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FEtJIT OF AFPLICTIOU. 
 
 MES. K. H. CROWELL. 
 
 '*Bid tlie wind speak of me where I have dwelt^ 
 Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt, 
 A thought restore!" 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 WILKES BAERE, PA. 
 
 1878. 
 
1 
 
nVll OF APPLICTIOH. 
 
 -lY- 
 
 MKS. E. H. CEOWELL. 
 
 ?,i 
 
 ''Bid the wind speak of me wliere I have dwelt, 
 Bid the stream's voice, of all m.y soul hath felt, 
 A thought restore !'' 
 
 3IRS. HEMANS; 
 
 WILKES BAEEE, PA, 
 
 1S78. 
 
-fi) 14-73 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1 878, by 
 Mrs. K. H. CrowelL, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
 TKIXTED BY 
 
 W. H. SEAC01fI>, 
 
 WIIJvES BAEKE, PA, 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 Not for Fame, this unpretending little volume is sent 
 forth. Not for Fame; but with the trembling hope in my 
 declining years of providing a refuge from the pitiless blasts 
 of adversity. I have long, with deep anxiety been tossing 
 about on tlie turbulent sea of life, and this, the only alter- 
 native at the present time, I can but liken to a plank, 
 tlirown out, to whicli I am clinging with the energy of 
 one, who is too much chilled already with the situation to 
 expect deliverance, humanly speaking, if this slip from my 
 grasp. 
 
 R. H. C. 
 
COjYTE.YTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Only the Stems 7 
 
 Some Ckoss 9 
 
 What is Life : 1 1 
 
 Sister and Home 12 
 
 When You and T weee Young 15 
 
 Far out at Sea 16 
 
 Twilight 17 
 
 I Love the Xight 19 
 
 The Locust Tree 21 
 
 Lilly Dale 23 
 
 O'er the Green Field 24 
 
 Home 25 
 
 "Sweeping through the Gates" 2(S 
 
 Flowers 28 
 
 A Present Help 30 
 
 My Childhood's Home 32 
 
6 Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ''Home of the Soul^' 34 
 
 The Sermon last Evening 37 
 
 Autumn Leaves 39 
 
 41 
 
 Lines suggested by a Pictuke i^epresenting Moses on 
 
 Mt. Hopeb 43 
 
 Overthrow of Pharaoh 44 
 
 The Jaie at Phii^ippi 4(> 
 
 Paul before Nero 48 
 
 Tribute to the late Rev. George Peck D. D 49 
 
 Little Wallace 52 
 
 "Whet^He Cometh '^ 53 
 
 The Dying Soldier . 54 
 
 Wings o6 
 
FRUIT OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 ONLY THE STEMS. 
 
 Only the stems, the leaves are gone, 
 
 They are crumbled and decayed, 
 And here in an old envelope 
 
 I find the relic laid. 
 How vividly, my deep distress 
 
 These dry, dead stems recall: 
 Within our home was one beloved, 
 
 Dearer to me than all. 
 
 It was in May, this very month, 
 
 Sweet sounds were in the air, 
 A. something I cannot describe, 
 
 The eye met everywhere. 
 Far, far from this more rugged clime — 
 
 How cold it is to-day. 
 What witliering, piercing winds prevail 
 
 Thiii morn — the first of May. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 Flowers there were in blossom then, 
 
 I know these came that day, 
 From a kind neighbor living near 
 
 A freshly culled boque+. 
 But the hand that would have pressed them, 
 
 Was strangely damp and cold, 
 Too weary were the fingers 
 
 The fragrant gift to hold. 
 
 These dry, dead stems, they bring to mind 
 
 The form I watched beside, 
 For at the close of that long day, 
 
 Calmly, my husband died. 
 Only the stems, how like my life 
 
 To me they seem to-day, 
 The fresh, green leaves have one by one 
 
 Faded and dropped away. 
 
 So many leaves I loved and prized 
 
 Have fallen here and there, 
 Some with the sober tint of age 
 
 And others green and fair. 
 O, what were life with all its cares, 
 
 Its toils, its grief, its strife, 
 If in the midst of all came not 
 
 Hopes of a better life. 
 
Fruit of AfPtction, 
 
 SOME CROSS. 
 
 Each one, it seems, must have a cross 
 That sorely vexes heart and brain; 
 And every bosom mourns a loss, 
 And throbs with pain. 
 
 We oft in bitterness complain, 
 If not aloud, within the heart; 
 
 And to relieve and soothe our pain, 
 Trv everv art. 
 
 We chafe and fret, too oft rebel. 
 And o'er causes gravely ponder. 
 
 That hare far more than we can tell, 
 Made life sombre. 
 
 If our confidence is shaken — 
 Sad, dispirited we repine; 
 
 Yet oft as griefs press, awaken 
 To thino-s divine. 
 
10 Fruit of Ajfliction. 
 
 All but tender seems the training, - 
 All but docile is the child; 
 Not presuming, yet refusing 
 To be reconciled. 
 
 Does chilling poverty oppress, 
 Which ills we know unnumbered bring, 
 Yet even alove this distress, 
 Arise and sing. 
 
 And what if slighted and unknown! 
 Should this so weigh the spirit down? 
 We learn to rise, when left alone 
 ALove a frown. 
 
 Each trial Ls a stepping stone. 
 Carved by rough means, on which to climb. 
 Which have led up to heights unknown, 
 Manv a time. 
 
 And borne with meekness, they will lead 
 On, and still on, from height to height. 
 Till triumphing with angel speed. 
 We pass from sight. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 U 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE. 
 
 What is life, I as'.ved a cliild, 
 She softly raised ]ier blue eyes mild, 
 And smiling, lightly answered this, 
 *' Absence of trouble," — ^'life is bliss," 
 Then to my bosom straightway crept, 
 Wondering to see, I only wept. 
 And murmured, poor, poor child. 
 
 We met again, her swimming eye. 
 
 The trembling lips, her deep drawn sigh, 
 
 Tho' not a word slie had spoken; 
 
 Told me truly her dream was broken, 
 
 And as before to my b0)0m crept. 
 
 But not as before, she sobbed and wept, 
 
 Yet I did not ask her whv. 
 
 Again we met, her cheek was dry; 
 And changed the once bright beaming eye, 
 She was thoughtful, pale, calm and mild, 
 Liitle remained of tlie glad child. 
 
12 Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 A look subdued her features wore, 
 
 And deep within lier bosom^s core, 
 
 She yearned for those avIio might come no more 
 
 Youth^s sweet fancies were scattered there, 
 
 Yet she appeared with buoyant air, 
 
 While ne'er the sad heart *smiled. 
 
 I did not ask her again of life, 
 
 A glance revealed she'd known the strife; 
 
 However the lips refuse to speak, 
 
 So often stamped on brow and cheek, 
 
 And I knew from her wistful, shadowed eye. 
 
 So clear, and bright, in years gone by. 
 
 Ah! well I knew her dreiira so gay. 
 
 As morning mist had vanished awav. 
 
 SISTEE AND HOME. 
 
 Home! in that simple little word, 
 A thousand sweets exhale; 
 
 Be it on the beauteous height. 
 Or, in the smiling vale. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 13 
 
 When bowed with grief, or, pressed with care, 
 
 The heart would weep alone; 
 What softens grief, composes care. 
 
 So much as home, *^ sweet home." 
 
 Oh I I have roamed o'er other climes, 
 'Mid other scenes have dwelt! 
 
 And oft, ah! oft has my full heart, 
 Great tears of sorrow wept ! 
 
 In thinking of mv dear old home, 
 A spot endeared to me, 
 
 Bv broken ties and memories; 
 Dear sister most of thee. 
 
 I have missed tliee, yes, I've m'-ocd tliee. 
 Sister, more than I can tell; 
 
 A.nd knew not 'till thou wert token. 
 That I loved thee half so well. 
 
 I have longed to tell thee, sister. 
 Of the toilsome way I've trod. 
 
 Since the bright-hued, summer morning, 
 Thou wert laid beneath the sod. 
 
14 
 
 Fruit of Affiiction. 
 
 I feel that this is selfish, sister, 
 Wlien I think of all thy pain ; 
 
 Selfishness alone, could prompt me^ 
 Thus to wish thee back ao^ain. 
 
 Could I once more look upon thee,. 
 
 Hear once more thy gentle voice, 
 See tliy soft eye beaming on me, 
 
 How would my sad heart rejoice. 
 
 Olden memories, how they throng me? 
 
 How they haunt me night and day ! 
 Whispering of the dear, departed, 
 
 Cherislied loved ones, far away. 
 
 In the bright, the heavenly mansion, 
 Whitlier, sister, thou art flown, 
 
 There Avith joy, I hope to greet thee. 
 Safely anchored, safe at home. 
 
Fruit of AfPiction. 
 
 WHEN YOU AXD I WEKE YOUXG. 
 
 How oft, liow oft, I've dreamed it o'er, 
 
 That blissful term of years, 
 Yet, ever in the loved employ, 
 
 My heart is filled with tears. 
 The bright, bright hopes and friends I loved, 
 
 Have long since passed away, 
 And many a record I have kept, 
 
 Which time cannot decay. 
 
 How oft, how oft I've dreamed it o'er, 
 
 When we together talked, 
 Anon, among the vines and shrubs - 
 
 When we togetlier walked. 
 Your e^'e is resting- on me now, 
 
 Your voice is in my ear. 
 Again your laugh beside my chair. 
 
 With girlish joy I hear. 
 
 15 
 
 How- oft, how oft I've dreamed it o'er. 
 That period brief and bright, 
 
 How many faces, voices, scenes, 
 I'm thinking of to-night. 
 
16 
 
 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 The old porch, a ad the cherry-tree, 
 That scattered blossoms white, 
 
 The bell that pealed its welcome chime, 
 At morninf?, noon and nio^ht. 
 
 How oft. how oft Fve dreamed it o^er. 
 
 The bell, the hour of prayer. 
 Our friend wlio s:it in the old arm-chair. 
 
 The forms assembled there. 
 HoAV old Tve grown;— save one or two. 
 
 They all have passed away, 
 And here alone with a burdened heart, 
 
 I dream it o'er to-djiv. 
 
 FAR OUT AT SEA. 
 
 Far out at sea, I seem to be, 
 Nearing the land, where is no sea; 
 
 No sunsets, hence no night. 
 V\Q encountered many a storm, 
 And in watching some sinking forra^ 
 
 Have been oft dumb with affright. 
 
Fruit of AfflicHon. 
 
 17 
 
 In my blindness and unbelief, 
 In my amazement, fear and grief, 
 
 Lost sight of the Guiding Hand. 
 Amid the tossings from wave to wave, 
 The merciful means devised to save, 
 
 I could not understand. 
 
 Of God's patience, His love I sing, 
 To the Cross am trying to cling, 
 
 Jesus, I all forsake. 
 When the last wave shall over me sweep, 
 Peacefully then let me fall asleep, 
 
 And in Heaven awake. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 It is tlie hour of rest, from toil, 
 Of memory's greatest power, 
 
 A charm, all unspoken, surrounds 
 The shadowy, twiliofht hour. 
 
18 
 
 Fruit of AffiicUoTi, 
 
 The departed are with me as of yore, 
 
 Blessing me with their smile, 
 They whisper low of their changeless love. 
 
 And sweetly the hours beguile. 
 
 My burning brow that has throbbed all day, 
 Becomes as cool as the breeze, 
 
 And I listen with serene delight, 
 To the whisperings of the trees. 
 
 A murmuring sound is every where. 
 
 The insects evening chime, 
 They never tire all through the night. 
 
 To sons: themselves re3ii,n. 
 
 T'is sweet, the dawn of SiTmmer time. 
 
 The cool I'^freshing dawn, 
 When the birds from short but calm repose. 
 
 Awake to greet the morn. 
 
 With the first tints of day's approach 
 Their joyous anthems rise, 
 
 And methinks it is such melody 
 As penetrates the skies. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 19 
 
 But though I love the cool fresh dawn, 
 And own its wondrous power, 
 
 It possesses not the witchery, which 
 Surrounds the twilight hour. 
 
 I LOVE THE NIGHT. 
 
 The solitude of night, 
 Just seems to meet a want within my lieart, 
 Voices there are that sweep its inmost cliords, 
 Arousing energies that are wont to sleep. 
 I revel in the calm, the rest it brings. 
 Books, talk, noise and dust are then forgotten. 
 With these contending, I am not myself. 
 They blind, confuse, embarrass and oppress. 
 But with night's curtain drawn, from these relieved, 
 Just give me then my loved old rocking-chair, 
 And with mind unbent, then I find repose. 
 
 I love not the hard dusty street, going 
 From door to door, making promiscuous calls, 
 My whole nature instinctively recoils, 
 
20 Fruit of AffUction, 
 
 From forced admission into stately homes; 
 Elegant within and without, but cold, 
 As morn in Winter, beautiful but chill. 
 I often think, if they could only know 
 All that it costs me to approach their door, 
 The gentler graces would their pride control. 
 How these unpleasant thoughts intrude themselves 
 Because I thought to jot down here and there, 
 A few of the incidents of the wav. 
 
 Among my observations here and there» 
 Some things have struck me with peculiar force; 
 Much I have learned, that else had not been known 
 Of the various types and forms of human kind, 
 The rough and smooth, the coarse and the refined. 
 Many there are who've given me kindly welcome. 
 Who have cheered, refreshed and encouraged me. 
 And to each I would again say, thank you. 
 
 But to the subject that I started witli. 
 Declining day with thankfulness I greet. 
 Because it ushers in the tranquil night, 
 A hallowing influence settles down. 
 On bud, leaf, flower, every blade of grass. 
 Gently, quietly, it unlocks the past^ 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 21 
 
 The precious casket which my jewels hide. 
 
 Beautiful, quiet, sober-tinted night, 
 
 With ever fresh delight do I renew, 
 
 As of yore, my intercourse with thee. 
 
 The impressive silence soothes, hushes care, 
 
 Consuming cares, which to the day belonged. 
 
 THE LOCUST TKEE. 
 
 I never see one but, at once 
 
 I am at home as of yore, — 
 The sweet, quiet, old spot, 
 
 I can visit no more. 
 Nothing superb, about it, 
 
 Except it might be the yard, — 
 So much like a soft green carpet, 
 
 Was the beautiful sward. 
 
 Flowers there were, but not many — 
 The few, fragrant and fair; 
 
 Oft stood and enjoyed their perfume. 
 And the pure balmy air. 
 
22 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 It was an old«fayliioned place. 
 
 -The surroundings were plain. 
 I can but think, what a calm rest. 
 
 To be there once again. 
 
 One object there was, quite enchanting, — 
 
 A rose-interlaced bower ; 
 This, on one side, on the other, 
 
 A wild passion flower. 
 And then the cool, grateful shadows 
 
 Cast by the locust trees, 
 Their sweet blooming attractions, drew 
 
 Swarms of admiring bees. 
 
 t 
 
 There I was, untrammeled and free. 
 
 Shaded pathways to roam. 
 Far from the warm crowded city, 
 
 Was this dear, country home. 
 But far more than all, do I miss, 
 
 The forms that passed out and in; 
 To describe, or measure their loss, 
 
 I would not know where to begin. J 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 23 
 
 LILLY DALE. 
 
 Now, and then, memory opens a door in my heart, 
 
 And I enter as pleased as a child, 
 A bright, cheerful room to my fancy it is. 
 Seated there I am ever beguiled. 
 Loved moments, sweet moments. 
 
 Too fleeting ye were, 
 Would I could live o'er the biief, briglit days of yore. 
 With those, who oft sat w^ith me there. 
 
 I remember distinctly, one calm summer's day, 
 
 Beauty rested on hill-side and vale, 
 In the same pleasant room I was seated with one. 
 Who asked me to sing, ''Lilly Dale." 
 Loved moments, sweet moments, 
 
 Too fleeting ye were. 
 Would I could live o'er the brief, bright days of yore, 
 With him, who oft sat with me there. 
 
24 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 A fresh, fragrant charm ever lingers around, 
 
 This favorite recess in my heart. 
 Nothing so triffling is there, but it doth, 
 Some delicate pleasure impart. 
 Loved moments, sweet moments. 
 
 Too fleeting ye were. 
 Would I could live o'er the brief, bright days of yore, 
 With loved ones, who sat with me there. 
 
 O'EK THE GEEEN FIELD. 
 
 O^er the green field we wandered. 
 
 Decked g-ay, with spring's young flowers. 
 And happy thoughts, we pondered. 
 In those sweet, youthful hours. 
 Tliose oft remembered hours, — 
 Embalmetl in memory; — • 
 Soft as the dawn of even, 
 
 They passed o'er you and me. 
 
 Those blissful hours have wasted. 
 My heart is filled with gloom. 
 
 As light as morn they hasted. 
 As flowers that fold at noon. 
 
 I 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 25 
 
 Or, fragrant breath of June, 
 Whate'er is soon withdrawn, 
 Again I have been living o'er 
 
 Youth's lovely blue-eyed morn. 
 
 And do you not remember 
 We were about to part 
 You Avhispered, "Don't forget me,?'* 
 It well nigh broke my heart, 
 So sad it w^as to part, 
 
 Yet to you, I seemed gay. 
 So long ago — a dream it scemeth — 
 That walk we had in Mav. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Very pleasant to me is the frequent employ. 
 
 Living over the home-scenes so freiglited with joy; — 
 
 My walks through the wood here and there gathering flowers, 
 
 Unfettered, so free, passed the fresh, breezy hours; 
 
 Home, home, dear, old home, 
 How lonely and still are these v. alks about home. 
 
26 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 Now silently, softly, I pass to each room, 
 
 Now sitting, commune with some loved one at home, 
 
 Again in the parlor is borne on the air. 
 
 While assembled we kneel, the calm voice of prayer ; 
 
 Home, home, dear, old home, 
 1^11 think of tliee, love thee where e'er I may roam. 
 
 '^Tlie graves of the honse-hold, '^ shall I visit again, 
 This longing to see them I cannot restrain, 
 My mother, my dear, gentle mother lies tliere, 
 Would that I now to that shrine might repair, 
 
 Home, home, lieavenly home, 
 Mav we undivided assemble at Home. 
 
 '^SWEEPIXG THROUGH THE GATES.' 
 
 Glory to Jesus, for tJie thrilling words, 
 Which consolation evermore affords; — 
 Sinking, mounting, hear him exclaim, 
 "Waslied in the hlood of the Lamb.'' 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 27 
 
 Let tlie words, exultant, dwell on every tongue, 
 The song, triumphant, every where be sung! 
 Winds of heaven, catch the refrain, 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb. 
 
 Glory to Jesus, for the vict'ry given! 
 
 Cheering the soul with glimpses bright of Heaven! 
 
 Sweeter tones, from lips, never came. 
 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb. 
 Imagine, the greetings on the shining shore. 
 With those he loved, to be parted never-more, — 
 Angels listen to catch the strain, 
 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb. 
 
 "Sweeping through the gates;" language too sublime, 
 Ever to be reached, by simple verse of mine; 
 Living, dying, this be my theme, 
 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb. 
 Hallowed the room is, where the christian dies. 
 Hallowed the turf is, where the christian lies; 
 This, this inscribe on Cookman's tomb. 
 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb. 
 
28 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 [ I called, one morning on business, at one of the stalelv 
 mansions of the opulent, and was shown into a large room 
 with elegant surroundings, but saw nothing that interested 
 me so much as a collection of the most delicate, fragrant, 
 and beautiful flowers. ] 
 
 Incomparable flowers, 
 Closely allied are ye to other days, 
 To other scenes, than those, around me now! 
 Often as I gaze upon your beauty, 
 And breathe your perfume, the discordances 
 Of life that weary and perplex me now, 
 Are overlooked, or lor the time forgotten. 
 
 There is, about a large well kept garden, 
 With spacious walks, and borders newly made. 
 Which used to be in April, or in May, 
 When flowers began to spring, a wondrous charm. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 29 
 
 The dearly cherished homestead! In fancy 
 
 I stand and admire the blooming jonquils, 
 
 The old-time buttercrps, a^d hyacintlis, 
 
 And stately lilies; these, on the borders grew. 
 
 The delicate tea-rose and mignonette, 
 
 Are my favorites; but, have so many, 
 
 Could not if I would, say which most I love. 
 
 To pass in silence by the damask rose. 
 That bloomed and cast its leaves beside a door, 
 Planted by gentle hands, now cold and still, 
 And the white jasmine beneath a window, 
 Would indicate a stran<?e forojetfulness. 
 
 Matchless, not in beauty, but in fragrance, 
 
 Is the coy little blue-eyed violet, 
 
 Which, in its lowlier condition seems 
 
 A perfect pattern of tranquil content. 
 
 Are there none might learn a lesson from this, 
 
 Grow gentler, wiser, more humble and- true? 
 
30 Fruit of AfflicUon. 
 
 A PRESENT HELP. 
 
 I was sick; 
 And now it is past, the wakefulness, thirst, 
 And restlessness. I congratulate myself. 
 The Elder Brother^s care, I see in all. 
 Else, how otherwise can I interpret, 
 (In plain language) the many wants relieved. 
 And this full heart of mine, mrst find a way. 
 To hymn its gratitude, and so find rest. 
 Ah, me I but how; the chords are rent and sore. 
 Unstrung. How then elicit harmony. 
 Yet must I attempt this whim, to gratify. 
 
 We sometimes speak of friends, their ministries, 
 
 An unexpected good, that came to us. 
 
 Through them, when every avenue seemed closed: 
 
 And in a thoughtless way, exclaim, how strange! 
 
 Forgetting that if even a sparrow — 
 
 A thing so tiny is not overlooked, 
 
 Neither will He the feeblest of His flock. 
 
 God^s consecrated ones — His almoners. 
 Are ever in a waiting attitude, 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 31 
 
 And therefore ready at a moment's call 
 
 To carry sunshine, into shadowed homes. 
 
 Amid the bewildering paths of life, 
 
 Softly, tenderly, with light steps they glide: 
 
 A rill of satisfaction to parched lips, 
 
 Like a cool, meandering rivulet, 
 
 Gladdening the lone wild, through which it flows. 
 
 My mind reverts to one, who, through long years, 
 
 However, multiplied her cares might be. 
 
 How e'er some cloud her horizon obscured. 
 
 Looked after me, the same calm, patient smile 
 
 Lighting her face ever in repose. 
 
 There is a touch of sadness on her brow. 
 
 And in her mild, dark eye, a look subdued. 
 
 As if, sometimes her heart had been o'ercharged. 
 
 Yet is she cheerful, dignified, composed. 
 
 Of few can it be said, that I now affirm, 
 
 Ever her presence is a bendiction. 
 
 And, yet, another now occurs to me, 
 A special friend, whose unaffected look. 
 And voice, and manner, were as a full cup 
 Of fresh, spring water to the thirsting. 
 Of all I've met, never one so cheerful, 
 
32 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 Nor one, witli patience, more severely tried. 
 Month after month rolled by and fonnd her still. 
 An invalid to her couch confined, 
 iTet with a heart brimful of sympathy 
 For those to whom her confidence, she gave. 
 It was Sabbath evening that her spirit 
 Overwearied^ gently, unconsciously passed away. 
 She did not fear to die, hence the sm'le, 
 The beaming countenance, the tones of cheer, 
 That oft, so oft, my weariness beguiled. 
 
 Kind friends, I pray that your benefactions 
 Each one may be returned a thousand fold, 
 May flow back to you in broader, deeper, 
 More expansive views of God's eternal love. 
 More I can-not wish, I can-not express. 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 Back to my child-hood^s home, 
 Fond memory often strays; 
 T'is sweet employ to think upon 
 Those halcyon days. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 My mother's gentle step^ 
 
 Her graceful form I trace, 
 Beside the old hearth-stone I see 
 Her placid face. 
 
 I linger, as of yore, 
 
 Beside my dear aunt's chair. 
 She loved me, and my favorite seat 
 Was ever there. 
 
 My sister's lovely face, 
 
 Her fragile form I see, 
 Those eyes of Lrown, so meek and mild 
 Are bent on me. 
 
 My brother comes and goes, 
 
 Some patient, claims his care, 
 And now, his vocie I hear at morri- 
 And evening prayer. 
 
 Dear little gleeful forms. 
 
 Are gliding to and fro. 
 It would be strange, should I forget, 
 I loved them so. 
 
34 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 The old grave-yard is nigh, 
 And there they all repose, 
 
 Side, by side, my kindred lie, 
 Safe from lifers woes. 
 
 ''HOME OF THE SOUL/^ 
 
 A Favorite Hy^in. 
 
 Sweet home of the soul, still entranced I hear, 
 And silently lend a listenir^ ear, 
 
 Enwrapped in a nameless spell. 
 What it must he» in the upper sphere,. 
 Where never the eye is suffused with a tear. 
 
 The glorified, only can tdl. 
 
 Again, and againu Fve wanted to know. 
 Why a low refrain will so overflow. 
 
 So quicken each pulse in my frame 
 That vigor, and strength, for the time, have Leen given. 
 The torpor removed, Avith which I hiA striven^ 
 
 Dissolving my soul into flame. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 35 
 
 Warming the desolate chambers within, 
 Rekindling embers, that ashes had been, 
 
 Completely transforming the scene. 
 E-evealing a gift, and though simple it be, 
 A rich consolation has been unto me. 
 
 Offering something on which to lean. 
 
 This treasure I value far, far above gold. 
 Would not with it part for coffers untold. 
 
 The one verdant spot in life's waste. 
 When weary, cast down, for composure I sigh, 
 Thinking sadly of home-scenes forever gone by. 
 
 To this spring of refreshment I haste. 
 
 Compared with this God-given recompense. 
 Insipid and tame seem the objects of sei:jse, 
 
 That so many spirits enslave. 
 It is not myself, but, tlie gift I extol, 
 Divorced from this, I am nothing at all. 
 
 To Ilini, be the glory who gave. 
 
 And this I know not, witli what to compare. 
 Save tlie whispering sounds that float in the air. 
 And anon a woe singing bird. 
 
36 Fruit of AjfUction, 
 
 Not a joyous strain, a low plaintive trill, 
 Waking the silence on some distant hill, 
 Just such, so oft, I have heard. 
 
 Strange, strange to me, is 'the truth that I sing, 
 Tranquility drawn from the simplest thing, 
 
 Yet gathering strength from the storm. 
 The slumbering flame is fanned into life, 
 More by the causes that cut as a knife. 
 
 Than the nameless sweets of the morn. 
 
 *' Sweet home of the soul'' — my theme I dismiss, 
 What fancy can picture tlie calm heights of bliss, 
 
 Trod only by angelic feet. 
 We may sing of the excellent glory there, 
 But naught there is which with it to compare, 
 
 For entrance at last I entreat. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 37 
 
 THE SEEMON LAST EVENING. 
 
 " Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command 
 you." — St. John 15: 14. 
 
 I did not lose a word, 
 So clear, distinct, rang out the speaker's voice, 
 As scene after scene, familiar, revived 
 Some vanished form, fondly enshrined within. 
 A voice beloved long missed — something that brought 
 To mind the strange vicissitudes of life. 
 In a time of trial, the sweet token 
 That soothed and quieted the tortured brain, 
 We could but own, the life-like picture's charm. 
 
 As dew upon the scorched and Avithered plant, 
 As the heat, and sparkle of a bright fire, 
 
38 Fruit of AffLiction. 
 
 To one benumbed and shivering with the cold, 
 As the presence of a friend, in some lone hour, 
 That a solace brings, words cannot describe, 
 Thus fell upon mv bruised and thirsting heart, 
 The simple truths fraught with life and power. 
 
 Am I Christ^s friend? The question comes to me, 
 In the great harvest -field hast Avrought one houf? 
 How, and in what way, and in what spirit. 
 Will that accounted work by thee, endure 
 Tlie penetrating eye, that the intent 
 Discerns? Will it abide the fire? So long 
 We know, as self predominates, there is naught 
 On which to build, even, a trembling hope. 
 
 What labor and self-sacrifice too great, 
 
 To succor, serve, and please a valued friend. 
 
 Wonld we not gladly the last crust divide, 
 
 And do it with benignity and grace? 
 
 Then towards the least of these, wlio name His name. 
 
 Should we not do the same? and thus prove 
 
 We are what we profess to be; Christ'^s friends. 
 
 Let the cold eye of prejudice and pride, 
 
 Take one long introspective glance, thence upward. 
 
 Until contrition kindle with a liglit. 
 
 And sa:tne:s, caught from the c3iite:ii;)latlon. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 39 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 Why are ye so beautiful! 
 Whence your serene, entrancing loveliness, 
 Destined so soon to change and drift away. 
 Some one will say the frost has been at work, 
 Perhaps with learned precision will explain 
 The atmospheric, and other causes 
 That conspire the face of Nature to transform: 
 But when the entire domain of science 
 Is exhausted, the mind remains a blank, 
 Only at best a grasp of nothingness, 
 Recognition of a mere abstraction. 
 So much there is can never be made plain. 
 
 What a magnificent, divine display! 
 
 Kesources boundless as infinity, 
 
 Each day, each hour, each moment are employed 
 
40 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 To keep and decorate a home, prepared 
 For our brief sojourn; which only for sin 
 Would be a spacious garden of delight. 
 
 Awhile ago, a fresh green drapery 
 
 Suggesting youth, its hopes, delights and smiles, 
 
 Invited admiration. The flowers, 
 
 I may not frame for them a fitting tribute. 
 
 So pure are they, scarcely they seem of earth, 
 
 Their mission evidently is one of love. 
 
 Since I commenced this eulogistic lay 
 
 To Autumn leaves, their marvellous beauty, 
 
 The royal entertainment has been withdrawn, 
 
 Save here and there a fluttering few. 
 
 The wind and rain, a long drear cliilling rain. 
 
 The two combined have thrashed the trembling boughs. 
 
 And now their glory strews the cold damp earth. 
 
 Is not this a portraiture of life? 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 41 
 
 O O. 
 
 [ Says Mr. Moody, '^ When I was in England in 1867, 
 tliere was a merchant who came over from Dublin, and was 
 talking with a business man from London ; and as I happen- 
 ed to look in, he introduced me to the man from Dublin. 
 Alluding to me the latter said to the former, ^Is this young 
 man all O O?' Said the London man, 'What do you mean 
 by O O?' Eeplied the Dublin man, ' Is he Out and Out for 
 Christ?^ I tell you it burned down into my soul. It means 
 a good deal to be O O for Christ." ] 
 
 There is power enough in a word, 
 
 A volume of good to suggest. 
 Tlie two little letters O O, 
 
 One heart deeply impressed. 
 When in reply to the questions, 
 
 What they meant was revealed, 
 He discovered a mine of truth, 
 
 Of inexhaustible vield. 
 
 That to be Out and Out for Christ, 
 Mach very much implies, 
 
42 Fruit of AfflicUon. 
 
 A holy, unblamable life, 
 A life of self-sacrifice: 
 
 And throughout his christian career, 
 So clearly has this been seen, 
 
 That concerning himself and duty, 
 Nothing can come between. 
 
 It is this uniform oneness, 
 
 That the multitudes see, 
 With more such preachers, and preaching. 
 
 What a change there would be. 
 The grandest oak of the forest, 
 
 Which the storms cannot bend. 
 Planted tliere by the Eternal, 
 
 The way-worn to befriend. 
 
 While others are swayed and uprooted. 
 
 This one abides the blast. 
 The same in calm and in tempest. 
 
 So deeply its roots are cast. 
 Beneath its broad grateful shadow, 
 
 Long may the multitudes throng. 
 To receive of the bounty provided. 
 
 And to be solaced with scufr. 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 43 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTUKE EEPKESENTING 
 MOSES ON MT. HOEEB. 
 
 On a jagged rock is standing, 
 
 Staff in hand, an ancient form, 
 Never saw I such a bearing. 
 
 Like the oak in calm and storm. 
 Never bearing half so lofty, 
 
 Never bearing so srblime. 
 Majesty, and meekness blending, 
 
 Graces I mav not define. 
 
 These are stamped on every feature, — 
 
 On his mantle, feet and hair; — 
 Through his locks, the wind is leaping, 
 
 And his feet are simply bare. 
 There he stands, Avith head uncovered, 
 
 Awed, yet tranquil, as the morn, 
 Never weary, I of gazing. 
 
 At his contemplative form. 
 
44 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 Could I only guess the whispers, 
 
 AVafted to his spirit there, 
 Then my glowing thorghts might picture, 
 
 Imagery, beyond compare. 
 O, what holy, rapt emotions, 
 
 Lifting him above the scene! 
 AVell might he, elect of heaven. 
 
 Look secure, and feel serene. 
 
 OVEETHEOW OF PHAEAOK, 
 Suggested bt a picture in ax old album. 
 
 There he Is, in mad pursuance 
 
 Of tlie host, w^hich Eg}^t thronged. 
 Forgetful of the God above him^ 
 
 That power alone, to Him belonged. 
 Behold him now in con^sternation. 
 
 Hatred yields to wild affright. 
 At tlie gathering heap of waters 
 
 Leaping, rushing in their might. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 45 
 
 Proud, impetuous, haughty, tyrant, 
 
 Countless years will trump thy name, 
 As along the buried ages. 
 
 Dirge-like rings thy cruel reign. 
 Sad thy fate, relentless monarch, 
 
 From it all should seek to shun, 
 The dread sin of disobedience. 
 
 Seek to say, ^'Thy will be done." 
 
 There is yet, another picture, 
 With a passive tranquil air. 
 
 Eyes upturned, there is a maiden 
 White-robed and exceeding: fair, 
 
 Is a maiden in the valley. 
 
 Flowing loosely is her hair, 
 
 Feet unshod, she stands securely. 
 
 Amid the grouping shadows there. 
 
 Meekly stands, her white hands folded, 
 With a look abstract, serene; 
 
 Hovering near are deathless spirits. 
 Throwing light upon the scene. 
 
46 Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 When Tm called to walk the valley, 
 Where so calm she seems to glide, 
 
 May my robe be pure and spotless, 
 Angels, bear me through the tide. 
 
 May my Savior^s presence, cheer me. 
 Then a glad adieu I'll sing, 
 
 To the losses, crosses, trials, 
 
 Safe beneath His shelterinsr win^. 
 
 THE JAIL AT PHILIPPI. 
 
 Spot consecrated! Let us draw near, 
 
 And, upborne on wings of fancy, listen 
 
 To music that was heard in heaven. 
 
 Thrus-t in the inner prison! What a place! 
 
 W^ounds still quivering from the cruel lash. 
 
 Feet fast in the stocks, darkness profound — 
 
 Dampness and darkness, where never moonbeam f?trayed^ 
 
 The misery of the place beyond description. 
 
 Thrust in the inner pris:on; yet unconfijaed 
 
Fruit of Affliction. 47 
 
 The mind — the something so etherial, 
 Which cannot be confined, no master owns. 
 Meddling with this, the tyrant finds himself 
 The conquered one, that he scorned the victor. 
 For once, there, even there, the Eternal spoke, 
 And not in a whisper, but with a voice 
 
 That shook the earth, proclaiming I am God. 
 
 '#► 
 
 Miich talk there is, of honor and distinction, 
 
 The grim-faced monarch in his gold and purple, 
 
 Was quite likely feasting at that same hour, 
 
 Banqueting it may be on the thought 
 
 Of some new mode of torture unrevealed, 
 
 By which to manifest his kingly rule. 
 
 How the haughty tyrant must have writhed and groaned 
 
 To find his power as a bubble flown. 
 
 The dark old dismal jail at Phillipi, 
 
 So repulsive, from that hour was transformed, 
 
 If but a vestige could be pointed out, 
 
 With only means to visit distant climes, 
 
 Wlio would forego the satisfaction, 
 
 or standing where, the very ground seems holy. 
 
48 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 PAUL BEFORE NERO. 
 
 "I HAVE FOUGHT A GOOD FIGHT.*' 
 
 A perfect triumph! 
 I almost fancy I behold the man, 
 With head uncovered and a brow serene. 
 Calmly, undismayed, confront the tyrant. 
 With resignation, beautiful as sublime, 
 There is a look of holy, deep abstraction, 
 As if he held communion with the skies. 
 Quick, as along the mysterious wire, 
 Thought speeds its way, his recollected mind 
 Surveys the wondrous past, and first the light — 
 The overwhelming light, which suddenly, 
 At midday, as lightning blazed around him. 
 The voice, which^ as a thunder-bolt, his stej s 
 Arrested; and then the bitter mockings, 
 The revilings, scx>urgings, persecutions, 
 With which never warrior on field of blood, 
 Howe'er applauded for heroic deeds% 
 So valiantly, earnestly, contended 
 For the truth, which, with power, was taught him 
 On that memorable dav, transcribed above. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 AS> 
 
 I almost fancy, I behold the man, 
 
 Tlie venerable saint of centuries past, 
 
 O, the deep joy, those thrilling words convey ! 
 
 Ages, on ages, multiplied, have passed, 
 
 But with a freshness, perfumed as of yore. 
 
 The soul-reviving message comes Avith power, 
 
 "I have fought a good fight." 
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE LATE REV. GEORGE PECK, D. D. 
 
 A difficult task I have chosen now. 
 
 And ere I proceed, at the cross will bow, 
 
 Infinite One, thy help I need, 
 Wisdom is thine, just now a ray send down 
 Illumine my mind and the efibrt crown 
 
 Unassisted, cannot proceed. 
 
 A smooth, simple lay will do for a child, 
 And the heart of the lonely mother beguiled; 
 
 Bat to meet the present demand, • 
 Thoughts, massive thoughts should be brought into play, 
 That with the present will not pass away, 
 
 But will time's mutations withstand. 
 
50 Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 An object sublime is a mountain, we know, 
 For grandeur exceeding all objects below, 
 
 Majestic, and yet so serene; 
 We gaze and admire, with feelings of awe, 
 With slow, measured steps in silence withd'raw^ 
 
 Impressed, o'erwhelmed with the scene. 
 
 What draughts of calm inspiration anon, 
 The lips cannot speak while gazing upon 
 
 Some commanding, dignified form. 
 But when in the pulpit there rises serene, 
 Just such an one, aglow with his theme. 
 
 As well try to picture the storm. 
 
 What he was, in the full strength of his prime, 
 While traveling the wilds, unencumbered by time. 
 
 One cannot conjecture well; 
 The cause he espoused in the morning of youth 
 He ever proclaimed, with fervor and truth. 
 
 With a voice like the ocean's swell. 
 
 Said one, on a day I'll never forget, 
 When a vast concourse, uncornted, had met- 
 The great judgment day was his theme — 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 51 
 
 ^'It seeinei almost that an angel had sped, 
 Its advent announced, and s^ummoned the dead: 
 With such power he pictured the scene." 
 
 Attempt at description would be only a mock — ■ 
 Time's pendulum pealed the last twelve o'clock. 
 
 At this point was stillness profound. 
 Their eyes on the pageant, suppressed every moan, 
 WJiile the myriad dead swept up to the throne, 
 
 Taking each their station around. 
 
 A preacher, an author, he was, of renown, 
 
 With the worthies of old, will his name pass down, 
 
 Enrolled on the annals of fame; 
 Bat what is this, compared with the thought. 
 That he so nobly the good fight had fought, 
 
 To eternal life had a claim? 
 
 Down to old age unimpaired was his mind, 
 The work that he loved with meekness resigned, 
 
 Then came the long season of rest. 
 How often, methinks in the depths of his soul 
 Page ai'ter page of the past would unroll 
 
 Moments not easilv guessed. 
 
52 Fruit of Affliction. 
 
 On Sabbath morn, the announcement was given 
 That the silver cord^had asunder been riven, 
 
 Lull, so grateful after the storm. 
 The waves of suffering had over him rolled. 
 But he a firm grasp on the cross had hold, 
 
 Which supported his sinking form. 
 
 With thoughts more exalted, language sublime, * 
 I a wreath would prepare, enduring as time. 
 
 Endowment I covet now. 
 Tenderly, this I would lay at his feet, 
 His worth, and his name, its fragrance repeat. 
 
 Scatter gloom from the mourners^ brow. 
 
 LITTLE WALLACE. 
 
 Tlirow up the windows, — let the brightness lu^ 
 The coo], delicious airs, — the blended chimes 
 Of insects, birds and bees, so buoyant now, 
 The fragrant blossom.ing of bud and bloom, 
 All sweet, bright tokens, of our Father^s love. 
 Look there, at the little tranquil sleeper I 
 Who would not iifladlv exchanc;e life's soirows 
 
Ffuit of AffiictioTb. 
 
 53 
 
 And vicissitudes, for that perfect calm ; — • 
 I find it restful, even to contemplate. 
 Excuse me, that I stood and gazed so long. 
 Beautiful day — sweet scene — impressive hour! 
 The lips that lately warbled, ''When He Cometh," 
 His favorite melody, first and last. 
 Could they unclose, might syllable a song, 
 Would put to silence every earth born strain. 
 
 'WHEN HE COMETH.'' 
 
 How glorious, the clouds for His chariot! 
 
 Seraphim and saints. His attendants! 
 'Mid the brightness, the flashing of pinions, 
 
 Shall I see the resplendence. 
 Shall I witness the light and the splendor, 
 
 Tlie grandest conception, exceeding 
 The immaculate Son of the Father 
 
 Who once on the cross, hung bleeding? 
 My dull soul, for His comiag be ready! 
 
 TJiis, above all things, oft ponder; 
 Cease, thy fainting beneath daily burdens! 
 
 In the sharpest encounter, remember 
 T„ere cometh the end ''When He Cometh." 
 
54 Fruit of Afjiicthjn, 
 
 When, adoring shall stand in his presence, 
 
 Caught up with the sweet welcome, ^^Come/' 
 
 Will it not make amends for the trials, 
 
 Through which thou wert called to get home? 
 
 O, my soul, gird anew for the journey I 
 The end, the rest, keep in view. 
 
 Be firm *niid commotions, 'mid changes, 
 Press on^ God thv strength will renew. 
 
 THE DYIXG SOLDIER 
 
 [ A soldier lay on his dying couch, during our last war, 
 and they heard him say, ''Here!'^ They asked him what 
 he wanted, and he put up his hand and ?aidy "H:ish! 
 They are calling the roll of Heaven, and I am answering 
 to my name," and prevsently he whispered, "Here I" and 
 he was. gone. ] 
 
 He was dying — around hmi stood 
 His friends, in arms, the brave, 
 
 Who all they could, their sympathy, 
 And their attention, gave. 
 
Fruit of Affliction, 
 
 55 
 
 Had cauglit a whisper, and at once 
 Each comrade gathered near, 
 
 And heard the clear, distinct response 
 As if conversinsr, ^'Here!'^ 
 
 They th^i asked him what lie wanted. 
 
 ^'Hush!'' was the quick reply, 
 "They are calling the roll of Heaven," 
 
 And with a kindling eye, 
 
 Before they, surprised, could answer, 
 A more emphatic, "Here!" 
 
 Filling the watchers with surprise, 
 Was whispered firm and clear. 
 
 One litile moment more, and he, 
 Borne on the wings of love. 
 
 Gladly had answered to the call 
 And joined the ranks above. 
 
Fruit ef Affliction. 
 
 WINGS. 
 
 Wings ! wings ! wings ! 
 My spirit exults at the thought. 
 That when the last battle is fought, 
 
 I shall mount, I si i all riso>i 
 
 To my home in the skies, — 
 Oh! joy, to mount upward on high, 
 Unbrrdened, unfettered to fly; 
 
 Joy new an.d surprising 
 
 On pinions uprising. 
 
 Wings ! wdngs \ wings t 
 Inexpressible bliss, to clear space. 
 Of the life below not a trace. 
 
 The last storm o'erpast^ 
 
 Beyond sorrow at last. 
 An angel with angels communing. 
 The contemplation is something, 
 
 No bereavements,, no blight, 
 
 No estrangements, no night. 
 
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