 And soothed his haggard cheek, and stroked his hair. 
 For he was homesick, and they left him there, 
 
 All in a hot, dead country. But he bore 
 All like a man. My brother. Our brave boy. 
 
 God bless him, and be with the poorest poor. 
 Who look with grief upon the nation's joy. 
 
 Thinking of theirs, who shall return no more. 
 
 191 
 
AsW 1 fe^s 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 Here ends my record of four happy years. 
 Happy? Not always happy. But I see 
 How the best fortune that has come to me 
 
 Has come in spite of fears. 
 
 And I have faltered in the midst of hope. 
 
 Yet smiled. And I am far and quiet now. 
 It clouds, but there is sunlight on the slope, 
 
 And I am learning how. 
 
 I shall not always be what I have been. 
 
 Nor what I am. Nor what I yet shall be. 
 I shall go on and toil from sin to sin, 
 
 Nor rest till I am free. 
 
 Have patience then ; dwell not upon my faults ; 
 
 I see them all ; God knows I am ashamed. 
 Oh many a night beneath the starry vaults 
 
 I ache for my transgressions ; for, unblamed, 
 
 I blamed, and sought forbearance. Yet friends, 
 Love me in spite of this, and let us learn 
 That the poor souls that toward perfection yearn 
 
 Do please the only One Who understands. 
 
 192 
 
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