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 JESSE EDGERTON. 
 
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"BROOK BY THE WAY" 
 
 A VOLUME OF POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JESSE EDGERTON 
 
 "I saw the mountains stand 
 Silent, wonderful and grand, 
 Looking^out; across the land, 
 When the golden light was falling 
 
 On distant dome and spire ; 
 And I heard a low voice calling. 
 
 Come up higher, come up higher. 
 From the lowland and the mire. 
 From the mist of earth desire. 
 From the vain pursuit of pelf, 
 From the attitude ;)f self; 
 Come up higher, come up higher." 
 
 Jas. G. Clarke 
 
 DAMASCUS, OHIO, 1913 
 
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PREFATORY. 
 
 I do not intend to offer an apology for writing this book, but 
 rather to give a reason for doing so. In my earlier life, having 
 written a number of verses, some of them comprised in this volume, 
 and not being deeply impressed with their value, I vi'as on the point 
 of destroying them, when the partiality of members of my family 
 for some of these productions intervened, and saved them from the 
 fate which, perhaps, they deserved. 
 
 For years past, the writer has felt a care not to write anything, 
 the tendency of which, might be to lead away from Friendliness. 
 
 How far he has succeeded, we leave the reader to judge. A 
 few of these poems were written in a vein of pleasantry, but none, 
 I hope will hurt the tender feelings of any of my readers; while, 
 on the other hand, many of them were written under a feeling of 
 duty, and the author has had a humble belief, that inspiration w;is 
 at times experienced, in this, as in other, and more distinctly 
 religious service. 
 
 Sorrow and aflBiction have been factors, under the Divine bless- 
 ing, in the development of a deep hximan sympathy, toward the 
 sick and sorrowing, and the writer has hoped that this feature in 
 his verses may make them to many, as the title chosen for this 
 little book suggests, ' ' A Brook by the Way. ' ' 
 
 I should come far short of my duty, if I failed to give full 
 credit to my dear family, and kind friends, whose encouragement 
 and sympathy, were so freely and spontaneously given in the task 
 of collecting and arranging these literary waifs for publication. 
 
 Some of them have been written for private occasions, and could 
 not be expected to awaken public interest; yet we have a hope 
 that in the somewhat extended acquaintance of the author, there 
 may be many who will find the perusal of this little volume to be 
 worth while. 
 
 To aJl such we commend the book, with the hope that through 
 its influence, some weary, chastened souls may take fresh courage 
 to press forward in the journey of life; and the feeling that per- 
 haps the author had a duty in sharing these inspirations and aspira- 
 tions with a larger circle of friends, winning for them a wider 
 hearing, and increasing their possibilities of usefulness, has been 
 an esj)ecial reason for placing thii^ book before the public. 
 
 Jesse Edgerton. 
 
 Damascus, Ohio, 1913. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 The writer has neither intention nor desire to seek notoriety 
 or popularity through an autobiography; nevertheless, recognizing 
 the fact that our iaterest in any book is enhanced by some knowl- 
 edge of the author, either personal or written, it has appealed to 
 me, to introduce myself very briefly to my readers, by a hasty 
 sketch of my life and parentage. Then too, circumstances related 
 herein may give reason for some of the poems, and render them 
 more easily understood. 
 
 My father, Joseph Edgerton, a well known minister in The 
 Society of Friends, came with his parents, from North Carolina, in 
 1804, and settled in Belmont County, Ohio, about five miles from 
 where the Yearly Meeting house now stands, one mile east of 
 Barnesville. 
 
 In the year 1818 he was married to Charity Doudna, who with 
 her parents, John and Miriam Doudna, had also removed to Belmont 
 County from North Carolina. 
 
 The youngest of fifteen children of this marriage, I was born 
 near Barnesville, Ohio, Seventh Month 12, 1845. Born and reared 
 amid Friendly surroundings, and blest with Godly and consistent 
 parents, my life received a strong and enduring impulse toward 
 Quakerism, for which, in more mature years, when tl^e religion of 
 my childhood and environment, became the religion of my convic- 
 tion and my choice, I have been devoutly thankful. 
 
 My education consisted of several years' work m the Friends' 
 primary school at "The Eidge," near Barnesville, supplemented by 
 two winter terms at Mt. Pleasant Boarding School in the early 
 sixties. 
 
 The winter of 1864-5 saw my first eft'ort at school teaching, in 
 the Friends' school at Flushing, Ohio, this being succeeded by a 
 number of other schools in after years. The following spring, I 
 went with my parents to Iowa, whither they were removing^ assisted 
 them in getting fixed up in their new home, and in the autumn of 
 1865 returned to Ohio and was married to Semira Stratton, daughter 
 
of Edward and Mary Stratton, of Columbiana County, where we 
 made our home. 
 
 Six children were born of this union, viz., Mary Anna, 
 Edward J., J. Howard, Arthur H., Wilson and S. Ellen. Edward J. 
 died at the age of ten weeks, the others living to maturity. 
 
 In the autumn of 1877, we removed to Keokuk County, Iowa. 
 Here, after more than a year of ill health, my dear wife died, on 
 Ninth Month 11th, 1878. 
 
 "In Memoriam" and several other poems in this volume were 
 written following this bereavement. With my motherless family, 
 I remained at Coal Creek that winter, teaching the Friends' school, 
 and in the spring of 1879 returned to Ohio, finding homes for my 
 children among Friends. On Third Month 29th, 1882, I was mar- 
 ried to Susan Gilbert, daughter of Benjamin and Lydia Gilbert, of 
 Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, and we at once moved to 
 Columbiana, Ohio, where for several years I was engaged in busi- 
 ness. Here in 1884 was born our son, Walter Gilbert Edgerton, 
 the only child of this marriage. 
 
 Right here I want to say that I wish to bear testimony to her 
 faithfulness as a wife to me and a mother to my children. 
 
 These years of life with their cares and duties, trials and 
 aflBictions, were preparing us, better, perhaps, than we knew, for 
 the responsibilities which were coming to us in the service of the 
 Church, 
 
 In the spring of 1895, under a religious concern, with the 
 hearty concurrence of my dear wife, also of a committee of our 
 Yearly Meeting of Ministers and Elders, and with a minute of 
 unity and concurrence from my Monthly Meeting, I accompanied 
 Hannah H. Stratton and Lydia K. Lightfoot on a religious visit 
 to Great Britain and Ireland. 
 
 On this errand I was absent from home eighteen weeks, and 
 traveled over 10,000 miles. Soon after my return from this visit 
 I was recorded as a minister, since which time, with the concur- 
 rence of my Friends, several visits have been made, both within 
 and without the limits of my own Yearly Meeting. 
 
 In the autumn of 1900 my wife and I were asked to assume 
 the duties of Superintendent and Matron at Friends Boarding 
 School at Barnesville, Ohio, on account of the resignation of 
 William and Dorothy Ashton, and went thither in the Second 
 Month, 1901. / 
 
 Five years of arduous, yet interesting service followed, dur- 
 ing which time my wife's health failed, and in the autumn of 1905 
 
we resigned our positions there, and were released in tbe following 
 spring, thence removing to Damascus, where at our home on Foun- 
 tain Farm, we again enjoyed the pleasure of home life. Here too, 
 after many months of failing strength, both mental and physical, 
 my dear companion died. Eighth Month 28th, 1908. 
 
 This deep affliction occasioned the writing of several poems to 
 be found in this volume, "Not Knowing," "At Rest," and others. 
 
 Two years later, Eighth Month 24th, 1910, I was united in 
 marriage to Elizabeth A. McGrew, a beloved elder, of Short Creek 
 Monthly Meeting, living at Colerain, Ohio, and we at once settled 
 in our new home, "The Maples," Damascus, Ohio. 
 
 Here, convenient to Meeting, and the accommodations that a 
 country village can afford, iu touch with the world by telephone 
 and inter-urban trolley service, surrounded l)y kind and congenial 
 friends and neighbors, and blest by the dearest of homes, and the 
 sweetest of home ties, we desire to be sufficiently thankful to our 
 kind Heavenly Father for the infinite love and mercy that have 
 attended us all these years, and trusting that He will enable us 
 to follow implicitly His spiritual guidance, and when the end shall 
 come, that there may be for us 
 
 "Some humble door among Thy many mansions. 
 
 Some sheltering shade, where sin and striving cease. 
 
 And flows forever, through Heaven's green expansions 
 The river of Thy peace." 
 
 Jesse Edgerton. 
 
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 s, Ohio 
 
 Oh lioiiie! most blessed spot on earth! 
 
 Where constant love and kindness rei^ii 
 
 Within the family domain; 
 Where tlie staunch virtues have their l)irtli, 
 Which make our manhood truly ijreat: 
 The hope and honor of the state! 
 What potent force is thine that turns 
 The heart where'er we roam to thee ? 
 Thy fireside altar ever burns, 
 
 The pole star on our stormy sea. 
 Thy sacred influence still must be 
 
 The corner stone whereon are built 
 The bulwarks of our liberty. 
 
 See Snow Storm— Page 126 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 Go, little book, into the homes 
 
 Where love and peace are dwelling, 
 
 Their glad fruition, in the life 
 
 To eoiiie, through faith foretelling. 
 
 Go to the homes of those who dwell 
 
 Beneath the clouds of sorrow, 
 Touching the choi'ds that may awake 
 
 Hope for a bi'ighter morro\v. 
 
 Go where affliction's heavy hand 
 
 On human hearts is falling. 
 And where, from the deep gloom of deatli 
 
 Are silenced voices calling. 
 
 I, too, have traveled where it seemed 
 That every liope must languish, 
 
 And dipped the ink that traced ray \'erse, 
 P'rom my own heart's deep anguisli. 
 
 Bear to the mourning and bereaved. 
 
 Some sympathetic token, 
 From one whose soul's profoundest depths 
 
 By grief have been upbroken. 
 
 From one whose lips have drained the cup 
 From Marah's bitter fountain, 
 
 Yet glad to view the "Promised land" 
 Of rest, from Nebo's mountain. 
 
And if the message proves a balm 
 To soothe some wounded feeling, 
 
 Or if it point some weary soul 
 To the sure "Fount of healing", 
 
 However rude my humble verse, 
 In style howe'er deficient, 
 
 The motive for this book is won. 
 And my reward sufficient. 
 
 A BROOK BY THE WAY. 
 
 Oh, purling brook beside the way ! 
 Whose sparkling waters dance and play 
 Against its banks of grass and sedge 
 Down sloping to the waters edge. 
 What blessings from thy fountains lie 
 Outspread beneath the summer sky! 
 
 Rich offering from the silent hills. 
 Whose benison the valley fills, 
 Refreshing with thy liquid lips 
 All nature's wild companionships. 
 And bringing joy and happiness 
 Thy wanton wanderings to bless. 
 
 Brook by the way ! how slowly rise 
 Thy mist clouds to the waiting skies ! 
 Till, from God's storehouse, come again 
 Blessings of world-reviving rain ; 
 So nature 's plans unite today. 
 And life goes singing on its way. 
 
 10 
 
Oh, may our course, like thine abound 
 With blessings to the world around ! 
 Sweet ministries in quiet ways, 
 And hidden channels through the maze 
 Of earthly things, until our way 
 Emerges into brighter day. 
 
 A brighter day of happiness. 
 Without the clouds of earth 's distress ; 
 A day of soft unfading light. 
 That knows no coming of the night ; 
 Where the brook's counterpart shall be 
 Eternity's unbounded sea. 
 
 That crystal sea before the throne,* 
 Whereon the Almighty Presence shone 
 To him of Patmos, on whose eyes 
 The glory of that glad surprise 
 Burst Avith a splendor from above. 
 The Christ's apocalypse of love! 
 
 'See 4th Chapter of Kevelations. 
 
 NATURE'S MUSIC. 
 
 1860. 
 
 There is music in the sere leaves 
 
 That rustle in the breeze. 
 There is music in the sighing wind 
 
 That moans among the trees. 
 
 There is music in the woodland 
 
 Where budding flowefi-s are springing. 
 
 Where tinted buds are opening. 
 And merry birds are singing. 
 
There is music in the summer shower, 
 That cheers the thirsty ground, 
 
 There is music in the fragrant bower. 
 With busy bees around. 
 
 There is music in the solemn swell 
 
 Of ocean's ceaseless roar, 
 Where curling waves in angry chase 
 
 Are breaking on the shore. 
 
 There is music in the howling storms 
 
 That through the forests crash, 
 Where hills are rocked by the thunder's roar. 
 
 Where the vivid lightnings flash. 
 
 There is music in the waterfall, 
 
 And in the whispering stream, 
 Tliat dances down the sunny vale 
 
 Like the rippling of a dream, 
 
 Tliere is music breathing all around, 
 
 O'er mountain, plain and sea, 
 But sweeter still the loving words 
 
 Of the friends so dear to me. 
 
 DEATH OF DE SOTO. 
 
 1860. 
 
 Written at the age of fifteen years, and the first poem the 
 
 author had publishod. 
 Low murmured the wind through the wilderness 
 
 wide, 
 Where the broad Mississippi rolled on in its pride, 
 While on its green banks, as the waves rolled away, 
 The warriors of Spain watched the close of the day. 
 
 12 
 
There the willow 's long branches were bathed in the 
 
 flood, 
 And there the live oak in magnificence stood, 
 And through the thick foliage that waved in the 
 
 wind. 
 The Indian saw gleaming, the bright cross behind. 
 
 Like the deer of the forest, the hunter before. 
 The terrified savage fled fast from the shore. 
 As the steel armored conquerors, onward they came. 
 Leaving ruin behind them, from ball, steel, and flame. 
 
 But their stately commander leaned sadly apart. 
 With gloom on his brow, and despair in his heart ; 
 For far from the land of the cedar and vine. 
 He had long sought in vain for the wealth of the 
 mine. 
 
 But now the bright glare of his banner was dim. 
 And the trumpet 's shrill notes had no music for him, 
 For despair on his forehead had sealed her sad token. 
 And the tones of the soldier, betrayed him heart- 
 broken. 
 
 Lament. 
 
 "The sunset's golden dyes are painting now 
 The hills and valleys of this western land, 
 While I, through summer's heat and weariness. 
 Have led for wealth, my small, but gallant band. 
 
 "Is it for this, through western lands to roam, 
 Vainly in search of treasures of the mine? 
 Is it for this I left my smiling home 
 
 Beneath the snowy summits of the Appenine? 
 
'Is it for this I braved the ocean storm? 
 
 Is it for this I crossed the angry deep? 
 To lay amid these wilds my weary form. 
 
 Far from the land where my forefathers sleep? 
 
 'Here, where around my grave throughout the night 
 The hungry wolf in lonely watch shall prowl, 
 
 Or ghastly glow of ignis-fatuus light. 
 
 Rouse from his midnight rest the hooting owl. 
 
 'Even now, me-thinks, the panther's scream I hear, 
 The wild bear's hoarser growl to it replying; 
 
 The startled night bird spreads its wings in fear 
 And swiftly through the wild-wood waste is 
 flying. 
 
 'Oh! I have watched in youth, when but a boy, 
 The ships careering o'er the boundless main. 
 
 And saw. Oh, how it thrilled my heart with joy ! 
 The bright cross blazing on the flag of Spain. 
 
 'I longed to bear that flag to distant lands, 
 To see it planted on some unknown shore, 
 
 Where wild and free, roamed Indian robber bands, 
 Who ne'er saw banner on their soil before. 
 
 'But now ambition swells my heart no more. 
 No more my eager spirit thirsts for gain. 
 All, all I ask is but to see that shore. 
 
 The vine-clad hills and vales of sunny Spain. 
 
 ' Alas, that land I never more shall see ! 
 
 Ne'er see again my own, my native home! 
 Nor gaze on southern heavens so deeply blue, 
 
 Beneath whose smile in youth I loved to roam. 
 
 14 
 
■ Ah, no ! my race is now already run, 
 
 Death sets his pallid seal upon my brow. 
 Farewell, my comrades! life's long waning sun 
 Sets in the darkness of oblivion now." 
 
 He ceased, for life's spark from his bosom had fled, 
 And the soldier's proud form now lay pulseless and 
 
 dead, 
 With his head on his shield, and his hand on his 
 
 sword. 
 And Spain's banner around him, which once he 
 
 adored. 
 
 By the ' ' Father of Waters ' ' they made his lone grave, 
 Where the green leaf is wet by the dash of his wave, 
 And at midnight's still hour, in the silence and 
 
 gloom, 
 He was borne to the rest of his wilderness tomb. 
 
 No mortal said mass for the soul of the dead, 
 
 No priest offered prayer, and no service was read; 
 
 But his dirge through the forest the wild breezes 
 
 rung, 
 And the broad Mississippi his funeral chant sung. 
 
 15 
 
OUR FATHER'S DEATH. 
 
 1866. 
 
 'Twas autumn; summer's golden reign 
 Had ceased, and o 'er the hills and vStreams, 
 
 Over the woodland and the plain 
 The yellow autumn sunshine gleams. 
 
 The forest boughs, which through the long 
 Bright days of summer gently swayed 
 
 To every breeze that passed along, 
 Were tinged with autumn's golden shade. 
 
 The songs of the departing birds 
 Were growing fainter day by day, 
 
 And borne upon tlie breeze was heard, 
 Slowly and sad, their plaintive lay. 
 
 Some had already plumed their wings. 
 For southern Hight to sunnier skies, 
 
 'Mid far palmetto groves to sing 
 Where summer verdure never dies. 
 
 A few remained, as loath to part 
 
 With all they loved upon the plains ; 
 
 Sometimes they sang, but on the heart 
 Their music fell in mournful strains. 
 
 But sadder far than all of these, 
 Than songs of the departing birds 
 
 Than the wind's music through the trees, 
 Fell on our ears his parting words. 
 
 16 
 
Sudden and fierce had been the course 
 
 Of fell disease upon his frame, 
 But yet he shrank not, all its force 
 
 Shook not his faith in Jesus' name. 
 
 Sadly around his bedside came, 
 Gathering again the stricken few, 
 
 Sorrow was weighing down each frame, 
 To bid our sire a last adieu. 
 
 Fervent and strong his prayers arose 
 To God from that low bed of death ! 
 
 He prayed for us, the Church, and those 
 Who wandered from the narrow path. 
 
 Prayed that the power that shielded him 
 Might for his children's strength be given, 
 
 That Truth's pure light might not grow dim 
 But guide us to a home in Heaven. 
 
 How sad, and yet how sweet to see 
 The spirit take its upward flight ! 
 
 To know the prisoned soul set free. 
 To bathe in Heaven's eternal light. 
 
 Ah ! yes, 'twas hard to give him up, 
 To yield him to the silent grave, 
 
 But yet, 'tis ours to drink the cup 
 
 And bless the Almighty hand that gave. 
 
 Oh ! may that hand be underneath, 
 His grace complete the work begun. 
 
 Enable us in truth to breathe 
 
 From contrite hearts, "Thy will be done". 
 
 17 
 
But Oh, we '11 miss him ! Sad and lone 
 Must gather now that household hand 
 
 In sorrow by the lone hearthstone 
 In that far-off and western land. 
 
 Winter's bleak winds are blowing now 
 Around that lonely prairie home ! 
 
 Their icy breath upon his brow, 
 Never, aye, never more, may come. 
 
 Above his grave they still will sweep, 
 And sound a requiem o'er his tomb, 
 
 Pile high the snow in many a heap 
 Fantastic, 'round his narrow home. 
 
 Was it unmeet that he should die 
 Thus in the autumn of the year? 
 
 That his pure soul should soar on high 
 Ere yet decrepit age drew near? 
 
 As like the summer birds which fled, 
 Ere winter came to sunnier lands. 
 
 Our sire in death lay down his head, 
 But risen again, in glory stands! 
 
 Farewell, beloved father ! may 
 Thy bright example guide us on, 
 
 To serve Jehovah in our day, 
 
 And gain the crown that thou hast won. 
 
 Oh, may thy precepts still survive ! 
 
 Deep in our hearts forever lie ! 
 That they may teach us how to live, 
 
 That they may fit us soon to die. 
 
 18 
 
Farewell! when winter's storms are o'er, 
 When springtime comes to earth again, 
 
 Its robe of living green once more 
 
 Will clothe in beauty the broad plain! 
 
 And summer's gentle breath will wave 
 The tall rank grass above thy tomb ! 
 
 And prairie flowers around thy grav^ 
 In the bright sunshine gaily bloom. 
 
 But when the autumn comes again, 
 And the mild south winds cease to blow, 
 
 When the corn harvest gilds the plain. 
 Will we, can we forget thee? no! 
 
 We will remember, then as now. 
 
 The virtuous life that crowned thy days, 
 
 And may the Almighty teach us how 
 To live to His and to thy praise. 
 
 19 
 
THE BABY'S GRAVE. 
 
 1868. 
 
 There is a little mound of clay- 
 Heaped in the edge of yonder grove, 
 
 And underneath is laid away 
 A little form we dearly love. 
 
 That little grave is covered now 
 With a pure robe of spotless white, 
 
 And over it the wild winds blow, 
 And sing his dirge by day and night. 
 
 Today, as standing by the spot, 
 
 I bent above his silent clay. 
 Thinking upon our lonely home. 
 
 And of the spirit passed away, 
 
 Me-thought that I could see, sweet child ! 
 
 In the white mantle spread around. 
 An emblem of thy purity. 
 
 And of thy angel robes and crown. 
 
 'Twas hard to give thee up, dear one ! 
 
 So very sweet, so young and fair ! 
 To yield thee as a precious lamb 
 
 E'en to the tender Shepherd's care! 
 
 Ah yes ! 'twas hard to give thee up ! 
 
 To close those soft blue eyes in death ! 
 To feel no more on lip and cheek, 
 
 The playing of thy gentle breath ! 
 
 20 
 
To fold tiiose little hands that scarce 
 Had learned to mind the infant will, 
 
 To miss the smile which e'en in death 
 Upon his features lingered still. 
 
 We mourn, but not for thee, dear one! 
 
 But for ourselves the tears will flow, 
 Thy barque is anchored safe above. 
 
 While we must stand life's storms below. 
 
 'Tis true our home is sad and lone, 
 The cradle still is standing by. 
 
 But baby's voice no more is lieard, 
 Nor mother's gentle lullaby. 
 
 T]iy clothing gently laid away! 
 
 Un-needed by thy little form! 
 Far sweeter songs than ours are heard, 
 
 And whiter garments thou hast on! 
 
 We mourn, but Oh ! we cannot wish 
 To call thee back to earth again ! 
 
 To ])uft'et with the storms of time, 
 And bear a share of sin and pain. 
 
 Oh happy spirit! safe at last, 
 
 Within the Shepherd's fold above! 
 
 Our little lamb within His arms, 
 Is basking in eternal love! 
 
 Oh, may 'st thou watch in tender love. 
 Over thy erring parents ' way ! 
 
 And may thy memory still remain. 
 Reminding when we go astray ! 
 
 That we may run our destined race, 
 Fulfill our Heaven-Allotted task. 
 
 May stand before our Savior's face, 
 And meet thee, darling one, at last ! 
 
NEAR THE DEAD. 
 
 1870. 
 
 "A mound is in the graveyard, 
 
 A low and narrow bed, 
 
 No grass is growing on it. 
 
 And no marble at its head. 
 Ye may go and weep beside it, 
 
 Ye may kneel and kiss the sod, 
 But you'll find no balm for sorrow 
 In the cold and silent clod." 
 
 Emily C. Judson. 
 
 Near the dead ! I sought the graveyard, 
 AVhere the mouldering body lies. 
 
 Of a loved one, now departed 
 To her home within the skies. 
 
 Standing by her grave in sorrow, 
 Vainly strove ray heart to feel 
 
 E'en a passing, slight assurance 
 Of her presence, o'er me steal. 
 
 True indeed, the form and features. 
 E'en in death, to us so fair, 
 
 Cold and silent lay beneath me, 
 But the spirit was not there. 
 
 Still I stand within the chamber 
 Where that dying mother lay, 
 
 When her pure and ransomed spirit 
 Left its tenement of clay. 
 
 Sadly do its scenes remind me 
 Of the dear one gone before. 
 
 But no feeling of her presence 
 Greets me from the other shore. 
 
 22 
 
Vainly do I seek to know it, 
 
 In the old familiar room, • 
 'Mongst the friends she loved so fondly. 
 
 Or beside the silent tomb. 
 
 But when favored by the Master, 
 
 In his mercy ever fresh, 
 To pour out my soul before Him 
 
 In tlie "silence of all flesh". 
 
 When the peace He only giveth 
 Steals in quiet o'er my breast. 
 
 Then her spirit comes before me 
 In its shining livery drest. 
 
 And I feel that she is happy. 
 All her toils and trials o'er. 
 
 Safely housed from every trouble 
 On that bright and shining shore. 
 
 "ALL IS PEACE. 
 
 1870. 
 
 Laat words of my mother-in-law, Mary Stratton. 
 
 ' ' All is peace ! ' ' Oh, happy feeling !, 
 When the toils of life are o'er, 
 And the soul is waiting, longing, 
 But to reach the other shore. 
 
 "All is peace!" what simple, childlike 
 Trust in Him, whose powerful arm 
 Still is round about the righteous, 
 To preserve from every harm. 
 
 23 
 
"All is peace!" and yet the valley, 
 Dark and dreadful, looms before, 
 And the swelling waves of Jordan 
 Must perforce be traveled o'er. 
 
 "All is peace!" the waiting spirit 
 Feels the Savior by her side. 
 And His arms of love enfold her. 
 He will bear her o 'er the tide. 
 
 Bear her safely to the fountains 
 Whence the living waters flow, 
 
 Cause to rest upon the mountains 
 Where the trees of healing grow. 
 
 Clothe in robes of dazzling whiteness, 
 Place a harp within her hand, 
 
 And before His throne of glory 
 With the host angelic stand. 
 
 Joins her voice in matchless music, 
 With the songs that angels raise. 
 Tuning on their golden harp-strings. 
 Sweet hosannas to His praise. 
 
 24 
 
RECOGNITION IN HEAVEN. 
 1870. 
 
 Shall we see each-other's faces 
 
 When before the Throne we stand? 
 If through Christ's redeeming mercy 
 
 We may reach that ' ' Better land ' ' ; 
 Where the crystal streams are tiowing 
 
 From their fountain clear and calm, 
 And the tree of life is growing 
 
 For the nation's healing balm! 
 
 Shall we, in those realms of beauty, 
 
 Know our loved ones gone before? 
 Who through grief, and tears, and suffering, 
 
 Reached at last that happy shore? 
 Sliall we know and fondly greet them, — 
 
 Weary from the toil and strife 
 Of our tiresome pilgrim journey. 
 
 Through the stormy paths of life ? 
 
 Shall I know my precious father? 
 
 He who watched my youthful years, 
 Sowing seeds within my hard heart, 
 
 Tending, with his prayers and tears. 
 Sterile soil; yet, at the harvest. 
 
 How his heart would leap for joy, 
 If among the sheaves incoming. 
 
 He should find his wayward boy! 
 
 May the Lord reward his labors, 
 
 Prophets in his stead upraise, 
 That his bread be from the waters, 
 
 Gathered after many days. 
 May the banner that he carried 
 
 For the Truth be kept bn high ! 
 That the cause, although it languish, 
 
 May not wholly droop and die. 
 
 25 
 
Shall I know my angel mother 
 
 In that bright and happy throng? 
 With a golden crown upon her, 
 
 On her lips eternal song? — 
 Oh ! the loved ones who have left us, 
 
 Taken in their being's prime! 
 Shall we know, and fondly greet them 
 
 In that happy, heavenly clime? 
 
 One, I know full well, awaits us. 
 
 Beckons from the other side. 
 For I feel his precious influence 
 
 O'er the dark mysterious tide! 
 Short the space of time that blest us. 
 
 With the cherub's sweet sojourn ! 
 Scarce three moons had come and left us, 
 
 Ere the spirit's swift return. 
 
 Still another link is added 
 
 To the chain that binds above 
 And another earth-cord loosened 
 
 In the Savior's tender love! 
 ]\Iay we then go pressing forward. 
 
 With our eyes upon that shore, 
 Where beside the "Silent Waters" 
 
 We may meet to part no more. 
 
GIVING BACK. 
 
 1870. 
 
 Written on the death of a child of Wm. H. and 
 Sarah H. Blackburn. 
 
 "It must be sweet in child-hood to give back 
 The spirit to its Maker; ere the heart 
 Has grown familiar with the paths of sin, 
 And sown to garner up its bitter fruit". 
 
 L. H. Sigourney. 
 
 'Tis sweet to give back in the morning of life, 
 The soul to its Maker, the clay to its clay, 
 
 Ere the pain and the sorrow, the anguish and strife 
 Of the world shall arise to becloud its bright day. 
 
 While the soul is pure as the dew on the mountain, 
 Unsullied by guilt, and untarnished hy sin, 
 
 The gateway that leads to the tree and the fountain 
 Of life was thrown open, the spirit passed in. 
 
 Yes, tliere where no tempest or storm can assail her, 
 She dwells in the glory of Heaven's endless day! 
 
 Oh ! why should the loved ones who linger, bewail 
 her? 
 Or mourn for the spirit to bliss called away? 
 
 But yet ye may weep, for no trial is deeper, 
 
 And tears for the loved ones upwelling will come, 
 
 Like those that were strewn at the grave of the 
 sleeper, 
 When Jesus Himself wept at Lazarus' tomb. 
 
 But weep with rejoicing, that one who around her 
 Was shedding a halo of I'ove all her own, 
 
 Has thrown off the shackles of being that bound her, 
 And stands with the host at the foot of the Throne. 
 
 27 
 
IN RESIGNATION. 
 
 1871. 
 
 A metrical rendering of an anecdote published in a periodical. 
 
 Oh ! when the friends we love the best. 
 
 Are halting at the River's side, 
 Ere quitting yet the bounds of life, 
 
 To launch upon the swelling tide. 
 'Tis sweet in this dark hour to feel 
 
 The Christian's hope sustaining still, 
 And in the inmosit soul to know 
 
 Submission to the Almighty's will. 
 
 But Oh, how weak the human heart ! 
 
 How destitute of power or might 
 To lift the dark but kindly veil, 
 
 That liides the future from our sight ; 
 How weak to murmur e'en in thought, 
 
 If not in open deed and word, 
 Against these dispensations fraught 
 
 With tender mercy from the Lord. 
 
 But Oh! a mother's nameless love! 
 
 In that dark hour of deepest gloom ! 
 Remembering not to look above, 
 
 Beyond the confines of the tomb. 
 Had centred all upon that form 
 
 Of childish innocence and grace, 
 Whose pallid brow and palsied arm 
 
 Too plainly told of death's embrace. 
 
 An only child ! — united by 
 
 The holiest of earthly ties, 
 Rarest of beauty seemed to lie 
 
 On the white brow and dimming eyes ; 
 So young — and must a mother's joy 
 
 So soon in broken fragments lie? 
 "Oh, no," I cried, "it cannot be. 
 
 My darling cannot, must not die!" 
 
While overwhelmed with boundless grief, 
 
 A vision passed before my eyes; 
 I saw my darling boy revive, 
 
 And from the bed of death arise : 
 While swiftly passed the flying years, 
 
 And soon to manhood's age he came, 
 But vice and guilt had stained his soul, 
 
 And joined his hands to deeds of shame ! 
 
 •I 
 
 In vain a father's kind reproof 
 
 In vain a mother's prayers and tears 
 Farther he trod the path of sin. 
 
 As swiftly passed the circling years! 
 His lips had pressed the wine cup's brim, 
 
 Drained to its dregs the fiery flood, 
 To deeds of death it maddened him. 
 
 And stained his hands with human blood ! 
 
 Oh, who can tell what agony 
 
 Must fill a mother's aching breast! 
 To see upon the gallows stand 
 
 A son in convict's mantle drest; 
 The fatal halter and the shroud! 
 
 The arms for hopeless mercy tost! 
 The cry that pierced my bursting heart, 
 
 As of a soul forever lost ! — 
 
 The vision passed ! the spell Avas broke. 
 
 And there the little infant lay ! 
 A smile of angel sweetness spread 
 
 In beauty o 'er the lifeless clay ! — 
 From a full heart, on bended knees 
 
 Thanks to the God 6i Hosts were given. 
 That the pure lamb was safe at rest 
 
 Within the pearly gates of Heaven. 
 
THE FOURTH ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 1871. 
 
 Four years ago this very night, 
 
 In the darkness still and deep, 
 Our frail and beautiful Eddie fell 
 
 In the arms of death asleep. 
 And no one knew of the coming 
 
 Of the messenger pale and cold, 
 Or waked, as he wreathed his icy hand 
 
 In the baby's curls of gold. 
 
 And no one knew when the measure 
 
 Of his transient life was filled, 
 And no one knew when the beating 
 
 Of his throbbing pulse was stilled ; 
 No one knew when the boatman 
 
 Over the river had come, 
 No one knew when the angels 
 
 Welcomed the spirit home I 
 
 How vividly rise before me 
 
 Tlie thoughts of that lonely night, 
 When the soul of the innocent sleeper 
 
 Was freed for its upward flight ; 
 For, asleep in his childish beauty, 
 
 We gently had laid him down. 
 Nor dreamed of the waiting angels. 
 
 And the golden harp and crown. 
 
 As sparks from the fire fly upward, 
 
 So the disembodied soul, 
 That never had known the touch of sin, 
 
 AVas borne to its joyful goal ; 
 And there in that clime of beauty, 
 
 Those realms so far away. 
 He dwells in the fadeless glory 
 
 Of Heaven's eternal day. 
 
 30 
 
AMBROSE BOONE. 
 
 1871. 
 
 Ambrose Boone, a minister, from Canada, died suddenly 
 at the home of Eobert Ellyson, at Middleton, Ohio, Twelfth 
 Month 7th, 1871, while on a religious visit to the meetings of 
 Ohio Yearly Meeting. His remains were conveyed to his 
 home in Ontario, Canada. 
 
 Fold his hands upon his bosom ! 
 
 Gently lay the stranger down; 
 For the toils of life are ended, 
 
 He has won a Heavenly crown ! 
 Stranger friends had gathered round him, 
 
 AVatching o'er his couch of pain, 
 As the slender ties that bound him 
 
 To the world were cut in twain. 
 
 Far from home and all its pleasures, 
 
 From the home he loved so well, 
 Earnest in his Christian mission. 
 
 In a foreign land he fell. 
 Fell as came the solemn message 
 
 That his work on earth was done, 
 Foremost in the path of duty, 
 
 Falling with his armor on. 
 
 From beyond the ceaseless surging 
 
 Of Ontai-io's restless wave. 
 Came he in the Master's service, 
 
 With the message that He gave : 
 Yet before the task w,as finislied, 
 
 In His boundless love, the Lord 
 Called him, may we hope in mercy, 
 
 Home to reap a rich reward. 
 
 31 
 
In that land of fadeless beauty, 
 
 Where the ransomed spirits dwell, 
 Where the glory far surpasses 
 
 All that mortal tongue can tell. 
 Now released from pain and sorrow, 
 
 Freed from every doubt and care. 
 He, we humbly trust, is mingling 
 
 With the Church Triumphant there. 
 
 CHRIST'S KINGDOM. 
 
 1871. 
 
 Isaiah 35. 
 
 The solitary place shall smile, 
 
 The wilderness be glad. 
 The arid desert's burning waste. 
 
 In verdant robes be clad. 
 And lovely flowers upspringing there 
 
 Shall glow in fadeless bloom, 
 To charm the eye and load the air 
 
 With beauty and perfume. 
 
 The glory of the lofty hills 
 
 Of Lebanon shall lie, 
 With Carmel's wealth of beauty there. 
 
 To greet the ravished eye ; 
 With all that Sharon's dewy fields 
 
 Of excellence afford, 
 And overspreading all shall dwell 
 
 The glory of the Lord. 
 
 32 
 
Then shall the blind eyes open wide, 
 
 Then shall the deaf one hear, 
 And music burst from unsealed lips 
 
 In cadence wild and clear. 
 Then shall the lame man walk and leap. 
 
 As the hart upon the hill, 
 Exultant in his new born strength, 
 
 His joyous pulses thrill. 
 
 And there a highway shall be made, 
 
 "A way of holiness'', 
 AVhich naught unclean may travel in, 
 
 Nor feet of sinners press. 
 No lion shall go up thereon, 
 
 Nor any beast of prey. 
 But there the feet of the redeemed 
 
 Shall tread its shining way. 
 
 And there the ransomed of the Lord 
 
 Will Zion's courts surround, 
 With songs of angel sweetness, 
 
 With joy and gladness crowned; 
 For there shall be no sorrow more, 
 
 No sickness, no decay, 
 For grief shall all be turned to joy. 
 
 And sighing flee away. 
 
AN INTERCESSION. 
 
 1871. 
 
 'Oh! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts 
 Come crowding quickly up for utterance, 
 And the poor common words of courtesy 
 Are such a very mockery, how much 
 The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer." 
 
 — N. P. Willis. 
 
 God of Jeshurun ! Thou who holds 
 
 In Thy almighty hand, 
 The waters of the mighty deep, 
 
 That wash the ocean strand; 
 Thou in whose balance are the hills 
 
 And giant mountains weighed, 
 By whose eternal arm of power 
 
 The universe was made ! 
 
 Oh, Holy Father, wilt thou turn 
 
 Thy prayer-regarding ear, 
 And in Thy boundless wealth of love, 
 
 Our supplications hear? 
 Bestow Thy all-sufficient grace. 
 
 Point out life's winding way, 
 Subdue our hard rebellious hearts ! 
 
 Teach us to watch and pray ! 
 
 And Oh, be with our sisters! 
 
 The dear ones who today, 
 Upon love's hallowed altar 
 
 Gave their fond hearts away ! 
 Keep them, Oh Holy Father, 
 
 In Thy unslumb'ring sight. 
 And grant Thy saving knowledge, 
 
 To guide their steps aright! 
 34 
 
And Oh ! if they grow weary, 
 
 In bearing life's great load, 
 If thorns and briers wound their feet 
 
 Upon its rugged road, 
 Oh Father, be Thou near them 
 
 In every trying hour! 
 Console them with Thy presence, 
 
 Sustain them by Thy power! 
 
 Correct their wayward wanderings, 
 
 From bonds of sin set free ! 
 And draw them with Thy cords of loA^e 
 
 Nearer to Heaven and Thee ! 
 And with religion's armor 
 
 On-girded for the strife. 
 Armed with the sword of prayer to fight 
 
 In the battle field of life ! 
 
 And grant that when the battle 
 
 Is over, they may stand 
 Prepared to strike their tents and cross 
 
 Into the "Promised Land"; 
 AVhere joys await the righteous, 
 
 That mortals cannot know. 
 Where trees of healing flourish 
 
 And living waters flow. 
 
 35 
 
NUPTIAL GREETING. 
 
 1871. 
 
 While pleasures surround you, 
 Since Hymen has bound you, 
 And friends gather round you, 
 
 To share in your joy ! 
 Your thoughts may you set not 
 Too much on your new lot, 
 Oh ! may you forget not 
 
 Earth 's bliss has alloy ! 
 
 I\[ay all men befriend you. 
 Rich blessings attend you, 
 And Heaven defend you 
 
 In the journey of life ! 
 Each acting his own part 
 Of life with a whole heart ! 
 Of love each a counterpart, 
 
 Husband and wife ! 
 
 And brothers, we meet you. 
 As brothers we greet you, 
 And hope to entreat you. 
 
 As brothers our own ! 
 On the same journey bound. 
 With the same world around. 
 And the same battle-ground 
 
 To be lost or be won! 
 
 May the vows you have taken, 
 For aye be unshaken. 
 And their memory awaken 
 
 In thankful review, 
 God's strength in defending. 
 His love never ending. 
 Rich blessings attending 
 
 Life's whole journey through ! 
 
 36 
 
OLD LETTERS. 
 
 1871. 
 
 Oh ! what a throng of memories 
 
 Arise in looking o'er 
 This pile of olden letters,. 
 
 Strewn on the chamber floor; 
 Received in days departed, 
 
 From friends we loved so well, 
 Speaking in silent pathos, 
 
 Their kind regard to tell ! 
 
 Plere's a heap of childhood's letters. 
 
 Where the ink in copious flow, 
 Tells upon the blotted pages. 
 
 Thoughts and scenes of long ago; 
 Scenes which wake the inmost feelings, 
 
 And suffuse the eye with tears, 
 Scenes which memory loves to cherish 
 
 Fondly through the passing years. 
 
 Here is one, a little missive 
 
 Penned with neatness, and with care, 
 From a gentle friend of boyhood. 
 
 Lofty brow, and dark brown hair ; 
 Only one short day my junior, 
 
 Made a friend so long ago ; 
 ]\Iay her mind retain its beauty 
 
 As the seasons come and go. 
 
 37 
 
Here's another which we nearly 
 
 In our haste had overpast, 
 Weak and trembling is the sentence 
 
 "In the hospital at last". 
 From a brother in the army, 
 
 "Slightly wounded, that is all". 
 With a hand forever crippled, 
 
 Shattered by a musket ball ! 
 
 This is from the boundless prairies 
 
 Of what then was "Sunset land"; 
 Prom beyond the Mississippi, 
 
 Written by a father's hand. 
 Years have passed since death released him, 
 
 Since the goal of life he won, 
 In the foremost ranks of duty, 
 
 Falling Avith his armor on. 
 
 What a heap of dainty letters, 
 
 Lying bound with ribbon there ! 
 What but dainty love-effusions ! 
 
 Cherished with the greatest care. 
 Brightly in the retrospective 
 
 Do life's golden moments lie. 
 And their dreams of love have glided 
 
 Into sweet reality. 
 
 Oh what changes have o'ertaken 
 
 Those whose names are written here ! 
 Some are dead, and some are living. 
 
 Some afar, and others near; 
 These and other recollections 
 
 Sad and joyous, come and go. 
 As we scan these folded pages, 
 
 Written, read, so long ago. 
 
 38 
 
FOUR PAIRS OF SHOES. 
 
 187]. 
 
 How many pairs of little shoes? 
 
 One, two, and three, and four, 
 Placed with the heels against the wall, 
 
 In a line upon the floor. 
 Eight little feet to fill them, 
 
 Are snugly tucked in bed. 
 Nor hall nor parlor echo 
 
 To the children's well known tread. 
 
 Six little feet are weary, 
 
 Weary of work and play, 
 Trudging on in these little shoes 
 
 The whole of this autumn day. 
 And two, perchance are as tired 
 
 As any of them may be. 
 Though their only field of toil now, 
 
 Is to stand on Mamma's knee. 
 
 Eight little feet, unsteady, 
 
 To . guide o 'er the slippery way ! 
 Eight little busy, wayward feet, 
 
 That often will go astray ! 
 Eight little eyes upon us, 
 
 Watching, wherever we go ! 
 Eight little ears to try our words. 
 
 And the source from whence they flow 
 
 Four little lambs for the Heavenly fold, 
 
 For the world beyond the grave ! 
 Each for a life of weal or woe, 
 
 Each with a soul to save! 
 May God endue with wisdom, 
 
 And aid us by His' might. 
 In the path of life before us, 
 
 To guide their steps aright ! 
 
 39 
 
WORDS OF WELCOME. 
 
 1871. 
 
 To Edward and Mary H. Stratton, on their marriage, 
 Twelfth Month 27th, 1871. 
 
 While our loving friends and kindred 
 
 Kindly gather round us here, 
 We would fain a hearty greeting, 
 
 Gently whisper in thy earl 
 Greet thee with a nobler title, 
 
 Than is won by wealth or fame, 
 Bid thee thrice a hearty welcome 
 
 In a mother's cherished name! 
 
 Coming from a home and fireside, 
 
 Guarded by parental love, 
 To an untried field of labor, 
 
 All its joy and toil to prove ; 
 To the land of thy adoption, 
 
 To our pleasant "Household tree", 
 To our hearts and to our hearth-stones. 
 
 Gladly do we welcome thee ! 
 
 May thy hands be daily strengthened 
 
 For the work thou hast to do, 
 Walking in the path of duty, 
 
 With the end of life in view! 
 May thy heart receive fresh courage, 
 
 For the task that lies before. 
 Strength for every time of weakness, 
 
 Till the toils of life are o'er. 
 
 .. Father, Mother, as you travel, 
 
 Hand in hand the rugged road, 
 Be it ours to cheer you onward, 
 
 Help you bear the weary load ; 
 And with you pursue our journey. 
 
 Bound in ties of mutual love, 
 Side by side go pressing forward 
 
 To the "Better World" above. 
 
 40 
 
AN ASPIRATION. 
 
 12th/31st/1871. 
 
 How swiftly Time flies in his onward career ! 
 Filling so shortly the course of the year ! 
 Leading us gently, hut speedily on 
 Toward the evening of life, from the break of its 
 
 dawn! 
 May God, in His mercy, look down from above. 
 And grant us this boon in His infinite love. 
 That we may press on through the darkness and 
 
 gloom 
 That shroudeth our path to the door of the tomb, 
 With our hearts turned above, to the moutains that 
 
 lie 
 In evergreen beauty and splendor on high ! 
 
 THE DECADE. 
 
 1875. 
 
 Ten years ago today. Love ! 
 
 They called us "husband, wife"! 
 And together we've turned the pages 
 
 Of the book of human life. 
 
 Together have shared the joys. 
 That over our way Were shed. 
 
 Together have wept o'er blasted hopes, 
 Together have mourned the dead. 
 
Together have borne the burdens 
 
 So hard to bear alone, 
 Whereby the golden chain of love 
 
 Has brighter, stronger grown. 
 
 But anon, the time will come. Love ! 
 
 When life to death must yield. 
 When the reaper thrusts his sickle 
 
 In the world's great harvest field. 
 
 When on our failing vision 
 
 Comes the gleam of snowy sail. 
 
 And we cross the silent river. 
 With the boatman cold and pale ! 
 
 There with joy beyond conception, 
 With a purer, holier love, 
 
 May we live the life eternal, 
 In the Father's house above! 
 
 GONE HOME. 
 
 1874. 
 
 Lines written on the death of Aunt Mary S. Barber, who 
 died Tenth Month 27th, 1874, in her 70th year. 
 
 And she has gone ! gone in the quiet season 
 
 W^hen the leaves fall, and when the ripened grain 
 
 Fills up the garners, and the lovely haze 
 
 Of Indian Summer spreads o'er wood and plain. 
 
 Gone ere the chilling blasts of coming winter 
 O'er the bleak hills and naked forests blow 
 
 Gone to that land of everlasting springtime. 
 Of light and beauty, unconceived below. 
 
 42 • 
 
Gone to that rest, where sickness cannot seize her, 
 Where pain and grief distress the soul no more ; 
 
 But fadeless youth, and purest life and beauty 
 Combine in glory on that radiant shore. 
 
 Oh, happy change ! no cause, methinks, for weeping, 
 But rather for rejoicing, that the spirit. 
 
 So deeply tried, its rich reward is reaping 
 
 In the bright mansions which the blest inherit. 
 
 There, safe we trust, from all the storms and trials. 
 Which, erst beset the path her feet have trod ; 
 
 Her soul redeemed from all her tribulations, 
 Rejoices in the glorious smile of God. 
 
 Perhaps the crown, which at the end awaits us. 
 Is brighter for the trials which we meet, 
 
 If only borne in patience ; more refreshing 
 The perfect rest unto the weary feet. 
 
 Brighter by contrast, will be Zion's glory, 
 
 Her streets of gold, her walls of precious stone. 
 
 Purer the joy of the Eternal City, 
 
 Sweeter the music round the great white Throne ! 
 
 Let us press forward, then, the ties that bind us 
 To earth, as years go by, are breaking fast. 
 
 But on the "Shining Shore", beyond the river, 
 The blessed ties of love forever last. 
 
 Let us look upward, and in every trial. 
 Anchor our hope and trust, alone in God, 
 
 Walking in simple faith and self-denial, 
 The narrow pathway the Redeemer trod. 
 
 Bearing His cross, relying on His promise. 
 Never to leave, nor to forsake His own. 
 
 Trusting to meet the dear ones taken from us. 
 
 In that bright world where parting is unknown. 
 
 43 
 
OUR DUAL LIVES. 
 
 1875. 
 
 There are beautiful songs that we never sing, 
 There are strains of music that die unheard, 
 
 That flash in the heart like the shining wing, 
 Or the thrilling notes of a timid bird. 
 
 There are gems of thought that we safely keep 
 Enshrined in our hearts, till their lustre gleams 
 
 Around our lives, like the silver sweep 
 Of angel robes through our happy dreams. 
 
 There are glowing words that we do not speak, 
 Freighted and filled with the soul's desire, 
 
 And the hues that burn on the blushing cheek 
 Alone may tell of their hidden fire. 
 
 Tliere are clouds of sadness that none may know, 
 Saving tlie heart where the shadows fall ; 
 
 There are waves of sorrow that overflow, 
 Sometimes in secret, the hearts of all. 
 
 And away from the gaze of our fellow man, 
 Are cherished hopes that we all conceal; 
 
 Beautiful visions our eyes may scan, 
 But visions our lips may never reveal. 
 
 And deep in the heart where their fountains rise, 
 Where the hidden springs of love have birth, 
 
 We keep close-veiled from human eyes, 
 The sweetest and richest boon of earth. 
 
 Thus we are living our dual lives, — 
 
 One that is outward and visible, 
 One in the heart's deep shrine survives, 
 
 Strong, abiding, and hid from all. 
 
 44 
 
"THE CITY OF THE LIVING.' 
 
 1875. 
 
 Suggested by reading a poem with the same title, anony- 
 mously published in the New York Observer. 
 
 I read the story of that wondrous city 
 
 Within whose portals wide, 
 Disease, and pain, and sorrow might not enter, 
 
 "And never any died." 
 
 AVhere friendship's ties for aye remained unbroken, 
 
 While years on years passed by; 
 Nor hearts were there with bitter anguish broken. 
 
 Nor dim and tearful eye. 
 
 But working, willing, living on forever. 
 
 Striving for "Power and pride". 
 Fearless that death would cross their threshold ever, 
 
 Though "Graves grew green outside". 
 
 Yet strangely did its dwellers, of their pleasure, 
 
 Grow weary, one by one. 
 Their souls unsatisfied with all the treasure 
 
 That their long lives had won. / 
 
 But no ! not strange, for joy is born of sorrow, 
 From weakness, strength shall spring. 
 
 The night begets the radiant tomorrow. 
 And winter the bright spring. 
 
 Sweeter the sunshine when the storm is ended. 
 
 Purer the mountain air,* 
 And smiles and tears, on earth so strangely blended 
 
 Make beauty's cheek more fair. 
 
 45 
 
In the economy of life and being, 
 
 Bitter and sweet unite, 
 And pain may aid our faithless eyes, to seeing 
 
 In pleasure, new delight. 
 
 And when life 's brief and fitful dream is over, 
 
 And the bright shore in view, 
 And gleams of light, beyond the mystic river. 
 
 The pearly gates shine through. 
 
 When pilgrims here, from every clime shall meet. 
 
 The cross of life laid down. 
 Sweeter will be the rest for weary feet. 
 
 Brighter the golden crown. 
 
 Ah, in THAT beauteous "City of the living". 
 
 No weariness will grow ! 
 But joy more pure than that of earthly giving. 
 
 From founts eternal flow. 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 There is a pleasure which the world 
 With all its wealth may not command 
 
 A joy beyond our human grasp, 
 Bestowed by the All-Father's hand. 
 
 With all unholy passions stilled, 
 A heart at peace with all mankind, 
 
 The soul with quiet rapture filled, 
 Enjoys a "Sabbath of the mind". 
 
Through love Divine, our human hearts 
 This boon of joy and peace may gain, 
 
 The while the weary body lies 
 Prostrate upon its couch of pain. 
 
 Where wasting sickness day by day 
 Weakens the ties that bind us here, 
 
 Till glancing o'er the upward way, 
 The joys of heaven seem drawing near; 
 
 As gently through the evening shades, 
 The hues of sunset softly play. 
 
 And sweetly blending with the gloom, 
 A promise of the coming day ; 
 
 So sometimes on the trusting heart, 
 The dews of heavenly love distill, 
 
 And visions of the higher life. 
 
 With holy thoughts our bosoms fill: 
 
 And faith, that when the doubts and fears, 
 That haunt humanity are past. 
 
 And pilgrims from this "Vale of Tears", 
 Lay down their weary loads at last, 
 
 There, in the better world above. 
 Beyond the pearly gates of bliss, 
 
 W^e happily, on that bright shore. 
 
 May meet the friends we loved in this. 
 
 The above poem was Written for Aunt Abby 
 Allen, when in her last sickness ; a most innocent 
 and patient sufferer. 
 
 47 
 
HEREAFTER. 
 
 1876. 
 
 "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou ehalt know 
 hereafter." John, XIII., 7. 
 
 Christian, when the storm clouds gather, 
 
 Dark and wild upon thy way, 
 And thy faithless heart is longing 
 
 For the glorious light of day; 
 Though thou canst not pierce the shadows 
 
 That around thy pathway lie, 
 If in faith thou journey forward. 
 
 They will vanish by and by. 
 
 Though the bitter cup of sorrow 
 
 To thy lips be often prest, 
 Yet as each returning morrow 
 
 Brings thee nearer to thy rest, 
 Though thou may not see the fountain, 
 
 Whence these streams of Marah flow, 
 Never let thy courage fail thee. 
 
 For "Thou shalt hereafter know." 
 
 If thy curious mind would fathom 
 
 That which God alone may know ; 
 If thy troubled heart would query 
 
 Why the ways of God are so; 
 Why the losses and the crosses, 
 
 Which around thy pathway lie. 
 Be content, and meekly bear them. 
 
 In the hope that by and by, 
 
 When shall davni the glorious morning 
 
 Of the bright eternal day, 
 When the mist, and cloud, and darkness, 
 
 That enwrap thee, pass away, 
 Thou shalt see the perfect beauty, 
 
 Of the plan of life and love, 
 In its fulness emanating 
 
 From the Father's throne above. 
 
 48 
 
See and know the glad fruition, 
 
 From the labor and the tears 
 Spent within the Master's vineyard 
 
 Through the weary lapse of years 
 Then press on the path of duty, 
 
 Though thou may not see below, 
 Why uncertainties surround thee, 
 
 Yet thou shalt hereafter know. 
 
 THE SMOKER'S DREAM. 
 
 1877. 
 
 A poetic rendering of an anecdote related in a public 
 newspaper. 
 
 The preacher arose from his easy chair. 
 And carefully putting his pipe away. 
 
 He sought his couch, and after prayer. 
 His weary head on his pillow lay. 
 
 And soon he slept, and deep and long. 
 
 Until a dim and shadowy train 
 Of dreams, a dark mysterious throng. 
 
 Came trooping over his restless brain. 
 
 And the sleeper dreamed that the blast of fate. 
 By the great arch-angel's trump was given. 
 
 And his soul went up to the golden gate, 
 That stands at the corridors of Heaven. 
 
 And the Book of Life was opened there, 
 But the waiting angel sought in vain 
 
 Over its pages broad and fair. 
 For a single trace of the smoker's name! 
 
And the spirit shuddered in deep dismay, 
 "For my name is surely there," he thought; 
 
 "For I love the Savior, and day by day 
 
 My hands in the Master's work have wrought. 
 
 The angel wept, and the pearly tears 
 Fell on the page he was bending o'er. 
 
 When lo ! there dimly and faint appears 
 The name that the trembling spirit bore. 
 
 And the angel turned from the mighty book, 
 And a wondrous smile his face o'erspread. 
 
 As he bent on the dreamer a mingled look 
 Of love and pity, and softly said : 
 
 "The smoke of thy cherished pipe for years 
 Had gathered so heavy thy name about, 
 
 That naught but an angel's pitying tears. 
 And thy own contrition might wash it out." 
 
 The vision passed, and the sleeper awoke, 
 
 With a high resolve and a purpose strong, 
 To break forever the galling yoke. 
 And the cruel chain that had bound him long. 
 
 And for the years that were yet to be. 
 With a lighter heart and a clearer brain. 
 
 In the strength of a nobler manhood free. 
 He turned to the Master's work again. 
 
EARLY CROWNED. 
 
 1877. 
 
 Lines on the death of Guli Purviance Williams. 
 
 "Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set, but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own Oh death!" 
 
 — Hemans. 
 
 There are some with lives extending 
 
 O'er a weary lapse of years, 
 Through the lengthened journey blending 
 
 With their smiles, their many tears. 
 Toiling on life's path of duty, 
 
 With its crosses bowing down, 
 Till upon the Hills of Beauty 
 
 They receive the Heavenly crown. 
 
 Others, ere the dew and brightness 
 
 Of life's morning hours are gone,« 
 Gain the robes of angel whiteness. 
 
 Put their glorious mantle on. 
 Early gathered in the fullness 
 
 Of the Heavenly Father's love, 
 Early crowned by His goodness 
 
 In the better world above. 
 
 One whose memory, like a blessing, 
 
 Rests upon my heart today. 
 From our loving and caressing 
 
 In the springtime went away: 
 Passed across the mystic river, 
 
 Won the everlasting rest. 
 And the crown that God would give her 
 
 In the Kingdom of the Blest. 
 
 51 
 
And we weep in human blindness 
 
 At the loss we have sustained, 
 Heedless of the Master's kindness, 
 
 And the glory she hath gained; 
 In our weakness scarcely turning 
 
 Through our tears to look above, 
 Fondly for her presence yearning 
 
 With a strong undying love. 
 
 But I ponder o'er the sweetness 
 
 Of the spirit called away. 
 To its grand and full completeness, 
 
 In the world of endless day ; 
 Till I listen in my dreaming 
 
 To a melody from far. 
 Sweet as angel music streaming 
 
 Through the pearly gates ajar! 
 
 And a feeling comes unspoken 
 
 Of a quiet faith and trust. 
 And although our joys are broken. 
 
 And our hopes are in the dust; 
 Though our skies are dark and gloomy 
 
 And the clouds obscure the sun, 
 Father! grant we still may murmur 
 
 ' ' Not my will, but Thine be done ' ' ! 
 
 52 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 1877. 
 
 Fire ! fire ! and the fearful cry 
 
 On the air was loud and strong, 
 And the hills around gave back the sound, 
 And the terrible notes prolong; 
 Ringing, 
 
 Singing, 
 
 Echoing there, 
 That wild alarm on the wintry air! 
 
 Out in the street, witli flying feet, 
 There was hurrying to and fro, 
 And the gloom of night was growing bright 
 With the fire-fiend's ruddy glow; 
 Lightening, 
 
 Brightening, 
 
 His fiery eye 
 Illumined the earth and the clouds on high. 
 
 Oh, fearful night! the weird fire-light, 
 
 On the dark and cloudy sky. 
 The roar and tlie din of the flames within, 
 Leaping and spreading on high; 
 Dashing, 
 
 Flashing, 
 
 Flying aloof. 
 From the basement floor to the attic roof. 
 
 How wildly there, in its own red glare. 
 
 As the wintry wind swept by 
 With whistle and moan, its gleaming shone, 
 Like a bonfire wild and high ; 
 Till swaying. 
 
 Swinging, * 
 
 Crashing it came 
 Downward to earth, amid sparkle and flame. 
 
 53 
 
But morning came, and the maddening flame, 
 
 Its terrible work complete, 
 Had died away, and the ruins lay 
 Blackened and charred at our feet; 
 Lonely, 
 
 And only, 
 
 A ruinous heap, 
 A place for the stricken to linger and weep. 
 
 But never despair, though losses and care 
 
 May fill up our portion of sorrow. 
 The storms of to-day, when night wears away. 
 Give place to a brighter tomorrow; 
 Lighter, 
 
 And brighter. 
 
 The beautiful day 
 That dawns as the storm clouds are breaking 
 away. 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 1876. 
 
 Farewell, thou old Centennial year ! 
 
 Ere from thy grave I turn away, 
 I fain would drop a silent tear, 
 
 And tune for thee a simple lay. 
 
 Thy work for right and truth should be 
 The burden of my humble song. 
 
 Thy victories of liberty. 
 
 Of law and justice over wrong. 
 
 Thy struggle against vice and crime. 
 Thy war against oppression's power, 
 
 In ringing notes from every clime 
 Should echo o'er thy dying hour. 
 
 54 
 
For triumphs in the world of thought, 
 ^ Where genius wins the meed of praise, 
 For intellectual progress wrought, 
 My voice, in just applause, I raise. 
 
 I fain would sing the glittering gems 
 Which science at thy feet hath strown, 
 
 The gleam of Art's own diadems. 
 By Labor set upon thy croWn. 
 
 And future years shall fondly turn 
 
 From grateful hearts their thoughts to thee. 
 
 For still on memory's shrine shall burn 
 The bale-fires of thy Jubilee, 
 
 When every clime and mart of earth 
 Sent greetings to our western shore. 
 
 And friendship of a nobler birth, 
 Thy message to the nations bore. 
 
 But o'er my spirit comes a shade 
 
 Of sadness, and supreme regret, 
 That Avar with kindred wrongs arrayed. 
 
 And crime and murder flourish yet. 
 
 That Bacchus still asserts his reign, 
 And fills too oft the midnight bowl, 
 
 Till madness fires the inebriate brain. 
 And lust and crime destroy the soul. 
 
 God grant that soon the day may come 
 When tyranny and wrong shall cease, 
 
 When cannon roar, and roll of drum 
 Shall die away in songs of peace. 
 
 When the long catalog of crime 
 No more shall mar creation's page. 
 
 But Peace and Right in every clime 
 Live and increase from age to age. 
 
 55 
 
THE SHADOW. 
 
 1878. 
 
 Grief had hung its sable curtain 
 
 Like a cloud upon my way, 
 And upon my life a shadow, 
 
 Dark and nameless, haunting lay. 
 Sad the present seemed, and cheerless, 
 
 And the web of future years 
 Fancj'' wove in sombre colors, 
 
 "With the warp and woof of tears. 
 
 And my soul was bowed in sorrow. 
 
 For the bitterness and woe 
 Of my heart were upward welling 
 
 In a constant overflow. 
 Till the days were days of darkness, 
 
 And the night scarce brought relief 
 To my spirit overburdened 
 
 With its plenitude of grief! 
 
 And I wrestled in my anguish, 
 
 Like the patriarch who strove 
 With the angel at the waters. 
 
 For liis blessing and his love ; 
 Till the chastened soul ascended 
 
 On the wings of fervent prayer. 
 That the shadow might be lifted. 
 
 And the sunlight gather there. 
 
 Day by day the aspirations 
 
 Of a stricken soul went up 
 To the Great White Throne of mercy, 
 
 That if possible this cup 
 Filled at Marah's bitter fountains 
 
 From my lips might pass away, 
 And the clouds and gloom be driven 
 
 From about my humble way. 
 
 56 
 
But the dark and brooding shadow 
 
 Still upon my way was spread, 
 Still the bitter cup before me, 
 
 Still the dark cloud overhead! 
 But as in the hush of evening 
 
 Sweetly sounds the vesper bell, 
 So a whisper, soft and gentle, 
 
 On my weary spirit fell. 
 
 "Child! the prayers and intercessions 
 
 Of thy soul are known on high, 
 And the Father watcheth o'er thee 
 
 Still with His Omniscient eye! 
 Trust His grace, it is sufficient ! 
 
 All His gifts and blessings own ! 
 Heaven's eternal joy, before thee, 
 
 Bear the cross, and wear the crown!' 
 
 And a sense of rest and quiet 
 
 Gently o'er my spirit stole. 
 Peace, the white-winged angel, hovered 
 
 Brooding, dove-like, o'er my soul. 
 And I thank the blessed Master 
 
 For the answer He liath sent, 
 And I strive, His grace enabling, 
 
 With my lot to be content. 
 
 And although the shadow lingers, 
 
 On His promise still I stand, 
 Take the bitter cup as mingled 
 
 By the great All-Father 's hand ! 
 And as patiently I drink it. 
 
 With my soul submissive bowed, 
 Light is breaking through the shadow, 
 
 And the rainbow spans the cloud ! 
 
 57 
 
And the wing of Faith, once drooping, 
 
 Soiled and trailing in the dust, 
 Gathered strength, and mounting upward 
 
 To a quiet hope and trust, 
 Points beyond life 's sunset portals, 
 
 To the hills by angels trod, 
 Where, nor clouds, nor shadows gather 
 
 In the Kingdom of our God. 
 
 A HARVEST HYMN. 
 
 1878. 
 
 Almighty God ! from out whose hand 
 Our blessings, countless as the sand 
 Upon the ocean's sounding shore. 
 Fall 'round our pathway evermore ! 
 Let songs of praise our lips employ 
 For all Thy gifts which we enjoy. 
 
 These glorious summer days have brought 
 
 Another harvest, richly fraught 
 
 With all the stores a fertile soil 
 
 Yields in reward for honest toil, 
 Till ripening fruit, and golden grain 
 Crown sunny slope, and smiling plain. 
 
 Teach us. Oh Father ! more to see 
 How all our blessings come from Thee ! 
 How wealth and plenty o'er the land, 
 Are mercies from Thy open hand ; 
 How all the "circle of events" 
 Is governed by Thy Providence. 
 
 58 
 
The teeming earth is Thine, we see, 
 And all its fullness comes from Thee ! 
 Beneath Thy care, the season yields 
 Its seed time and its harvest fields, 
 The bleating flocks, and lowing kine, 
 The herds on all the hills are Thine ! 
 
 For all Thy blessings, Holy One ! 
 We thank Thee ! and for time to come 
 Invoke Thy guardianship Divine, 
 Until the world 's great harvest time. 
 Then may we, free from tares of sin, 
 As golden sheaves be gathered in! 
 
 S9 
 
IN MEMOBIAM. 
 
 Semira S. Edgerton, to whose memory the following lines 
 are inscribed with tears, departed this life suddenly, Ninth 
 Month 11, 1878, aged thirty-four years, four months and six 
 days. Her eminently kind and social nature had endeared 
 her to a large circle of relatives and friends, but brightest 
 around her own fire-side, and in the bosom of her own family, 
 shone forth the virtues which adorned her character, illumi- 
 nating the whole atmosphere of home, making it, for herself 
 and those to whom her life was devoted, the dearest spot on 
 earth. 
 
 But God has seen meet, in His providence, to call her 
 home unto Himself, and we desire to bow humbly to His Vv^ill. 
 May He have regard to the sighs and tears of the motherless 
 and afflicted! 
 
 She was buried at Friend's grave-yard, near Coal Creek, 
 Iowa, Ninth Month 13th, 1878. Her grave is the second from 
 the south, in the sixth row from the east. 
 
 To the Departed. 
 
 Adieu sweet wife ! bowed down with grief, 
 Above thy new-made grave I bend, 
 
 And wet with tears the dust that lies 
 Above my best and dearest friend. 
 
 In vain for me these autumn days 
 
 Adorn the earth with tints of bloom, 
 
 While o'er my stricken spirit broods 
 A shadow deep as winter's gloom. 
 
 For sorrow like a sable pall, 
 
 Hangs o'er the home that thou hast left. 
 And blinding tears are wont to fall 
 
 From mourning ones, of thee bereft. 
 60 
 
But as I weep o'er buried hopes, 
 
 With tears which I may not restrain, 
 
 A vision, beautiful and bright, 
 
 Dawns gently on my aching brain. 
 
 A glimpse of beauty, far away 
 In that bright city of the blest. 
 
 Where toil-worn feet no longer stray. 
 And weary souls forever rest. 
 
 And there before the throne of God, 
 With spotless robes and seraph wings. 
 
 Thy hand attunes a golden harp, 
 
 Thy voice with angel sweetness sings. 
 
 Thy feet no longer bruised and worn 
 And weary, tread the starry ways 
 
 And shining pathways, hand in hand 
 With those, the loved of other days. 
 
 God grant us faith to look above ! 
 
 And see the glory thou hast won! 
 And through our sighs and tears to breathe 
 
 From bleeding hearts ' ' Thy will be done ! ' 
 
 And may He to His poor shorn lambs 
 Temper the stormy wind of life. 
 
 Keep us and lead us safely home 
 Unto Himself and thete, dear wife ! 
 
 Ninth Month 23rd, 1878. 
 61 
 
MY ANGEL WIFE. 
 
 I have a wife, an angel wife ! 
 
 In a realm of joy untold, 
 Where angels stand in the JBeautiful Land, 
 
 Striking their harps of gold. 
 
 And the songs they sing, the notes that ring 
 From their harp-strings, sweet a ad clear, 
 
 Float down from far, through the gates ajar, 
 Till their music I almost hear. 
 
 And I almost seem to catch the gleam 
 
 Of their beautiful robes of white, 
 As to and fro on their wings of snow, 
 
 They glance through the fields of light. 
 
 And resting there, from the toil and care, 
 
 And the weariness of life. 
 Where loved ones meet in the golden street, 
 
 There dwelleth my angel wife ! 
 
 In that beautiful land at God's right hand, 
 Where the founts of healing flow. 
 
 No sickness there, for the soul to bear. 
 Nor weariness, pain, nor woe. 
 
 Nor bitter tears, nor haunting fears. 
 
 Besetting her spirit now, 
 But her eyes are bright with Heaven's own light, 
 
 And its glory crowns her brow. 
 
 Oh, beautiful one ! when time is done, 
 
 Beyond death's starless night, 
 In a higher life, my angel wife. 
 
 May our spirits reunite ! 
 
 Ninth Month 24th, 1878. 
 62 
 
MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 And I am thirty-five ! how swift 
 The "flood of years" is rolling by! 
 
 And with a strong resistless sweep, 
 
 As of a river broad and deep, 
 It bears us toward eternity ! 
 
 Mid-way of life's on-going tide. 
 
 My barque rides restlessly today ; 
 Around me falls the welcome light 
 Of heaven ; before me hid from sight, 
 The cloud-lands of the future lay. 
 
 Behind me stretches far away, 
 
 A panorama rich and vast. 
 As through the vista of the years, 
 I see the smiles, and hopes, and fears 
 
 The lights and shadows of the past. 
 
 The green and fairy isles of youth, 
 
 Were slowly passed, the sunny years, 
 When life was new, and hearts were light 
 And limbs were free, and eyes were bright, 
 Undimmed by sorrow and by tears. 
 
 And memory loves to linger still, 
 
 Where on the ever-widening stream, 
 The spring of manhood 'g early prime, 
 And love's perennial summer-time 
 Commingle in one happy dream. 
 
 63 
 
And that sweet friend, who at my side 
 
 Dared every breaker's stormy crest 
 A dozen years, then furled her sail, 
 And with the "boatman cold and pale' 
 Entered the haven of her rest. 
 
 Thus ever ebbing with the tide, 
 Our individual lives float on, 
 And those who sail with us today, 
 May drift tomorrow, far away, 
 Beyond the curtains of the dawn 
 
 And swifter speeds my barque along, 
 
 As years in swift succession come. 
 
 And soon the land-ward-blowing gale 
 
 Will fan my cheek and swell my sail. 
 
 And waft me quickly to my home. 
 
 Oh, Heavenly Pilot ! take the helm ! 
 
 And guide me safely evermore, 
 Amid the dangers of my way, 
 Until my pilgrim boat shall lay 
 
 At anchor on the Shining Shore. 
 
 Seventh Month 12th, 1880. 
 
 64 
 
NEW YEARS EVE MUSINGS. 
 
 Twelfth Month 31st, 1878. 
 
 Alone within my quiet room 
 
 I while the lonely hours away 
 With thoughts of her, around whose tomb 
 
 Sweet halos of remembrance play : 
 Sweet recollections of the time 
 
 Now shrouded in the dreamy past, 
 When her fond love was wholly mine, — 
 
 A treasure, all too bright to last ! 
 
 When at my side, for woe or weal, 
 
 Sharing alike my hopes and fears, 
 In pain and sickness, balm to heal. 
 
 Weeping at all my bitter tears ! — 
 Alas ! poor bleeding heart ! in vain 
 
 Must be thy yearning wild and strong ! 
 The music of her voice again 
 
 No more shall sweep thy chords along. 
 
 For as we trod the rugged road 
 
 Of life and duty, hand in hand. 
 Helping to bear each-other's load, 
 
 With eyes upon the ''Better Land", 
 Her gentle hand was snatched from mine, 
 
 And angels bore her from my sight 
 To that bright world, where sing and shine 
 
 The saints of God in robes of white. 
 
 And there, methinks within the gates 
 
 Of pearl, where angels prostrate fall, 
 i\Iy angel wife expectant waits, 
 
 Or leaning o'er the jasper wall 
 Beckons her loved ones to that land. 
 
 Where death and parting are no more, 
 AVhere toil-worn feet all rested stand 
 
 With her upon that radiant shore. 
 
 65 
 
THE GRAVE IN THE WEST. 
 
 1879. 
 
 Blow gently, ye winds of the prairies ! 
 
 Fan softly one grave in the West ! 
 Kiss the cheeks of the sweet floral fairies 
 
 Abloom by the place of her rest ! 
 
 And sparkle ye dews of the morning ! 
 
 On fragrant wild violet and rose ! 
 In their summer-time glory adorning 
 
 The spot where her ashes repose. 
 
 Fall softly, ye rain drops, and lightly! 
 
 On that grave where no more I may weep ! 
 And ye stars shining solemnly, nightly 
 
 Your vigils above it may keep ! 
 
 And thither your rapid flight winging. 
 Sweet minstrels of forest and dell! 
 
 There over her lone pillow singing 
 To the being who loved you so well ! 
 
 Where grasses and flowerets are springing, 
 There over the dust of the dead. 
 
 The music of Nature is ringing. 
 And her wild benedictions are said. 
 
 Oh, grave in the West! when recalling 
 The joys and the hopes left with thee ! 
 
 The tears of my anguish are falling. 
 
 And my heart heaves and moans like the s 
 
 And lonely, and sad, and repining, 
 I weep o'er the way I must tread. 
 
 Yet still there's a bright ''silver lining" 
 To the clouds that hang over my head. 
 
For the eyes of my sad spirit greeting, 
 Sweet visions of beauty arise, 
 
 And Hope fondly points to a meeting, 
 A reunion of love in the skies. 
 
 Cheer up then my soul ! nor misgiving, 
 Nor doubt, nor despair must be thine ! 
 
 For God and humanity living 
 
 Till a grave in the valley be mine. 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 1879. 
 
 Home of my childhood ! once again 
 I greet thy old time-honored walls, 
 I sit beneath thy orchard trees. 
 And on my ears the hum of bees. 
 As in my early boyhood falls. 
 
 I wander in the pleasant shade 
 Of grand old maples in the grove. 
 And the sweet southern breezes play 
 Among the leafy boughs today, 
 The notes my childhood learned to love. 
 
 Again I drink the cooling draughts. 
 That from the rocky hillside flow ; 
 But mirrored on the crystal streams. 
 How changed the stooping figure seems, 
 Since drinking thirty years ago. 
 
 67 
 
Oh, time and change, alas, alas ! 
 
 How sadly on my spirit falls 
 
 Your heavy hand, as from the tears, 
 And smiles, and hopes of bygone years. 
 
 The voice of memory calls. 
 
 The happy group that gathered here. 
 At board and hearth, in years gone by. 
 
 Is parted now, and scattered wide ; 
 
 In prairie home, by mountain side, 
 Its broken fragments lie. 
 
 And passing to their quiet rest 
 In the eternal morning's dawn, 
 A father with his silvered hair, 
 A mother with her loving care, 
 Brothers and sisters, too, have gone. 
 
 And one more dear than all to me. 
 Whom here I learned to trust and love, 
 Was all my own a few brief years. 
 Then from a life of hopes and fears. 
 Passed into bliss above ! 
 
 Called in the noon of womanhood. 
 From fond and loving hearts away ; 
 Long may her hallowed influence rest, 
 As dews distill on Hermon's crest. 
 Upon my lonely way. 
 
 A few more years ! I too shall pass 
 Across the river dark and wide; 
 
 God grant that in the world to come, 
 The loved ones of my heart and home 
 May gather at my side. 
 
THE VISION. 
 1879. 
 
 Oh ! there are moments when the tide 
 
 Of feeling rises uncontrolled, 
 When o'er the heart, however brave. 
 The sweep of its resistless wave 
 
 Like ocean's angry surge is rolled! 
 
 Moments, when naught may intervene 
 
 To stay the flood of falling tears. 
 As from the dark mysterious sea. 
 And haunted isles of memory, 
 Float by, the scenes of other years. 
 
 Scenes that have power to stir the soul 
 Down to its centre still and deep. 
 
 Striking its rich and trembling keys, 
 
 Until their solemn harmonies 
 Float o'er us in their outward sweep. 
 
 Oh ! scenes and joys of other years. 
 Gone down into the echoing past; 
 Over my restless brain tonight 
 Are visions thronging, dark and bright, 
 A panorama rich and vast; 
 
 But brightest, foremost of the train. 
 
 One lovely presence, still I find, 
 With beaming eye and breathing lip. 
 And all the sweet companionship, 
 And glory of her heart and mind. 
 
 69 
 
And with her gentle hand in mine, 
 Her saered influence o'er me thrown, 
 
 Again I feel her loving care, 
 
 Again I breathe the social air. 
 The holy atmosphere of home! 
 
 But sweetest dreams will soonest fade, 
 
 As from the sky the richest stains, 
 So passes from ray ravished sense 
 The vision, but still more intense 
 The yearning of my heart remains. 
 
 But Love will dream, and Hope will trust 
 
 That in the glorious morning's dawn, 
 When on the everlasting hills, 
 The tears of anguish, and the ills 
 Of mortal life are lost and gone. 
 
 That there in glory we may meet 
 
 The "loved and lost" of other years. 
 Upon the bright eternal shore, 
 Where parting smites the soul no more, 
 And dried are all our bitter tears. 
 
 THE LAND OF DREAMS. 
 
 1879. 
 
 Oh, dim and shadowy Dreamland ! 
 
 What mysteries are thine? 
 What strange and wild illusions 
 
 Along thy borders shine ! 
 
 What dark and haunting shadows 
 Along thy valleys glide ! 
 
 What gleams of heavenly glory 
 Lie on thy mountain side ! 
 
 70 
 
Scenes of ethereal beauty- 
 Lie hid thy dells among, 
 
 And on our ears fall sweetly 
 Snatches of angel song. 
 
 And lips of "loved and lost" ones 
 Tliat speak on earth no more, 
 
 Here breathe in love their blessings 
 Upon us, as of yore. 
 
 And our hearts in rapture tremble 
 At their accents soft and low, 
 
 Floating downward through the stillness 
 From the shades of long ago. 
 
 And we see their smiling faces, 
 And their loving eyes of light 
 
 Melting through the clouds above us, 
 Filling us with strange delight. 
 
 Sweeping o'er our silent heart-strings. 
 
 Waking joys that buried lay 
 With the loved ones who are sleeping 
 
 Where the cypress shadows play, 
 
 Joys which shed a mournful sweetness 
 
 O'er our busy waking hours. 
 Bringing back the forms and faces 
 
 Of those darling ones of ours, 
 
 Who no more on earth can meet us, 
 Save in memory and in dreams, 
 
 Who have passed beyond the river 
 Where the Golden City gleams. 
 
 71 
 
THANKSGIVING. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Almighty Father! wilt thou hear 
 The hymns of gratitude and praise, 
 
 Ascending from our myriad homes? — 
 The tribute that tlie Nation pays, 
 
 To Thee whose right supreme it is 
 To mold by Thy omnipotence, 
 
 The eternal destinies of life, 
 The changing circle of events. 
 
 For all the blessings manifold, 
 
 Which, falling from Thy open hand, 
 
 Have borne the rich and precious boon 
 Of peace and plenty through the land. 
 
 For all the wealth of golden grain 
 
 That crowned the summer's sunny brow, 
 
 The autumn's fields of ripened corn, 
 The fruitage of the orchard bough ; 
 
 The verdure of the smiling plain, 
 M^here lowing cattle range at will, 
 
 The happy homes and bursting barns, 
 The bleating flocks upon the hill; 
 
 The bench and forge, where men of toil. 
 
 By thrift and industry arrayed. 
 Are urging through its varied course 
 
 The rich and rapid stream of trade. 
 
 For all of these, aye more than this — 
 Even for the very life we live — 
 
 Our food and sleep, the air we breathe, 
 Are blessings Thou alone can give. 
 
 72 
 
We only by thy bounty claim 
 
 The life and wealth that nature fills, 
 
 For Thine are all the flocks and herds— 
 "The cattle on a thousand hills". 
 
 Help us, still more to recognize 
 
 Thy over-ruling Providence, 
 To see and own Thy guiding hand, 
 
 Through every changing circumstance. 
 
 Give us. Oh Father ! thankful hearts 
 Thy power to own, Thy love to prize, 
 
 So from our souls a living hymn 
 Of pure thanksgiving may arise. 
 
 HEART GUESTS. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Night has thrown her trailing garments 
 
 O'er the busy world again. 
 Silencing the din and murmur 
 
 In the busy haunts of men. 
 
 Stilling in the street the trampling, 
 As the twilight shadows fade, 
 
 Quieting the fevered beating 
 Of the throbbing pulse of trade. 
 
 Bringing sleep to chase the shadows 
 From the brow of care away, 
 
 Re.st to hands and hearts aweary 
 With the labors of the day. 
 
 73 
 
And within my chamber sitting, 
 Listening to the falling rain, 
 
 As it beats upon the shingles, 
 And against the windoAV pane; 
 
 Silently there steal around me 
 
 Beaming faces, tender eyes, 
 And my Heart Guests are beside me, 
 
 Whose enduring love I prize. 
 
 Friends from far and near surround me, 
 Loving eyes gaze in my own, 
 
 Till I almost hear the music 
 Of each sweet familiar tone. 
 
 At my knees the children gather. 
 And their arms about me twine. 
 
 And beneath their golden ringlets 
 Merry eyes of azure shine. 
 
 But as memory's busy finger 
 Points to scenes of other years. 
 
 Swells my heart with deep emotion, 
 And my eyes are dim with tears. 
 
 For beside me sits a loved one 
 
 Dearest of them all to me. 
 With her large sweet eyes upon me, 
 
 And her winning smile I see, 
 
 Just as in the days departed. 
 
 Ere she crossed the mystic wave; — ■ 
 
 Now, alas ! the grass is growing 
 Fresh and green upon her grave. 
 
 74 
 
And my heart responsive trembles 
 As her voice in blessing falls 
 
 Sweetly through the echoing portals, 
 Of the soul's mysterious halls. 
 
 Thus among my loving heart guests, 
 Swift the moments pass away. 
 
 In a feast of mental pleasure — 
 SAveetest hours of all the day ! 
 
 But the warning notes are ringing, 
 From the clock upon the wall. 
 
 And I seek my couch of slumber, 
 With a kind adieu to all. 
 
 But ere sleep my eyelids touches, 
 From a grateful heart I pray 
 
 "May the Father guide you safely 
 In life's rough and toilsome way. 
 
 "And may those whose shining garments 
 Trail beside Life's crystal streams. 
 
 Oft in memory sit beside me, 
 Often visit me in dreams." 
 
 75 
 
OLD YEAR MEMORIES. 
 
 1880. 
 
 The year is growing old, dear friend ! 
 
 The year is growing old. 
 The snow is on the silent hills, 
 
 The air is crisp and cold; 
 The day is bright, and brief, and cold ! 
 
 I see the sun go grandly down. 
 
 The stars come out on high, 
 And the new moon, a thread of light, 
 
 Upon the western sky 
 Hang timid, trembling in the sky. 
 
 And as I sit beside the fire. 
 
 And watch its cheerful glow. 
 My heart is busy with the scenes 
 
 And friends of long ago. 
 Living and dead, of long ago. 
 
 As one by one, the stars steal out 
 
 To deck the winter sky, 
 So memory summons those I loved 
 
 In years long since gone by 
 Dear friend ! in years long since gone by. 
 
 I almost hear the merry laugh. 
 
 And see the sparkling eyes. 
 And catch the old, familiar tones 
 
 Of those I fondly prize; 
 Ah yes ! of friends I fondly prize. 
 
 I see again our native hills 
 
 O'er which the blue skies bend. 
 
 And seem again to tread their slopes 
 With thee ! my gentle friend ; 
 
 With thee, my tried and trusted friend ! 
 
 76 
 
But ah ! the rugged paths of life 
 Have led where mountains rise, 
 
 And wearily, with bleeding feet, 
 And under low 'ring skies 
 
 We go, sometimes what gloomy skies ! 
 
 But mingled with the cloud and storm, 
 
 God's blessed sunshine falls 
 Around us, and the angel Hope 
 
 From heights above us calls — 
 To brighter, higher summits, calls ! 
 
 The year is growing old, dear friend ! 
 
 And the brief winter day 
 Of life full soon will bring the snow, 
 
 And touch our locks with gray; 
 Our brows with care, our locks with gray. 
 
 God grant that all the coming years 
 Courage and strength may lend. 
 
 To meet the toil and reach the goal 
 Where human life shall end. 
 
 And life Divine begin, dear friend ! 
 
 WHAT INSPIRES. 
 
 A satire on a poem (?) with the same title, appearing in 
 "The Independent Register", along about 1880. 
 
 What does inspire the lofty thoughts, 
 The burning, swelling words of song? 
 
 Which with harmonic cadence float 
 The heart's vibrating chords along? 
 
 What may inspire the ardent zeal 
 That burns the poet^'s midnight oil? 
 
 What nerves his heart to struggle on 
 Through years of unrequited toil? 
 
 77 
 
Can "sunshine" or ''dark nights" induce 
 The nine to quit their fabled streams 
 
 Of Myth?— Better the day for toil, 
 Better the night for sleep and dreams! 
 
 Better the "Editorial page" 
 
 To tell us who has sold or bought, 
 
 Who's married, dead, or left the town, 
 Than to "inspire" poetic thought! 
 
 And tell us not that "jflattery's" voice 
 "Inspires to song," till bubbling o'er 
 
 With poetry, its echoes wake 
 
 "Where song had never been before". 
 
 'Tis true that sorrow's heavy hand 
 May strike upon the inner keys 
 
 Of being, waking at the touch 
 Their fullest, sweetest harmonies. 
 
 But only when within the heart 
 Lies hidden and inborn the stream 
 
 Of Poesy, which, murmuring there. 
 Dwells with us, as a happy dream ; 
 
 Until strong feeling strikes the soul. 
 Then rises upward at the shock. 
 
 As gushed beneath the prophet's blow, 
 The water from the smitten rock. 
 
 78 
 
THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. 
 
 1880. 
 
 The twilight glow has faded, 
 And the dusky shadows fall, 
 
 And their mantle wraps the busy world 
 In the darkness, like a pall 
 
 And the winds are sadly sighing. 
 And the night is dark and drear. 
 
 And the tears of the clouds are falling 
 On the death-bed of the year. 
 
 Oh, the dying year! how swiftly 
 
 The seasons come and go. 
 To the rhythm of the ''Flood of Years,' 
 
 In its never ceasing flow. 
 
 The springtime came with south winds, 
 And beautiful birds and flowers, 
 
 Filling with fragrance and music, 
 The breath of the balmy hours. 
 
 And summer, with rain and sunshine, 
 And blessing of ripened grain. 
 
 Decked, like a garden of beauty, 
 Hillside and valley and plain. 
 
 And autumn with bursting garners, 
 And the orchard's laxvish stores. 
 
 And forests, dyed with the glories 
 Of the sunset's golden doors. 
 
 79 
 
But all these passed ; the children 
 Of the stricken year are dead, 
 
 And only the winter watches 
 Beside his dying bed. 
 
 And out in the wind and darkness, 
 In the dome of the midnight skies, 
 
 With icy hand in the New Year's palm, 
 Moaning, the old year dies ! 
 
 MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Day, declining from the hill-tops, 
 Through the sunset gates has gone, 
 
 And the summer night comes softly, 
 With her sable garments on. 
 
 And the curtain of the twilight, 
 Folding closely 'round the hills, 
 
 Hushes Nature's myriad voices. 
 And the din of business stills. 
 
 And the moon in modest splendor 
 
 Rises in the eastern sky, 
 Touching with her brush of silver 
 
 All the clouds that 'round her lie. 
 
 Dallying with their fleecy curtains, 
 Weaving them with threads of light 
 
 In a veil of gorgeous beauty, 
 On the dusky brow of night. 
 
 Filling all the skies with glory, 
 Till her rich and mellow haze 
 
 Hides the starry lamps of heaven 
 In her own effulgent rays. 
 
Clothing all the quiet landscape 
 With the mantle of her beams, 
 
 Soft as trailing spirit-garments, 
 In the mystic land of dreams. 
 
 Till within her soft embraces 
 
 Nature's self seems lulled to rest, 
 
 While the kisses of the moonbeams 
 On her blushing cheek are prest. 
 
 And as musing on the splendor 
 Of the scene that 'round me lies. 
 
 Gazing on this hour of beauty. 
 Silent, with enraptured eyes, 
 
 I am thinking how the lovelight 
 Of the heart around us plays, 
 
 Painting e'en the clouds above us 
 With the pencil of its rays. 
 
 Like the silver moonbeams filling 
 All our little world with light, 
 
 Shining even through the shadows 
 Of misfortune's gloomy night. 
 
 Resting gently, like a halo 
 On the weary brow of care. 
 
 Till beneath its magic touching, 
 Joy and beauty gather there. 
 
 And its sweet and holy influence 
 Like the moonlight on the lea 
 
 Lends a brighter charm to being, 
 From our grosser nature free. 
 
 And our spirits seem uplifted 
 Toward the Better^ World above, 
 
 Where amid its scenes of beauty 
 Shines the light of perfect love. 
 
MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Dear Wife! again the balmy spring 
 With fragrant breath of golden hours, 
 Calls forth the wild bird's carolling, 
 And wakes to life the lovely flowers; 
 
 And weaves about thy western tomb 
 A gorgeous robe of vernal life. 
 Loading the zephyrs with perfume 
 That breathe around thy grave. Dear Wife ! 
 
 And though a second time the snows 
 Of winter wrapped that mound of earth, 
 And flowers above thy deep repose 
 A second time have had their birth; 
 
 Yet as my lonely footsteps press 
 These woodland paths so far away, 
 The tears which I may not repress, 
 Bedew my pensive eyes today. 
 
 For mingling in the busy mart 
 Of trade, or when the night has stilled 
 Her myriad tongues, within my heart 
 An aching void remains unfilled. 
 
 And my sad spirit turns to thee, 
 Who loved so tenderly and long. 
 With all its deep intensity 
 Of yearning, passionate and strong. 
 
 82 
 
Help me, Oh Father ! still to bear, 
 In meek submission to Thy will, 
 My load of loneliness and care 
 And sorrow, that oppresses still. 
 
 In mercy grant, or soon or late. 
 The fragments of our household band. 
 Safely within the Pearly Gate 
 United evermore may stand. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 1880. 
 
 I had lingered in the school room, 
 Whence the boys and girls had gone. 
 
 Till the sun in glory setting 
 Brought the twilight shadows on. 
 
 And the wind was sadly moaning 
 In the naked trees without. 
 
 And upon the quiet campus. 
 
 Tossed the withered leaves about. 
 
 And upon my heart a shadow, 
 Sad and sombre, seemed to fall. 
 
 Like the shades that deeper gathered 
 On the lonely school-room wall. 
 
 For the thought was full of sadness. 
 That in each accustomed place, 
 
 I, no more should meet in gladness, 
 Beaming eye, and smiling face. 
 
 83 
 
So with heart depressed and lonely, 
 Filled with memories sad and sweet, 
 
 Slow I locked the dear old school-house, 
 Homeward turned my weary feet. 
 
 And as there I sat and pondered 
 
 O'er the doings of the day, 
 Asking of the misty future, 
 
 What behind its curtain lay, 
 
 Suddenly the door swung open. 
 
 Smiling faces, merry eyes, 
 Dancing forms again surround me 
 
 In a glad, complete surprise. 
 
 And their loving words and actions 
 Chased my gloomy thoughts away, 
 
 Like the twilight veil dissolving 
 In the sunlight of the day. 
 
 As a city left unguarded, 
 
 In the midnight's lonely hour. 
 
 Falls an easy prey to battle, 
 And the grim besieger's power, 
 
 So ye merry, loving children, 
 
 With your hearts so true and warm, 
 
 Planned to capture me by kindness ! 
 Thought to carry me by storm ! 
 
 But as prisoners I shall hold you. 
 Nor shall let you hence depart. 
 
 Guard you safely and forever 
 In the Bastile of my heart. 
 
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS— To My Pupils. 
 1880. 
 
 With mingled feelings of regret and joy, 
 
 I stand before you at the evening time. 
 
 Regret, that we must part, and that the ties 
 
 Which bound us here together must be broken, 
 
 And these dear walls, which through the winter time 
 
 Resounded to the sprightly tread, the laugh, 
 
 The recitation, will be desolate. 
 
 Joy, that I now lay down the burden 
 
 Of responsibility, long borne. 
 
 By striving, in my humble way. 
 
 To guide your feet in wisdom's paths aright. 
 
 And though my hands were weak, and, oftentimes, 
 I failed to reach the goal of my desire. 
 Yet I have striven therefor, and clinging 
 To consciousness of this, I ask excuse 
 From what I failed to do, trusting 
 That unto me, as, unto her who sat 
 And bathed the Savior's feet, the welcome 
 Words may come, "She hath done what she could". 
 
 To you, my pupils, for the kindness shown 
 
 By you, to me, and to each other, I, 
 
 From a full heart, would fain return my thanks. 
 
 And may you in the coming harvest time 
 
 Reap your full measure of its sweetest fruits. 
 
 Oh ! may you, may we all, with jealous care 
 
 Guard every action, for the seed we sow 
 
 Will surely reproduce itself in kind. 
 
 No law which God has fixed in the domain 
 
 Of nature, is more potent than His word, 
 
 That "as we sow, so shall we also reap." 
 
 85 
 
If we 
 To please our own self-will, indulge in that 
 Which conscience, or the law of kindness 
 Would forbid, we scatter seed, from which 
 E'en in this life, we will not fail to reap. The oak 
 Upon the hills, whose giant arms are spread 
 Abroad to heaven, sprang from an acorn 
 Like those that now bestud its branches. 
 The golden grain, which, from the reaper's hand, 
 Falls in the summer sun-light, is the true 
 And faithful counterpart of that which fell 
 Upon the summer fallow, and sprang up 
 Beneath the autumn rains ; and so through all 
 The various forms of nature and of life. 
 
 Should sloth, or love of ease, delay our hand, 
 Now in the springtime of our lives, be sure 
 That in the same proportion, will a mind 
 Unfurnished, and a barren age be ours! 
 So let us strive with noble zeal to reach. 
 And to aspire beyond the lower walks 
 Of life ; to emulate the wise and good 
 Whose bright examples shine along our way. 
 
 Let us press forward! As time passes on, 
 
 Age, by a dire necessity, resigns 
 
 The place of honor and of power alike; 
 
 And on this generation will depend 
 
 Our country's future, when a few more years 
 
 Have rolled away, breaking their noiseless 
 
 Waves, upon the boundaries of Eternity. 
 
And if, in after years you may be called 
 
 To the front ranks, to stand above your fellows 
 
 And fill the places of the wise and good ! 
 
 Oh ! may the lessons I have taught you here 
 
 Help to prepare you for the mighty trust ; 
 
 And I, meanwhile will hope and pray, my 
 
 Work was not in vain, and if it lead you 
 
 Upward to a higher sphere, a plane 
 
 Of more exalted character, from which 
 
 You may look down upon the world 
 
 Beneath you, and upward to the walls 
 
 And golden gates of Heaven, then I 
 
 Will be content, and humbly trust 
 
 And hope that in the mighty harvest 
 
 Of the world, when Death has reaped 
 
 The fields and gathered in the sheaves; 
 
 Beyond the jasper walls and pearly gates, 
 
 Our spirit eyes may greet each other 
 
 And the loved ones who have gone before. 
 
 To mingle in the peace and joy of Heaven ! 
 
 THE ANGEL OF SPRINGTIME. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Welcome, Angel of the Springtime ! 
 
 Of the bright and golden hours, 
 Thrilling to the wild-bird's carol, 
 
 Fragrant with the breath of flowers. 
 
 Bright the beauty thou art flinging 
 
 In the verdant lap \)f May, 
 As the glorious sunshine lends thee 
 
 All its richest tints today, 
 
 87 
 
Gleaming over hill and forest, 
 
 Where the young leaves dance and play, 
 O'er the meadow where the brooklet 
 
 Leaps and murmurs on its way. 
 
 Gladly at thy call I wander 
 From the noisy haunts of men, 
 
 And in leaf, and bud, and blossom 
 See thy smiling face again. 
 
 Listen to thy notes of music. 
 
 Falling gently on my ear, 
 Like a gracious benediction. 
 
 Through the dreamy atmosphere. 
 
 But I listen with emotion, 
 
 For I think of her whose eyes 
 Always kindled at thy beauties. 
 Who beneath the western skies 
 
 Drooped and died, and now is sleeping 
 Where thy sweetest blossoms wave ; 
 
 Thrice thy gentle hand has strewn them 
 Bright and fresh above her grave. 
 
 Deck it still, Oh, lovely springtime ! 
 With the flowers she loved so well, 
 Though beyond the mystic portal. 
 Where her soul has gone to dwell. 
 
 Richer, rarer flowers are blooming. 
 Sweeter songs are on the air, 
 
 Purer joys than thine surround her, 
 In her home of glory there. 
 
THE PUGNACIOUS LOVER. 
 
 1881. 
 
 'Tis an old and honored saying, 
 "Truth is stranger far than fiction," 
 And the story I shall tell you 
 Goes to prove the bold assertion ; 
 Goes to prove that in the real 
 Lives we live, as in the ideal 
 Of the author's burning fancy. 
 There are startling acts and dramas, 
 On the stage, that pass before us. 
 With the coloring of romance, 
 With the semblance of a fiction. 
 
 Now the hero of my story 
 
 Is a man of erudition. 
 
 Versed in lore of school and college, 
 
 In the laws and ways of science. 
 
 In the laws and ways of nations : 
 
 And withal he is a namesake 
 
 Of the ' ' Father of his Country ' ' : 
 
 And within the halls of learning 
 
 Of our quiet little village. 
 
 Where the boys and girls were gathered 
 
 Day by day, throughout the winter, 
 
 He had shaped the pliant branches 
 
 Of the "Olive plants" around him. 
 
 And beside the molding, bending, 
 
 Of the infant minds about him. 
 
 There was one, another teacher, 
 
 Came to look, with smile approving, 
 
Upon every word and action 
 
 Of this artful man of learning, 
 
 Loved him for — mayhap his talents, 
 
 Or his handsome face, that beaming 
 
 On her sweet and girlish fancy, 
 
 Seemed to her the bright ideal 
 
 Of a gentle, manly lover — 
 
 Loved him, though she knew that somewhere 
 
 Lived the sad wreck of a woman, 
 
 Whom this wily, wise Professor, 
 
 Once had vowed to love and cherish. 
 
 But the father of the maiden 
 
 Was displeased to have his daughter 
 
 Courted by a man, already 
 
 Bound by law unto another: 
 
 But the lovers passed unheeding 
 
 All the interdicts paternal, 
 
 All the threats and admonitions. 
 
 All the pleading and commanding; 
 
 For herein they saw the vision 
 
 Of a wild romantic courtship. 
 
 Of a rare and tragic amour! 
 
 So to meet the expectations 
 Of his own disordered fancies, 
 And to make himself a hero (?) 
 In the eyes of all who knew him, 
 Like some ancient knight or yeoman 
 In the tales of feudal ages. 
 As the hero of my story 
 Met, one day, upon the street side, 
 With his sweetheart and her father, 
 All the gallantry and courage (?) 
 Of the pugilistic lover 
 
Burned within him, and essaying 
 To secure his priceless treasure, 
 (With the treasure which she carried 
 In her purse of Russia leather), 
 He incurred the free expression 
 Of her father's strong objections; 
 Words and blows were freely bandied, 
 By the hands and tongues so lately 
 Leading, guiding in the school-room ! 
 
 Indecisive was the battle, 
 Both were wounded, but the maiden 
 Was not captured, and returning 
 To her home was closely guarded. 
 Lest her gallant (?) irate lover 
 Steal her from the roof paternal. 
 
 Hastily I pass the lessons. 
 
 Which such street affrays should teach us. 
 
 To the sequel of my story, 
 
 Telling how the shrewd Professor 
 
 Gains the ear of legal Justice (?) 
 
 And from underneath the shadow 
 
 Of symbolic sword and balance, 
 
 Sends her messenger, who coming. 
 
 Armed with the majestic weapon 
 
 Of a writ of habeas corpus. 
 
 Brings the timid, blushing maiden 
 
 To the bar, where legal wisdom (?) 
 
 Gives her to the pleased Professor. 
 
 Thus my story ends ; I pause not 
 At its close, to write a moral, 
 Each may draw his o^wn conclusions, 
 Weigh their acts, and estimate their 
 Conduct for himself, as I do ! ! 
 
 91 
 
THE SNOW-FALL. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Gently falls the fleecy snow, 
 Softly as the lapse of time, 
 But the music that it makes, 
 And the feeling it awakes, 
 Weave themselves in humble rhyme. 
 
 Music which the heart may feel, 
 Though the ear may scarcely know ; 
 
 As a gentle interlude 
 
 To the storm notes, wild and rude, 
 Which the winds of winter blow. 
 
 Softly fall, ye feathery flakes! 
 
 Spread the mantle of the snow 
 Over Nature in her sleep. 
 And her hidden treasures keep 
 
 Till the gentle south-winds blow. 
 
 Till the icy bonds are loosed 
 From the singing brooks again, 
 And rejoicing to be free. 
 Dancing downward to the sea, 
 As they sing their glad refrain. 
 
 Spread your robe of spotless white. 
 Decked with jewels of the frost, 
 O'er the low and narrow beds. 
 Where were laid the weary heads 
 Of our dearly loved and lost. 
 
 92 
 
In a few more years, we, too, 
 In the grave shall silent lie ; 
 
 And the robe of snow be spread 
 O'er the dwellings of the dead, 
 And the winter wind be high, 
 
 But 'twill matter not to us, 
 For beyond the gloom and shade 
 Of the tomb shall ever be 
 Joyous spring eternally; 
 Glories that shall never fade. 
 
 Gently fall, ye crystal flakes ! 
 
 Gently fall, ye passing years ! 
 Clothe us softly for our rest. 
 As the sun sinks in the west. 
 
 And the night of death appears. 
 
 93 
 
THE NATION'S SUSPENSE. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Written during the days of suspense, following the shooting 
 of President Garfield. 
 
 All the thrilling wires were trembling 
 
 With their messages of grief, 
 Bearing to the startled millions 
 
 Tidings of their prostrate chief; 
 Till from ocean unto ocean, 
 
 Flashing with the lightning's speed, 
 Every hamlet, every hearth-stone 
 
 Heard the foul assassin's deed. 
 
 'And as poised upon the balance 
 
 Hangs the chance for life or death, 
 Fifty million souls are waiting. 
 
 Listening with abated breath ! 
 Men of strength and courage falter, 
 
 Women weep and children cry. 
 And from many a household altar 
 
 Fervent prayers ascend on high ! 
 
 From ten thousand sanctuaries, 
 
 With their throngs in suppliance bent, 
 Floats to God the aspiration, 
 
 "Save our noble President!" — 
 Ne'er suspense so deep and painful 
 
 Hovered in the shuddering air. 
 Ne'er before the listening heavens 
 
 Heard such universal prayer ! 
 
 'Mid the fertile fields and valleys 
 
 Of his own fair native state, 
 On the wild hills of New England, 
 
 Tearful, prayerful thousands wait; 
 And the Mississippi heaving 
 
 Seaward his resistless tide. 
 Hears a murmur of bewailing 
 
 From his prairies wild and wide. 
 
 94 
 
And beyond the rocky summits 
 
 Of the white Sierra's crest, 
 Rich in sympathy and pity 
 
 Beats the strong pulse of the West; 
 Blending with their mountain echoes 
 
 To the Nation's cry of pain, 
 Swells the calm Pacific's chorus. 
 
 As a deeply sad refrain! 
 
 From the lovely sun-kissed valleys, 
 
 From palmetto-shaded homes 
 Of the South, a thrilling message, 
 
 Full of love and pity comes; 
 For the great heart of the Nation, 
 
 By its nobler instincts bound. 
 With the suffering of its chieftain 
 
 Beats in sympathy profound. 
 
 Oh, the sympathy of sorrow! 
 
 Born of Charity and Love! 
 Lifting up our better nature 
 
 All our grosser selves above ! 
 Making manhood seem more Christ-like, 
 
 Through the ministries it brings, 
 Gliding o'er us like the shadow 
 
 Of an angel's silent wings. 
 
 Blending with our human nature 
 
 Thoughts and feelings half Divine, 
 As within their worldly setting 
 
 Precious gems of kindness shine ; 
 And our kindred ties grow stronger, 
 
 As our hopes and prayers are blent, 
 In the overshadowing sorrow. 
 
 Round our wounded President ! 
 
 95 
 
THE POOR POET'S DREAM. 
 
 1881. 
 
 The poet sat in his workshop, 
 
 Back from the busy street, 
 Where all day long he had listened 
 
 To the tread of passing feet ; 
 Where all day long he had labored, 
 
 With skillful hands and strong, 
 Till the sun was grandly setting, 
 
 And the evening shades grew long. 
 
 For although his brain was busy 
 
 With the rhythmic flow of song; 
 And his touch could wake wild harmonies, 
 
 Life's sounding chords among; 
 Yet the daily need of labor, 
 
 For the daily need of bread. 
 Called for the earnest efforts 
 
 Of hand, and heart, and head. 
 
 So from dawn of the rosy morning, 
 
 Till sunset, he had wrought. 
 And now, at eve his heart was filled 
 
 With rich poetic thought ; 
 And visions, sweet and beautiful, 
 
 Glimmered before his eyes. 
 But veiled in shrouds, like fleecy clouds 
 
 Sailing o'er moonlit skies. 
 
 And now in the silent gloaming, 
 
 When the twilight brought him rest; 
 With hands by labor wearied, 
 
 And a heart by care oppressed. 
 He sought to grasp the visions 
 
 That had passed across his way. 
 And write the burning words that stirred 
 
 His spirit through the day. 
 
 96 
 
And the evening shadows deepened, 
 
 As he vainly strove to bring 
 The full harmonic cadence 
 
 To the songs he fain would sing, 
 Until weary and disheartened. 
 
 With spirits sad and low, 
 "I will write no more," he murmured, 
 
 "All my love of song forego. 
 
 "Naught but poverty accruing 
 
 From the labors of my pen, 
 Now, henceforth I will forsake it, 
 
 Never court the muse again; 
 Let her visions fade and vanish. 
 
 With the raptures that they bring, 
 Leave their wild ethereal beauty 
 
 For more favored ones to sing." 
 
 Sitting there within his workshop. 
 
 In the silence and the gloom. 
 As the darkness deeper gathered. 
 
 Stealing through the quiet room, 
 W^hile upon his heart the shadows 
 
 Gathered still more dense and deep, 
 Till outwearied and o'erburdened 
 
 Nature soothed her child to sleep. 
 
 And as he slept, a strange, weird dream 
 
 Came over his weary brain. 
 With power to soothe his troubled heart. 
 
 And the heavy sense of pain; 
 For he heard his own songs chanted. 
 
 In liomes throughout the land. 
 Urging to new-born energy 
 
 Full many a nerveless hand. 
 
 And by the coucli of suffering. 
 
 Of painful, labored breath. 
 And through the gloom that follows up 
 
 The sable pall of death, 
 
 97 
 
A sweet voice in a measured cadence 
 Soothed look, and breath of pain; 
 
 And entranced, the dreamer listened 
 To his own sweet words again. 
 
 And the vision slowly faded, 
 
 But whispering softly near, 
 A sweet ethereal voice fell 
 
 Upon the listener's ear. 
 Till a quiet joy stole o'er him, 
 
 Filling his troubled breast, 
 As the earth is filled with glory. 
 
 From the golden doors of the west. 
 
 ' ' Turn back again to thy study, 
 
 Sad heart, for not in vain 
 Have the clouds and shadows fallen. 
 
 And thy bitter tears like rain ; 
 For the touch of human sympathy 
 
 Is sure a blessed thing. 
 And its deepest tones from very need 
 
 Thy soul hath learned to sing. 
 
 There are burning words thy pen must trace, 
 
 Ere the bonds of song be riven ; 
 Nor dare to wrap in a napkin's fold 
 
 The talents God hath given. 
 Go touch thy hand to the living lyre. 
 
 And wake its notes for me. 
 And the conscious joy of duty done. 
 
 Thy rich reward will be." 
 
 It ceased ; but still re-echoing 
 
 Through the heart's mysterious halls, 
 The thrilling voice of his happy dream 
 
 Like a benediction falls, 
 And it nerved his heart for the struggle. 
 
 And fortified his will. 
 In the toil of life before him, 
 
 His mission to fulfill. 
 
 98 
 
BELLS OF THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, on the wintry air! 
 Ring out the old year, full of care I 
 With all the sin its record tells; 
 Ring, ring it out, ye midnight bells ! 
 
 Ring out its deeds of blood and death, 
 Ring out the cannon's fiery breath. 
 Ring out its scenes of vice and woe, 
 And all our passions base and low ! 
 
 Ring out for aye its doubts and fears, 
 Its swollen tide of bitter tears, 
 The wrongs our hearts may not forget, 
 The faded hopes that haunt us yet. 
 
 Ring out wild bells ! your sweetest chime, 
 As from the mighty womb of Time, 
 Another fated year is born, 
 Rocked in the cradle of the morn. 
 
 Ring in with it the reign of peace. 
 The blissful boon of love's increase, 
 Till swells from every vale and hill 
 The heavenly anthem of "good will". 
 
 Ring in through Mercy's open door. 
 Blessings and comfort on the poor; 
 Until consumed in pity's flame 
 Squalor and famine want a name. 
 
 Ring in a stronger tie to bind 
 Together hearts of human kind. 
 Until our charity shall span 
 The common brotherhood of man. 
 
MY DREAM. 
 
 1881. 
 
 A pleasant dream of thee, dear friend ! 
 As in the darkness still and deep, 
 Descended on my weary brain, 
 The blessing of a restful sleep. 
 
 The throng had left the busy streets. 
 And silence in the village reigned, 
 Saving the watch-dog's distant bay, 
 Or moaning of the autumn wind. 
 
 Methought again my feet had prest 
 The rugged Youghiogheny hills. 
 Whose misty crowns and sunny slopes, 
 A pleasant page of memory fills. 
 
 But sweeter far than all of these. 
 Though clad in Nature's utmost grace. 
 Came glancing through my happy dream 
 The vision of thy genial face. 
 
 The pressure of a kindly hand. 
 The loving light of tender eyes, 
 The music of a gentle voice. 
 Stole o'er me in a sweet surprise. 
 
 And still vibrating through my heart. 
 The echo of that music swells ; 
 As floats upon the summer air. 
 The melody of sweet-toned bells. 
 
 And even yet I feel the glow 
 Of rapture o'er my spirit stealing, 
 And urging to a fuller flow, 
 The current of my better feeling. 
 
 100 
 
And hope takes up the glad refrain, 
 And brushes with her buoyant wing 
 The cords of Love, and wakes again. 
 The songs which she alone can sing. 
 
 And may these notes harmonious sweep 
 Over our separate lives, and fill 
 The measure of our fondest hopes, 
 Obedient to the Master's will. 
 
 PENSIVE MUSINGS. 
 
 1881. 
 
 I sit alone in the gloaming. 
 
 As the twilight curtain falls. 
 And the dusky shadows gather 
 
 Along the silent walls. 
 
 And my heart is sad and lonely, 
 
 As I listen to the moan 
 Of the winds that plead for entrance, 
 
 With an almost human tone. 
 
 And I think of thee, beloved friend! 
 
 By the home fire, far away. 
 Where my day-thoughts love to linger, 
 
 And my sleeping fancies play. 
 
 And I wonder, in my musing. 
 If thy thoughts, as wild and free 
 
 As my own, to night are straying 
 On these winged winds to me. 
 
 Oh, how sweet, that thought unshackled 
 And unbound by space, can glide 
 
 O'er the intervening distance, 
 Swiftly to each other's side! 
 
 101 
 
Thus I daily walk beside thee, 
 And my truant thoughts aspire 
 
 To a more exalted standard, 
 To a manhood better, higher ! 
 
 Pardon, then, my pensive rhyming, 
 The untutored minstrelsy 
 
 Of a heart forever beating 
 Truly, tenderly for thee ! 
 
 THE RETROSPECT. 
 
 1881. 
 
 'Tis well, sometimes, to pause and look 
 Back through the vista of the years. 
 
 And read, as from an open book. 
 The record of their smiles and tears ; 
 
 Their lessons, learned through hopes and fears. 
 
 Back to the years of long ago, 
 
 When days were long and skies were bright. 
 When changing seasons, passing slow. 
 
 Still brought an ever new delight 
 Of beauty to my wondering sight. 
 
 To years of manhood's early prime. 
 When Love, on her vibrating strings. 
 
 Attuned to life's unwritten rhyme. 
 
 Touched all my being's hidden springs. 
 
 Wooing my heart from baser things. 
 
 Till o'er the brow of toil and care. 
 
 The halo of her light was shed. 
 And e'en the sad and chilly air 
 
 Of night grew soft, as overhead 
 The mystic light of love was shed. 
 
 102 
 
But not unmixed with bitterness, 
 
 These pleasant years of life flew by ; 
 
 Each brought its burden of distress, 
 Its bitter tears to dim the eye, 
 
 And clouds to fill the summer sky. 
 
 For more than once the angel crost 
 The threshold of my dwelling o'er, 
 
 And taking those it loved the most. 
 Departed to the silent shore, 
 
 Whence travelers return no more. 
 
 But though my cup of life has been 
 At Marah's fountain often filled, 
 
 And dreams of joy which Hope had seen, 
 Faded before me unfulfilled. 
 
 As early flowers by frost are killed. 
 
 Yet, as I look with thoughtful eyes. 
 Backward along the past to night. 
 
 Events that bore the dark disguise 
 Of trials, dawn upon my sight, 
 
 As blessings in the present light. 
 
 And e'en the afflictions which o'erpast. 
 And bowed my stricken spirit low, 
 
 I see and humbly own at last. 
 Among my mercies, ordered so 
 
 By Him whence all our blessings flow. 
 
 For in the Elysian world above. 
 
 Our dear ones live, whom we call dead : 
 In brighter light and purer love. 
 
 With Heaven's eternal freshness shed 
 Abroad, its glory overhead. 
 
 103 
 
And we who longer toil and wait, 
 Still in our heart of hearts must own 
 
 The influence from beyond the gate 
 Of pearl, that binds us to our own ; 
 
 The mortal to the spirit flown. 
 
 Teach me more clearly, Lord, to see 
 Through every varying circumstance 
 
 Thy sovereign will, and trust to Thee, 
 The changing "Circle of events", 
 
 And mysteries of Thy providence. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC— Maria Smith. 
 1881. 
 
 May a pure and noble heart be thine. 
 And every act reveal it; 
 Remember that in the darkest day. 
 In heaven the sun still shines alway. 
 And only the clouds conceal it. 
 
 Strive then, with a conscience clear and strong, 
 My child! in the life before thee. 
 In confidence, though shadows lower, 
 That in its over-ruling power 
 Heaven still is bending o'er thee. 
 
 104 
 
THE ROBIN'S "SNOWBOUND' 
 
 1881. 
 
 Ah, gentLe bird ! with the glowing breast, 
 Away ! to some safe retreat, away ! 
 For earth is piled with drifting snow. 
 And the Storm King rides abroad today! 
 
 And his hoary mantle all day long 
 Through the shuddering air has drifted down, 
 And a cheerless perch is thine, poor bird ! 
 With naked feet in the Storm King's gown. 
 
 Thou hast come too soon from the sunny south, 
 With its verdant slopes and budding flowers. 
 For the fields are white and the air is chill, 
 In this dreary, northern land of ours. 
 
 Better have stayed in the orange groves, 
 Till the woodlands wake to the south-wind's 
 Better — delaying domestic cares, 
 Eetire from the storms of a day like this, 
 
 And wait in patience for brighter hours, 
 Which the coming season soon must bring, 
 Then we will listen to catc^ thy song. 
 And watch for the flash of thy shining wing. 
 
 105 
 
CONSECRATION. 
 
 The sweet, sad story of the cross, 
 Tonight is fresh before me, 
 Undimmed by all the passing years, 
 And shimmering through the mist of tears, 
 Its influence hovers o'er me. 
 
 The glory of unselfishness, 
 
 That crowned Christ's life of beauty, 
 Gleams down the ages, and today 
 Illumines with its gentle ray 
 
 Our lines of daily duty. 
 
 His perfect manhood stands alone ! 
 
 Peerless in humble splendor! 
 August and dignified, yet mild, 
 Touching the world, yet undefiled. 
 
 Warm, sympathetic, tender ! 
 
 Lord of the Universe, He stood 
 In meek and lowly station ! 
 
 A homeless wanderer in the street ! 
 
 For us He trod with bleeding feet, 
 The desert of Temptation! 
 
 Our sins upon His sinless soul. 
 
 Too deep for line or plummet. 
 He dared the nameless agony. 
 The blood drops of Gethsemane, 
 
 The cross on Calvary 's summit ! 
 
 For us He trod the halls of Death, 
 The Divine for the human ! 
 And taking, with His hand of Grace, 
 The veil from the Shekinah's face. 
 Gave us our soul-communion! 
 
 106 
 
That priceless gift, by which we come 
 In touch with God, where, feeling 
 
 Our need of His Omnipotence, 
 
 We take His proffered hand, from whence 
 Comes the free touch of healing. 
 
 So Holy Father! touch our hearts. 
 That gratitude upwelling, 
 May bring us to the Savior's feet, 
 With humble, chastened hearts made meet 
 For Thy Divine indwelling! 
 
 Hold Tliou our hands, and CONSECRATE 
 Our talents and our ALL to Thee ' 
 
 In duty 's path, unto Thy will 
 
 Obedient, make and keep us still 
 
 Thy children, through the years to be ! 
 
 'UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY WINGS.' 
 
 1882. 
 
 "Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. 
 Psalm XVIL, 8. 
 
 Under the shadow of thy wings. 
 Teach me. Oh Lord ! to hide ; 
 Sheltered from each besetting sin. 
 Or sinful thought, that stealing in, 
 Allures me from Thy side. 
 
 Under the shadow of thy wings 
 
 Hide from the noontide ray! 
 Lest underneath the lead of care 
 And toil that duty bids me bear, 
 I faint beside the way. 
 
 107 
 
Under the shadow of thy wings, 
 
 "When darkness shrouds the hills, 
 And slumber with Lethean hand 
 Holds me within her "Border Land,' 
 Hide me from all its ills. 
 
 There hide me while the heavy clouds 
 
 And dark'ning mists of sorrow, 
 Almost shut out the cheering rays 
 Of hope, which, through the gloomy days, 
 Tell of a brighter morrow. 
 
 There, too, the only safe retreat 
 When the darkness is dividing ; 
 Oh ! keep me when the sunlight falls 
 Into the heart's mysterious halls. 
 Under thy wings abiding! 
 
 Into this covert let me flee. 
 
 While the tide of life is swelling, — 
 A refuge safe, from the strife and din 
 Of the busy world, where vice and sin 
 
 May not invade my dwelling. 
 
 Under the shadow of thy wings. 
 
 When the hour supreme shall come ! 
 Oh ! keep my soul, as the boatman pale. 
 With his silent oars and snowy sail, 
 Shall carry me safely home. 
 
THE MANIAC PRISONER. 
 
 This circumstance was related in a periodical. 
 
 1882. 
 
 The maniac on his prison bed, 
 Raved incoherently and wild, 
 
 And tossed with pain his weary head, 
 As oft by turns he wept or smiled. 
 
 The wrinkled brow, the faded eye. 
 
 The lines by pain and suffering wrought. 
 
 The shaggy beard and whitened locks. 
 The snows of four-score years had caught. 
 
 The narrow bounds of prison walls, 
 
 With piteous sights and sounds combined, 
 
 For more than half a century fed 
 The fancies of his darkened mind. 
 
 Crazed by the wine-cup's mad'ning draught, 
 His hand a brother's blood had shed, 
 
 And through the anguish of remorse, 
 For aye the light of reason fled. 
 
 So through the long, slow-lapsing years. 
 The hopeless maniac's restless feet. 
 
 With aimless steps passed to and fro. 
 Along his prison's narrow beat. 
 
 109 
 
But now reclining on his couch, 
 His life-tide ebbing fast away, 
 
 Haggard, and pale, and desolate, 
 The aged prisoner dying lay. 
 
 But as the chilling dews of death 
 
 Fell on his senses silently, 
 The light of reason came again 
 
 A moment, o'er his brow and eye; 
 
 As sounding through the vacant halls 
 And darkened portals of the brain, 
 
 Like a sweet note of music, falls 
 An echo from his youth again, 
 
 And from his lips the voluble. 
 
 And often senseless, muttering died. 
 
 And with a childish, quavering voice, 
 ' ' Sweet mother take my hand ! " he cried. 
 
 And at the outer gate of life. 
 An angel turned the silent key, 
 
 And from the threshold of his cell, 
 Death set the maniac prisoner free! 
 
 110 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 1883. 
 
 I love the quiet hour that flings 
 The twilight from its sable wings, 
 And stills the wild bird's earolings. 
 
 The hour that opens wide the gates 
 
 Ot night, behind whose bars and grates 
 
 Ihe dim, imprisoned darkness waits. 
 
 The hour when dusky shadows creep 
 Around me growing dense and deep 
 lill over all the black waves sweep! 
 
 I love the hour when on my eye 
 Gleam out in the o'er-arehing sky 
 The lamps that God has hung on high. 
 
 The hour that brings the glad release 
 From day-time care; the world's surcease 
 Ot labor, and its hour of peace. 
 
 A breathing spell in the wild chase 
 
 U± pleasure, the exciting race 
 
 For gold and honor, power and place, 
 
 A time to brush the dust away 
 
 From hands and feet that all the dav 
 
 Were toiling in the world's highway * 
 
 A time to rest the weat-y brain, 
 That worn with toil, and full oi 
 Comes to the quiet night again. 
 
 Ill 
 
The welcome night ! how sweet and blest 
 To nature weary and distressed, 
 Comes her great panacea, rest ! 
 
 Deep be the slumber that she brings, 
 Bright be the dreams that from her wings 
 Fall on us, sweet the song she sings ; 
 
 And every grace the couch adorn. 
 In those dim chambers of the morn, 
 Where strength from weariness is born. 
 
 PROSPECT MOUNT. 
 
 1883. 
 
 And this is Prospect Mount ! the day 
 Slow breaking through the shadows, 
 
 Shone 'round us, while beneath us lay 
 The fog-enshrouded meadows! 
 
 And standing on its verdant crown. 
 Bathed in the sun's new splendor, 
 
 I feel the mantle o'er me thrown. 
 Of feelings warm and tender. 
 
 For though prophetic winds which mourn 
 
 The season's sure advances. 
 The maple's gorgeous locks had shorn 
 
 From off their naked branches, 
 
 Yet like a carpet in the grove 
 
 The russet leaves were lying. 
 While sweetly through the boughs above, 
 
 The south-west winds were sighing. 
 
 112 
 
The fields in their green livery drest, 
 Through dewy tears were smiling, 
 
 And with the diamonds on their breast, 
 The sun's slant rays beguiling. 
 
 The hills, whose silent hymns of praise, 
 
 Now greet the early comer. 
 Roll grandly off into the haze 
 
 And glow of Indian Summer. 
 
 The Beaver's course, we trace along, 
 Tlirough ever pleasant changes, 
 
 By ghostly mist that hangs among 
 The hilltops' western ranges. 
 
 AVhile from the eastward, clear and strong, 
 
 With slow majestic motion, 
 The broad Ohio sweeps along 
 
 Its pathway to the ocean. 
 
 And nearer, where the fertile lands, 
 To sunward slopes are swelling, 
 
 Begirt with fields and orchard stands 
 The Farmer's vine-clad dwelling. 
 
 Oh, happy spot among the hills! 
 
 Oh, dear ones, therein dwelling ! 
 Long may the quiet peace that fills 
 
 Your home be upward welling. 
 
 Long may your table by the hand 
 
 Of generous bounty drest. 
 Grant blessings to the household band, 
 
 And to the coming guest. 
 
 And may your hearts, like this bright hill, 
 
 In life's warm sunshine glow. 
 Above the mists of tears which fill, 
 
 And vex the vales below. 
 
 113 
 
THE MEETING. 
 
 1885. 
 
 Just inside Life's busy threshold, 
 Smiling babe and grandsire meet, 
 
 One with the path of life before him, 
 Strewn with thorns for the baby feet; 
 
 One with the journey almost ended, 
 And the toil almost complete. 
 
 One with hands that are soft" and dimpled. 
 Reaching out to the future years; 
 
 One with hands that are faint and weary. 
 Bearing the burden of toil and tears ; 
 
 Hands that have patiently struggled 
 In the battle four-score years. 
 
 One with the sweet and mimic playing 
 
 Of the little unshod feet ; 
 One tottering near the untried way. 
 
 Where the seen and unseen meet ; 
 Where the feet of angels just beyond 
 
 Are pressing the golden street. 
 
 One with eyes that are bright and kindling. 
 And brow that is smooth and fair ; 
 
 One with dim and failing vision. 
 Careworn brow and snowy hair, 
 
 Touched with a halo of the glory. 
 
 That awaits him over there. 
 
 Help us, heaven, to guard and cherish 
 Smiling babe and grandsire old. 
 
 One to the summertime of manhood. 
 One to the winter snows and cold ; 
 
 Praying that in the great hereafter, 
 Both may meet in the heavenly fold. 
 
 114 
 
THE OI-I) MKETING HOUSE 
 
 The Hidge, near nnrnesville. Ohi« 
 
 And fancy to my eye can show. 
 As mirrored by some magic power. 
 
 The group that forty years ago 
 Spent here with me the meeting hour. 
 
 (See Poem). 
 
THE OLD MEETING HOUSE. 
 
 1885. 
 
 I sit within the quiet walls 
 
 Of the old meeting house again, 
 
 On whose bare floor the sunlight falls 
 
 Through open door and window pane. 
 
 1 mark the quiet of the place, 
 Still, save the cricket in the wall, 
 The wind 's low murmur, with a trace 
 Of sadness, and the wild bird's call. 
 
 And memory busy with the things 
 And happenings of other years. 
 Over my heart a shadow brings. 
 And to my eyes the ready tears. 
 
 And fancy to my eyes doth show. 
 As mirrored by some magic power, 
 The group that forty years ago, 
 Spent here, with me, the meeting hour, 
 
 And from these empty benches seem 
 To peer, old faces, row on row. 
 As, sometimes, in a passing dream, 
 We meet the friends of long ago. 
 
 Faces and forms that swept apart, 
 Upon the tossing sea of life, — 
 Now toiling in the world's great mart. 
 Or resting from its weary strife. 
 
 Some in their gravq^s across the way, 
 For many a year have sweetly slept. 
 Some dead, some living far away. 
 Have hoped and feared and toiled and wept. 
 
 115 
 
But sitting musing, now they seem 
 Just as of old, in childhood's day, 
 When life before me like a dream 
 Of some enchanted cloudland lay. 
 
 I live again among the friends. 
 With whom my infant lot was cast. 
 And in my spirit strangely blends 
 The present with the changeful past. 
 
 Oh precious friends of early days ! 
 Oh spot to memory ever dear ! 
 Long may I love the simple ways 
 And sober truths you taught me here ! 
 
 THE "STAR OF THE CHEYENNES.' 
 
 1885. 
 
 God speed thee ! Star of the bold Cheyennes ! 
 
 For I see in thy youthful face. 
 In thy lofty thought and earnest words, 
 
 A hope for thy dusky race. 
 
 A hope that soon and forevermore 
 
 Our frontier wars shall cease, 
 And up from civilized Indian homes 
 
 Shall arise the smoke of peace ! 
 
 That the fertile soil of the Occident, 
 To the red man's toil shall yield 
 
 Its fabulous wealth of golden grain 
 On many a harvest field. 
 
 That the lowing kine on a thousand hills. 
 Shall answer the red man's call. 
 
 That fruit may cling to his orchard boughs, 
 And vines to his cottage wall. 
 
 116 
 
That over his wide, wild hunting ground, 
 Churches and schools may rise. 
 
 Till a thousand spires where now are none 
 May fret our western skies. 
 
 Till the might and majesty of the law 
 Shall always stand for the right. 
 
 And shield alike with powerful arm, 
 The red man and the white. 
 
 THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 
 
 1885. 
 
 The ministry of suffering ! Can it be 
 That in the course of God's economy, 
 The agencies of sickness and of pain. 
 That touch the heart, and terrify the brain, 
 Are messengers of mercy that fulfill 
 The unerring purpose of His holy will? 
 
 Ah ! when their hand is laid on cheek and brow, 
 
 Till beauty fades, and strength and courage bow, 
 
 Until the light and bloom of health are flown, 
 
 And Reason trembles on her fragile throne, 
 
 Until the vital tide is ebbing low. 
 
 And Life's exhausted pulse is beating slow, 
 
 Wlien Being shudders on the fatal brink 
 
 Of Dissolution, whence we ever shrink, 
 
 Through the deep mist of tears we scarce can see 
 
 The pointing finger of Divinity ! 
 
 Or from the couch of suffering recognize 
 
 Celestial blessings in such dark disguise! 
 
 117 
 
Yet oftentimes 'tis this alone can prove 
 
 The perfect fullness of Eternal love ! — 
 
 Our hearts engrossed with all the sordid strife 
 
 For gain, the glittering pageantry of life, 
 
 Amhition in the lists of fame to shine. 
 
 Or love that worships at an earthly shrine, 
 
 Fail sometimes in our busy life to see 
 
 Our obligations to the Deity ! 
 
 Fail to remember, that His hand on high 
 
 Which leads the starry host along the sky. 
 
 Which guides the planet on its devious way, 
 
 And with the sun unlocks the gate of day. 
 
 Which holds the stormy winds and waves asleep, 
 
 Or sets them free at will upon the deep. 
 
 Bestows His blessings with parental care 
 
 Upon our heads, and numbers every hair, 
 
 Noteth the raven's cry, the sparrow's fall, 
 
 Painteth the lilies by the garden wall, 
 
 And writes on earth below and sky above, 
 
 In lines of beauty, God's eternal love. 
 
 But when the adverse winds of life shall blow. 
 Until our hearts seem over-charged with woe, 
 Or when the fever burns along our veins, 
 And nature sinks exhausted with her pains, 
 Then, as on drooping wing the weary dove 
 Flies to her cote, the domicile of love! 
 So we, when hope, and even courage flies, 
 When trust in human help and wisdom dies. 
 Throwing ourselves upon the Shepherd's care, 
 Whose arms the weakest of the lambs will bear. 
 We find in trusting to Almighty Power, 
 His strength made perfect in our weakest hour ! 
 And from the couch of suffering, sanctified 
 By the sweet presence of the Crucified, 
 We look upon the world of life, and own 
 Eternal love in all our journey shown ! 
 
 118 
 
And thus, as humbled underneath His rod, 
 We look abroad upon the works of God, 
 The sun with an unwonted splendor shines. 
 And richer clusters crowd the purpling vines. 
 In brighter hues the evening sky is drest, 
 As sinks the sun adown the glowing west, 
 All nature wears a garb of beauty rare. 
 And quiet joy pervades the very air. 
 To him who sees in all, the deep impress 
 Of Deity with reverent thankfulness. 
 
 His clearer vision sees in all the strife. 
 The conflicts and the trials of our life. 
 The guiding hand that beckons to his rest, 
 And owns in simple faith, "God knoweth best". 
 And ever trusting His Almighty power. 
 For comfort in the dark and trying hour. 
 The mede of steadfast, Christian faith is won. 
 And his heart breathes the prayer, "Thy will be 
 done". 
 
 Thus may our lives by suffering be blest. 
 
 The path of sorrow may, for us, be best, 
 
 The omniscient eye of God alone can see 
 
 Through the dark curtain of futurity ; 
 
 Alone can tell what springs of joy may flow 
 
 From the deep darkness of our present woe, — 
 
 And in the glory of the endless day. 
 
 When all the tears of earth are wiped away, 
 
 Mayhap the whitest robes in all that throng. 
 
 The sweetest voices in the heavenly song, 
 
 The brightest diadems the angels wear, 
 
 Are given to those, who from the toil and care. 
 
 The tribulation, the unequal strife 
 
 With sickness, and the varied ills of life, 
 
 Come through the painful ordeals purified. 
 
 As gold in the world's cruoial furnace tried, 
 
 Polished and radiant with iDiviner light, 
 
 Bearing the Master's image clear and bright. 
 
 119 
 
OUR REFUGE. 
 
 1885. 
 
 There are seasons when our sorrows 
 Come to be too great a load, 
 
 When our bleeding feet grow weary, 
 In life's steep and rugged road. 
 
 There are seasons when our heart-aches, 
 
 And our pains are manifold, 
 When our cup at Marah's fountain, 
 
 Fills with bitterness untold. 
 
 Seasons when the angry beating 
 Of life's storms is so intense, 
 
 That we blindly struggle onward. 
 Seeking shelter and defense. 
 
 There are seasons when affliction 
 
 Smites us with an iron rod. 
 Driving us for very shelter 
 
 To the refuge of our God. 
 
 Happy thought. Oh, Christian! bending 
 Underneath thy load of care. 
 
 That the Master condescending, 
 Still will help thy load to bear. 
 
 Still will temper down thy anguish, 
 Guard the flood-gates of thy woe ; 
 
 Whisper to the waves of sorrow, 
 That they may not overflow. 
 
 Let us then still closer pressing. 
 At His feet cast all our care; 
 
 Asking, as our special blessing, 
 That He help our load to bear. 
 
 Asking that His grace, sufficient 
 
 Unto every need be given. 
 Till life's ills are all forgotten 
 
 In the crowning joy of Heaven. 
 
 120 
 
THE DEAD MILLIONAIRE. 
 
 He stood above his fellows, bold 
 In power and wealth and influence, 
 He Avas, forsooth, a money prince, 
 
 Was fawned on, honored, and cajoled. 
 
 His hands by magic seeming, passed 
 Whatever things he touched to gold, 
 Until his wealth, by millions told. 
 
 Grew into aggregations A'^ast ! 
 
 Broad lands where sun-kissed valleys dip. 
 Great railways stretching south and north, 
 And thundering engines echoed forth 
 
 Confession of his ownership. 
 
 Rare were his opportunities, 
 
 The skill to plan, the wealth to do. 
 The iron will that could pursue 
 
 To ultimate success, were his. 
 
 No wish he could not gratify — 
 Known to commercial toil and strife. 
 In all the busy whirl of life — 
 
 That power could win or gold could buy. 
 
 But there are bounds of Providence, 
 O'er which we dare not, cannot go, 
 Where all alike must meet and bow. 
 
 And own our human impotence ! 
 
 80, in the zenith of his pride. 
 
 With strong hands holding fast his store 
 And reaching eagerly for more, 
 
 God touched him, and the rich man died ! 
 
 121 
 
Died as the beggar dies, no more 
 His untold millions could avail 
 To stay the passage of the sail, 
 
 That bore him to the unseen shore ! 
 
 Death makes men equal ! low and high ! 
 Naked and poor we quit the bound 
 Of life, but, in the darkness 'round, 
 
 Faith gives what riches cannot buy ! 
 
 And he, who rich in faith, can bring 
 Unto an hour supreme, as this. 
 The assurance of eternal bliss. 
 
 Is richer far than any king ! 
 
 For when life's golden chain is riven, 
 Not all earth's riches may suffice 
 To bear one soul to paradise. 
 
 Or ope one pearl-set gate of Heaven, 
 
 122 
 
HOME MEMORIES. 
 
 1885. 
 
 Lines addressed to the author's brother. 
 
 I am sitting, brother, thinking 
 
 Of the years of long ago, 
 When life's morning winds were blowing. 
 
 And the tide was at its flow. 
 Ere our barks had drifted seaward. 
 
 Or had kissed the billow's foam. 
 Ere were weighed the heavy anchors 
 
 Binding to our childhood's home. 
 
 Thinking of the long, bright summers, 
 
 Golden grain and fruiting trees. 
 Crowning all the hills with splendor. 
 
 Such as childhood only sees. 
 Childhood ! Which, with eyes wide open 
 
 For its treasures, soon could tell 
 Where the wild grape hung its clusters, 
 
 Where the nuts of autumn fell. 
 
 Thinking of the grand old maples, 
 
 In the grove beyond the lane. 
 Where, when spring struck off the shackles 
 
 Of the winter's icy reign. 
 Rich and sweet to meet the sunshine 
 
 Gleaming through the naked wood, 
 Leaped in all their veins, the currents 
 
 Of the sugar-laden blood. 
 
 Thinking of the laughing brooklet, 
 
 Wliere we watched -the minnows play, 
 
 Of the barn beside the orchard. 
 Fragrant with the new-mown hay ; 
 
 123 
 
Where the harvest season gathered 
 In, its wealth of golden sheaves, 
 
 Where the swallow nests were builded 
 Underneath the shelt'ring eaves. 
 
 Of the spring that from the hillside. 
 
 In its sparkling coolness burst, 
 Where at summer's sultry noontide 
 
 We were wont to slake our thirst — 
 Ah ! those waters may not mirror 
 
 Back the forms they gave us then, 
 For those boys, as if by magic. 
 
 Are transformed to bearded men. 
 
 And as thus my memory catches 
 
 Glimpses of our boyhood's prime. 
 Backward through the years departed 
 
 Seems to roll the tide of time. 
 Childhood's silver notes are floating 
 
 To my ears on every breeze, 
 Comes before my eyes a vision 
 
 Of the old home 'mid the trees. 
 
 Forms and faces of the loved ones 
 
 Of the household come again. 
 Thronging through the halls of memory 
 
 Opened in my restless brain. 
 Round the old familiar fireside, 
 
 Every form again appears. 
 As in childhood's days, regardless 
 
 Of the flight of thirty years. 
 
 Ah, what changes! I remember, 
 
 As the phantoms of the past. 
 Slowly steal into the shadows 
 
 Of the distance, dim and vast. 
 That across the swelling river. 
 
 Death has borne with muffled oar. 
 Loving ones into the harbor 
 
 Of the distant, unseen shore. 
 
 124 
 
Some within the quiet graveyard, 
 
 Near the old home, calmly rest, 
 Some beneath the turf are sleeping 
 
 Sweetly in the distant west; 
 Some are living where the shadows 
 
 Round our home of childhood play. 
 Others out on life's broad ocean 
 
 Drifting, drifting far away. 
 
 Ah ! how time 's resistless changes 
 
 Break our loving household bands! 
 How the winged years divide us 
 
 With their unrelenting hands! 
 Yet, amid the rush and bustle 
 
 Of the world. Oh ! let us turn 
 Sometimes to the dear old hearthstone 
 
 Where our childhood altars burn ! 
 
 And a fervent prayer I utter, 
 
 That although we drift apart 
 In the journey; when the traffic 
 
 Of the great world's busy mart, 
 Shall have faded from our vision. 
 
 As we near the hour of rest. 
 We may meet beyond the river. 
 
 In the harbors of the blest ! 
 
 125 
 
THE SNOW STORM. 
 
 1886. 
 
 Far south of east, the sun arose 
 
 From beds of cloud that winter morn, 
 
 But cold and clieerless was the orb, 
 
 From which the golden locks were shorn 
 
 By the dull haze, which overhead 
 
 Its all-pervading curtain spread. 
 
 The vane upon the steeple stood 
 Eastward, and trembling in the flood 
 Of winds, that on the village poured. 
 And through the naked maples roared. 
 Hung in mid-air its silent form 
 In prophecy of coming storm. 
 And as the chilly day wore on. 
 More dimly slione the waning sun. 
 Till long before the hour of night. 
 Its pallid face was hidden quite 
 Amid dense folds of leaden cloud, 
 
 Revealing neither rift nor rent, 
 And twilight shadows came, ere yet 
 
 The sun had touched the Occident. 
 
 So came the night, and from her wings 
 
 Of darkness, quivering, fluttering down. 
 The snowflakes on the strong east wind 
 
 Came eddying, whirling through the town. 
 Into each alley, lane and street. 
 The blinding storm, incessant, beat ; 
 Alike on hut and mansion fell 
 
 The spotless mantle of the snow. 
 And many a mimic hill and dell 
 
 Grew in the drifting current's flow. 
 Against the great glass fronts it came, 
 And piled high up the window frame. 
 
 126 
 
Down the long pavements row on row, 
 The street lights glimmered through the snow, 
 And quickly passed the hurrying feet 
 Along the half deserted street. 
 
 Vithin the well llumined stores, 
 Protected from the storm out-doors, 
 A few late customers delayed. 
 Around the fire to chat and trade. 
 
 But one by one the lights went out, 
 
 And one by one the busy men 
 Of toil and trade, their faces turned 
 
 To the sweet lights of home again. 
 The hand upon the yielding latch. 
 
 The footstep in the lighted hall, 
 The music of a gentle voice. 
 
 And kindly answer to the call, 
 The slippers and the easy chair. 
 By the warm fireside placed with care, 
 Dispel the thoughts of storm and snow, 
 Before the home fire's ruddy glow. 
 
 The good-wife at her sewing sat. 
 
 The children conned their lessons o'er 
 
 Beside the lamp; the baby played 
 Among his treasures on the floor, 
 
 Or climbed upon the father's knee, 
 With artless prattle telling o'er 
 
 The unknown tale with childish glee. 
 
 And thus the social ev'ning sped, 
 With pleasant stories, told or read ; 
 Forgotten was the storm that kept 
 Its carnival without, that crept 
 Through every tempting^ crack, and swept 
 Fiercely against the shuttered pane 
 That rattled to the blast again. 
 
 127 
 
But bedtime came ; the chapter read, 
 Had charmed the baby's fiaxen head 
 To sleep upon the mother's breast, 
 Where childhood fondly loves to rest; 
 And soon the blessed boon of sleep 
 Came to the household, as the sweep 
 Of angel pinions, letting fall 
 God's benediction upon all. 
 
 Thrice blest is he, who, from the strife 
 And toil and weariness of life. 
 When evening's welcome shadows come, 
 Finds rest and happiness at home. 
 
 Oh ! home, most blessed spot of earth ! 
 
 Where constant love and kindness reign 
 
 Within the family domain, 
 W^here the staunch virtues have their birth, 
 Which make our manhood truly great. 
 The hope and honor of the state ! 
 AVhat potent force is thine that turns 
 The heart, where e'er we roam, to thee? 
 Thy fireside altar ever burns. 
 
 The pole-star on our stormy sea. 
 Thy sacred influence still must be 
 
 The corner-stone whereon are built 
 The bulwarks of our liberty! — 
 
 All night the chilly east wind swept 
 About the village as it slept ! 
 Along the white, deserted street. 
 The police on his lonely beat. 
 Paused on his weary round to hear 
 The spectre storm-king's footfall near: 
 Sounded all night his piteous moan, 
 In sad and dreary monotone. 
 As on the silent, sleeping town 
 His ghostly mantle floated down. 
 
 128 
 
But never night so dark or wild, 
 On which the morning never smiled ; 
 The deepest shadows may not stay, 
 The darkest clouds will roll away ; 
 And, born of this tempestuous night, 
 
 Came, stealing slowly, cold and gray, 
 
 The dawning of another day; 
 Revealing in the morning light, 
 A world as new and pure as seems 
 The sweetest fancy of our dreams, 
 
 Unrivalled in its spotless dress. 
 
 Ethereal in its loveliness ! 
 
 On street and sidewalk lay the snow 
 Knee-deep, and soon a goodly row 
 Of men, with shovel and with broom, 
 Betrayed the sudden business boom, 
 That with the snow storm came to town ; 
 Until, white-walled, the pavement lay 
 On either side, a narrow way, 
 With footsteps passing up and down. 
 
 The sleigh-bell's merry chime rings out 
 Upon the air, the teamster's shout 
 Comes shrilly on the ears, the rout 
 And romp of childhood, wild with play, 
 The engine on its iron way, — 
 
 Waking the echoes that had slept, — 
 To welcome in the busy day. 
 Came shrieking, toiling through the snow, 
 And from its path, on either side 
 The white waves of the crystal tide 
 From the great cleaving snow-plow flow. 
 
 And soon the news-boy on his round 
 Shouts ' ' morning papers ! ' ' and our eyes 
 Glance o'er events and happenings. 
 Of the great world that round us lies ; 
 
 129 
 
And as I read, I think how strange 
 And passing wonderful the change 
 The years have wrought ! Upon the wing 
 Of the tamed lightning, now we bring 
 The news from every clime and zone, 
 Full and co-equal with our own; 
 Comes pulsing from each busy mart 
 
 Of earth, beneath the storm and dash 
 
 Of ocean, the electric flash. 
 The beating of the world 's great heart ! 
 
 And in the city's constant stir, 
 
 Amid the wild incessant whir 
 
 Of wheels, the hissing rush of steam. 
 
 The electric candle's dazzling gleam, 
 
 And with the almost painful stress, 
 
 And clang and clatter of the press. 
 
 That triumph of a rapid age 
 
 Flings from its forms the printed page, 
 
 Which out upon the unconscious night, 
 
 Like birds of passage take their flight. 
 
 Oh ! world of anxious push and strain ! 
 
 Of grasping hand and restless brain! 
 
 Of avarice and engrossing care ! 
 
 I sometimes pause and wonder where 
 
 The constantly increasing rate 
 
 At which we live will terminate ! 
 
 But terminate it will and must! 
 
 The active hand, the planning brain, 
 Outwearied by life's constant strain, 
 Outworn by all its toil and pain, 
 
 Full soon will crumble into dust ; 
 
 Full soon will sleep to wake no more. 
 
 And all life's fitful storm be o'er. 
 
 130 
 
THE NEGLECTED FLOWER. 
 
 1886. 
 
 Alone by the dusty roadside, 
 
 A floweret meekly grew, 
 In the heat of the sultry noontide. 
 
 In the night's refreshing dew, 
 
 Till the folded leaves expanded 
 To a rose of perfect bloom, 
 
 And the winds of evening dallied 
 With its delicate perfume. 
 
 Day by day the tide of travel, 
 In the busy bustling town, 
 
 Heedless of the op'ning blossom. 
 Still went surging up and down. 
 
 And the robes of pride and fashion, 
 Swept above the lovely flower. 
 
 And the feet of careless passers 
 Threatened it in every hour. 
 
 When dust of the highway gathered 
 
 On it, again and again, 
 'Twas washed by the gentle falling 
 
 Of the pearly drops of rain. 
 
 And there, by the wayside bending, 
 In the evening's twilight hour, 
 
 With tears on her clieeks of crimson, 
 Blushed the neglected flower! 
 
 131 
 
And my heart was touched with pity, 
 That a rose so sweet and fair, 
 
 Unnoticed and neglected thus, 
 Should waste its sweetness there. 
 
 And I thought, how many blossoms 
 Of human-kind have grown. 
 
 Thus by life's dusty roadside, 
 Neglected, sad, and lone ! 
 
 Whose cheerful and modest beauty, 
 Though hidden by weeds of fate. 
 
 Surpassed, perhaps, pretentious ones, 
 That the haughty world calls great. 
 
 So, tenderly, I gathered it 
 And washed the dust away. 
 
 And carried it to the chamber. 
 Where a sad, sweet, sick girl lay. 
 
 And there in the morning sunlight. 
 That beautiful bit of bloom, 
 
 Had filled a heart with tenderness, 
 A chamber with perfume. 
 
 132 
 
SILENT WORSHIP. 
 
 1886. 
 
 I sat among the worshippers, 
 
 The silence was unbroken, 
 For not a word of prayer or praise, 
 
 By mortal tongue was spoken ; 
 The silence, sweet and solemn, fell 
 
 Upon the gathered throng, 
 But the gospel's living current 
 
 Flowed preciously along, 
 
 From vessel unto vessel, 
 
 From prostrate soul to soul; 
 The bowed in spirit felt the power. 
 
 Of living virtue roll. 
 And waiting in the Master's name. 
 
 To know His sovereign will, 
 There fell upon the spirit's ear. 
 
 The whisper, "Peace, be still." 
 
 Ah ! the great Minister was there, 
 
 Dispensing heavenly good. 
 Unto the luke-warm ones, reproof, 
 
 Unto the hungry, food; 
 And some who came in poverty. 
 
 Faithless and destitute. 
 In this sweet silence, felt their faith 
 
 And confidence recruit. 
 
 Oh, 'tis a precious privilege ! 
 
 With worldly thoughts laid low. 
 Silent before the throne of Grace, 
 
 In penitence to bow : 
 Oh, 'tis a precious privilege ! 
 
 To feel, as true, his word 
 That they shall have their strength renewed, 
 
 Who wait upon the Lord ! 
 
 133 
 
Oh, gracious God ! a rebel, I 
 
 Against Thy power have striven, 
 And yet presume to come to Thee, 
 
 Craving to be forgiven ; 
 Then let me humbly bow with those 
 
 Who on Thy mercy call ! 
 And while they feast, grant me the crumbs 
 
 That from Thy table fall. 
 
 EQUALITY. 
 
 1887. 
 
 I sat upon the river's brink, 
 
 And watched the eddying waters flow. 
 And saw its bubbles rise and sink. 
 
 And tiny wavelets come and go ; 
 
 And listened to the gentle sound 
 Of plashing waters on the shore, 
 
 The treble of their quick rebound, 
 The waterfall, in distant roar. 
 
 And felt my heart grow strangely warm, 
 And throb with sweet poetic feeling; 
 
 Till o'er me crept a quiet charm. 
 
 Like summer breezes 'round me stealing. 
 
 And on this trunk, with moss o'ergrown. 
 Half buried in the dancing stream, 
 
 Lulled by the quiet undertone 
 
 Of laughing waves I sit and dream. 
 
 My heart with grateful homage filled, 
 To Him, whose universal love, 
 
 His wide domain with beauty filled ; 
 The earth beneath, the sky above. 
 
 134 
 
For even winter's leafless bower, 
 The beauty of the fields and hills, 
 
 The glory of the evening hour, 
 The heart with admiration fills. 
 
 Even the humblest life may know 
 Its quiet pathway still secure, 
 
 And the world's purest joys may flow 
 For them, the lowly and obscure. 
 
 The beauty of the budding spring. 
 The sweetness of the summer's bloom, 
 
 The gorgeous hues the autumns bring : 
 And winter's shroud upon the tomb. 
 
 The flowers which deck the woods and fields, 
 The song-bird's carol in the grove, 
 
 With every charm that Nature yields 
 To those who own her rule of love : 
 
 All these alike to high and low ! 
 
 The rich and poor may equal share 
 These gifts the hands of God bestow 
 
 In bounty, free as light and air ! 
 
 I thank Thee Lord ! that thus we find 
 Thy blessings reach the poor and lowly, 
 
 And weak or lame, or halt or blind, 
 Invoke Thy Fatherhood, most holy. 
 
 And when we cross the swelling tide. 
 Called by the great death-angel o'er. 
 
 If through the power of Him who died 
 For us, we reach the "Shining Shore", 
 
 'Twill not be asked, if less or more 
 Of wealth the partecj soul possessed ; 
 
 But those, the rich in faith and love 
 Of God, shall enter into rest. 
 
 135 
 
NEARING THE SHORE. 
 
 1887. 
 
 Sarah Edgerton, a sister of the writer, after a protracted 
 illness, died Second Month 16th, 1887, in the twenty-seventh 
 year of her age. One of her last expressions, before the 
 delirium which preceded death clouded her outwearied brain, 
 was, "I think my frail barque is nearing the Other Shore." 
 
 Frail barque upon life 's troubled seas ! 
 
 Tossing amid the billow's foam, 
 Thy sails are filling with the breeze 
 
 That bears the storm-tost vessel home ! 
 
 Thy prow is toward the distant shore, 
 
 Thy Pilot at the yielding helm, 
 The tempest shall not harm thee more, 
 
 Nor the dark breakers overwhelm. 
 
 Safely outriding every gale 
 
 Of doubt and fear, that sink and swell, 
 
 We watch on thy receding sail 
 Each fluttering signal of farewell, 
 
 Till the eternal clouds, that hide 
 The unseen from our finite view, 
 
 A moment seems to roll aside 
 
 To let thy snowy sail sweep through 
 
 Into the calm and tranquil bay, 
 
 The haven of eternal rest. 
 Where Heaven's own fleets at anchor lay 
 
 Amid the ' ' Islands of the Blest. ' ' 
 
 Where breaking on the golden strand 
 The spray of crystal waves is cast; 
 
 Thy keel hath touched the shining sand, 
 Thy weary voyage ends at last ! 
 
 And there, above the dark distress 
 
 At which we weep with downcast eyes. 
 
 Thy angel feet, sweet sister, press 
 The flowery shores of Paradise ! 
 
 136 
 
REUNION. 
 
 Written for, and read at the Edgerton reunion, 
 Barnesville, Ohio, 1893. 
 
 Oh, kindred ! underneath these skies, 
 Which in their autumn glory bend 
 
 Above our native hills, that rise, 
 Sun-kissed, around us, we extend 
 A greeting warm, to kin and friend ! 
 
 "We meet to-day, and would renew 
 Upon this spot our youthful prime, • 
 
 Reviving memories fond and true, 
 Which in the Lethean urn of Time 
 Lay hidden from our outward view. 
 
 Return, oh tide of years, to-day ! 
 
 And bring my boyhood back to me ! 
 
 The bright days, passing slow away, 
 Full of the promised joys to be. 
 The mirage of Life's open sea! 
 
 Again a child with flaxen hair, 
 I gaze upon the earth and sky, 
 
 Seeing through the transparent air, 
 New beauty in the fields that lie 
 Outspread before my charmed eye. 
 
 Again the sunward slopes I see. 
 
 Starred with the violet's eyes of blue, 
 
 The sweet banks of anemone. 
 
 The dells wherein the lilies blew, 
 With crystal waters sparkling through. 
 
 137 
 
Again I list the blue-bird 's song, 
 
 The swallows twittering from the eaves 
 
 Of the old barn of logs, where long 
 Ago, we stored the summer sheaves, 
 The barn among the orchard leaves ! 
 
 T watch the purpling clusters hang 
 Upon the vines. Again I see. 
 
 From boughs whereon the oriole sang. 
 The luscious fruit hang temptingly, 
 As childhood's eyes alone can see. 
 
 Again I note the squirrel 's leap 
 
 From bough to bough, the chipmunk's call, 
 
 With boyish zest I toss the heap 
 Of fallen leaves, and see through all, 
 The spots whereon the brown nuts fall. 
 
 I stoop once more beside the brink 
 Of yonder spring, whose crystal flow 
 
 Reflected as I bent to drink, 
 A boyish face so long ago, — 
 Aye I more than forty years ago ! 
 
 And here, beside the old hearthstone, 
 Toil-worn, or weary from our play. 
 
 We gathered, when the sun had gone. 
 And the last embers of the day 
 Burned from the western hills away. 
 
 Ah ! tender memories gather here, 
 Unbidden floods of thought sweep o'er 
 
 My brain. Forgive the falling tear! 
 'Tis holy ground ! I pass the door, 
 And tread with unshod feet the floor. 
 
 Here, breaking on my ravished ears 
 At even-tide, my mother calls 
 
 Again as in tlie vanished years; 
 My father's voice in blessing falls 
 Sweetly thro' mem'ries sounding halls. 
 
 138 
 
In these familiar rooms I see 
 Dear faces of the long ago, 
 
 And like ethereal minstrelsy, 
 I hear, in gentle cadence flow. 
 Their speech, in accents soft and low. 
 
 Again beneath the attic roof 
 
 I seek my childhood's humble bed, 
 
 And woven in the warp and woof 
 
 Of dreams, full many a magic thread 
 Of light illumes the sky o 'erhead. 
 
 But not the joys of life alone. 
 Came to us in the passing years: 
 
 God sent affliction, and the moan 
 Of suffering, and the tide of tears. 
 With alternating hopes and fears. 
 
 But God is good and kind, we know, 
 Unto His own; He knoweth best, 
 
 And when our feet too weary grow, 
 He gently beckons to our rest 
 Within the mansions of the blest. 
 
 And though the grave hath claimed its own. 
 And time and fate have opened wide 
 
 The gates of change, and overthrown, 
 The idols of our love, and pride, 
 Lie desolate the grave beside ; 
 
 Yet in the circle of the years. 
 Our blessings overtop our woe, 
 
 And^ through the rainbow of our tears, 
 We see the sun of evening throw' 
 Its glory on the earth below. 
 
 And through its golden mists we see 
 Sweet glimpses of the life to come. 
 
 Of the Reunion yet to^be 
 
 When Night shall bring the children home 
 And Death shall turn the silent key. 
 
 139 
 
ONLY A TRAMP. 
 
 Only a tramp ! in the glare and heat 
 Of the summer sun in the dusty street. 
 
 Only a tramp ! with a dingy pack, 
 
 And a threadbare coat on his weary back. 
 
 Only a tramp ! and soiled and brown, 
 He made his way through the busy town. 
 
 Only a tramp ! and wealth and pride 
 Looked, and passed on the other side 
 
 And childhood paused in its merry play, 
 And shrank from the passing form away. 
 
 Only a tramp, the housewife said. 
 
 As she turned away from his plea for bread 
 
 Only a tramp, but he felt the smart 
 
 Of the taunting words, in his human heart. 
 
 And bitterly sighing, he turned again 
 To his heartless journey, and life of pain. 
 
 But there where the railway meets the street, 
 Was stayed the tide of passing feet. 
 
 And horror palsied the bravest limb. 
 And eyes with fruitless tears were dim, 
 
 140 
 
For a truant baby boy had strayed 
 
 To the railroad track, and calmly played 
 
 Between the rails, with the pebbles white. 
 Piling them up in the sweet sunlight, 
 
 And the fast express was thundering down 
 At fearful speed through the busy town. 
 
 Fruitless the driver's skill to stay 
 The flying train on its headlong way. 
 
 Fruitless the shrill alarm to fright 
 The little one from his pebbles white. — 
 
 But out from the crossing of the street 
 Dashes a man with flying feet ; 
 
 Each silent watcher held his breath, 
 In that fearful race for life or death. 
 
 Till the truant babe was safely thrown 
 Beyond the rails as the train swept on. 
 
 The child was safe, but rods away 
 Bleeding and lifeless, the rescuer lay 
 
 Only a tramp ! but forever new 
 
 Is our love for manhood brave and true 
 
 And the mother, that night, who fondly prest 
 The living child to her grateful breast, 
 
 Will ne'er forget, as the seasons roll. 
 That hungry tramp with a hero's soul! 
 
 141 
 
MAKE ME PURE WITHIN. 
 1890. 
 
 In the tumult and the strife, 
 Of a busy, struggling life. 
 Night and morning, everywhere 
 Be this thought my humble prayer, 
 ' ' Cleanse from word or thought of sin. 
 Make and keep me pure within." 
 
 In the office or the mill. 
 Let this thought be with me still, 
 In my intercourse with men 
 In my words of tongue or pen. 
 Hold my life aloof from sin. 
 Make and keep me pure within ! 
 
 In the great world's busy mart. 
 Be this thought my sailor chart, 
 Lest my feeble footsteps stray 
 From Thy straight and narrow way; 
 Let me, as a jewel, bear 
 In my heart this simple prayer. 
 
 When with weary feet I turn 
 Where the social watchfires burn 
 On the cherished hearth of home, 
 Let this inspiration come 
 Like a benediction still, 
 Sanctifying heart and will. 
 
 Father ! point my onward way, 
 Hold my hand from day to day. 
 Grant me for my soul's defense. 
 Strength from Thy Omnipotence, 
 Through the world beset with sin, 
 ' ' Make and keep me pure within ! ' * 
 
 142 
 
ICE HOUNU 
 
 Far south the sun rose, and his rays 
 Kindled the treetops in a blaze 
 Of glory which the artist's skill 
 May never copy. On the hill 
 The forest trees were bending low, 
 With burnished silver all aglow 
 
 (See Poem). 
 
ICE-BOUND. 
 
 1892. 
 
 First Month 15th, 1892. 
 
 Our Whittier sang of Snow-Bound, 
 
 And tuned his touching lays 
 To the rhythm of the old time, 
 
 And simple country ways ; 
 Be mine the humble duty, — 
 
 The theme as grand and true, 
 To tell of Nature ice-bound. 
 
 This year of Ninety-Two. 
 
 'Twas winter, and the fallen snow 
 Was white on wood and field ; the glow 
 Of evening faded into night. 
 Yet not to darkness, for the light 
 Of the full moon came drifting down 
 In slumb'rous waves upon the town. 
 Not the clear silver glow that seems 
 The ideal moonlight of our dreams, 
 But tangled in the murky bars 
 Of haze and mist, that quite shut out 
 The twinkling of the silent stars, 
 But compensating, wove about 
 The moon's pale face an aureole 
 Fresh from Refraction's mystic hand. 
 Which Nature's children understand 
 Portends the coming of the storm. 
 
 143 
 
Down the long streets the serried ranks 
 
 Of incandescent lamps aglow, 
 Flung out their dazzling rays, that fell 
 
 In sparkling whiteness on the snow ; 
 And falling from the maple boughs 
 
 Which in the chill wind swing and sway, 
 The moving shadows, sharp and dark. 
 
 On pavement and on sidewalk lay; 
 While darkly rising high aloof 
 Were ghostly spire and spectral roof. 
 
 And thus the night came down. The wind 
 
 Was moaning fitfully without; 
 
 Within, the cheerful hearth about, 
 
 Is gathered from the toil and care 
 
 Of the world's tasks, its work and wear, 
 
 The members of the liousehold band. — 
 
 Happy the man for whom the night 
 
 Brings rest and comfort, and the bright 
 
 Enjoyment of the social life 
 
 Of home, where mother, sister, wife 
 
 Or children, sanctify and bless 
 
 His lot with love and tenderness. — 
 
 When morning woke the world again 
 From slumber, on the window pane 
 We heard the music of the rain. 
 The patter of the tiny feet. 
 And solemn voices of the sleet. 
 
 And thus all day the clouds that hung 
 Low over wood and field and town. 
 
 From out their folds of darkness flung 
 Their wealth of liquid droplets down, 
 
 Which, freezing as they fell, became 
 
 Of other form and other name. 
 
 144 
 
The day of darkness and of rain, 
 Without a glimpse of sun or sky- 
 To cheer its brevity, went by, 
 
 And brought the silent night again. 
 
 So pass our days of sorrow, 
 
 So come our nights of tears, 
 But we find that God's tomorrow 
 
 Is brighter than our fears. 
 And we find the cherished sweetness, 
 
 And the ecstasy of life, 
 Are following up the bitterness, 
 
 The anguish and the strife. 
 And Heaven's angelic anthem 
 
 The discord of our life. 
 
 So when the morrow came again, 
 Forgotten was the gloom and rain; 
 We only saw the beauty spread 
 Around, beneath, and overhead ! 
 
 Far south the sun rose, and his rays 
 Kindled the tree-tops in a blaze 
 Of glory which the artist's skill 
 May never copy. On the hill 
 The forest trees were bending low, 
 With burnished silver all aglow ! 
 Upon the nearer shrubs and trees 
 The icy sheathing hung, and these 
 With hues prismatic greet the eye. 
 Like those that arch the summer sky. 
 
 E'en the unsightly weeds that grew 
 Upon the roadside, now became 
 The peers in fact, if not in name 
 
 Of lily white, or violet blue. 
 
 145 
 
Icicles from the eaves o'erhead 
 
 Hung like a thousand crystal spears, 
 Forged by the Frost King from the tears 
 
 The dark and pitying clouds had shed. 
 
 The drifts of snow, beside the road. 
 In beauteous forms and bold designs. 
 With sweeping curves and graceful lines, 
 
 In the same brilliant armor, glowed. 
 
 Poles on the street-side in the sun 
 Stand glistening, and the wires that run 
 From post to post, like ropes of glass, 
 
 Through which the electric currents play, 
 Catch up the sunbeams as they pass 
 
 And fling them glorified away. 
 
 Such lavish beauty everywhere ! 
 
 Such loveliness of field and wood ! 
 Even the pure transparent air 
 Seems throbbing with the voiceless prayer 
 
 Of Nature in her reverent mood ! 
 
 Teach me. Oh ! Father, more to see 
 
 That all the beautiful and grand 
 In nature, speak aloud of Thee, 
 
 And gladly own Thy forming hand. 
 That all the sparkling gems of light. 
 That dance and glitter in our sight, 
 Ruby and sapphire, that a king 
 Might envy. Thou alone could bring 
 To grace the shining earth today. 
 And make more beautiful and sweet 
 The pathway for Thy glorious feet. 
 
 146 
 
THE RAILROAD WRECK. 
 
 1892. 
 
 Out in the storm of the winter night, 
 Bounding on in its headlong flight, 
 With trundling wheels on the iron way, 
 Wildly urged by the piston's play, 
 Throbbing and panting, with hiss and roar, 
 Speeding each minute a mile or more, 
 Through the frosty air and drifting snow, 
 Was the night express on the B. and 0. 
 
 Within the coaches, all warm and bright. 
 
 Lying, reclining, or bolt upright. 
 
 The sleeping passengers dreamed away 
 
 The hours that carried them on their way. 
 
 But there, as the train swept 'round a curve. 
 
 Thrilling with horror his brain and nerve. 
 
 Full on the eye of the engineer 
 
 Burst a coming headlight, bright and clear ! 
 
 A click of levers, a rush of steam. 
 The wild alarm of the whistle 's scream. 
 And wheels reversed, but all too late 
 To save the train from its fearful fate ! 
 A crash ! a shock ! and the piteous cries 
 Of pain went up to the midnight skies ! 
 And shout and curse, and moan and prayer. 
 Strangely blent on the shuddering air : 
 And over all this horror there came 
 Roaring and crackling, the pitiless flame ; 
 Till the heavens, aglow with lurid light 
 Seemed bending in pity over the sight 
 Of so much anguish in one sad night ! 
 
 147 
 
But why this wreck, with its loss untold 
 
 Of treasure counted in paltry gold ? 
 
 With the wringing hands and bitter tears, 
 
 And wounds that the heart must bear for years? 
 
 With its score of human beings lost 
 
 In that night's terrible holocaust? 
 
 Why that train on the railway track? 
 
 Only the meaningful word comes back, 
 
 ' ' Drunken ! ' ' Alas ! but sadly true ! 
 
 A railway train with a drunken crew ! 
 
 Oh rum ! thou demon of crime and sin ! 
 Curse of the age we are living in! 
 When will the nation arise and draw 
 Over thy traffic the ban of law? 
 When will the people who bow to thee 
 Rise in their manhood, and dare be free? 
 God will rebuke thee ! welcome the day 
 That rolls the weight of thy curse away. 
 
 148 
 
VOCAL WINDS. 
 
 1893. 
 
 As I sit within my room, 
 In the twilight's deepening gloom, 
 While the autumn wind without 
 Flings the withered leaves about; 
 At my doorway shrieking, sighing, 
 With a sad and plaintive crying 
 Do I hear it. 
 
 The wild spirit 
 Of the wind. 
 
 Oh ! the voices of the wind ! 
 Oh ! the music that we find ! 
 In its wild and reckless playing. 
 In the sobbing and the swaying. 
 In the treble and the droning, 
 In the weird and solemn moaning, 
 In the moaning. 
 
 And the droning 
 Of the wind. 
 
 Sweet the notes, to him who listens, 
 As the dew of springtime glistens. 
 On the earth grown warm and tender 
 In the season's vernal splendor; 
 With her balmy lips confessing 
 To the rhythm and the blessing ; 
 To the blessing. 
 And caressing 
 Of the wind. 
 
 149 
 
And the summer, full of sweetness, 
 Full of Nature's own completeness. 
 Smiles to catch the soft refrain 
 Of the wind among the grain. 
 Of the fragrance-laden breeze. 
 And its music in the trees, 
 Trembling ever, 
 To the quaver 
 Of the wind. 
 
 And the autumn, grov/ing old. 
 
 In his robes of red and gold, 
 
 Hears the low and stifled moan 
 
 Of the wind's sad monotone, 
 
 And the brown leaves downward flying, 
 
 Hears them rustle to the sighing, 
 
 To the sighing, 
 
 And the crying 
 Of the wind. 
 
 And like a monarch on his throne, 
 The winter, sad and hoary grown, 
 Still joys to hear the north wind sweep 
 'er snowy hill and stormy deep ; 
 Joys in the melodies that find 
 Voice in the howling of the wind ; 
 In the howling, 
 
 And the growling 
 Of the wind. 
 
 Thus the seasons tell the glory, 
 And the winged winds the story. 
 How their notes of music fall 
 Earth-ward from the Lord of all, 
 As He touches heaven's own keys, 
 Waking wondrous harmonies. 
 And rejoices, 
 In the voices 
 
 Of the wind ; 
 
 150 
 
Like an echo from the past, 
 When through God 's creation vast, 
 Burst the song through heaven that rang 
 When the stars together sang. 
 And the echo seems to float, 
 Like some stray Eolian note, 
 Still ringing, 
 And singing 
 
 In the wind. 
 
 QUAKERISM. 
 
 A poem written for a meeting of the "Wilbur Union, 
 one year after its organization. 
 
 He, in whose sight, a thousand years 
 Are but as yesterday, when it is past. 
 Has in the swift procession of the days. 
 Brought us again into the month 
 Of singing birds, and blooming flowers. 
 Filling for us, the circle of the year. 
 
 And as we stand upon the threshold 
 Of the new and the untried, our feet. 
 Unsteady, falter, and our thoughts 
 Anxiously question of the coming year, 
 Its duties and its possibilities. 
 
 Inspired by hope we turn the page, 
 Trusting His Providence who holds 
 The key to all success, to crown 
 Our feeble efforts, that our aim 
 May be the strengthening of the walls 
 About our Quaker faith ; may be 
 The awakening of an. interest 
 Warmer and deeper, in the truths 
 Our fathers taught us; Fox and Penn, 
 
 151 
 
Pennington, Barclay, and Parnell, 
 
 And Burroughs, — many more whose names 
 
 Are household words, whose suffering 
 
 And undaunted courage in the right 
 
 At last outwearied persecution. 
 
 And bequeathed to us the legacy 
 
 Of freedom in religious faith. 
 
 How do the lives and consecration 
 Of those strong, earnest men and women, 
 Co-workers in equality, devoted 
 To the Master's service, shame our lack 
 Of zeal ! How weak and indolent 
 Our lives, while still the fields are white 
 Unto the harvest! Why this failure? 
 Since our greatest happiness depends 
 Upon obedience to the call Divine? 
 When for the smallest service done 
 In His own name, God doth reward 
 So richly? Hath the world more charms 
 Than Heaven? Or would we willingly 
 Barter our birthright for a trifle? 
 Like the son of Isaac, who afterward 
 Sought vainly and with tears, the blessing 
 Forfeited and lost. Or would we see 
 The Church forsake the lofty plane 
 Of its pure spiritual teaching, 
 And abandon the sweetly solemn 
 Thought of the Divine indwelling? 
 The true baptism and communion 
 Of the Spirit? The faithful walking 
 With God, personal, everpresent? 
 
 No, no ! The world still greatly needs 
 
 The influence of our Quaker faith ! 
 
 Its teaching must not yet be lost 
 
 On the high levels of religious thought ! — 
 
 The vantage ground from which the sunshine 
 
 Of Eternal truth, reflected, falls 
 
 Upon the valleys, touching all 
 
 The world of thought with added glory ! 
 
 152 
 
To-day we need, as much as e'er before, 
 The spiritual touch, and fellowship 
 Of Christ ; The broad and comprehensive 
 Plan of His salvation, free to all! 
 And these, our faith is teaching still; 
 And as our lives are brought under 
 The sweet control of Christ's pure love 
 'Twill beautify our thoughts and acts, 
 Ennobling every heart wherein it dwells, 
 And touching every life with which 
 It comes in contact, with new beauty. 
 
 Thus our daily lives may preach anew 
 The gospel of the SAVIOR. Thus again 
 The light of Quakerism, brighter shine ! 
 Thus may our second year excel the first 
 In humble service which the Lord may own 
 And may our eyes attentive look to Him 
 For guidance in the path our feet should go. 
 
 DISARMAMENT. 
 
 Written upon hearing of the promulgation of the call for a 
 "World's Peace Conference." 
 
 Hark ! from the Northland issue joyful notes, 
 A prophecy of glad days yet to be ! 
 Let all the bells from their resounding throats 
 Ring in the glory of earth's jubilee! 
 
 Peoples and Nations reaching forth their hands. 
 To hail the time when War's red scourge shall cease ! 
 God speed the day when ruFers of all lands 
 Shall greet the reign of universal peace ! 
 
 1S3 
 
Aye! greet the glad day that the prophet saw, 
 When nation shall no longer strive with nation ! 
 When Right and Truth are moulded into law, 
 In the high courts of legal arbitration ! 
 
 May the Peace Congress of the world relieve 
 The throes of nations and their fierce unrest ! 
 Bridle their petty jealousies, and weave 
 Some fragrant garlands for the world's opprest! 
 
 And may the Prince of Peace therein preside ! 
 And teach again the love he taught before ! 
 Rebuke the lust of power, the vaunt of pride, 
 Revive the brotherhood of man once more ! 
 
 The children of a common Father, we, 
 In the great family of nations, stand ! 
 May God forgive us that so blind we be, 
 His plans of mercy not to understand ! 
 
 Forgive us ! that our human hearts, so long 
 Inured to scenes of blood should cruel grow ! 
 Nor shudder at Cyclopean wrong 
 Of war, with all its train of crime and woe ! 
 
 War ! that in with 'ring storms of shot and shell, 
 Upon the land or on the boundless seas, 
 Has spread destruction, like the breath of hell, 
 Down the long vista of the centuries ! 
 
 How long it takes the world to understand ! 
 Aye ! all these nineteen hundred years of grace. 
 The force of Christ's disarmament command 
 ''Put up thy sword again into its place." 
 
 Put up your swords ! Oh nations of the world ! 
 Hush the wild war-cry, and the cannon's roar! 
 May the near future see your war flags furled, 
 And Peace enthroned on every peopled shore I 
 
 154 
 
HOW BEAUTIFUL TO BE WITH GOD. 
 
 Last words of Frances E. Willard. 
 
 "How beautiful to be with God ! with God !" 
 Cried the lone watcher, from the gloom of night, 
 As the first dawning of" the eternal morning, 
 Touched, e'en earth's shadows, with its glorious light. 
 
 "How beautiful to be with God!" What visions 
 Of Heaven's fruition opened to the eyes 
 Of the sweet spirit, passing to inherit 
 One of those many mansions in the skies ! 
 
 What visions broad and full and satisfying 
 
 To every longing of the Christian soull 
 
 Unfailing joy, pleasure without alloy. 
 
 And Christ's sweet love to circumscribe the whole! 
 
 What vistas of eternal verdure lying 
 Beyond our ken, allure the pilgrim feet ! 
 What bursts of song and rapture surge along 
 The countless archways of the golden street! 
 
 Pass in, dear, tired one ! through the open portals 
 Loose thy worn sandals, lay thy burden down ! 
 Past the cross-bearing : comes the bliss of wearing 
 The aureole of Heaven, the starrj'' crown. 
 
 No more the heart-ache, and no more the weeping, 
 Closed are thine eyes to earth, but full and free 
 Prom heavenly hills, with clearer vision sweeping 
 The boundless reaches of Eternity ! 
 
 Infinite realms of pleasure and of beauty ! 
 Whose shining slopes by angel feet are trod ! 
 What harps are ringing, and what voices singing 
 "How beautiful to be at home with God"! 
 
 155 
 
IN STORM AND CALM. 
 
 1895. 
 
 Old ocean, grand and beautiful! 
 
 What varying moods are thine ! 
 What changeful glory overspreads 
 
 Thy face, with shade and shine ! 
 
 When the summer days are tranquil, 
 And the storm winds are at rest, 
 
 HoM' calmly sail the stately ships 
 On thy gently heaving breast ! 
 
 Like a fleecy cloud slow sailing 
 On the wave* of the upper deep. 
 
 Its white wings filled with the breezes, 
 In their steady onward sweep. 
 
 But when the winds complainingly 
 
 Are moaning to the ocean, 
 How instant rise the tossing waves, 
 
 Onsweeping in commotion; 
 
 White crested, hurrying leeward. 
 Scourged onward in their wrath. 
 
 How angrily they howl and dash 
 About the good ship's path. 
 
 How like a toy the mountain waves 
 In their tumultuous sweep, 
 
 Toss the huge ship upon their crest. 
 Then fling it in the deep. 
 
 Great torrents sweep her upper decks, 
 The sea-trough yawns below! 
 
 While on the steamer's side the waves 
 Smite with terrific blow. 
 
 156 
 
But the good ship reeling, staggering, 
 Through storm-swept night and day, 
 
 Obedient to her helm, bears on 
 Her own unerring way ! 
 
 Thanks to the human skill that guides 
 Our pathway through the sea, 
 
 Whether in storm or calm, holds on 
 Her course, unerringly ; 
 
 But greater thanks to Him who holds 
 
 On sea, or on the land, 
 The destinies of men and worlds 
 
 In the hollow of His hand ! 
 
 A WEDDING LETTER. 
 
 To a niece. 
 
 Dear Eva, 
 
 On thy wedding day 
 Thou wilt forgive me as I pray 
 From a full heart of love, that He 
 Who graced the feast in Galilee 
 May at thy marriage too, preside. 
 And not alone upon that day. 
 But all along thy future way . 
 His love within thy heart abide ; 
 His. presence on thy pathway shine. 
 Turning life's water into wine, 
 Walking forever at thy side. 
 
 Thus in the struggle and the strife 
 
 That crowd into a busy life. 
 
 Over the weariness and pain 
 
 Of tingling nerves and aching brain. 
 
 Over the tempests of dismay, 
 
 Of doubt and darkness, when the day 
 
 157 
 
Seems big with sorrow, then His voice, 
 Bidding the trembling heart rejoice, 
 Will echo through the spirit's halls. 
 And as of old, the heart will thrill 
 With rapture, as His "Peace, be still," 
 Like a sweet benediction falls. 
 
 I cannot ask for you the boon 
 
 Of happiness, without alloy. 
 Else Heaven would have no charm, and soon, 
 Like day declining at its noon. 
 
 Would fade away from life, the joy. 
 But may your happiness consist 
 
 In loving and in doing good 
 For love's sweet sake, till Duty's list 
 
 Is filled completely. So I would 
 Wish only for so much of shine, 
 As seemeth in the plan Divine, 
 To be the best for you ; the rain 
 Is just as needful, and the pain 
 And weariness of life may be 
 Our sweetest blessings. Then may we. 
 In simple faith, our burdens bear, 
 And walking with the Lord in prayer, 
 Know day by day his guiding hand, 
 Leading us to the Better Land. 
 
 Could I crave more for you than this? 
 More nearly unalloyed bliss? 
 Than when the human passion thrills 
 Two hearts, more tender and complete, 
 By sitting at the Master's feet. 
 Adorned by the Christ-love- that fills 
 The soul and spreading outward gives 
 Sweet influence to other lives. 
 
 Oh ! may this influence sanctified 
 Be yours, as onAvard, side by side, 
 You tread life's journey, until Heaven 
 Be gained, tlie crown be given. 
 Until your rich reward be won 
 In the Lord 's answer of ' ' Well done ' '. 
 
 158 
 
VALEDICTORY.— Class of '95. 
 
 Today, in expectation standing 
 Upon the foothills of the greater height 
 To which we turn, where, wide expanding, 
 New vistas open to our wondering sight. 
 New fields of usefulness, new hills of light ! 
 
 And, pausing thus, we catch with eager ears, 
 The swelling strains of hope, that sweetly blend 
 With the glad prophecy of coming years. 
 That sunny skies above our paths may bend. 
 And all success our forward steps attend. 
 
 But as our asking eyes instinctive turn 
 
 Unto the future, in hot tears they swim ; 
 
 For though we catch the gleam of hopes that burn 
 
 Within the shadows, indistinct and dim, 
 
 As our eyes sweep the far horizon's rim. 
 
 Yet to the past we fondly cling. Again 
 
 Would live our happy school days o'er with you 
 
 Dear friends ! today. Would catch the sweet refrain 
 
 Of old familiar voices, glad and true. 
 
 And in this hour our friendship would renew. 
 
 Would grasp again each kindly hand 
 Outheld to us, and we would gladly own 
 The many obligations that must stand 
 Forever to your credit; not alone 
 The service rendered, but the kindness shown. 
 
 The ready sympathy, the cheerful word, 
 
 The hearty helpfulness along the way 
 
 So freely given, our hearts hg,ve often stirred 
 
 To greater effort, and the broader play 
 
 Of powers, outreaching to the brighter day. 
 
 159 
 
For thee our Alma Mater, we would crave 
 
 Rich blessings from our Father's open hand; 
 
 Send forth thy sons and daughters, strong and brave, 
 
 To take their places in our busy land, 
 
 Equipped by thee for right and truth to stand ! 
 
 And for the Faculty whose loving care 
 Has watched and guarded, amid hopes and fears ; 
 In grateful love we breathe the silent prayer 
 That Heaven may strengthen for the future years, 
 May bless your labors, and may dry your tears ! 
 
 But one of you is not !* Her tears are dried, 
 Her labors o 'er. For her the eternal rest. 
 Sadly we miss her, but we must abide 
 The trial, trustful that God knew the best 
 In calling to the Mansions of the Blest. 
 
 May you forget the evil said and done, 
 Forgive our follies and our failings. Strive 
 In charity to think of battles won 
 O'er wrong and selfishness, and keep alive 
 Remembrance of the Class of Ninety Five. 
 
 And school-mates all ! with hearts that overflow, 
 
 We turn to you, desiring that the sum 
 
 Of happiness' and usefulness may go 
 
 With you ; that wrong, and crime, and sin be dumb 
 
 Before you, till the end of life shall come. 
 
 Go forth into the world ! So strive, so live. 
 That future years some good of you may tell ! 
 Love God and all mankind, and often give 
 A kindly thought to us who say farewell ! 
 Teachers, and schoolmates, and kind friends, fare- 
 well! 
 
 *Eeferring to the death of Lucinda Bailey, one of the 
 valued teachers. 
 
 16D 
 
VALEDICTORY.— Class of '99. 
 
 CLASS MOTTO 
 
 With the ropes of the past, ring the bells of the future. 
 
 We stand today, with foreheads bare, 
 
 Upon the threshold of the dim 
 
 And untried Future, and with brows 
 
 Fanned by the gentle airs that blow 
 
 Upon us from the misty hills 
 
 And sun-kissed valleys; with the light 
 
 Of hope descending from the heights 
 
 And reaches of the Unattained, 
 
 We turn our faces forward, earnestly 
 
 Seeking to know and fill our place " 
 
 In the world's round of business. 
 
 And among its busy workers. 
 
 We would not loiter in the race 
 
 Of life, but struggling on, would aim 
 
 To do and be something worth while 
 
 The living; and gathering up 
 
 Rich treasures from the hoary Past, 
 
 Would make of them the ropes with which 
 
 To ring the Future 's sounding bells ! 
 
 May we, for our example, take 
 The character of Christ the Lord ! 
 And with His Golden Rule to teach, 
 His ever present Light to guide, 
 Our feet may safely press the path 
 Of life, that leads, we know not where ; — 
 So thick the curtain that God hangs 
 Between the unknown and the known. 
 
 But standing at the outer door. 
 That guards our school life here, 
 We pause a moment, and with eyes 
 Suffused with tears, must say adieu ! 
 
 161 
 
We love our Alma Mater ! From 
 Its halls, regretfully we turn 
 To other scenes, unknown, untried — 
 Unto the Faculty, whose care and help 
 And helpful guidance, have been like 
 A tower of strength, in which to trust, 
 We would express — but here words fail 
 To tell the thanks we feel. 
 
 Accept 
 In lieu, the love we fain would speak. — 
 And schoolmates ! unto you we owe 
 A debt of gratitude, too great 
 Thus to discharge. Your loving words 
 And kindly, helpful deeds, cheerful 
 Companionship, and kindred thoughts. 
 Have like an inspiration been. 
 Which we cannot forget. 
 
 Backward 
 Our glances turn today, upon 
 The paths which we have hither trod. 
 Joys we have had, and also griefs 
 Together borne. With you we mourned 
 The bright young life, which in its morn 
 Of promise, faded and went out 
 Among us ; to be rekindled. 
 As we trust, in greater glory 
 In the Better World. 
 
 But the time 
 Of parting hastens ! Brokenly 
 We say farewell ! For in the years 
 To come, we may drift wide apart. 
 And 'mid the world's devious ways 
 See little of each other. Yet 
 
 162 
 
We crave for us and you, the boon 
 Of mutual remembrance ! Soon 
 In the swift circling of the years 
 Will come life's eventide. Oh! then 
 As on its western slope, still rests 
 The glory of its setting sun; — 
 As through the Golden Gates, ajar, 
 Float the sweet echoes of the bells 
 Of God ! Oh ! may we meet again, 
 A glad, united, and unbroken band. 
 And hold our great Reunion 
 On the shining hills of Heaven! 
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS. 
 
 1901. 
 
 How sweet to feel that we have a Friend, 
 
 All-seeing and Omniscient, 
 Whose help and power, in every hour 
 
 Of trial are sufficient. 
 
 How sweet to know and feel this Friend 
 
 Is ever-watching o'er us. 
 And to feel and say, "the same rough way 
 
 His feet have trod before us". 
 
 How sweet to feel that though our days 
 
 AVith sorrow are redundant, 
 Yet His sweet peace, as the sad hours cease, 
 
 Is recompense abundant. 
 
 And whether the day be dark or bright, 
 Whether rough or smooth the road. 
 
 If the Best of Friends our way attends, 
 His help will ease the greatest load. 
 
 163 
 
Others may fail us, our human friends 
 May turn away in the hour of need ; 
 
 But our "Elder Brother", than any other 
 Is safer, truer, a Friend indeed ! 
 
 And though, sometimes, we may sadly say, 
 As our faith grows weak, and so dim, 
 
 "They have hid away my Lord today, 
 
 And I know not where they have laid Him. ' ' 
 
 Yet the morning light will surely come. 
 
 Oh ! then sad heart never fear. 
 Though the night be long, the morning song 
 
 Is "The risen Christ is here." 
 
 And now in the spirit's equipoise. 
 
 Though our eyes be dim with weeping, 
 
 'Tis sweet to know, that the ebb and flow, 
 Are still in the Master's keeping. 
 
 Then whether in daytime or at night, 
 In His secret presence hiding, 
 
 May we ever find, with quiet mind, 
 The place of a safe abiding. 
 
 Oh ! then, dear Lord, may we ever stand 
 On the watch tower, day by day. 
 
 For the way is long, the foes are strong 
 That are haunting the onward way. 
 
 But Thou art stronger than all our foes ! 
 
 Thou art kinder than all our fears ! 
 And we beg to stand at Thy right hand 
 
 In the struggle of the years ! 
 
 In the struggle of the years to come. 
 With Heaven to be lost or won ! 
 
 Give grace, we pray, for every day. 
 And a crown when the days are done. 
 
 164 
 
THE TEMPTATION. 
 
 1904. 
 
 Alone in the great wilderness 
 
 Of Judah, forty days and nights, 
 
 The world's Redeemer sadly passed, 
 
 In patient learning of the long 
 
 And weary human lessons, fraught 
 
 With the more trying things of life, 
 
 Which in unerring Wisdom were 
 
 To make the dear Christ perfect, through 
 
 The suffering which it cost Him. 
 
 There, among the hoary mountains. 
 And the bleak and blackened rocks, 
 He wandered. Alone the wild beasts 
 Of the desert watched His steps 
 With curious hungry eyes, but stopped 
 And slunk away, and hid themselves 
 Deep in their lairs, as when the day 
 Breaks o'er the eastern hills, hiding 
 The stars, and hushing all the voices 
 Of the night; so fled the desert 
 Fauna from the fearless presence 
 Of the humble Nazarene. Only 
 The angels keeping guard by day 
 And night, sustained and strengthened 
 Him in His deep loneliness. 
 
 Alone ? Ah no ! Satan was there, 
 And with his wily, cruel presence 
 Followed the Master's steps. Morning 
 And noon and night, the Tempter's voice 
 Was in His ears, and, skillfully, 
 The Arch-Deceiver, then as now. 
 Aimed his temptations at the point 
 Of possible weakness.^ But not 
 On human weakness fell the bolt 
 Of strong temptation. High defense 
 
 165 
 
Was there! Useless the devil's wiles, 
 
 Even his lying promises 
 
 Of glory, wealth and power fell 
 
 Harmless on the immaculate soul 
 
 Of Christ ! And when He turned His eyes 
 
 Full of reproach, and grief, and scorn 
 
 On him, the Tempter writhed and fled 
 
 Before the stern rebuke He gave, 
 
 "Get thee behind me." 
 
 Weary one, 
 Sad and disheartened, with thy faith 
 Failing, because the Tempter seeks 
 Thy soul, take courage ! Turn thine eyes 
 To Christ, who dared the weary days 
 And tedious nights of that dark 
 Wilderness, that He might become 
 The victor o'er temptation, and 
 Succor the tried and tempted ones, 
 Who come in faith to Him. 
 
 His grace 
 And sovereign mercy can dispel 
 The clouds of doubt, and can rebuke 
 The sin, or great or small, that like 
 A hideous nightmare haunts thee. 
 
 Not in vain the Lord 's temptation ! 
 
 The perch upon the temple's spire. 
 
 The glorious outlook from the top 
 
 "Of the high mountain". These led up 
 
 To the more lofty heights whereon 
 
 Crowned with love Divine, and with 
 
 His great heart filled with pity. 
 
 And with infinite sympathy 
 
 For mankind in times of trial, 
 
 Or temptation, or affliction, 
 
 Is Jesus Christ our one High Priest, 
 
 Standing before the great assize 
 
 Of Heaven, our Intercessor, 
 
 Our Advocate with the Great Judge 
 
 At His tribunal bar on high. 
 
THE LOG-BOOK.* 
 
 1904. 
 
 At sea with a chart and compass, 
 
 And the arching sky o'erhead, 
 AYith the outward breezes blowing, 
 
 With all her canvas spread, 
 Our school like a good ship sailing 
 
 Outward and ever away, 
 Must heed the hand of the pilot 
 
 On her helm by night and day. 
 
 But what of chart or compass. 
 
 Or the breezes blowing free, 
 Unless we know where we would go, 
 
 Our pathway through the sea? 
 The Captain turns to his log-book, 
 
 And his way is plain and clear. 
 His records run, from sun to sun. 
 
 And his course is written there. 
 
 So we today, in our log-book, 
 
 Are keeping a record true. 
 Of our whereabouts, our ins and outs, 
 
 Of the things we say and do, 
 The course we take, the distance gone. 
 
 The points where the rocks abound, 
 Our latitude, and longitude, 
 
 In the log-book may be found. 
 
 So read the compass and the chart, 
 
 Record our speed and bearing, 
 Map out the way, that others may 
 
 Be safer for our faring ; 
 That others may, in years to come 
 
 From it, fresh lessons borrow. 
 The skill of hand, the strength to stand 
 
 In many a dark tomorrow. 
 
 *The ' ' Log Book ' ', was the-name of a little paper pub- 
 lished by the Whittier Literary Society, for the columns of 
 which this little poem was written. 
 
 167 
 
MONTHLY MEETING.' 
 
 1904. 
 
 This little poem was written while at the Boarding School, 
 
 at Barnesville, in answer to one with the same 
 
 title written by one of the students. 
 
 The story of Monthly Meeting, 
 
 And the Olney student's ways, 
 Was told by the author neatly, 
 
 And in rich poetic phrase ; 
 And we much enjoyed the picture. 
 
 And the memories it may bring. 
 But perhaps a shade too sombre. 
 
 Was the artist's coloring. 
 
 Perhaps he saw the gloomy side, 
 
 Be mine to show the bright one. 
 Be yours, dear friends, when both are seen. 
 
 To choose and hold the right one. 
 Perhaps both views may help us reach 
 
 Our definite objective; 
 Perhaps both views may help bring out 
 
 The meeting's true perspective. 
 
 Be sure the meeting house is plain. 
 
 Also the Friends who meet us. 
 But a kindly face, and pleasant word 
 
 Are very sure to greet us. 
 And many an earnest wish is felt. 
 
 As the coming Friends are seating 
 On the long benches, that the Lord 
 
 May bless our Monthly Meeting. 
 
 168 
 
And in this quiet time and place, 
 
 Though some in the meeting hour, 
 Through sleep neglect the means of grace, 
 
 And miss the Spirit's power 
 To lift the mind from earthly things. 
 
 To a quiet meditation 
 On the love Divine, that ever brings 
 
 Joy in its contemplation ; 
 
 Yet many souls that gathered there. 
 
 The Father's name confessing, 
 Through the Savior's help, and silent prayer. 
 
 Received the promised blessing. — 
 The hush of the silent hour, to them 
 
 Pregnant with thought and feeling. 
 Is touching the Master's garment hem, 
 
 And His precious hands of healing. 
 
 For some a time of strife and pain, 
 
 A struggle with self and sin, 
 Till "get thee behind me" comes again 
 
 From the voice that speaks within. — 
 The tempter leaves; and there baptized 
 
 With love from the healing Fountain, 
 Is the waiting soul transfigured quite, 
 
 With Christ alone on the mountain. 
 
 In the humble life of the Christian, 
 
 An hour like this is sweet; 
 To steal away from the busy world, 
 
 And sit at the Master's feet. 
 To hear His words in the soul's ear. 
 
 And to feel the glad surcease 
 Of the tossings of the billows. 
 
 At His gentle word of peace. 
 
 169 
 
And so while sleep has fettered some, 
 
 In the hour so still and fleeting, 
 Others have better and stronger grown 
 
 From the service of the meeting: 
 Hearts grown brave and true again. 
 
 In the silence that came o'er us, 
 To battle on in the stress and strain, 
 
 In the path of life before us. 
 
 THE HERO OF FREDERICKSBURGH. 
 
 1904. 
 
 'Twas on the field of Fredericksburg ! 
 
 And the battle's fiery breath 
 Was hot all day, and hundreds lay. 
 
 At night, on the field of death ; 
 But the darkness brought no respite, 
 
 For the deadly guns roared on, 
 Filling Avith fright, the terrible night. 
 
 From dusk till the break of dawn. 
 
 And still the shells were screaming, 
 
 And the awful leaden rain, 
 Was sweeping still, from hill to hill, 
 
 Over the maimed and the slain ; 
 And the lurid clouds of battle 
 
 Hung heavy and dense o'erhead, 
 And there, un-nursed, and mad with thirst, 
 
 Lay the wounded with the dead. 
 
 170 
 
Oh ! the moaning and the groaning ! 
 
 And the cries of wild despair, 
 Blended with the cannon's roaring 
 
 To o 'erload the shuddering air ! 
 Oh ! the plenitude of sorrow ! 
 
 Oh ! the bitter floods of tears ! — 
 Dear, pitying Lord ! what wild discord 
 
 Goes up into Thy ears ! 
 
 Smiting on Richard Kirkland's ears 
 
 Came the anguish of that day! • 
 A soldier boy of Fredericksburg, 
 
 In his uniform of gray ; 
 And the hero sought his Captain, 
 
 And before his tent he stood, 
 Begging to go to friend and foe, 
 
 On that dreadful field of blood, 
 
 With water for the thirsty ones, 
 
 To stanch the wounds that bled, 
 With comfort to the dying boys. 
 
 And a tear for those, the dead ! — 
 The captain sadly shook his head 
 
 As he slowly answered "No, 
 'Twould cost your life, my boy", he said, 
 
 "In that murd'rous fire to go." 
 
 But strong the hero's earnest plea. 
 
 And the captain gave consent. 
 And with food and water, over the Avorks, 
 
 This angel of mercy went ; 
 And there on the field of slaughter, 
 
 While the deadly missjles flew. 
 Unhurt he sped, where duty led, 
 
 To his Christlike mission true. 
 
 171 
 
Quickly the soldiers saw the deed, 
 
 xVnd the guns upon the hill, 
 That swept so long the fatal field, 
 
 In the early day grew still. 
 And thus for hours the battle stayed, 
 
 Awed by a deed so bold. 
 Till the echoes died, on the mountain side, 
 
 And the cannon's lips grew cold. 
 
 Oh ! would that this brief armistice. 
 
 To eternal peace had grown! 
 And the demon of war forever 
 
 Been lost in the dim Unknown! 
 That the glorious deed of Kirkland, 
 
 Forever should put to shame 
 All who would win, through crime and sin, 
 
 Renown by this Moloch's name. 
 
 Too long War's hateful enginery, 
 
 O'ersweeping field and flood. 
 Has filled whole lands with sorrow. 
 
 And deluged earth with blood; 
 And the crime of human slaughter 
 
 Where'er its hosts have striven, 
 And battle's yell and "smoke of hell" 
 
 Too long have wearied heaven! 
 
 When shall the flags of war be furled? 
 
 Its bellowing thunders cease? 
 And all the nations of the world 
 
 Ring in the reign of peace? — 
 Too long. has might been held as right, 
 
 In the Council Halls of state ! 
 Too long have the ears of Infinite Love 
 
 Been filled with the cries of hate I 
 
 172 
 
Help us, dear Christ ! to realize 
 
 That thy great, eternal plan, 
 Is built on love to God above, 
 
 And love to our brother man ! 
 That Thy heart is touched with pity, 
 
 For us, in our huraan pain. 
 And that love to Thee, will keep us free 
 
 From the sin and curse of Cain ! 
 
 173 
 
AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 1894. 
 
 Oh ! the heauty and the splendor 
 
 Of the glorious autumn days ! 
 As the sunshine, warm and tender, 
 
 Streaming through the purple haze. 
 Touches all the fields with glory, 
 
 Gilds the valleys sweet and bright, 
 Paints the hills, wood-crowned and hoary, 
 
 With a touch of heaven's own light. 
 
 Till the many colored iris. 
 
 Which the hand of nature weaves, 
 Carpets all the woodland pathways 
 
 With a garniture of leaves ; 
 As the gorgeous hour of sunset. 
 
 Sets the western heavens aglow, 
 With a richer, rarer beauty 
 
 Than the mid-day hours may know; 
 
 So the autumn, summer's sunset, 
 
 With its bright and brief days, brings 
 Beauty all unknown to summer, 
 
 Or the budding times of spring; 
 Richer hues than grace the tropics, 
 
 Set in brown, and red, and gold. 
 All ablaze, yet unconsuming. 
 
 Like the "Burning bush" of old. 
 
 Hushed are many cheerful voices, 
 
 Of the summer's happy reign. 
 But the passing year rejoices. 
 
 O'er the ripened fields of grain; 
 Where the quail's loud call is ringing 
 
 From the stately shocks of corn, 
 And the cardinal's sweet singing, 
 
 Wakes the echoes of the morn. 
 
 174 
 
In the wood the squirrels chatter, 
 
 As they store the brown nuts by, 
 And the grackles with their clatter, 
 
 Vocalize both earth and sky. 
 And the crow's departing elan-call. 
 
 Summoning for southern flight 
 Greets our ears ; the solemn hooting 
 
 Of the owl makes sad the night. 
 
 Lonely too, the cricket's chirping, 
 
 And the katy-did's shrill call. 
 And the moaning of the night wind, 
 
 As the trembling leaflets fall, 
 But all vibrate to the pulsing 
 
 Of Dame Nature 's heart in tune 
 With Beauty, holding carnival, 
 
 'Neath the glorious harvest moon.— 
 
 The seasons all are beautiful, 
 
 Spring, with its lovely floAvers, 
 Its greening fields, its feathered choir 
 
 A-song in shady bowers, — 
 The summer's breath is fragrant. 
 
 And bedecking hill and plain. 
 Wave the graceful flaunting forests, 
 
 And fields of ripening grain. 
 
 And winter too, of sterner mood. 
 
 Is lacking naught of glory, 
 With crystal field, and naked wood, 
 
 And snow drifts weird and hoary. 
 But still, to me the sweetest days, 
 
 Are those when the skies are clear 
 And soft with Indian Summer haze. 
 
 In the autumn of the year. 
 
 175 
 
VALEDICTORY— CLASS OF '05. 
 
 Swiftly the passing hours have lapsed 
 Into the bright, brief days, and these 
 In turn merged into weeks, until 
 The score is filled, and we to-day 
 Pause, standing at the outer threshold, 
 Where our ways diverge, and from this 
 Vantage point, catch brighter glimpses. 
 Broader views, and clearer visions 
 Of Life's varied fields. 
 
 The future 
 Lies before us with its misty hills 
 And sun-kissed valleys ; and the sheen 
 And shimmer of the UNATTAINED : whose vistas, 
 Indistinct, yet beauteous, open 
 Before us; and as hills peep o'er 
 Each other, in the glorious field 
 Of some bright summer landscape, 
 So its freshness and the beauty 
 Of its ever changing pictures, 
 Like a great kaleidoscope, are 
 Luring onward. Ambition, too, 
 Is beckoning to us, calling 
 Us on to honor, wealth, and fame. 
 But well we know her siren voice 
 Is oftentimes delusive ; only 
 An Ignis Fatuus, hovering o'er 
 Destruction's wide and fatal marsh. 
 
 Oh ! may we, with our eyes upon 
 
 The hills, whence cometh all our help, 
 
 Our ears attentive to the voice 
 
 176 
 
Of Christ the Lord, within the soul, 
 Our hands touched with the cunning 
 Of the Artisan of Nazareth, 
 Go forth into Life's manifold 
 Environments, and seeking first 
 To know what is worth while, seeking 
 To harmonize our plans with God's, 
 Let us take up the duties lying 
 Nearest us; taking our place 
 In the world 's round of business. 
 And among its earnest workers. 
 
 We are ambitious, in a sense ! 
 
 AVe would be rich and noble ! Rich 
 
 In faithful struggle for the right, 
 
 In conscious joy of duty done, 
 
 In honor, won by self-denial. 
 
 By love to God and human kind. — 
 
 Noble in that broad sense, that sees 
 
 In the uplifting of the race 
 
 To higher levels, broader views. 
 
 And worthier aims and plans. 
 
 Far more of glory than in all 
 
 The wars with which earth has been curst. 
 
 Thus we indulge, today, our hopes. 
 Our aspirations ; thus we build 
 Our castles. — Looking back, we see 
 Along the way we have together trod, 
 Much to remember ; much to give 
 Joy in the remembrance. Mingled 
 However, with the joy, there comes 
 A shade of sadness, at the thought 
 Of opportunities neglected^ 
 Of words and deeds not flavored 
 
 177 
 
With the grace of Christian courtesy, 
 Of kindly words unsaid, and deeds 
 Undone. — These we deplore. Alone 
 We would remember kindly thoughts 
 And loving words and deeds : only 
 Recall sweet memories of the past ! 
 Floods of these rush over us to-day. 
 Filling our hearts with tenderness, 
 Our eyes with tears. — To the Faculty 
 We turn with grateful recollections 
 Of patient toiling, kindly words, 
 Of helpful aid, self-sacrifice. 
 And deep devotion to your trust, 
 To your high calling. 
 
 Unto you 
 Dear schoolmates ! comrades in the work 
 Of building character, that shall 
 Endure the strain and stress of life, 
 The tliought of leaving you, and all 
 The fond associations of 
 Our Alma Mater, moves our hearts 
 Witli deep emotion, as we stand 
 Before you now to say adieu! 
 
 This world is full of partings 
 
 And farewells, but in the afterwhile, 
 
 When all life's lessons have been learned. 
 
 There comes the great Commencement! 
 
 Close of this life, commencement 
 
 Of the life to come I Then farewell now ! 
 
 And may we all so live, that when 
 
 Our vessel's keel shall touch the bar 
 
 Upon the other shore, sustained 
 
 By faith and love Divine ; our brows. 
 
 Bared and turned heavenward, may feel 
 
 The air celestial, like the voyager 
 
 From far off climes, who, nearing home. 
 
 Catches the fragrant land breeze in 
 
 His beaming face, with a sweet sense 
 
 Of home and rest and happiness. 
 
 178 
 
KEEP YOUR GLASSES BRIGHT. 
 
 Lines written on receiving a chamois skin for my spectacles 
 
 on which was printed, "If you would see the world 
 
 aright you must keep your glasses bright. ' ' 
 
 Dear Alice ! 
 
 'Tis a pleasure 
 To see the world aright, 
 And may we ever do so, 
 As we keep our glasses bright. 
 And may our inner vision 
 Be clarified as much, 
 To see the things eternal, by 
 The Master's cleansing touch. 
 
 But we often see so dimly. 
 
 And our faith seems, Oh, so small ! 
 
 We often fail to recognize 
 
 His guiding hand at all! 
 
 We sometimes feel to grope our way 
 
 Uncomforted and alone, 
 
 And sigh and say "How dark the day!" 
 
 And our strength is almost gone. 
 
 But when the dear Lord rubs away 
 The dust from our spirit's sight, 
 And we see His finger pointing 
 Up and onward, to the light, 
 How brightly the sun shines 'round us. 
 How blue are the skies above, 
 How faith takes hold with joy untold 
 Of the dear Redeemer's love ! 
 
 And so, dear friend ! may we ever, 
 Be keeping our glasses bright, 
 These for the earthly and outward. 
 And those for the inner sight ! — 
 Seeing with these, the beauty 
 So lavishly spread abroad! 
 Seeing with those, the-grandeur 
 Of the infinite plans of GOD! 
 
 179 
 
IN RECOGNITION 
 
 Of the reception of a beautiful rocker, a present from the 
 
 Students at Friends Boarding School, 
 
 Second Month 17th, 1906. 
 
 Tonight your kindliness of thought 
 Into our inmost hearts has brought 
 Untold emotions, and the rise 
 Of happy tears to brimming eyes, 
 Dimmed by the mist of sweet surprise. 
 
 We fain would thank you, but the word 
 Seems meaningless, our hearts are stirred 
 Beyond the depth of common speech, 
 Beyond the lingual plummet's reach, — 
 Or phrases that the schoolmen teach. 
 
 But as eye answers unto eye 
 In that quick human sympathy 
 Of soul, wherein another may 
 In some occult mysterious way 
 Read the mute thanks we cannot say ; 
 
 So you may feel how deeply moved 
 We are today, and how beloved 
 By us, are you whose kindly care. 
 And generous bounty, rich and rare, 
 Have furnished us this easy chair. 
 
 And as the seasons come and go, 
 And shades of evening 'round us grow 
 And lengthen, ere the darkness falls 
 Along Life's dim mysterious halls. 
 And ere its vesper chiming calls 
 
 To rest; we'll sit, and there recall 
 Your forms and faces one and all ; 
 Craving that Faith and Hope may mate 
 In us, and help us all to wait 
 Serenely by Life's outer gate. 
 
 180 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING DAY. 
 
 Third Month 27th, 1907. 
 
 Five and twenty years together, 
 We have lived, dear Wife, today ! 
 
 Clouds and sunshine softly blending. 
 All along our life's highway. 
 
 As we see it, looking backward 
 Prom our Silver Wedding day! 
 
 And although we sometimes wearied 
 Of the days of strain and stress, 
 
 Though we had our cups of Marali, 
 Nights of pain and of distress; 
 
 Though hope sometimes almost failed us, 
 And our faith seemed growing less. 
 
 Yet the dear Lord's loving kindness 
 Followed us from day to day. 
 
 Kept our hearts when strong temptation 
 Whispered, "Cast your trust away"! 
 
 Bared His arm of strength to help us 
 O'er the trials of the way! 
 
 And today, dear Wife ! as standing 
 Out beyond our threescore years, 
 
 With our children gathered 'round us. 
 Through the mist of happy tears 
 
 We can dimly see how wisely 
 
 Working out, G od 's plan appears ! 
 
 May thy plans, dear Lord, be ever 
 In our minds to dare and do ! 
 
 Keep Thou us, and keep our dear ones. 
 Unto Thee, our Father, true; 
 
 Follow with Thy Holy Spirit 
 
 All life's coming journey through. 
 
 181 
 
And as sinks the sun of evening 
 Grandly toward the glowing west, 
 
 May we feel the sweet assurance 
 Of a welcome to Thy rest; 
 
 May we feel through boundless mercy 
 That our last days are our best. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY RHYME. 
 
 For Edward Stratton on his eighty-sixth birthday, 
 Fifth Month 20th, 1908. 
 
 Dear Father, 
 
 In this month of spring, 
 Of flowers and beauty, I would bring 
 A garland woven into rhyme. 
 To celebrate thy birthday time! 
 To tell thy years, fourscore and six I 
 Away beyond the lines that fix, 
 According to the Master's plan 
 Of human life, the alloted span — 
 Beyond the common bounds of life, 
 Beyond the common point, where strife 
 And sorrow cease, and rest begins ! 
 
 How fresh before my thoughtful eyes 
 Visions of long ago arise ! 
 How weeks and months are set aside. 
 And backward turns the ebbing tide 
 Of years, at Memory's stern command, 
 And lifting with her magic hand. 
 The shroud that hides the dim and vast 
 Assemblage of the buried Past; 
 Upon the Present seems to show 
 The scenes of forty years ago ! 
 
 182 
 
Aye, more than forty years the tie 
 Of filial love and unity 
 Has bound together, and has kept 
 Our lives in touch ; and we have wept 
 At the same sorrows, and the sun 
 Of happiness that often shone, 
 Diffused its genial after-glow 
 Upon us both, and high or low. 
 In unison our lives went on 
 Together toward the setting sun. 
 
 And now together down life's hill 
 We go, and soon the shades that fill 
 The valleys, shall around us creep 
 And multiply, and grow more deep, 
 Until the night comes on apace; 
 God grant us! that His radiant face 
 IMay glorify death's gloomy night, 
 And lead us upward to the light. 
 Beyond the reach of earthly ills, 
 And onward to the Heavenly Hills ! 
 
 183 
 
AT SEVENTY. 
 
 Eighth Month 23rd, 1908. 
 
 A poetic letter to my brother, Nathan H. Edgertou. 
 
 Dear Brother, 
 
 How the winged years 
 Flit by us with their smiles and tears, 
 And with, mayhap their doubts and fears, 
 
 Till Time, grown bolder, 
 Plays pranks with us along the way, 
 Touches anon our locks with gray, 
 And sometimes forces us to say 
 
 "We're growing older!" 
 
 But looking backward to the days 
 When we were boys, the golden haze 
 Still seems to linger o 'er our ways 
 
 Of present duty; 
 Until we feel like boys again, 
 Instead of old gray-headed men, 
 And our quick pulses thrill as then 
 
 With life's new beauty. 
 
 Again among our native hills 
 We play, and set our toy mills 
 A-running in the meadow rills, 
 
 With childish laughter, 
 Or hunting eggs among the mows, 
 Or brown nuts from the chestnut boughs, 
 Or bringing home the truant cows. 
 
 The day's work after. 
 
 184 
 
And when the shining spring returns, 
 And the bright sugar-eamp fire burns, 
 Or later, as the plowshare turns 
 
 The dark soil over, 
 Or when the harvest's bounty pours 
 Its plenty through the great barn doors, 
 And heaps about the threshing floors 
 
 The fragrant clover. 
 
 How vividly before our eyes 
 These visions of the past arise, — 
 Reflections caught from boyhood's skies- 
 Seen through our tears ! 
 Faces and forms tliat gathered 'round 
 The old home fireside, and the sound 
 Of voices that the years have drowned. 
 Is in our ears. 
 
 Upon life's stage, how wide the range 
 Prom pain to pleasure, and how strange 
 The quick transition, and the change 
 
 From joy to sorrow. 
 And in the shifting of the play, 
 We see the boys of yesterday 
 As the gray-bearded men to-day. 
 
 And gone tomorrow ! 
 
 And we, Dear Brother ! come to stand, 
 A decimated household band, 
 Our feet upon the "Border Land" 
 
 Today are prest ! 
 Life 's weary race so nearly run ! 
 Thy threescore years and ten now done ! 
 How surely life's descending sun 
 
 Sinks to the west! 
 
 185 
 
Oh! grant, Dear Lord! that after all 
 Our strenuous life, ere the night fall, 
 Our ears may hear the sweet home call 
 
 Sounding from far, 
 Like a sweet harp, o'er whieli the wind 
 Of God is blowing ! may the Mind 
 Eternal, lead us on to find 
 
 Heaven 's gates ajar ! 
 
 NOT KNOWING. 
 
 1908. 
 
 I may not know how deep and wise 
 
 And perfect the design 
 Of Providence, that underlies 
 
 This selfish life of mine. 
 
 We cannot grasp His glorious plan, 
 With mercy interwrought. 
 
 Transcending all the powers of man 
 Is God 's omniscient thought ! 
 
 We may not know why stress and strain 
 
 And sorrow come and go,' 
 Nor why sometimes disease and pain 
 
 And doubting overflow, 
 
 Until the clouds seem all too dense 
 To witness Hope's arising; 
 
 Beyond the reach of sight or sense 
 Seems Faith's serene horizon! 
 
 186 
 
AVe may not hear through unbelief, 
 
 Tomorrow 's benediction, 
 In the storm-centre of our grief, 
 
 Today's severe affliction. 
 
 And yet, not knowing, we would trust. 
 
 Our simple faith confessing, 
 That God, o'erruling all, is just, 
 
 And rich in love and blessing! 
 
 And we may know, in following out 
 His plan's complete unfolding. 
 
 The secret of His peace, nor doubt 
 His own secure upholding. 
 
 Increase our faith, dear Lord, in Thee ! 
 
 Dispel all doubt and fearing! 
 Open our spiritual eyes to see. 
 
 Quicken our sense of hearing ! 
 
 That we may note Thy "Still small voice' 
 
 In life's unwritten story. 
 And see beyond the clouds of doubt, 
 
 The gleam of heavenly glory ! 
 
 May know the spirit's harmony 
 Within our hearts upwelling, 
 
 And the sweet comfort, day by day. 
 Of Thy divine indwelling! 
 
 187 
 
DRIFTING. 
 
 1908. 
 
 Oh, to see our loved ones drifting, 
 Drifting from us day by day ! 
 
 Powerless to arrest the ebb-tide. 
 Setting outward and away! 
 
 Oh, to know that those whose living 
 
 Merges so into our own. 
 Dread disease, relentless, cureless, 
 
 Marks and stalks them as his own ! 
 
 Oh, to see the mute appealing 
 Of the eyes that look in ours ! 
 
 Pregnant with the heart's deep feeling, 
 In the lapse of Nature 's powers ! 
 
 Oh, to feel the dear hands clinging 
 To us in the strain and stress! 
 
 How our hearts are crushed and humbled, 
 In our very helplessness ! 
 
 Oh, our Father! in our weakness. 
 
 Let us closer press to Thee ! 
 Oh, fulfill Thy blessed promise, 
 
 "As thy days, thy strength shall be!' 
 
Give us wisdom, give us patience, 
 Give us strength from day to day ! 
 
 Faith to keep, and love to guide us, 
 Safely on life 's weary way ! 
 
 And as drifting, drifting outward, 
 Toward where life and death divide, 
 
 Grant, dear Lord ! Thy holy presence ! 
 Help us to be satisfied ! 
 
 Thankful that 'mid clouds and darkness, 
 Through Thy own abounding grace. 
 
 We may sometimes catch an earnest 
 Of the glory of Thy face ! 
 
 Take our drifting dear ones, Father! 
 
 Into Thy especial care ! 
 Be to them their all-sufficience. 
 
 Is the burden of our prayer ! 
 
 Comfort with Thy benediction ! 
 
 With Thy arm of power sustain ! 
 Supplement, as Thou canst only, 
 
 Failing strength, bewildered brain! 
 
 And when past the tribulations. 
 
 Past the sorrows of the way, 
 When the clouds and gloom roll backward, 
 
 From the dawning of the day, 
 
 May our loved ones who are drifting, 
 Drifting from us toward the west, 
 
 Safely glide into the liarbor 
 Of eternal peace and rest! 
 
 189 
 
AT REST. 
 
 1908. 
 
 Dear patient hands ! that for so long 
 
 In the world's work have wrought, 
 So truly and so faithfully 
 
 Fulfilling every thought 
 Of love and duty ! now to-night 
 
 Lie meekly on her breast ! 
 Weary of toil, and thin and white, 
 
 They find eternal rest ! 
 
 Dear willing feet ! that faltered not, 
 
 Life 's rugged paths to tread ! 
 Devoted feet ! that ever ran 
 
 The way where duty led ! 
 Poor tired feet ! no more you go 
 
 The ways so often prest ! 
 Your steps grown feeble, short, and slow, 
 
 Tonight has brought you rest ! 
 
 Dear kindly eyes ! so full of love. 
 
 And love's sweet care for me, 
 Turning so fondly to her friends. 
 
 With hearty sympathy ! 
 Beautiful eyes ! that looked in mine. 
 
 With a strange, longing light. 
 As sickness wore her strength away, 
 
 Are closed for aye, tonight ! 
 
 190 
 
Dear careful lips ! so prompt to own 
 
 The good by others done, 
 So slow to recognize her own, 
 
 Or tell her victories won ! 
 Sweet lips! to mine so often prest, 
 
 Fragrant with love's pure breath, 
 And with her simple earnest prayers, 
 
 Tonight are hushed in death! 
 
 Dear heart ! that loved so long and well, 
 
 So guileless and so true ! 
 That clung to us so tenderly. 
 
 Life's weary journey through! 
 Loyal to us and to her God ! 
 
 Its feverish pulsing o'er, 
 The heart so steadfast and so brave. 
 
 Is stilled fore verm ore ! 
 
 Sweet soul ! grown weary of the weight 
 
 And burden of the years I 
 Grown weary of life's suffering, 
 
 Its sorrow and its tears! — 
 I thank thee, Lord! for the sweet time 
 
 That she hath dwelt with me. 
 To-night Thou callest home again 
 
 Her pure white soul to Thee! 
 
 191 
 
HER PRAYER. 
 
 1908. 
 
 * ' Dear F'ather ! watch thou o 'er me, 
 
 I cannot go alone ! 
 The way is dark before me, 
 
 The night is coming on." 
 
 So prayed the patient sufferer 
 
 Upon her bed of pain. 
 Till the evening shades grew vibrant 
 
 With the spirit's sweet refrain. 
 
 No studied phrase adorned it, 
 Her simple heart-felt prayer, 
 
 But the soul's yearning warmed it 
 With life and beauty rare. 
 
 And as its accents trembled 
 Within her quiet room, 
 
 The very air seemed fragrant 
 With heavenly perfume. 
 
 And the sky above seemed clearer. 
 The earth beneath more fair. 
 
 And Heaven itself seemed nearer 
 For the treble of her prayer ! 
 
 192 
 
AFTERTHOUGHT. 
 
 1908. 
 
 Although I feel how desolate 
 
 My life henceforth must be, 
 Yet as tonight, I sit and wait. 
 
 Thinking of Heaven and thee, 
 I would not call thee back to life. 
 
 With all its toil and pain, 
 From that sweet home above, dear wife ! 
 
 Which I too, hope to gain. 
 
 I would not want to change God's plans ! 
 
 My time, or brief or long. 
 Is in the blessed Master's hands, 
 
 And He can do no wrong! 
 I would not sorrow over-much, 
 
 But wheresoe'er may be 
 My way, Oh may I walk in touch 
 
 Dear wife ! with Christ and thee ! 
 
 And may my life conform below, 
 
 To God's all- wise design ! 
 Seeking His blessed will to know. 
 
 And knowing, make it mine. 
 But well I know the flesh is weak, 
 
 My only sure defense. 
 Is through the coming years to seek 
 
 Help from Omnipotence ! 
 
 But as I fondly think of Thee, 
 
 From weakness disenthralled! 
 From life 's infirmities set free ! 
 
 To higher service called ! 
 I can but long for that bright land, 
 
 Where God shall dry our tears, 
 And cause to dwell af His right hand 
 
 Through the eternal years ! 
 
 193 
 
THE HOUSTONIAS. 
 
 1909. 
 
 I have transplanted you, sweet flowers ! 
 
 Modest and blossoming, 
 Upon the grave of one who loved 
 
 The coming of the Spring ! 
 
 Like you, a sweet simplicity 
 Adorned her life of beauty ! 
 
 Content in humble guise to walk 
 The quiet ways of duty ! 
 
 Content to occupy the sphere, 
 Where Providence had placed her, 
 
 Using the talents and the gifts 
 
 Wherewith the Lord had graced her ! 
 
 The gospel of unselfishness 
 Her daily life was preaching, 
 
 A simple faith and childlike trust 
 Were lessons of her teaching. 
 
 A mother to the motherless! 
 
 Her noble nature giving 
 The sweet aroma of a life 
 
 Of pure and saintly living. 
 
 But that sweet life has passed away 
 
 I can but bow in sorrow 
 Above her grave, and ask for strength 
 
 To meet each coming morrow. 
 
 194 
 
Strength to enable me to live 
 More worthy of the sweetness 
 
 Of her who brought, to home and life, 
 Such womanly completeness! 
 
 Help me, dear Christ ! more faithfully, 
 
 Her bright example heeding, 
 To follow on from day to day. 
 
 Her gentle spirit's leading: 
 
 That I may in the time to come. 
 
 Fulfill my humble calling. 
 And hear the Master's sweet "Well done" 
 
 When sunset shades are falling. 
 
 And may we meet, when life is o 'er, 
 
 Within the jasper portal. 
 The loved ones who have gone before 
 
 Into the life immortal ! 
 
 LITTLE MOTHER. 
 
 1909. 
 
 Darling little mother, 
 
 In her easy chair! 
 Face aglow with kindness! 
 
 Crowned with silver hair ! 
 Oh ! what charming pictures 
 
 Memory paints today! 
 Of the gentle mother, 
 
 Ere she went away ! 
 
 195 
 
Many a mid-life picture, 
 
 "With the long bright days 
 Full of summer's sweetness, 
 
 And its golden haze; 
 With the children gathered 
 
 Round about her knees. 
 Learning useful lessons 
 
 Of life's ministries. 
 
 Sowing in the spring-time, 
 
 For the autumn's yield. 
 Watching for the first fruits 
 
 Of the harvest field! 
 Doors ajar for comers, 
 
 'Mid her many cares 
 Sometimes entertaining 
 
 Angels unawares ! 
 
 And when ev'ning shadows 
 
 Fell across her way, 
 As her strength diminished 
 
 With the fading day, 
 Beautiful the evening 
 
 Lights and shadows blend, 
 Like her blessed Master, 
 
 Loving "to the end." 
 
 And as from life's threshold 
 
 Little mother passed ! 
 As the weary burdens 
 
 Fell from her at last. 
 Heaven's doors swung open 
 
 At the set of sun. 
 And her ears were greeted 
 
 With her Lord's "Well done, 
 
 196 
 
ANNIVERSARY NIGHT. 
 
 Eighth Month, 28th, 1909. 
 
 Tonight my busy memory 
 
 Holds up in strong contrast, 
 The droning of the Present, 
 
 With the treble of the Past ; 
 Tonight the floodgates open 
 
 To the torrents of my grief. 
 And only in a storm of tears 
 
 My spirit finds relief, 
 In the sweet and calm assurance 
 
 That the soul that passed away 
 At the coming of the night-fall 
 
 One year ago today, 
 Has all these months been dwelling 
 
 In that bright world of bliss, 
 Unvexed by any weakness 
 
 Or weariness, of this. 
 
 Yet even this assurance 
 
 Can scarcely put to flight 
 The loneliness and longing, 
 
 That fill my soul tonight; 
 As, sitting in the stillness 
 
 Of her room, I see again 
 The group around her bedside, 
 
 And hear her breath of pain. 
 Oh, the hush that fell upon us ! 
 
 In that solemn moment, when 
 The world of spirits seemed so near 
 
 Unto the world of men; 
 When the sweet eyes forever 
 
 Closed to the scenes of earth, 
 And in Death's silent coming, 
 
 Eternal life had birth ! 
 
 197 
 
I feel how deeply lonely 
 
 Has been my chastened life, 
 Since that sad hour at gloaming 
 
 When God called home my wife! 
 But as I bow submissive 
 
 Unto His holy Will, 
 There comes into my spirit 
 
 A whisper, "Peace be still." 
 And I would own how kindly 
 
 The Father's hand has led 
 My halting footsteps onward. 
 
 And how His love was shed 
 Abroad! I fain would thank Him 
 
 For mercies, and the power 
 That all my life hath led me, 
 
 Unto this very hour ! 
 
 And I would make, this evening, 
 
 My Darling's prayer my own, 
 "Dear Father, watch Thou o'er me! 
 
 I cannot go alone!" — 
 So oft' my courage fails me, 
 
 And faith grows weak and small. 
 Help me, dear Lord ! to follow 
 
 Thy guiding hand through all ! 
 Help me to bear more bravely 
 
 The loneliness, the tears. 
 To struggle calmly onward. 
 
 And meet the coming years. 
 And Oh ! when time shall bring me 
 
 To where the years shall cease, 
 May my ears catch the anthem 
 
 Of God's eternal peace! 
 And in the full fruition 
 
 Of hope and faith, may know 
 A sweet and glad reunion 
 
 With those I loved below ! 
 
 198 
 
CENTENARY. 
 
 Written on the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of 
 Mary J. Koll, First Month 10th, 1910. 
 
 We ask not that the sun stand still 
 
 Today on Gibeon, 
 Nor that the moon her orbit fill 
 
 To-night in Ajalon ! 
 
 No miracle of poAver we ask, 
 But make the earnest plea, 
 
 For grace to meet each daily task 
 Bravely and cheerfully, 
 
 As she whose birth we celebrate, 
 Whose years of toil and strife 
 
 Should cheer us on to emulate 
 The beauty of her life. 
 
 We would not have the tide of years, 
 
 For us to-day be stayed, 
 The record of its hopes and fears, 
 
 Forevermore is made 
 
 For her who calmly, sweetly meets 
 
 The trials of her way. 
 Whose lengthened, useful life completes 
 
 One hundred years today! 
 
 199 
 
One hundred years ! How very few 
 
 See their centennial day ! 
 While many die, ere yet the dew 
 
 Of youth has passed away ! 
 
 But she whose years we joy to tell, 
 Has rounded out fivescore ! 
 
 Whose fellow trav'lers fainting fell, 
 Life's highway passing o'er, 
 
 Until alone she stands today. 
 
 In her simplicity ! 
 Her generation passed away ! 
 
 "The last leaf on the tree." 
 
 And we would crave, what yet is meet 
 
 Of life for her may be 
 Spent at the blessed Master's feet, 
 
 From sin and sorrow free : 
 
 Knowing the Christian's hiding place. 
 Here, where the years increase ! 
 
 Looking for Christ's abiding place. 
 When the swift years shall cease. 
 
 And we to-day, would gladly own 
 
 God's overruling power. 
 In many a time of trial shown. 
 
 Unto this very hour! 
 
 And may we now and ever own 
 
 His good and wise design. 
 And our life's constant undertone 
 
 Still blend with the Divine. 
 
 200 
 
BAPTIZED WITH FIRK 
 
 the Bosirding Sohc 
 Third Month, 31* 
 
 Bar 
 
 L910. 
 
BAPTIZED WITH FIRE. 
 
 Fourth Month, 1910. 
 
 0, bleak bare walls ! how desolate 
 
 And sad your gloomy silhouette, 
 
 Clear-cut, against the blue spring sky, 
 
 Is thrown upon the beautiful 
 
 And quiet background of the hills! 
 
 The smiling hills, that erstwhile stood 
 
 Guard around thee, and the cheerful 
 
 Happy throngs that came and went, 
 
 Year after year, a joyous tide 
 
 Of pulsing life a-through thy halls ! 
 
 Oh Olney ! spot so dear to all 
 Who shared thy blessings! how today 
 My heart is filled with sadness. 
 And my eyes with tears ! hot tears 
 Of grief, as I recall the many 
 Fond associations of the past 
 Through my brain thronging! 
 
 Now baptized 
 With fire our Alma Mater stands ! 
 But as I gaze upon these walls. 
 Blackened and bare, and swept with flame, 
 I seem to see an earnest of 
 Its resurrection. Loving hands 
 Out-reach to clothe again these walls 
 With the habiliments of life, 
 Of loving service, lofty aims. 
 And golden opportunities! 
 
 201 
 
From east and west, the messages 
 Of loving sympathy, of faith, 
 Of succor in the hour of need, 
 Come as an inspiration ; and 
 From rich and poor alike, the help 
 Is freely given! Strong manhood, 
 Loving womanhood, age, trembling 
 Upon life's frontiers, and childhood, 
 Rich in hope and promise, all alike 
 Are pressing through the open door 
 Of Opportunity, to build 
 About these walls, a richer fane, 
 A Phoenix risen from the ashes 
 Of the Past ! 
 
 May we all arise 
 To meet this opportunity. 
 Coming but once, and briefly, 
 To a generation! May we choose 
 Wisely and well, nor sacrifice 
 Unto the brief and fleeting Present, 
 Those tremendous issues of the long 
 On-coming Future, radiant 
 And big with possibilities! 
 
 The chance has come to us, to step 
 
 Into the breach, and by a grand 
 
 Self-sacrifice repay the debt 
 
 Of gratitude we owe unto 
 
 Our Alma Mater ! If we thus 
 
 May measure up unto the call 
 
 The Future makes upon the Present, 
 
 In the years to come, our children 
 
 Will not blush because we failed 
 
 To do our duty in the time 
 
 Of need that tried the souls of men. 
 
 202 
 
LOVE'S MIRACLE. 
 
 1910. 
 
 Two lonely lives were drifting 
 
 Adown the tide of years, 
 Each with its heritage of pain, 
 
 Each with its hopes and fears; 
 Each with its own misgivings, 
 
 And transient smiles and tears, 
 Each bearing, as alone it could 
 
 The burden of the years. 
 
 But drifting on, as nearer. 
 
 These lonely lives were drawn, 
 New interests seemed to 'waken. 
 
 New hopes began to dawn. 
 And there was less of sadness 
 
 Upon each heart and face, 
 And Faith, and Joy and Gladness 
 
 Were blooming in its place. 
 
 Oh! Love, thou great transformer! 
 
 What wond'rous power is thine, 
 To change Life's common water 
 
 Into the rarest wine ! 
 To change the gloom of twilight 
 
 Into the light of day. 
 The snows and cold of winter 
 
 Into the flowers of May! 
 
 And if this human passion 
 
 Can so transform our lives. 
 If from the Eden exodus 
 
 This touch Divine survives. 
 May not our human loving, 
 
 In GOD 'S o 'erruling be 
 The blending of our dual lives 
 
 In one, dear Christ, in Thee? 
 
 203 
 
INDIAN SUMMER DAYS. 
 
 1910. 
 
 The autumn days are brief and chill, 
 
 The autumn skies are gray ; 
 The glory of the summer time 
 
 Has faded quite away. 
 
 But out upon the breezy hill, 
 
 The quiet forest ways, 
 Are carpeted with red and gold. 
 
 Unknown to summer days. 
 
 The asters in their regal blue, 
 
 The dusty roadside cheering. 
 Their gay plumes nodding in the wind. 
 
 To leeward gently veering, 
 
 The brown nuts dropping from the boughs, 
 Lie 'midst the leaves down-falling, 
 
 The solemn voices of the wind 
 Are sweetly, gently, calling. 
 
 Nature has clothed the field and wood 
 With beauty and with sweetness. 
 
 And autumn seems to crown the year 
 With all the year's completeness. 
 
 And still we look for days of shine, 
 
 Of shimmer, and of gladness. 
 Before the snows of winter come, 
 
 The short, dark, days of sadness. 
 
 We look for those bright dreamy days, 
 Filled full of love's sweet story, 
 
 The overbrooding purple haze 
 Of "Indian Summer's" glory. 
 
 204 
 
And I, dear friend ! have thought how bright 
 
 Life's Indian Summer beauty- 
 May glint along its dowuAvard slopes, 
 
 And light our paths of duty. 
 
 And glorify the common things, 
 
 In the brief days before us, 
 And brighten with a touch Divine 
 
 The clouds that may drift o'er us. 
 
 UNDER THE STARS. 
 
 1910. 
 
 What glorious sights, 
 
 These winter nights. 
 My western windows see ! 
 
 As to my eye 
 
 The starlit sky 
 'erarehes wond 'rously ! 
 
 Immensity 
 
 I seem to see ! 
 Beyond the Milky Way 
 
 The heaven's archways 
 
 Are all ablaze 
 With stars and nebulae ! 
 
 Our keen eyes sweep 
 
 The upper deep. 
 But far beyond our sight. 
 
 Are God's fcontiers, 
 
 Whence, through the years, 
 Flash in these rays of light. 
 
 205 
 
Let me expect, 
 When stars reflect, 
 
 The glory of Thy face, 
 To know, dear Lord, 
 Thy still small word, 
 
 In this our trysting place 1 
 
 And oh, dear Christ, 
 
 In this sweet tryst. 
 My guardian spirit be I 
 
 Help me to hold. 
 
 Or new or old, 
 My covenants with Thee ! 
 
 LIFE'S DESERT PLACES. 
 
 1910. 
 
 'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest 
 awhile, ' ' 
 
 —Mark VI., 31. 
 
 ' ' Come ye apart and rest awhile, ' ' 
 So spake the Lord unto His own 
 Who followed Him from day to day. 
 Amidst the throng of those who came 
 And went, till they had weary grown, 
 And needed quiet rest. So oft 
 The cares of life press heavily. 
 And the long way seems very dark. — 
 This the dear Lord knew, and led them 
 Out into the desert's silence, 
 Where alone with Him they might, 
 Within the quiet solitude. 
 Be comforted and strengthened 
 For the mighty work before them. 
 
 206 
 
And thus God often leads His own, 
 Even now as then. The desert 
 May seem wild, and lone, and vast, 
 The very type of desolation ! 
 But from its very loneliness. 
 Its silence, and its vastness, through 
 Divine Omnipotence, comes all 
 The needed strength, the courage. 
 The endurance, to complete 
 The service which He calls for. 
 And for which He thus prepares 
 His children. 
 
 From preparation 
 Such as this, God called His servant, 
 Moses, from the desert's rim 
 Nigh unto Horeb, for the work 
 To which he was appointed. 
 There in the desert, God had taught 
 To him the needed lessons 
 For the leadership of all 
 The mighty people, whom, by grace 
 And help Divine, he was to bring 
 From abject slavery, and all 
 The degradation that exists 
 Therein, into the freedom 
 Of the promised land. 
 
 Such too, 
 The training that the poet-king 
 Of Israel underwent, when 
 God would choose a man to reign 
 Over His people ; the youngest 
 Among his father's sons, and 
 Shepherd of his flocks, whose soul. 
 By silent intercourse with God 
 Through all the long bright days 
 Spent with the patient flocks among 
 The hills and fields of Bethlehem, 
 Had kept so close in touch 
 With the Divine, that when the time 
 
 207 
 
Of Saul's rejection came, the boy- 
 Was furnished for the mighty task 
 To which God called him. 
 
 God is, 
 In all His ways consistent. 
 Ere He called the son of Amram, 
 To lead unto the exodus 
 The Hebrew hosts, Omniscience 
 Saw the legislator in 
 The shepherd of the desert. 
 Ere the prophet poured the oil 
 Upon the head of Jesse's son 
 Infinite Wisdom saw the 
 "Perfect heart," the glory of 
 The reign of David. 
 
 And to-day. 
 When God calls into service 
 Whom He will, His own right arm 
 Will still uphold His instrument. 
 And as we walk with Him in faith. 
 Depending on His power 
 And guidance. He will lead us 
 Through all the trials of our way. 
 And as our eyes are fixed on Him, 
 And with our ears attentive 
 To His "still small voice," we, 
 In the end, will find it true 
 That ' ' Unto him who hath no might 
 He still increaseth strength." 
 
 And, 
 
 From these resting places in 
 
 The deserts, whether of sorrow. 
 
 Or temptation, or disease. 
 
 If we but cling to Him in faith, 
 
 And press more closely to His side. 
 
 We may emerge into the world 
 
 Of active service, with a braver 
 
 Heart to follow on, within 
 
 The path the Master's feet have trod. 
 
LOVE. (A Letter.) 
 
 1910. 
 
 As I say farewell, my darling, 
 
 As I turn from thee today 
 To home and other duties, 
 
 I can but hope and pray 
 That God may keep and bless thee, 
 
 And shield from every harm, 
 And lead thee safely forward, 
 
 By His Almighty arm. 
 
 His presence has been with us. 
 
 In many a lonely hour. 
 His love has touched our human love 
 
 With its ecstatic power; 
 He has reached our founts of feeling, 
 
 And the charming interflow 
 Of deep and strong affection 
 
 Has warmed our life below. 
 
 With an earnest of the sweetness 
 
 Of His never failing love. 
 Which in its full completeness 
 
 Forever reigns above ! 
 Keep us. Oh ! loving Father, 
 
 So close in touch with thee. 
 That in the glorious afterwhile. 
 
 From sin and sorrow free. 
 
 We may dwell with Thee forever, 
 
 In Thy happy home above! 
 Where nought may separate us 
 
 From the rapture of Thy love ! 
 Above, beyond the human love. 
 
 And sanctified by grace, 
 Where through the years eternal 
 
 We may behold Thy face ! 
 
 209 
 
AT SIXTY-SIX. 
 
 Seventh Month 12th, 1911. 
 
 Threescore and six ! how swift have past 
 The winged years ! How brief the whole 
 Of human life ! how long, how vast. 
 Eternity! Be wise, my soul. 
 Redeem the time; and holding fast 
 The hand of G od, press onward to thy goal ! 
 
 What is thy goal? Oh, may it be 
 Nothing beneath the stars of light ! 
 But outward, upward, to the free 
 Expanse of Heaven, sweet and bright 
 With God's smile, and the charity 
 Of His great love ; to walk with Him in white. 
 
 Help thou me onward then, dear Lord ! 
 Feeble my will, nor have I power. 
 Without the quick 'ning of Thy Word, 
 To keep me for a single hour 
 In the wild whirl of life, unheard 
 Of Thee, unsheltered by Thy love and power. 
 
 Oh, may I then, in the few years 
 Still left me, walk more near to Thee 
 Dear Christ, than heretofore ! If tears 
 And sorrow are dispensed to me. 
 Help me to bear them, still my fears. 
 And lead me through the toils of life to Thee ! 
 
 210 
 
Thou hast bestowed so much of good, 
 The sweet home ties, blessings of love 
 And peace, of health and daily food ! — 
 All these should lead my thoughts above, 
 To Thee, in filial gratitude, 
 Prompting my loyalty to Thee to prove. 
 
 Help me more faithfully, Oh Lord, 
 To do the things Thy will appoints. 
 And as Thy ' ' Still small Voice ' ' is heard, 
 And as Thy spirit still anoints, 
 May I be prompt to speak Thy word. 
 And my feet hasten where Thy finger points. 
 
 THE THRESHOLD OF THE YEAR.' 
 
 New Year's Eve, 1911. 
 
 Upon the threshold of the year. 
 Tonight my feet are stayed, 
 
 Behind, the unreturning past ! 
 
 Before, the future, dim and vast! 
 
 But on God's care the load I cast, 
 I need not be afraid ! 
 
 His love through all the years has led, 
 
 Shall I not trust Him still? 
 And through whatever may betide, 
 If I keep closely at His side, 
 I'll trust His loving care to guide, 
 His promise to fulfill. 
 
 211 
 
I ask not idleness, dear Lord, 
 
 I fain would work for Thee ! 
 If Thou wilt all my being fill 
 With a deep reverence for Thy will, 
 And strengthen for Thy service still, 
 
 Thy servant I would be. 
 
 If the Eternal God may be 
 
 My refuge, day by day. 
 And if His everlasting arm 
 Be underneath, no wild alarm 
 Should shake my trust, or bring me harm, 
 
 In my appointed way. 
 
 Beyond the threshold of the year, 
 
 I know not what awaits, 
 But I would come, dear Lord, to Thee, 
 Trusting Thy love's sweet ministry 
 To lead, and guide, and be with me, 
 
 Unto life's outer gates. 
 
 THE BLIZZARD. 
 
 1912. 
 
 A blizzard, aye sure a blizzard ! 
 
 On the heels of the sleet and rain, 
 With scourge of snow, on the winds ablow, 
 And frost on the window pane ; 
 And a chill like death 
 On the blust'ring breath 
 Of the wintry hurricane ! 
 
 212 
 
The day's wild hours of tumult, 
 
 With their wrack, and rush, and blow, 
 Faded without the cheerful light 
 Or warmth of the sunset glow ; 
 As it were, blown out 
 In riot and rout 
 By the stifling swirl of snow. 
 
 Within, by our village fireside, 
 We gather, the hearth about. 
 And list to the storm wind's chorus, 
 Like a solemn dirge without; 
 Like a cry of pain 
 Was the wild refrain 
 Of the blizzard's wail without. 
 
 Fierce spirit of the tempest, hush 
 
 Thy loud and reckless crying. 
 Tone down thy boisterous jubilee 
 To notes of gentle sighing ! 
 And pass by the door 
 Of the suffering poor. 
 Thy cruelty decrying. 
 
 There was erst, enough of sorrow 
 
 For the lowly to confess. 
 Enough of hunger and of cold, 
 Enough of strain and stress ; 
 But the storm's rude height, 
 And its chill tonight, 
 Are adding to their distress. 
 
 God pity the poor forlorn ones! 
 
 His destitute ones today. 
 Help us to feel our brotherhood 
 With the poor on Life 's highway 
 Keep us close to the drift, 
 With a strong uplift 
 For the fainting ones today. 
 
 213 
 
TO JANE EDGERTON 
 
 Tenth Month 19th, 1912. 
 
 On her eighty-ninth birthday. 
 
 Dear Cousin, 
 
 On this day of days, 
 
 I fain would bring to thee 
 An added joy, a note of praise, 
 
 A glimpse of life to be 
 In full fruition of our hopes, 
 
 Beyond life 's tossing sea ! 
 
 Thy fourscore years and nine, indeed 
 Have touched thy locks with gray, 
 
 But in thy heart's deep shrine, no need 
 Cries out for sunnier day; 
 
 Life at its best still wears for thee 
 A cheerful face today ! 
 
 'Tis true the joys of the Springtime 
 
 Developed long ago 
 Into the Summer 's fruitful prime ; 
 
 Now Autumn's breezes blow! 
 But still we find on heart and mind 
 
 Life's Indian Summer glow. 
 
 And we today, our thanks would say, 
 For the blessings God hath given. 
 
 For the times of doubt that found us out, 
 For fields where we have striven, 
 
 For strength thus won, to bear us on 
 Through mercy, nearer Heaven ! 
 
 For Thy power to save, we thank Thee 
 Dear Lord, through all the strife. 
 
 The endless toil and endeavor. 
 And weariness of life. 
 
 And to keep our tryst with Thee, dear Christ, 
 In the eventide of life ! 
 
 214 
 
THE WESTWARD TRAIL. 
 
 When the westward trail of "Forty-nine" 
 Was luring away to camp and mine, 
 With visions of hasty fame and wealth, 
 Of western homes, and rugged health ; 
 'Twas a long wild way, the "Overland", 
 Of plains, and mountains, and barren sand, 
 With long miles stretching from east to west, 
 Onward and up to the Rockies' crest, 
 And thence away on the sunset side 
 Of the wondrous summit, the "Great Divide 
 
 Long toil ahead, when the march began, 
 
 For the "Prairie Schooner" caravan! 
 
 Long weary toil for horse and man. 
 
 The laboring flight of the moving van ! 
 
 With the faithful wives and the little ones, 
 
 A ready target for Indian guns ! 
 
 An intruder to the wild coyote, 
 
 To the grizzly, and the mountain goat; 
 
 A flaunt to the fiercest winds that blow, 
 
 A fright to the nomad buffalo; 
 
 And this prolonged through weary weeks, 
 
 Ere he gains the goal his fancy seeks. 
 
 At night in tent, or in bivouac, 
 
 The migrants sleep on the westward track, 
 
 With pickets to guard against attack 
 
 Of hostile Indians, or bandit force, 
 
 Haunting the western emigrant course. 
 
 But now, how changed from the days of yore. 
 The "Prairie Schooner "~ is seen no more. 
 And westward bound, as we go today, 
 
 215 
 
By the great *'U. P." or the Santa Fe, 
 A double header, the "Limited", 
 With its ' ' Mountain engines ' ' groomed and fed 
 For a hundred miles or more of run 
 Without a stop, toward the setting sun, 
 "Dragging" a dozen Pullmans, or more. 
 Is off for the far Pacific's shore. 
 
 Wonderful triumph of art and skill ! 
 Bounding ahead at the driver's will, 
 Cleaving the air like a sharp-edged knife. 
 Chasing along like a thing of life. 
 With roar and rumble, and stress and strain. 
 Dashing westward, the limited train ! 
 Over broad rivers, by bridges crost 
 We thunder, — the rush of a mailed host ! 
 Past cottage homes, through a constant change 
 Of scenes, and out on the boundless range, 
 Where the cattle graze, and the herds of sheep 
 Are folded in the corral to sleep. 
 
 But sleep comes not to the faithful crew 
 
 That run the train, but the whole night through, 
 
 At their posts of duty, wide awake. 
 
 And alert to every risk they take ; 
 
 Speeding along through the darkness deep, 
 
 The eyes of the engineer a-sweep 
 
 Over the rails, where vividly bright, 
 
 Is thrown the glare of the great headlight, 
 
 As, hand on throttle, he guides the train. 
 
 Working together, the hand and brain ! 
 
 All this, that we, in our berths asleep. 
 
 May safely rest through the darkness deep, 
 
 Preserved from the dangers of the way. 
 
 And rise refreshed for another day. 
 
 216 
 
Thus day and night we are sweeping on, 
 
 From dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn. 
 
 Over the plains so long and so wide, 
 
 Or skirting the rugged mountain side. 
 
 Over the canyon's yawning abyss, 
 
 Close to the edge of the precipice, 
 
 Through the tunnels, — above the clouds 
 
 That float below, like solemn shrouds, — 
 
 Thence sweeping down through the great snow 
 
 sheds, 
 Close to the peaks, whose snow-crowned heads 
 Stand clearly outlined against the blue 
 Of the western sky, while pictures new 
 And beautiful, come before our eyes. 
 In ever-changing, and glad surprise. 
 
 And soon our journey ends, the way 
 Across the continent, which they 
 Erstwhile required months to cover, 
 With untold hardships dotted over. 
 We now can make in luxury. 
 In four short days from sea to sea ! 
 
 We praise the ability to plan 
 
 And execute, the skill of man 
 
 To overbridge all space, and turn 
 
 To peaceful use the powers that burn 
 
 And glow within him, and construe 
 
 The laws of Nature, to the true 
 
 And lasting good of all mankind. 
 
 Outworking through the courage given, 
 The plans and purposes of Heaven, 
 
 Harmonious with the Eternal Mind. 
 
 217 
 
MOUNT PLEASANT. 
 
 Mount Pleasant! 'round thy classic hill 
 
 What fragrant memories cluster! 
 What varied thoughts our bosoms fill 
 
 As on this spot we muster 
 Our Friendly clans; our hearts in touch 
 
 With Nature's warm caressing 
 This summer day, hoping for much 
 
 Of uplift, and of blessing. 
 
 A day of Friendship's genial glow, 
 
 Filled up with happy meetings 
 Of the dear friends of long ago. 
 
 With warm and cordial greetings 
 Of newer friends, and kindred hearts, 
 
 Whose interest brings them here. 
 From near-by homes, from distant parts. 
 
 In this centennial year. 
 
 A hundred years! what changes sweep 
 
 Our human pathways over. 
 As tempests scourge the tossing deep, 
 
 Defying man's endeavor; — 
 So though the storms of Twenty-eight, 
 
 And Fifty-four swept o'er us. 
 Though sometimes grieving at our fate, 
 
 Yet Heaven still lies before us. 
 
 Around us are its beacon lights 
 
 And watch-fires brightly burning, 
 With these in view, may we be true. 
 
 From danger promptly turning, 
 Obedient to the Light within. 
 
 Its gentle guidance heeding. 
 Avoiding deed or thought of sin. 
 
 To follow in its leading. — 
 
 218 
 
Mount Pleasant ! many a valiant soul 
 
 Whose varied lines of service 
 Have blest the Church, and made tlie goal 
 
 Of life more plain before us, 
 Learned helpful lessons in thy School 
 
 For life's broad duties later. 
 Squaring them by the Golden Rule, 
 
 And our own Alma Mater, 
 
 Mount Pleasant ! Olney ! may your sons 
 
 And daughters, holding duly 
 Our Quaker faith, so he who runs 
 
 May read its message truly, 
 Its pristine zeal, humility, 
 
 And Christliness upwelling, 
 And overspreading all may be 
 
 The proof of His indwelling. 
 
 Thus may the new School and the old. 
 
 Be classed on history's pages 
 Among the forces that have told 
 
 For Christ, adown the ages; 
 For higher aims, for cleaner lives, 
 
 For greater faith to nerve us 
 By closer walk with God, to give 
 
 More consecrated service. 
 
 And may we daily emulate 
 
 His infinite forgiving, 
 Until our own lives illustrate 
 
 A better, holier living. 
 The glory of unselfishness, 
 
 The lure of Heaven above. 
 May these combine in all to bless 
 
 The Apostolate of Love ! 
 
 The above lines were written for the occasion of a Cen- 
 tennial meeting at Mount Pleasant, Ohio, held Sixth Month 
 20th. 1913. 
 
 219 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prefatory 3 
 
 Introductory 4 
 
 Foreword 9 
 
 A Brook By The Way 10 
 
 Nature's Music 11 
 
 Death of DeSoto 12 
 
 Our Father's Death 16 
 
 The Baby's Grave 20 
 
 Near The Dead 22 
 
 "All Is Peace" 23 
 
 Recognition In Heaven 25 
 
 Giving Back 27 
 
 In Resignation 28 
 
 The Fourth Anniversary 30 
 
 Ambrose Boone 31 
 
 Christ's Kingdom 32 
 
 An Intercession 34 
 
 Nuptial Greeting 36 
 
 Old Letters 37 
 
 Four Pair of Shoes 39 
 
 Words of Welcome 40 
 
 An Aspiration 41 
 
 The Decade 41 
 
 Gone Home 42 
 
 Our Dual Lives 44 
 
 "The City of the Living" 45 
 
 Consolation 46 
 
 Hereafter 48 
 
 The Smoker's Dream 49 
 
 Early Crowned 51 
 
 The Fire 53 
 
 The Old Year 54 
 
 The Shadow 56 
 
 A Harvest Hymn 58 
 
 In Memoriam 60 
 
 My Angel Wife 62 
 
 My Birthday 83 
 
 New Year's Eve Musings 65 
 
 The Grave in the West 66 
 
 My Childhood's Home 67 
 
 The Vision 69 
 
PAGE 
 
 The Land of Dreams 70 
 
 Thanksgiving 72 
 
 Heart Guests 73 
 
 Old Year Memories 76 
 
 "What Inspires" 77 
 
 The Death of the Year 79 
 
 Moonlight Musings 80 
 
 Message to the Dead 82 
 
 The Surprise 83 
 
 Valedictory Address, — To My Pupils 85 
 
 The Angel of Springtime 87 
 
 The Pugnacious Lover 89 
 
 The Snowfall 92 
 
 The Nation's Suspense 94 
 
 The Poor Poet's Dream 96 
 
 Bells of the New Year 99 
 
 My Dream 100 
 
 Pensive Musings 101 
 
 The Retrospect 102 
 
 An Acrostic 104 
 
 The Robin's "Snow-Bound" 105 
 
 Consecration 106 
 
 "Under The Shadow of Thy Wings" 107 
 
 The Maniac Prisoner 109 
 
 Night Ill 
 
 Prospect Mount 112 
 
 The Meeting 114 
 
 The Old Meeting House 115 
 
 The "Star of the Cheyennes" 116 
 
 The Ministry of Suffering 117 
 
 Our Refuge 120 
 
 The Dead MiUionaire 121 
 
 Home Memories 123 
 
 The Snow Storm 126 
 
 The Neglected Flower 131 
 
 Silent Worship 133 
 
 Equality 134 
 
 Nearing the Shore 136 
 
 Reunion *: 137 
 
 Only a Tramp 140 
 
 Make Me Pure Within 142 
 
 Ice-Bound 143 
 
PAGE 
 
 The Railroad Wreck 147 
 
 Vocal Winds 149 
 
 Quakerism 151 
 
 Disarmament 153 
 
 "How Beautiful To Be With God" 155 
 
 In Storm and Calm 156 
 
 A Wedding Letter 157 
 
 Valedictory,— Class of 95 159 
 
 Valedictory,— Class of 99 161 
 
 The Best of Friends 163 
 
 The Temptation 165 
 
 The Log-Book 167 
 
 "Monthly Meeting" 168 
 
 The Hero of Fredericksburgh 170 
 
 Autumn Days 174 
 
 Valedictory,— Class of 05 176 
 
 Keep Your Glasses Bright 179 
 
 In Recognition 180 
 
 The Silver Wedding Day 181 
 
 A Birthday Rhyme 182 
 
 At Seventy 184 
 
 Not Knowing 186 
 
 Drifting 188 
 
 At Rest 190 
 
 Her Prayer 192 
 
 Afterthought 193 
 
 The Houstonias 194 
 
 Little Mother 195 
 
 Anniversary Night 197 
 
 Centenary 199 
 
 Baptized With Fire 201 
 
 Love's Miracle 203 
 
 Indian Summer Days 204 
 
 Under the Stars 205 
 
 Life's Desert Places 206 
 
 Love,— (A Letter) 209 
 
 At Sixty-six 210 
 
 "The Threshold of the Year" 211 
 
 The Blizzard 212 
 
 To Jane Edgerton 214 
 
 The Westward Trail 215 
 
 Mount Pleasant '. 218 
 
JUL -6 1914