Class JS LP 5S 
 
 Book -P> 33 F^ 
 
 Copyright^ 13-Q4- 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
MARY SHAW BAKER 
 
Footprints on the Sands 
 of Time 
 
 MARY SHAW BAKER 
 
 "Footprints that perhaps another 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 Some forlorn and shipzvrecked brother 
 Seeing, may take heart again." 
 
 BOSTON 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 The Gorham Press 
 1904 
 
Copyright 1903 by Mary Shaw Baker. 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 APR 19 1904 
 
 Copyright Entry 
 O^u .l<\—lao'4- 
 CLASS 0- XXc. No. 
 
 5- — ? 1 U- 
 
 COPY B 
 
 Printed at 
 
 The Gorham Press 
 
 Boston, U. S. A. 
 

 To Mrs. Mary Patterson Smith 
 Woodville, Mississippi 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This volume was not premeditated. Ever since 
 my earliest recollection I have written rhyme. 
 My father was an officer in the British army, 68th 
 Durham Light Infantry. He was unwilling to 
 rear a daughter in Barracks, so placed me at ex- 
 tremely early age in boarding school, Water- 
 ford, Ireland. Here my rhymes attracted no- 
 tice. The first, of which I have recollection were 
 suggested by a letter from father and ran as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 I'm on the field of glory now, 
 I've soldiers brave at my command, 
 I've wreath of laurel on my brow 
 But I'm far from my fatherland. 
 
 They shout, they shout, they say I'm great 
 They say I'm happy, brave and free — 
 But oh, I wish it were my fate 
 My fatherland once more to 1 see. 
 
 The field is stained with human gore 
 And this great battle now is done, 
 But oh, to see that land once more 
 I'd give the laurels I have won. 
 
 I'd give my treasures, wealth and power — 
 I'd give all earth if I could roam — 
 To pluck one wild, dear Irish flower 
 That grows within my native home. 
 
 I think I was about seven years old when this 
 was written. When asked where I found the 
 verses, I was puzzled and could only reply. "I 
 
PREFACE 
 
 think they just popped into my head." My work 
 was much praised, but this did not elate me, I was 
 lonely and homesick and did not like being called 
 a genius. I wanted to be like other children. I 
 pined for home. I continued always to write 
 when anything "popped into my head. " At the 
 age of fourteen I was left an orphan and came 
 with friends to America. The spirits of my child- 
 hood — the Spirit of Song and the Spirit of Sor- 
 row — came with me, and have always remained 
 my companions. I found bread and work and 
 sometime leisure for the Muse. My verses were 
 picked up by friends who, with my consent, but 
 without my approval, published them. Finally 
 under the nom de plume of Mabel I became vol- 
 untary contributor to periodicals. My work was 
 well received and approved by eminent literary 
 authorities. By the advice of many and with the 
 assistance of my friend, Mrs. Wm. Hamilton, I 
 prepared a volume for publication. This I com- 
 mitted to care of an acquaintance going to New 
 York. It was stolen and never recovered. I sup- 
 pose the thief finding that the package contained 
 nothing of value to him, destroyed it. I became 
 contributor to several periodicals and seemed to 
 be entering on a successful literary career. At 
 this time, the Civil War broke out. During the 
 contest, my whole energy was devoted to work- 
 ing for the soldiers. In October '63, I married 
 a wounded Confederate soldier. He lost prop- 
 erty and health. I was not strong. We had 
 hardship. At the end of fourteen years. I was 
 left a penniless widow with one child. Circum- 
 stances and surroundings give no chance for lit- 
 
PREFACE 
 
 erary work. My daily labor was required to keep 
 the wolf from the door. After many years of 
 many vicissitudes, I drifted into this lodging 
 where, at least, the early hours of morning are 
 free from disturbance. Most of these poems were 
 written with the first beams of the rising sun 
 brightening the page. In writing, I simply fol- 
 lowed inclination without any thought of result. 
 I contributed occasional scrap to newspaper. Cas- 
 ually, I began to show my morning work to my 
 friend and neighbor, Mrs. Mary Patterson Smith. 
 She rebuked me for the time I had lost — the op- 
 portunities I had recklessly cast aside. I had 
 been many times upbraided by others on this ac- 
 count, but nothing had thoroughly stirred me 
 until she aroused my full sense of responsibil- 
 ity. Returning to my lodging, heart within me 
 said "Even at the eleventh hour I will make an 
 effort." Still I had no further idea than to write 
 my best and contribute to newspapers. I had no 
 thought of preparing a volume, but the work, 
 very much to my surprise grew and accumulated. 
 Whatever good arises from it is largely due to 
 Mrs. Smith. Without her encouragement, it 
 would never have been written, although at all 
 times and under all circumstances, I have been 
 urged to cultivate my gift. I never before real- 
 ized its importance and value. Now placing this 
 book in the hands of the reader, I trust that it 
 may prove to be as its title page indicates. 
 
 M. S. BAKER, 
 
 Woodville, Miss. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 "Where Do They Come From?" 13 
 
 Mars 14 
 
 Tri-Colored 15 
 
 Song of a Shirt 17 
 
 The Cannon 19 
 
 "Cast Thy Bread Upon The Waters" 20 
 
 Outward Bound 21 
 
 "What is Worth Doing at All is Worth Do- 
 ing Well" 23 
 
 Burial of Mr. J. B. Morris 25 
 
 In the Morning 26 
 
 The Queen's Reply 27 
 
 I Don't Know What to Do 29 
 
 I Know 30 
 
 Separate 32 
 
 Knitting 34 
 
 Tramore Bay 36 
 
 Ships Far Away 38 
 
 Returned 40 
 
 Beggar and King 41 
 
 May Dew 42 
 
 Your Wish 44 
 
 9 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Kitty Cat 45 
 
 Waiting 46 
 
 Birdie 47 
 
 The Rope 48 
 
 The Poet 49 
 
 "Come Back and Kiss Me" 50 
 
 Sleep 52 
 
 Unaware 53 
 
 Grandma's Carpet 54 
 
 Misfortune 56 
 
 I. O. O. F 57 
 
 "It Might Have Been" 58 
 
 To Estelle Anna Metzger on Her Baptismal 
 
 Day 59 
 
 Stitching 60 
 
 "Mills of the Gods" 61 
 
 At the Station 62 
 
 At Last 63 
 
 Poems 65 
 
 The Two 66 
 
 The Problem 68 
 
 Spirit of Song 69 
 
 10 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Florist 71 
 
 Settled 72 
 
 Our 73 
 
 Angel Voices 74 
 
 Woodville, Miss 75 
 
 The Tespot 77 
 
 The Promised Land 78 
 
 Postman 79 
 
 The Last Mile 81 
 
 Why? 82 
 
 The Engineer 84 
 
 Woman 86 
 
 Uncle Sam 88 
 
 Midnight 89 
 
 No Pain, No Pleasure 91 
 
 The Cover 92 
 
 My Dream 93 
 
 The Best Thing to Do 95 
 
 Old and Poor 96 
 
 Tacking 97 
 
 Prayer ^9 
 
 A Bad Habit 100 
 
 11 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Erin 102 
 
 Friend and Foe 103 
 
 Autumn Leaves 104 
 
 Little Bird 106 
 
 We Do Not Know 108 
 
 Memory Pictures of Erin 109 
 
 Josey in 
 
 Pride 113 
 
 12 
 
"WHERE DO THEY COME FROM?" 
 
 "Where do they come from?" I don't know, 
 That question was asked of me long ago; 
 When I was a child at my mother's knee 
 And the songs were so gently bro't to me. 
 "Where do they come from?" my mother said, 
 In book or in paper where have you read 
 "What I've never seen?" so puzzled quite 
 I looked in my mother's face that night 
 And answered, "I think they pop into my head." 
 
 And now, dear friend, you may ask again 
 
 Whence flows to my pen the soft refrain, 
 
 I know as little as I knew when 
 
 My infant fingers first grasped the pen; 
 
 I only know that my spirit wings, 
 
 Away and away, and with Nature sings, 
 
 I only know that the simplest flower 
 
 Breathes voice to me in the loneliest hour, 
 
 I only know that the waves at play 
 
 Bring music soft o'er the sunkissed bay. 
 
 I only know that a single word 
 
 Can sweep o'er the harp and its chords are 
 
 stirred; 
 I only know that a touch can shake 
 The spirit within me, and music make; 
 I only know that I would not part 
 With the songs that breathe to mylist'ning heart; 
 I only know that they come and go — 
 Never afar — with their voices low; 
 I can only answer, as puzzled quite, 
 I answered my mother that summer night, 
 The songs you have never seen or read 
 It seems to me "pop into my head." 
 
 13 
 
MARS 
 
 They have spread before them a map of stars, 
 
 And learnedly talk of the planet Mars; 
 
 I sit in the corner — a simple child, 
 
 With a fairy story book sweet, beguiled, 
 
 But I drop the volume to hear them tell 
 
 Of beings who maybe in Mars do dwell, 
 
 That it is inhabited I've no doubt 
 
 But their nature I'm sure is past finding out; 
 
 These men that talk are so very wise 
 
 May build a railroad to reach the skies 
 
 And telephone stations may fix afar 
 
 On lightning posts from star to star. 
 
 There can be no guessing what man can do 
 
 In the seas below or the skies so blue, 
 
 But some how I do not long to see 
 
 What Mars' inhabitants chance to be; 
 
 They might perhaps in their glorious plan 
 
 O'ershadow the pride of the mundane man ; 
 
 They might convince us we are not all, 
 
 And treat us with scorn and make us small. 
 
 Sometimes perhaps, I may wing away 
 
 A rover free in the realms of day 
 
 Sometime perhaps I may better know 
 
 The way that my spirit has to go, 
 
 But the trip is long — there are many stars 
 
 I may touch before reaching the planet Mars, 
 
 And so, at the present, I don't desire 
 
 My heart to weaken — my brain to tire 
 
 About a matter that I can see 
 
 Is nothing at all in the world to me. 
 
 I'm here, and here I shall still remain 
 
 14 
 
MRS. M. P. SMITH 
 
To struggle against it is just in vain — 
 There's lots on this earth for me to learn, 
 Good knowledge for which I am bound to yearn, 
 Good knowledge and plenty this side the stars, 
 So I have not to study the planet Mars! 
 
 TRI-COLORED 
 
 The bugle call and the roll of drum 
 
 Were the earliest sounds I heard, 
 The rattling gun and the marching feet 
 
 My baby pulses stirred. 
 I gazed with joy on the scarlet coat, 
 
 My father, so dear, was one, 
 And never was scene more grand and brave 
 
 Under the rising sun — 
 Than soldiers marching thro' barracks gate, 
 
 For my baby heart was warm — 
 Oh nothing could be more bright or fair 
 
 Than my father's uniform. 
 
 Long years sped by, and I crossed the main, 
 
 I turned from the em'rald shore 
 With orphaned heart and a sad farewell 
 
 For the land I should see no more. 
 But under Columbia's skies I found 
 
 The home and the loving heart, 
 I found a place and a work to do 
 
 And I thanked for my daily part; 
 Swift years sped on and the call of war 
 
 With an angry shouting came. 
 Brother 'gainst brother — the North and the 
 South — 
 
 Broke out in destruction flame; 
 I saw my husband so young and strong 
 
 As he marched from our cot away 
 
 15 
 
With the rusty gun he had brightened up 
 
 And his coat of dingy grey; 
 I bade him go, for my life was young, 
 
 Its rebel pulses warm 
 And nothing could seem more royal then 
 
 Than my husband's uniform. 
 
 Then years sped by and the bugle call 
 
 Rang wild thro' the angry land, 
 Our nation insulted by Spain had been 
 
 The insult we could not stand! 
 My son said "Mother" — here he smiled, 
 
 "I'm a rebel thro' and thro', 
 But my country calls and I must away 
 
 To fight with the boys in blue!" 
 
 I did not ask him to stay — Oh, no! 
 
 For my heart was brave and warm 
 And nothing could seem more fine and grand 
 
 Than my son's blue uniform! 
 
 My father sleeps on Emerald shore 
 
 Touched by the Irish Sea, 
 My husband rests in a lonely grave 
 
 Under a Southern tree, 
 The grey moss trails above his bed, 
 
 The birds a requiem sing — 
 A soft low chant for the soldier low 
 
 Who fell in life's sunny spring. 
 
 My son is away in the far off west, 
 
 He is not a soldier now; 
 And lines of care by the toiling years 
 
 Are marking his youthful brow. 
 He is living in peace, but then I know 
 
 He's ready to march and do 
 
 16 
 
When a foreign foe dares Uncle Sam 
 And rouses his boys in blue. 
 
 So now you see 'tis not very strange, 
 
 The heart that is in me warm, 
 Wears with pride and with love that are justly 
 there 
 
 A tri-colored uniform. 
 Dear friend, when you fold my fingers cold 
 
 Just place with a loving hand 
 These colors three in flowers expressed — 
 
 The angels will understand, 
 For under whatever skies I sleep 
 
 My soul will for aye be true 
 To the colors that Heaven arranged for me, 
 
 The scarlet, the grey, the blue! 
 
 SONG OF A SHIRT 
 
 You have heard the story in prose I know, 
 
 But in rhyme, perhaps it will make more show 
 
 Of mighty king in a dreadful plight 
 
 With disease that troubled him day and night; 
 
 His doctors contended, and tho't and planned, 
 
 And strove all they could to understand — 
 
 Appendicitis was then unknown, 
 
 Probably this was what made him groan, 
 
 And any how his kingdom great 
 
 Was sad upset at his doubtful state, 
 
 His doctors dosed him with pill by rule, 
 
 For at that time there was no capsule; 
 
 But the more they gave him, the worse he got 
 
 Until he called them an "idiot lot," 
 
 Until he got mad and stoutly swore 
 
 He would be dosed by their trash no more 
 
 Now here was dilemma that all see plain, 
 
 17 
 
"Call in the sages to soothe his pain!" 
 
 In came of sages the very best — 
 
 And this was his firm and stern behest 
 
 "Go forth oh, King — there's no cure for thee 
 
 Till thou meet a man who from care is free; 
 
 Thy cure is certain when you can 
 
 Swap shirts with a perfectly happy man!" 
 
 Up sprang the monarch — "I'm saved!" he cried, 
 
 "To find that man I'll look far and wide — ■ 
 
 Confound the doctors, and thanks to you 
 
 For a task that is so easy to do!" 
 
 So off he started in royal pride 
 On a trip he found was far and wide, 
 Go where he would, 'twas all the same, 
 Each heart held its measure of woe or blame, 
 Some answered "Yes, I'd have perfect bliss 
 If it wasn't for that — if it wasn't for this!" 
 And so at last in deep despair 
 The monarch said "I will hie me where 
 The trouble began, and lay me down 
 For nought to me are sceptre and crown!" 
 So homeward his footsteps weary turned, 
 His soul opprest by the lesson learned — 
 A street obscure chanced in his way 
 Where hot was shining the glare of day, 
 He noticed a cobbler in shabby stall, 
 Sewing and tugging with busy awl 
 Singing aloud as his stitches ran — 
 "Thank Heaven, I am a happy man!" 
 The king astonished paused to hear 
 In a place like this such song of cheer; 
 "Cobbler, oh, cobbler! — my dearest friend 
 To all of my troubles you've made an end 
 Swap shirts with me — I'm a mighty king, 
 Great honor to you the act will bring!" 
 
 18 
 
The cobbler stared, "My wants are few 
 I always find work on some broken shoe; 
 I would swap with you — that wouldn't hurt — 
 But — honest man — I haven't a shirt!" 
 
 THE CANNON 
 
 Once I saw in the mouth of a gun, 
 
 Left on the field when the fray was done, 
 
 A dear little bird which had found rest 
 
 And built for her birdlings, a cozy nest — 
 
 An aged soldier puts back the weeds 
 
 To find whence the twitter of joy proceeds 
 
 And so we gaze with wondering eyes 
 
 As the little bird sings in her Paradise 
 
 In the Cannon mouth that rested quite 
 
 Since the long ago of a bloody fight. 
 
 Over and over I think again 
 
 Of the blood and sorrow — the tears in vain, 
 
 That were caused by the belching of hate and fire 
 
 That burst from the cannon in dev'lish ire, 
 
 And now from the self same iron ring 
 
 Float the song, and the flutter of happy wing; 
 
 The veteran bows his head in thought, 
 
 Then speaks with a voice — emotion fraught, 
 
 "My child" he says "'tis a lesson sweet, 
 
 A thing like this in our way to meet, 
 
 The old is passing in rust away — 
 
 The struggle — the strife — the dev'lish fray, 
 
 Your youth like the birdie may joyous spring 
 
 Thro weeds of remembrance and sweetly sing 
 
 Of a better time — of a peace in life 
 
 That may follow the crash of murderous strife, 
 
 That may silence the roar of the iron gun 
 
 And awaken joy that the cause is won 
 
 19 
 
That may bring the day to our own dear land 
 When all shall unite in a glorious band, 
 And the roar of the gun shall silenced be 
 By the sweet-voiced bird of Liberty!" 
 
 "CAST THY BREAD UPON THE 
 WATERS" 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters, after many days 
 of pain, 
 
 After many days of waiting, it shall come to thee 
 again." 
 
 With thy garner overflowing and thy soul from 
 starving free 
 
 Give and lend unto the needy — it shall thrice re- 
 turn to thee! 
 
 It will come when fortune lowers, some kind 
 
 heart perhaps unknown, 
 Will reach out amid the darkness and respond 
 
 unto thy own — 
 It will come when sickness finds thee — it will 
 
 come in hour of grief 
 And the hand which thou hast strengthened shall 
 
 be there with sure relief. 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters" let the love 
 within thy breast 
 
 Kindle freely toward the struggling and thy la- 
 bor shall be blest — 
 
 Hold the cup of healing kindness to the lips that 
 parch and fade, 
 
 They will give thee back a blessing and thy own 
 thirst shall be stayed. 
 
 20 
 
They will give thee back a blessing that will 
 cling in pain or woe, 
 
 That will follow as an angel wherever thou dost 
 go, 
 
 That will cheer thee 'mid the tempest and lift thy 
 drooping head 
 
 When the winter howls about thee and life's ear- 
 ly hopes are dead. 
 
 "Cast thy bread upon the waters" for the night 
 
 comes on apace 
 And the sun now shining o'er thee 'mid the 
 
 gloom will hide his face, 
 But the God who knoweth all things will then 
 
 whisper in thy pain, 
 "Thou hast comforted thy brothers — they shall 
 
 comfort thee again!" 
 And the brow which thou hast lifted and the 
 
 hand thy own hath prest, 
 Shall be sent to lift thee gently to some loving 
 
 human breast, 
 And amid the sorest trial thou shalt feel this 
 
 truth divine, 
 If I soothe another's sorrow, he at last will light- 
 en mine! 
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 
 
 I was panting and hot and sweating, 
 
 My forehead shed drops like rain, 
 For I had been running wildly 
 
 To catch the outgoing train; 
 I dropped on the bench aweary 
 
 My face was a flaming red, 
 And in angry heat of passion 
 
 I dashed the hat from my head — 
 
 21 
 
The wary policeman saw me, 
 
 To my side he swiftly came, 
 "Pray, stranger, why is this trouble 
 
 And who is the one to blame?" 
 "No one!" I briskly answered, 
 
 "I was bound for the eastern train — 
 It is gone — it is gone, and left me, 
 
 And my chasing was all in vain!" 
 
 The policeman laughed out loudly, 
 
 I was tempted to strike him dead, 
 But a wiser mood prevailing 
 
 I merely groaned instead; 
 I looked straight up at his features — 
 
 They wore such a comical look, 
 I could see and could read his wonder 
 
 As if in an open book, 
 "Why man!" he said "you've been drinking 
 
 To take such a race in vain 
 Trying to catch the western 
 
 When you wanted the eastern train!" 
 Just then the eastern came puffing, 
 
 I had not a word to say, 
 But swung aboard rejoicing 
 
 To be safely under way. 
 I laughed till they thought me crazy 
 
 Aboard the eastern train 
 As I tho't of my foolish chasing 
 
 Of the western — all in vain! 
 
 Ah, many a time since that error 
 I've tho't of the long past hour. 
 
 And many a time since that error 
 I have vainly expended power; 
 
 I see the smiling policeman 
 
 22 
 
In plain clothes strolling by, 
 I see them gaze at my folly 
 
 With quizical, wondering eye, 
 They know I've been rushing madly 
 
 And my rush is all in vain 
 Chasing the outbound western 
 
 While I'm needing the eastern train; 
 Well, laugh as you will, policemen, 
 
 I am not alone this way, 
 For isn't the same thing happening 
 
 To every one every day? 
 
 "WHAT IS WORTH DOING AT ALL IS 
 WORTH DOING WELL" 
 
 I once had a teacher, in years long ago, 
 
 Her ringlets of jet freely sprinkled with snow, 
 
 Life's struggle had sharpened her features once 
 
 fair 
 And her forehead, tho' smooth wore the shadow 
 
 of care, 
 But the storm was now lulled, and the lip and 
 
 the eye 
 Spoke of triumph o'er passion, and hopes set on 
 
 high, 
 So kindly she led us along the true way, 
 Patiently, lovingly — day after day, 
 And often she said "In your hearts let it dwell — 
 What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 
 
 I used to think then she was formal and cold, 
 And I could see clearer than one growing old, 
 I listened of course to the words that she said 
 But the weight of her maxims ne'er bothered my 
 head; 
 
 23 
 
'There are things may be slighted" my judgment 
 
 would say, 
 "And I'm sure all my life, I shall find it that 
 
 way," 
 But at last — tho' quite late, I have learned to tell 
 "What's worth doing at all is worth doing well!" 
 
 Sitting here after school hours — the children at 
 
 play, 
 My heart travels back to that time far away — 
 In fancy I sit 'mid the green hills once more 
 With the soft evening sun smiling in at the door 
 And the breaking of waves sounding clear on the 
 
 strand; 
 (Shall I see thee no more, oh, my own native 
 
 land!) 
 Was it only a dream full of joyousness free 
 That never — ah, never can come back to me! 
 
 Ah, weak heart, cease pining — how many feet 
 
 roam 
 Away from the green hills of childhood's sweet 
 
 home, 
 Do'st think thou art better than others whose 
 
 pain 
 Is to ponder o'er pleasures that come not again? 
 Do'st think that no shadow should'st fall on thy 
 
 way 
 That beauty and peace should be with thee each 
 
 day? 
 How great is thy folly! arise from its spell, 
 And go to work promptly — and do thy work 
 
 well! 
 
 24 
 
Let poverty find thee — let friendship forsake, 
 Let troubles encompass — thy spirit to break 
 Let pride look with scorn, let foes cast thee 
 
 down, 
 Let the cross press upon thee, but think of the 
 
 crown — 
 And know that at worst it is in thee to rise 
 With thy banner of triumph flung out to the 
 
 skies ! 
 Still hold and remember these words as a spell 
 "What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 
 
 Ah, teacher, dear teacher — now under the sod, 
 Thy patient sweet spirit gone home to thy God, 
 Thou art with me to-day just the same as of old, 
 And thy words are before me in pictures of gold, 
 Still the lessons thou gavest far off by the sea 
 Are a glory and gladness forver to me, 
 And thy words sound to-day as a clear silver bell 
 "What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 
 
 BURIAL OF MR. G. B. MORRIS 
 
 A quiet scene in a forest — the sun just sinking 
 down, 
 
 About our feet the shadows on carpet green and 
 brown 
 
 An open grave surrounded by a faithful brother- 
 hood, 
 
 A solemn voice uplifted where we in silence 
 stood. 
 
 In silence and in sadness, to see one laid away 
 Whose life had closed in quiet as lovely summer 
 day, 
 
 25 
 
Awaiting to see him covered — shut in from hu- 
 man eyes 
 
 One who will wait to greet us beyond the starry 
 skies. 
 
 Of many a faith and nation around the grave we 
 
 prest 
 To see the sod fall lightly on gentle human breast: 
 All tho't of ev'ry difference, that brief hour out 
 
 of sight. 
 Gathered as we'll gather in the final judgment 
 
 light. 
 
 The hour and the scene were fitting — a life so 
 
 calmly done, 
 And at last a group of mourners tinged by the 
 
 setting sun, 
 We turned away from graveyard — away from 
 
 light grown dim, 
 While over the new mound quivered the sweet 
 
 birds vesper hymn; 
 While up above our vision — above our power to 
 
 hear, 
 We know our friend found welcome where the 
 
 good are true and dear. 
 
 IN THE MORNING 
 
 Last night I lay in the darkness 
 
 And I heard the gusty rain 
 And the angry howl of the storm and wind 
 
 As it shook the window pane; 
 I heard with awe and shuddered, 
 
 And the chill within my breast 
 Shivered my frame as ague, 
 
 26 
 
And banished the balm of rest; 
 Oh, night, so cruel and stormy — 
 
 Alas, for the boats at sea 
 And the toilers out on the billows 
 
 Raging so wild and free ! 
 
 Then stars arose, and the morning 
 
 Came in with a shattered light, 
 And anon the glory of sunrise 
 
 Banished the gloom of night; 
 I opened the window gladly, 
 
 I gazed at the glittering trees, 
 I said "Thank God for the morning 
 
 That bringeth this hour of ease!" 
 
 I thought of the night of sorrow 
 
 When my heart saw naught but rain, 
 And the grief storm 1 dashed upon it 
 
 As gusts on the shaken pain; 
 Then my heart sped upward — upward, 
 
 Till it reached the realms above, 
 And I saw the sparkling rain drops 
 
 Hang on the bowers of love. 
 Oh, night of storm and darkness! 
 
 Oh, morning of peace and rest! 
 The Father sends us, He wills it, 
 
 And his will is surely the best! 
 
 THE QUEEN'S REPLY 
 
 "Fain would I climb, but I fear a fall!" 
 "Nay then," spake the Queen "Climb not at all!" 
 Twas a royal answer and nobly said 
 To the young knight list'ning with downcast 
 head; 
 
 27 
 
Twas a glorious tho't from a peerless soul 
 That never had stooped to a fear's control, 
 It was fit recording and handing down 
 As a saying worthy of England's Crown, 
 Of one who had never dreamed of a fall — 
 "Sir Knight, if you fear, climb not at all!" 
 
 Somehow, tonight, my spirit is stirred 
 By the ringing force of that queenly word, 
 Over I have heard it and oft again 
 Thro' all of my life with its clear refrain, 
 But it comes to-night as something new 
 Leading aloft to the noble and true, 
 Exhorting the soul to its fullest might 
 To rise and to soar in the realms of light, 
 "Climb daringly upward — you will not fall, 
 But if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 
 
 There's nothing truer — in fear, you know, 
 Downward the glance to the gulf below, 
 Uncertain the step as the nerves give way 
 And the heart is checked in its fullest play, 
 Strive on if you will, with a noble aim, 
 The pathway is open to deathless fame; 
 Climb up if you will, but look not down, 
 Remember the saying of England's Crown — 
 Higher and higher — dream not you'll fall, 
 But, if you're in fear — climb not at all!" 
 
 Higher and higher with all your might, 
 Mount thro' the gloom of the starless night, 
 Still higher and higher unharmed ascend, 
 Solicit not aid from your nearest friend; 
 Still "higher" and "higher!" your watchword be 
 Tho' troubles surround like an angry sea 
 'Mid all your dangers, look not below, 
 
 28 
 
Ask never assistance of friend or foe; 
 Make firm your footing — you shall not fall, 
 But "if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 
 
 Oh, magical rhyme — thro' ages long 
 Written in history — told in song, 
 Remain in my heart as you are tonight, 
 Awaking and prompting to deeds of might, 
 Remain in my heart with your clear refrain 
 Lulling the voices that clamor of pain, 
 Checking the impulse to look below 
 Where, irking to strike, is the dastard foe, 
 Remain in my heart till my aching eyes 
 Can be^r the light of the unveiled skies, 
 Mount daringly up, and you shall not fall, 
 But "if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 
 
 I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO 
 
 My friend came up with a pleasant face 
 
 And paused at my open door, 
 
 My bread was burned to cinders quite 
 
 And my cream spilled on the floor, 
 
 "See here!" I cried "how I'm all upset — 
 
 I've worried the morning thro', 
 
 My husband cross — the children wild 
 
 And I don't know what to do! 
 
 'Tis true that the mill was whistling shrill 
 
 And breakfast a little late, 
 
 But my Lord had no need to growl and slam 
 
 As he passed thro' the garden gate. 
 
 I'm always striving to do my best, 
 But somehow, my best will fail; 
 The harder I try — the more it seems 
 That confusion must prevail. 
 
 *9 
 
I buttered that bread so very nice 
 
 And thought I would toast it thro' — 
 
 I turned to beat up the cream in haste — 
 
 The bowl from my fingers flew, 
 
 My bread is burned — my cream is spilled 
 
 And I don't know what to do! 
 
 My friend had older grown than I, 
 
 The locks on her temples grey 
 
 For pleasure and sorrow had worn her heart 
 
 For many and many a day ! 
 
 She touched my arm with a gentle grace 
 
 And it seemed she almost smiled 
 
 As she said "You are wasting your heart and 
 
 brain, 
 And what is the good, my child? 
 The bread is burned — the cream is spilled, 
 But worries makes nothing right, 
 More milk can be had — more buttered bread 
 Is not hopelessly out of sight! 
 I've learned what now I would like to teach 
 It will help you the whole way thro', 
 Just pause in your flurry and think a bit 
 When you don't know what to do, 
 You may keep your sleeves rolled up, of course, 
 And the right way will come to you ! 
 
 I KNOW 
 
 I know I am bound by the laws of man 
 
 I obey with a cheerful mind — 
 I know this is well for human good 
 And the safety of human kind. 
 
 I know each day as I take my way 
 Along thro' life's busy mart 
 
 30 
 
There's joy and sorrow for ev'ry one, 
 And I must accept a part. 
 
 I know I am on a level here 
 
 With every human thing, 
 A fit companion for lowliest child, 
 
 A peer for the mightiest king. 
 
 I know that we are as brothers all 
 
 Forming a passing band 
 If a comrade fall, I must stoop to help 
 
 And give him a lifting hand. 
 
 If my comrade rise to a prospered seat, 
 
 If he reach an upper place, 
 Lo be glad with him I ought to be 
 
 And my gladness is no disgrace! 
 
 But beyond all this, my spirit speeds 
 
 Away in the realms above 
 I hear the choir of the Angels sweet 
 
 And I join in their song of love. 
 
 I need no teacher to show me this, 
 No voice between God and me 
 
 As I gaze each morn at the rising sun 
 And silently bend the knee. 
 
 I need no teacher to lead my soul, 
 Gods holds me in his hand; 
 
 I know my spirit is his for aye 
 And His teaching I understand. 
 
 I know no creed can bind my sight, 
 
 I see thro' the veil tho' dim; 
 I hear His voice — and His voice alone 
 
 And my spirit responds to Him. 
 
 31 
 
I care not what creed my comrade claims, 
 I care not what guise he wears, 
 
 I know if he call for aid that I 
 Must lighten his daily cares. 
 
 I know the God Who placed me here 
 
 As one of a human band 
 Still holds my spirit and guides my way 
 
 With firm, unerring hand. 
 
 I know I am in His presence now 
 Where else could I chance to stray? 
 
 I've been in His presence my whole life thro' 
 And there I must surely stay! 
 
 SEPARATE 
 
 Playmates were they in their baby days 
 Their homes by the ocean grand, 
 
 Together they danced — together they sang 
 On the shining pebbly strand. 
 
 Together they grew in beauty rare 
 
 With sinless hearts and true, 
 Their spirits light — their tho'ts as white 
 
 As waves on the crested blue. 
 
 Together they talked in girlhood's days 
 
 And longingly looked away 
 And dreamed of strands in far off lands 
 
 Beyond their narrow bay. 
 
 One wished for fame — for the magic power 
 
 To wake the list'ning heart, 
 She sighed to herself "I must away 
 
 And take in the world a part!" 
 
 32 
 
The other with blue and dreamy eyes 
 
 Longed too for a far off goal, 
 She knew that somewhere there blooms and 
 breathes 
 
 Sweet calm for the waiting soul. 
 
 The maidens two in their sea girt homes, 
 
 Each longed for the joys afar, 
 Each answered the call of voice within 
 
 And followed her guiding star. 
 
 The ships came in with their white spread sails 
 
 The maidens were parted there, 
 The stately one with the flashing eyes 
 
 And the one with golden hair. 
 
 We will keep each other's ship in sight 
 
 No matter how far the end — 
 Each will answer each for ever and aye 
 
 With love of a changeless friend. 
 
 The wind blew high, and the wind blew low 
 
 Their vessels were dashed apart 
 And newer scenes and newer friends 
 
 Crowded each youthful heart. 
 
 Sometimes, in a dream of far away 
 
 Each turned to a distant shore, 
 And gathered shells in baby glee 
 
 With the loved one seen no more! 
 
 But roaring waters bore on and on 
 
 Thro' sunshine and tempest wild, 
 The ships were rudely dashed aside 
 
 'Neath heavens that frowned and smiled. 
 
 33 
 
Each woman trod on her destined shore 
 One climbed to the hills of fame 
 
 The other lost in the giddy crowd 
 Where no one could tell her name. 
 
 And now, they are resting far apart — 
 
 On bosoms the heavy clod 
 Their spirits away by angels borne 
 
 Up to the smile of God. 
 
 One sleeps under costly stone inscribed 
 
 With a lofty sounding name, 
 One sleeps in a bed — grass grown — obscure 
 
 And no one can tell her name. 
 
 One lies where the honored are proud to come 
 To gaze on the flower-crowned mold 
 
 Where rises the shaft of a costly stone 
 And praise of the dead is told. 
 
 The other lies in a Potter's Field 
 
 Under the arch so blue, 
 But each has met her childhood's mate 
 
 With a love for aye so true. 
 
 Oh, dreamer of fame — oh seeker of power 
 Who reeks where the bodies lie, 
 
 When spirits meet in the shining morn — 
 In realms beyond the sky? 
 
 KNITTING 
 
 To-day, as I hummed o'er my knitting 
 
 Snatches of merriest song, 
 Suddenly came a perception 
 
 That part of my work had gone wrong. 
 
 34 
 
Nearer the sunlight I drew it 
 
 And sure enough, plain could be seen 
 
 The dropped stitch in yesterday's knitting — 
 My moment's vexation was keen. 
 
 I drew out the light-burdened needles 
 Ripped back to the flaw in the lace, 
 
 I felt — oh, so angry in thinking 
 
 Of the stitch I had dropped out of place. 
 
 All a morning's work wasted for nothing, 
 
 A precious time idled away 
 Repairing the wrong of a blunder 
 
 So tho'tlessly made yesterday. 
 
 At last when the stitches were righted, 
 
 Resuming my knitting again, 
 To my heart came a train of reflection — 
 
 Reflection enwoven with pain. 
 
 A voice in my breast uttered sadly, 
 Ah, if in our lives we could rue, 
 
 Could pluck from the fabric our needles 
 And yesterday's blunders undo. 
 
 How many a spirit now living, 
 
 How many a heart that tis crushed 
 
 Would spring with a pean of triumph, 
 Would cast off the canker and rust! 
 
 Sweet Angel of Hope, come beside me, 
 Just touch with your white wings my brow 
 
 And prompt me to take the true stitches 
 In the fabric I'm working with now. 
 
 35 
 
Oh' give of your light and your patience, 
 Let your tintings embelish my way 
 
 And grant that tomorrow may show me 
 No flaw in the work of today! 
 
 TRAMORE BAY 
 
 The waves dash high on the rocky shore 
 And the echoes wild mock the ceaseless roar 
 
 Of the restless sea. 
 The light spray gleams over granite hill 
 Where the metal man's finger pointeth still 
 
 To the rocks half hid beneath waters free; 
 The seaman's song, as the ship goes by, 
 Still blends with the mournful shrilly cry 
 
 Of the sea bird wild, 
 The dark rocks stretch round the sunny land — 
 As mighty guardians, in pride the stand 
 
 For the surges pause where their forms are 
 piled. 
 
 Sad, thrilling tales from the sea's dark caves 
 Are borne to the land over foaming waves 
 
 On glittering spray — 
 Mournful they are, but children sing 
 While the wild bird listens on half poised wing 
 
 To the music soft ere he soars away, 
 For songs of gladness are sweet to hear 
 And the tones of ocean are cold and drear, 
 
 They have sounds of pain, 
 Still the children play with pebble's bright 
 And they laugh and dance in the summer light 
 
 Nor heed the sighs of the murmuring main. 
 
 The strand is covered with shining stones 
 And here and there lie the bleaching bones 
 
 36 
 
Of mariners brave; 
 For tombs are many beneath the tide 
 Where Neptune's billows so mournfully glide 
 
 With requiems wild o'er each nameless grave. 
 Tis sad to hear when the tide comes in 
 With its never-ending unchanging din, 
 
 That dirge like song; 
 Even children hush their tones of glee, 
 And in fright away from the strand they flee 
 
 With their pure hands linked like a fairy 
 throng. 
 
 When darkness frowns and moonbeams pale 
 Glance soft thro' the mist of the night's spread 
 veil 
 
 Over shore and sea; 
 Then mermaids rise from their unseen caves 
 And their forms look fair on the tossing waves 
 
 As they rise and fall with wild surges free; 
 Then spectre boats o'er the waters glide, 
 But no oar is dipped in the foaming tide 
 
 And no song is sung, 
 But they come and go with measure slow 
 Gathering the dead where dark surges flow 
 
 While spray, as they pass, o'er the shore is 
 flung! 
 
 When stars grow pale, and Aurora bright 
 Over land and sea spreads her wing of light, 
 
 Beneath briny waves 
 The mermaids dive, and their syren song 
 Is heard in the halls where the spectre throng 
 With horrible glee, spread their victims' graves, 
 But the sunlit foam and smiling sky 
 Is all that is seen by the human eye, 
 
 While melodies clear 
 
 37 
 
Of winds and waters untaught and free 
 Chiming together in harmony 
 Is all that is heard by human ear. 
 
 Long, long ago, in my childhood's hours 
 When my heart was pure as the simple flower 
 
 That bloomed round my home, 
 I used to watch on the pebbly strand 
 For the fisher boats that were far from land 
 
 Tossing about on treacherous foam. 
 Ah, sweet was my joy at close of day 
 When the boats were moored in the dear old bay 
 
 And the gladsome sound 
 Of song and mirth on sunlit shore 
 Was echoed and swelled above ocean roar 
 
 By the joyous strain of the homeward bound ! 
 
 As the bird which sings in gilded dome, 
 
 Yet turns to the light of his greenwood home 
 
 And his native sky, 
 So turns my spirit in grief or glee 
 To this simple picture of memory 
 
 All pure and bright to my tear-dimmed eyes, 
 I'm glad 'tis past with its smiles and tears 
 The sad sweet dream of my earliest years; 
 
 Yet its memory 
 Comes like a spell in my daily life 
 Uplifting my soul in its toils and strife 
 
 And lighting the way to Eternity! 
 
 SHIPS FAR AWAY 
 
 Here by the shore of the narrow bay 
 Whence our ships have floated so far away, 
 I sit in the light of the glowing west 
 And hope for the freight I would love the best 
 
 38 
 
Where long ago, I spread out free 
 My sails of Hope on uncertain sea — 
 Returned not yet, so I look and wait 
 While sitting in doubt at the Golden Gate, 
 So many ships are plain in sight, 
 But some have gone down in storms of night- 
 Some dashed to pieces on rocky shore, 
 Their torn white sails to come no more, 
 Their rich freight lying in mermaids' caves 
 Under the tossing of sun kissed waves 
 And many — oh, many, look out in vain, 
 For the ships they ventured to come again — 
 How long to wait — I sit and dream, 
 While watching the waters in sunset gleam 
 I see the ships that are coming in, 
 But the name on the prow is far and dim, 
 I shade my eyes — they are dazzled quite 
 As fall the beams of departing light. 
 I look about me — I hear the wail 
 Of sorrowful voices from lips all pale; 
 Their ships are sunk, their freight all lost; 
 Their crews deep lying where storms are tost! 
 I see anear me the hopeful eye 
 Scanning the sails 'gainst western sky — 
 If loss is theirs — the news not yet 
 Has come tho' the sun is nearly set. 
 I look, I look, with straining brain; 
 I try to read 'cross the tossing main, 
 My name on some incoming vessel's prow — 
 So long away, but still watched for now, 
 Wrecked or returning I can't divine; 
 Oh, which of the ventured ships is mine? 
 
 39 
 
RETURNED 
 
 It has come! its white sails furled safe in the 
 
 quiet bay; 
 The ship I have waited and watched for — it has 
 
 been so far away! 
 Now as the stars are twinkling — shining out one 
 
 by one 
 My ship is safe in harbor and all my waiting is 
 
 done ; 
 I hear glad voices cheering — blent with billows 
 
 roar, 
 I touch the friendly grasping of friends upon the 
 
 shore, 
 Gold and glory have found me — my bliss seems 
 
 quite complete 
 For even Love is whispering, and courtiers are at 
 
 my feet; 
 But ah, for one single whisper — one touch of the 
 
 helping hand, 
 One breath from the friend that waited when my 
 
 ship went out from land; 
 Oh long and weary the waiting — the watching 
 
 of night and day 
 But the friend of my anxious morning has passed 
 
 from my sight away, 
 And the tears — the tears are falling, splashing as 
 
 stormy rain 
 For the dear one faded from me whose face 
 
 comes not again, 
 And now in this moment of triumph, I stand with 
 
 tear-dimmed eyes 
 And my joy in a cloud is drooping under the 
 
 starry skies, 
 The friends around me wonder — they think my 
 
 bliss complete 
 
 40 
 
With my white winged ship in harbor and treas- 
 ures at my feet. 
 Yes! yes! thank God for the evening that has 
 
 bro't my vessel back 
 Unwrecked, and treasure laden over the stormy 
 
 track; 
 But oh, for the friend that cheered me when my 
 
 way was long and sore 
 And we watched the vessel sailing and feared it 
 
 might come no more, 
 Forgive these tears unbidden — from deepest 
 
 fount they start, 
 For oh, what can repay me for the loss of one 
 
 faithful heart ? 
 
 BEGGAR AND KING 
 
 Under the same blue arch above 
 
 That bends to shelter us all with love, 
 
 We lie asleep, and watching eyes 
 
 Shine alike on all from quiet skies; 
 
 The beggar in rags — the king with crown, 
 
 Both are lying in slumber down, 
 
 Each with his dream of pain or power 
 
 Sleeping and still in the midnight hour; 
 
 To both alike — to beggar and king, 
 
 There will come tomorrow's awakening, 
 
 One to wander thro' busy street, 
 
 Never a friend or a joy to meet, 
 
 Hunger and cold as he treads the snow 
 
 And his brain is weak, and his heart beats low; 
 
 The other calls to his courtiers' near, 
 
 Watching and listening his voice to hear; 
 
 Wherever he turns thro' all the land 
 
 Outstretched to meet him — the friendly hand 
 
 And looks of love in the beaming eyes 
 
 41 
 
That watch his footsteps with bright disguise. 
 
 I look at both and I think the while 
 
 How little differ the frown and smile — 
 
 A few brief days — and the same blue dome 
 
 O'er Potter's Field and o'er royal tomb 
 
 Will bend while the watching eyes above 
 
 Will shine on both with equal love; 
 
 Beggar and king will sleep once more, 
 
 Their dreams of mortality all passed o'er, 
 
 The sorrow — the triumph — alike laid down, 
 
 The garb of rags, and the dazzling crown 
 
 In fancy I follow to realms afar, 
 
 And wing apast sun and moon and star 
 
 I look within as I stand and wait 
 
 For my turn to enter the jasper gate; 
 
 My guardian spirit is at my side, 
 
 He shows me gardens so grand and wide; 
 
 I see the white robed — a glorious throng 
 
 While the air vibrates with united song 
 
 Two beauteous spirits amid them all, 
 
 Look glad at me and beckoning call, 
 
 My guardian smiles "You saw them when 
 
 Each had his day in the ways of men; 
 
 One had sorrow — one wore a crown, 
 
 But each is forgotten — on earth laid down," 
 
 I ask as I gaze on each dazzling wing 
 
 "But which was beggar, and which was king?" 
 
 MAY DEW 
 
 I have looked on the splendor of cities, 
 The pomp and the glories of art; 
 
 I have gathered from lips that were gifted 
 The wisdom which strengthens the heart; 
 
 I have gazed on the faces of beauty, 
 Have paused before pictures divine 
 
 42 
 
In the hush of the pauses of anthems 
 
 That were to the spirit as wine; 
 I have trodden on carpets whose richness 
 
 Was woven for royalty's tread, 
 Where the radiance from chandeliers golden 
 
 Streamed soft from the vaults overhead, 
 And the music stole in like enchantment 
 
 From organs so wondrously grand 
 That it seemed as if only the angels 
 
 Could touch with so skillful a hand; 
 But this morning I wander 'mid glory 
 
 The beauty and freshness of May, 
 And the voices of minstrels about me 
 
 Have lifted my soul from the clay, 
 Around me the fragrance of blossoms, 
 
 Above the blue arch of the sky, 
 And the sun thro' the branches just glancing 
 
 In His hand who is Ruler on high, 
 I have thrown myself down on the grasses, 
 
 Have laid my hot brow in the dew 
 And I rise as the voices around me 
 
 Call "Go to thy labors anew! " 
 Oh, hearts that are weary and aching, 
 
 Steal forth from the dwellings of men, 
 Leave the pomp and the glitter of fashion 
 
 And come where the angels have been ; 
 One song from the warblers of Nature, 
 
 One hour with thy soul and thy King 
 Is worth all the preaching of churches — 
 
 All the eloquence learning can bring; 
 This morning to me has been better 
 
 Than weeks 'mid the glories of art, 
 For I've knelt at the feet of my Maker, 
 
 And gathered His smile to my heart! 
 
 43 
 
YOUR WISH 
 
 The wish in your heart — come soon or late, 
 
 You'll find was written by hand of Fate, 
 
 The wish in your heart will come about 
 
 If not in the way you have mapped out 
 
 Just all the same — it will come to you 
 
 As sure as the skies above are blue; 
 
 If you wish for strife — if you wish for fame, 
 
 You'll surely whistle and call the same; 
 
 Hand against hand — the ready blow 
 
 Will meet you — striking where'er you go; 
 
 If you wish for peace — the loving word, 
 
 You'll speak, and reply will be quickly heard; 
 
 If you wish for gold — you will grasp and gain 
 
 Not pausing to think of a neighbor's pain; 
 
 If you wish for power — you'll stem the tide, 
 
 And over the turbulent billows ride; 
 
 If you wish for Poet's happy dream, 
 
 You'll find it by mountain, vale and stream; 
 
 If you wish for love— '-for the kindly hand, 
 
 And the heart that can truly understand, 
 
 You will open the door of welcoming 
 
 And Love, with his harp just wandering, 
 
 Will step inside with a song so free 
 
 To fill up your life with melody ; 
 
 You often think that wishes are in vain, 
 
 But this is my constant, fixed refrain, 
 
 The wish in your heart is your guiding star, 
 
 You cannot stray from it very far; 
 
 The storms may rise and the waves may beat 
 
 And turbulent break at your waiting feet ; 
 
 The sun may dazzle — the night may gloom, 
 
 But this I assert is your final doom, 
 
 Come soon or late, though it may not be 
 
 As your fancy pictures on land or sea, 
 
 44 
 
Whatever you wish, by night or day 
 As the years of life hurry away, 
 Your wish is Destiny's guiding star, 
 You cannot stray from it very far. 
 
 KITTY CAT 
 
 Now Kitty Cat, you were hardly right 
 
 To leave me here in a lonely plight, 
 
 We were friends together — shine or rain, 
 
 Sweet to my ear was your purr's refrain; 
 
 I gave you share of my daily food, 
 
 Sometimes, perhaps, 'twas not very good; 
 
 It may be the fare was sometimes bad 
 
 Kitty — I gave you the best I had. 
 
 You went without warning cross the street 
 
 To neighbor whose fish was fine and sweet, 
 
 Whose cream was rich, and you found the bowl 
 
 That made you feel as a happy soul; 
 
 'Twas human nature — that's very true — 
 
 But something better I tho't in you, 
 
 I passed you sometimes — you glanced at me 
 
 With tho't in heart I could plainly see 
 
 You could do without me — 'twas not wise 
 
 To show so plain in your blinking eyes — 
 
 My neighbor has moved — you're left alone 
 
 You've come to claimi what was long your own ; 
 
 My door is open — your milk and bread 
 
 You'll find as of yore in kitchen shed, 
 
 You may come and stay — a home I'll give 
 
 If you wish it while we both do live, 
 
 And now I do not intend to blame, 
 
 But my love for you can't be the same 
 
 As when I indulged in silly dream 
 
 That you wouldn't desert for fish and cream! 
 
 45 
 
WAITING 
 
 Across the page in living light 
 
 This word we read as it comes in sight 
 
 "Waiting." The babe at its mother's breast 
 
 Looks up in her eyes with wond'ring quest; 
 
 The word is written across the page, 
 
 In morning hour — at life's earliest age; 
 
 The child as he hies his way to school, 
 
 Rebellious alike of task and rule, 
 
 Sees clear the word, and his waiting eyes 
 
 Look forward to freedom's paradise; 
 
 The youth as he dreams on mount or glen 
 
 To higher rise then his fellow men, 
 
 Impatient waiting his heart's desire 
 
 With eagle eye and with heart of fire, 
 
 Longs madly to see the page that's next 
 
 While waiting, waiting — and sore perplexed; 
 
 The man in the mart or study hour 
 
 Sees glad the word that is bringing power, 
 
 He's waiting just a turn in the flood 
 
 To bring him lasting and special good ; 
 
 The old man sits by the glowing grate 
 
 Still waiting to reach a better state; 
 
 His form is bent and his heart is cold 
 
 He's striven for fame, for love, for gold — 
 
 He's had them all, and his sun is set, 
 
 He sits in the firelight waiting yet. 
 
 I wonder if ever will come a day 
 
 With "waiting" passed from our lives away- 
 
 I wonder if ever will come the hour 
 
 When we'll wait no more for fame or power 
 
 Or love or glory or something new, 
 
 That we always fancy is our due ; 
 
 I wonder if "Waiting" unwritten be 
 
 In wonderful book of Eternity, 
 
 4 6 
 
If at last will fade from life's mystic page 
 The word we're reading from youth to age; 
 I wonder if when we're here no more 
 And our feet are treading promised shore 
 Beyond the waters so dark and deep, 
 Which all must cross in a dreamless sleep; 
 I wonder if "Waiting" will fade away 
 In glorious light of eternal day. 
 How welcome these words — so blest — so blest! 
 "Waiting is ended — you now may rest!" 
 
 BIRDIE 
 
 Oh, bird of the morning, you're dropping for me 
 The seed with its germ of beautiful tree, 
 For you were aloft in the realms of light 
 While I lay asleep in silence of night; 
 You've called me early with twitter and song, 
 I spring from my couch to follow you long; 
 Last night I was weary — weary and cold, 
 The harp in my bosom rusted and old, 
 My fingers too weak to waken its strings 
 Till you sang and fluttered your bonnie brown 
 
 wings ; 
 What can I answer you darling this day? 
 You sweep from my vision dust clouds away. 
 I'll touch with light fingers the harp in my breast 
 And echo you back with a song of sweet rest, 
 Dear Birdie — it may be there's coming an hour 
 When storm winds and darkness may silence our 
 
 power, 
 But the sun just incoming thro' eastern gate 
 Is bright'ning our way and may brighten it late; 
 Come brightness, come darkness, come changes 
 
 and all, 
 I'll never regret that I answered your call — 
 
 47 
 
Will never regret that I sped to the skies 
 
 And with you, caught rays from the beautiful 
 
 eyes 
 Of angels that watch — of angels that play 
 On harp strings of life at breaking of day ; 
 I'll sing our wild songs and toilers down here 
 Will pause and reward with smile and with tear; 
 Birdie, dear Birdie — your voice from my heart 
 Singing or sobbing, must never depart, 
 I watch — I follow where glorious you go, 
 And tell your glad song to comrades below! 
 
 THE ROPE 
 
 Grasp the rope that is cast by hands on the shore 
 Your friend may pull strong when your strength 
 
 is no more, 
 But boldly and bravely the dark billows breast, 
 Strike out for yourself and strike out with your 
 
 best! 
 The light-house has started its rescuing boat 
 It may reach you or fail, it may sink or float, 
 It may toss on waves till your vigor is gone 
 And you stark and stiff 'neath the waters alone 
 Do not think of that now, just struggle with 
 
 hope, 
 Make very best effort while nearing the rope. 
 The rope is all right, but its helping were vain 
 And heavy and lifeless you'll sink in the main 
 If you strive not yourself for land that's in sight, 
 If you strive not as God has given you might; 
 Independence is something none of us hold, 
 Tho' arm, may be strong and the spirit be bold 
 'Tis idle to think with our powers and pride; 
 We need no assistance while stemming the tide, 
 
 4 8 
 
Times come when the rope that is cast from the 
 
 land 
 We may reach for, and thank for with heart and 
 
 hand, 
 But always and ever tug thro' with a will 
 And never relax till your pulses are still! 
 
 THE POET 
 
 Something, it seems to me divine, 
 
 Enters my heart with poet's line; 
 
 Often, often, I've wished to be 
 
 A poet sweet with song so free, 
 
 But ah, 'tis given me below 
 
 No glorious task where soul can glow, 
 
 My spirit is of lowly mood, 
 
 Plodder with plodding sisterhood 
 
 All day my task — unchanged — the same 
 
 Without power for song or fame; 
 
 I sweep, I dust, I nurse the child 
 
 Tossing in fever hot and wild, 
 
 Tend my old mother, helpless now ; 
 
 I kiss her lips, I smooth her brow, 
 
 I dress the children for their school 
 
 Put them in mind of "Golden Rule," 
 
 I pick up brother's ball and bat 
 
 And find his kite, his book, his hat, 
 
 I'm up all day, I work and wait, 
 
 Sometimes yearn to be good and great; 
 
 My tasks are well, but seem so small, 
 
 I list to stars, but hear no call 
 
 That can awaken voice divine 
 
 Oh poet sweet, like voice of thine! 
 
 I'd dearly love to sing with thee 
 
 Gath'ring sunbeams from fount and tree, 
 
 But common lot and lowly birth 
 
 49 
 
Is my heritage here on earth; 
 
 I love to watch the flowers abloom 
 
 That smile in the light of mother's room; 
 
 I love to press in my arms the child 
 
 Sobbing — distrest in its sorrow wild; 
 
 I love to patch up the old worn coat 
 
 And father's approval silent note; 
 
 I like to wash and I like to bake 
 
 And hear the children shout "What a cake!" 
 
 But all of these seem such lowly things 
 
 When I watched you soar on Poet wings ; 
 
 If for one hour, I could only be 
 
 A singer of sunshine wild and free, 
 
 A glorious poet so grand and high 
 
 Reaching beyond the glittering sky. 
 
 But I was born for every day things, 
 
 So only watch and admire your wings ! 
 
 I kissed with fond lips, the speaker's brow 
 
 Bending before me — reverent now, 
 
 ''Dear child," I said "you are more than I, 
 
 You soar not on wings past starry sky, 
 
 The tasks you do, and the work complete 
 
 Is better than song, my pretty sweet, 
 
 You are not writing a word of song 
 
 But you live a poem all day long!" 
 
 "COME BACK AND KISS ME" 
 
 "Come back and kiss me!" he pauses on stair, 
 As float the sweet words on soft morning air 
 He looks up and thinks "I'll tease her just now," 
 So passes from sight with smile and a bow. 
 
 so 
 
She hastens at eve, his footsteps to meet, 
 She's crushed beneath car on pitiless street. 
 
 He gazes in silence — this depth of woe 
 
 No one can guess — but the heart-broken know; 
 
 He thinks of the eyes that loving looked down 
 
 As he hurried on to office up town, 
 
 He thinks of dear lips so loving and sweet 
 
 That started at eve, his greeting to meet; 
 
 He thinks of the musical tones on air 
 
 "Come back and kiss me!" oh, depths of despair! 
 
 Why did I go with so careless a smile 
 
 When darling was calling — asking the while 
 
 For one more farewell — and she asked in vain ; 
 
 "God! oh, my God! end this terrible pain, 
 
 Must I live rememb'ring the last words she said 
 
 'Come back and kiss me,' and now she is dead!" 
 
 I looked at the mourner — my tears fell as rain, . 
 Deeply I felt the incurable pain 
 Of heart sobbing wild for sweet morning past 
 In sorrow and longing forever to last; 
 How often at morn we rush down the stair 
 Unheeding voices that breathe on the air; 
 How often we turn from blessings away 
 We'll long for and weep for at close of day; 
 How often we look with tear-streaming eyes, 
 Yearning for faces beyond the far skies; 
 How often we reach the hand and the heart 
 To call back what morn just gave as our part, 
 "Come back and kiss me!" how often in vain 
 We cry out, in anguish, again and again! 
 
 5.1 
 
SLEEP 
 
 My heart so tired — it scarcely stirred 
 
 Within its cage — a drooping bird, 
 
 The heavy care — the midnight gloom 
 
 Had filled the space of darkened room; 
 
 I lay with eyes that drooped with pain, 
 
 With eyes that wept — and wept in vain ; 
 
 I tho't of day sadly passed, 
 
 Of hopes o'erthrown — of joys o'ercast, 
 
 My spirit sobbed "If there could be 
 
 Just one dear friend to comfort me!" 
 
 A soothing presence in the gloom, 
 
 A soft light in the silent room, 
 
 A presence moved with lightest tread, 
 
 White robed, and paused beside my bed 
 
 He came and touched with pitying care 
 
 My heated brain and heavy hair; 
 
 He looked so pure — so calm — so mild, 
 
 I felt the restfulness of child 
 
 Who just escaped from sore alarms 
 
 Lies sheltered in its mother's arms, 
 
 He smoothed my bed with crooning song, 
 
 My woes became a fading throng 
 
 And panoramic left the room — 
 
 A peaceful charm dispelled the gloom 
 
 The Good above had heard my prayer, 
 
 Had sent dear friend to watch with care, 
 
 Had sent sweet friend with loving eyes 
 
 Whose home of birth is Paradise — 
 
 My eyes no longer droop to weep 
 
 Thou't with me — best of friends — oh, Sleep! 
 
 52 
 
UNAWARES 
 
 In the morning came the sobbing of a sad heart 
 
 at my door 
 And a voice that said "I've journeyed till my feet 
 
 are tired and sore, 
 Let me in for just a moment — let me rest upon 
 
 your bed, 
 Just a short while will be helpful to my weary 
 
 aching head;" 
 Quick I turned to smooth the pillow, for the wind 
 
 was bleak and wild, 
 And I said "Come in my chamber — rest your 
 
 weary head my child!" 
 Softly stole the needed slumber as I watched the 
 
 sleeper fair, 
 And I fancied that a halo shone above her yellow 
 
 hair; 
 Soon she waked with grateful glances in her blue 
 
 eyes lifted up 
 As I gave to her refreshment in the heart warm 
 
 friendly cup; 
 "Now" she said "my feet are rested — I must go 
 
 appointed way, 
 But I'll carry this remembrance till the close of 
 
 latest day." 
 
 Busy life shut out the picture as I took my way 
 
 along, 
 Each day bro't its meted duty — sometimes sob 
 
 and sometimes song, 
 Till at last the moment found me when I wept in 
 
 wild depair, 
 For the sorrow that had reached me, seemed 
 
 more than I could bear, 
 
 53 
 
Discord voices all around me, but above the 
 
 madd'ning din 
 Came a low voice at my doorway "You are tired 
 
 — I must come in!" 
 
 Then there stood before me smiling, one whose 
 
 hand I gladly prest, 
 And the blue eyes shone with comfort as I lay 
 
 upon her breast; 
 "In the morning, I was weary" with soft voice 
 
 this dear one said, 
 "And you smoothed my pillow gently as I lay 
 
 upon your bed, 
 Now when you are cold and lonely and for cheer 
 
 so sadly yearn 
 And the evening sun is fading, it has come to be 
 
 my turn." 
 Then I gazed — my sobbing silenced as 1 kissed 
 
 the yellow hair 
 Of the Angel whom at morning I had sheltered 
 
 unaware! 
 
 GRANDMA'S CARPET 
 
 Grandma's carpet was hanging out in the morn- 
 ing sun, 
 With curious eyes, I scanned it — so bright and 
 
 neatly done, 
 "Grandma," I said you surely worked many a 
 
 weary day 
 Ere formed this work so lovely to put complete 
 
 away; 
 You surely found much trouble to blend with 
 
 wondrous skill 
 Colors in happy contrast to please your earnest 
 
 will, 
 
 54 
 
Then besides, It has cost you many dollars I 
 
 know 
 To buy the gay materials that make such brilliant 
 
 show; 
 Grandma smiling answers, "Well, really I never 
 
 thought 
 Of cost or trouble either while I that carpet 
 
 wrought, 
 I never spent upon it, hours of working day, 
 Merely pieced together when work was laid away 
 Odds and ends of material — odds and ends of 
 
 time, 
 Never cost a dollar — grew as a Poet's rhyme, 
 I've never missed the moments — odds and ends 
 
 you know, 
 Now it is a pleasure to view their pretty show!" 
 
 I went to the mill next morning to earn daily 
 
 bread, 
 While I watched the shuttles, song came into my 
 
 head, 
 Odds and ends came blended — odds and ends of 
 
 time, 
 Till I've made this fabric pretty in Poet's rhyme; 
 While sun is shining, you praise the colors bright 
 Due to grandma's work, I please your mental 
 
 sight; 
 Now, like me at eve, you sure can plainly see, 
 Odds and ends together may bright and valued 
 
 be. 
 
 55 
 
MISFORTUNE 
 
 The thing's we do are only a few 
 
 Of the things we intended to do, 
 
 The worries we have are chiefly about the trou- 
 bles we fancy in view 
 
 That never were real, and never will be, tho' we 
 hustle thro' right and wrong 
 
 To meet troubles we will never meet at all, in bat- 
 tle or mart or song; 
 
 I wonder if ever there was a man — and of course 
 I mean woman too, 
 
 Who never hunted for fancied grief and for some- 
 thing to blame and to rue ; 
 
 'Tis a curious streak in the human-kind — this 
 seeking Misfortune's door, 
 
 And knocking and thumping as if in fear, she 
 has surely something in store 
 
 When maybe she is quietly fast asleep, or reading 
 some book alone, 
 
 Or maybe off on a fishing lark, she's enjoying 
 some sport of her own — 
 
 I think as a general thing she comes very much 
 as a Poet's rhyme 
 
 And there's nothing more foolish than hunting 
 her up out of her own good time, 
 
 So I am determined from day to day, to hold this 
 my unchanging plan 
 
 To look for her never a single time, but to dodge 
 her all that I can; 
 
 She may come if she wishes — I don't invite a lady 
 of such a mood, 
 
 Tho' some assert she is a teacher rare and her 
 lessons are very good; 
 
 56 
 
Well, I have been her pupil once or twice — she 
 has given good lore to me, 
 
 Tho' she always comes as a volunteer, she is al- 
 ways sure of her fee! 
 
 Well, I pay when I must and that is all, but it is 
 quite enough to bear 
 
 So I simply avoid her all that I can at all times 
 and everywhere — 
 
 I will surely never meet her again the remainder 
 of life's brief day 
 
 If she'll only wait till I'm ready to start to meet 
 her on the way! 
 
 I. O. O. F. 
 
 I watched the sun arising 
 
 Out of the misty east, 
 The music and wine of Nature 
 
 Came with the early feast, 
 I quaffed the spirit nectar 
 
 I bathed my brow in light 
 That comes to banish the darkness 
 
 And gloomy powers of Night, 
 Clasped my hands in rapture 
 
 I thanked for the moment's good, 
 And said " Tis surely blessed 
 
 To be of this Brotherhood!" 
 
 As day advanced and traffic 
 
 And the noise of the town began, 
 I heard the angry voicing 
 
 Of man to his fellow man, 
 My spirit sank within me, 
 
 The spirit that erst had soared, 
 Had trilled in Nature's concert 
 
 And had rapturously adored; 
 
 5Z 
 
"Alas!" I cried in wonder, 
 "Why is it that every good 
 
 Blends not in daily routine 
 Of our human Brotherhood?" 
 
 Then came an hour still later 
 
 I stood watching a pageant go, 
 Men with royal ensigna 
 
 And with measured step and slow, 
 "I. O. O. F." on their banner 
 
 And I blessed them when they spoke, 
 I felt once more a freedom 
 
 From every burdensome yoke, 
 Their words from hearts outspoken 
 
 Bro't hope with its comforting near, 
 I knew they meant to lighten 
 
 The burden that banishes cheer; 
 God bless the noble Order, 
 
 God grant to them every good, 
 Till hour we dwell together 
 
 In Heaven's great Brotherhood! 
 
 "IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN" 
 
 True words are these from Poet's pen 
 The saddest are "It might have been," 
 True words indeed, as good as gold — 
 Nevertheless — a truth half told 
 We slept while Joy with Love went by 
 And 'woke in loneliness to sigh; 
 We dashed away the cup of Fame, 
 And staggered on 'neath cloud of blame 
 Tore from our forehead, wreath of light 
 Only our sorrow held in sight; 
 Ah, yes, 'tis true "of tongue or pen 
 Saddest words are "It Might have been." 
 
 58 
 
But as we slept, temptation passed, 
 
 We heard no sound of tempest blast, 
 
 We saw no pitfall yawning near 
 
 Nor felt the wing of threatened fear, 
 
 Cyclone came and we never knew, 
 
 Darkness threatened our sky so blue, 
 
 Angel of death above our heart 
 
 Held lightly poised his fatal dart, 
 
 Ships that might have been wrecked came back 
 
 Safe and sound o'er the briny track; 
 
 Children whom we had mourned as lost 
 
 Came home all safe, tho' tempest tost, 
 
 We kissed the lips with rare delight — 
 
 Lips that might have been cold and white; 
 
 Tis not all truth "of tongue or pen" 
 
 Saddest of words "It might have been." 
 
 TO ESTELLE ANNA METZGER ON HER 
 BAPTISMAL DAY 
 
 In the twilight, I am dreaming — 
 
 Gone is all the sunset glow, 
 And before my mental vision 
 
 Many pictures come and go, 
 And among the sweetest — purest, 
 
 Is the chapel's sacred shrine 
 With the white robed little maiden 
 
 Crowned with beauty all divine, 
 Crowned with innocence unsullied, 
 
 Crowned with truth and hope and love, 
 While the spirit of Baptism 
 
 Floats with blessing from above; 
 Ah, dear little one so lovely 
 
 Filled with truth and filled with grace, 
 While today the sun was shining 
 
 On thy fair baptismal place; 
 
 59 
 
Go, shine forth among the millions 
 
 All thy days of passing life, 
 Bear the light of faith within thee 
 
 It will guide in every strife, 
 Weal and woe will surely find thee, 
 
 But the mem'ry of to-day 
 Star-like still shall ever lead thee 
 On life's changeful, mystic way, 
 Keep thy faith and hope forever, 
 
 Let not cloud dispel the glow 
 Of the love within thee burning 
 
 On the way that thou shalt go, 
 Heaven be kind to thee, sweet maiden, 
 
 Wear the truth within thy breast 
 'Till the Angels beckoning, call thee — 
 
 Till thy day of final rest! 
 
 STITCHING 
 
 'Tis a quilt I am making for charity fair — 
 The young and the bright and the gay will be 
 
 there, 
 But somewhere I've read, and I know 'tis no 
 
 dream 
 That "many a sorrow is served in a seam." 
 
 The ladies will praise all my stitches so fine 
 And think I am glad that such skill can be mine, 
 I think well, perhaps that some motherless one 
 May sleep 'neath this cover so skillfully done, 
 I kiss the young brow and sew as I dream 
 Of the sorrow I sew in beautiful seam! 
 
 I think well perhaps the widowed may lie 
 Beneath this bright cover with sob and with sigh; 
 Tear drops unbidden have come in my dream, 
 I know of the sorrow I sew in the seam. 
 
 60 
 
I think well perhaps the childless may sleep 
 While her heart is awake o'er bed dark and deep, 
 I lift my dim eyes — I've touched a sore theme 
 I feel all the sorrow that's sewed in the seam. 
 I think well perhaps this cover may rest 
 Over fingers light clasped on cold pulseless 
 
 breast; 
 I pause in my stitching — this you may deem 
 That "many a sorrow is sewed in a seam!" 
 
 "MILLS OF THE GODS" 
 
 "The mills of the Gods are grinding" 
 
 With a force that is silent and slow, 
 
 We pass and repass anear them 
 
 By the river's rhymethical flow, 
 
 And we think we turn the paddles 
 
 While we deem that the gist which we bring, 
 
 Will be food for coming millions 
 
 And that man is forever the king; 
 
 We watch and we wait and struggle, 
 
 Worrying under our loads of grain 
 
 With not a thought that our labor 
 
 May all be but an effort vain, 
 
 We may tug and sweat and worry 
 
 By the river's rhymethical chime, 
 
 We may think we swell the music 
 
 And we must rule for all coming time, 
 
 But "The mills of the Gods are grinding 
 
 And their grinding is sure and fine. " 
 
 We think we manage the engine, 
 We think that we govern the flood; 
 We strut in a glow of effort 
 Pursuing our fancies of good; 
 We tug, we toil, and we worry, 
 
 61 ' 
 
And we think we are straight and tall 
 
 As we go with arms uplifted 
 
 And we claim we are lords of all; 
 
 But somehow our grist gets damaged 
 
 And it rots in the blackened clay, 
 
 As the flood of eternal power 
 
 Still rolls on its mystical way; 
 
 Oh, yes, we may fret and worry, 
 
 We may measure our human line, 
 
 But "the mills of the Gods are grinding, 
 
 And they grind exceedingly fine." 
 
 AT THE STATION 
 
 We are speeding with rush and rumble, 
 
 Blended pleasure and pain, 
 While our Angel is at the station 
 
 Waiting to flag the train. 
 
 The mourner in his silent sorrow 
 Watches each scene flash by, 
 
 While the child of pleasure is smiling, 
 Dreaming of cloudless sky. 
 
 The dollars are clinking and clinking 
 
 Traffic and trade go on 
 And every man thinks of his profit 
 
 And selfish good alone. 
 
 The rustle of silk and of laces, 
 Feathers of wealth and pride, 
 
 All are there on a common level, 
 Poverty close beside. 
 
 The soldier is puffed with his glory, 
 The merchant puffed with gold, 
 
 62 
 
And each one is happily hoping 
 For honors hundred fold. 
 
 Still on rushes the train triumphant 
 No thought of wreck or fall, 
 
 While the Heaven above is guiding 
 Marking the way of all! 
 
 There is music and song and laughter 
 
 And flash of wit divine, 
 While glad lips are touching the chalice 
 
 Sparling with royal wine. 
 
 On rushes the train, and we know not, 
 
 We merely guess the end, 
 And the same compartment holds us 
 
 We sit with foe and friend. 
 
 But we know — ah, we know a moment 
 
 Is near of joy or pain, 
 When we shall reach the unknown station 
 
 Where Fate will flag the train! 
 
 AT LAST 
 
 The child comes in with his broken toy — 
 
 Comes in with his broken heart, 
 He throws himself on his mother's breast 
 
 For he knows she will take part 
 Of the grief so wild — the pain so sharp 
 
 And tears that so swiftly start, 
 Anon, the sorrow is soothed away 
 
 The child has fallen asleep, 
 The mother holds to her loving heart 
 
 The eyes that no longer weep; 
 Oh, darling mother — so sweet — so sweet! 
 
 63 
 
So true to your grieving boy, 
 How calm he looks in your shelt'ring arms 
 Forgetting his broken toy! 
 
 His brother comes in with laugh and shout, 
 
 He has won the prize at school; 
 Ev'ry lesson, he knows by heart, 
 
 He has never broken rule; 
 He throws himself on his mother's breast 
 
 And there in the twilight dim 
 With soft caress and o'erflowing joy, 
 
 She murmurs her praise to him; 
 The stars come out in the blue above 
 
 And the child is lulled to sleep, 
 While the mother guards in loving arms 
 
 His slumber so long and deep; 
 How blest he looks in that silent hour, 
 
 The struggle, the triumph past 
 With wounded brother in mother's arms 
 
 He lieth asleep at last! 
 
 Dear mother Nature, I haste to you 
 
 For the day is nearly done, 
 On my path is shining solemn light 
 
 Of my earthly setting sun, 
 I know my brothers are hast'ning on, 
 
 They come from the east and west 
 Gathering to find a welcome sure 
 
 And rest on thy changeless breast; 
 Some come all broken and sad and sore, 
 
 And some come with triumph song. 
 Each knows you're waiting to welcome him, 
 
 Your waiting will not be long; 
 Oh, brother rejoicing! — you that weep, 
 
 I join with you hand in hand, 
 We seek the comfort of mother's arms 
 
 6 4 
 
Altho' in a broken band — 
 We come, oh, mother — we come to you, 
 
 Hastening from earthly din 
 In your dear old arms we'll find "the touch 
 
 That maketh the whole world kin!" 
 
 POEMS 
 
 There's a poem written in ev'ry heart, 
 
 Let the station be high or low, 
 In the special train or the combrous cart 
 
 As on separate ways we go; 
 As he counts his gold with a pleasant chink 
 
 The prosperous man often sighs 
 While he thinks of the light in far off home, 
 
 That grew dim under cloudless skies, 
 He sighs for a moment, but still goes on 
 
 While reckoning the precious gold, 
 But his heart is filled with a treasure rare 
 
 Far more precious — a hundred-fold, 
 And the poet pulse in that rushing car 
 
 To the sweetest music is stirred, 
 Tho' never a line of his tho't is read 
 
 And it never is told in word, 
 But the poet tho't and the poet glow 
 
 vSpring up till the sad tears start 
 And the man tho' never aware of it 
 
 Holds a poem within his heart. 
 
 The poor man goes out to his daily toil, 
 
 He is thinking of wife and child 
 That must be sustained and that must be cheered 
 
 Thro' poverty's threatenings wild; 
 He knows — ah, he knows when the day is done 
 
 And he wearily turns to go 
 A frolicsome baby will shout and greet 
 
 65 
 
The father so weary and slow, 
 His supper will be on the glowing hearth 
 
 Awaiting his hungering mood, 
 And the tears of thankfulness dim his eyes 
 
 As he tastes of the homely food, 
 And he does not know of the muse that sings 
 
 So deep in his grateful heart; 
 But the man tho' never aware of it, 
 
 Holds a poem within his heart. 
 
 THE TWO 
 
 The eldest son had the fine estate 
 
 And the grand ancestral hall, 
 He viewed the scene with rejoicing eyes 
 
 And said "I am lord of all;" 
 His father's stately bearing he wore, 
 
 And eye that was clear and cold, 
 He blew his bugle a sounding blast 
 
 And his yeomen answered bold 
 "We'll hold high revel tonight" he cried, 
 
 "Ho! shout to the world my fame, 
 The hall re-echoed and rang again 
 
 While his yoeman swelled acclaims! 
 
 The sound rolls out on the summer air, 
 
 It swells on the early breeze, 
 Then dies away in a murmur soft 
 
 Under the grand old trees; 
 The proud heir sat by his hearth that night 
 
 And gazed at his lovely bride, 
 His diamonds shone on her brow — and she 
 
 Was daughter of wealth and pride; 
 He sighed a sigh that was low and sad 
 
 And he said "How blest it would be 
 
 66 
 
If but one heart in this hour so bright 
 Could throb with a love for me!" 
 
 The youngest son had an humble cot 
 
 Mid rocks by the lonely bay 
 He echoed the voice of Nature wild 
 
 As its scenes before him lay, 
 He caught the rhyme of the rushing waves 
 
 As it rose and fell again, 
 The spirit within him answered back 
 
 And sweet was the soft refrain; 
 He had his mother's tender grace, 
 
 And an eye that was gentle and sweet, 
 His spirits uttered its thrilling words 
 
 While the sea roared at his feet, 
 The tide went out, and the tide came in 
 
 And his was no bugle call; 
 He sang as a bird amid the rocks 
 
 He loved — he sang — that was all, 
 Never tho't of shout of fame, 
 
 He only saw and he smiled 
 With a poet's tho't and poet song, 
 
 And the grace of untaught child; 
 His tho't tho' gentle was heard afar, 
 
 It pierced thro' the stormy din; 
 Altho' he had never dreamed of this 
 
 And had sought no fame to win, 
 He sang as the birds — sang as the sea, 
 
 As he dreamed in twilight dim; 
 No shout of acclaim — no dowered bride 
 
 Crossed over the wave to him, 
 A loving spirit was in his breast, 
 
 He had simply done his part, 
 And he had won — ah, yes, he had won 
 
 The love of one faithful heart. 
 
 6 7 
 
THE PROBLEM 
 
 The night was dreary — so cold — so cold, 
 
 And the storm wind fierce and wild, 
 Alone we were in that solemn hour, 
 
 Myself and a little child; 
 Thank God, she slept in her snowy cot 
 
 A smile on her dainty face, 
 Her arms thrown over the coverlet 
 
 In unconscious baby grace; 
 But I, but I was so sick and tired, 
 
 Had striven the whole day thro' 
 With problem I vainly tried to solve, 
 
 I did not know what to do ; 
 At last, tears came to my weary eyes 
 
 And I threw the pen aside, 
 I might have sobbed — but the little child 
 
 Waked up with wondering wide, 
 She slipped from her cot in eager haste, 
 
 She ran to my breast and there 
 Cried out "Dear sister, you've worried long 
 
 Why droop in such vain despair? 
 Just come to bed — you will rest so nice, 
 
 It will make you fresh and strong, 
 'Tis midnight now — and the morning hour 
 
 You know can't be very long, 
 Let problem lie till the master comes, 
 
 You know he is kind and true; 
 He'll feel so sorry — as I do now 
 
 And he'll solve the problem for you!" 
 
 Ah, many a year since then has passed — 
 
 The problem of life severe, 
 I've bent o'er the work with struggling heart 
 
 And many, many a tear; 
 But now, sweet memory bring again 
 
 68 
 
The form of that white-robed child, 
 And I hear her whisper — feel her clasp 
 
 Tho' tempest is howling wild; 
 Long, long ago, she was laid to rest, 
 
 Her spirit called back to God 
 And I have quivered in mad despair 
 
 Under the chastening rod; 
 But to-night — to-night — there cometh peace 
 
 More sweet than all else beside; 
 Paper and pen, I have pushed away, 
 
 The problem I've laid aside, 
 I feel the force of those gentle words 
 
 "Why worry the whole day thro' 
 The Master will come in morning light 
 
 And solve the problem for you!" 
 
 SPIRIT OF SONG 
 
 Oh, Spirit of Song, I sing to you, 
 
 You have always sung to me 
 Since my baby hands were gath'ring shells 
 
 Far off by the roaring sea — 
 Since my baby feet in grasses trod 
 
 Where yellow the primrose grew, 
 You whispered your words so soft and sweet 
 
 My baby heart clung to you, 
 I caught a light that no others felt, 
 
 I looked thro' your gifted eyes, 
 I saw thro' the floating clouds above 
 
 The shining of Paradise; 
 You came with me o'er Atlantic's wave 
 
 As I crossed its tossing wild, 
 When older grown, I had turned away 
 
 From the toys that pleased the child ; 
 You went with me as I climbed the hill, 
 
 When my feet were tired and slow, 
 
 69 
 
You kissed my lips and you touched my heart 
 
 And I felt refreshing glow, 
 You trod with me in the lowly vale 
 
 When the night was dark and cold; 
 My courage rose as I struggled on, 
 
 I blessed you a hundred fold, 
 This morn you come to my lowly cot, 
 
 You're here with the birds and bees, 
 There is no grandeur — there is no gold, 
 
 I'd take in exchange for these; 
 I go each day on the busy street 
 
 And I join the stirring throng, 
 You never leave me, oh, life-long friend, 
 
 Oh, Spirit of glorious Song, 
 The show and pomp of the proud go by. 
 
 But the faces are all that I see, 
 The eyes that speak from the struggling soul 
 
 Are all that appeal to me; 
 I know of it all — the hollow show 
 
 And the hidden inward pain, 
 I cling to you as you soothe my tho't 
 
 With tender and soft refrain 
 For all the goods and for all the gear 
 
 That show in this world so strong, 
 I would not give you — my life-long friend, 
 
 Oh, gentle Spirit of Song! 
 In all these years, you have been with me 
 
 While my pulse responsive stirred, 
 Never thro' all have you breathed to me 
 
 An angry or bitter word. 
 You knock at portal of every home, 
 
 You sing to each human heart, 
 But somehow they miss the gentle sound 
 
 In noise of a passing cart; 
 You smile at the door with blessing rare, 
 
 But they heed the market din, 
 
 7° 
 
They wish you would come to dwell with them, 
 But they do not call you in! 
 
 THE FLORIST 
 
 I went one day to the florist's, 
 
 My soul was in hungry mood; 
 I longed for the breath of flowers 
 
 To give me the nectar food, 
 I wandered thro' all the pathways, 
 
 I paused at the hot-house door, 
 I sipped of the sacred chalice 
 
 And I blessed it o'er and o'er, 
 But somehow, the spirit's hunger 
 
 Remained still unsatisfied, 
 I sighed to myself and murmured 
 
 "All is vain in this world so wide," 
 I gathered the lovely blossoms 
 
 And I freely paid my gold 
 To the waiting smiling florist, 
 
 As he thanked a hundred fold; 
 I gathered the lovely flowers 
 
 All sparkling with morning dew, 
 And proudly carried them homeward 
 
 For envying eyes to view; 
 The hunger pain of my spirit 
 
 Remained with its longing still, 
 And I sighed "Ah, me, no pleasure 
 
 Is bought by the human will!" 
 
 I sat on my door steps idly, 
 The flowers dropped from my hand, 
 
 The choir of Nature was swelling, 
 I echoed the anthem grand, 
 
 Then somehow came anear me 
 I drank of the nectar sweet, 
 
 71 
 
And behold, there smiled a blossom 
 
 Right close to my careless feet! 
 I stooped, but I could not pluck it, 
 
 It must live its little day; 
 It bore me along on its fragrance 
 
 To childhood so far away, 
 I tho't of my darling mother, 
 
 My father, and all the band, 
 Some of them sleeping in silence 
 
 And some with the world's loud band; 
 I saw in that little blossom 
 
 So bright in the morning dew 
 A face of angelic beauty 
 
 That early my spirit knew, 
 The pain of my hunger vanished 
 
 And I felt no longer poor, 
 The sweet I had sought for vainly 
 
 Was here at my cottage door! 
 
 SETTLED 
 
 You talk so much of your noble blood 
 
 You addle my weary brain, 
 You've mentioned its glory o'er and o'er 
 
 I don't want to hear again. 
 
 I cannot boast of heraldic birth 
 
 Some time very long ago, 
 A person named Noah started out 
 
 With a big congested show. 
 
 I've heard that my father Japhet was 
 
 A rather unruly boy, 
 But then no doubt, he was fair and sweet, 
 
 His mother's special joy. 
 
 72 
 
Where the mix came in from which I sprung 
 
 Is problem too deep for me, 
 But then I'm only of common blood 
 
 Without an ancestral tree. 
 
 Don't bother me any more I pray, 
 
 I am tired and claim a rest, 
 I'm here as I came from hand of God, 
 
 Whether good, better or best. 
 
 I yield to your claim — that's settled now, 
 
 The contest is overthrown, 
 When old Noah sailed — your monkey sire 
 Hung by his tail a little higher 
 
 In tree of the torrid zone! 
 
 ONE 
 
 Only one among the millions 
 And your stay can not be long, 
 
 But you have power within you — 
 Pow'r of sword or pow'r of song; 
 
 Use your strength and use it grandly, 
 Lift your arm against the wrong! 
 
 Do not heed the sneering minion 
 In the trappings of his pride, 
 
 Do not stand afar off idle 
 While the Cause is crucified. 
 
 Here you are as God assigned you, 
 Here you are with sacred trust, 
 
 Stand by Right altho' she weaken 
 And her banner trails the dust! 
 
 73 
 
Only one among the millions, 
 One alone you need not stand 
 
 Song or sword is sharp within you, 
 One can lead a mighty band! 
 
 Never shrink and never falter, 
 Speed the Right and never wait, 
 
 Till you know reward will crown you, 
 Leave that to unerring Fate ! 
 
 It is yours to lift the weapon 
 
 And to strike from shoulder bold, 
 
 Tis your birthright grand within you, 
 Yield it not for gear or gold! 
 
 Mess of pottage may be offered, 
 Scorn away the worthless thing, 
 
 Sword or song — whiche'er is in you 
 Lift it high and let it ring! 
 
 Only one among the millions 
 And your stay can not be long, 
 
 But for Right, arise and struggle 
 With the sword or with the song; 
 
 Wait not till the day of triumph 
 Till the Cause is safe and strong! 
 
 ANGEL VOICES 
 
 Tonight you are lying aweary 
 
 The day of your labor is done, 
 And you watch the clouds that are banking 
 
 Where has vanished the setting sun. 
 
 All day you have toiled and you've worried, 
 And all day you have wished for rest, 
 
 74 
 
When the heat and the toil were over 
 And the sun gone down in the west. 
 
 In your breast there were pulses throbbing 
 
 That never were understood 
 As you yearned for a holy mission 
 
 With a power for every good. 
 
 And you watched for the flaming banner, 
 But your gazed with mistaken eyes, 
 
 Still list'ning and waiting and hoping 
 For a message from Paradise. 
 
 You were list'ning for voices idly 
 
 Afar off in the sunlit blue 
 And you longed for some sacred mission, 
 
 Some beautiful work you could do. 
 
 At your door was the gentle knocking, 
 At your door were the voices sweet, 
 
 You lost the sound in the rushing noise 
 Of the turbulent city street. 
 
 Alas! if you had only listened 
 
 To the voices at your door, 
 Tonight you would know the quiet 
 
 That you have wished for o'er and o'er, 
 And the spell of Angel voices 
 
 That forever will come no more! 
 
 WOODVILLE, MISS. 
 
 Gem-like gleams the little city 
 
 Set amid the grand old trees, 
 Glad with bird song and the freshness 
 
 Of the Gulf's sweet southern breeze. 
 
 75 
 
Long ago in early girlhood 
 
 Here I came across the sea, 
 Sad — alone, and doubly orphaned, 
 
 Seeking work and hope in thee. 
 
 Fifty years with all their changes, 
 Moments swift and moments slow, 
 
 I have passed — still working, waiting 
 In life's panoramic show. 
 
 In your homes I found a shelter, 
 
 Found a shelter kind and fair, 
 And my soul was soothed and strengthened- 
 
 For the young do not despair. 
 
 Here beneath your trees I've listened 
 
 As the Angel bro't me song, 
 Friendly eyes and greeting met me 
 
 Daily in your busy throng. 
 
 Woodville dear, the hour is coming 
 
 Near at hand it seems to me, 
 When the Angel Death will whisper 
 
 I must say Farewell to thee. 
 
 In my young life's early sorrow 
 True hearts here I surely found, 
 
 And my spirit is forever 
 
 To your children fondly bound. 
 
 All that now I hope or wish for 
 When my sun sinks in the west, 
 
 Is that you will hold and shelter 
 In your shades, my dreamless rest! 
 
 76 
 
THE DESPOT 
 
 The house is there with its gardens rare 
 And its terraces sloped to the sea, 
 
 And the glorious trill of southern bird 
 Floats out from the waving tree. 
 
 The master of all is nobleman, 
 
 Noble in heart and in brain, 
 He feels the joys of prosperous life 
 
 And the sting of hidden pain. 
 
 He has gold and gear, and firmly holds 
 
 And rules with an iron hand, 
 And only a few that near him be 
 
 His odd moods can understand, 
 His sons are brave and his daughters fair 
 
 They throng in his lofty hall; 
 He proudly feels that his glory's great, 
 
 For he is the lord of all ! 
 But the babe asleep in its mother's arms, 
 
 The babe with its dreamy eyes 
 Is the greatest power in that grand realm 
 
 And triumphs without disguise! 
 The courtiers praise and the minstrels sing, 
 
 They answer the master's call; 
 But sceptre of love is in the hands 
 
 Of the littlest child of all! 
 
 Never a one disputes his claim, 
 
 And never a one is there 
 That would break sceptre in baby's hands 
 
 Or crown on his sunny hair; 
 He can check with coo the passion wild 
 
 Of the master's fiercest mood, 
 
 77 
 
His smile by courtiers and minstrels all 
 
 Is perfectly understood 
 In every breast, be it high or low, 
 
 In cabin or lofty hall; 
 There's pulse that throbs with allegiance sweet 
 
 For the littlest child of all ! 
 
 Go where you may on land or sea 
 
 You will find it still the same, 
 There's no one to lift a rebel hand 
 
 Or to utter word of blame; 
 The king and peasant alike rejoice 
 
 In palace or humble cot, 
 And a cry goes up from lonely hearth 
 
 Where little despot is not! 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 
 
 Altho' 'twas Moses who led the band, 
 He did not enter the Promised Land, 
 Altho' Columbus first touched this ground 
 He never supposed what he had found; 
 Altho' the Poet sang "Home, sweet Home" 
 Homeless — an exile he had to roam; 
 Altho' Napoleon shook every crown, 
 His last hours passed in a prison's frown; 
 Go where you will, it is all the same, 
 The soldier's glory — the poet's fame, 
 With eager lips they await the fruit 
 Forgetting serpent about the root — 
 So much we learn and so much we know 
 Of tempting things with alluring show, 
 I sometimes wonder we do not wait 
 Instead of thumping at Fortune's gate, 
 I sometimes wonder why all this strife 
 That stirs and weakens thro' human life. 
 
 78 
 
CHARLES HERBERT BAKER 
 
This weary dragging of endless chain; 
 I sometimes wonder why peace and rest 
 Is never complete in human breast, 
 I turn to the stars — they seem to shine 
 With light of happiness — pure, divine; 
 I wonder if e'er they long to fall 
 And be with us on this mundane ball; 
 I wonder if all that's great and grand, 
 They sometimes struggle to understand, 
 Then fail and sigh as the earth born do 
 Envying them in their dome so blue; 
 I wonder of all thro' the system great 
 Can be found completely happy state; 
 I wonder, wonder and sigh to think 
 That all things tremble on doubtful brink, 
 Still reaching forward — both man and star, 
 Wondering, wandering — parted far, 
 And a yearning wish in soul to know 
 Whence come the stirrings that in us glow, 
 Why is it we ne'er can understand, 
 We touch, but don't enter Promised Land! 
 
 POSTMAN 
 
 I stroll thro' the streets of the city 
 
 Scanning the faces I meet, 
 And I hear the postman's whistle, 
 
 Its shrill call adown the street, 
 And I notice that as he passes 
 
 At window and open door 
 There are anxious faces watching, 
 
 That often have watched before; 
 I look in the eyes alighted 
 
 As he stops at the open gate, 
 And the hand outstretched to welcome 
 
 The longed for missive of Fate; 
 
 79 
 
Some ope with trembling fingers, 
 
 Still hoping, but still in fear, 
 For so often — so often the postman 
 
 Has bro't them the bitter tear; 
 I glanced at the young and the lovely — 
 
 With never a tho't of pain, 
 Glad grasping the welcome missive 
 
 While the whistle sounds again; 
 I look at despairing figure 
 
 Turning from the gate away, 
 I hear the sigh from the bosom, 
 
 "No letter for me to-day!" 
 The Czar in his unbounded grandeur, 
 
 Holds rule o'er a countless throng, 
 The poet sings in his quiet hour 
 
 A nation's entrancing song. 
 The beauty holds with a magic art 
 
 The pulses of greatest men, 
 And the triumph of war is quickly heard 
 
 And echoed from glen to glen, 
 Oh, power is here, power is there 
 
 The power of the song and the sword, 
 And men risk lives at a master touch 
 
 Or the sound of a master word; 
 Oh, powers there are — oh, powers that shake 
 
 The world with a mighty will, 
 But never a greater power holds sway 
 
 Than the postman's whistle shrill! 
 
 80 
 
THE LAST MILE 
 
 The last mile is always longest 
 
 When the goal is plainly in sight, 
 The goal for which we have struggled 
 
 In our eagerness day and night; 
 We have toiled in the misty morn, 
 
 We have reached 'neath the blazing noon, 
 And now that the sun is setting 
 
 We shall be in our harbor soon, 
 The shout of the sailors cheering 
 
 Floats up with a happy sound, 
 We know that the shore we're nearing, 
 
 And we know we are homeward bound; 
 We have hoped for this always — ever 
 
 Amid triumph or fail or fall. 
 The way was long, but this last mile 
 
 Is surely the longest of all! 
 
 The bay in sight with its welcome, 
 
 With its shelter and happy rest, 
 The smiles of dear ones are waiting, 
 
 The smiles that we value as best; 
 For many and many a year 
 
 We have been so far away, 
 Now in sight is the dear old home 
 
 And the long remembered bay; 
 Once more in dream we are dancing 
 
 Over the glittering sand, 
 With lovers of early childhood 
 
 Linked in a frolicsome band. 
 
 The toil of the voyage ended 
 We are tired of the ocean roar, 
 
 We know that our steps are nearing 
 The path to our mother's door; 
 
 81 
 
Haste on with spread sail oh, seamen, 
 
 While is swelling your sea taught song, 
 Our voyage has been so stormy 
 
 And our dangers have been so long; 
 Haste on — no delay we pray you, 
 
 We are list'ning our sister's call, 
 And this last mile of the voyage 
 
 Is surely the longest of all! 
 
 WHY? 
 
 Why are the stones so cold and rough 
 Mixed with the sloppy clay? 
 
 Why must my wounded feet plod on 
 Over the tiresome way? 
 
 Why comes the hour when grasses soft 
 Yield to my springing tread, 
 
 While sky so clear and singing birds 
 Make music overhead? 
 
 Why do I faint with drooping heart 
 
 On desert sands alone? 
 Why when I need a little bread 
 
 I only find a stone? 
 
 Why do I reach oases fair 
 And lie 'neath shadying palm 
 
 Spread before me strengthening feast 
 My spirit touched with balm? 
 
 Why do I toss on waters dark, 
 
 No friendly sail in sight; 
 Lightning flashing from angry sky 
 
 And thunder shocks the night? 
 
 82 
 
Why comes change and I see the shore 
 
 And float o'er sunny sea, 
 And sparkling waves around my bark 
 
 Bring voices sweet to me? 
 
 Why do I lie in shudd'ring fear 
 
 Alone in silent room 
 With not a star to meet my eye 
 
 Or brighten hour of gloom? 
 
 Why comes the hour when light shines in 
 
 As clouds are swept away, 
 And I watch eastern gates ajar 
 
 Admitting King of Day? 
 
 Why is it sometimes heart is sad, 
 
 Drags weary, slow and sore, 
 Never a friend or word of love 
 
 To enter broken door? 
 
 Why comes the hour when Guardian bright 
 
 Comes with illumined wing, 
 Whisp'ring soft to my weary brain 
 
 Song that I gladly sing? 
 
 Why do I meet the scowling eyes, 
 
 Shrink from repelling hand; 
 Why do I meet the sneering blame 
 
 I cannot understand? 
 
 Why comes an hour when loving eyes 
 
 Look in my soul and see 
 Harp that trembles to ev'ry touch 
 
 That comes on changeful breeze? 
 
 83 
 
Why is it — why are all these things, 
 
 Why is it ordered so, 
 I follow fate that seems so strange, 
 
 I surely do not know. 
 
 But over all — beyond it all 
 
 Eastern gate is ajar, 
 And tho' the midnight hour is here 
 
 The morn can not be far. 
 
 So I seek not to understand 
 
 The way I erring go, 
 God holds the plan — it matters not 
 
 His plan I do not know! 
 
 THE ENGINEER 
 
 Hear the switching — hear the rattling, 
 Hear the whistle of the train, 
 
 Engineer is at the throttle 
 And our start will be amain. 
 
 Never mind what he is doing, 
 In his work don't seek a part, 
 
 Keep your seat and read your daily, 
 Keep you busy brain and heart. 
 
 Passenger on right is fuming, 
 
 Passenger on left is cold, 
 Passenger who sits beside you 
 
 May be timid — may be bold. 
 
 Needn't watch the skies above you, 
 They're all right thro' shine or shower, 
 
 You've no call to rule their moving, 
 Leave them to a higher Power! 
 
 8 4 
 
Are the rails quite safe and steady, 
 Can you mend or make them go ; 
 
 Sit you still and read your daily, 
 Let the wheels go fast or slow. 
 
 Read and think — prepare for action, 
 Be it prose or be it rhyme; 
 
 Just be quiet, do your thinking, 
 Speed your way and bide your time. 
 
 There may be a wreck impending, 
 
 Can you stop it if you try, 
 Engineer is at the throttle 
 
 Noting all that passes by. 
 
 Do you think you can assist him? 
 
 How he'd smile if you but stirred 
 In your place to lift a finger 
 
 Or to give a warning word. 
 
 Passengers are all anear you. 
 
 Think and wait — the hour is near, 
 
 You may lift the broken-hearted, 
 You may check the falling tear. 
 
 You may joy with spirits happy, 
 Work you'll surely find to do, 
 
 Engineer is at the throttle 
 
 And he needs no help from you. 
 
 Read your daily — watch your chances, 
 They will come in prose or rhyme, 
 
 Work awaits you — just be patient, 
 Think and wait and bide vour time! 
 
 8s 
 
WOMAN 
 
 In many a lowly cabin 
 
 Where life's struggle is sore 
 And the daily labor barely 
 
 Keeps the wolf from the door, 
 And woman the earnest toiler 
 
 Working with honest will, 
 There day after day is bending 
 
 The nation to her will. 
 She says to her sons around her, 
 
 Hard is the bread we eat, 
 Sometime perhaps in the future 
 
 Your fare may be more sweet, 
 But never uplift a finger 
 
 To touch dishonest gains, 
 For better far than dishonor 
 
 Are even rags and chains; 
 Meet every man as a brother 
 
 Until you know his part, 
 Then if he be false or craven, 
 
 Strike him out from your heart, 
 If ever your county need you, 
 
 Go forth with all your might, 
 Uphold her banner unflinching 
 
 And battle for her right, 
 And if e'er you rise to glory 
 
 Never look back with shame 
 To your mother's lowly cabin, 
 
 Your father's humble name, 
 Still hold them forever sacred, 
 
 Defend them if you must, 
 And if any man defame them 
 
 Hurl him into the dust!" 
 And so in the lowly cabin 
 
 Toiling and waiting still, 
 
 86 
 
Woman is quietly bending 
 The nation to her will! 
 
 In many a lordly mansion 
 
 Where gold and jewels shine, 
 Where the table spread with plenty- 
 Sparkles with royal wine, 
 Where peace and pleasure are ever 
 
 Sweetly hovering near, 
 Where a want has never entered, 
 
 Nor yet of want the fear, 
 Woman the high and noble, 
 
 Wearing and waiting still 
 There day after day is bending 
 
 The nation to her will; 
 She calls to her sons around her, 
 
 Points to the skies so blue 
 "Onward and upward your strivings 
 
 To be — to dare — to do; 
 Never to crown or to sceptre, 
 
 Cower or bend the knee 
 And still hold yourselves forever 
 
 As children of the free! 
 As man upon man look boldly, 
 
 Band with the true and good, 
 Remember the honest workman 
 
 Is of your brotherhood; 
 If ever your country need you 
 
 Think not of rank or pride, 
 Strike fearlessly for her honor, 
 
 Tho' pain and death betide; 
 My garb is of costly velvet, 
 
 Honored am I, but then 
 My greatest bliss is in trusting 
 
 That you'll be worthy men ; 
 And so in the lordly mansion 
 
 87 
 
Wearing and waiting still, 
 Woman is quietly bending 
 The nation to her will! 
 
 Not within the haunts of fashion, 
 
 Not in the ball room glare, 
 Is seen this best of women, 
 
 The fairest of the fair ! 
 Never seeking admiration 
 
 In lecture's dazzling hall 
 You will find this sweetest woman, 
 
 Dearest and best of all; 
 But at home amid her children 
 
 With daily toil and care, 
 Stone upon stone she is building 
 
 A nation strong and fair; 
 Her sons from cot and from mansion 
 
 Spring forth at country's call, 
 With shoulder to shoulder steady 
 
 To triumph or to fall, 
 And this is true woman's leading 
 
 Her praise our hearts must fill, 
 How blest is the glorious nation 
 
 Led by her royal will! 
 
 UNCLE SAM 
 
 Of all the wonderful things on earth 
 
 Since the eldest son of Adam had birth, 
 
 Most wonderful thing we ever knew 
 
 Was when the Grey linked arms with the Blue; 
 
 There's never ruler but Uncle Sam 
 
 That wouldn't have crushed with awful slam 
 
 His rebel sons as they flourished by, 
 
 Floating their flag in the summer sky, 
 
 Shouting their pean of rebel cheer 
 
With their yankee brothers joining near 
 With loud applause for the rebel band 
 Together as one they fill the land 
 With a joyous shout, for each can say 
 "We've never been whipped, and never may!" 
 
 Oh, Crowns of Europe, you could not bear 
 One rebel shout on your tainted air, 
 Fire and imprisonment, sword and gun 
 Would quickly silence a rebel son; 
 But here, thank God, in this land so free 
 'Tis honor to strike for Liberty! 
 Mistake may be, but its all the same, 
 The arm of honor is safe from shame ; 
 So as I stood 'mid the Blue and Grey, 
 I blessed forever the glorious day 
 When both could mingle and be as one, 
 No grander sight since the world begun; 
 Hurrah! hurrah for our Uncle Sam, 
 For all his foemen — a mighty — slam! 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 I lie awake in the solemn hour 
 
 Of the midnight dark and deep, 
 The cares that perplexed my soul to-day 
 
 Have banished the balm of sleep; 
 I think of the morn with its rosy hours, 
 
 Its sky so clear and so blue, 
 And my careless steps that crushed the flowers 
 
 Smiling in shimmering dew, 
 I think of my playmate sweet — so sweet, 
 
 The sun on her yellow hair, 
 And a light in eyes from Heaven caught 
 
 To make the fair scene more fair. 
 
 89 
 
I turn away from this spotless page 
 
 To toil with my fellow men, 
 I build my castles, I sail my ships, 
 
 I'm happy and prospered then 
 I grasp with an eager grasp the gold 
 
 Which I strive so hard to win, 
 While I stretch my hands for more and more 
 
 And more comes gathering in; 
 Ah, yes, I am great and grand and good, 
 
 All honor pours in so free, 
 But the ship — alas! the ship was wrecked, 
 
 Swift bringing my bride to me ! 
 
 The evening comes and the sun goes down, 
 
 And I see the stars arise, 
 They seem to me as the sentinels 
 
 On towers of Paradise, 
 I feel the beauty and peace and power 
 
 Still ruling above us all, 
 The yearning heart is unsatisfied 
 
 And trembles amid it all, 
 I think of promise of early morn 
 
 When my darling played with me, 
 I think of her lovely eyes now closed 
 
 Low, under our garden tree, 
 I think of the strife of glowing noon, 
 
 I think of the shining gold 
 That paid for effort of heart and brain 
 
 In profit a hundred fold, 
 I think of all in this midnight hour, 
 
 For my heart has need of balm, 
 Tho' spirit voices are sweet and soft 
 
 I yield to influence calm 
 Sleep smoothes my pillow, I turn away 
 
 From the pain, regret and strife, 
 
 90 
 
For I feel that morn will bring to me 
 Better and happier life. 
 
 Ah, is there heart in this wide, wide world 
 
 That escapes the midnight gloom, 
 The bitter thought and the wild regret 
 
 That comes to the darkened room? 
 Oh, you who are watching — you who grieve 
 
 As your last sleep ends the strife, 
 Just smile and think of coming morn — 
 
 Better and happier life. \ 
 
 NO PAIN, NO PLEASURE 
 
 If our paths were always 'neath sunny skies 
 
 And never a storm cloud near, 
 If our days and nights were forever calm, 
 
 If heart had never a fear, 
 If we plucked our roses in idle joy 
 
 Forever from thornless stem, 
 If forever applauses met our ears 
 
 And smiles met our changeless ken, 
 If only the right we could always meet 
 
 And never a thought of wrong, 
 If all pain were banished and only bliss 
 
 Remained for our daily song, 
 It does seem to me that we'd surely tire 
 
 Of such constant joys in view, 
 There'd never be any pleasure in life 
 
 If there wasn't misery too! 
 
 For how could the moment of rest be sweet 
 
 If never fatigue or toil, 
 Or how could the freedom from dust be felt 
 
 If never annoying soil, 
 And how could we value the gift of Love 
 
 91 
 
If hatred had never been, 
 And how could we value the friend anear, 
 
 If seas had not rolled between; 
 How could we give thanks with a fervent soul 
 
 For our need of earthly good 
 If sorrow and pain and o'erwhelming grief 
 
 We never had understood, 
 And so we thank God for the burden here, 
 
 For He guides with wisdom true; 
 He knows there would be no pleasure in life 
 
 If there wasn't misery too! 
 
 THE COVER 
 
 That book is so lovely, dear father, 
 
 Do buy it! I eagerly cried; 
 I'll read it with care and I'll keep it, 
 
 It must be all charming inside; 
 My father was quiet and stately, 
 
 His temples just showing the grey, 
 But his eye had quizical twinkle 
 
 As he bought the volume that day; 
 " 'Tis yours, my fair maiden" he answered, 
 
 "Your choosing may not be the best; 
 It pleases you, so I have bought it, 
 
 The future, its merits will test, 
 But when you grow older and wiser 
 
 You will learn as I learned long ago, 
 The book we most lovingly cherish 
 
 Not always has cover of show;" 
 Scarce heeding the words that he uttered 
 
 I went by his side down the street 
 With feeling of gladsome possession 
 
 Of a volume wondrously sweet; 
 Well! after the leaves I examined 
 
 At close of that very same day, 
 With murmur of deep disappointment 
 92 
 
I laid the bright volume away, 
 If only I'd taken that lesson 
 
 And carried it into my life, 
 I might have missed many an error 
 
 And many a sorrow and strife, 
 For over and over in folly 
 
 I've looked at the brilliant outside, 
 My soul altogether enchanted 
 
 By trappings of beauty and pride, 
 And over and over in sadness 
 
 I've wept at the close of the day, 
 When I saw my error and weakness 
 
 And laid the bright vision away, 
 And now in the evening I ponder 
 
 O'er fancies so bright and so gay, 
 While memory brings up my father — 
 
 His temples just showing the gray! 
 
 MY DREAM 
 
 Last night in a dream of beauty 
 I trod amid Eden's bowers, 
 
 My soul was bathed in the sunlight 
 And I drank the breath of flowers. 
 
 I touched the radiant garments 
 Of Spirits released from sin, 
 
 And I caught the words of gladness 
 Loud welcoming pilgrims in. 
 
 Then I saw the harps of glory, 
 And I heard the angels sing, 
 
 And the choirs of triumph shouting 
 All honor unto the King! 
 
 93 
 
I saw the wonderful banners 
 Wave over the thrones of gold, 
 
 And the light of all earth's visions 
 Surpassed a million fold. 
 
 I paused where a group was gathered- 
 
 The loveliest in the place, 
 And one among them glorious 
 
 And crowned with every grace. 
 
 Softly, I ventured to whisper 
 "That man has wonderful fame, 
 
 Oh Guardian Spirit beside me 
 Tell me that bright one's name. 
 
 'Tis written in song and story 
 And this I certainly know," 
 
 But the Angel smiling answered 
 "My child, it is not so." 
 
 His stay on your earth was toilsome 
 And poverty pinched, but then 
 
 His record with us is written, 
 He was kind to his fellow men. 
 
 He never knew till this moment 
 That a crown or robe could be 
 
 For a soul so unpretending — 
 A man so poor as he." 
 
 Then I saw the children gather, 
 And I heard the bright ones sing 
 
 All honor and praise forever 
 And glory to our King! 
 
 94 
 
And joy to the new crowned spirits, 
 Glad welcome to all, and then 
 
 A pean shout for the dear one 
 Most kind to his fellow men! 
 
 THE BEST THING TO DO 
 
 The very best thing to hold in view 
 
 Is the work that Nature cut out for you. 
 
 If you can skillfully guide the plow, 
 
 Just pull off your coat and hitch up right now, 
 
 It may be you have a balky mule 
 
 That never has brayed in a city school; 
 
 You need not care, for we understand 
 
 In all the wide realm of this mighty land, 
 
 There's never a better man than he 
 
 Who whistling treads over dewy lea 
 
 And feeds his cattle and plants his corn; 
 
 No! never a mightier man was born! 
 
 If you've the gift of persuasive speech 
 
 With words that the heart of a jury reach, 
 
 Don't muddle your brain with doctor's lore — 
 
 Never thump or pound at the muse's door, 
 
 Whatever you do, don't try to be 
 
 A poet — for all that is vanity, 
 
 If it isn't in you, it can't come out. 
 
 Do not think you sing when you merely shout. 
 
 Look in you nature and find your part, 
 
 Then follow it thro' with an earnest heart, 
 
 You're sure to win if you only see 
 
 What Nature intended that you should be. 
 
 Just be yourself if you would succeed, 
 For to be some other there is no need, 
 There's room for you and there's room for all 
 
 95 
 
Who hear as God wills it, true Nature's call. 
 If you think you're low, and would be great 
 Just leave all that in the hands of Fate ; 
 You may mount up or you may slip down, 
 You may bear the cross or wear the crown, 
 But in either case, I tell you now, 
 There is never wreath for your aching brow, 
 If you strive to be another man 
 And struggle against old Nature's plan; 
 To be successful, just hold in view 
 The work that Nature cut out for you, 
 You will win the race, tho' far the end, 
 And come out victor, my honest friend! 
 
 OLD AND POOR 
 
 Two pretty maidens came down the street 
 
 With merry chatter and tripping feet, 
 
 Both of them lovely — they plainly showed 
 
 The care that riches and love bestowed, 
 
 Each seemed to be of a happy band, 
 
 Each held a rose in her dainty hand; 
 
 A woman came from the other way, 
 
 Her figure bent, and her tresses gray, 
 
 Her dress was patched and her shoes were worn, 
 
 The cape around her neck was slightly torn. 
 
 In each detail, I could plainly see 
 
 The painful pinching of poverty — 
 
 Said one of the maidens "What a fright, 
 
 Such a wrinkled face — such sorry sight — 
 
 If I were so ugly, old and poor, 
 
 I'd stay at home — I am very sure." 
 
 The other maiden looked pained and said 
 "I feel so sorry — that old grey head 
 And that drooping form appeal to me, 
 
 96 
 
My spirit goes out in sympathy; 
 
 My mamma says that it is not right 
 
 A human being to scorn or slight, 
 
 This woman is sad — I am very sure, 
 
 I'll give her my rose — she's old and poor." 
 
 I saw the old woman's startled face, 
 Astonished, she met this simple grace, 
 She took the rose — not a word she said, 
 But slowly trembled the old gray head ; 
 A strange light shone in her faded eyes, 
 I think 'twas noticed in Paradise; 
 The lips moved slightly as if in prayer, 
 I think the angels were list'ning there; 
 As the maidens passed with tripping feet, 
 The woman moved slowly up the street ; 
 I think a spirit bore up on air 
 From faded lips, a blessing and prayer, 
 And I seemed to read on page of white 
 Beyond the blue, in the far off light 
 These words recorded of maiden sweet 
 With gentle grace gone down the street; 
 I think the angels in realms so fair 
 Sped blessedness to the maiden fair 
 Who said "the woman is sad I'm sure, 
 I'll give her my rose — she's old and poor!" 
 
 TACKING 
 
 The wind that brings one vessel in 
 
 Will waft another out, 
 If earnest seamen pull the ropes 
 
 And skillful "tack about", 
 The lazy lubber who lies on deck 
 
 Giving the breeze full sway, 
 Has never right to moan and cry 
 
 97 
 
If vessel go astray; 
 He blames his luck and stormy winds, 
 
 Neglects to grasp the rope, 
 He looks for change, and idly waits, 
 
 Cherishing mocking hope. 
 He hears the song of seamen brave, 
 
 They tug and pull and try 
 To tack the sails, they wish to turn 
 
 While howling winds rush by; 
 They know full well — and he should know 
 
 As swift they tack about, 
 The wind that brings one vessel in 
 
 Will waft another out! 
 
 Come hours of darkness — hours of storm 
 
 That baffle human will, 
 That tear the sails from splintered mast 
 
 And mock the sailor's skill; 
 Not our mission to alter that, 
 
 God gives us brawn and brain, 
 He gives the ropes and gives the sail 
 
 And power not all in vain ; 
 He gives the winds which shape our course 
 
 Whatever roaring din, 
 'Tis left to us in measure large 
 
 To be borne out or in. 
 
 The sturdy heart and eagle eye 
 
 Look not to depths below, 
 The steady hand and courage grasp 
 
 Decide the way to go; 
 The man who waits for fav'ring breeze 
 
 And does not pull the ropes, 
 Generally wafts against his will 
 
 With wrecked and shattered hopes. 
 He may wish and wait, whine and cry, 
 
 9 8 
 
Heaven is still the same, 
 If he neglect rudder and sail, 
 
 Himself he has to blame; 
 The winds and waves will serve us all, 
 
 Will bear us in or out, 
 If we keep in our places firm 
 
 And careful tack about. 
 There are hours of darkness — hours of storm 
 
 In such we rule no part, 
 God wrecks or speeds as He sees fit, 
 
 But gives us brain and heart. 
 So while you may, oh, sailor tried, 
 
 Pull bravely — tack about; 
 The wind that brings one vessel in 
 
 Will speed another out! 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 There are many things I'm thankful for 
 
 When I the past recall, 
 But chiefly I'm glad that most of my prayers 
 
 Have not been answered at all; 
 Dear Guardian Angel — I've blamed you much 
 
 When you failed to soar on air 
 And give in haste to recording one 
 
 My earnest tho' foolish prayer. 
 I've asked for riches, for fame, for power, 
 
 I've asked for the gift of love, 
 I've prayed for them all, but very few 
 
 Of my prayers were heard above — 
 Oh, Guardian Angel, I'm very sure 
 
 I've made you almost wild, 
 For all the days of my long life thro' 
 
 I've been such a silly child! 
 To-night I rest in your sheltering arms, 
 
 Beneath your protecting wing, 
 
 99 
 
And whisper this song of my gratitude 
 
 Which now I heartily sing; 
 Sweet Angel, sweet Angel, I faint to think 
 
 What might have become of me 
 If all of my prayers you had carried up 
 
 And bro't back the answers free; 
 Just to think how I've grasped at roses sweet 
 
 With serpents twined round the stem, 
 Just to think how I've seen misguided feet 
 
 And wished I could dance with them. 
 And to-night, dear Angel, I lay my brow 
 
 'Gainst your bosom warm and true, 
 My disappointments I see at the last 
 
 Were entirely due to you. 
 Your voice is now deep in my erring heart, 
 
 I will hold it sacred still 
 And never again shall I utter prayer 
 
 That may be against your will; 
 It is well that your wings refuse to rise 
 
 With my follies do not go, 
 And Angel — my dear — I am, sorry now 
 
 That ever I grieved you so! 
 And so now when I kneel in prayer you smile 
 
 And to Heaven waft away, 
 For let come what will or let go what will, 
 
 "God help us!" is all I say. 
 
 A BAD HABIT 
 
 I stared at her as she shook her grey head, 
 "Getting old is just a bad habit" she said, 
 The earth when 'tis covered with winter's snow, 
 Gathers still the flowers in its warm heart glow; 
 When the hand grows weak and the eyes grow 
 
 dim, 
 We still can join glad in life's evening hymn; 
 
 ioo 
 
The spring so fair and the summer so bright 
 We can hold for our joy in the winter night; 
 We may feel the chill of the season's snow, 
 But flowers are slumbering beneath we know, 
 We can keep in our soul its youthful light 
 Just the same as when pleasure was gay in sight; 
 Oh, yes, you may sing it in measure bold 
 " Tis a very bad habit — this growing old!" 
 Tho' the step be slow, and the form be bent, 
 The spirit may be full of a sweet content; 
 Now the storms of our days are well nigh past 
 And the shore of our rest is in sight at last, 
 Just a little while, and the setting sun 
 Will show that our labor in this sphere is done; 
 We cannot grow old — as the stars had birth, 
 So forever we be on this changing earth, 
 Still the stars shine on as they shone at first 
 When their flashing thro' darkness in glory burst, 
 Still young and yet old — forever and aye, 
 They are moving to music beyond the sky, 
 And the same sweet music to us is near 
 If we earnestly lift up our souls to hear; 
 The limbs may be weak and the tresses grey 
 And our footsteps approaching the close of day, 
 And soon in the quiet of darkened room 
 They will close our eyes with a touch of gloom ; 
 We shall seem so old to the human sight 
 While our soul is away in the upper light; 
 We are not old, and we never can be, 
 Even thro' the long ages of Eternity, 
 As sun and as stars was our glorious birth, 
 We can never grow old on this changing earth; 
 We may faint and falter and even die, 
 But our spring time goes with us beyond the sky! 
 
 lot 
 
ERIN 
 
 I sit alone under moss draped tree 
 
 Where musical voices float clown to me, 
 
 Around me grandeur of forest spread 
 
 With our King's own canopy overhead; 
 
 I catch the flutter of songster's wings, 
 
 My heart is attuned to all joyous things; 
 
 At my feet the streamlets sparkling flow 
 
 The waters murmuring as on they go; 
 
 In tho't I follow as swift they glide 
 
 To join in the turbulent river tide, 
 
 Still on and on beyond mount and cave, 
 
 Till I hear the storms of Atlantic rave, 
 
 Till at last I reach a far off shore 
 
 And dream of the fields I shall see no more ; 
 
 I think of the time when at my feet 
 
 The dear little primroses smiled so sweet; 
 
 I think of halls where the harp's bright strings 
 
 Were waked to music by angel wings; 
 
 I think of playmate, of doll and book 
 
 And the cresses down in the babbling brook; 
 
 I think of mother who kissed her child 
 
 When my soul was full of sweet fancies wild; 
 
 I think of father — I think of all, 
 
 Thank God for these memories' sweet recall — 
 
 'Tis fancy blest that has bro't to me 
 
 This fond picture of home beyond the sea; 
 
 Oh, grand and great is Columbia's land, 
 
 Adopted and faithful I hold my stand, 
 
 With voice and with arm I'll e'er defend 
 
 The country that keeps me with care of friend, 
 
 But blame me not as I turn my eyes 
 
 To the Em'rald shore where my childhood lies, 
 
 That I feel and know in inner heart 
 
 No other attraction can fill the part 
 
 102 
 
Of the dear old Isle by Irish Sea, 
 
 Where song words of angels first came to me! 
 
 FRIEND AND FOE 
 
 Your friend is your friend thro' shine or rain, 
 
 He has bro't you pleasure — shared your pain, 
 
 In all your struggles has taken part; 
 
 You hold him sacred in inmost heart, 
 
 Forever and aye your love is true 
 
 To the friend who's been a joy to you; 
 
 Your foe has struck with an evil eye 
 
 At very roots where your best hopes lie, 
 
 Has forced your spirit to give a blow, 
 
 Your soul its mightiest power to show; 
 
 You've struck back fiercely with iron hand 
 
 Straight from the shoulder with impulse grand. 
 
 The fight tho' fierce has but made you strong, 
 
 Has planted you firm where gods belong! 
 
 The grand old oak with its forest power 
 Outspreads its branches to sun and shower, 
 Holds high above in its rustling green 
 The singing birds and the dazzling sheen, 
 Outspreads its branches in kingly glee 
 And shouts to its friends "I've shade for ye!" 
 Dear little birds 'mid sheltering leaves 
 Just peeping over the small nest eaves, 
 You chirp and flutter with rare delight, 
 Your home is so lovely, grand and bright. 
 The old oak sings to its friend the sky 
 And tosses its branches brave and high, 
 But down below, in the earth there lies 
 The root from which all these blessings rise — 
 Root that was shaken by storm and found 
 In struggle, firmer and deeper ground, 
 
 103 
 
The root that would not be shaken up 
 And the storms exhausted, gave it up 
 As a task in vain to tear the tree, 
 That glorious and great was meant to be. 
 
 And so you see that your friend in love 
 
 Has lifted your struggling soul above, 
 
 Has spread out your arms in rain or shine 
 
 And made your mission on earth divine. 
 
 But if foeman had given no blow 
 
 Your roots less firm might have been below, 
 
 You mightn't have struck with such iron will 
 
 When his fingers grasped with purpose ill. 
 
 And so you see in this hour at last 
 
 You've gained as much from the howling blast 
 
 As ever you did from sun or showers 
 
 That helped to brighten your struggling hours. 
 
 Let love and thanks to your true friend go, 
 
 But much is due to your hated foe ! 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES 
 
 The brown leaves falling round me, 
 
 Rustling under my tread, 
 And the low but thrilling voices 
 
 Whispering "Summer is Dead" 
 
 Speak to my heart this morning, 
 
 Lead me gently aside, 
 Rebuking, but oh, so kindly, 
 
 Anger and sloth and pride. 
 
 They seem to ask so sadly 
 
 "When all was bright and green, 
 
 Wert thou in happy unison 
 
 True as thou should'st have been. 
 
 104 
 
While summer lingered with thee 
 And songs were in thy breast, 
 
 Were thy words and deeds in keeping, 
 Leading to peace and rest? 
 
 Now while the tears of Autumn 
 Fall on the summer flowers, 
 
 Entwine for thy winter's comfort 
 A wreath of well spent hours/' 
 
 Oh, questioning, solemn voices, 
 
 How can my heart reply, 
 While turned to the wasted moments 
 
 Of golden hours gone by? 
 
 Instead of up and doing, 
 
 Ready, useful and true, 
 Full many a time it faltered, 
 
 Sighing "I've nought to do!" 
 
 Many a time it fainted 
 
 While golden hours rolled on, 
 
 Till the flowers it might have gathered 
 At last were dead and gone. 
 
 Oh, heart rebuked and silent, 
 
 Listen and think to-day, 
 For perhaps another summer 
 
 May never light thy way. 
 
 Still there is life and beauty, 
 Still thou canst toil and strive 
 
 Making the world grow better 
 Because thou art alive. 
 
 105 
 
Now while the time is given, 
 
 Fearlessly cast aside 
 The load thou art weakly bearing 
 
 Of selfishness and pride. 
 
 List the voices of Nature, 
 
 Learn from the birds and flowers, 
 
 Twine for thy last remembrance 
 A wreath of well spent hours. 
 
 LITTLE BIRD 
 
 Oh, little bird in your lowly nest, 
 The cold dew gemming your soft brown breast, 
 You chirp and call for the mother love 
 That's to teach the way to soar above. 
 
 You do not know, and there's none can tell 
 The powers that in yon quiet dwell; 
 Just wait till the morning hour is past 
 You'll catch the breath of the noontide blast. 
 
 You'll twitter no more, you'll rise and sing 
 With sunshine broad on your upward wing, 
 You'll soar and flutter with song so high 
 Away and away to far off sky. 
 
 You'll meet your comrades as Nature meant, 
 Your voice with theirs shall be grandly blent, 
 You'll swell the choir with the music best 
 That was taught to you in dewy nest, 
 
 That mother Nature there bro't to you, 
 Your little brown breast was wet with dew, 
 You'll reach the flowers that wait below 
 Just smiling out of the winter's snow. 
 
 106 
 
You'll sing to peasant, you'll sing to king, 
 And each one will bless the flight of wing 
 That bears you away, 'bove cloud and all 
 And flutters reply to comrades call. 
 
 You were made for beauty, song and cheer, 
 To be as one with loveliest here ; 
 Oh, little brown bird, I follow you 
 Away in your flight 'bove azure blue. 
 
 You call me away — I lift my breast 
 With dew of morn, and song refreshed, 
 Never a longing have you for fame 
 Or tho't of crowds with their loud acclaim. 
 
 Songs from your bosom in music burst, 
 You sing — its in you — sing you must, 
 I follow you in your flight and song 
 Altho' below is my comrade throng. 
 
 I spring from the dust to watch you sweet 
 Above my head, with choir you meet, 
 I watch your flight thro' the upper sky 
 With eager spirit and dazzled eye. 
 
 Oh, little brown bird, just pause for me, 
 I follow you from tree to tree, 
 I will not turn from your flight away 
 'Till I reach with you the realms of day; 
 I will not turn till my song with thine 
 Has joined with the choir on heights divine! 
 
 107 
 
WE DO NOT KNOW 
 
 She came from her mansion — she wept with me 
 And tenderly touched the babe on my knee, 
 "So like my own!" with a quiver she said, 
 "Just the same fair form and the same bright 
 
 head, 
 He was taken from me long years ago — - 
 He was so precious and I loved him so!" 
 
 I could not put him away from my breast, 
 
 He seemed to be taking a happy rest — 
 
 "He is dead" they whispered, "we'll lay him 
 
 down, 
 His spirit now weareth an angel crown, 
 We cannot bid you to be calm, but then 
 He will smile in your eyes some day again." 
 
 Not a word of comfort could touch my brain, 
 All of earthly promise seemed void and vain, 
 I could only think of my baby there; 
 "Dead, oh dead," I cried in my wild despair. 
 My neighbor touched me with a gentle hand 
 "His working, we never can understand, 
 He has taken yours, He has taken mine, 
 It is ours to bow to the will Divine. 
 If our darling babies on earth had stayed, 
 If their steps afar in the wrong had strayed, 
 How bitter the sorrow — how torn the heart 
 That now in a glorious life has part; 
 I would give all gold — I would give all gear 
 Just to look at my darling standing here, 
 But now as I'm nearing the setting sun, 
 I have learned to utter "Thy will be done!" 
 
 108 
 
And this was the woman I tho't so cold, 
 Vain of her beauty and proud of her gold; 
 Once again she spoke, and her words were these, 
 "How oft when your baby played 'neath the trees 
 I have envied you in my blinding grief 
 For which there is never a full relief!" 
 
 And this was the woman I'd envied quite 
 In her mansion stately with halls so bright, 
 She knelt by my side and she breathed a prayer 
 That relief might come to my wild despair; 
 I looked in her face thro' my blinding woe, 
 And I said "Forgive me, I did not know 
 That you were so kind and I tho't you cold, 
 Wrapped up in the love of your power and gold ; 
 She sobbed in a whisper "We envy so, 
 For we do not know, ah, we do not know!" 
 
 MEMORY PICTURES OF ERIN 
 
 The first is a simple picture — 
 
 A cottage beside the sea, 
 Half shadowed by Time's dark pinions 
 
 Yet dearest in memory; 
 A mingling of happy voices, 
 
 A sound as of dancing feet, 
 A breathing of summer zephyrs, 
 
 Low, mournful, but oh, how sweet. 
 A heaving of restless billows 
 
 Tossed up on the pebbly beach, 
 A blending of shade and sunshine 
 
 As far as the eye can reach ; 
 The present in silence passes 
 
 Away from my eager ken, 
 And I o'er the cottage threshold 
 
 Have trod with the Past again 
 
 109 
 
Sweet smiles from the gentle hearted, 
 
 A welcome without surprise, 
 A light that seemeth familiar, 
 
 Soft beaming from loving eyes ; 
 Ah, me, I am only dreaming 
 
 When memory brings to me 
 This vision so full of beauty 
 
 Of home and its melody! 
 
 The next is a mournful picture 
 
 All shadowy, cold and dim, 
 A waving of willow branches, 
 
 A sorrowful vesper hymn; 
 Dark sods with no grass upon them, 
 
 The splashing of orphan's tears 
 A sorrow on young hearts fallen 
 
 To darken life's purest years; 
 Ah, clouds are about this picture — 
 
 Thank God, I have power to see, 
 E'en now in this hour of anguish, 
 
 The light of Eternity! 
 
 The next is an April picture, 
 
 A blending of light and shade, 
 A pathway tangled and thorny 
 
 'Mid roses and sunshine made — 
 A goal in the far-off brightness 
 
 Tears hastily dashed away, 
 A gladness within the spirit 
 
 Still waiting the dawn of day; 
 Ah, many have seen this vision — 
 
 Thank God, Who has said that we 
 Who weep in Time's chequered valley 
 
 Shall smile in Eternity! 
 
 no 
 
JOSEY 
 
 I am listening — I am listening 
 
 To the music wild and free 
 Of the deep toned Mississippi 
 
 Rolling onward to the sea; 
 Rolling onward — rolling onward 
 
 To the mighty, heaving sea, 
 Which is tossing oh, so darkly 
 
 'Tween my native land and me! 
 
 I am dreaming — I am, dreaming 
 That I hear the ceaseless roar 
 
 Of the surges madly breaking 
 'Gainst a far off Em'rald shore, 
 
 And the echoes 'mid the green hills 
 Where my feet may tread no more! 
 
 I am gazing — I am gazing 
 On the sunset crimsoned sky 
 
 While the palace boats all gorgeous 
 Float in regal beauty by, 
 
 But my soul looks on a picture 
 Where the shadows heavy lie. 
 
 Far across Atlantic waters 
 
 Came a sad voice yesterday, 
 Saying ''Thy young fav'rite brother 
 
 From our earth has passed away. 
 Then my heart grew weak with anguish 
 
 And my lips refused to pray! 
 
 In life's clouded spring we parted, 
 
 I was elder of the twain, 
 And with brave hopes sobbing whispered 
 
 "We shall meet, you know, again 
 
 in 
 
When I am a woman, Josey 
 
 You shall never dream of pain!" 
 
 Years of toil were years of pleasure, 
 For his sake was conquered pride, 
 
 For his sake I toiled and struggled, 
 For his sake, I would have died; 
 
 Earth is lonely — I am weary 
 Oh, that I were by his side! 
 
 In the Shannon's Holy Island 
 
 Where the primrose stars are bright, 
 
 In a grave by willows shaded 
 
 From the summer's laughing ligh*, 
 
 Lieth he whose spirit noble 
 
 Cheered my soul in trial's night. 
 
 I am gazing, I am gazing 
 On the sunset's crimson sky, 
 
 While the palace boats all gorgeous. 
 Float in regal beauty by, 
 
 But my soul looks on this picture 
 Where the shadows heavy lie! 
 
 TI2 
 
PRIDE 
 
 Man's pride is the funniest thing I know- 
 In the skies above or the earth below, 
 A whimsical idea — smile I must 
 While ''worm on the leaf scorns worm in the 
 dust." 
 
 One thinks he is wise and knows it all 
 
 Why the lightning strikes — why the apples fall. 
 
 Another of slower or duller mind 
 
 The why or the wherefore seeks not to find; 
 
 He trembles in awe as the storm sweeps past 
 
 And picks up the apple from rich tree cast. 
 
 One wears a fine garment in palace high 
 From whence float gay flags to the azure sky ; 
 It is his — all his — or at least he swells 
 With the proud possession proclaimed by bells ; 
 But somehow he sighs for — he knows not what 
 And frets and fumes with his dazzling lot. 
 
 The other in patches, goes at morn 
 
 With elbows out and with shoes all torn 
 
 Or very likely no shoes at all; 
 
 The cattle come to his shrilly call, 
 
 He has babe at home and toiling wife, 
 
 He drinks from the simplest fount of life; 
 
 The woods and the waves are free to him 
 
 And God's own temple he enters in. 
 
 He sometimes sighs — for he knows not what 
 
 For this you know is the common lot. 
 
 I think of spheres that eternal roll 
 
 My mind too small for the mighty whole ; 
 
 I see the systems in glowing fire, 
 
 113 
 
I hear the voice that calls still higher, 
 I think of wonderful, mighty hand 
 That moves it all and I understand 
 That I and this little earth can be 
 Just trivial mites where such spheres I see. 
 
 I gaze, I wonder and then look back 
 
 On the common way of human track, 
 
 And from the sublime, I now descend 
 
 To smile at comical side, my friend; 
 
 You can't deride me, I'm sure this day 
 
 As I view cities of earth so gay 
 
 And note the scorn which the pampered few 
 
 Display to the dusty struggling thro'. 
 
 Spirit of Dickens — I take your line, 
 
 Twas written for all — I make it mine, 
 
 'Tis a comical thing — smile I must 
 
 As "worm on the leaf scorns worm in the dust. 
 
 114 
 
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